1.6

Well, things had gone to shit in Canada. Turns out when you kill the guy who emotionally enslaved a large harem of women and many trained bodyguards, they kind of go crazy afterwards. The police had things mostly handled, and managed to suppress the few who who went off on shooting sprees.

The rest of his network had come crawling out of the woodwork once it was clear Heartbreaker had actually died, but the many of the women in his twisted harem just killed themselves after they discovered the fact their object of interest had been offed.

Heartbreaker's children were unknown, having restrained a few of the women for the police, probably the ones who had been the least terrible. All the survivors would have to undergo intensive therapy at the very least. The worst of the bunch were the female parahumans, either dead or sent to assorted parahumans asylums.

Max Anders had been found dead, though I don't think anybody outside of Empire 88 would know he was Kaiser. The Slaughterhouse Nine were still at large for all concerned. There was actually a site that fracked their sightings I found after a few searches, but they didn't know either.

I felt strangely detached reading every single person who died from Heartbreaker's beyond-the-grave revenge. So many names, so many people I didn't know dead just because of my actions. Would they have lived if I had never acted? Would Heartbreaker go on to enslave more women if I had left him alone? Every one of the people listed was for certain dead due to three minutes.

Well if I second-guessed all my decisions I'd never make any, so I simply resolved to do better in the future. Somebody else would go and kill Heartbreaker even if I hadn't if canon proceeded normally. Kaiser would die, so would the Nine, and so would a large portion of all human life on multiple Earths.

I had already resolved to push ahead, regardless of consequences. The next stop on my list was actually a checkup. I popped to Bonesaw's location, and was unpleasantly surprised by a dull grey containment cell. I took a moment to think and facepalmed.

"Did you release a vorld-ending plague?" I asked tiredly.

Bonesaw herself stared lifelessly at the wall. My voice didn't even elicit a reaction. Locked in her mind, thoughts elsewhere. It seemed whatever Cauldron/whoever caught her had broken her down. Probably some Path-to-victory bullshit.

I pictured her mindscape, and with a thought I was there. She was remembering a memory, reliving it over and over.

The surrounding was an ordinary middle-class home. Cold winter air entered through the open door and the smell of blood was thicker than anything else. Here, Riley abandoned her family, leaving with Jack. I stood, watching as memory-Jack led her away once more, the, "Goodbye mommy," every time she stood to leave the mostly dead woman.

It was surprisingly clear, the individual flecks of blood lining the carpet and mantle, while stepping out of the room led only to a gray void. From the darkness rose blurry shadows that moved into the opening. One chuckled, a too-high pitched demented sound.

If Riley noticed me, the memory certainly didn't change. I gave the shadowy figures a few swipes with my knife, but it passed right through.

This was her own personal purgatory and I was determined not to leave it alone. If being pragmatic, Bonesaw was probably the premier expert on shards after Cauldron.

Her specialization was absolutely broken as well, though far less than the likes of Hero.

I walked over, standing between Jack and her.

"So zis is how you hide from zee vorld," I began, as the scene froze, Jack's teeth glinting in his suspended mouth. "Vere is Bonesaw, zee terror of all capes? You cannot hide from what you have done forever."

The scene flashed and vanished. There was only a dark void now, with Riley sitting just like she was in reality looking back at me.

"I'll be vaiting," I said, vanishing. I probably interrupted some Cauldron brain-washing program in progress.

Next stop was another perfectly respectable middle class home. Thankfully there wasn't bloodstains everywhere this time around. It was school hours so nobody was home. I mentally cursed, and continued on my way, writing a note and placing it in the person's room.

Taking a break to check on my Parahumans Online account, I had received no message from Panacea. I had however, received a long and formal post from an official PRT account that amounted to "Stay out of the Birdcage that's stupid and join the wards."There was some stuff about punishment and consequences I ignored. It's not like they could catch me to begin with.

I made a new thread post announcing my debut as an aspiring parahuman. On it, I posted images of the dead Manton, and the remains of Shatterbird and Jack. They had already all begun to putrefy, but nobody had cleaned any of them up.

I also posted a bunch of scenic pictures from places I had been, including the Birdcage of course. The last picture was a picture I took of myself, making sure to keep the smiley armband facing the camera. The duct tape had at some time been destroyed, so I made a new smiley over the swastika.

My next checkup was Eidolon. If he snapped, things would get messy. Very messy. He was sleeping, so I moved on.

I hadn't seen Panacea for about an hour, so I dropped by. She was currently in a containment cell as well, though this one was much nicer. I gave a cheeky grin before leaving.

I took my phone out and prepared to take a selfie. In a blink, I was falling and dying at the same time. My body puffed and the strange sensation of my tears and saliva boiling began. My finger pressed the camera button though, and I was back on solid ground as soon in another second. I posted the image on my rapidly growing PHO thread before moving once more.

Apparently Cauldron didn't kill off someone they really should have. Noelle Meinhardt, a massive mound of distorted flesh topped off with an ordinary person, laid in the warehouse before me. Why the hell did Cauldron keep people like this around? All they probably did was have Coil kick her out. Well, I couldn't exactly do anything, I'd have to bring it up with them.

Brockton Central Library was no longer a place I could stop by, as evidenced by the containment foam that greeted me. If the PRT wanted to play it like that, I could only respond in kind. Director Piggot's office was a nice place to get internet right?

I sat on top of one of the shelves, silencing my phone as I checked the PHO thread once more. Apparently calling myself, "not a Nazi," while wearing a Hitler Youth Uniform and repurposed swastika armband confused people slightly. Others marveled the impossibility of the images, and how I had managed to take them.

Some of it was vitriolic.

It astounded me how catty and petty people could be.