Origin 1.4
The PRT building was more full of life than I'd everseen. From the street it looked like someone had driven a bulldozer through the front lobby, though the melted edges told a different story. PRT troopers patrolled the street, extinguishing the burning cars and searching rubble.
Guess the rest of the Nine have been busy.
I swerved around behind the building, checking Riley's condition every couple of seconds. She was very pale - for someone of her stature, losing that much blood could be lethal. I didn't have much time.
There were no less than five guards at the back, four of which I didn't recognize. They raised their guns. I tightened my grip on Riley and readied myself; there was no way I was turning around now.
"Hold!" the fifth man said in a panicky voice, stepping in front of the others. "Hold up! That's Josh! He lives here!"
"I need to get to the infirmary," I told him, eyes meeting his. He was one of the men that had brought me in; he knew what I was capable of.
"Jesus kid, what happened to you?" Kevin asked, gaping at my blood-soaked attire.
"The Nine happened," I told him, an edge of frustration entering my voice. "Jack stabbed her in the neck, and she doesn't have time for a full debriefing - we need to get blood in her and close the cut before I lose my grip on the artery. So, if you'll be so kind as to open the door before I walk through it?"
It wasn't an idle threat and Kevin knew it. He sighed, rubbing his brow, and tapped a couple keys on the keypad.
One of the extraneous PRT people walked in with me - apparently, they weren't taking any chances. I suppose it was lucky there were no Heartbreaker-spawned body snatchers on the Nine's roster; Master/Stranger protocols would have made this impossible.
The infirmary was on floor three, and the elevator wasn't working. With every step, I had to simultaneously balance Riley in such a way that she didn't jostle and hold the invisible suture closed by not moving my fingers at all.
It was tough, and Riley whimpered at a couple rough spots, but we managed it.
The infirmary wasn't as full as I'd estimated; the reason for that probably had to do with both Crawler and the Siberian's proclivities. Still, it was currently a chaotic mess of screaming patients and shouting nurses.
The morgue was probably even busier.
I shoved the dark thoughts aside and glanced around, looking for a lab coat or an ID badge I recognized.
Doctor Trent was a middle-aged man, reasonably clean cut with rather boring brown hair. I could honestly say I hadn't seen him around much - doctor checkups were pretty hard when you couldn't take blood samples and the subject didn'tpee- but I knew him well enough that he wouldn't just walk past me.
"Trent!" I called. "Doctor! I need some help over here, right now!"
He gaped at me. "Mother of God, are you alright?"
I suppressed a twinge of irritation. "I'm fine, I'm practically invincible, now please take a look at Riley."
He nodded decisively, professionalism settling in. He gestured to an empty cot and flagged down a nurse. "What happened?"
"She has a cut carotid," I told him, laying her down on a bed. "I'm holding it closed with telekinesis. If I move my hand, it comes undone."
"How long ago?" Trent asked, giving her a thorough once-over.
"About eight minutes," I admitted anxiously. "It took me longer than I thought it would to get through security and she lost some blood before I could get it closed."
"Move aside. I need room. Keep the pressure on." I complied, watching with queasy fascination as he probed the injury. He pressed a tiny white device to her finger. It made a tiny hissing noise, then beeped. "Nurse! Get me a unit of tech-suture and a half liter of -" Trent glanced down at the device "-type A positive blood!"
One of the nurses attending him nodded and sprinted off, returning a moment later with pack of blood and a plastic tube marked 'Organic Sealant.' He took the tube, letting the nurse rig the needle.
"What is that stuff?" I asked, morbidly curious. He unscrewed the cap, then gently pushed past my fingers to apply it directly to the cut. The color was a bright yellow; it reminded me of Neosporin.
"Tinker tech," he answered, looking mildly offended by the innocuous container. "Basically an improved version of superglue. Doesn't stop Toybox for charging the Protectorate an arm and a leg for it; I hear the Protectorate spends more than a fourth of its budget on medical supplies. It makes it damn hard to hire more staff. You can let go now. It's been ten seconds; it'll have hardened."
Despite his assurances I was incredibly reluctant to release her, but I did; to my vast relief, there was no immediate arterial spray.
"Beats the hell out of stitching, especially when its something tricky and high flow like an artery. You did good kid - girl that young, she doesn't have that much blood in her."
No immediate crisis presented itself; emotions, long held at bay, crashed down with shattering force. I turned and wrapped my arms around him. The room was too blurry to really see anything, so I closed my eyes.
"Thank you," I mumbled, my voice muffled by the lab coat. "Thank you - I thought she was going to die, and then - thank you."
"Hey - whoa!" He patted my head, looking uncomfortable. "Just doing what I can - no need to go all waterworks on my favorite coat. She'll be fine, but I need to replace the blood she lost. In the meantime, you should go check with your mother - she's in the back."
"She's not my -" I began, then I froze as I realized the implications of that last sentence. I let him go and started to walk, ignoring whatever he shouted after me.
The PRT's infirmary was of decent size, containing four separate sections that took up an entire floor. While dealing with disease or other contagious effects, the lab section and one of the two patient wards could be sealed off with their own internal air supply.
It meant it was a long walk. I tried to ignore the smell of blood as best I could, but my enhanced senses didn't work that way.
Miss Militia's bed was the furthest from the door and the curtain was drawn. Dread pooled in my stomach. I could hear the steady beeping of a heartrate monitor as well as the rhythmic hiss of a ventilator. I reached out and parted the heavy plastic -
-and came face to face with a gigantic gun.
Miss Militia stared at me for a moment, then sighed and lowered the assault rifle. "Told the nurses not to let anyone come in without knocking. Should've known you'd just barge right in without asking."
"You're alright!" I said, unable to contain the exuberant smile that spread across my face. She had a long, bandaged slice along her cheekbone and her costume was covered in soot, but she seemed otherwise intact.
"Of course I'm alright," she said, smiling wanly and gesturing to the bed. "I had Armsmaster looking after me."
I glanced down.
"Oh," I said, cheerfulness dying. Armsmaster was most certainly not alright; from the circling stitches around his right bicep, someone had sliced his arm off. Without his signature mask, his face seemed to lose a lot of it's dignity; the hospital domino just didn't cut it.
"He was using a cutlass. That hit would have opened me up from stomach to sternum if he hadn't shoved me out of the way," Miss Militia said quietly. "They aren't sure how much use he'll get out of it now. Jack's power cut it very cleanly, but the doctors are worried about the time it took to reattach it."
"Jack did this?" I asked, staring down at the sleeping Tinker.
I didn't spend much time with Armsmaster - he chased me away whenever he was building something, saying I was a disruptive influence, and since he wasalwaysbuilding something it was hard to talk to the man. Still, knowing I had seen Jack only minutes after. . .
"He'll be fine," I reassured her, swallowing a lump of guilt. "If it doesn't work right he'll just make a robot arm and power through."
Miss Militia nodded, then smiled wanly. "I avenged him - put a bullet right in Jack's shoulder."
I mentally debated the merits of claiming to be the bigger badass in the room, but ultimately decided it wasn't the time. "Who - who did we lose?"
She sighed, standing up so she could peer out at the infirmary. "The PRT took about eighteen casualties. Apart from Armsmaster, the Protectorate itself was only lightly injured - they retreated when Jack got hit, used the Siberian to hold us off till the rest got clear. It's not all bad though - the Butcher took his inner circle and got out of town."
"What about the Nine?" I asked intently. "What's their current roster?"
"Hmm," she gave me a shrewd look, as if she could tell I was hiding something. "Winter was killed by the Butcher during the Nine's debut. I shot Skinslip myself, though I wouldn't call that a real loss; he didn't bring much to the Nine. They still have their core - Jack, Hatchet Face, the Siberian, and Crawler; they also have a clown named Chuckles and a cape named Screamer."
"That's only eight, not including the one they were recruiting." I reminded her.
She nodded, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Yeah. Last one's a bit of an unknown - don't have much on her, she hasn't been with the Nine for long and no one's really seen her. Tinker named Bonesaw - made some really hardy enhancements to Skinslip. It took me three shots with a grenade launcher to keep him from getting back up."
I winced. I had been hoping - but no, I suppose it was inevitable. Now to make a smooth exit. "Right. I'm going to - uh, visit a friend."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "I think I should meet this friend."
. . .Busted. So, so busted.
I'm telling you they can smell deception.
...
"Her name's Riley," I told her quietly, standing by the bed. The curtains were drawn now, giving us the illusion of privacy. "Jack had been keeping her captive for her abilities."
"You mean to say," Miss Militia said levelly, each word drawn out in a way that spelled the doom of my personal freedom, "that you snuck out of school,abusedyour status as a parahuman andknowingly aideda member of theSlaughterhouse Nine?"
It was amazing how terrifying she could be without raising her voice in theslightest.
"I wouldn't put it quite like that," I said, wincing. "I didn't know she was a member of the Slaughterhouse. I mean, with the information I had I thought she might be being abused or something!"
At least at first. I figured that one out real quick.
Miss Militia wasn't buying it. She sighed, rubbing her face wearily. "Bonesaw didn't just enhance the other members you know; she's also suspected of performing autopsies on captured capes while they were alive. She has a kill order on her head - we should at least handcuff her."
"Her name's notBonesaw," I told her, my hand tightening on the metal railing of the bed. It screeched tortuously under my grip. "Her name isRiley. Jack didn't just kidnap her from her home - Jack made hertrigger.Jack tortured her parents, bringing them to the edge of deathover and over againuntil she she was too tired to heal them any more."
She grimaced. "Even if she was forced to do it, she was with the Nine for months. There's no possibly way she doesn't have feelings for them by now - older, wiser heads have fallen to Stockholms than hers. They'll want to imprison her at the least."
"She's six," I hissed. I didn't realize I'd stood until the screeching of metal announced that the railing had been pulled off it's frame. "She triggered younger than I did, and I started out my career bykilling five people."
"The circumstances were different. You were forced to kill in self defense." She hesitated, probably seeing the flaw in that argument. Anyone who refused the Slaughterhouse Nine didn't live long. "Also, the victims - well -"
"Go ahead," I told her furiously, looking down at Riley's sleeping form before meeting her eyes. "Say it; I killed a band of worthless druggies, members of the Teeth, and she killed someone that the Protectorate cares about, soIget a second chance andshegets stuck in some hellhole until the government decides she's old enough to shoot in the head."
There's no Birdcage here - not yet.
"They won't let her go," I whispered, all energy draining out of me. "They can't. They'll try her as an adult for multiple murders with a parahuman ability. If it gets out she's a biological tinker - it's only been four years since Nilbog and she was a member of theSlaughterhouse Nine. The public would be terrified. They'll turn her into a scapegoat and sacrifice her without a thought."
Miss Militia began to pace up and down the other side of the bed. Finally, she let out a frustrated noise and threw her hands up. "Ican't believeI'm considering this. What you're asking me to do violatesallmy beliefs,allmy oaths to the Protectorate. I want you to know what a terrible position you're putting me in. One word about her identity reaching the wrong ears - justone- and they'll lock me away and throw away the key, you understand that?"
I nodded, hope blossoming in my chest. She seemed to be waiting for me to speak, so I choked out an affirmation.
Miss Militia muttered something angry in a foreign language and left, stepping away from the bed and moving back down the hall. Presumably she was going to check on Armsmaster again.
"Like I'd let them put you in jail," I told her retreating form very quietly before laying my head down on the bed.
I didn't need sleep, but I think I'd like to rest.
...
I don't dream anymore; not like I used to. When I sleep, there's a sort of centering that goes on. I see myself surrounded by everyone and everything I care about in a tangled, fractal mess. I see everything I've done and everything I want to do, all in a few moments of REM.
It's the closest to being judged by God that I've ever come to.
I woke up to alarms and running feet. For one wild moment I thought we were sunk, that Miss Militia had told and they'd sent someone for Riley, but no team of men with assault rifles burst through the door. Riley was still asleep, her skin a healthier pink. I let out a sigh of relief.
Something exploded a few doors down the corridor, plastic ripping and tearing. I turned, opening the blinds and stepping out just as there was anawfulshrieking noise.
She hadn't bothered with the door; much like I'd threatened Kevin with earlier, she'd simply walked through it.
The Siberian was here.
I hate ironic reversals.
The moment she saw me her lips peeled back in a hateful snarl and shelunged. She was fast - luckily for me, I was much faster. I sidestepped, resisting the urge to yell 'Toro!' and wave a red blanket. She crashed into a cart of medical supplies, sending instruments everywhere before rebounding.
"Where is she?!" Siberian roared, closely resembling her namesake. There was a touch of inhumanity in the expression - something wild and furious.
I was surrounded by possible hostages who didn't have my invulnerability. Any fight in here would get people killed or, in the case of Riley, kidnapped again to be the Nine's mad scientist. I made my decision instantly, a plan of attack forming as my powers told me exactly what to say.
"Who knows?" I said casually, kicking a chunk of broken door at her. She dodged, but it was a close thing. The metallic shard sunk an inch into the wall, literally a foot away from a wide-eyed patient. "If you weren't so slow, maybe I'd tell you where they took her!"
She let out another inhuman roar and exploded into movement, but I was closer to the door andmuchfaster.
Thus, the game of anthropomorphised tiger and superpowered mouse began.
I didn't bother with the elevator. I ran up the stairs in leaping bounds, the Siberian on my tail. As we climbed, she began to move slower and slower, until finally she just stopped and screamed impotently.
I stopped, about six feet above her. "Something wrong? At the end of your leash? Too bad - who knows what the government will do, especially to a bio-Tinker and a member of the Nine."
"I'm going to kill you," she/it/he hissed, baring long, vicious teeth, "then I'm going to eat you, then I'll kill and eat everyone you've ever loved!"
She jumped, clearing the next few stairs, but I dodged again and the chase resumed.
"Your threats need work!" I taunted as I climbed in leaping bounds, "just ask Jack for pointers. He, at least, said the right things - before I startedbreaking his limbsanyways."
The projection's range had extended - Manton was on the move. If thestupid alarms weren't blaringI could try tracking heartbeats, but with so much noise and so many people moving around it was virtually impossible to separate things.
When we reached the roof, I didn't bother opening the door, electing instead to crash through it. The rooftop was a large, flat area with a helipad for emergencies - in other words, perfect for a highly mobile combatant.
If the Siberian had any input on the location, she didn't voice it; I wasn't sure if she could. Manton had to be pushing pretty hard to get himself closer, and from the frenzied look in her eye he wasn't in a good mood.
She darted at me; I lunged to the side, coming up again smoothly. We circled.
"So," I said, tone conversational, "where's Jackie at?"
She snarled at me, weaving left and right, searching for an opening.
"Docks?" I asked, watching her face carefully. "Boardwalk? Maybe the ceme - whoa there!"
I evaded the overhand slash of her fingers by a thin margin. Manton was getting closer; consequently, his doll was getting faster. I only needed to keep her just out of reach a little longer.
"You seem to have some temper issues," I told her, smiling unpleasantly. "Have you thought about getting help? There are support groups for that you know."
She narrowed her eyes and paused her assault. With one hand, she reached down and pried out a support girder. The whole structure of the helipad groaned and shuddered for a moment, then it was free - and about fifteen feet long. She raised it to the side like a massive sword. I could almost see the air parting for it - she'd extended her invulnerability to the whole steel bar.
"Oh," I muttered, "this is going tosu-"
I cut off as I jumped backwards, but she had plenty of time to readjust. I yelped as the physically inviolable steel girder swept just over my hair, nearly taking my head off with it. I rolled, evading an overhand attack that shattered concrete into tiny, tiny chunks.
I was near the door. Manton would have to be close by - no doubt somewhere on the floor below us.
Then Maledict came up the stairs.
The Siberian saw her, then smiled and threw the girder like a javelin.
Not again!
I leapt in between the two of them, taking the impact easily. With one powerful slap I dissipated the remnant of the Siberian's influence and tossed the now warped girder to the side. Maledict let out a squeak of shock and fell backwards, safely out of the way.
Then the Siberian was on me. One hand grasped my throat, another punched me in the gut, then she justliftedme into the air. I tried to grip the ground as I'd done with hatchet face, but something was interfering with my control.
"Talk," she snarled.
"Or you'll kill me?" I asked, smiling mirthlessly.
She was strong - almost as strong as I was. If I was Alexandria, she might be able to choke the air out of me this way; luckily, I had no such weakness. I reached out with my field, trying to get a grip on her, but as soon as I did the field inexplicably dissipated.
I blinked and tried again, but it was like trying to cover oil with water; the Siberian's body just rejected the external force and continued on her way.
"No," she said, baring her teeth in a smile of her own. "I'll simply askher- maybe she knows."
An icy hand grasped my heart. I glanced back at Maledict.
My eyes widened.
The Atchisson Assault Shotgun, generally known as the AA12, is a fully automatic shotgun developed for its ability to put shots downrange at high speed. When it was necessary, the AA12 could fire at over three hundred rounds per minute; unfortunately, its clip size held only thirty two rounds.
Apparently, no one had told Miss Militia.
She held the trigger down in an unending wave of sound, pellets striking the Siberian and I repeatedly. It didn't do much more than tickle, but the Siberian, it seemed, did not like being tickled. She snarled, trying to use me as a shield, or maybe a hostage, but I was having none of that.
With all the power I could generate, I brought my hand down on the Siberian's elbow.
The moment we collided, there was an instant of horribleblindingpain-
Then, I was through - my hand literally wentthroughher elbow. There was no blood - everything that got disconnected from the main body simply dissolved into bluish mist.
She staggered back, shocked. Even Miss Militia seemed surprised for a moment. The combat paused as everyone nearby reevaluated my Brute rating.
The Siberian grimaced, and her arm seemed to reform from nothingness.
"You're a projection!" I said loudly as if just realizing, ignoring the stinging of the skin on my hand. It looked like a bad sunburn. Considering how tough my skin was, that was mildly terrifying. "The real you must be nearby!"
Miss Militia shook her head, tapping her earpiece.
They're starting to search.
I scowled at her.
Leave me and go already. I've got this.
The Siberian froze, then snarled and lunged for me again.
I readied myself to dodge -
- then she exploded into blue smoke and disappeared.
I blinked, looking at Miss Militia. She looked back, as bewildered as I was.
I turned around to find Maledict with her eyes shut tightly and her lips moving as if in prayer.
"Oh damn it Maledict," I groaned, kneeling down next to her. "Did you do what I think you just did?"
"The energy cost to reaching the projection was too high," she said, eyes still closed. It always dilated her eyes when she used her ability; we weren't sure why. "I told it to hurt the Master."
Miss Militia let the shotgun dissipate, turning it back into a pistol. She soundedpissed."Except you don't knowwhothe Master was, orwhere the master is, orwhat exactly-!"
BOOM.
The noise reverberated throughout the complex like the toll of a massive bell.
I sighed. "From that loud crashing noise, I would guess he was in an elevator."
We had to go to the ground floor for a full report.
Long story short, Manton got away.
We found the remains of a wheelchair in the rubble; we weren't sure if it was his or one he borrowed to avoid suspicion. There was blood on the side of the wall, but not nearly enough for me to believe he died. He must have called the projection back to him the moment he realized he was in trouble.
My personal forensic analysis told me that Maledict had broken something in his wheelchair, causing him to fall and slam his head into the railing. Faulty elevator maintenance had met recent damage, causing things to snap that weren't supposed to snap and the elevator to fall eight floors to its early retirement.
All total, a single use of her ability had incapacitated one dangerous parahuman and injured eight people with the shrapnel, plus the impromptu earthquake that had overturned medical trays and woken up patients.
Still,Iwas the one that got grounded.
Life was unfair.