The Slippery Slope

Part Twenty-Four: Regrouping

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: To repeat what I have said in previous chapters: I do not adhere to the white supremacist ideology. This fic is a thought experiment to see how someone could get dragged into it when faced with their recruitment techniques, especially when aided and abetted by a black girl repeatedly and maliciously (and unwittingly) pushing the victim toward such ideology.]

[A/N 3: If you're unsure about what went before, I've provided a synopsis at the beginning of Part 22.]

[A/N 4: Members of the Empire Eighty-Eight may express racist slurs and sentiments in this chapter. You have been warned.]

Remote

We were only a few minutes into our journey back toward the Medhall building when Kaiser asked the obvious question. "Has anyone contacted the others about this situation?"

"No," I said. "We were busy. My armour's electronics were severely damaged by Lung. Menja and Crusader do not carry phones in their armour. Victor was tending to the wounded."

At the mention of his name, Victor looked up from where he was holding Othala's body. Even behind the identity-concealing helmet, I could see tears welling from his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was ragged. "Can I just have one goddamn minute to mourn my wife?"

Analysis: extreme grief.

Prediction: I will feel the same when I drop my power.

Observation: Othala was a valued teammate and a good friend.

Conclusion: Lung needs to die for his part in this, as does whoever betrayed us.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Kaiser said more quietly. "Please pass me your phone. Mine's been destroyed. I need to alert those back at home base about the situation." He did not mention the name 'Medhall', for obvious reasons.

With quick, jerky motions, Victor took his phone out and handed it to Kaiser. I heard the soft beeps as Kaiser unlocked it—he knew Victor's PIN, along with everyone else's, for situations such as this—and made the call.

"This is Kaiser," he said once the call went through. "The exercise went bad. We—" He paused for a long moment. "What? What happened? Was it the ABB?"

Medhall Building

Krieg

"No, it wasn't the verdammt ABB," snarled James. "We were attacked by Circus and Shadow Stalker. They killed Hebert's nurse, and damn near got him too. Young Ferguson wounded Stalker, and raised the alarm, but Circus got away. I managed to subdue Stalker. We've got her in electrified restraints right now, as per the information about her vulnerabilities. What's happened with you? Why are you calling on Victor's phone?"

Over the phone, Kaiser sighed. "It's as I feared. We've been played for fools. They knew when and where we were going, and arranged for a two-pronged attack. We were ambushed by Lung and Oni Lee. I'm sorry to say Othala is dead and I was … badly injured. If it weren't for Remote, we would've been a lot worse off."

"What do you mean, 'badly injured'?" demanded James.

"He tore my spine up and inflicted serious burns. Glory Girl showed up and helped chase him off, but then attacked us as well, focusing on Victor. Remote stopped her, but accidentally inflicted grave injuries on her. We managed to parlay that into treatment from Panacea, by bringing Glory Girl to her. Unfortunately, Oni Lee had inflicted mortal wounds on Othala before Remote killed him, and she passed before we reached Panacea's position. Rune was also injured, but is fully healed. Panacea saved my life, but nobody thought to require me to be whole and hearty, and so I was left paralysed from the waist down."

Reaching out James found a chair and sagged into it. "Scheiße," he muttered. "What a clusterfuck. You're right, of course. This had to be planned. But by whom? Shadow Stalker is a Ward, for fuck's sake. Circus is a mercenary, working for the highest bidder." The Empire had never retained Circus' services, mainly because nobody could tell if the queer little freak was a man or a woman, but that was beyond the point right then.

"True. I could maybe see Circus working for Lung if the money was good enough, but Stalker? What's in it for her? Wait, are you sure Stalker didn't just chase Circus into the building or something?" It was a cogent question; unfortunately, it was also one that James had looked into.

"One hundred percent. Stalker killed the nurse with an arrow, like she used to carry back before she was in the Wards. Young Ferguson overheard them talking about loading Remote's father into a wheelchair. From the references she made, she was fully aware that this is the home base of the Empire. And if she couldn't abscond with Hebert, she was going to kill him, specifically to mess with Remote's head."

"Okay, okay, that actually tracks. Shadow Stalker used to bully Remote. Hates her with a passion, more so since Remote joined us and ended up out of her reach. Any idea if she knows Remote triggered and is now one of our capes?"

James shrugged. "Fifty-fifty on that. But even if she learned about Medhall being the Empire home base on her own, which I sincerely doubt, how could she bring Circus in on this? There's no way in hell she could afford Circus' rates, and I can't see Circus hitting us just on principle. Mercenaries can't afford principles."

"I hear you. Also, where does the ABB come into this? I can see them acting on a tip-off, but who has the pure tungsten carbide cojones to tip Lung off about us, hire Circus and feed Stalker enough information to make her break the law this hard when she's already on thin ice?"

"Someone who already knew who we are and where we are," James said slowly. "Someone who wanted to weaken us by attacking from the shadows, so to speak. I don't know if it was their idea or Lung's to go after Othala, but losing her hurts us badly. And a successful abduction of Hebert would have given Remote a serious case of divided loyalties at best, once they began blackmailing her with his well-being."

"Has anyone tried questioning her yet?" There was no doubt as to who the 'her' referred to.

"Not seriously. She tried to claim that the PRT would be kicking the door down any second now, but she wasn't carrying anything that was set up to send a homing signal. Just an ordinary phone, that I've since removed the battery from, after getting photos of recent text messages."

"And Ferguson and Hebert?"

"Unharmed. Well, mostly. Ferguson took an arrow-graze to the leg, but he'll be fine. Hebert was untouched, entirely due to Ferguson engaging Stalker personally until I got there."

"Well, that's one good thing. How badly injured is Stalker?"

"Ferguson got her in the shoulder with a .380, a through-and-through. It's been bandaged to halt the bleeding. I don't think any bones were broken. It certainly won't kill her."

"Good. Lock the whole building down until we get there. I have some questions to ask, and I will be expecting answers." A world of malice was sunk into that statement.

James nodded. "Count on it."

PRT Building

Deputy Director Renick

Paul Renick liked to think he was a reasonable man. Ten years older than Emily Piggot, he'd been a forensic accountant before being tapped as the Deputy Director of the ENE department of the PRT. Later, he'd fallen into the role of the ad hoc supervisor for the Wards. Everyone had their side to the story, and often just having an authority figure lend a sympathetic ear was all that a troublesome teenager needed.

There had been occasions when he'd had reason to doubt that attitude, but never more so than right now. He paced back and forth in the Wards part of the PRT building, staring down at the two items that lay on the coffee table between the couch and the gaming console. First was a gym bag, open, with a towel and regular exercise gear within. Second, and much more damning, was an ankle monitor, unlocked and open. Still flashing its 'secure' light, despite being unlocked and open.

"Can anyone explain to me how this could have happened?" he asked, pointing at the ankle cuff. "I thought those things broadcast an alert if they were unlocked, or at least stopped broadcasting the all-clear signal."

Henderson, the PRT head of security, cleared his throat while still standing at attention. His visor was closed, but his whole attitude made it clear he was sweating bullets. "Uh, sir, there's two different keys for that make of monitor. One shuts off the signal if it's unlocked. The other doesn't, and only gets used for very specific circumstances. Nobody outside law enforcement's even supposed to know about the second type."

"Yes." Paul didn't raise his voice, but Henderson flinched anyway. "Well, given that somebody does, I want a list of names for people in this building who do. We need to find out who did what, and that person in a cell, before we lift lockdown."

"Sir, yes, sir," responded Henderson. Paul heard him mumbling inside his helmet. Leaving him to it, Paul turned to Henderson's second in command. "What about her phone? Isn't there a tracker in that?"

"Her phone was confiscated as part of her suspension," Aegis offered.

"Wait." That was Vista. She winced as Paul swung his attention to her. "Shadow Stalker had two phones. I saw her handling a different one, once. And there wasn't one in her room."

"Two phones." Paul looked at Aegis and Kid Win, then at the PRT personnel he'd called down to the Wards section. "Did anyone else know about this? Do we have a number for it?"

Henderson's 2i/C turned to the rest of the security detail, silently interrogating them. One by one, each shrugged or shook their heads. "No, sir," he replied. "It's news to us."

"Well, I suggest you begin by figuring out how to track down that phone's location. Dismissed." Paul nodded to Vista. "Thank you." Turning, he started to leave the room in the wake of the security detail.

"Wait, sir." Aegis stepped forward. "What's happening now? Will we be going after Shadow Stalker? What's going to happen to her?"

Paul stopped and turned back to address the Wards, while the security detail kept going. "Nothing's going to happen to her until we find out what's already happened. Once we know where she's gone and what she's done, then we'll know the exact size of the hammer we need to drop on her. You all need to sit tight while the lockdown is in place. Once it's lifted, you carry out your duties as normal. If you, or any of the others who aren't here, see her while you're out on patrol, call it in immediately, then follow instructions as given. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Aegis nodded firmly. "Understood."

Paul paused, wanting to get upstairs and start the search running properly, but knowing there was more to be said. "None of this is your fault, son. Not one of you is to blame, here. You all chose to follow the rules. She did not. You will not be penalised for her misdeeds. You're all damn fine Wards, and my report to Director Piggot will reflect as such."

With that said, he swivelled on his heel and headed for the door. One of his Wards had gone off the reservation in a big way, and it was the PRT's responsibility to locate her and bring her back in.

Shadow Stalker, where the hell are you?

Dallon Household

Lady Photon

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this!" shouted Carol.

Sarah didn't look around as she concentrated on moving Victoria upstairs via a force field without bumping into anything. "I didn't tell you, because I knew you'd react exactly like this."

"You could've brought me along! Those Empire monsters have to pay for what they've done to my daughter!"

Amy had to have picked up on Carol's wording, but she didn't even react. Sarah still noted it, though. "We were under truce. They swore they didn't mean to harm her, and they had wounded as well. Othala is dead, and Kaiser's a paraplegic."

"The word of a villain." Carol's voice was bitter. "They deserve whatever happened to them, and more."

"Victoria shouldn't even have been there." Sarah stated the truth flatly. "I have it on good authority that she was given orders not to engage with any Empire capes—especially Victor—without direct permission from a senior Ward, Protectorate member or PRT officer. Fighting Lung, she might have skated on. Turning on the Empire, with Victor there, after chasing Lung off? That went against everything she was told to do."

Carol's jaw jutted out stubbornly. "She's a hero. Heroes fight villains."

Mark put his oar in at this moment. "Hon, I hate to say this, but a truce is a truce. They contacted us, and Vicky is at least alive because of that."

His wife stared at him, probably because she still wasn't used to his new active attitude. "Why are you taking her side? Vicky nearly died because of those monsters! She's still in a coma!"

"I'm not taking her side," Mark reminded her patiently. "I'm reminding you of the facts, because you're not listening to Sarah. In case you forgot in the heat of the moment, Vicky's not a member of New Wave anymore. She's a Ward. In fact, she's a Ward because she already went over the line with the Empire. With Victor, even. And Wards are supposed to follow orders."

Carol pressed her lips together. They all knew it was true. "So, what happens now?"

Sarah cleared her throat. "I've already tried to contact the PRT, but there's some sort of crisis going on and the building is locked down. Only the highest-priority calls are getting through, and New Wave apparently doesn't command a high enough priority." Sarah manoeuvred Victoria in through her bedroom door and deposited her on the bed. Eyes shut, breathing regularly, she looked like she was simply asleep.

"But if you'd told them it was about Vicky—" Carol stopped. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Sarah was absolutely certain Carol would have encountered the concept of 'slow-walking' critical information so it arrived too late to be of use, especially in the legal world. Not that she suspected her sister of such perfidious practices, but stories abounded of less-than-ethical prosecutors suppressing exculpatory evidence to enhance their conviction rate. This wasn't quite in the same ballpark, but it was similar enough.

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay." Carol ran her hands through her hair, then stepped back out of the room, leaving the door open. "We can get out ahead of this. If Vicky wakes up before the PRT comes out of lockdown, do they even need to know that this happened? I mean, are the Empire likely to complain to them about Vicky?"

Some small part of Sarah's mind wanted to giggle about the idea of the Empire Eighty-Eight submitting a formal complaint about the conduct of a Ward. But it wasn't even remotely funny; if they'd chosen to sue New Wave over Victoria's attempt to outright murder Victor, it could have gone very badly. "In this case … no, I don't think so," she said slowly. "She ended up just as badly injured as they did, and they're more likely to be focusing on Lung, for his part in crippling Kaiser. I personally suspect they're just going to want to walk away and lick their wounds, Othala's death notwithstanding."

"But we can't just let them get away with …" Carol paused. "Fuck."

Sarah nodded soberly. Carol had just figured out the catch-22 in all this. If New Wave publicly announced that the Empire had put Victoria in a coma, this would also highlight the fact that she'd engaged them against orders. She was already on thin ice; even if she recovered completely from the coma (something Sarah still didn't know enough about to judge) she would likely be sent on to juvey as punishment for breaking her probation.

"But … what if she doesn't wake up on her own?" Carol suddenly looked twenty years older.

Sarah put her arm around her sister's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "Then we'll deal with that problem as it comes."

Remote

Now that we were in contact with Medhall, Krieg sent a truck to retrieve us. We rendezvoused with it in a dimly lit side street, and I helped get Kaiser on board the vehicle. Once we were on the way, I figured out how to climb out of the (somewhat damaged) armour, and took a seat of my own.

The discussion about how we were going to deal with Lung had run to its end, but another topic had been raised; specifically, the situation with Circus and Shadow Stalker invading the Medhall building in search of my father. Even approaching the subject from an objective point of view, it seemed remarkably unlikely that the two attacks were unrelated. I could see Skidmark and Squealer turning up as a natural consequence arising from our attack on their drug-infested area, but not a mercenary villain and a disgraced so-called hero joining forces to abduct an injured civilian from a heretofore hidden location.

Unfortunately, this led onto the next conclusion. Shadow Stalker was known to be violent and impulsive, so it was exceedingly unlikely for her to be the brains of this operation, or even to have taken any serious part in the planning for it. From the way Circus had abandoned her, she was at best a disposable patsy with zero useful knowledge.

Proposition: Whoever tipped Lung off is the person who betrayed us.

Situational analysis: Without Oni Lee as backup, he is still powerful but much more vulnerable.

Conclusion: If we can capture Lung and force him to talk, we can then kill him afterward.

Of course, such planning was contingent on successfully capturing Lung. Until then, we had to be content with the conspirator we actually had on hand.

Given Shadow Stalker's involvement in the whole situation, I was quite ready to find out exactly what she did know.

Whether she was willing to talk or not.

Deputy Director Renick

The number of people in the loop about the secondary key system of the ankle monitors was dismayingly large. Paul himself had only been unaware of it because he'd never been personally involved in that side of things; it was noted in the Standard Operating Procedures manual, in an appendix he hadn't had reason to peruse up to that point. Well, now I know.

And so did most of the senior officers, the strike squad commanders, and so forth. Paul scrolled through the list, hoping against hope that a name would jump out at him, but no such thing happened. He hated being in charge during dynamic situations like this; lacking an instinctive understanding of where to push hard and where to ease off, he worried constantly about chasing the wrong rabbit down the wrong hole. He was far more at ease with a page full of numbers, and time to analyse them to the last decimal place.

His phone rang, and he snatched it off the desk. In passing, he recognised the name of the man he'd set to chasing down Shadow Stalker's number. "Yes?"

"Sir, we may have something. Shadow Stalker had outside contacts in her civilian identity. If she texted or called those people, their phones will have her number in them. Permission to go offsite and retrieve a phone for analysis."

He caught his breath. That could actually work. "Uh … do you have names? Locations?"

"Emma Barnes is the name we have on record. Daughter of Alan Barnes, who represented Shadow Stalker at the hearing that placed her in the Wards."

"Good. Do it. Uh, wait. We're going to need a search warrant … hmm. Hold for the moment. Send me Alan Barnes' phone number."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later, his phone beeped with an incoming text message. When he opened it, it was the phone number he'd requested. "Okay, I'm going to hang up now. I'll keep you in the loop."

Now, this was something he could do. He wasn't a hard-ass like Emily, but he was actually pretty good with people, or so he liked to think. Tapping on the number, he made the phone call.

It rang a few times, which didn't help the growing tension in his guts, but eventually it was picked up. A drowsy voice mumbled, "This is Alan Barnes. Can it wait until morning?"

"Mr Barnes, this is Deputy Director Renick of the PRT." Paul made his voice crisp without being officious or overbearing. "I have an important question for you, which might just save someone's life."

He could hear the extra wakefulness in Alan Barnes' voice when the man answered next. "Question? Whose life? What's going on?"

Paul took a moment to compose what he was going to say next. One wrong word, and they'd be doing this the long way. "Your daughter Emma is friends with Shadow Stalker in her civilian identity. We're both aware of that identity."

"Um." He seemed to be searching for words. "Emma said somethin' 'bout cuttin' ties. Since th' thing at Winslow. Hasn' been near her since."

"Understood." Honestly, Paul could not blame the girl. With the amount of trouble looming over Shadow Stalker right now, she was so radioactive she'd set off Geiger counters from halfway across the city. "Emma's not in trouble from this, I can guarantee it. We just need Shadow Stalker's personal phone number."

"Her number?" Alan Barnes seemed to be still waking up. "Why do you need that?"

Now he had to word things carefully. "We believe she's been in contact with dangerous individuals, and we need that number to find out more."

Barnes hesitated. "Send me a text promising that you're not going to use anything on that phone against Emma, and we can talk."

"Absolutely." Paul had no interest in anything but the whereabouts of Shadow Stalker. Quickly, he dashed off a text declaring that Emma Barnes would not be prosecuted for any information found on Sophia Hess' personal phone.

"Thanks. One second." There was some disjointed mumbling, then finally a text popped up on Paul's phone. It was the cell-phone number of Sophia Hess, as forwarded from the phone of Alan Barnes.

"Thank you, Mr Barnes," Paul said sincerely, but the call had already ended. He shrugged, then texted the number onward.

With any luck, it would give them a solid lead on Shadow Stalker's location. He was no field officer, but he could still contribute in his own way.

Kaiser

"So, was it hard to crack her phone?" Max was still getting used to the wheelchair, but he had enough upper-body and core strength to be able to sit like he was merely resting for a moment instead of being unable to rise.

"Funny enough, no." Krieg held up the cell-phone, which was an older model, scuffed and well-used. "Stupid child never put a password on it."

"Probably couldn't figure out how to spell 'duh'," Hookwolf grunted from where he leaned against the wall, arms folded. He hadn't said much since they'd gotten back, and nothing at all about Remote's role in the night's losses, but Max had seen the expression in his eyes when he glanced at her. Unless they unearthed the architect of their betrayal soon, harsh words (or worse) would likely be forthcoming, and he'd only be able to protect her so much.

"I took photos of recent texts before I pulled the battery," Krieg began to scroll through his own phone, a somewhat newer model. "They're remarkably devoid of useful information. Two nights ago, she sends a text to a new number, just saying 'I'm in'. Thirty seconds later, she gets a text back from the same number, to be on a particular rooftop at midnight last night. Just after midnight ticks over, she sends 'S here. Where r u?'. And then tonight, at around the same time you were prepping to go out, she gets another text. 'T minus thirty minutes. Same place. C'. Thirty minutes later, she gets one last text. 'Took your time.' Then nothing until after we got hit. That's when I got the phone and tried to set up a rendezvous. 'C' said Fugly's and I agreed."

"Circus," Max said at once. "It has to be." He felt a dull surge of anger toward the mercenary cape, but a necessarily greater one toward whoever had steered Lung and Oni Lee toward Remote's debut. "Did anyone show up at Fugly's?"

Krieg shook his head. "The men I sent say no. They stayed some distance away, but nobody even came close to the place. Velocity zipped past once, but that was probably unrelated. I didn't realise until I went through the messages that they already had a different meeting spot arranged."

Max nodded. It had been worth a try, but he hadn't held great hopes for the ruse. "Was there anything else on her?"

"Yeah." Victor held up a small key. His eyes were red-rimmed and his voice cracked from time to time, but he was entirely focused on the moment. "Taylor found this in her bra." The girl had searched Shadow Stalker under Victor's instruction. Stalker had objected strenuously, to the point they'd had to gag her. The search had proceeded anyway; despite Remote's ongoing lack of emotion, she had been extremely thorough. Max got the impression Victor had nominated Remote for the role of searching Shadow Stalker because if he got the chance to put his hands around the little black bitch's throat, he would not be able to stop squeezing until she was dead, and they needed her alive for the moment.

Crusader leaned forward and peered at it. "What's that supposed to open?"

There was a pause, then Remote spoke, her voice entirely free of inflection. "When I searched Shadow Stalker, I saw the impression of a band around her left ankle, but not around the right ankle. I wondered if it was significant."

"Ankle monitor," Victor said. "Taylor, you're a fucking genius. She was in deep shit from the Winslow incident, to the point that they had an ankle monitor on her. They were probably working on lining up all the ducks so they could finally do what they should've done years ago and punt her into juvey."

Max nodded. "That makes a great deal of sense. It also explains why she was approached; with the level of animosity I understand she holds toward Remote, a feral animal like that wouldn't need any encouragement at all to break her boundaries and come after Remote's father."

Crusader sat back again. "I'm just surprised that they're actually going so far as to punish her. Don't poor defenceless 'minorities' automatically get a pass with that sort of thing?" He added the air quotes with his fingers, because he was annoying like that.

Max smiled grimly. "That was our doing. Or rather Taylor's and young Ferguson's. When they caught Stalker red-handed like that, and the Empire was the one to hand the black criminal over to the police, we embarrassed them immensely. So they've undoubtedly decided to make an example of her, to keep the other token minorities in line." It was what he'd do, after all.

"Makes sense." Victor tapped the key against the table. "I'm seeing the shape of what happened here. Tell me if anything sounds off to you. Shadow Stalker is sitting in the PRT building and someone smuggles in the key for her ankle cuff. This also includes a note with a phone number and an offer to get back at Taylor for her imagined transgressions. She texts back an acknowledgement, and they reply with instructions to meet. The meet with Circus goes through, she gets instructions face to face, goes back. Comes out tonight, meets up with Circus again, and hits Medhall."

"Yes, but who ordered it?" asked Max reasonably. "Who's paying Circus for all this? And how did they manage to smuggle the key and note into the middle of the PRT building? If she was in a cell, they wouldn't have had the ankle monitor on her, so she was probably in the Wards area, which is two basement levels underground. Someone had to have serious clearance within the building to pull that off."

Remote cleared her throat. "I have been thinking about that. It requires three significant assumptions to be made, but there is only one logical contender. Coil."

Hookwolf blinked. "What, really? The snake costume dude?"

"What are the assumptions that need to be made?" asked Max thoughtfully. He noted that Victor wasn't objecting, and in fact seemed to be seriously considering the idea.

"First assumption," Remote said, in that eerie robotic voice. "That there is not some entirely hidden player within the Brockton Bay underworld, working undetected by everyone. Second assumption. Coil has a Thinker power, or access to some other resource, that has allowed him to uncover the inner secrets of the Empire Eighty-Eight without anyone finding out until now. Third assumption. Coil either is, or can give orders to, a moderately high-ranking member of the PRT."

There was silence in the room after she finished speaking. Max glanced at Victor, then at Krieg. Both looked a little stunned, which wasn't surprising after that particular bombshell. Crusader just looked like he'd kicked a puppy and it had bitten his leg off.

"Jesus Christ, girl, you know how to hand out the big hits." Victor ran his hands over his face.

"That's if it's true," scoffed Hookwolf. "Sounds like a whole lot of nothing to me." He gave Remote a challenging stare. "You got anything to back that up?"

"Wait, wait," interjected Victor. "Let's not go off half-cocked. I can accept the first assumption right now. The other two, if they're true, would explain so fucking much."

Max made another connection in his mind. "Coil uses regular mercenaries, doesn't he? It wouldn't be a huge stretch for him to have Circus on his payroll too."

Victor nodded. "Okay, so if what Remote is surmising is true, Coil's the man whose throat I need to get my hands around. How do we go about verifying it before we go all-out after the man?"

Max knew what he meant. Coil had a reputation for being slippery as hell; even more so than that irritating little gang of smash and grab artists, the Undersiders. And if he was behind this, he'd be taking more precautions than normal.

Remote spoke up again. "As I see it, Shadow Stalker will know little to nothing. She will only have met Circus. We need to lay our hands on either Circus or Lung and question them, and I doubt very much that Circus will be doing anything visible for the time being."

"Yeah, the little freak would've gone underground, all right." Victor steepled his fingers. "Finding Lung won't be hard. Capturing him, more difficult. Questioning him … yeah, that won't be fun at all."

Remote shrugged. "Build me the correct armour, and I will capture and question him. Then, once he is out of the way, we target Coil."

"Whoa, whoa, dial it back a bit there, T-bird," Crusader objected. "Lung's way too tough. He tore up your armour before, he'll do it again."

"And that is what he thinks, too." Remote's tone never shifted. "But I have fought him twice. I know which tactics work against him, and which ones do not. In addition, he now faces two huge disadvantages. First, he is used to having Oni Lee at his side to harass his opponents, but I killed Oni Lee. Second, the armour he faced tonight was not optimised to take him down. I hurt him with what I had, but I can do much more than that. With the right equipment, I can destroy him."

"Hah!" Hookwolf bellowed a bark of laughter. "Shit, girl, you don't think much of yourself, do you? Even ramped up as hard as I can go, I still gotta back off from Lung when he gets too big. He'll melt your armour to a puddle, and fry you inside it. Go back to the little leagues, where you belong."

Victor shook his head. "Brad, you weren't there. You didn't see her going up against him. Even as distracted as she was, she could've won if things had gone just a little differently. In fact, she was doing so well that when Glory Girl showed up, he decided to pull back rather than keep fighting. And then when Glory Girl turned on us, Taylor won, even in damaged armour."

"I concur," Max said. "Remote, Victor, build that armour. The ABB and Coil have hit us hard. It's time to hit back."

"Hell, yes!" Crusader pumped his fist in the air. "Remember fucking Pearl Harbor! Let's nuke those slanty-eyed fuckers!"

Max smiled coldly. That particular instance hadn't been in his mind, but it would do. However, there was just one more matter to take care of, and he was the wrong man for the task. "Remote."

"Yes, sir?"

"Go to Peter. He will need to see you."

"Yes, sir."

"And while you're there ... turn your power off."

This time, there was a slight but noticeable hesitation. "... yes, sir."

Back straight, she left the room.

Remote

As I entered the room where Peter awaited, he looked up from the book he was reading. "Oh, thank God!" he gasped, putting his book to one side and levering himself to his feet.

I looked at the bandage on his calf and the way he favoured that leg. "How badly are you injured?" I asked. "Krieg did not seem to consider it very serious."

"Just a nick," he tried to claim, though I could see it was more than that. "Shadow Stalker's arrow got me on the way past. It only started really hurting once it was all over. How about you? Are you okay?"

"A few bruises and minor first-degree burns," I admitted. "I need to speak to Victor about a more heat-resistant insulator within the armour. Nothing that requires medical attention. How is my father?"

"Oh, he wasn't harmed at all, thankfully." He put his arms around me and gave me a hug. "Though for a few moments there, I really thought my number was up. Stalker shot an arrow at my head, but Mr Fliescher got there just in time and slowed everything down. Including her. Then he shot her with a taser, and we rigged up electrified restraints before she came to."

"That's good." I stood there for a moment. "Peter, I need to warn you that I will be dropping my power in a few seconds."

"Oh." His arms tightened around me. "Was it really bad?"

"Othala died. Kaiser and Rune and Glory Girl nearly died. I fought Lung and killed Oni Lee. I suspect that I might become hysterical and irrational."

"Okay, okay, right. Come on, I'm going to sit back in this armchair, and you're going to sit on my lap."

"That sounds uncomfortable and awkward, for you. You will not be able to get away from me."

"Doesn't matter." He led me back to the chair, lowered himself into it, then guided me onto his lap. I suspected that it was indeed somewhat awkward for him, but he showed no signs of wishing to evict me. "Okay, I'm ready."

I considered briefly going to my room and locking the door so that I might weather the storm of my emotions where nobody could see, but it was too late. His arms were locking me in, and it would be rude of me to push him away. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath …

… and let it all go.

Taylor

While I was comfortably numb behind the protective walls of my power, I could intellectually ponder the loss of a good friend such as Othala without the slightest discomfort. But once I dropped the power, allowing the daggers of loss and grief to stab deep into the soft underbelly of my emotions, all the pain in the universe roared down upon me. I let out the breath I had taken in a long wail, howling my anger and agony to the four winds.

Peter held me tightly, even as I struggled and flailed against his grasp. I beat on his chest with my fists, my eyes flooding with tears and my screams tearing my throat ragged. Every last emotion that had banked up within me over the last few hours came out at once; the anger, the fear and the sorrow. He absorbed the impact of them all, murmuring words of comfort into my uncaring ears while he stroked my hair.

The storm eventually passed, as storms do, leaving waterlogged wreckage in its wake. Peter's shirt was a total mess, soaked with my tears and smeared with my snot, but he was still holding me steadfastly as I cried myself out. As I came around to myself again, I realised that he was still comforting me with his voice, as he had been the whole way through. It hadn't mattered much to me then, but it certainly did now.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling his arms around me as a comforting refuge rather than a prison for my anguish. "I've got to be the absolute worst girlfriend ever. No reactions, then all the reactions."

He chuckled warmly. "Trust me, Taylor, I'll take you over every other girl I know. With you, I know exactly what I'm getting."

Now, how could I argue with something like that?

Saturday Morning, February 19, 2011
PRT Building

Director Emily Piggot's Office

"You had a busy night last night, I see." Emily sat down, pulling her chair in carefully. "Give me the highlights."

Renick took a deep breath. "Someone slipped Shadow Stalker a key to her ankle monitor, and she made a run for it."

"Shit." Emily contained her reaction past that first word. "Do we have a lead on her location?"

"No." Renick looked even unhappier. "We got a line on her second phone, but its last cell-tower ping was in the Downtown district. No GPS, because it was shut all the way down before we started looking. But we found texts that indicated collusion with an outside person. She got the key two nights ago and sneaked out twice on successive nights. A couple of the texts were signed with the initial 'C'."

Emily frowned, thinking. "Could be something, could be nothing. Not many cape names in this city start with C." Somehow, she doubted it was Clockblocker.

Renick nodded. "We're looking into that, and into who knew about keys that unlock ankle cuffs without setting off an alert."

"Well, I did," Emily informed him. "Most PRT officers do." She paused. "Wait, are you saying it was someone in this damn building who passed it to her?"

"That's what it's looking like," he confessed. "None of the security footage we've got of her show contact with any non-PRT affiliated personnel."

"God dammit," she growled. "Moles in my goddamn building. Do we have anything else?"

"We pulled a phone number off the texts, and checked those records," Renick informed her. "It's also shut down, so probably a burner. Tower pings indicate it was only used in the Downtown area. It was used to send texts to and from two phones; Stalker's and one other."

"Which is also a goddamn burner, no doubt," Emily predicted. "Did you get anything useful?"

"Not 'crack the case' useful, but definitely 'build a picture' useful." Renick paused, apparently to gather his thoughts. "The exchanges between the other phone and 'C' read as someone getting a go-ahead from the boss to carry out a pre-planned action. 'C''s texts read like they're recruiting Stalker for ... well, for whatever it is. The other phone also pinged only in that same area. However, the last exchange between 'C' and Stalker was interesting. 'C' tried to contact Stalker a couple of times, then when she answered they set up a meet, which 'C' described as the last place they'd met, being Fugly's. Except neither phone was anywhere near there, and the one meeting place described in the texts was only a couple of blocks from this building."

"Any idea what Stalker was being recruited for, or why she'd be so stupid as to accept?" Emily shook her head in disbelief. "She had to know we'd find out sooner or later."

"If there's anything the last ten years has taught me," Renick said somberly, "it's that teenagers consider themselves infallible and immortal. And that's before you factor powers into the mix."

"I wish I could prove you wrong." Emily leaned back in her chair. "What do you think that last exchange was about? A coded message, or someone else got hold of Stalker's phone?"

"I tend to favour the latter," Renick decided. "Which means she either dropped it, or she was captured by whoever she was needed as muscle to hit."

"She used to carry razor-sharp arrows for those crossbows of hers," Emily reminded him. "I would be totally unsurprised to find out that she still had caches of the damn things all over the city. As soon as we get a report of someone with an arrow wound, we'll know who she hit, which will probably be also who's got her. What else is there?"

"There was a big fight up at the Trainyards, just like the rumour said. What the Merchants call their territory. Lung was involved. Lots of rubble and scorch-marks and blood on the ground." Renick took a deep breath. "Word on the street is that Oni Lee is dead, and Lung is pissed. Also, Skidmark and Squealer got caught up in it, Squealer's latest tank was trashed, and Skidmark's dead. Coroner says extreme blunt force trauma to the back and head. Squealer's apparently in hiding, or building a new tank. One of the two."

"Jesus." Cape battles were a fact of life in Brockton Bay, but fatalities were uncommon. "Skidmark and Squealer killed Oni Lee?"

"What witnesses we have, who swear they were miles away at the time but heard it from a friend of a friend, claim there was a giant robot on site as well."

"Of course there was." Emily wanted to curse. "Were any of Stalker's arrows found on site? Any evidence she was there at all?"

Renick shook his head. "None so far."

"Good." Emily's lips thinned in an approximation of a smile. "So it's probably entirely unrelated."

"That's what I was thinking, yes."

"Fine. I'll take it from here. Go home and get some sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

Dallon Household

Panacea

Amy sat at Vicky's bedside. Her sister lay still, breathing steadily. She was as healthy as Amy could make her ...

... almost.

While Amy had ensured that Vicky's brain was once more receiving a healthy supply of blood, and that there were no more ongoing problems within her skull, the damage had been done. Between the initial blood loss and the other injuries she'd taken, her brain had been deprived of sufficient oxygen for a dangerous amount of time. Her body twitched when prodded, and flinched when Amy nipped skin between her fingernails, but she remained unconscious no matter what stimuli were applied.

The trouble was, Amy could see where the damage was, and she knew exactly how to fix it. It would be easy. Too easy, in fact.

Years ago, when Amy had first gotten her powers, Carol's admonitions had led her to set herself a rule that she'd never broken. I will not do brains. Not because they were hard to understand, or to affect, but because everything in there was so interconnected that changing one small part would risk changing the whole; turning the person into someone else.

At that time, she'd still been buying into the bullshit notion that if she did absolutely everything by The Book (being the set of rules that Carol had established for her, yet hadn't actually told her about) then at some point she would gain her mother's approval and they would be One Happy Family. Since then, she'd become more and more cynical about the whole thing, while being unable to break away from the habits she had set for herself, such as walking to the hospital in the middle of the night. And of course she had pined hopelessly after Vicky, while at the same time hating herself for being such a fucking pervert.

All that had changed, the day after Victor shot her in the leg.

She'd always 'known' she was entirely free to use (or not use) her power any way she felt like. But now, she knew it. Gone were the midnight walks to the hospital; instead, she got a good night's sleep, and awoke refreshed and ready to roll. Yes, she still dropped in occasionally after school, but she didn't feel obligated to do so. It was just a thing she did because she felt like it. As for kowtowing to every last whim of Carol's, that was definitely a thing of the past. Best of all, Mark was actually being a proper dad these days, and backed her up when Carol tried to push her.

But now, as she sat over Vicky, she found herself wrestling with that one last rule. No brains. Never brains.

There was a step at the bedroom door; as Amy looked up, Carol entered. She didn't pull another chair over to sit next to Amy. Instead, she stood there, looming over the both of them.

"Why?" she asked, almost harshly.

"I'm sorry," Amy said, knowing the question was intended to make her feel guilty, but refusing to let it happen. I've done nothing wrong. "What exactly are you asking about? Why did my sister go out and take on the Empire when she knew she shouldn't have? I'd say Vicky's motivations are a closed book to me, but that bit's easy. She hates the Empire, and she really hates Victor, for shooting me. Why did the Empire bring her back to us when she was the one who attacked them? Because they had injured too, and they actually lost Othala on the way. Why did I heal them? Because that was the deal. Or were you asking about a more esoteric aspect of the universe?"

Truly, not being constantly worried about what Carol might think of her was intensely liberating.

As Carol stood there, fists clenched, Amy fancied she could hear the tendons creaking from the strain they were under. "No. I was asking why you have not. Healed. Her. Brain. Injury. Yet." The last word landed in the conversation like an anvil.

"Oh, that bit's easy." Amy looked up at Carol. "Free will, mainly."

Tension twanged in the room as Carol stared at her with growing outrage. "Free will? Free will? You're a healer! It's what you do! And she's your sister! Why, in God's name—"

"Not my free will, or at least, not entirely," Amy interrupted. "Though I have to say, 'it's what you do' kinda robs me of my agency. Can we not say that anymore? Thanks."

Carol glared at her with enough ferocity that Amy was kind of glad she didn't have eye lasers. "If not your free will, then whose?"

"Vicky's." Amy considered adding a duh, but refrained on account of wanting to maintain the moral high ground. "If I fix her brain, I will almost certainly make changes that alter the way she sees the world, or even the way she thinks. The Vicky we get after the fact will not be the exact same Vicky we had yesterday. Are you willing to go there?"

"She'll still be my daughter, in every way that counts." Carol glowered down at Amy. "Make what changes you need to. Just fix her."

"Sure, in a second." Amy stood up to face her. "But before I do, answer me this. Why did you yell at Mark and Aunt Sarah for literally having mental problems removed when at the same time you're okay with Vicky not being precisely the same if I just fix her at all?"

Carol stared at her, as though entirely unable to comprehend the question. "Mark and Sarah were alive and well before. Vicky is in a coma. There's no comparison."

"You're half right," Amy countered. "Mark and Aunt Sarah were alive, but they certainly weren't well. Aunt Sarah's been living with PTSD for the last twenty-plus years. Mark's been a chronic depressive for longer than I've been around. Now they're not only alive, but they're happy to be that way, for the first time in literally decades. And yet, you're still pissed at them, while at the same time urging me to do something that's got a non-zero chance of turning Vicky into someone who's not Vicky. Can't you see the hypocrisy in that?"

"You don't understand." Carol's anger seemed to have gone beyond shouting to a frozen rage. "Scapegoat changed them. They're not like they used to be. I don't recognise them anymore."

You should. I do. But Amy knew that was because she always tried to see the best in Mark and Sarah, while Carol was apparently content with seeing the worst. "And you don't care if that happens to Vicky, just so long as you get her back?" She kept her voice even, trying to get her point through to Carol.

"No!" The shouting was back. "I don't!"

Slowly, Amy nodded. "Well, so long as we all know where your priorities lie."

Leaning over Vicky, she cupped her sister's face in her hands. Vicky's biology became crystal clear to her once more, and she went to work. Working as carefully as she knew how, she rejuvenated the damaged brain matter and slotted it back together so as to allow the spark of consciousness. Vicky's personality would've been likewise fragmented, but all the pieces were there, so Amy reassembled those as well. And if a hypothetical observer had remarked that she introduced just a shade more caution to her sister's future thought processes, she would have told them to mind their own damn business.

After all, Carol didn't care if Vicky wasn't exactly the same as before, so it was all good, right?

All in all, it took less time than she expected and more time than she hoped. Stepping back, she dusted her hands off theatrically. "Done," she announced. "And just by the way, you're welcome."

Vicky's eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes. Next, she yawned and stretched, then looked around. "Huh," she said with a thoughtful frown. "What did I miss?"

"Not a lot," Amy said. "Imma get breakfast. Want some?"

"Uh, sure!" Vicky bounced up from the bed, and landed on her feet. "Wow, I'm totes hungry. That robot really did a number on me."

"Come on, you can tell me all about it." Amy grabbed her by the hand and towed her from the room, leaving Carol staring after them.

She'd still get yelled at later for her 'attitude', but it wasn't like she cared anymore.

End of Part Twenty-Four