Synesthesia

by Xomniac

Music and Color bring freedom and a new player to the dark streets of Brockton Bay. The Composer has arrived, and she intends to play her song for all to hear.

6. Sonata 5

Sonata 5

-o-

Armsmaster grumbled into the paint mask venomously as he scrubbed furiously at his helmet with a steel wool brush, trying futilely to remove the neon orange color with the newest concoction of chemicals he had devised as he wore down his gloved fingers to the bone. It was supposedto be so utterly caustic to paint that it was also highly hazardous to breathe in for even a moment.

The end result was a lot of effort for nothing as the paint stayed vibrant, his fingers ached. At this rate, the brush was going to wear down before anything else did.

"Have you tried sulfuric acid?" Dragon asked in contained amusement from the screen she was watching from.

"And hydrochloric, and nitric, and phosphoric, and citric..."

"Wait, isn't that last one lemon juice?"

Armsmaster slammed the piece of equipment on the workbench, tossing the chemical-stained gloves and brush into the waste bin before ripping the mask off his face as he walked towards his desk, "At this point, I'm willing to try anything! They managed to deface the PRT HQ, circumvent the Wards, even turn one into a fan! And now they're escalating!"

Dragon frowned as she watched her comrades' agitation, "Are you really sure it's all that bad? I know they are part of the reason Lung was defeated, but seeing how the interrogation of his still conscious underlings revealed that the Reapers attacked due to overhearing them planning on assaulting the Undersiders, can't we lighten up a bit?"

Armsmaster took a moment to breath deeply before turning to type on a keyboard, "We could, if it weren't for the latest information gathered on them." He brought up several photographs, each highlighting different tattoo-animal hybrids and tattoo-enhanced Reapers as he leaned back and massaged his temples with a free hand.

"We knew that they were capable in part of some yet unknown method provided to them by the Composer to use paint as a tool. The most common we've seen are the wings or legs that many Reapers have been using to give themselves enhanced mobility. But at the fight, I documented and confirmed that they have been withholding a massive amount of potential uses that changes how they must be handled. And there's more. Look," He brought up a picture of one of the few known Reapers jumping into the air, "This is Gangsta a week ago. As you can see, when she creates her wings, The tattoo's and imagery on her shoulders and arms light up. But look at this..."

He brought up another image, this time showing Gangsta kneeling on the ground surrounded by a bird logo, "This was Gangsta last night. Do you see? Her tattoos. They've grown. Whatever the Composer initially did to her, she, and it is a she, I can confirm that, expanded on them. Enhanced them, from producing wings to this!" He brought up several images of the raven-esque giant.

"And that is merely the most outstanding. There is evidence that all of the Reapers are capable of this on some level with what we recovered from studying the injuries to the ABB, ranging from broken bones to claw marks and even cases of paralysis from some form of toxin similar to certain species of jellyfish at the scene. Whatever she is doing to or with the Reapers to give them these abilities, what happens if she continues? Makes more of them? She could be like Teacher all over again, only far more destructive if our initial theories prove correct."

"Whatever it is, she is equipping or somehow granting limited abilities based on her own. And in the end we'll have a potential army of augmented humans on our hands, bordering Parahuman and still no real understanding of how any of it works without studying the source. Just that it involves this paint they call 'Noise' that we are still unable to understand at all!"

The Tinker gnashed his teeth and threw a hand up in the direction of his defaced armor, and the few scarce scrapings of paint he had managed to get into vials.

"To say nothing about the Director's concern about a potential Master factor involved with whatever process seems to give them these abilities. What if-"

He was interrupted by the door to his lab being nearly swung off it's hinges, only to hiss to a stop scant inches from slamming into the wall as the safeties in the hinges caught it.

"Hey Army!" Assault chuckled as he strode into the workshop, "I knew you would be in here! Geeze, I already told you, didn't I? Drinks. On me. At Fugly's! Come on, you're supposed to be the super genius, what's so hard to remember about that?"

Armsmaster growled as he slowly looked over his shoulder and glared at his teammate, "Swear to god I am going to use the absolute limit of acceptable force when I find the Reaper that came up with that stupid nickname... I already told you I don't have time for drinks, I'm working."

"Clearly!" Assault's smirk was easily visible as he examined the defaced helmet, "Man, credit where it's due, those Reapers have a fine sense of style! You should keep it that way! Oh! Or maybe you could ask the Reapers to make the rest of your armor-!"

*SMACK!*

"OUCH!"

Assault yelped in pain when a green blur zipped up behind him and slapped him upside the head.

"Will you stop antagonizing him?" Battery demanded impatiently, "It's clear he feels bad enough already."

Assault pouted at his wife, "But puppy-OW!"

"And stop calling me that!"

"Not what you were saying last ni-YEARGH! Stop doing that!"

Battery sighed exasperatedly as she shook her head in despair, "Sorry about him, Armsmaster. I tried to stop him, but-"

"Hey, cool!" Before either could react, the boisterous hero had dashed up to Armsmaster and was appreciatively examining what was on the screen over his shoulder, "Look at this! I love Reaper art! Man, this stuff is sweet!"

Armsmaster glared angrily at Assault, "These are evidence, not art. They're helping me estimate the threat posed by the Reapers."

Battery hung her head miserably, "I'm with you there. These things are more nuisance than artwork. But..." She gave the Tinker an uneasy look, "Threat? I'll admit, the Reapers are annoying as hell, but that's all they are. I doubt they're actually willing to cause any real damage."

"Well personally..."

All the heads present turned in surprise and watched as Miss Militia entered the lab, followed by Dauntless and Velocity, who was listening to music on a pair of headphones.

"I find their art and their purpose to be inspiring." She finished.

Armsmaster stared at her bemusedly for a moment before sighing and running his hand over his face, "Alright, I've been doing my best to understand sentiments and such better, but could you explain the logic behind that to me please?"

Miss Militia crossed her arms definitively, "When I came to America, the best parts of this nation that I came to love and cherish were freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of religion... the defining part of the United States is the promised freedom. The Reapers advocate freedom on a daily basis, and from what the ABB we have down in interrogation are saying, the Reapers attacked them because they weren't about to allow Lung to take away someone else's freedom. In my honest opinion, that's truly admirable."

Assault whooped gleefully, darting up to her and sticking his hand out, "Yeah! Fight the system! Up high!"

Miss Militia gave him a bemused look before half-heartedly high-fiving him.

Armsmaster sighed tiredly before turning to look at Dauntless, "And what about you?"

The up and coming hero held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back, "Hey, hey, hey, I'm not a part of this. I just do what you and the Director tell me. These guys become a menace, we fight them. They turn out to be nice, great! But when it comes to art, I can't tell violet from indigo, so it's a moot point to me."

"And you, Velocity?"

The speedster ignored him, instead bobbing his head in time to the music he was listening to.

"Velocity!"

The man jerked in surprise. He scrambled with his headphones for a second before jerking them down to hang around his neck. The sound of music filtered through them and into the surrounding air, "What?"

"Your opinion on the Reapers?" Miss Militia prompted.

Velocity hesitated for a second before plastering a hasty grin on his face. "U-uh, right! Scoundrels! The lot of them! Lock 'em up and throw away the key I say, right Armsmaster?"

The Tinker frowned as he concentrated intently on something.

"A-Armsmaster?"

Finally, he reacted, his frown turning into a scowl.

"Velocity..." He asked darkly.

"Y-yeah?"

"Please explain to me..." He continued in a menacing tone, "Why exactly you're listening to DJ Synth's dubstep?"

Velocity paled dramatically, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish, "Um... well... I-you see-!" He sped off in a blur of red before anyone could react.

Armsmaster groaned in fatigue, choosing to massage his face with his hands rather than say anything. Slowly, he rotated his chair and look up pleadingly at Dragon, who had been silent the entire time, "Et tu, Dragon?"

The Canadian woman on the computer screen glanced back and forth for a second before giving a sheepish grin, "I find their work to be... aesthetically pleasing?"

BANG!

The heroes jumped in surprise when Armsmaster slammed his forehead into the keyboard before him.

"Assault." He groaned, "I changed my mind. I need alcohol. Otherwise I'm going to snap and burn this place to the ground..."

The villain turned hero howled with laughter.

However before the any further ribbing could occur, Armsmaster's console beeped at him, causing the stressed hero to perk up even as he reached for the keyboard. Miss Militia, on the other hand, looked inquisitively at the screens, as a small corner in one flashed.

"What's that?"

The tinker grunted, even as he typed away and brought up a new window in the main monitor, "It's an alert I've setup for whenever something concerning the Reapers that requires attention comes up. Someone's livestreaming a Reaper event in progress. It's tagged for other Reapers, but I've been trying to crack their networking with some success."

"So do you have any idea where they're broadcasting from?"

He scowled angrily as he started typing faster, "No. They've somehow found a way to bounce the signal around enough that it's a digital Gordian knot, and one I can't cut at that. The best we can do is watch."

"Oh hell yeah!" Assault cheered, "Screw Fugly Bob's, I'm going to grab some popcorn from the rec room! Movie night! Someone want to invite the Wards?"

Dragon, however, intervened as her concerned tone cut off the cape from running out of the room, "I'm getting the same broadcast, and I can say that this doesn't look like entertainment. This looks….serious."

"Serious from the Reapers?" Assault's grin went from mischievous to hungry, "Now I have to see this."

The hero's gathered around the screen, as the video started. On it, they could see the Composer on a stage in a dark room, illuminated by stage lights with Gangsta off to one side and another Reaper to the other.

Armsmaster pointed out the second Reaper, "I recognize him. He finished the work a Reaper was doing on the PRT Headquarters when Miss Militia stopped her. The radio broadcast the other day identifies him as 'Grunge' if I remember correctly."

"Alright folks..." She said as she started to pace back and forth, "...most of you probably already heard about what happened last night and why. Canton got a visit from some recruiters, and turned them down thanks to him having a few friends along. Now, it's a fact. Hell, it's a freaking creed we've taken up that we look out for our own. And having the ABB just walk up and try to take one us? Well, that doesn't roll. So Gangsta, in true Reaper spirit, decided to do as we typically do and make a message. We got together, went out, had fun, and painted our words like we always do."

Dauntless whistled appreciatively, "Wow. That's loyalty for you, I guess."

She stopped for a moment, looking out over the silent crowd before continuing, "Then things went south. Apparently Lung was gathering guns for an attack on some kids. And there came the problem: We Reapers haven't fought the gangs. Not ever, not in a way that matters. We'll stick up for ourselves, not back down when some punk tries to mess with us because he has fresh colors and feels larger than life."

"So basically when they painted your ride puke-green it was because...?"

"Shut up, Assault."

" But we haven't done anything to challenge them. It's how we have survived like we have. We're artists, free thinkers. Those that don't want to fit in a box, or who didn't feel like living in the mould of society or the gangs."

"Sounds like a bunch of people after my own heart!"

"Assault, I will ask for permission from Director Piggot to use you as target practice, and I have a feeling she will agree."

"There are some who couldn't even if they wanted to here. We lay low, keep separate. What we do is try to spread our word, our belief through our actions instead of what we say. We are Reapers. We won't be handed our freedom, we'll reap it for ourselves. Do you know what that means?"

The silence was deafening. So she went on.

Grunge, from one edge of the screen, spoke up, "We won't accept whatever fate is decided for us by anyone else." The Reaper rumbled.

Gangsta nodded in solemn agreement as she answered from the other half, "We carve our own path in life, and we paint it and decorate it and walk it as we see fit."

They continued to watch as the Composer nodded, "Yes. Our freedom. Not the freedom given to us by other people. Not the people who say one thing is right and one thing is wrong, not by the gangs or anyone. Our freedom. Not anyone elses."

Miss Militia nodded approvingly even as she turned and smirked triumphantly at Armsmaster from behind her scarf, "Told you."

The Tinker grumbled in acknowledgement.

" But we also have a second goal!"

"Ha!" He exclaimed jabbing his finger at his teammate.

The Composer crossed her arms definitively. "Our goal is to protect, not just our freedom, but that of anyone else that finds they don't have it. Reapers will reap, not just for themselves but for others. It doesn't show, but it's there. In or out, normal or not, we will do our best to help someone who needs it."

Miss Militia leaned in close so that she was mere inches away from Armsmaster, "Ha." She stated, a triumphant gleam obvious in her eyes..

"Shush! We're trying to watch!" Was the twin response from Assault and Battery as they glared at the pair angrily, before turning their attention back to the screen. Dauntless merely shook his head, and Armsmaster grumbled as he looked back at the screen as well.

"Alot of us didn't even start out as artists, or taggers, or dancers or musicians or whatever else. They started out as someone who didn't have much of anything, someone who felt like they were missing something, but didn't know what. Until a single Reaper came along, and showed them the little ways they could discover what they never had, truly had."

At this point, Miss Militia's triumphant look was slowly replaced by something else. Distant, sad and contemplative as the speech continued. Even Armsmaster noticed, and for a brief second spared as close to a comforting smile as he could manage for his teammate.

"As such, we got some of the best humans imaginable here all in one room. All ages, genders, races, and everything else anyone has ever been labeled with. We got people who used to be rancher's till they lost the farm, fishermen till they lost their boats, mechanics and everything from every single walk of life."

Battery swallowed heavily, "Wow, the economy wasn't kind, huh?"

Dragon chipped in from her screen, "No, it wasn't. The damages from capes, Endbringers, and so many other factors have had an incredible impact on the world and it's economy. There are many parts that are in far worse situations, but Brockton Bay's is particularly notable due to the amount of Parahuman activity after the coastal shipping in the area ceased and much of economy moved farther inland. Farmland outside the city was unable to find buyers in the local area, and the loss of the docks hit the maritime businesses harder than others." Her frown took on a sad tinge. "It's a shame. Some of these pictures of the ferry are... quite beautiful."

"We have brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, and those that don't have any of that anymore, or never truly did. We made more than a gang, a group, or a movement. We made a family. People who will stick up for each other no matter what, and will stick out their necks for someone they don't know just because it's the right thing to do. That is what the Reapers stand for. As such, it was why we decided to face Lung, face him and his men, and defend those that he threatened. Didn't matter afterwards that they were a gang of teenage parahumans. They had never wronged us, but still. We stuck out our necks for them, because it was the right thing to do, because they had the right to live, just as much as you or I."

The onlookers attention redoubled as the speech's the tone changed, The Composer's stance was becoming something else. Something... aggressive. Something revolutionary and inspiring.

"And now..." She spread her arms out wide. "We all stand at a crossroads. We stood up. We weren't a mash-up patchwork bunch of artists anymore. We stood up, and we became a threat. So now we have to make a choice. What do we do? Our strength was our invisibility. We looked weak, we acted it. We would run rather than fight. So everyone didn't pay us mind."

Armsmaster scowled in frustration, "So she knows how strong they are."

Dauntless gave him a surprised look, "You thought they didn't?"

"I'd hoped. It would have helped make them less threatening. Nothing's more dangerous than a person who knows exactly what they're capable of."

"To the gangs, we were just a thorn. Sure, we were annoying, but we were small enough to not be worth removing. To the PRT, we weren't a gang. We were just vandals, unruly teenagers at best with some loose organization. Not worth the manpower to stamp out. To the public, we weren't much better then the gangs. Just another bunch of thugs waiting to happen. But this won't be the case for much longer…"

Armsmaster was now outright frowning. Something here was setting off his instincts, those engrained senses of something being wrong. But he couldn't place it.

"So here and now, we discuss our future. Do we step past that boundary, push further? Push harder? Or do we lay low? Do we make this a unique occurrence, and let this storm blow over? Talk is that what isn't caged up of Lung's gang is going to gun for us. Going to gun for anyone that calls themselves a Reaper and isn't going to really care who they hurt in the process."

Armsmaster's brow furrowed, "And here I hoped we had a bit more time..."

"Talk is, the Empire is looking at things now like a buffet, waiting for the chance to pounce and tear the city up for their little doctrine."

Assault scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, like that's anything new."

"The PRT is looking at us like a new gang, and is gearing up to take us down if we make a move."

Miss Militia shot Armsmaster a look. "Well some of us are."

The Tinker let the jab slide, "The Director's thinking the same things."

"Hell if I know what everyone else is thinking, or if they even are thinking. So now we choose. We step up? It's war. We step down? Can we live with ourselves? It'll be the classic saying of running away to fight another day, but will it? That is the question."

The Composer gestured back at Gangsta and Grunge, "These two have their own arguments on the matter. Grunge is a senior, He has been with me since the beginning, despite his ties with the PRT, despite the risk posed to him. His loyalty is unquestionable. Gangsta, on the other hand, is new, but she has shown zeal and drive beyond herself, showing a dedication to what we stand for that rivals even my own. Will any others choose to step up and speak their mind?"

Everyone in the room stiffened, and Armsmaster was already running a search in a separate screen. The revelation that a Reaper had ties to the PRT was not something that could be easily dismissed.

Silence reigned over the unseen crowd. Then...

"I will."

The Composer turned and watched as a Reaper in cowboy clothes climbed up onto the stage, his Stetson firmly on his head and his face obscured by a cowboy bandana. He nodded at her, "Might as well speak my part, whatever it may be."

The Composer nodded right back, "Southern, who's been here almost as long as Grunge, and provided shelter and support for our own with his bar. A helping hand and an ever-ready ear. All around, a good friend."

Mutters of agreement ran throughout the crowd, until finally...

"Ah screw it." A red-hooded Reaper sighed tiredly as he climbed on the stage, "Suppose there's no reason not to."

The original Reaper nodded at him as well, "Chicago Blues. Silent and quiet, but ever vigilant. Always with his ear to the ground, and always with the right piece of information. The voice of the masses."

The Composer moved to the back of the stage, even as she picked up a spare mic from a stool and tossed it towards Southern.

"Either way, good or bad, we sort this tonight. We don't have the luxury of time or resources. We have what we have here tonight, and what each and every one of you can bring to the table."

There was a silence as they leaned back, Armsmaster especially contemplative. Battery however was the first to speak as the image of the Composer vanished from the screen as she walked off the stage, "What... was that?"

Armsmaster sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at his teammate with tired eyes, "That? That was a prelude. An opening to something that could tear Brockton apart unless we do something."

"Too late for that." Assault stated, pointing at the screen, "Get comfy. The show's only just starting."

The gathering continued, despite the Composer being gone, with South stepping up to the front of the stage.

Dauntless blinked in surprise, "Wait, the Composer's gone now, shouldn't this be ending?"

"It appears that this is something akin to a political debate." Dragon answered, "It would seem that despite the Composer being influential in Reaper ideals, she is not their true leader."

Battery raised her eyebrows in surprise, "A Parahuman gang not lead by Parahumans? Is that even done?"

Armsmaster grunted and shrugged a bit, "The Sicilian Mafia at times. They follow the Don's will, and sometimes he names a successor who isn't a parahuman. They last a while without either triggering or taking a bullet to the head."

Silence fell as the cowboy-themed Reaper cleared his throat, "Alright everyone, let me make something perfectly here: Whether we decide to keep going, or whether we stop here, I couldn't honestly give a damn. Right now, there's just one thing I want: to keep us together. I don't want to see the Reapers split down the middle. I don't want to see any infighting over this issue. What we have here is something unique. Something beautiful. Mark my words, I'll fight tooth and nail to keep it going. And if that means putting you two in the hospital?"

South's right bicep lit up with a tattoo, followed by the floor glowing with a logo shaped like a pig's snout. Both Gangsta and Grunge flinched back when the logo flashed with static, forming a light purple pig with golden tattoos and massive golden horns. The pig snorted and squealed, pawing at the ground eagerly.

"Well..." South trailed off, "You better pray that Panacea is still grateful, am I clear?"

Dauntless whistled appreciatively as both the Reapers nodded eagerly, "Geeze, why are they so scared of a pig?"

Assault shrugged indifferently, "Eh, it's probably like Battery."

Battery slowly turned her head to stare at her husband in disbelief, "Ex-cuse me!?" She asked slowly, the lines on her suit starting to light up.

Assault's face morphed into an expression of horror as he realized his misstep. He hastily began waving his hands in a panic, "Woahwoahwoahwoah! W-w-what I meant was that it must pack an incredible punch for such a s-small, slim package! That's all! You buy that, right? Slim pack-!"

*SMACK!*

"OOF!" Assault wheezed in pain, doubling over around her fist, "Right in the sweet spot..." He groaned.

"Suck it up." Battery growled, turning back to watch the screen.

Southern nodded definitively, accepting their answers, "Good. Now, I'm going to step to the back and keep an eye on things. If either of you start getting out of hand, I will sic my Pig Butoh on you. And I'm not going to ask if you understand. You don't need to. It'll just happen."

Armsmaster had gone to work during the speech, taking a screenshot of the pig and typing in its name.

Miss Militia gave him a disbelieving look, "Really?"

The Tinker shrugged indifferently, "They've got a variety. Best to start compiling a database while we can."

"Plus!" Assault added, having recovered from his wife's wrath, "It'll save Glenn time if the Composer ever gets a change of heart. and decides to join us. He's been salivating ever since the report and urging the Director to recruit her at all costs."

Dauntless gave him a confused look, "How come?"

Miss Militia groaned, running her hand over her face. "The same three words that he tried to use on me when I first came to Brockton Bay."

"And those would be...?"

Miss Militia gave him a flat look, "Collect them all."

Dauntless swallowed heavily, cold sweat running down his neck, "Point taken."

Meanwhile, South had begun walking towards the back of the stage, passing his microphone off to the red-hooded Reaper as he headed towards the front.

Dragon frowned as she looked the Chicago over, "Wait a second..."

"Hm?" Armsmaster glanced up at her screen, "Something wrong?"

"Maybe..." Dragon turned away slightly as she began working on something off-screen, "Let me check something."

The Reaper stood at the front of the stage, holding himself casually. His stance was relaxed and slouched, like he could give a damn about what was going on, "Yo. For those of you who don't know or who were deaf a few minutes back, I'm Chicago Blues. Honestly, fighting? Running? Neither means much to me. All I care about is the plain old, out and out truth. And that's what I'm here to give you."

Assault tilted his head in disbelief, "How the hell is he going to do that?"

"So!" Chicago stated, "Let me lay down some facts on the Empire Eighty-Eight, resident white supremacist Parahuman gang."

Battery raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? That's it? Geeze, not very-"

"They got a standing membership of about four to five hundred skinheads scattered throughout the city. Alot of you should know their standing Parahumans: Kaiser, Fenja, Menja, Hookwolf, Cricket, Stormtiger, Victor, Othala, Rune, Krieg, Alabaster. Used to be Purity and a few others as well, but she split and took a chunk with her. Kaiser has been disputing with her over something, maybe trying to get her to go back, possibly bringing Night, Fog, and Crusader with her. But word is that whatever it's about, Purity has a hate-on for Kaiser at the current time. E88 equipment varies, and they have plenty of call in's of weaponry from other white supremacy groups. Mainly semi-automatic pistols, but quite possibly more than a few assault rifles as well. Shotguns are also a personal favorite."

Battery's jaw was hanging open in shock, "Buh-wah?!"

"Next, we have the Azn Bad Boys." Chicago continued, "Asian-based Parahuman gang. They got standing ranks of somewhere between two to three hundred soldiers, and that's after what we pulled last night. Plus, they tend to use press-ganging, so we might see a surge soon. For capes, they got some nutjob in not long ago called Bakuda, and Oni Lee. Lung's currently chilling his ass in PRT Lockdown, but considering their track-record, that's little more than a formality. I'd bet a Wooly he'll be out by dinner tomorrow. Especially if word is right that Bakuda has some kind of plan. Seen lots of ABB colors all over town doing something. Nothing near our places yet, but chances are she's rigging some kind of distraction. Their gear's 'bout the same as the E88, though with less out-of-state support."

Armsmaster growled silently, trying very hard to deny what was being said, hastily tapping out a message to the PRT HQ to redouble their guard on the draconian Parahuman, "How does he know so much?" He demanded, not expecting an answer. He was surprised when he received one.

"Because he checked!"

"Dragon?"

"Look!" Dragon brought up several images on her screen. They were snapshots from traffic cams, each in different parts of gang territory. In each one, an individual was highlighted.

Dauntless narrowed his eyes before blinking in shock, "Is... is that Chicago?"

"Is he a Parahuman?" Miss Militia asked worriedly.

Dragon shook her head in denial, "No. These are all perfectly normal pictures. As far as I can tell, Chicago just happens to be really good at getting around. He's always somewhere, listening in on what he can."

Assault nodded in acknowledgement, "Smart kid. No greater weapon on the street to wield than good intel."

"Third..." Chicago carried on unabated, "The Merchants. If you want a membership count, your guess is as good as mine. It's constantly going down with every druggie or meth-head that takes one dose too many or crosses the wrong guy, but it also keeps going up with every poor schmuck that finds peace in a needle or glass pipe. Weaponry is whatever someone can pick up or strap together. Makeshift and low-grade, their strength is just throwing idiots too drugged up to feel pain at a problem. Their capes are Skidmark, Squealer and Mush. Not much on their own, but I've heard they're also making moves towards Trainwreck, so they might be getting an actually legit heavy-hitter soon."

Battery's eyes widened in surprise, "Trainwreck? I fought him last week, when he tried to rob a jewelry store. He's a legitimate threat. If I hadn't been amped when he hit me..."

Armsmaster nodded, making a note on his computer, "Assault, tomorrow I want you to head out for the Trainyards where he's been hiding out. Remind Trainwreck that joining a gang, the Merchants especially, will not look favorable in the eyes of a judge. Take Triumph with you, it'll help him build experience."

"And lastly, in our villainous band of rogues, is Coil." Chicago shrugged helplessly, "Not much I can say on him, the guy runs a tight ship. Somewhere around a hundred or so guys, all pretty much commandos, all packing either military surplus or Tinker-tech. far as I'm aware. Coil seems to be the only cape in the place, if he even is one, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous. The guy's as slippery as a snake, and he's got people everywhere. Fact is, I know that he's been operating on intel he could only get from inside the PRT. Parahuman or not, this guy is serious business."

Armsmaster was seriously furious now, writing message after message as he worked fervently, "Dragon, could you-?"

"Pulling local files and running checks now. It could take awhile."

"Doesn't matter, so long as sooner or later, I get someone alone in a small brick room with a single lightbulb."

"Well, looks like that's everything..." Dauntless sighed.

Apparently, Chicago disagreed, "Now, I'd like to touch on the PRT and Protectorate..."

The heroes tensed simultaneously, breath catching in their throats.

"But..." The Reaper informant glanced at Grunge, who was glaring at him angrily, "Unfortunately, if I do, Grunge will ring my neck like a chicken. So yeah. No thank you." He tossed the microphone to Grunge's waiting palm, "I'm done. Peace out." He started to walk off the stage, but was grabbed by Southern and dragged back on the stage. He glared at the cowboy for a minute before sighing and standing around casually.

Miss Militia heaved a sigh, placing a hand over her chest in relief, "Thank god..."

Assault chuckled good-naturedly. "Looks like despite being a bit of a rebel, Grunge is still a good guy."

Armsmaster grunted noncommittally, "Maybe. But I still want to get my hands on both him and Blues."

"Yeah, and when you do, you become an idol for the Gay Pride parade and are henceforth banned from all E88 territory for all times."

"Target practice, Assault. Target practice."

Grunge stepped up before the crowd, nodding appreciatively at Chicago, "Thank you, Chicago, for your discretion." He looked back out over the crowd of Reapers. "Now... you all know me. And I know you. Let me say, here and now, that I love the Reapers. I love being a part of this, love being able to express myself. But I can't forget the PRT either. I can't betray them. They're my friends, my allies, and I can't let them down like that. I was willing to paint HQ because it looked better, but not that."

Assault chuckled before shrugging at the looks directed at him, "What can I say? I agree. The paintjob is great."

"But..." Grunge continued, "What I can tell you about is the PRT reaction. Simply put, they're panicking. What we did? We scared them. They're scared of us. They see us as a threat. And honestly? I don't like that. They got a job to do, trying to keep the city together. It's not right for us to interfere with that. We step up, we make this a war? It's a war they have to deal with. No one want's to admit it, but between the E88, the ABB, the Merchant's and every two-bit thug on the streets, they can barely keep up. Not without cutting off their own legs. They got rules they need to play by, things they need to do. Rules that no one else has to follow but them."

"Oh yeah?" Attention was drawn to the younger Reaper, Gangsta, when she spoke up, "Well news flash, their little rules are lynching the rest of us!"

The muscle bound Reaper smashed his fist into his other hand, producing an audible thwack to punctuate his point.

"Look, Gangsta! The fact of the matter is, there's a balance in this city, between the PRT and the gangs!"

Armsmaster nodded in agreement, "Glad to see that someone else understands."

"WELL I'M FUCKING SICK OF THAT BALANCE!"

The heroes reeled back in shock from the sudden indignant yell.

Gangsta was shaking, huffing heavily, "I am sick..." She continued, her voice filled with emotion, "Of how things are. I am fucking sick and fucking tired of always being scared whenever I leave the house. I am sick of wondering if today is the day that I get knocked off because I'm not white, or asian, or because some doped up asshole thinks I got a spare twenty in my pocket. If that's the balance we live with, then I am done living with it. I am done being afraid."

She turned away from Grunge, addressing the crowd, "And I am done waiting for it all to end! When the Protectorate was founded, it was so that they could protect the normal people who couldn't protect themselves! Well I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't feel very protected! When was the last time that the PRT or the Protectorate actually did something, something that stuck? When was the last time they took down a stash of drugs, or arrested some skinheads!? Can any of you remember the last time there was a major cape fight they didn't respond to? The last time they actually went out of their way to lock up some asshole who deserved it, and threw away the key?"

Gangsta looked back at Grunge, her stance obviously furious, "If it takes a war to change things, then let there be a war! Someone has to fight anyways. Someone has to stick up for the people! The Protectorate isn't doing it. The PRT isn't doing it. And the normal people can't. Everyone else is either not willing to take a stand, or doesn't have the strength. Well, I want to fight, and I know I can kick some serious ass, so why not make it me?" She spread her arms out wide, indicating everyone present. "Why not make it us?!"

Grunge was silent, staring at her throughout her tirade. Finally, he made a statement, "Because we could die."

"I know it's risky, damn it!" Gangsta shot back instantly, "You think I don't know that!? There's every chance that we could bite the big one if we fight. But honestly? If we die, then we die. That's that. We died fighting for what we believed in. And if we don't fight... then we'll sit back, and watch as Bakuda and Kaiser and Skidmark and everyone in between rip this city and everyone in it to pieces for their own means." She slowly shook her head in denial, "I can't live with that. I refuse to live with the possibility that one day, I could come home and find out that my brother was killed in a cape fight or caught in a bomb blast or-or-or something!" She trailed off, tears starting to become evident in her voice, "Something... that I... could have stopped..."

Gangsta spread her arms out, begging, pleading, "Please, Grunge. There's no one else. We need to do this. Because if we don't... then who will?"

Silence reigned. Reaper stared at Reaper. Grunge watched Gangsta. Raven watched bear.

Finally, Grunge turned to look out over the crowd, "And what about the rest of you?" He called out, "Are you all willing to fight? Are you all ready to risk it all so that things can get better, even if it's just a bit? Are you ready to lay your lives on the line?"

At first there was no response. All the Reapers stared back at him silently.

Armsmaster sighed, shaking his head, "They won't do it. It's a nice dream on paper, but no one would actually be stupid enough to do it for real."

"Hell yeah!"

The Tinker snapped his head up, staring in shock, "Wait, what!?"

It was Hip, standing on the shoulders of a Reaper. "I'm ready to kick some ass and take this city back!"

"Gangsta's right!" Hop agreed, jumping up as well, "This is our home, those bastards don't have any right to rule it!"

"I'm in!"

"Me too!"

"You can count me in for sure!"

One after another after another, Reapers were throwing in their two cents, heartily agreeing to what was being said, until it was a veritable frenzy of enthusiasm and eagerness.

"You were saying?" Miss Militia asked, her voice subdued by awe.

All Armsmaster could do was stare in shock at the uprising playing out before him.

Grunge slowly swept his head back and forth, watching the crowd.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw South shaking violently with laughter as he doubled over and slapped his knee while Chicago just stood around casually. But, as laid back as he might have been, nothing could mask the feral grin beneath his hood.

At long last, he held his hands up high and raised his voice. "Alright, ENOUGH!"

The Reapers fell silent, subdued by his powerful shout.

Grunge breathed heavily for a moment, turning to look at Gangsta...

Before sighing and nodding his head.

"Looks like we're going to fight."

The resulting cheers were deafening as they filled Armsmaster's lab.

Suddenly, the camera moved, turning around to show a pair of Reapers wearing high-tech visors and headphones.

"Well," one of them said, "Hope you all enjoyed the show, because that's all you're going to get."

"Yup!" His partner agreed, "Tune in tomorrow at nine for the Reaper Review! This is DJ Synth!"

"And Chiptune!"

"Signing off!" They chorused simultaneously. The feed flashed to a static-y image of a winged skull before fading to black.

Armsmaster typed for a minute or so before sighing and shaking his head, "Lost 'em. Damn."

Silence reigned over the lab as the heroes stared at the blank screen.

It was Dauntless who filled the silence, "So... now what?"

"Now?" Armsmaster snorted, typing faster at his keyboard, "Now we prepare. I'm sending a copy of the footage to the Director. Miss Militia, you'll help me with threat assessment. Battery, go and gather the Wards, run them through drills until sunrise. And Assault-Assault?" Armsmaster turned and stared in surprise as the red-clad hero walked out of the lab, "Assault, where do you think you're going?"

The man stopped, "Out on patrol."

"Why?" The Tinker asked in confusion. "We don't know where that broadcast was from, you won't be able to catch them."

For a moment, Assault did nothing. Then...

He turned and gave them all a sad smile, "To make them liars."

And with that, he continued walking.

The lab was frozen, everyone unsure of what to do.

Until finally...

"Ah screw it. Hey Assault, wait up!" Dauntless dashed out of the lab after him.

Battery glanced at Miss Militia, unsure what to do. When the other female hero smiled beneath her mask and nodded, she shot her a grateful grin before dashing out of the room.

Silence anew.

Armsmaster and Miss Militia stared at each other quietly, contemplatively.

Then, Miss Militia laid her hand on the Tinker's shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and walked out of the room.

Slowly, Armsmaster turned his seat around and stared up at Dragon's screen.

The Canadian woman bit her lip for a second, glancing back and forth uneasily, "I... do have a suit near Brockton Bay. It has been awhile since I last checked in... but I can put it on autopilot of course!" She amended hastily.

Armsmaster sighed, waving his hand dismissively, "No, no. Go ahead. Don't let me keep you."

Dragon hesitated for a moment before nodding, "Well... alright then. Goodbye, Colin."

And with that, the screen shut off.

Armsmaster leaned back in his seat, staring at the data streaming across the screens.

It was a novel sensation, but for once... he didn't feel like working.

He could go out, but...

He glanced at his helmet.

His neon orange helmet.

Seconds ticked by, and then...

"Fuck it."

He rose from his chair, picked the garish headgear up, and snapped it over his armor.

Armsmaster stomped out of his lab, already remotely ordering the armory to have his halberd ready.

"Might as well get this over with."