Sonata 9

-o-

Taylor frowned and made a mental note that Jangle needed to oil the damn thing again as the rusty screech of the old gate breached even the elevated noise of her headphones when she pushed through into the little walkway leading to minimal backyard of the house. Discreet entrances should not sound like she was beating a bag of cats for everyone else in the neighbourhood to hear. Still, it opened and closed easily enough and she was stepping over the old panel or shingle before she turned a corner and came to the the backyard itself.

It was in as bad a condition as the front, more a barren patch of off-brown dirt, barely eight feet by nine, spotted with what might have been a potted plant or two at some point before the elements got to them and reduced them to the odd pile of ceramic and plastic shards and shriveled weeds.. She mostly just shook her head at the sight and continued around till she came to the back door and fished out her key. It was an old key, spotted with rust, but it went in and turned easily enough as the old door swung open and admitted her into the kitchen without a sound.

At least Jangle kept that in good shape, or else she might have other things to actually complain about.

As it stood, she dropped her backpack on the table and aimed a sideward kick at the generator, kicking the hunk of junk into gear and forcing the lights to flicker for a few seconds before turning on completely and revealing the same old, ramshackle, messed up room she was used to.

It also revealed a suddenly paralyzed Gangsta sitting in one of the room's few chairs, an open bag of chips on her lap.

For a full minute, the two stared at each other in disbelief. Then, Gangsta slowly reached into the bag, withdrew a fistful of chips, and stuffed them into her mouth. The crunching sound of her slowly chewing on them seemed to fill the room.

Taylor groaned and slapped her hand to her face. "You've been waiting for someone to walk in so you could use that gag, haven't you?"

Gangsta's smile was obvious even behind her bandana. "What can I say? It's a classic."

"Har har." Taylor muttered tiredly as she drew a chair out from the table and sat down heavily in it. She then affixed her fellow Reaper with a cold glare. "Don't think that I've forgotten that little stunt you pulled, Aisha. Since we have the time, we're dealing with it here and now before you can think of a way to work your way out of it."

The darker girl put on the most pitiful face she could, specked with crumbs as she pushed her eyes to a watery limit. "Do we really? It was a spur of the moment-" She brought her hands together, near-begging. "-you know, an emergency. You can't really hold that against me, can you?"

Taylor returned the puppy-dog look with a deadpan gaze. "Yes. Yes I can. Easily."

Aisha slumped in surrender, sinking even deeper into her chair.

The Composer stood up from her chair and slowly started to pace around the table. "Aisha, you should know how important a secret identity is. For God's sake, your brother is asupervillain! Not!" She raised her hand to ward off any protests. "That that is a factor here. What Grue does on his own time is his business. No, what matters here is the ease with which you disclosed his identity to me. I understand that it was a critical situation, but that doesn't change how things turned out. You still gave up your brother's identity. Who's to say that you might not give up mine next, hm?"

"WOAH!" Aisha yelped indignantly, scrambling to her feet. "Hell no, hell! No! I would never do that you, Taylor, never! Come on, you're my friend!"

The Composer slammed both her hands on the table, glaring at Aisha furiously. "And yet you intentionally looked into my identity!?"

"Fu-u-uck no!" Aisha snorted out. "Did you even hear a word I said when I asked for your help?"

"Considering how you were running your mouth a mile an hour on panic and desperation, is that a trick question?"

"Ah. Right. Anyways..." Aish began ticking off on her fingers. "We've got the usual Superman/Clark Kent never seen together thing going on, the fact that you both practically have music glued to your ears at all times, you draw and paint almost exactly the same... To put things simply, I didn't need to look, you gave it all up singlehandedly!"

The Composer spared a moment to mentally kick herself before slowly breathing out of her nose. "Well... fine. Still, you need to understand why my identity is important. Why I can't let the fact that Acoustic, Taylor and the Composer are one and the same. There is a good reason I keep them separate."

"Oh yeah?" Aisha needled. "Then what is it? I mean, come on! If the rest of the gang knew who you were under the admittedly cool masks, what's the worst that could happen?"

Taylor frowned back, crossing her arms. "First and foremost, it's because I want some separation between them. I am the Composer. I amAcoustic. But I am also still Taylor." Her look softened somewhat. "Truth is, I'm not always sure I can handle what I am. I need to back away sometimes, gain a point of view. A reference for things and what I'm doing. I dove in not really knowing what I was doing, and now?"

She sighed running her hand through her hair. "Now, as much as I say I'm not, I'm a leader. The Reapers just started as me meeting someone who said they liked what I did. Then they started doing something similar. Now, now it's something so much more that I'm responsible for."

The Composer slowly reopened her eyes, a cold hardness deep within them. "I won't delude myself Aisha. As much as I wish all Reapers were paragons of truth and freedom, at the core we're still the same: Human. Flawed. Corruptible. All it takes is an instance of greed, one drunken slip up at a bar... who would be worse, I wonder? The PRT, who would hunt me down across the country? The Empire, with all their resources? The ABB, especially with Lung and Bakuda on the loose? In the end it doesn't matter. The Composer is infamous, and if her name gets out, her life will become a living hell."

Taylor slowly lowered herself back into her seat, folding her hands under her chin. "That's why I wear a mask, Aisha. It's why Grue wears a mask, why you and the other Reapers wear masks, and why a lot of people called New Wave crazy for not wearing masks. Are we clear?"

The teenage tagger stared at her somberly before nodding her head slowly. "Yeah. Yeah Taylor, I understand. This stays between you and me. I swear it, alright? I promise."

Taylor nodded approvingly, and headed towards the living room. As she passed the still-seated Aisha, she gave the girl a pat on the shoulder. "Alright." She said with a smile. "Finish eating, while I fill a few cans that came in the other night. After that, we can head to school."

Aisha just stared at her for a moment, before smiling tentatively and nodding.

"Oh, and get your algebra homework out. You're redoing it."

"Wha-!? But Boss-!"

"No buts, Aisha. You just showed several more IQ points, and as you know, that means your grades are going to change to reflect them. Hop to it, or I cut you off."

"Aww man... that'll teach me to act brainy..."

-o-

"Worked as an attorney for Military Justice for around five to six years... Worked as a consult for the Arizona State Attorney General... Threw in his name for the judge's position in... in...urgh!" Freestyle groaned tiredly and slammed her forehead into the keyboard. "This is pointless!"

"Oh?" Chicago leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at the exasperated ex-pop star. "Really? What makes you say that?"

"I- it's just- Come on!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "What the hell is digging up this guy's past going to tell us? Seriously, you're a professional hacker! You've found dirt on huge, untouchable corporate moguls tons of times! Why can't you just, I don't know, push a button and get this over with!?"

The Reaper rolled his eyes, obviously used to the protests. "Because that's not how it works Paige. It's not that easy."

"Then explain it to me!" The parahuman girl demanded. "Explain to me how this helps!"

Chicago regarded her silently for a moment before sighing heavily and turning his chair around to face her. "The world isn't just ones and zero. I can't just hack up my intel on a whim. I can collect data, sure. But in the end, we're looking up humans. I was a success not because I could get whatever info I wanted on someone by pushing buttons, but because I made what I hadcount. That means that we need to look find the meaning of the data. Here, look." Chicago tapped on his keyboard, bringing up the faces of two men on Paige's screen.

"These are two of the conspirators responsible for your bogus trial: Avery Learner and Judge Joseph Cross. Learner is a pencil pusher for the Judicial branch. In the grand scheme of things, he's a nobody. Crosses the 't', dots the 'i', and makes sure the dinosaur they call a computer system doesn't go back to the stone age where it belongs. But for your trial? He was the one in charge of the jury pool. For whatever reason, he weighted the selection program so that a fair portion of those selected would be decidedly not unbiased. Thanks to this being a Parahuman trial, all Parahuman involvement was completely denied, meaning that Dragon never caught on. From there, it would be up to the 'honorable' Judge Cross to vet the selected jurors and remove any potentially biased members. However, for whatever reason, instead of doing that, he removed the un-biased members, leaving you with a jury set to convict."

"Yeah yeah, I know, I know..." Freestyle groused, running her hand through her feathered hair. "You already told me all this. So where does Cross's past factor in to all of this?"

"Simple." Chicago stood up, walked over to the computer, and moved his finger between the two photos. "It factors in because we need a connection between these two. For whatever reason, they moved things to make sure you went to jail. They didn't do that on a whim, someone prompted them to do it. What we need is to draw a link between them and whoever did the prompting. And to do that, we need to see how they connect to each other. Some place they crossed paths, an old relation. Something, anything that can give us a lead. Could be boyscouts, could be an old flame, could be anything. It's even possible that they never met before this, or someone set them up independant of each other, but the best chance is that they have a history somewhere. You would be surprised just how much is on paper somewhere, or in a computer. Even more so with what doesn't make it there sometimes. But if I know one thing about how these kind of things work, it's that they have a connection, someway, somewhere. And when we find that connection, we'll be one step closer to whoever wanted you to pay the ultimate price. And one step closer to making them pay. Understand?"

Freestyle was silent for a second before sighing heavily and nodding in understanding. "I... Y-yeah, yeah. I understand."

"Good." Chicago grinned as his computer let out a noise. "Because I just got a ping."

"What!?" She shrieked and whipped around, staring at him in disbelief. "Really!? What is it?"

"Yup." Chicago's grin became predatory as he typed furiously at the computer. "Remember how the good judge was a military attorney? Well, he didn't leave by choice. He got caught handing out a sizable bribe. However, considering how the recipient of said bribe was wearing stars on his shoulders, the whole thing was hushed up and Cross was quietly let loose with a black mark."

Freestyle gasped in shock before she quickly turned back to her computer. "Learner was a programmer for the Airforce!"

Chicago nodded in agreement. "Oh yeah. And there's the connection. Both of these guys were military men. How much you want to bet that the guy on top was too?"

Freestyle didn't respond, too busy frantically pounding away at her keyboard.

Chicago let out a proud chuckle before joining her.

And with that, the two spent the rest of the day sifting through heap after heap of information.

-o-

Colin carefully set down his tools and pushed away from his workbench, wiping his brow with one of the few rags he kept around his lab. In front of him, the latest incarnation of his armor lay in bits and pieces as he fine-tuned the newest upgrades. Most were simple quality-of-life improvements, tweaking the level of efficiency he could coax out of it. Others were the groundwork for the predictive-computing technology he was working on with Dragon, making sure his current designs were compatible with what he had planned.

In all, it would take him the better part of the day and most of the night to finish it without interruptions But with how things were, he didn't expect that to be the case. Chances were that before long another call would come in, and he would have to deal with another ABB attack somewhere in the city.

He turned away from the table with a sigh, pushing off to another part of his lab where he had an experiment setup. Hopefully, the calm would last long enough for him to try this at least.

Colin walked up to a large glass case. Inside was a table, upon which were a pair of paint cans, one decorated with gears and musical notes, the other with what appeared to be a frog's skull. Inlaid into the case's side was a pair of rubber gloves that could be used to reach within.

He had managed to obtain the cans by confiscating them from a Reaper about a week before. The Reaper had subsequently escaped, but he'd still managed to hang on to the cans. The next night, he'd been presented with a choice: replace every exterior piece of his motorcycle, or be flayed alive by Glenn for riding on his newly repainted ride. On the upside, it had given him a chance to overhaul his ride.

Colin absent-mindedly clicked a button on his toolbelt, activating his portable recorder. "The time is four in the afternoon. I am now starting experiment 24-Z-10, examination of the Reaper's paints. I have in my possession two types: one of them is the more common paint they utilize for their... 'art', while the other is used to summon the frog-like creatures they displayed while fighting the Azn Bad Boys and helping deal with the fallout from Bakuda's bombing spree. I will now attempt to utilize the common paint."

Colin stood next to the glass, slipping his arms into the gloves and grasping the gear-decorated can. He then held it up, pointed it at the opposite wall of the case, and depressing the nozzle. The can shook and shuddered slightly, letting out a choked, garbled sound like mud draining down a pipe followed by a stream of grey, foam-like and presumably foul-smelling ooze spurting out of the top.

The hero sighed wearily as he set the can back down, letting the mess spread across the table. "As predicted, the experiment was a failure." He cast an acidic glare over his shoulder at some visibly new paneling on his lab's wall. "Just like last time. Whatever means the Reapers use to prevent unauthorized use remains unclear, but it is definitely effective."

He removed his arm from the glove and stepped over to the one right next to it. He repeated the same gesture as before, reaching through the glove and grabbing the can. "Continuing experiment 24-Z-10, examination of Reaper paints, part two. This time, I will be using the seond brand of paint, designed to summon one of their creatures. This experiment will hopefully shed light on the nature, biology and origins of the strange beasts that help them, as well as the Composers own abilities."

With that, he pressed down on the nozzle.

The second verse was somewhat the same as the first, only far, far more violent. The can shook and hissed, bucking against his hand as the tin started to bulge and dent outwards with audible pings as the motions grew only more and more pronounced as the seconds ticked past.

Colin cursed angrily as he hastily tossed the can further into the case and hastily drew his hand out of the glove.

Not a second too soon, because moments later the can ruptured in a spray of dark color, metallic fragments and, oddly enough, some form of corporeal static that splattered and dinged against the plexiglass walls.

The hero breathed heavily for a second, reorienting himself a bit before looking into the case which had thankfully held firm. He then cursed violently, wishing he didn't.

Inside the case something that was most definitely not a frog. In fact, it didn't even look remotely like anything! The closest resemblance was an oversized amoeba, if amoeba had extending limbs made of twisted, misshapen tattoos, a maw of mismatched teeth and was colored in a hue of dark, mottled colors. It made a noise that combined the sickest, most disturbing parts of a growl, a croak and a hiss and giving them a moist undertone.

"Son of a..." Colin growled before hastily swallowing and steeling his nerves. "It... appears that in the improper hands, Reaper paints can be slightly... volatile."

He jumped as the creature suddenly slammed its mass into the wall of the case. He cursed again when he saw a small crack begin to form in the reinforced glass.

"Correction," He breathed heavily. "Very, very volatile." And with that, he whipped his arm out and slammed his forearm into a button on the wall.

Several vents opened on the floor of the case. There was a slight hiss of gas before the case was flooded with flames. The creature let out a final, dying screech before collapsing in on itself and dissolving back into the static it originated from.

Colin stared at the cage in silence for a moment before shaking his head despondently. "Right then... note to self: ensure that Director Piggot gets the order out to all PRT Troopers that under no circumstances should they utilize Reaper cans. The best options I can think of are either permanent storage along with other illicit Parahuman products, or out and out destruction."

The hero dusted himself off and started walking into his lab. "Anyways. Moving on to Experiment 24-Z-11."

-o-

Coil folded his hands together above his desk, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the hard metal.

He was staring intently at the little girl shifting uncomfortably in the seat before him.

The supervillain closed his eyes, steeled his nerves...

And the world split in two.

Coil opened his eyes and stared at the girl before him. "Chance that the Reapers will be a boon to my operations in the future."

The girl flinched imperceptibly, rubbing her forehead vigorously. "30.345 percent chance. C-can I have some of that candy that helps with the headaches?"

Coil waved her concerns off. "Two more, Dinah, just two more. Now then... chance that the Reapers will be a hindranceto my operations."

Dinah's breathing hitched slightly as she screwed her eyes shut. "85- no, 87.985 percent. Please, it hurts-"

"One more, just one more." Coil closed his eyes in thought. "Chance of me being able toconvincethem to help me?"

Dinah groaned painfully as she clutched at her head. "Somewhere a-around 15 percent.Pleeeease..."

Coil sucked in his breath, scrunching his eyes shut. The world shuddered slightly...

And reconciled into one.

Coil didn't even open his eyes. He merely kept them shut, concentrated...

And let the world be divided again.

Coil bowed his head in thought. "Chance of me being able to persuade an individual Reaper to pass me information. "

Dinah scratched at her arm uncomfortably. "Um... about... 30 percent? Give or take half a percent. Please, can I have some-?"

"In a moment, my dear. Now... Chance that I can beat the Reapers into submission with the troops I have?"

"47.88 percent. It really hurts, please-!"

"Just one more, just one. Now then... Chance that I can beat them with the aid of the Travelers and Undersiders?"

"Erk-! 10.65! Stop, please stop-!"

Coil snapped his head up and stared at Dinah in surprise, ignoring her pleas.

A quick moment of concentration...

And two became one again.

Coil leaned forwards towards Dinah, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Chances that I can beat the Reapers with the Travelers helping me?"

"Fifty... fifty something, it's hard to tell..." Dinah bit her lip hesitantly.

Coil tapped his fingers on his desk thoughtfully before he finally decided on a good question.

"Chance that the Composer is holding back her powers?"

Dinah fingers dug into the seat of her chair. "98.68 percent. M-mister Coil-"

"One last question, Dinah." Coil leaned in closer, his posture becoming ever so slightly more hunched. "What... is the chance that the Composer can be defeated if she goes all-out?"

Dinah's breathing accelerated dramatically. "5.3 percaargh!" Dinah flung herself back into her chair, clutching at her head. "Please... please!"

Coil brought his hand under his desk and pressed a hidden button. He ignored Dinah's flailing, merely leaning back into his seat, contemplating the information he'd been given, digesting it a bit at a time as he thought.

Why were the chances of defeating the Reapers higher than if the Composer would use her full strength? It was something he had realized early on that she was holding back, restraining herself for some reason. It was actually quite common: most powerful capes usually kept a trump card up their sleeves. Some aspect or utilization of their out of sight till they needed it. But at the same time, there were few capes out there that so completely obscured their powers like the Composer did.

He was one of them.

And all he knew did so not just because they merely wanted a winning card on hand in a fight. They did it because they had a plan. Some aspect to their personal desires or goals that profited by being perceived weaker than they were, some active benefit they gained from acting inferior.

So what was the Composer's? What could the woman who freely gave everything to others possibly have to gain? She was a mystery. The Reaper's formation was identical to a gang, yet none of the standard operations of one. The Composer was clearly the founder and leader, but she didn't act like one. Where he could know what Lung or Kaiser intended by following the motions of the E88 or the ABB.

But the Reapers... the Reapers were fluid. Vapid. Intangible. A variable.

And variables... variables were hard to plan around.

Ah well. At least he knew one thing for certain: if you couldn't plan how something would react, then don't.

Dispose of it. Permanently.

-o-

Sabah sighed as Claudia opened her mouth with a look of inspiration on her face, and pre-emptively cut her off. "No. Just no. What is the deal with the Reapers and musical themes anyways? Why can't I just keep my cape name?"

The older woman sighed, leaning into her palm. "Well, I suppose if I tell you, you might stop shooting down everything I suggest, dear." She sat up straight in her seat, raising a finger in a teacherly way. "The whole 'deal' started with the Composer shortly after she met her first fan. When asked how she was painting, she responded that the best way she could describe it was 'with noise'. When the first Reaper joined her, she suggested they recreate themselves to celebrate. The Reaper looked around and upon noticing the Composer's apparent love for music chose a name based on their own taste for it. From there, it became a sort of custom. Reapers name themselves after whatever music fits them best. Hip and Hop are jumpy and energetic, South is calm and relaxed, Gangsta is... well, not to speak ill of my allies, but let's just say that she and the word 'polite' haven't held company in a long time. It's a matter of self-description. Reapers take their name based on what they feel best says who they are. Musical names are just a sort of tradition from then on."

"So couldn't I just demonstrate my, I don't know, sense of liberty by breaking tradition?" Sabah asked sarcastically.

"You cooould..." Claudia drawled. "And you could also kiss your fashion designer career goodbye when you finally unmask too."

Sabah paled drastically and tugged on her collar uneasily as she processed what her friend had said. "Good point... so, you were saying? And not something I can't pronounce."

Claudia smiled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Well, I was about to suggest Waltz. A very artistic, flowing music. I think it would suit you."

The younger girl gnawed at her lip, running it through her head. "I just don't….it sounds toofancy. And all the other Reapers seem to be more…"

Claudia nodded. "More modern?"

The Parahuman shrugged her shoulders shyly in agreement.

"Then so be it! I mean, come on! I go by the name of Chanson and wear a toga. If they won't mock me for that, then they won't mock you for anything."

Sabah sighed, burying her face in her hands in exasperation. "I just...I just don't think I should change my name. I'm so used to going by Parian, and now I have to pick an entirely new name?"

Claudia patted her friend on the back comfortingly. "Ah well. It's a necessity. After all, anything worth doing isn't anywhere near easy. But, as the description implies, it is most definitelyworth doing."

Sabah dragged her hands down her face and just looked at the piece of paper and the list of crossed out names on it. It was a fairly long list, as they had been at this for awhile now. "What am I even going to do once I sort this out? I don't have a single idea what I should do as a Reaper. What do they do when they aren't out there painting?"

The elegant Reaper stood up and spread her arms extravagantly. "There is a multitude of activities we indulge in! Sometimes we just enjoy each other's company, discussing our day to day lives or planning out our future oeuvres d'art, playing and betting on different games which we... augment through the usage of Noise, or just sharing a drink. Or we just train, hone our finesse at summoning the Noise or handling Melodies. Others still run little activities for us outside of the Reapers proper. For example, Chicago and Grunge's intelligence gathering, Hip and Hop's seemingly neverending supply of paint cans, so on and so forth. Honestly now, there a hundred and one things for a Reaper to do!" Claudia flashed an eager smile at Sabah. "One thing is guaranteed: you'll never be bored."

Her younger, newly minted Reaper companion raised an eyebrow. "You know, you sound like an old recruitment commercial. It's kinda surprising really. I've talked to people who tell me that you're all like a bunch of secretive hipsters. Seriously, do you have any idea how shocked I was when I found out that you were a Reaper!?"

Claudia smiled distantly, seemingly remembering a fond memory. "Well, I do remember the look on your face when I walked in and told you. I somewhat regret not having a camera with me then…"

Sabah scowled. "And you proceeded to act all serious and aloof for the next five minutes till you broke down laughing."

The stylish Reaper outright grinned. "Well, it was funny. One should laugh at things that arefunny."

"Bite me." Sabah growled. "So anyways, mind telling me why people think that you're all, and I repeat, hipsters?"

Claudia just scoffed and waved her hand. "That's just the people who don't think we're a cult, secret society, gang, or anything that somehow ranks below all that."

The girls eyebrows twitched. "Just….tell me…"

Claudia grimaced and shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? Every time there's a large gathering of normal people around a Parahuman, everybody automatically thinks 'Well! Guess they're bad!' And considering the track record, I can't say I'm surprised. I mean, The Fallen, Heartbreaker... it's an all too common trend. Ergo, a lot of people think the worst of us, seeing us as vandals, rapscallions, all sorts of terrible things!"

Sabah twitched again, this time even more violently. "I'll give you the benefit of assuming that those accusations are totally unfounded, yes?"

Claudia stopped for a moment, blinking before nodding. "Well, for the most part, yes. We are somewhere between a gang and a society of sorts. We've tried to describe ourselves before, but there is nothing else that really fits. As poetic as it seems the moniker 'family' isn't publicly accepted, asit tends to indicate the very names we're trying to avoid, so..."

She shrugged indifferently. "Luckily enough, not everyone is so short-sighted. For everyone that fears us, two more admire us, appreciate our art. And every once in awhile, we find people working on their own, putting up their own works hoping, hoping to catch our attention and join our ranks. And every once in awhile... we go to them, and we extend an invitation. Heck, sometimes we do it with people who aren't trying to join, such as you!"

The look on Sabah's face was actually honestly curious at that. "But...everyone says you got this whole insanely complex endorsement system and hoops you have to jump through to join. You got to get a Reaper to invite and vouch for you, and…" She stopped for a second. "And you sorta just pulled me to a party, and all of a sudden I'm a Reaper."

Claudia nodded. "Well, that is how it works to a degree. You do have to get a Reaper to invite and vouch for you to the others, but generally it's more like an apprentice system. A Reaper will take a proposal to a senior Reaper, get permission to bring the invitee in, and from there... well, you lived the rest." There was a sort of pause as she look at her young friend, before something clicked in her mind and she nodded, more to herself than anyone else. "How about we take a break, and see what we can do with some of those cans I brought over?"

Sabah nodded eagerly in agreement. "What do you have?"

The older Reaper grinned and dug into her bag, drawing out a pair of cans. "A nice can of Carcinosamps and, and this one is the kicker, had to pay those frightening little monsters through the nose to get it, a Rock 'n Roll Rip-Tooth. The first was easy enough, just had to toss someone a Boomer, but the second, ehhh... Shanty's always held my quip about him reeking of fish against me, so there was nowhere else I could get one."

"Oooh." Sabah leaned in, taking in the crab and shark engravings on the cans. "What do they do?"

"The Carcino is a crab-shaped Noise that has a particularly unique claw which functions as a boomerang whiltst the Rip-Tooth is a rare full-body Melody. It makes one quite the expert in the water. A shark-based frogman, if you will."

"Hmm..." The Parahuman reached out and took ahold of the Melody can, looking over it curiously. Her eyebrows then shot up as a thought suddenly struck her. She looked up at Claudia, a spark of inspiration in her eyes. "Claudia, let me ask you something: why are Melodies and Noise never permanent? Why do they only last if they're tattoos?"

Claudia leaned back in surprise, shocked at her friend's sudden enthusiasm. "Er... because they're paint. Tattoos last, but paint, no matter how much we wish it didn't will eventually wash away, taking the initial design from which the Melody and Noise originated with it. The only way to safeguard them is in one's skin."

"No it isn't!" Sabah quickly stood up, grabbed a shirt and waved it in front of Claudia's face, her smile all but splitting her face. "Paint and art can last forever on here!"

Claudia stared at her dumbly for a second before gasping in shock, her jaw all but unhinging. "Sabah, darling..." She choked out. "If this works... the Composer herself will pull as many strings as possible to fund you for life!"

Sabah let out a slightly manic giggle as her smile widened even further. "Then we better get started!"

And with that, she whipped around and flew into her studio, Claudia mere steps behind her.

-o-

"Heeelloooo people of Brockton Bay! We're on the waves and in the tunes, fighting to keep this city honest and true! From us to you, it's the Reaper Review! I'm your host, DJ Chiptune, and sadly enough I've got some bad news. See, before I can get to the really good stuff, I'm gonna have to chat with my other Reaper brothers and sisters in private. Everyone, head over to channel Sprog-9 for a sec."

All across the cities, dials and buttons were turned and pressed until radios were properly tuned to the right frequency.

"Alright everyone, here's the deal: The Boss has been in contact with the other badguys. Now I know that some of you want to piss and moan, but for now? Save it. Either we work with them or the ABB turns the Bay into a pile of ashes. And personally? I'll take fighting by a skinhead over that any day. Anyways, the Boss and the others have drawn up an attack plan. Participation is, of course, completely optional, but we'd appreciate it if you showed up. So! Here's how it's going to go down..."