Sonata 10
The Composer was silent as she stared out over the assembled Reapers.
There were about thirty Reapers in all present in South's bar, not including herself and Grunge, Gangsta, South, Chicago, Psycho and Hip and Hop. The eight of them were standing on the bar's stage, over-looking their assembled friends.
However, unlike a normal night, things were quiet. Silent, almost, save for a scant few mutterings here and there.
Finally, she glanced at her comrades standing at her sides before raising a hand and silencing the room instantly.
The Composer was decked out in a set of jungle-camouflage styled SWAT armor. Labeled across her back were the words 'Freedom Fighter' in scratchy graffiti-style letters. She had heavy-knuckled fingerless gloves on her hands, and thick-soled boots on her feet. She was wearing a SWAT helmet with the visor flipped up. Beneath, she was wearing a mouthless ski-mask, meeting her comrades eye-to-eye as she observed them.
"Thank you all for coming," she stated simply, "I realize that this was not an easy decision for you all to make. I ask that none of you deride or speak out against those who have decided not to come tonight. It was their decision, and whatever choice they make is theirs and a fully valid one. I will not look down on those who feel fear at the prospect of tonight's events. Clear?"
The assembled vandals and rebels all gave varying signs of assent and understanding.
"Good. Now then..." She glanced over at Chicago. "If you would?"
The info-broker nodded solemnly. He brought his right arm out of his hoodie, pointing a plastic remote in his hand at the roof of the bar and clicking a button in it. With a mechanical whirr, a white screen slowly descended down from the roof. A second click, and an overhead map of Brockton Bay was displayed on the screen.
Chicago replaced the remote and took out a laser pointer, using it to indicate a point on the map near the Docks. "Alright people, listen up. It took some doing, but between me and Hip and Hop, we've ascertained three major storehouses of ABB firepower. This right here? Drug repository. Lots of soldiers, lots of guns. Also, some chatter of a cape hanging out here, could be Oni Lee. Me, Psychedelic, Kaiser, Fenja and Menja, Bitch, Sundancer, Newter and Labyrinth and two of Coil's goons'll be hitting this place."
He moved the laser to a location deeper in the city. "This right here? Barracks. More guns 'n goons then elsewhere. Difference here? None of these guys are 'recruits'. Hardcore gang-bangers, every last one of them. Far, far from an easy mark. That's why Grunge, Southern and the Twins'll be there, alongside Cricket, Othala, Victor, Spitfire, Grue, Ballistic and three more of Coil's.
"And finally..." He moved the laser again and began circling a location definitively. "This right here is the prize. Two words for you: Bakuda's. Lab. No ifs ands or buts about it. Heavily fortified, heavily guarded. You've all no doubt heard the old rumors about how Tinker labs are proof of Darwin's theories? Well, they're all true. Attacking Bakuda in here would be suicide. Ergo, it comes as no surprise that this assault will consist of the boss, Gangsta, Tattletale, Faultline, Hookwolf, Stormtiger, Trickster and Genesis, and five snake-funded thugs."
Chicago sighed wearily as he pocketed the laserpointer and retracted the screen. "The rest of the villains and their gangs will be out and about, hitting lesser safehouses, stashes, so on and so forth. But for now, that's what our heavy troops are doing. What we'll be doing is dividing everyone up to go out with us. So, who's up for comin' with me and the loony?"
He barely flinched when the fox-themed Reaper flashed up behind him and delivered a light slap up the back of his head.
Several Reapers raised their arms, signalling their interest.
"Alright, let's see, that's Synth, Crunk, Dirge, Anarcho, Indie, Reggae, Swing and Neo. Alright, that's good enough for me. Next up, the bear, the pig and the weasel twins."
"GET BENT, DOG-BREATH!"
A few Reapers chuckled sardonically as they raised their arms.
"Jangle, Shanty, Mariachi, Cajun, Franco, JPop, Honky Tonk and Cabaret. Okay, that's eight. So those who are left..."
"Canto."
Chicago looked up in surprise when the Composer spoke out solemnly.
"Drone. Bluegrass. Industrial. Acid. Ska. Country. Funk. Thrash. Screamo. Jig. Soul. Italo. Bebop. Euro." She looked at each one pointedly as she named them. "This is by far the most dangerous mission we have. I cannot guarantee your safety, as much as I wish I could. Are you certain, beyond certain that this is your final choice?"
Silence reigned over the bar until finally a singled hoodied Reaper stood up. Canto.
"Those sons of bitches tried to press-gang me," He stated in a dull, dead tone. "They tried to force me to join. And if they'd succeeded... I'd have a bomb in my head too. The Reapers saved me. I owe a debt, and I intend to fulfill it by planting my boot in Bakuda's face. Nothing is going to change that." And with that, he sat down.
The Composer nodded stiffly. "Well, alright then. Now, unless anyone has anything they want to say..."
"Actually..."
Attention was shifted to a Reaper lazing back in his chair. The man in question was completely bald, wearing a beat-up old duster jacket with several holes in it, a bandanna and a pair of orange aviator glasses. "There's somethin' I want to say."
The Composer nodded in acknowledgement. "Anarcho."
The hard-worn rebel sat up in his seat, tapping his fingers away on his table. "First... I wanna make something clear. When I joined the Reapers, I was... curious. See, I'd seen Parahuman gangs rise and fall, so I thought, eh, fuck it. Might as well join and see what it's like on the upswing, get out when things start to go bad.
"But... the thing is... things never actually went bad. They just kept getting better. No big crime, no violence... good times abound. And then, when we finally, finally start going big... you turn it right around into something good again. Something that I can still get behind. See this?" He rapped his knuckles on the table definitively. "This isn't some normal gang. It's something totally unique. And as such..." He cracked his back as he stood up from the table. "I've decided to throw my whole weight behind it. All in."
He gestured with his fingers, the movement causing a Grizzly carrying a pair of large crates on its shoulders to march in from a back room and set the wooden boxes on the stage. Anarcho strode up to the stage, climbing onto it easily enough.
"Now then!" He announced plainly. "Let me tell ya'll somethin'. Something private that, if it leaves leaves this room, I will personally make each and every last one of you suffer for," He breathed in and out heavily before bowing my head. "I am related to a Parahuman. My nephew, to be specific. He's a good boy, very polite. Chicago, I'm almost certain you've heard of him. His name... is Dodge."
The red-hooded Reaper shot his elder a shocked look. "As in pocket dimension Toybox Tinker Dodge?!"
Anarcho nodded definitively. "That's him. Now... I'm also friends with his mentor, Pyrotechnical. Rambunctious fella, but he's alright. Now, Pyro is good at three things: Fire, special effects... and guns. See... after we decided to do this, after I personally supported moving against the gangs, I put in a call to the Toybox. Called in a few favors with them. Asked the two to work together to put together a helluva rush-hour order for me."
A gesture from him had the Grizzly tearing the top off of one of the crates.
"Because if we're going to fight a war..."
He reached in... and pulled out a gun.
"We're gonna need weapons."
The Composer and practically all Reapers present tensed visibly at the sight of the weapon.
"Dude..." Gangsta breathed incredulously.
"Hooboy." South stated succinctly, lowering his stetson over his eyes.
"Sonnova-!" Grunge growled angrily.
"Anarcho." The Composer said quietly, a dark undertone to her voice.
"Oh lighten up, will you all?" The older Reaper rolled his eyes tiredly. In a single move, he whipped a can of Sound out of his jacket and rammed it into a slot at the butt of the gun, parallel with its barrel. "It's a paintball gun, see?"
The Reapers simultaneously let out a breath of relief.
"Aw c'mon, guys! I was just extolling how great it is we're not like other gangs! Do you really think I'd be the one to push us over the edge?!"
"Weeeeell..." Hip tilted her hand back and forth noncommittally. "You do have a bit of a violent streak in you."
"What!? Says who!?"
"Says Trance's broken jaw!" Hop piped up.
The Reaper's eye twitched a bit before he crossed his arms definitively. "In my defense, that son of a sprog was counting cards."
"Alright, we're getting a bit off track here," The Composer cut them off. "Anarcho, care to explain these... donations of yours to us?"
Anarcho nodded in agreement. "Fair 'nuff. Now..." He pointed out the juncture between the gun and the Sound can. "See, what Dodge did was give Pyro room to work his magic by putting an itty-bitty pocket dimension inside the gun, thus letting him put in all the mechanisms needed for this to work. I don't totally understand how it works, but basically, it takes Sound, any kind of Sound..."
He hefted the gun up, took aim and pulled the trigger five times in rapid succession. Across the room, five balls of pure color splattered against the wall.
"And turns it into ammo. Non-lethal ammo, but it definitely packs a hell of a punch. We're gonna need an edge in this fight. This is it."
Hip and Hop examined the crate closely before shooting a suspicious look at Anarcho.
"There's gotta be at least forty guns in here..."
"And tinker-tech weapons, no matter how simple, do not come cheap! What's the catch?"
The dusty Reaper glanced between them warily before shrugging. "Got a sweet deal. First batch is at a steep discount, but any subsequent repairs or orders are full-price. If we want anything else, we'll probably need a donation pool or whatever. But honestly?" He hefted the gun he was holding. "I'd say it's a worthwhile investment. Whaddaya say guys?"
The Composer hummed lightly, looking around the stage.
Gangsta was bouncing on the balls of her feet, giggling eagerly.
Chicago was looking Anarcho over, clearly reassessing him.
Grunge had his arms crossed and was muttering darkly under his breath.
South had his hands patiently folded behind the back of his head in a casual manner.
Hip and Hop were hefting guns out of the crate and looking them over eagerly.
And Psychedelic... when he noticed her looking at him, he merely gave her an exaggerated shrug.
The Composer looked Anarcho over a final time before nodding with finality. "Lock and load, everyone."
And with that, the Reapers streamed forwards, each taking up a gun and loading in cans, feeling their weights and looking them over intently.
However, when the Composer started to move towards the crate, Anarcho stuck an arm out to stop her. "One sec, boss."
The teenage Parahuman raised an eyebrow at him, waving for him to go on.
Anarcho started to amble towards the other crate his Grizzly had brought in.
"See... you might not call yourself the boss. Might not call yourself superior. And neither do the others. But the fact is, you are the boss, and they are our leaders, your inner circle. We all acknowledge it, and we're all happy with it. They damn well deserve it. So... I decided to go the extra mile..."
A gesture and the Grizzly ripped the second crate's top off.
"And show you just how much we appreciate you all."
The Composer and her comrades crowded around the crate, looking into it curiously.
"Sweet. Mother. Of God." South breathed, slowly crossing himself.
"HELL YEAH!" Gangsta cried out, shooting her hand into the crate and withdrawing a large Desert Eagle semi-auto pistol, ravens embossed along the handle and barrel. "This is siiiick!" She sang eagerly, all but worshipping the weapon.
"Well... This is..." Chicago could barely hide his grin as he hefted a sniper rifle with a wolf embossed along the length of the gun. "Certainly impressive."
South chuckled joyfully as he cocked a shotgun with a pig's snout impressed into the handle. "Awww, it's just like I'm back home on the ranch in Texas!"
"This is practically reputation suicide!" Grunge burst out in frustration.
"Oh really?" South queried. "So you're gonna back out?"
"I-!"
"Ah, shut up and hold this!" Gangsta heaved out a large grenade launcher that had perpendicular scratch-marks impressed into it and shoved it into Grunge's hands. "Now, look into its barrel and tell me that you don't wanna keep it!"
"... damn you."
"Awww! Grunge found true love!" Hip squealed impishly.
"But then again, so did we!" Hop cackled as he and his sister hefted their twin uzis, both embossed with mirrored minks on the handles.
Psycho gazed inquiringly at the AK-47 he held in his hands, examining the fox-tails that ran along its length. Finally, he nodded once, an air of content about him.
Finally, the Composer slowly reached into the crate and retrieved a small, boxy assault rifle. "And this would be?"
"P90 Assault Rifle," Anarcho informed her gruffly. "Latest edition. Nothing like it before now. Just like you," he looked at the rest of the Reapers. "It might not look it, but they're modded out so that you can easily fit in a can where the ammo should go. As for you, boss... just fill up the chamber."
The Composer stared at Anarcho blankly. "This is more than I can accept."
"Well, I won't let you refuse, so we're at an impasse. For now... I'd say that we'd best get moving, no?"
The Parahuman slowly swept her gaze out over the Reapers.
Her Reapers.
"What do you say, people? Are we ready?"
The Reapers cried out in agreement, toting their new weapons in the air and activating their tattoos. Anarcho grinned eagerly from behind his bandanna as his back lit up and an array of spikes shot through the holes in his jacket.
"Well... in that case..."
The Composer flipped her helmet's visor down and cocked her gun definitively.
"Lock and load."
-o-
It was eerily silent as the Composer, Gangsta and the rest of her followers marched into the alleyway, calmly meeting the cold glares of the soldiers and neo-Nazis that had arrived before them.
"Took your time, Composer," Trickster called out calmly. He was standing next to what appeared to be a giant, twenty-foot long anaconda with the legs of a centipede.
"Just needed to make sure we were prepared," she responded coolly. "I'm assuming we're good to go?"
"Not quite," Hookwolf growled gruffly. He nodded condescendingly at the other Reapers. "You've brought too many with you. Send them away. Now."
"Not even if you promised to keel over and die, dogbreath," Gangsta deadpanned flatly.
The Empire cape snarled furiously, while Stormtiger took a taunting step forwards. "Shut your mouth, n-!"
Cl-click!
He was cut off by the half-dozen gun-barrels pointed at his face.
"Consider your following words very carefully, got it?" Canto warned calmly.
Before anyone could protest, the Composer raised a hand. "Now now, that's enough. I'm sure that Stormtiger is planning on being very polite from now on, aren't you, Stormtiger?"
The neo-nazi Parahuman shook visibly with repressed fury before finally slowly nodding jerkily.
"Compensating for anything, Composer?" Hookwolf taunted weakly, desperately attempting to save face.
"Yes, the fact that two of the people I'm working with tonight are morally corrupt ne'er-do-wells and five of them work for the certifiably least trustworthy person in the city. As such, I thought it best to enter this conflict well-armed and with sufficient back-up." The Composer deadpanned flatly.
The villains and mercs exchanged cold glares with the Reapers, the tension escalating well into glacial levels. Finally, it broke when Tattletale clapped her hands together carelessly. "Alright then!" She chirped cheerily, grinning with ill-suppressed glee as she watched the conflict. "Now that we're through with the pleasantries, how about we all get in touch with our friends and assure them that there's no reason to tear each other to pieces, m'kay?"
The staring contest continued for a second before Hookwolf, one of the mercs, and the Composer reached into their pockets simultaneously, withdrawing their phones and dialing numbers. Tattletale chuckled giddily as she followed their lead, Faultline glaring at her and Trickster eyeing her warily as they also called their teammates.
"Yeah boss, we're ready to go... Yeah, fifteen, not counting the Composer and the brat... paintball guns, but its alot of 'em. Looks like they're custom, too."
"Yes, Kaiser... Understood, Kaiser. Sir, I'd just like to say-!... yes. Yes sir, that's... I-I understand, Kaiser. I-it won't happen again..."
"Newter? Is she-? Alright, that's good. Keep an eye on her, alright?... look, just do me a favor and try and stay close to the Reapers, got it?"
"-Nonono, you li-listen to me! I am in charge, and I make the plans. We are doing this, no matter what, we have to! Think about- look, we'll talk about this later, just follow your orders."
"A-Kiwi... Oh yeah, definitely! Don't worry about me, this is going to be fun!...Alright, maybe a bit too enthusiastic. Look, just stay by the Reapers, alright? Yes, I know they're armed, but it's nothing too serious!... really? Alright, stay by Grunge and South, they're the more stable ones there. Other then that, lighten up!"
"Chicago? Grunge?"
"Speaking." "Boss."
"Put me on speaker," The Composer waited for a second before raising her voice so that everyone present could hear her. "Alright everyone, listen up! No matter what, stay smart, stay calm, and stay safe. Watch each other's backs, don't get separated, and above all else..." She directed a pointed glare at Hookwolf and Stormtiger. "Don't get caught in any unfortunate accidents."
Quite tellingly, the Empire capes and Coil's mercenaries paled visibly, looking as though their graves had been trodden upon. Judging by the silence coming from their phones, this reaction was being repeated across the city.
"Are. We. Clear." The Composer glared at each of them firmly in turn, until they all looked away. She then lowered her voice. "Well?"
"Judging by the way Kaiser is crushing his phone, I'd say we hit the nail full on the head."
"Same here. Cricket, Victor, Othala and the snakes are keeping their distance."
"Glad to hear it. If anything untowards happens, call me. Clear?"
"Yup." "Clear."
"Good. Good luck, and stay safe." And with that, she hung up. She glanced around the assembled Parahumans and mercenaries meaningfully a final time before nodding decisively. "Alright, now are we ready to go?"
Gangsta cackled happily as she rammed a can into the butt of her gun. "This is gonna rock!"
-o-
"This sucks!" Gangsta yelped as she pumped her wings furiously, barely catching herself from hitting the ground and redirecting her fall in order to land on a nearby desk. "Damn it all, Trickster, stop doing that!"
The leader of the Travelers scoffed as he desperately clung onto his teammate's body as it kept itself suspended above the floor. "Fuck off, brat! At least you can fly! If I'd touched the ground, we'd all be up in smoke! Or worse!"
"Knock it off, you two!" The Composer ordered tersely. Currently, she was crouching on her desk, eight jellyfish-like tentacles sprouting from her back. Each tentacle was clutching an object with a reflective surface, utilizing them to redirect red beams of light around the room. "Tattletale, Faultline, where are we?"
"Umm..." Tattletale bit her thumb nervously as she peered through a panel in the wall at an array of cables and wires. Faultline was crouched down beside her, scowling angrily at her. "The... blue wire? No, the red one!"
"Damn it Tattletale, this isn't the time for games!" The mercenary cape snarled.
"You think I don't know that!? I know exactly what this thing will do to us if it goes off, I want to disarm it as much as you! But arrogant as she is, Bakuda is still crazy smart! This thing is fucking randomizing the purpose of the wires! I d- goons!"
Gangsta and the Composer brought their guns up and pelted one of the room's doorways with a hail of paint, driving away a pair of ABB members before they could poke their guns in.
"So much for the others keeping them off us," Trickster groused morosely.
"Hey, back off!" Gangsta protested as she swapped out the cans in her gun, making sure to pocket the empty one. "Our guys are doing their best! If they're getting through, it's because those damn nazis and mercs- no offense, Faulty- are screwing around!"
"Less complaining, more suppressing fire!" The Composer ordered.
Gangsta snarled darkly, slamming in a new can of Sound and raising the pistol. "I sure hope that the others are doing better than we are!"
-o-
"The others had damn well be having a better time with this than we are!" Grunge huffed darkly.
"Less complaining!" Hip called out, popping a can of paint out from her gun.
"And more blasting!" Hop finished, popping his head over the hood of the car he and his sister were hiding behind and unleashing a salvo of paintballs. He was then forced to hastily lower himself as a spray of bullets rocketed through where he'd been.
"Well this is a fine mess we're in..." South muttered vehemently.
An understatement, to say the least. Currently, the villains and ABB gang members were engaged in a vicious, all-out street war. Currently, the Reapers and their tenuous allies were cornered at a T-junction, surrounded on all sides by the ABB. The initial assault had been succesful, fast and vicious enough to rock the ABB back on their heels. Then, things had gone to hell. The ABB had retaliated with numbers and firepower to spare, producing a near obscene amount of foot soldiers and firepower.
The villains had been forced into a hard retreat until they'd managed to shove a few cars into position to act as makeshift cover. From there, they'd been forced to hunker down as bullets flew around them. Miraculously, no one had yet been seriously hurt, thanks to a combination of thick-skinned Noise acting as bullet shields and Othala being pressed into granting regenerative abilities to anyone who happened to get hit.
Still, chances were that sooner or later their luck would change.
"I don't suppose anyone would happen to have any bright ideas to get us out of this situation?" South grunted, racking his shotgun before firing it at the multitude of ABB members that were down the street before hastily slamming his back against the van he was hiding behind.
"I thought that you Reapers were supposed to be the prodigal, undefeated lords of the street?" Victor snarked, taking aim and blowing out an ABB gunman's kneecap with a sniper rifle with surreal ease. Suddenly, he snapped his head to the left, body tense. "Grenade incoming!"
Almost instantly, Hip ripped a can out of her belt and sprayed the ground. In a flash of static, a winged mink met the orb of metal midair, catching it with its tail and slapping it high into the air where it detonated relatively harmlessly. Seconds later, the Noise jerked violently as several bullets impacted it before it finally faded back into static.
Hop let out a barrage of paint before shooting a grin at Victor. "Thanks! So, think we can wrap this up soon? There's a new episode of Family Guy tonight!"
"Are you serious!?" Ballistic demanded incredulously.
"He's always serious about Family Guy, believe me," Hip groaned in mock misery.
"What can I say? I connect with Stewie on a deep, personal level!"
Grunge and South exchanged blank looks before simultaneously rolling their eyes.
"That explains so much," South muttered as he popped out an empty can and reloaded a fresh one.
"Tell me about it," Grunge groused, calling out a Circle Pit Grizzly and directing it to add material to one of the ramshackle barriers.
"Ergh!" Ballistic grunted in disbelief, crouching down as he started to collect stray pieces of metal. "Idiots! Seriously, who comes to a fight with nothing but worthless paintball guns!?"
"Ahem!" The bear-like Reaper drew attention to himself with a grunt before peeking out from around the van he was hiding behind and firing off a round from his grenade launcher. There was a small whistling sound, and then...
BOOM!
The street was painted a myriad of colors, leaving almost half a dozen ABB gunners in shellshock.
"Unless you have anything else you'd like to add..." Grunge scowled as he clicked the launcher to another barrel. "I'd suggest you start pulling your own weight."
"Speaking of... Spitfire, this street's getting a bit too hot to handle, light 'em up!" Victor ordered.
The mercenary nodded silently in agreement, stepping up next to him and toggling a switch on her mask before unleashing a barrage of flames from its nozzle, effectively blocking the street off.
Meanwhile, Grue was layering darkness along the rooftops, doing his best to keep the ABB's more skilled marksmen from taking potshots at them. Unfortunately, he was unable to do the same for the ground-level conflicts, due to his darkness obscuring the view of his allies as well.
"Besides, if you wanna talk about useless, talk about Cricket!" Hip taunted, casting a mischievous look at the neo-nazi who was sulking against the barricade. "Speaking of, how're those kama working out for ya? FYI, we really like 'em! Good quality on the metal, fine craftsmanship! You know, we could probably make you a good deal on-YEARGH!" The Reaper barely dodged the stone that struck where her head had been moments earlier.
"So is that a no?" Hop inquired innocently.
"Fuck. You." Cricket gargled darkly.
"Save it for when he's legal!" Grunge barked. "For now, eyes forward and keep fighting!" He scowled as he raised his grenade launcher. "Lord knows it can't get worse than this..."
-o-
"Damn it all, I swear that if someone said that things couldn't get any worse..." Chicago muttered murderously.
To say that things had spiralled out of control would be a vast understatement. At first, things had seemed well in hand; sure, Kaiser and his hanger-ons had ditched them almost immediately, so Sundancer had steadfastly refused to use her powers, and so what if Bitch all but redefined the word abrasive? They'd still managed to lay down some serious damage on the ABB, decisively crippling a good part of their merchandise.
Still, the whole time he was watching things go down through his scope, Chicago couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that he had a very bad feeling about this.
Then the world was filled with fire.
Sure, they'd half-expected Oni Lee to be present, that was the whole point of Psycho coming along! But Lung!?
"This is just not fair!" Chicago snarled, venting his fury over long distance on an ABB gunwoman who was futilely trying to hide from the fight. "Don't they have the decency to try and fight even a little bit fair!?"
The mercenary sniper kneeling next to him eyed him warily as he reloaded his rifle. "Those... are some scary good skills you have there. Where did you learn how to-?"
"I made a lot of enemies back west," Chicago stated firmly, drawing back the bolt on his rifle to expel the spent can within and reloading a new one. "Here's a deal: you don't ask me any more questions, and I don't email your wife the code and number to the storage locker you own, m'kay?"
The mercenary paled drastically as he stared at the Reaper. "How the hell did you-?!"
"Wait, seriously?" Chicago gave the man a surprised look. "Huh. I was just bluffing. Still, something to look into later. But for now, enough chit-chat," He peered back down his scope as the merc's expression shifted to one of horror. "Tell me, have you seen-?"
FWOOSH! BANG BANG BANG BANG!
"Never mind."
With an almost lazy amount of dread, Chicago slowly pointed his rifle's scope up at an adjacent rooftop, whereupon he was met with a scene that would not be out of place in a kung-fu movie.
Psycho and Oni Lee were playing dueling teleporters with each other, warping around the rooftop at dizzying speed. Every time Lee appeared behind Psycho, the clone was speared by one of the Reaper's frantically moving seven tails, while whenever Psycho attempted to get a shot in, he hit naught but ash. Occasionally, a clone dodged Psycho long enough that the Reaper was forced to vanish in a blaze of tattoo-flames, lest he be caught in the clone's detonation and torn to shreds. Once in awhile, he let loose with the modified assault rifle he was carrying, tagging Lee once or twice before he could disappear.
Nevertheless, the contest was fairly equal, neither side giving ground nor gaining any. And as swiftly as they'd appeared, they vanished, taking their fight away to some other nearby location.
"Well, at least that's one issue being dealt with..." Chicago muttered. "Now..."
"ROOOOOAAAAAR!"
The Reaper swallowed heavily as he eyed the living blaze that was Lung as he clashed with Kaiser's blades.
"How the hell do we deal with the other!?"
The conflict with the major Parahuman had gone down the worst course possible: it had escalated. Fenja and Menja were currently matching Lung's size, Kaiser was herding him around with growths of metal, and even Labyrinth was starting to warp the area around her under Newter's direction, leaving Bitch and the rest of the Reapers to deal with the ABB, save for a few elephantine Noise clashing with Lung.
But despite this, Lung was holding out blow for blow, growing larger and larger every second that passed by.
"We need an edge," the mercenary muttered darkly. "Something needs to break, soon. Otherwise..."
Suddenly, a wave of pure sound slammed into Lung, launching him off his feet and flinging him into the flaming warehouse.
Chicago looked up from his scope in shock, blinking in surprise. "Uhhh..." He stated dumbly.
-o-
South slowly tilted his hat up in shock as he stared down the street. "You. Have got. To be fucking with me."
This mood was the same with everyone present as they watched three large Hummer roll their way down the streets towards them. Most pressing of all was what was perched on the top of each vehicle's roof...
"I dread to even ask, but Hip, Hop, where the hell did they get three LMGs!?" Grunge demanded incredulously.
The twins snorted incredulously. "Don't look at us! Us and ours had nothing to do with this!" Hop protested.
"Althooough..." Hip shot an accusatory glare at the Empire capes. "The E88 did get rather flustered over the ABB raiding a delivery of theirs. Isn't that right, Victor?"
The Parahuman's silence was extremely telling.
"Goddamn it! We are so screwed!" Grue declared angrily.
"Not yet, we aren't," Grunge growled, glancing at South. The cowboy Reaper met his gaze and nodded firmly. A glance back at the twins confirmed that they were each holding a can of Noise with reflecting designs, smiling viciously. He nodded firmly before facing the truck again. "I'd recommend you all standing back. This is about to get big."
Slowly, both Grunge's chest and South's biceps lit up, while Hip and Hop started to depress the nozzles on their cans.
"Showtime in three!" Hip smirked.
"Two!" Hop concurred.
"On-!"
Everything went dark as a pillar of light shone down from the sky. Accompanying it was a very familiar and very loud voice.
"ATTENTION AZN BAD BOYS! THIS IS MISS MILITIA! THE POLICE AND PRT HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! GET ON THE GROUND AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS, NOW!"
Almost simultaneously, several armored trucks rocketed around the corners of the road, screeching to a halt and disgorging a multitude of well-armored troopers. Amongst them were a man and woman in red and green outfits.
"Allow me to translate for the nice lady in the helicopter with a sniper rifle!" Assault bellowed. "Attention ABB scumbags: get down, or get wrecked. With love, the Protectorate. Oh, and post-scriptum."
In a blur of motion, Battery leapt onto the roof of the truck, ripping the LMG out of the gunner's hands and crushing it into three separate pieces.
"Get bent."
Grunge and South glanced at each other momentarily before coming to a decision. Simultaneously, the two of them burst out of cover, running for the other two trucks before the shell-shocked ABB goons could react.
Upon reaching the truck, Grunge's arms flashed with static before morphing into titanic skeletal claws, while a Circle Pit Grizzly appeared before him, its arms crossed in front of him. In one deft move, he stepped on the Grizzlie's claws and allowed it to launch him into the air. He landed heavily on the roof of the truck, bringing his fists down on the gun and smashing it out of a shocked gunman's hands.
Meanwhile, South, upon reaching the truck, ripped the driver side door open and hauled the driver out. Only one of his biceps pulsed with light before a blue and gold Pig Butoh came into existence next to him. The horned pig dug its horns into the side of the truck, causing it to groan in protest. The gunner on top of the truck hastily scrambled off the truck's roof, and not a moment too soon, because moments later, the pig gave a final resounding squeal and heaved with its horn, lifting the truck off its tires and flipping it onto its roof.
Satisfied with the destruction they'd wrought, the two Reapers started to amble back towards their comrades, past the ABB troops who were staring at them in shock.
"Showoffs." Hip pouted.
"Still kinda cool though," Hop granted.
"What do we do now?" Spitfire asked nervously.
"Well, I don't know about you all," South stated as he casually strolled along. "But I ain't got anythin' to be convicted of! Sooo... howdy, fellers!" He waved at the heroes as he strolled up to them, the rest of the Reapers following close behind.
"Sir, ma'am," Grunge nodded respectfully.
"Grunge! South!" Assault spread his arms jovially. "Nice going, guys! You've sure made a hell of an impact here!"
"Not that we don't appreciate your presence here tonight, but..." Grunge raised an eyebrow curiously. "Why are you here? I kn-heard that Piggot stone-walled any and all propositions to take the fight to the streets?" The Reaper amended his statement hastily.
"Relax, Grunge, we're not exactly here in any official Protectorate capacity," Battery waved his worry off easily.
"See... we listened to your debate," Assault grinned cockily. "And, well, we felt insulted! So, when the PRT wouldn't let us do our jobs, we decided to ask someone a bit... higher up."
"Mayor Christner gave Director Piggot an ultimatum: let us coordinate with the BBPD to stop the violence, or he'd slash any and all local funding to the PRT in half. The fact that his niece was recently kidnapped really helped motivate him." Battery explained.
"So, we redeem ourselves in your eyes, or do we need to beg, too?" Assault asked cheekily.
"Hmph! We shall not be so easily bought!" Hip huffed petulantly.
"But... it's a start!" Hop finished mischievously.
"And what about the others who helped us handle these guys?" South jerked his thumb over his shoulder back towards where the other villains were. Several of the Reapers started fingering their guns nervously as they eyed the surrounding officers.
"What villains?" Assault questioned innocently. "They left three minutes before we got here!" He raised his voice on the last part, prompting said individuals hiding amongst the cars to dash out from them and into any nearby alleyways they could find.
Grunge and South glanced at each other meaningfully before tipping their hats towards Assault and Battery respectfully, gestures the heroes gladly returned.
"Oh, and don't worry about Bakuda, we've got our best and brightest on it!" Battery stated confidently.
"Well, personally, I'd call him our most arrogant and over-confident, but-!"
THWACK!
"AGH! MY SPLEEN!"
-o-
"Nononono, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Bakuda growled furiously as she worked to put the finishing touches on the bomb before her. The cylindrical behemoth before her was suspended above the warehouse's floor by a multitude of chains, allowing her to work on it from all angles.
"I'm not going out this way, you fuckers, not like this, not li-!"
CRACK!
She looked over her shoulder in shock, staring at the once reinforced door that had blocked entry to her lab. The door that was now shattered in its frame.
SMASH!
Suddenly, a massive bony claw smashed through the door, blowing its pieces straight out of the doorframe.
Bakuda gaped in horror as a stream of intruders entered the lab, the Composer heading the pack. Acting on instinct, Bakuda whipped her grenade launcher off her back, took aim-!
CRASH!
And flinched as a tribal spike shot its way straight through the weapon's casing.
"Make one more move and the next one goes straight through your hand!" The Composer bellowed. "Give it up, Bakuda! We have you dead to rights!"
The bomb tinker stared at the Reaper incredulously for a moment before jerking her hand towards a part of the bomb's inner mechanisms.
CRUNCH!
"ARGH!" She snarled in pain when the Composer made good on her promise, pinning her hand to the metal. Nevertheless, she brought her other hand up, started to fiddle around...
And was halted by a blur of red suddenly grabbing her hand.
"I don't think so," Velocity warned her calmly.
She blinked at him in incomprehension before sighing heavily. "So that's how they got to all my bombs."
"Yup. So, are you ready to surrender?"
"Not even close, half-wit," She jerked her foot, clanging it against the bomb. This action caused the metal monstrosity to come to life with light and sound erupting from within. "At the risk of sounding cliché, if I'm going down, then I'm taking you with me. You, and the rest of this damn city!"
Tattletale swallowed heavily as she stared up at the mad Tinker. "That is not an exaggeration, it's got a half-megaton nuclear payload!"
"No matter."
Attention shifted to Armsmaster as he stomped into the room. "I've studied Bakuda's bombs extensively, I can disarm it."
Tattletale glanced around for a second before swallowing heavily. "No, you can't."
"HA!"
"But you can lessen the detonation."
"WHAT!?"
"It's complex, but you can get it down to... half a city block? Look, I've got a splitting headache here, I'm ball-parking, sue me!"
"SON OF A-MMPH!"
"Thank you, Velocity."
"No problem, boss."
"Now... how exactly do you propose we move something this big somewhere secluded in...?"
"...ten, fifteenish minutes? Needs time to charge, but you'll need five minutes to rig it, meaning we won't have time to move it onto PRT transport. Soooo..." Tattletale smirked at Gangsta. "We'll have to air lift it."
Gangsta raised an eyebrow in thought as she looked up at the hulking machine. "I dunno... that thing's pretty big. Might be tough for my Cornix to carry alone..."
"So two will have to do." The Composer stated as she cracked her neck back and forth in anticipation. "Trickster, get Tattletale and Armsmaster onto the bomb. Genesis, help Faultline reach the roof. You'll have to collapse it inwards so that we can get out. Gangsta, let's get our rides ready to go."
Armsmaster looked rather put off by being commanded around by the Composer, but didn't protest when he and Tattletale were swapped with Bakuda and Velocity, choosing to get to work on the bomb's innards as soon as possible, occasionally consulting Tattletale about components of the bomb.
Meanwhile, Faultline climbed onto the back of the shapeshifting Traveler, holding on as she made her way up the warehouse's walls, repositioning her body so that the mercenary would have room to get to work as she set about cutting slices of metal out of the roof and letting them drop to the ground.
Finally, after tense minutes, the deed was done. The roof was wide open and Tattletale and Armsmaster jumped off of the device, Tattletale using one of the chains hanging from the bomb while Armsmaster simply rolled upon landing.
"Alright!" Tattletale clapped her hands together. "Now, all our Reaper friends need to do is fly this baby out over the ocean and-!"
She was cut off by the Composer's phone vibrating urgently in its owner's pocket.
In an instant, the Reaper snapped her phone out, checked the ID and answered it. "Chicago?"
"Lung's here, and he's gone ballistic. Dauntless and Triumph gave us a reprieve, but in the end they're just throwing fuel on the fire! We've got two Drakes on him, but they won't last much longer! We need help! NOW!" And with that the call cut off.
The Composer shot Gangsta a desperate look through her visor. "Any ideas?"
The teenage Reaper shrugged helplessly. "Hell if I know! We got lucky the first time, Lung wasn't too amped up, so I was able to get the drop on him! But now? That bastard's an unstoppable force of destruction!"
And just like that the Composer felt an idea begin to form in her head. "Nooo..." She said slowly. "Lung is an immovable object," The original Reaper slowly raised a hand to point up at the bomb. "That is an unstoppable force. Do you remember what happens when the two meet?"
Slowly, Gangsta turned to stare up at the bomb in awe before looking back at the Composer, an eager glint obvious in her eyes. "Oh. Fuck. Yes."
"Composer," Armsmaster growled in warning. "Don't. You-!"
"Too-late-ready-set-go!" Gangsta belted out, the ground beneath both her and the Composer lighting up before erupting in static, rocketing over the heroes, twin ravens of titanic scale snatching up the chains that supported the bomb and ripping it up and out of the warehouse.
The pair tore across the sky, the hunk of metal trailing behind them as they soared tirelessly, making their way towards the blazing inferno that was burning on the docks.
"You ready?" The Composer called out.
"Hell yeah!" Gangsta whooped exuberantly. "Let's do this!"
With that, the twin ravens drifted apart, suspending the bomb between them.
"Alright, three, two, one..." The Composer counted down. "Dive!"
-o-
Lung roared furiously as he barraged the barriers of steel with his flames, slowly melting them away as he stomped forwards, intent on destroying the pests who'd dared to attack him.
Heroes, villains, Reapers, it didn't matter.
Soon, they would all burn.
He raised a massive claw, preparing to strike down at the last of the metal...
"CAW CAW, MOTHERFUCKER!"
When an annoyingly familiar voice caused him to turn around and stare up at the sky.
Not just one, but two of the accursed birds that had led to his defeat were flying towards him, and one was carrying the object of his ire.
Fury overcoming his senses, Lung spread his arms out wide, preparing to let loose an inferno at the Reapers...
When they suddenly pulled up and flew apart. Lung barely had time to process this action before a weight struck him in his abdomen. Instinctively, he curled up around the object, catching it in his arms.
Lung blinked curiously at the object, trying to process what he was holding. It was... big, and made of metal and... familiar. Where had he-?
And then it hit him.
Lung's lips drew back in a vicious snarl, a growl that promised suffering erupting from his throat.
" Ah 'on'a 'ill Bak'da."
Without warning, there was a flash of light, a surge of sound, and everything became pain.
-o-
Chicago whistled appreciatively as he watched the resulting mushroom cloud start to dissipate. "Wow, when someone asks for help, you damn well deliver."
"Damn straight!" Gangsta crowed, dancing atop her Cornix. "Oh yeah, that's right! Who da Reapers? Who da Reapers? We da Reapers! Woot!"
"Down, Gangsta," The Composer chided goodnaturedly. "Now..." She looked around for a moment. "What about Lee? Where's Psyhedelic?"
Suddenly, the aforementioned Reaper appeared in a flash of flames. He was definitely worse for the wear, his once pristine clothes charred black with soot, and the odd fire smoldering on his sleeves and hood. Judging by the way he was drunkenly swaying around and only had one tail swishing about, he was on his last legs.
The Composer hissed in a sympathetic breath. "Lee get the drop on you?"
Psycho nodded weakly in agreement.
"Damn. Ah well, two out of three isn't bad. Head home, Psychedelic. Get some rest, you deserve it."
The Reaper flashed away without another word.
The Composer then addressed the Reapers present. "That goes for the rest of you as well. Good work tonight. Now, go home and get some shut eye." She cast a dubious glance at where Kaiser and Dauntless were glaring at each other. "I'll handle the rest."
The Reapers all gave sounds of agreement as they started to wander off. She gave Anarcho a satisfied nod as he passed by, shook hands with Chicago, and clapped Gangsta on the back.
Once they were gone, she strode up to Kaiser, matching his gaze eye for eye. "Kaiser."
"Composer." He replied coolly.
"I don't like you." She stated bluntly. "I don't like your organization, I don't like what you do, but most of all, I just don't. Like. You."
"Then to be perfectly honest, I find your group of miscreants and filth of the earth to be barely more respectable than the Merchants." Kaiser replied, his tone as neutral as hers.
"You don't cause anything this big or gun for us any time soon, we don't tear you to pieces?"
"Only if the same holds true in reverse."
"Deal."
"Deal."
And with that, the two shook hands tersely and Kaiser marched away, Fenja and Menja close behind him.
Dauntless stared after Kaiser for a moment before turning an incredulous gaze on the Composer. "What the hell was that!?"
"Oh, we just came to an understanding."
"With the currently most powerful crime boss in Brockton Bay!?" Triumph demanded incredulously.
"Would you rather the streets erupt in all-out warfare here and now?" The Composer deadpanned.
Dauntless winced as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Fair enough."
"So, to confirm, no negative repercussions for the Reapers, correct?"
"Huh? Oh, most definitely. And thanks a lot for your help, we really appreciate it. If there's anything we can do to repay you-"
"Eh, it was nothing." The Composer waved him off easily. "Just give us some credit in the press conference, alright?"
"Heh, sounds good to me!" Dauntless nodded in agreement.
-o-
"Our city has, in recent times, suffered a heinous rash of crimes, courtesy of the Azn Bad Boys, which were incited by the actions of the Reapers." Piggot said as she stared unflinchingly into the sea of reporters before her, firmly ignoring the clearly uncomfortable heroes standing behind her. "However, thanks to the valiant actions of the members of the Parahuman Response Team and the heroes of the Protectorate, the villains known as Lung and Bakuda were successfully apprehended, and are enroute to their incarceration in the Baumann Correctional Facility as we speak. Despite the inflammatory actions of other local villains last night-"
"PULL!" Gangsta snarled viciously.
On cue, the Grizzly carrying the television hauled its arm back and threw the television into the air. The Reaper then proceeded to pepper the flying entertainment device with bullet after bullet of paint, until finally it crashed into a pile of other sets, each equally defaced and savaged.
"No good fat-ass ungrateful-RELOAD!" Gangsta hollered as she and several other reapers reloaded their guns. Meanwhile, the Grizzly grabbed another television off of a small pile of them, holding it up for all to see.
"Polls are currently showing how support for the once famous Reapers has plummeted, with many citing the group as menaces and-"
"PULL!"
This was essentially the mood that was shared by all in South's bar. Reapers were either sulking darkly or taking out their rage either through art or more... violent pursuits.
The Composer sat at the bar proper, silently nursing a bottle of root-beer. On her left, Chicago was typing away furiously at a laptop, while on her right Grunge was heavily chugging down a can of beer.
SLAM!
Correction, he'd just finished chugging down a can.
"Another!"
"I'm starting to think I'm gonna have to cut you off."
"You can cut me off when I forget I work for her, now another!"
"Fair 'nuff."
Meanwhile, Chicago grew more and more frantic with his typing before slamming his fist on the table in frustration. "Damn it all!" He shook his head darkly. "She's got every media outlet sealed tighter than Fort Knox! I can't even try and get a word in edgewise. Sorry, Boss."
The Composer didn't respond. She merely tilted her head back and sipped at her soda in silence.
Suddenly, the door to Southern's bar slammed open, and Hip and Hop bounded in, full of joy and energy.
"Guys! Guys! Guess what!" Hip squealed in giddy joy.
"The pig lady just had a heart attack and keeled over?" Gangsta growled as she cocked her gun.
"Nope!"
"But we think you're gonna like this even better!" Hop assured.
A third individual entered the bar calmly.
"Hello Reapers!"
All attention was directed towards the newcomer as she spoke.
Tattletale smirked in a vulpine manner as she bathed in the attention.
"How would you all like to help screw over the PRT?"
Slowly, the grin was matched by every Reaper present, the Composer most of all.