Allegro 6

For once, it was a beautiful day in Brockton Bay.

The sun was shining, a cool salty breeze was wafting in from the Atlantic, and the Boardwalk was bustling with the majority of the Bay's tourist population and the teenagers who were let loose from school for the weekend.

Most residents of the Bay would have been happy for such a day after the madness that had preceded it.

Taylor Hebert groaned miserably as she tugged the hood of her hoodie down over her eyes, trying to block out the (in her opinion) glaring sunlight.

She was not one of those residents.

Instead, Taylor was exhausted. There were a number of factors that were contributing to her mood.

The primary one was the drastic shift in the balance of the city's underworld. While Empire Eighty-Eight hadn't completely collapsed from the blow that Coil had dealt to them, they had been severely injured by the loss of the main source of their finances that was Medhall. As a result, they'd been forced to relinquish a majority of the ex-ABB territory they'd seized and instead concentrate on reinforcing the grip they still maintained in Downtown.

Even then, the Empire had lost one of their more powerful and prominent members. It was hard to say what part of the affair stood out more: That Carol Dallon decided to represent even one side of the clash in the renowned custody battle case that would come to be known as Anders v. Anders, or that the victorious Kayden Anders chose to join and was accepted into New Wave as a result.

In a perfect world, Crusader, Night and Fog would have left the Empire alongside her once anew.

In this world, they had a rather public and violent falling out that resulted in the vicious trio remaining by Kaiser's side and left Purity doing a lot of community service.

But that was all but one portion of the equation. Another part entirely was composed of the Merchants. They too had changed over the course of the past two weeks. No longer were they... well, to be fair, they were still the scum of the earth. But now they were a changed scum. For whatever reason, the Merchants ranks had become ever so slightly more refined. Less users on the job, less random junkies and hobos, better quality of merchandise and clientele. In most other groups, such a minor positive shift would have been unnoticeable, but in comparison to what they once were? It was a marked improvement. Marked enough that what once was a meager, questionable presence evolved into one fact becoming clear: they owned the Docks. No two ways about it.

The rest of the city was, surprisingly enough, free and clear of criminal influence. Openly, at least. Beneath the surface, the Undersiders, ranks recently bolstered by Trainwreck and Circus, were silently occupying what remained of Brockton Bay. They didn't truly enforce things, they didn't quite have what could be defined as rank and file, they left the law to the proper authorities.

What they did do was somehow produce mercenaries and soldiers from out of nowhere to corral any gang-members that tried to majorly expand their faction's sphere of influence whenever they attempted such a feat. The conflicts were never enough to warrant a war, but they sent a clear message: this is how things are going to stay, back off.

In the grand scheme of things, their efforts were a drop in the bucket compared to the way that the Protectorate cracked down. At all times of the day, no less than three heroes could be found on the streets at once working over time. Some praised them for their renewed diligence and their effectiveness in making the streets safer. A few others wondered why they didn't seem to be doing much else apart from patrolling and presumably sleeping. Grunge had passed on hearing a few rumors about Assault moaning about 'slave wages'.

Either way, that was how things stayed. The Empire and Merchants kept to themselves, the Undersiders threw their newfound weight around, ran a few heists now and then and kept the peace, the Protectorate marched through the streets like conquering heroes, Faultline and her crew came and went at their own liberty after an extended period of absence where upon their return they brought with them a new colleague by the name of Shamrock, Uber and Leet put on a show from time to time with varying degrees of success, and the Reapers...

Actually, not much had changed for the Reapers apart from the fact that they now went out of their way to stop whatever petty crime they came across and protected civilians from the crossfire of conflicts. Other than that, they did what they wanted, where they wanted, and no one did much about it.

All in all, the readjustment period had been grueling, fraught with meetings between the villains and otherwise in order to ensure that nothing boiled over, but the results spoke for themselves: peace. A relative peace, but peace nonetheless.

Taylor moaned under her breath as she rolled her aching shoulders. A peace that left no room for the wicked and weary, at least.

Following the fight with Coil, the Reapers had doubled down on any existing efforts to improve themselves so that they would be better prepared for conflicts in the future. These preparations included shooting lessons with their paintball guns courtesy of Anarcho and Chicago, quick-thinking and creative fighting via Gangsta, Hip and Hop and...

Taylor felt a shudder run the course of her body.

Exercise under Grunge.

"Alright, everyone, are we ready to start?"

"Uh, yeah, one question? Why the hell do we need to wear these funky clothes!?"

"Those, Gangsta, are very special motivational uniforms that I made myself!"

"They fucking reek!"

"That's because I covered them with aerosolized motivational steak-sauce and motivational hotdog water!"

"... Grunge, not to question you or your sanity, but I can't see how this is supposed to help us exercise."

"Well, of course you can't, Boss! This stuff is totally useless without one key factor!"

"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!"

"GAH!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"MOTIVATIONAL ALTERNA WOLVES! WELL? ARE YOU ALL MOTIVATED YET?!"

"ARE YOU CRAZY!?"

"I AIN'T THE ONE WHO HASN'T STARTED RUNNING YET! GO GIT 'EM, BOYS!"

"WOOF!"

"AAAAAAH!"

"...Aaaahhh... The sweet, sweet stench of sweat, urine and fear. Smells like bootcamp!"

Taylor ground her teeth furiously. 'Five million hits in five hours,' she thought murderously. 'I don't know how someone managed to edit Yakety Sax into that video and post it so fast, and honestly, I don't care. All I know is that if I ever find out who 'Aluminum_Matriarch' is, I'm going to pay them back for creating 'Running of the Reapers' by reaching down their throat and-!'

"Well well well, who do we have here?"

Taylor's already clenched hands tensed visibly as her eye twitched in response to the all too familiar voice that grated at her ears.

Slowly, Taylor turned on her heel to observe the sickeningly pleasant forms of Bitch One, Bitch Two and Bitch Three. Or, as they were officially known, Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess and Madison Clements.

Taylor let out a hiss of exasperation as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "What do you want, Barnes? In case you didn't notice, there isn't an audience for this three-ring circus of yours." She grit out tiredly.

Emma bristled at the comment, but her smile remained erroneously sweet nonetheless. "Oh, nothing in particular. I was just surprised that you actually had the guts to show your face in public is all. But, then again, I suppose I shouldn't be, considering where we are. I suppose you would feel at home here, scrounging about with the other wharf rats."

Taylor cracked an eye open and shot a half-glare at her aggressor. "Humorous. Really humorous. Kind of like those clothes you're wearing. I wasn't aware that Barnum and Bailey's was considered high-fashion nowadays."

Emma stared at her in numb shock for a moment scowling viciously, a slight reddish tinge coloring her features. "That circus-schtick of yours is soooo appropriate, Taylor. Fitting for a sideshow freak like you."

"At least sideshow freaks get plenty of attention." Taylor scoffed. "Your act, on the other hand, is getting pretty stale. You want to know the one difference between you and most other clowns? No one is laughing to your face."

Emma gaped at Taylor like a fish out of water, but before she could formulate a reply, Sophia had stepped in front of her, snarling viciously as she clamped her hand on Taylor's shoulder. "You're talking a big game, Hebert. Too big." She hissed. "Do yourself a favor and return to the position weak, spineless shits like you are supposed to be in before you get hurt."

Taylor's eye twitched momentarily before she plastered a somewhat twisted grin on her face.

"Oh, I can imagine plenty of positions I could be in at the moment, Hess." She leaned forwards, putting her height to use in order to effectually loom over the opposing girl. "Want me to demonstrate them? The one I'm thinking of right now involves my foot on your throat."

Sophia jerked in shock, taking an involuntary step back from her prey, but before she could formulate a response...

"Well, hello hello hello! What do we have here?"

The trio and Taylor looked up at the roof where the voice had come from, catching sight of a pair of Reapers situated above them.

"Having fun there, kids? Enjoying the weekend and all that?" One of them asked innocently.

Sophia's scowl reformed in an instant as she glared up at the Reapers. "Fuck off you worthless dumb... ass..." She trailed off as a certain detail came to her attention. "Is that a video camera?" She breathed in horrified trepidation.

"Yup!" The Reaper holding the device crowed. "1080p too! Capable of rendering every inch of you and your friends' faces in glorious HD! We're putting together a neato little documentary! Wanna stick around a bit longer to get more viral fame?"

Sophia's face drained of blood. She shot a final scowl at Taylor before hastily moving off into the crowd, Emma right on her heels.

Madison blinked at the turn of events, swapping her gaze between the Reapers and Taylor before giving the target of her friends' animosity an uneasy smile. "Sooo... Taylor... how's tricks?"

"Beat it, bottom-feeder." Taylor deadpanned.

"Right..." Madison grimaced as she followed Emma and Sophia at a more sedate pace.

Taylor stared after the Trio silently for a moment until her attention was diverted by the Reapers jumping down to land beside her. "Thanks for the backup, Canto. You too, Bluegrass."

"Heh, not a problem, Acoustic." The one holding the video camera dismissed.

Bluegrass stared in the direction the upper-class girls had left in. "Want us to take care of them? Lot of potential for accidents out here on the Boardwalk..."

Taylor dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Nah, nah, leave them be. They're just a bunch of prissy stuck-up nobodies who aren't worth our time." She gave Bluegrass a smirk. "So, tell me... what's this I hear about you having a nasty run-in with Battery that involved three gallons of paint and a half-dozen panicked Fifenfrogs?"

Canto fell into a fit of laughter while Bluegrass blushed and angled his hat down over his eyes. "Can we talk about literally anything else? Bad enough that the results of that fiasco are getting praised by so many art critics..."

"Heh, fine fine..." Taylor smirked. "So! Anybody working on any new pieces?"

"Oh!" Canto perked up. "J-Pop's setting up a concert involving lots of flying paint in Minutemen Park. She says that the pics she'll have some friends take in the crowd will be pieces of art in and of themselves. I think it's safe to say that the more of us there, the more hectic it'll be."

"Sounds like it'll be fun." The un-costumed Reaper nodded. "I'll try relaying it to the DJs if they haven't already heard. You're well connected too, right Bluegrass?"

"Heh, that I am. Both with us, and with my real family." Bluegrass's smirk took on an ambitious overtone. "Which is actually something I'm going to bring up with the Composer the next chance I get!"

Taylor and Canto gave him a curious look, the prior a bit more attentive than the other. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"Weeeell..." Bluegrass folded his hands behind his head. "You know how my family knows that I'm a Reaper, right?"

"Do we? Your wife makes some of the best lemonade in the whole city!" Canto crowed.

"Heh, right, right." Bluegrass smiled. "Well, either way, that includes my extended family as well. And, well, the thing is... I've got this cousin who lives down in Columbia. Great artist, really good with a brush. I'm gonna ask the Composer if I can send him a few cans of Sound, I'm sure that he could do great things with them."

Taylor's eyebrows shot up at the idea. One of the main rules she'd tried to enforce was that Reapers shouldn't bring their Noise Cans out of town, for risk of losing them. The last thing she wanted was for their tools to somehow wind up the streets in who-knows-whose hands doing who-knows-what who-knows-where. But... this was different... if it was just Sound... and if it was for a close relative...

"I... think the Composer'd be alright with it..." Taylor mused. "And... maybe it's time that we expanded?"

Canto blinked in surprise "What're you talking about?"

"Well..." Taylor chewed her cheek in thought. "We already have a ton of Reapers in Brockton Bay... we're doing good here... maybe... what if the Composer sent out some of the more experienced Reapers with tons of cans to other cities? We... could recruit others. Set up new branches... We... we could bring our art to others."

Bluegrass beamed. "Honestly, that sounds great! I'll bring it up with the Composer as soon as I-!"

A shrill, mechanical shriek rang out from nowhere, the sound sweeping out over the city and drowning out all else.

Canto, Bluegrass, Taylor and every single person on the Boardwalk froze in deeply-ingrained horror.

Slowly, Taylor drew a phone out of her, pocket, made a call and put it to her ear.

"It wasn't us, Boss."

Taylor's heart nearly stopped.

"Go." She whispered under her breath.

Neither Bluegrass or Canto reacted. All they could do was stare at the stormfront on the horizon that neither had noticed until then.

Taylor snapped out of her stupor, ramming her hands into their shoulders. "GO!" She yelled. "GO! GET YOUR FAMILIES AND GET TO THE SHELTERS OR OUT OF TOWN OR WHEREVER! JUST GO!"

Canto stared at her in shock. "Bu- Acoustic-!"

"I SAID FUCKING GO!"

Canto snapped a can out and sprayed some wings on, Bluegrass some kangaroo legs, and the both shot off away and out of sight.

Taylor turned her attention back to the phone. "Get word out on every channel you can, get everyone out of town or into a bunker. Make sure that Waltz, Freestyle, Serenade and Dream know that I'm not obligating any of them to fight, although their participation would be greatly appreciated. After that, get the hell out of there. Something tells me that the Graveyard isn't the safest place to be at the moment."

"What about you, Boss?"

"What the hell do you think?" Taylor didn't wait for a response before she hung up and redialed. "Dad, I'm on the Boardwalk. I'm safe, but it looks like Leviathan is coming in fast. I don't think that I'll make it to the Harlington bunker. I'm going to try for the one on forty-eighth street, alright?"

"I- wait, hang on- What if I came and picked you up!?"

The sound of honking that started to ring out over the city hit Taylor's ears. "Not an option. Dad, we've run the drills, we know how this works. We just follow the rules and we'll be safe, alright?"

"I... how are you being more of an adult than me?"

"Because somebody has to and you're acting like a little girl at the moment."

"... promise me you'll be safe."

"..." Taylor swallowed heavily. "I can't do that any more than you can, and you know it."

"Alright. Good luck."

"You too." And with that, Taylor hung up. She glanced around for a second until she located a nearby alleyway, which she darted into.

A few seconds later, the Composer shot out from between the rooftops like a bat out of hell, a likeness made all the more literal by the fact that she was held aloft by a pair of bat-wing-like tattoos.

If her wings likened her to a bat, then her attire covered the 'hell' part. A pitch-black heavily reinforced trench coat, tactical vest and plated boots and gloves protected her body, while her head was covered by the combination of a military helmet, a headset and a red-lensed gasmask.

All in all, the Composer didn't even remotely look like she was prepared to go to war.

She was prepared to march into the depths of hell itself.

After about a minute of flying, the Composer heard a voice above the wail of the emergency sirens. "-mposer! COMPOSER!" The Reaper flapped her wings and brought herself to a halt as she searched for the source of the voice.

When she caught sight of the speaker, she raised a hand in acknowledgement. "Aegis."

The Ward flew up next to her and nodded. "Composer. I presume you're headed for the Endbringer briefing?"

"I'm not going to Sunday Church, I can tell you that much." She responded darkly.

Aegis nodded and started headed towards Downtown. "It's being held at the PRT Headquarters. Come on, we need to get there before-!"

Whatever Aegis was about to say, it died in his throat as he stared dead ahead. The Composer followed his gaze and couldn't help but stare as well.

The skyline was dark and spotty, blemished by dozens upon dozens of flying figures moving across it, streaming towards the city. Towards a common destination.

Aegis swallowed heavily. "This... is really happening." His hands tightened into fists. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

The Composer placed her hand on the Ward's shoulder. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

Aegis stared at her forlornly for a second before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

The two set off again, following the growing mass of parahumans.

After a few minutes of swift flight, the human and pseudo-villain duo landed in the parking lot of the PRT's HQ, brushing shoulders with other parahumans who were either flying or teleporting in. The scene was one of controlled chaos, with villains and heroes skirting around one another.

The local parahuman scene was especially out in force: The Empire Eighty-Eight were milling about one another and discussing strategy, occasionally shooting acrid glares at the newly-minted Flare as she stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of New Wave.

The Merchants were congregated around one of Squealer's rides that appeared to incorporate all the best and worst parts of a snowplow and a sherman tank. Squealer was waist-deep in the monster's guts and cursing up a storm to match the one overhead, Mush was building a small titan out of the contents of a half-dozen dumpsters, and Skidmark... Skidmark was oddly quiet, content with pacing back and forth while muttering under his breath and scratching at his arms.

The Undersiders were closely huddled together near Trainwreck's mass, Tattletale speaking in rapidfire to each of them as she glanced around frequently. Uber and Leet were present as well, with Uber sporting the Ultramarine armor he'd used against Noelle and Leet desperately scrambling over the mech he'd used at the time.

Faultline and her crew were speaking with Miss Militia, until both parties seemed to reach an agreement. Speaking of the Protectorate, they were rallied around Armsmaster, who, apart from sporting two halberds at once, was speaking with other big names like Myrrdin, Chevalier and even Eidolon. Their newest member, Vector, was somewhat uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as he caught the occasional glare from other heroes, such as the members of Haven.

The Wards were standing at the ready as they awaited orders, occasionally interacting with other teams from other cities.

One such Ward, a Case 53 made entirely of metal, walked over to the Composer and Aegis.

"Aegis. Good to see you again." He greeted cordially.

"Weld." Aegis greeted in turn. "Who's with you?"

Weld shrugged. "Most of our Wards, whole of the Protectorate, and if you look over there..." Aegis pointed at a trio of primly suited capes. "You can see the welcoming party that Accord decided to have greet Leviathan."

"Are they any good?" The Composer queried.

Weld shrugged. "Citrine and Jacklight ought to be good for support, and I guess that Othello could be good for search and rescue. We'll see though." He regarded the chief Reaper. "The Composer, right? Pardon me if my intelligence is a little outdated, but last I heard you and your Reapers preferred not to fight."

The Composer made to answer, but before she could another voice cut in. "Things have changed, Mister Weld." Waltz stated firmly as she marched up to the Composer, accompanied by Freestyle in a ballroom gown with an expertly split hem, a young woman in a skin-tight flame-themed bodysuit and opera mask, a girl who was wearing a set of blue, black and silver heavy-duty pajamas, a sleeping mask and leaning on a walking cane, and several cloth golems toting a number of bolts of fabric.. "And even if they hadn't, we'd have no choice but to do our duty and fight anyways."

The Composer smiled beneath her mask and nodded at the group. "Waltz. Freestyle. Serenade. Dream. Glad to see you're with us." She cast an uneasy glance at Dream. "Are you sure you're good for this? Panacea did say that it would take-"

"Panacea opened the door for me to walk again." Dream reassured. "I can step through on my own."

"I'll stay by her, keep her body safe, don't worry." Serenade piped up.

"I'll keep close too." Freestyle added. "The best I can do is maybe give some people courage with my voice anyways, so..." She shrugged.

"Er, excuse me?" Vista piped up as she walked over to the group. "I couldn't help but overhear... Do you want me to get you to a safe location? Just tell me where to go and I can get you there fast if you want."

"That'd be nice, thanks." Dream nodded.

"Either way, it doesn't matter." Weld sighed. "We're all grateful you're here. We're going to need the best of the best for this."

"Well, you're going to have to make do with us!"

The Composer went ramrod straight when a voice far too familiar for comfort hit her ears.

"Cause you see..." Gangsta grinned malevolently as she and a small army of Reapers walked into the parking lot. "We're the best that Brockton Bay has to offer."

The Composer worked her jaw wordlessly for a second until she caught sight of a pair of tech-garbed DJs. Growling furiously, she marched up to them.

"Hey Bo-URK!" DJ Synth squawked as their leader grabbed he and DJ Chiptune by their collars.

"I thought I told you two morons to tell everyone to get in the damn bunkers!" The Composer all but growled.

"W-we did, Boss!" DJ Chiptune protested hastily. "We called everyone, told them your orders-!"

"And then we all decided to ignore said orders and come here anyways." Chicago shrugged flatly as he stepped up beside the Composer. "Simple really."

The Composer stared at him flatly before closing her eyes and breathing slowly. "I'm going to say this once. And only once. Get. Out of here. Now." The Composer swept her gaze over the crowd of artists. "I'm not going to have you all risk your lives!"

"Why? So, that you can do it for us?" South grunted.

"We came here to fight!" Hip proclaimed.

"And that's what we intend to do." Hop confirmed.

"We're gonna kick that scaly bastard's-GAH!" Gangsta was cut off when she was pulled to the side by an irate shadowy supervillain.

"To put things simply, ma'am." Grunge wrenched the DJs out of the Composer's hands and stood before her defiantly. "We're here, we intend to fight and die by your side, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

"I thought that good soldiers knew how to follow orders." The Composer spat.

"The best soldiers know when to call bullshit on bullshit orders." Grunge replied evenly.

The Composer hissed through her teeth before marching up to the largest Reaper and sticking her finger in his face. "You listen to me you headstrong bear, I'm giving you a direct order. Either you listen to me, or so help me god-!"

"Excuse me?"

"WHAT!?" The pair snarled.

Victor was unphased as he held up a small card. "I believe that this may be of use to you."

The Composer snatched the card out of his hands while the villain walked back to his group. "'Jonas Finch, Familial Relations Advocate PhD'... what the hell?"

"Ah..." Vista swallowed nervously as she tugged at the collar of her costume.

"What?"

"I... ah, Mister Finch... he's a..." The Ward looked away nervously. "Marriage counselor?"

Grunge flung his hands up in exasperation. "I'm going to kill that man."

"Save a piece for me." The Composer grit out as she crumpled the card in her fist, shooting daggers at the white supremacist.

"Hey!"

Attention was drawn to a blonde, childish individual who strutted up to the group with more arrogance than seemed possible for someone her apparent age. "You clowns aren't parahumans, right?"

"What about it?" South asked flatly.

"Then get the hell out of here!" Bambina jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "This is an Endbringer fight, geniuses! Parahumans only! We don't have time to deal with worthless normals like you!"

The Composer bristled and prepared to rip into the out-of-city upstart, but before she could...

"HEY!"

Most everyone jumped when Skidmark bellowed and started to march over.

"How about you do us a favor and get the fuck out of here instead, huh you little bitch?" He snarled.

Bambina gaped for a second as she tried to respond. "I- hey-!"

"Listen, fuckface!" Skidmark growled, shoving his finger in her face. "These guys, they might be powerless shitbags, but they live here and they chose to fucking show up! Now, I don't know how you fuckers do things in Vegas, but I'd rather have fuckers who I know can kick ass backing me then a worthless bouncing titless bitch like you, got it? You don't like it, then you can fuck right off. Otherwise, close your fucking mouth, and step the fuck back!"

Silence.

"Well shit." Gangsta stated flatly.

"Thanks... Skidmark?" The Composer offered slowly.

"No problem." He grunted.

Grunge was the first to get his wits about him. "Composer." He stated. "This is our home, this is our fight. We have every last drop of Noise to be had in the entire city with us. We're ready to fight. We know the risks and we're willing to face them. You are not going to convince us otherwise. Got it?"

The Composer stared at him and the rest of the Reapers flatly before sighing heavily. "If you're willing... then fine."

"Excuse me."

The Composer looked at the new speaker... and promptly froze.

"You're all here to fight?" Eidolon asked.

The Composer swallowed heavily before nodding jerkily.

"Good." He jerked his head at the building. "The strategy meeting is starting. Those of you who can, come inside."

As the Triumvirate member marched away, the Composer gave her Reapers a final look. "Well... this is it. You ready?"

Chicago shook his head solemnly. "There's only one possible valid answer to that: not a chance in hell."

"Good enough for me..." She waved a hand forwards. "Let's do this."

And so, the Reapers entered the building, preparing to face one of the greatest threats to humanity in generations.