Fiend, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Green Sun

by logiccosmic

[Exalted/Worm] Taylor Hebert failed, in her moment to become something more. But with her failure, she was Chosen. Written with assistance from GLH.

4. 4: Ochre Fountain

Ochre Fountain 4.1

I could feel it on the tip of my tongue. Something that was still eluding me. It had been so close, right on the surface of my thoughts. Right when I shifted, my form changing. I rested my face in my palms in frustration. Of course, the surroundings weren't very conductive to thinking.

The sound of a truck going 65 down a highway. The constant noise of wind. I was resting on the upper level of a truck hauling cars. Easy enough to get onto, and somewhat hidden from prying eyes and the elements. It was still cold up here, though. My bag of clothes was in between my crossed legs, and I could feel the wad of cash in my pocket. I'd count it, out of necessity, but it'd just fly away up here. My face was probably public knowledge by now, along with all the other faces I had assumed. So instead of a girl, I looked like a boy. Shorter, chubby, and brown haired. Bland and ignorable. I had also figured out how to disguise my clothing, which resulted in brighter jeans, and an open jacket over a t-shirt that said 'Female Body Inspector.' A perfect disguise.

The sign on the opposite side of the highway read Providence – 140 Miles. Almost to New York City or so. Another hour, at least. I had gotten onto this truck as it was filling up at a gas station, so I should be good until I got there. I'd have to find another one to ride, or possibly some place to sleep. It was already mid-afternoon, and while the sun helped a bit it was very, very cold. Maybe it was penance.

Sophia was dead. She had threatened my dad, sure, but I had killed her. I could still hear her horrified shout, the realization of her oncoming fiery death. Worse, I had felt good after I did it. It felt right. My stomach shifted, nauseous.

Were my powers affecting me? The rage I kept drawing on, using to fuel my powers. Was I controlling it, or was it controlling me? I didn't know. The roadside switched to more buildings than trees. I was getting closer to my destination. Well away from the Bay. What would my dad think of me now? I hadn't explained my powers. I had been to afraid of his reaction, his disappointment.

I could be certain he was more than disappointed now.

Houses became strip malls before becoming two story or higher buildings. The highway split, and the truck took it, curving. I held on to the bumper I was leaning against, locking my legs around my clothes. Another few minutes, and the truck took an exit ramp. Keeping one hand on the bumper of the car behind me, I grabbed my clothes. Time to get off. Maybe the truck was at its destination. Or maybe another trucker had signaled this one that I was riding on top.

I waited, and we stopped at a stoplight. I dismounted. The car I nearly landed on honked at me, and I moved purposefully through the two other lanes, moving back onto the sidewalk. Now I only had to find out where I was, what I was going to do, and where I was going to stay. My stomach, no longer nauseous from my navel-gazing, reminded me that I hadn't eaten since morning either. Lunch had been interrupted, after all.

Clutching my bag to my chest, I looked at my options. Fast food wasn't cheap, but neither was a restaurant. Going to a grocery store at this point was counter-productive: I didn't know if I would be able to store food, and I really wanted to sit down in a comfortable chair, with warm food and a heater. So, cheap and plentiful. Time to ask the locals.

I saw a woman, standing alone and smoking a cigarette while leaning against a bollard. Not very well-dressed, but not shabby either. Perfect. I walked to her, asking, "Excuse me ma'am, I-"

She took one look at me, at my shirt, and scoffed, "Pig."

With that, she stubbed her cigarette and walked away. What? Oh, the shirt. Good for making a disguise no one would ever associate with me, but bad for conversation. I only had a smidge over half of my inner pool left, so I wasn't going to change now. With the way today was going, I might need it very soon. Time to try again.

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By the time I found someone willing to answer my questions, and a place that met my expectations, it was growing dark. Several hours of walking around the Bronx, where I now found myself, had yielded an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Fifteen dollars later, and I was now eating my third plate of decent, but hot food. A pot of hot tea was a welcome side benefit. I was already on pot number two. And the heater in the buffet was the cap on the trifecta.

I sat near the TV, watching. It was set to the news.

"-and once more, here is the cell phone video of Taylor Hebert, aka Defiler, changing shape to attack Shadow Stalker. Again, we must warn you, this video is extremely violent."

Sophia charged me, knife drawn. My face was twisted in anger. I saw the wave of fire erupt from me, melting all the tables nearby. Sophia went barely visible, sliding around me. Above me, for one brief second, I could see the bronze spider forming, before it dove into me, spinning a cocoon of brass thread. The cocoon lasted but an instant, before it dissipated, revealing a glimpse of me tackling Sophia through the wall. The video shook, both in the aftermath of my hit, and the owner's movements as he or she ran right to the hole we had exited through.

I saw myself on TV, easily towering over twenty feet tall, made of black stone, vaguely humanoid. My wings, made of stone instead of leathery flesh, were easily forty feet across. They looked kind of like bat wings. Massive claws bigger than swords adorned my hands, and over my entire body, faint green characters could be seen, pulsing with my heartbeat. My eyes and mouth flickered with green flames, and the black disk adorned my brow.

On TV, the video showed me turning, and the writing that adorned me dimmed, becoming invisible. I let out a stream of fire, which immolated whatever had been behind me. Screams could be heard in the background for a moment, followed by a blast of wind knocking the cell phone's owner over as I took to the sky.

The anchor came back on, "At this point, authorities are considering Defiler to be extremely dangerous. Any sightings should be reported immediately."

I stood, draining my cup of tea. Time to go. I needed a place to sleep.

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My overpriced purchase for the night was from a seedy motel, a room with a bed stained with who knows what. I cringed even thinking about it. I had countered the middle-aged clerk's request for ID by more than doubling the price, sliding a hundred dollar bill across the counter. I was now registered as Benjamin Franklin.

I counted out my bills and change. I still had over 1500 dollars left. Enough for a week and change at my current rate of expenditure. Not enough to live forever on though. I'd have to get more money, with no idea how to do it. A hot shower, probably taxing the tiny water heater, helped me relax a bit. I'd find a library, and do some local research. After breakfast of course.

Exhausted, I wrapped myself in the frayed blanket and went to sleep.

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Ochre Fountain 4.2

I had a brief moment of panic, waking in an unfamiliar bed. Barring my own, and a few times at Emma's house, I had never slept outside of my own bed. Panic slumped to sadness. Another hot shower helped me wake up. I'd start needing coffee with how early my mornings had become, and would likely stay.

I stuffed my clothes in a pillowcase to keep them out of sight, and used a plastic bag to keep the pillowcase dry and clean. For all I knew, I had been reported leaving my house with said bag of clothes. Besides, I had more than paid for the pillowcase with my bribe. I brushed my teeth with my finger, and flicked out the light in the bathroom.

The lights back on, a skinny, red-haired man looked out of the mirror, sunken cheeks and sparse facial hair. Thicker clothes than I had on too. I left my rented room, pillowcase slung over a shoulder.

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Coffee in my right hand, croissant and the trim of the pillowcase in my left, I walked the streets of New York City. I didn't know where a library was, but I had asked around for an internet cafe while I stood in line for my breakfast at a coffee shop. I drained the rest of my coffee, and stuffed the remnants of the croissant in my mouth as I entered the cafe.

Mouth full, I negotiated for a computer with hand gestures. $10 for a computer for an hour seemed both expensive and cheap, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I sat down after spending a dollar on a bottle of water from the vending machine. I could save the bottle, and refill it from sinks. Hopefully, potable water from sinks.

I decided not to look at my page, or even the news. I didn't want to know right now, and at the moment, it wasn't critical. What was critical was figuring out my competition. My possible captors and chasers.

Legend ran the local Protectorate, which had a dual function as the HQ for the entire Protectorate. Legend could be thought of as a flying artillery battery, shooting lasers without regards for the laws of physics. Curving, freezing, forking, you name it. If he was a bad guy, he could wipe out cities. On a personal note, he was widely known to be gay, and had turned the gay-bashing from the 60's into open acceptance. Probably smart when the guy with a rainbow flag could possibly blast you into the next timezone. He led over a hundred capes, just under his purview. I checked behind me. No printer. Damn. I'd go buy a notebook to write this down in.

Jouster was in charge of the local Wards, and was best described as a knock-off Chevalier. Both could play with their weapons, but while Chevalier could change his cannonblade into something the size of a supertanker, Jouster could only utilize energy blasts, applied at touch range. Not to say he wasn't effective. Observed effects included freezing touch, igniting touch, and disintegration. Thirty or so Wards were in the city.

A dozen independent heroes rounded up the side of good. The villainous side was both much larger, and more important to me.

Several major gangs had evolved with the use of powers, and still held a predominant position in the criminal underworld. The Mob was at the top, rumored to have nearly as many powered people as there were heroes. Three gangs, similar to the ABB; the Shore Crew, the 757s, and the Revenants were on the second tier of criminal gangs. Lots of unpowered in addition to a deep roster of powered. At the bottom of the pool were pure-powered or majority powered groups, a half dozen, including such luminaries as the Adepts or Teeth. The former were 'magic users', or so they claimed, and they were led by a self-proclaimed time traveler. They had 15 stated powered members, still a hefty amount, comparable to the Empire Eighty-Eight. The latter had shown up in Brockton Bay before, and could best be thought of as wanna-be Slaughterhouse 9. The better part of a dozen capes, and a bevy of unpowered.

A lot of enemies, but it was the biggest city in the US, and one of the biggest in the world. And by far the wealthiest of similarly sized cities. Especially without Tokyo on the roster anymore. But it still had its problems. Drugs, prostitution, rampant arson and thievery, both from supervillains and from regular criminals. Gang wars occurred, injuring or killing innocent bystanders. A place I could do good, even with my powers. I just couldn't get caught.

No giant fire breathing Taylor then.

The Bronx, where I had stayed, had two of the local gangs fighting for control, in a larger version of the E88/ABB fight. Both the Shore Crew and 757s were challenging each other over territory, and several buildings had been burnt down, possibly by a cape. Perfect.

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The sun was only two hours from setting, by my guess. A burrito had served as a late lunch/early dinner as I watched this location. I had bypassed it at first, and then looped back around. Nothing else nearby appeared to be a better bet. Lots of young men, and a handful of young women, all wearing the color red. Red for blood, I supposed. My pillow case was hidden behind a low wall not a hundred yards from here, underneath some plywood. If I had to make a quick escape, I didn't want to be slowed down.

Several cars pulled up to the milling gang members, and more got out. Most prominently, two of them were dressed not in red like the others, but in what could be charitably be called a costume. One had orange flame markings, both on his red shirt and blue jeans, and the other had a black flame marked out on his red jacket. My eyes burned – and I tasted/felt their powers in rapid succession.

While Orange Flame had nearly scorched my tongue like chugging a bottle of hot sauce, Black Flame had a more smoky taste, almost making me gag on the feeling in my throat. I almost gagged at the unpleasant sensations. Still, both of them were weaker than me, and I couldn't help the feeling of contempt my survey brought.

Fire based powers. A surprise.

Black Flame smacked one of the women in red, laughing. She didn't say anything, but moved back towards him, after picking herself up off the ground. Orange Flame tossed Black a paper bag, which he removed something from. An assemblage of plastic baggies, with something white within them. Drugs, I assumed. Time for investigation.

I crossed the street, hands in my pockets. Right in front of me, a trio of red-clad gang members were talking, with expansive hand gestures.

"Hey," I said, twenty feet away.

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Ochre Fountain 4.3

"Fuck you want?" Tall said, the two other red clothed members turning with him, arraying at his back.

I spent some of my power, my bullshit enhancer activating. I scratched at my cheeks and upper neck, and looked back and forth, checking the street. "My fix, man."

"Money, bitch." Behind him I saw the Flames go inside, followed by over half the gang. One of Tall's associates held out a small plastic baggie, with white powder in the bottom. He shook it in my general direction.

I held out a five.

He grabbed my extended bill, and pushed me back. "Fuck is this? Bring back real money."

I stumbled back, and left, muttering under my breath, glancing over my shoulder as I walked. The trio had gone back to laughing.

I went back to where I hidden my clothing, and pulled it out from underneath the plywood, before using it as a pillow. My disguise released, falling away into my shadow, and I pulled a scarf out, wrapping it around my face. A quick nap to recharge, and for it to grow dark.

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I woke up to daylight. I must have slept all the way through the night. It sure explained why I was so damn cold. I got up, and saw the moon over head.

What.

I pushed my bag back underneath the plywood, rolling my shoulders as I stood. Surprisingly, I wasn't sore from sleeping on plywood. My full pool seemed eager, too. I had that feeling I was missing something again. The connection between things and my powers. Things I couldn't quite grasp. I walked to the gangs last location.

The cars from earlier this evening were still there. Either they had spent the night, or there was a new Endbringer out and about, tentatively titled "The Goddamn Moon". Or in what seemed to be the more likely case, I could now see in the dark. Not just see in the dark, but see everything like it was high-noon. Half the street lights were out, and I could read the plates on the cars across the street. I checked up and down the street, and walked to my find. I crouched down, looking at the date on the paper. Still Tuesday the 17th. I could officially see in the dark. And read a newspaper in the dark.

I stood back up, looking at the building the gang had entered. Three stories, the bottom's large storefront boarded up and covered in graffiti. The upper two stories still had lights on, and I could hear music coming from inside. The rest of the street was nearly abandoned, with only a few of the buildings having any lights on at all. The few that did only had a solitary light or two at most.

I discorporated, moving through the shadows. Almost had it. The feeling of making a connection, of understanding was so damn close. I looked back up at the lights. No one noticed me, especially here, with the nearest street light several dozen yards away. I crouched, running my hand through the shadows, which to me, were as bright as day. It wasn't a disguise power, or my quick 'change and not get hit' power, but it was so damn close.

I paused. I burnt the remainder of my inner pool, scraping a bit from the outer. Perfect.

My body had become shadow, not for a brief instant, but holding steady. I moved, a snake of shadow across sidewalk. I found a chain link fence and passed through it with ease. I reached to my face, and pulled my scarf off, watching as my arm solidified into its proper shape, before returning to flickering shadows after I tied it back on.

I couldn't help my grin. So cool. And something I could use, right now. Something I could use to put a halt to something, even if it was only a tiny victory. Something I could be proud of, my dad would be proud of, my mom would be proud of. I sprinted across the street, avoiding the pools of light. I was a silent wave, and I bounced as a stream of shadows, on to a car, an awning, and finally the roof next to my target. I slid across the roof, skirting the lights put out by windows. I slid down the wall behind the buildings, and found what I was looking for.

The breaker box. It was unlocked, and painted bright red. I opened it, and flicked every circuit breaker off. The music inside cut off, and I heard muffled yells. I tore out each and every one, cradling them in my arms. I snaked away, and dumped them behind a set of trashcans.

Back to the building. I passed the breaker box at its back, and turned, coming down a alley that opened onto the street. I could see a flashlight illuminating the gang's cars. I slipped silently down the alley, but paused when I saw the door on the side of the building open and a cone of light hit the opposite wall. My heart nearly stopped, and on instinct, I hid behind a line of trashcans, a flat surface, eyes barely peeking out from behind them as the red jacketed man past me by while cursing to himself. Ok, so light is bad.

Easy enough. The door was closed, but it didn't have weathering on the bottom. I slipped underneath the door, flat as paper. I saw a hallway, and to my right was a large kitchen. I could tell by one stove burning a ball of flames about the size of a cantaloupe. More flashlights, too. I shot underneath a metal table in the middle of the room, reforming into myself on the crossbar.

"-taking him so damn long?"

"Because he's fucking stupid."

A shout from outside was audible, and I heard the burner clicked off, the smell of burning gas ceasing as the two men with flashlights left, heading outside. I guess they found out about the lost circuit breakers. I slipped through the building, navigating with ease. It might as well have been perfectly lit, for my eyes. The bottom, which had clearly been a restaurant, was decorated with a spray paint mural, and trash was scattered all over. The layout hadn't changed at least, and back in the hallway, I snuck up the stairs, a bouncing stream of shadows. A reverse slinky, almost.

I reached the landing, and heard low voices. I peeked around in to a room, eyes not an inch off the floor. A large TV dominated the room, and the couches and boxes (milk crates, on second inspection) were occupied by the vast majority of the gang. The smell of food, alcohol, and some sort of chemicals blasted out of the room. Faint lights, lighters and pipes of some sort, briefly illuminated the dark, and ruined their night vision. Looking at cell phones, or using them as ineffectual flashlights didn't help either. A quick scouting of the floor revealed rooms full of beds, or even bunk beds, and lockers and trunks scattered around as well. Rooms for the peons, then. I ascended to the third floor.

It was a much larger space. It could be called a loft, if I was using the term correctly. Hung sheets, bookshelves, and half-walls separated the top story into a very large living room, and what I assumed were two bedrooms. A pair of couches set into an L were occupied by Orange and Black Flame, along with three girls. Girls, not women. If I was accurately reading them, they didn't particularly want to be here.

Especially with those two groping them, and trying to stick their tongues down their throats, even with the power out. Sounds from a battery operated boombox covered the rather unpleasant noises. Well, I'd give them something to take their mind off that. I slipped into one bedroom, right underneath a sheet. A pair of mattresses stacked on the floor worked for a bed, and several dressers faced it, along with a goodly collection of shoes.

I was tempted to do something there, but soon spotted a better target. A large black trunk lay open. Rolls of bills, along with paper bags like I had seen earlier occupied it. A single handgun was in the corner. Hmmm. I stripped the bed of its pillows, and had a brief moment of bemusement at the flowery pillow cases. Then I took them off, and stuffed the money in one, and the paper bags full of drugs in the other. I repeated my action in the next bedroom over, ending up with a half-full bag of money, and two full pillow cases of drugs.

I slid downstairs, carrying my finds on my back. It was a very odd feeling, being a length of shadowy sludge, going downstairs. I made it to the bottom, and peeked into the kitchen. No one had come back yet then. Several bottles of alcohol, clear to brown, were on the far counter. I set the bags of drugs next to them, and pulled a dirty pot over. I poured several bottles, marked with larger numbers in, and then put it on the burner. I could hear talking outside, and rummaging in trash cans. I pulled a box of matches to me, running out of time.

I dropped the bags of drugs into the partially filled pot, and turned every burner on, wincing at the heat and light. The latter seemed to burn me more than the heat. I slid to the door, opening it for my getaway. Moving back to the stove, I lit a match, and flicked it into the pot. The alcohol ignited, and the light burned me. I barely restrained a scream of agony as the light tore at my shadow flesh. Right, light bad. Shouts from upstairs reminded me that it was time to go. They would have heard and smelled that.

Grabbing my bag of money, I fled as a whip of shadows across the alley and street.

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Ochre Fountain 4.4

I nearly tripped as I went from a river of shadows flowing along the ground, to Taylor sprinting across dirt, but I didn't, and kept running towards my bag of clothes. Over my shoulder, I could see the faint glare of the fire I started. Well, at least those three girls on the couch wouldn't be stuck there anymore.

I grabbed my pillowcase bag, and ran. The faint sound of sirens alerted me to incoming fire trucks. Quick response time. Probably from the recent reports of a cape lighting fires. Whose den of villainy I had just lit on fire.

I stopped, catching my breath a full two blocks away. My scarf was still around my face, as I didn't exactly know if I was on the most wanted list or not. I really should have looked. I'd remedy that in the morning. I needed a place to hole up, count my spoils, and then count my coup. Easily 10 pounds of drugs destroyed.

Bags in hand, I spotted something good enough. A dilapidated building. It's windows were broken, and a corner of it had fire damage. I peaked in, easily seeing in the pitch black interior. A pile of rags looked like a person, but far enough away that I could leave without interference if I had to.

I scooted into a nook, facing the fire-made hole in the wall. I dumped my cash bag on the floor, as I quietly as I could, and started sorting. Dollar bills in one pile, all the way to hundreds at the end. Much fewer of those. A quick shuffling, and I had neat stacks, but probably temporary without rubber bands to bind them together. I peeked out of my nook, and saw no one, still. I had gained nearly six thousand dollars, quintupling my funds.

All for one nights work, plus whatever damage I did to the gang's supply. Not bad.

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I was checked into a new motel, this time as Ulysses Franklin. The clerk wanted extra, and I wasn't up to arguing. Of course, I was also undisguised. If he wanted extra money to forget me, it was well spent.

On the way to the new motel, I had picked up some food. Curled up in the blankets, I methodically ate the mediocre tv dinner lasagna. The TV was on, showing the news. So far, the PRT had been fairly mum on me. But the Director of the PRT, Director Costa-Brown had called me a villain in a press conference earlier today. I suppose a Ward being outed and then killed by a relative unknown would result in a quick hammer-drop, media-wise.

Worse yet, my dad had been ambushed by reporters. They played the clip again. He was pale, drawn, and had PRT officers escorting him from an unidentifiable building. The reporter shouted questions at him, such as;

"Did you know your daughter was a villain?"

"Are you in contact with her?"

"What can you say to Shadow-Stalker's parents?"

All of which he answered with a simple 'No', but the last question hurt him the most, I think. I switched the TV off, as they were going to play it again. Not what I wanted to see.

I finished my meal, tossing the empty tray on the bedside table, and curled up, thinking.

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The door opening woke me up. I nearly fried whoever they were. I was expecting a cape, from either side to barge in and let loose. Instead, I got the cleaning lady, maid, or whatever they are called, who snapped at me, "Check out was at twelve!"

I jumped out of bed, stuffing my feet into my shoes. My bags were all ready, and pools full up again, I left, brushing off her dirty look. I'd overpaid anyway. I was still in the Bronx, not three miles from last night's encounter. I should find some food, and think there.

Of course, it would have been nice to know that not only did my dark-vision not turn off, it came with a significant downside. As I stepped outside, I winced. The sun might as well have been a few yards from my eyes for how it blinded me. Covering my eyes with my hand, and switching the pillowcase so that one hand held both bags, I left the motel's lot.

It was very, very hard to see. And harder still to walk, when I had to keep my eyes mostly covered. After breakfast, well, lunch technically, I was going to find some sunglasses. It should make my new power bearable, at least with a smidgen of luck.

Lunch was a far better affair than the previous night's dinner. As I sat, chewing contently in the darkest corner in the place, I planned. I needed sunglasses, a more permanent place to stay, and most importantly I needed information.

Sunglasses, I could ask around for a convenience store or similar, which would probably have them. I recalled stands of sunglasses in several stores I had been in, at least.

Most of the information I needed I could get from internet cafes or libraries. But at the moment, I could lay low, and it wasn't top priority. There wasn't a kill order on me at least, and the PRT hadn't figured out where I was. Especially if I stuck with using my new shadow power only. It didn't have the greatest use time, and I couldn't use it more than once without opening a mark on my head, if I guessed correctly. Twice without a disguise, but no glow.

For a place to stay, I would probably need ID. Would anyone want to rent an apartment, even for cash, without asking for it? I didn't know, and asking would probably be non-productive, or indicative of criminal behavior. Attention I didn't need.

So, in terms of priorities, it was sunglasses, ID, and information.

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The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the city, and dropping the temperature. Tonight I was further inside the city, with much larger buildings rising above the roughly three story average. I knew they weren't apartments, but they had a similar layout from what I could tell of their windows and lights.

My bags, now inside a backpack, were hidden underneath a bed in a motel a mile away. I kept the majority of my large bills on me, just in case. I sat in a pizzeria, eating, and watching across the street. Sunglasses on my bleached, straightened hair, both from purchases at a drug store. I sipped my coke, watching the quick business of the local illegal drug store.

Men and women exchanged cash for little baggies. Women in varying shades of red left for short periods of time with men, and returned alone.

I waited, dusk moments away.

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Ochre Fountain 4.5

Night fell as I got up to refill my drink. More red-clad men appeared, and I counted. Another half-dozen, making it over fifty, at the very least. They had been showing up all afternoon, and I had only seen about half of them leave. Plus, multiple capes.

I had used my sensor power, on four oddly dressed individuals. Number one, tentatively named Shockwave, had nearly blown out my ear drums when I looked at him. Numbers two and three had been duds, unpowered. Number four, one of the few women that wasn't a prostitute – unless they were exchanging drugs off the street, of course – had given me a brief sense of vertigo, accompanied by a minor batch of nausea. I was calling her Seasick, for the moment. The last one had shown up an hour ago, and my pools were full again.

I finished my drink, and tossed my paper plate and cup. Back to work. Even a little bit of damage to their funding was helpful. I left the pizzeria, shivering slightly at the cold. It had been nice and toasty in there. I rubbed my arms, walking away from the area. Or more specifically, around the area. I needed to find a good patch of shadow that led directly to the building.

At the end of the block, both streetlights were out. I stepped into the shadows, releasing my form into a stream, moving up the side of the building. I slid around a pole, and bounced up the face of it. I snaked along the rooftops, jumping across the gaps between buildings. I reached the building before my target, and peeked my head above the lip of the roof, getting a closer look.

A window, not five feet away from me was open, casting light in a cone towards me. Hmm. I slipped to the rear of the building, and could see that this breaker box had a lock on it. I started swirling in a shadowy circle as I thought.

I reached out and grasped a rock, an arm reforming out of shadows. I wound my arm up, throwing it, emptying half my remaining inner pool of power. It sailed perfectly, and hit the transformer on the utility pole leading to building. A spray of sparks erupted, and the closest few buildings went dark. I sprinted, diving through the open window, and pooling at its base.

Two people were in bed – I turned away, embarrassed, leaving the room. The hallway was full of armed gang members. A man was shouting while dragging a barely clothed woman by her hair.

"It's fucking them again, kill'em!"

"But-"

"But what? But what?! They take our shit, I'll take it out of you!"

With that, he felt his way downstairs, woman stumbling behind him. I was expected. Not good. Everything would be locked down, and probably have gangsters sitting on top of it to boot. I couldn't accomplish anything here.

I slid down the stairs, following the apparent leader.

"Stupid bitch, hurry up!"

The entire building shook, and I nearly retched. Sound. Sound was blasting, so low that it must have been inaudible, but nearly crippling. I bounced down the stairs, not caring if I got caught, and swirled about the leader's legs, before hiding underneath a car.

He dragged the near comatose woman to a car, and opening it, threw her in. Several other pairs of feet joined him.

"Find who is fucking with us, and kill'em. I've got a date with a bitch."

He entered the car, slamming the door, followed by two more doors slamming as others got in. I couldn't let that happen. Would he take his anger out on her? Anger I had caused? There were no distractions I could make to cause him to let her go, like I did last night. His car started, and pulled out. The remaining feet went back inside, with one pair moving to the car I was underneath. The leader pulled out, driving away.

I shot forward, a line of shadows. The car behind the leader had a man fumbling with the keys in the lock. I grabbed him by his head, and smashed it three times in quick succession into the roof of the car, grabbing the keys as he fell. A quick turn, and the door opened. I slid in to the seat, keys turning in the ignition. Shadows shedding from my flesh, I became real once more, and I pushed my foot to the petal, and jerked forward.

The car accelerated, throwing me back in the seat. Damn, I needed to learn how to drive. Taking driver's ed might have been a good idea before all this. I twisted the wheel, following the other car, the back of my car sticking out into the other lane. I twisted the wheel, trying to straighten out. My right foot on the gas, and my left was hovering over the brake. Not easy. I sped after them, catching up.

They were traveling the speed limit, I was not.

A pair of gunshots from the passenger ahead of me made me duck my head instinctively. My right mirror shattered as a bullet punched through it. Ice-cold rage flowed through my veins, as they tried to kill me. I didn't have anything I could hit them with-

On the seat beside me, sat a handgun. I grabbed it, putting it in my lap. They turned a corner, slowing down to take it. Another gunshot went wide, hitting something with the sound of falling glass. I could feel, with sudden clarity, exactly how to stop them. I rammed them, turning into them. Foot stomping on the brakes as I flopped back from the impact, I pulled the gun out of my lap, aiming at the driver through my passenger side rear window.

Click.

Safety! I fumbled with it, head nearly splitting in anger, and they started pulling forward. I pulled the trigger, and the gun jumped in my hands, nearly causing me to drop it, but the bullet broke their back window, and the passengers flailed. I was holding the gun wrong, I knew, and with a quick movement, adjusted my grip. Foot now on the gas, I took off after them, gun in one hand, other on the wheel. Easier and easier, each push of the pedal more instinct than action. A car in the opposite lane honked, as we screamed by it. The night seemed even more clear as we flew down the road.

I snapped the car around the corner, pulling out of the turn with the ease of long-practice, right behind them. The wheel was almost a third arm, such was the ease of controlling it. They were going into a lot, filled with semi-trailers. They screeched to a halt, brake lights glaring.

The leader ran out of his car, eyes wide. In front of him, the other red-clad man ran, hands going to a gun in his waistband. As he pulled it, I floored the car. I could see the gun rising, ever closer to aim at me. With a cold smile, with the gun half-way up, I twisted the wheel, hard left. I drove into the concrete barricade at the side of the road, car going airborne, flipping towards them. I landed behind it, wisps of shadow coming off my flesh, hand abraded from braking myself on the road with it.

I heard, with perfect clarity, two short screams before the sound of metal on concrete drowned them out.

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Ochre Fountain 4.6

I stalked over to the wreck of my stolen car. The closer one had been hit dead on, and was missing everything from the neck up. I reached down, picking up his handgun, and held it in my injured hand. A groan attracted my attention, and I saw the leader, pinned underneath the roof of the car. An answering moan from the fleeing car signaled the woman waking up.

Crack!

I put a bullet in the leader's head, compensating for recoil. Others wouldn't be able to see in the dim light, but I saw the red slush coating the pavement behind him. I flipped my newly acquired and still full pistol around, grasping it by the barrel. I set my old pistol down on the roof of the abandoned car, illuminated from behind by the flickering headlights of the wrecked car. I reached through the back seat of the abandoned car, grabbing the woman by her shoulder, pulling her towards me.

"What?" She said, disorientated.

I pistol-whipped her across the face. She screamed, falling back, but I dragged her back, pistol-whipping her across her torso. She tried to interpose her arms, but that just gave me more targets.

"Stop! Please, stop!" She shouted through bloody lips.

I kept hitting her.

"I give!"

I stopped. She panted, bleeding and probably concussed. She wouldn't be attacking me, and would probably flee.

"I give up, please just stop. Please."

Behind me, I could hear cars arriving. I turned, grabbing my old pistol off the roof of the car. Men and women in red had arrived, along with one of the two I knew were powered. Thirteen in total. Such an unlucky lumber. They carried everything from baseball bats to pistols, and one of them even had an Uzi. Incongruously, one even held a bottle of alcohol. But they were enemies. My enemies.

Shockwave stepped forward, and opened his mouth.

I shot him in the head, at twenty yards, three shots hitting out of four. Number three missed, but one, two, and four all hit. Each fragment of bone seemed to shine in the not-light as they drifted through the air. Sprays of blood misted the two men behind him. Greatest threat dealt with first. With that, I turned and shot both headlights of the crashed car, plunging myself into darkness.

I stuffed the now empty pistol, barrel first, into a pocket and became shadows once more, a liquid stream carrying two guns. Bullets impacted my former position, but I kept moving silently in the dark. I strayed to the edge of the clearing, moving underneath parked trailers.

Someone among them shouted out orders, to the general consternation of my enemies. I moved to my closest target, who was holding a knife. He turned, seeing something out of the corner of his eye. Likely seeing me. It didn't matter as I reformed, the barrel of my full pistol pointed to the side of his skull.

A loud crack echoed through the street, and I felt blood mist onto my face, along with tiny slivers of skull pinging off my hand. The enemy's legs gave out instantly, and he dropped his knife as his hands went to futilely keep his skull together. I caught it in my open left hand.

Eleven more.

I rushed to the opposite side of their crescent like formation, low to the ground, invisible to them in the near absence of light. A cavalcade of bullets were sent to my former location, with several hitting their expiring comrade. As I reached the far man, I jumped out of the shadows, striking. My knife sliced through the enemies' neck, cutting an inch deep through the entire left side.

Ten more.

His gurgling screams attracted the groups dwindling attention to their backs, and they responded, tightening into a more circular grouping. I slipped in between their legs, rising from a gun wielder's shadow. My enemy gave the start of a scream as he felt the barrel of my gun rest against the back of his neck. It was cut off with another sudden crack of the gun.

Nine more.

I slid around the dropping body, like a sheet in the wind, my hand reforming to pinch out two more quick shots to the side and front of my enemies' heads, respectively wielding a baseball bat and another knife.

Seven more.

A brief flare of light gave me pause, and I paused to snap a shot into the Uzi-wielders face, across the ragged circle, the bullet entering his eye, snapping his head back.

Six more.

The bottle of alcohol, top on fire, was sent right at me. I moved back, but it hit a woman next to me. She ignited with a scream, and I mimicked her, burning liquid sloshing on my legs, tearing the shadows apart with hateful light. I rolled across the ground, smothering myself, as bullets passed through my upper body. Hurting, but invisible again, I stood.

Five more.

My dark light of my mark shining on his face, my enemy flinched back. I had popped up directly in front of him, gun to his neck. Another crack broke the night, briefly silencing the flaming woman's screams. The man's ruined throat released blood, staining my gun and hand.

Four more.

I let out a succession of shots, pain dulling my aim. Nine shots to eliminate the three farthest enemies. My tenth silenced the woman's screams, leaving only the crackling of cooking flesh, and sound of the already dead.

One more. The bottle man.

The click of the pistol was loud, but not louder than the few enemies still conscious and living.

Empty. I put my newly empty pistol in my pockets along with my other empty one before I flicked out my knife, watching as the enemy stumbled forward with a lunge of his own revealed knife.

I sliced, cutting his wrist open, and he reflexively dropped his weapon as I stepped in. A quick slice to the throat, and stab right to the stomach. He fell, and I rode him down, shadows coming apart to reveal me, shifting my grip on the knife to a reverse one. I pulled it out, enemy gurgling, and with two deft stabs, ruined his tearing eyes. He rattled something indecipherable out, and then slowly grew still. I stood, field clear of enemies.

And what was I doing? What in the hell was I doing!? I dropped the bloody knife, shaking. My arms were covered in blood up to my elbows, and I could feel it congealing on my face. Legs in agony, I collapsed, tripping over the body at my feet.

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Ochre Fountain 4.7

I landed on the body, whimpering as I felt blood squelching. My legs didn't help either. Even the jeans rubbing against my legs brought fresh agony. I retched, nauseous at the smells and sights, along with what I had done.

I hadn't felt anything. A brief snap of rage in the car, and then nothing. Cold, mechanical precision as I took sixteen people's lives. No pity, no remorse, nothing. I vomited, covering the body I was on, along with my own legs. I groped, blind, for the knife. Blind, because I couldn't see out of eyes clenched shut. Covered in vomit, I found it. Hands dripping from a variety of fluids, one closed around the knife, I pushed myself to my feet.

A whimper, mirroring my own, alerted me that the woman was still in the car. I shuffled over to her, to see if she was alright. As I reached her, a cell phone lit up, faintly lighting the car door closed to me. I stepped into the light, and asked, "Are you alright?"

The light traveled up my body, and stopped on my face. She dropped the cell phone, scrunching back, screaming, "Please! Don't hurt me anymore!"

She might have needed the phone to see, but I didn't. I could see her in perfect clarity. Her face was bloody, already bruising, and I could see teeth knocked out. She crab walked out the other door, and crawled away, crying, terrified, and saying the word "Please!"

Over and over again.

I fell against the door, stunned. I watched her crawl away, remembering what I had done. I had pistol-whipped her, for no other reason than she had been there, a possible threat. I dry-heaved, nothing else coming out of my stomach. I pushed myself off the door. I could hear sirens approaching in the distance. Probably drawn by all the gunfire.

I was only half a mile from the motel. I moved, mind blank.

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I fumbled with the keycard, finally getting it in, and leaving bloodstains on the door handle. I stumbled to the bathroom, and started washing my arms with a wet towel. The cold turning warm water came off red. It pooled in the sink, the drain insufficient for its task. My arms done, I threw my stained jacket over my shoulder into the shower/tub combination, and started on my face.

I took my jeans off. It wasn't easy – they kept getting caught on my skin, pulling at it, and very painfully at that. I finally got them all the way off, and bit my lip at the sight. Burns, yellowish white covered my legs, skin blistered as well. Patches where the majority of burning alcohol had hit my right leg were darker, almost brown, and hurt less. But they looked far worse.

In the mirror, I didn't look any different. The same Taylor I had been all week. Different than the previous Taylor. Prettier, maybe. A monster? Definitely. How many of those people had kids? Family? Parents? Or dreams? Dreams of being something else, something more? How many people would be getting phone calls, that someone had died? I remembered all too well what it was like, with vivid detail.

I waddled to the bed in my underwear and shirt, not wanting to bend my legs. I still had to, minutely, grimacing at each new pain. I sat on the bed, legs straight, and pulled myself further on it with my arms. I lifted my legs up after, still hurting.

On the bedside table, I had my purchases from the drug store. I pulled out the razor, still in its plastic wrapping. I fumbled at the packaging, ineffectually. I finally punctured it with a nail, and, cutting my hand as I did so, tore it apart. A faint line of blood on my palm, and a few droplets splattered my shirt.

I pulled the razor out, throwing the ruined packaging away, off onto the floor.

What would dad think?

I wasn't even in control of myself anymore. I was a danger to everyone around me. The rage had subsided, but when would it come back?

What would mom think?

I sat on my bed, twisting the razor in my hand. Burnt, and still with faint traces of blood on me. Eyes blurry, I set the razor on my wrist-

Bring-Bring.

The room phone rang, and I reached for it, on instinct. I held it to my ear, and didn't say anything.

"Ms. Hebert?"

The razor dropped from my hand.

"Ms. Hebert. Or Defiler. I would like to meet. I wish to propose a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Who are you?" I whispered.

"Call me the Number Man. I will be at the Denny's across from your motel, at midnight."

He hung up.

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Ochre Fountain 4.8

My jacket was too bloody to wear, so I put a sweater on instead. My other pair of jeans took some careful maneuvering to get on. Even so, I was breathing heavily in pain from scrapping my burnt and sensitive skin. I looked at the cheap alarm clock. 11:26. I had enough time to adopt a disguise, and let my mark die down. I had gained a bit of power back during – what had happened.

Stomach queasy again, I made it into the bathroom, and dry heaved into the toilet. Finished, I flushed it, even with nothing coming out. My shoes were still covered in blood and my own vomit, so I took the brief time I had to wash them off, scrubbing with the bloody towel. They felt cold and wet on my feet, soaking through my socks as I put them on. Better than squishy and gross. I looked in the mirror, thinking.

I flicked the light of my mark on and off for a moment. I was blond now, plain looking, wearing a jacket decorated with tiny numbers, and it was partially unzipped to show a shirt with the value of pi written out. If that wasn't a hint for someone who called themselves the Number Man, I didn't know what was.

I left, the clock at 11:47, staining my hand as I closed the door. I brushed my hand on my jeans, noting the blood on the handle. I'd have to clean that. I crossed the street, straight to the Denny's. I couldn't remember the last time I was in one. I opened the glass door, and enjoyed the blast of warm air.

"Taylor?"

I turned, right to the cash register, where a waitress was fiddling with something below the desk. I nodded to her.

"Your uncle is in the back, right around the corner," She said, pointing.

I followed her directions, and saw a middle-aged man in a suit at the far back, near the kitchen's door. He occupied the seat of a booth facing me, short blond hair, and wearing glasses. I slid into the booth. In front of me was a pot, presumably holding tea, and a mug.

"Ms. Hebert. Or would you prefer Defiler?"

I looked at him. He looked like any average lawyer or businessman, nothing special. And he had found me with I could only presume was relative ease. "Since you already know who I am, Taylor is fine."

He held his hand up, presumably to stop me from talking. I furrowed my brow, ready to ask him why. A waitress, a new one, bustled over.

"Here you go, hon." The waitress had brought a tray over, and placed several plates before us.

"Thank you," I said automatically, the Number Man echoing me. As she left, I looked at my plates. A pair of sunny side up eggs and a curved line of bacon formed a smiley face, and a waffle with a light coating of butter formed another. I looked at the Number Man, and his pancakes.

He shrugged, minutely uncomfortable.

I snorted, reaching for the syrup.

"I assume you want to know why I called you," the Number Man said, handing the syrup to me.

Finished, I handed it back. "I assume it had something to do with a 'mutually beneficial arrangement.'"

"Yes. In broad terms, you could call me an accountant," He replied, pouring syrup on his pancakes. He set the syrup down, and unwrapped his utensils.

"Primarily, for supervillains." He added, before starting on his very early breakfast.

I nearly coughed up my eggs. I swallowed, wiping my mouth. "Supervillains?"

"Yes. I handle their money, and make sure their investments pay out. Like I said, an accountant. In addition, for some clients, I make arrangements between parties, or reach out for contacts."

"I'm not a supervillain," I said softly, staring at my plates. But my body count sure rivaled one.

"No," he said, "You aren't."

I whipped my head back up, looking at him.

"I can guess, fairly well. You wanted to be a hero. Very similar to my wants: I want to save people."

A brief nagging the back of my head suggested that wasn't quite true.

"But we play with the hands we are dealt. It is not likely for the Protectorate or smaller groups to welcome you with open arms, especially with your baggage."

I knew what baggage he spoke of. Murders. I ate silently, listening to him.

"But I don't think you are 'evil', or even 'bad'. As I said, I think you want to do good. Now, I have two points. Primarily, I think you can do good."

"A collection of bodies disagrees with you," I said, with a bitter laugh, around my full mouth. "I'm a villain now."

"Are you? Do you need to be acknowledged as a hero to be one? Would you like the statistics on what those sixteen gang members would have done within the next decade? I'll tell you. Each of them was statically certain to commit at least a minimum of two murders, to say nothing of the lesser crimes: Assaults, Rapes, and so forth."

He pointed at me, with his knife. "And you stopped that."

As he ate a few quick mouthfuls, letting me think, the waitress came back and asked, "Everything alright?"

"Yes," I replied, while the Number Man nodded, rather than expose his full mouth.

She patted my shoulder, and as she turned around to leave, said, "Hope you feel better dear."

Once she was far enough away, or so I assumed, he explained, "I told them you are my niece, with a difficult home life. More importantly, secondarily, you have the potential to be one of the greatest threats to the Endbringers."

He saw the surprise on my face, and elaborated, "Not only are you a blank spot to all precognitives, including possibly the Simurgh, I do have a theory that you are getting stronger, or at least your powers have a very high limit."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with disclosing much on my powers.

Nodding, he said, "I thought so. At the moment, there are maybe a dozen or so capes who can stand toe-to-toe with them for any period of time. Even one more to that list is better for our chances. How long until the Endbringers stop sticking to a schedule and attack every day? Every hour?"

I shuddered at the thought before asking, "Would they?"

"I don't know, and I don't like that, but it is a possibility I would rather acknowledge than dismiss. Which is my personal reason for helping you. If you are that much stronger and experienced, we could even take down an Endbringer, with you teaming up with the Triumvirate."

"And you want me to be a villain to do this?" I asked, skeptical.

"No. I want you to be stronger. Being a villain is the best possible route for you to increase your powers. I told you, I am very good with numbers. My power revolved around them, and I formulated a prediction model. Probably inaccurate due to the nature of your power, but accurate enough to count as an educated guess. Even with a microscopic increases in your power, going villain will be orders of magnitude more effective. For instance, I am rating you at a Changer 9 right now, ignoring the precog blocking."

I was surprised. I didn't know everything about capes, but that kind of number was fairly rare.

"Yes, high. I predicted that you would end up 10 or remotely 11, going hero. Villain, 12. Same as Eidolon's Trump rating."

I thought, not wanting to talk about the green fire, or how I felt when I used the powers. "But I want to help people. I don't want to hurt people. How many of those gang member's had families? Kids, or parents?"

"And how many of their victims had families, kids, and parents?" He countered, adding, "You've seen what happened in Brockton Bay, with drugs and gangs. Is it any fairer to the child who has to grow up with parents who try to cook meth with him in the room? Who never take care of him?"

"No."

"Indeed it isn't. I'm not saying you have to enjoy hurting people, Taylor. I am saying that you shouldn't feel so guilty for stopping someone like that. Heroes do the same thing. Maybe they break bones, or less, but they still hurt people."

"But you said you work with supervillains," I snapped.

"I do," he admitted again, "But that doesn't mean I don't want to work with heroes, or don't work with them, or that I want to die. The PRT and such have their own Thinkers, barring a few exceptions who come to me, and more importantly, I'd rather not die to an Endbringer. If it eases your mind, I would consider working with you an investment, into life insurance if you will."

"Life insurance?"

"My current model is that the world will end, guaranteed within 50 years."

"How?"

Elaborating, he said, "Fresh water supply, for one. Arable land, another. The Simurgh, destroying any attempts to fix anything. The list goes on. Do you see my urgency now?"

"Yes," I answered.

"I want you help me stop that. And, if I may say so without being impolite, what are gangs but bullies?"

"What," I said, slightly harsher than I intended.

"Forgive me, I know this is a sensitive topic. But what do they do? The prey on the weak. Those too weak to stop their addictions, they sell them drugs. Too weak to stop the gang? They make them pay protection money. What are they, but bullies writ large? And do the heroes stop them? Have you seen gangs disappearing, their numbers falling?"

I didn't answer.

He set his utensils on his plate, and moved it to the edge of the table. He slid a piece of folded paper over to me. "Taylor, if you want to talk more, here is my number. I want you to think about what I said. What it means to be a hero, or a villain. To help people, who need it most. To possibly save the world."

With that he stood, walking for the door, leaving to my thoughts.

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Ochre Fountain 4.9

I sat, finishing my meal. I hadn't realized I was so hungry. Possibly because I had thrown everything up. I scraped my plate clean, and drained my tea. Standing, I rubbed my eyes. I was fairly tired. On the way out, our waitress waved me over to the register.

"Your uncle paid already. Have a great evening."

I thanked her, and left. The blast of cold air was unpleasant after the comfort of warm food and heaters. Sitting down hadn't been as pleasant as laying my legs flat, but it was still better than walking. A quick walk back to the motel room, and careful not to get more blood on my hands, I entered the room. I went into the bathroom, and grabbed the filthy cleaning towel. A few quick wipes on the door got the vast majority of the blood off. Good enough.

I looked at the room, my eye catching on the razor. My breath caught, and I clenched my fists. Never again. Breathing heavily, I grabbed it off the bed, and went back into the bathroom. I stripped the liner out of the metal wastebasket. I grabbed the razor between my hands, and cracked it in half with a snap of anger and sound. It burst into green flames as it fell into the wastebasket, burning merrily for a few brief seconds, before it sputtered out, leaving nothing but faintly glowing ash. I sighed in relief. Never again. Never would I try again, and never would I snap again.

Back in the actual room, I carefully eased myself under the covers. I might be able to stop Endbringers. I fell asleep with ease.

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Backpack on my shoulder, I checked the room for anything I might have left behind. My cash, clothes, filthy clothes (less filthy now that I had scrubbed them in the tub) in a plastic bag, and my various purchases, check. One destroyed razor, check. The same disguise as last night, check. I was ready to go.

The honk of a taxi reminded me that I was semi-on schedule, if I wanted to get everything done today. I closed the door behind me, leaving the keycard in the room. The taxi was in the lot, right where I had told him to be. The room phone's booklet contained a number of taxi hotlines, and with my current funding, it seemed the best way to get around.

"Annette?" He asked me out his window.

"That's me," I said as I got in behind the passenger seat, stowing my backpack next to me.

"Where to?"

The only place I knew deep in the city, "The Metropolitan Museum of Art."

"About twenty minutes, and twenty-five bucks."

"Fine with me."

He backed the taxi up, and we took off quickly got on a highway.

"Where you from?"

"Boston," I lied.

"Visiting?"

"Looking at schools," I lied again, "What's the local news here?"

"Some good ones here, and not much. I heard there was some sort of gang fight that ended up with lots of bodies. And Legend was gone for a while, probably on vacation."

"He probably needed it."

"You telling me? Guy deserves it. He's out all the time, flying over, looking out for all of us."

We pulled off the highway, going down a street. I needed to get my bearings, so I asked, "What street is this?"

"Park Avenue. 5th is a straighter shot, but it takes forever. We'll be on 5th for the MET."

We were silent the rest of the drive, but for the faint sound of the radio, and him tapping his hands to the beat. As we turned, facing what could only be the museum, he said, "It'll be twenty-four and change."

I unzipped my backpack, and opened one of my rolls of cash. I handed him thirty dollars and said, "Keep the change. Thanks for the information."

He waved me off with a, "Good luck in school!"

Shouldering my now closed backpack, I walked up to the museum. Made of marble, with columns and decoration across its entire face, it looked more like a palace than a museum. A security guard was standing in the foyer, presumably in case of villains. Museums were a favored target for a certain subset of the villain population, those who treated stealing from places like it like it was a game. The campy ones, or the true believers. I was sure the museum had Legend and company on call, if need be.

I approached the guard and asked, "Excuse me?"

He turned, a friendly smile on his face, querying, "How can I help you, miss?"

I made a story up on the spot. "Well, I need to do a paper for my art class, but my computer is broken. Do you know of any computer cafes around here?"

He pointed, over my shoulder, and I turned to follow. "If you follow 81st, the street right over there, to Park, there is one right over there. It's not an uncommon problem."

I thanked him, and left.

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This cafe sold food, and I had brunch, consisting of some small pastries and coffee. I really needed to start eating healthier, or I was going to get fat. I may not be exactly a true Changer, but I did appreciate my actual change in terms of my real appearance. Sure, I might remind people subconsciously of a spider with my longer limbs, but I gained more than I lost.

On the computer, I looked at news sites, at the government official statistics, and even just searching.

Kids killed in crossfires. Rampant drug use, with the police barely containing it, with failure points appearing more and more often. Theft, muggings, and burglaries following the drug use as people tried to pay for it. Arson on shops who refused to pay protection money. Sex trafficking and slavery. With dawning horror, I began to realize the scope of the problem. In comparisons of major cities, NYC had the lead in murder, violent crime, and burglary, and it wasn't too far behind in rape and theft either.

And it was the most gang-infested city in the country, barring Los Angeles. Both in terms of numbers and parahumans. Even I hadn't put a significant dent with my rampage. Children, twelve years old, press-ganged into gangs, with no other choice except for a bullet or beating.

It was a problem, and one the Protectorate and allies hadn't fixed. How could you, when you were bound to be heroes? You couldn't do anything but slap them on the wrist. Toss them in jail, nevermind that Rikers Island, the main holding facility, had been broken out of enough times to count as Swiss cheese. Even with Tinker help, it was still incredibly vulnerable. Mind made up, I logged out, and left the cafe.

Where could I meet him? I wanted to see how fast he could respond and how fast he could get somewhere. If he was based here in NYC, that was one more bit of information. A payphone finally caught my eye, and reaching it, I dialed him.

He picked up on the third ring.

"Taylor."

"I want to meet again, to discuss options. One hour, Metropolitan Museum. Front steps, I'll be dressed same as last night."

"One hour," he confirmed, and hung up. I started walking back to the museum.

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Ochre Fountain 4.10

The Number Man arrived, at what could only be precisely on time. His taxi pulled up, disgorging him, and without even a word it drove away. He must have paid his fare on the way over.

He nodded to me, and I joined him in walking into the museum. Overcast and a weekday, it was nearly empty. We both paid $20 for a ticket, and I followed him again, and we walked left into the Greek and Roman section. I stopped, surprised. Had he figured out what I was? What the spider had said? I saw him turning, and hurried to catch up. We passed right through the section, and ended up in the section called Africa, Oceania, and the Americas.

Odd statuary, and cloth hangings primarily decorate the area. The Number Man stopped in front of one, squaring in front of it. He inclined his head to me as I stopped next to him.

"This is the least traversed part of the museum, and from here, including the glass on the cases, we will see anyone who wishes to interrupt our conversation."

I nodded, relieved he hadn't powered out another secret. "I wanted to talk again."

"About our previous conversation, I presume."

"Yes," I said. I paused, steadying myself with a breath.

"I can see the benefits to being labeled a villain, or using their methods, but I still don't want to be a villain," I answered him.

He nodded, and asked, "Which will be more effective? Hero, where you are under the thumb of a PRT director, or villain, where you make your own choices? Can you stand-by, letting people be bullied?"

I turned with a glare at his attempt to goad me, and he raised his hands up.

"I'm sorry," he said with a twinge, "but it's true. You won't let people be taken advantage of. It's your nature."

"I don't want to kill people," I stated, quietly but emphatically.

"I didn't think you did, but if there is an innocent life on the line, if they will go out and harm more people, what if..." he trailed off. I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me, but it was effective.

"Yes," I whispered.

"What if it makes you stronger, makes you more likely to defeat an Endbringer?"

"Yes," I said more clearly. No lies from him that time. "I do want to know more about them. You said fifty years?"

"I did. Look at what Leviathan did to Japan. An entire country, sundered. Why? Will it happen again? When will it happen again?"

I stared at the statue, thinking. Over thirty million people had died, and twice that number displaced when Leviathan nearly liquefied the central island of Japan. Or what Behemoth had done to Switzerland, what Simurgh did every time she showed up.

"And in fifty years," I clarified.

"Or earlier. The worst prediction made so far was within fourteen years."

I wouldn't even be thirty by then.

"So, what will you do?"

"What I have to," I answered, both tired and filled with resolve.

"You don't have to be a conventional villain, you know. Or even a villain. An anti-villain, if you will. Only attacking the villains. Pulling people out from underneath their thumb, and taking those resources you can for your own. My point is that you shouldn't let yourself be tied down or restrained by the conventional heroes. You need to be stronger."

"Didn't you say you worked with villains? That you handled their money?" I asked, curious that he was going against his clients.

"Yes, but the vast majority aren't. And so long as I don't give you any support, I do not have to give anyone else any support."

"You have something in mind, then," I stated.

"I do," he admitted, and elaborated, "You have already knocked the 757s into a frenzy. Their rival gang, the Revenants, are likely to try to take advantage of the situation, and for their benefit only."

"And?"

"If I make my guess correctly, you incapacitated the leaders of a group of 757s on Tuesday night, and then stole their money while destroying their drugs. A similar action would incite the Revenants, and possibly cause them to blame each other, allowing you more time to destabilize them, in addition to providing you with additional funding."

"And what is your benefit, as an accountant, from me stealing more money?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Hand me cash, and I will turn it into clean money. A bank account you have access to, and I can take the funds out of it, and return it clean. I also have contacts, and can make arrangements."

"And your benefit?" I repeated.

"I take the majority of the profit I make, using your money in the interim, while it is being cleaned. You do get a small benefit from that as well."

I nodded. "So, say if I wanted ID, or weapons -"

"I can arrange that, if only for now. I am generally not so available, however you have caught my interest, and my support is necessary at this juncture."

"So in the future -"

"It would be primarily up to you, yes."

"So, if I handed you a list, I could get certain items, and you take the money now?"

"Yes. However, I'd prefer to discuss this in a place that is a bit more private, especially if it concerns a disguise or costume."

"Where to, then?"

He led me away, our walk silent. We exited the museum, and he waved down a cab. As we got in, he whispered into the cabbies ear. I started to speak, but he shook his hand and I got the message. After a quick, silent ride, which seemed very uncomfortable for the driver, we exited, the Number Man handing him some cash.

We had arrived at a small restaurant, with nothing but small green lettering on the door. Its front was primarily glass, and I didn't see much of a line. The Number Man walked in, nodded to the maitre d', for he could only be that as dressed up as he was, and picked us a table.

He opened his briefcase, and handed me a pen and paper. Bemused, I looked up. "Costume ideas."

I looked behind us, and he cleared his throat. "I picked this spot, again for the view of approaching people. I will warn you if anyone approaches us."

"Thank you." I tapped the pen, thinking. "If I ever have to use a bigger form, I'll destroy my costume. I think-"

He held up his hand, as the waiter came over. He spoke in a language I couldn't recognize, and the waiter left. "Lunch is on me, to signify our new relationship."

"Thank you," I repeated. "I was thinking that I can't really have an actual costume, since the last time I went full scale, I destroyed my clothes."

"Understandable. I would suggest a mask, if only so you wouldn't have to worried about changing shape to disguise yourself."

I didn't correct him on his misconception. The waiter returned with a bottle of water, which bubbled. Odd. I started doodling for a moment, before inspiration struck. On a fresh sheet, I quickly sketched a design, relatively easily, adding in a legend for color, and I handed it over. He nodded, and asked, "Material?"

"Preferably bulletproof."

"Anything else?"

I nodded, and looking behind me, opened my backpack, handing it over to him. "I'd appreciate knowing what kinds of pistols these are, and what ammunition to buy for them."

As if it were perfectly natural to look through a girl's backpack at her pistols, he nodded, rustling through. "A Glock 17, and a 1911. I'm not sure on the make of the later. 9mm and .45 on each. I would suggest adding ammunition to the list, as well as manuals."

Lunch arrived, and I added to a piece of paper creatively title, 'List.' Lunch turned out to be a pale soup, which the Number Man identified as 'Vichyssoise,' and a salad called 'Nicoise.' Good, but tuna with salad was very odd. I finished my lunch quickly, and then finished the list, and handed it to him. He scanned it quickly, and quoted a number. I suppressed a wince, and riffled through my backpack, counting out bills. He passed his briefcase over, and I placed the bills inside.

"Call the number, and I will have it delivered to the address you specify. Anytime after 5pm will be fine. Once you have more funding, call, and we will set up accounts if you want to."

I nodded, and rose. He rose with me, and I left to go shopping with my remaining money.

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I was down to under five hundred dollars. My clothing purchases, along with a pair of suitcases to carry them with, weren't cheap, but had only amounted to under a thousand. Most of my money had gone to the Number Man. I now had plenty of dark blue clothing and jeans, primarily with bronze designs. I had shopped around, not wanting to buy too much at one store. Dark blue, because the Number Man had recommended it over pure black for concealment, and bronze, if only for the reminder that I was Defiler. I had masked my purchases with other clothes, and finally had enough fitting clothes that I didn't have to fret over destroying more.

My hotel was a bit nicer, if only to break the pattern of motel usage. Additionally, I had booked and paid for three nights, to further throw off the pattern. If the Number Man had found me, others could. I had made sure to check in with a new disguise, one fitting my soon to be new ID. I made my call, and waited for the box to be delivered. Barely an hour later, I received a call from the front desk, and went down to pick up my box. It was large, about the size of those used to hold a decent sized PC, and it wasn't easy to get into the elevator, but I managed and got it back to my room. I was both impressed and slightly terrified at the resources getting everything so fast implied. He either must have more money than I thought he did, or an organization.

I set it down on the bed, and opened the box. A belt, with two loops where my legs would go was on top. A holster for a pistol, a knife, collapsible baton, and taser were on it. Right, back, back, and left, respectively. Lower, on the legs, were two pouches on each side I assumed were for magazines for my pistol, which I knew to be a Glock 17, from both the Number Man, and several folders of information with the rest of my new items. I flipped through some of the papers, seeing it was about the gang that he had mentioned in the museum. Several photographs of buildings dominated the files.

Underneath the harness were multiple boxes of 9mm and .45 ammunition, and my Taser. Mass Production, a Tinker, had founded his own company by applying his ability to existing items. He only made marginal improvements for a Tinker, but overall, they were significant. Not only did the Taser come with a magazine of darts, instead of single reloads, it was supposed to be very effective as a touch weapon. Additional reloads were included as well.

With butterflies in my stomach, I got to the bottom layer. A collapsible baton was there, but most importantly, and expensively, at over two grand, my mask. I had gotten the idea from my mark. Inky black, it seemed to suck in the light as well. It was a plain oval, raised to accommodate my face, and its only decoration was a thin brass line at my lips. A hood extended from its back, and I put it on, stuffing my hair underneath.

Small sections of one-way translucent material accommodated my eyes, and I could see right through. In addition they functioned as sunglasses, should I need to go out in the day, and didn't want to be blinded.

I turned, facing the mirror near the room's closet. I was ready.

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Ochre Fountain 4.11

I slipped a new pair of jeans on over my burnt and metal flesh. I hadn't quite fully healed, but I was making progress. I started packing my backpack with my acquisitions that were necessary for tonight, starting with a new jacket. On top of that, my mask. I pulled all four magazines out of their pouches, with the fifth from the gun, and with a learning experience and flip through my literature, managed to stuff 17 rounds in each magazine. I replaced the four into my harness, and load the fifth.

I paused, scrunching my face up. I pulled back the "slide," and loaded a bullet into the chamber. I ejected the magazine and put another one in. That made much more sense. Making sure the safety was on, as I didn't want to shoot myself, I replaced the magazine, and put the gun into its holster. The baton, knife, and Taser went in as well. I didn't have room for more Taser reloads, though. I could always just use it at touch range, though. A bag of zip ties, already open on top, and I was ready.

I shouldered my backpack, grabbing the folder with information on it. A quick flick through it got me the address I needed. Taking the empty elevator down, disguised as with the face on my new documents, I took a longer look. The first few pages were floorplans, with annotations in neat handwriting. After that, several profiles of parahumans, and lastly, a list of possible other gang members along with projected findings.

Over a million dollars in cocaine. I had to double take, surprised at the sheer value. That wasn't pocket change, and I could see why this would certainly piss them off. The elevator dinged, reaching the lobby, and tucking the folder underneath my arm, I walked out. I hailed a cab, and gave him the location to go, but two streets before my true target. I wouldn't want a cabbie reporting he dropped someone off right before a crime.

On the ride over, neither the driver nor I talked. He apparently wasn't interested, and I had reading to occupy myself. Most people would have had issues reading in the back of a darkened cab, with only street lights for illumination. If anything, the street lights made it harder for me to read. Three gang capes were likely to be there: Air Raid, Meat Rod, and Gangbang.

Air Raid was a Blaster 5, capable of blowing air with hurricane force, easily able to down a building, only holding a lower rated because of his need to charge up. He got his name from the wailing sound he generated as he blasted air. A side note suggested he might have some ability to sense things within the area he affected, but had not been proven or reliably observed. An alternating black/blue striped costume, more like a long sleeve shirt over pants, and a mask with the same design.

Meat Rod was a Brute 3, primarily strong. Strong enough to rend a dumpster or car in two, by the citations on his sheet, and possibly able to jump farther as well. The sheet made it clear that it was just speculation. A solid blue costume, skintight on what could certainly be called a 'stacked bod'.

Gangbang, in addition to being the highest rated at Master 6, Brute 2, had the dubious honor of having the most offensive cape name. Unfortunately, it was also descriptive of his powers. He could make short lived clones, with lifespans of about 15 minutes, that also gained enhanced physical abilities, stronger than most weightlifters. His only drawback was that someone had to hit him in order for him to split in two. He wore a lurid pink costume, only showing his allegiance by blue decals on his chest, and a blue bandana around his face.

The final sheet had projections of the possible unpowered. At least a dozen, but less than forty. Not a happy estimation. Reading further, groups would come in to pick of newly sorted and bagged cocaine, and then go out to distribute it. This early at night, barely an hour and a half after sunset, it would be less likely, but still possible that I could encounter serious numbers.

I flipped back to the floor plan. A former warehouse, easily seen to my untrained eye, if only for the large amount of open space. A large loft above the western half of the building contained a pair of large bathrooms, along with what had been office space. Notes on the edge of the sheet pointed out that it was likely to be the equivalent of a break room or bunking, now. The lower floor had several possible configurations, each noted to be a guess, with long tables for sorting drugs. Most importantly, the circuit breaker box was noted on the plan. I had my plan now.

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File in my backpack, I paid the cabbie. He drove off without even a good night, leaving me underneath a street light. I had two blocks to go to my target. A derelict building the block up, only one block away from the target, would serve as a changing room. I left the street lights irritating light, and my eyes instantly readjusted. A quick walk to the building, and I peered into its broken windows. Another former warehouse, it was empty, but for its loft area, which no longer had walls. They had been stripped out, and I could easily see a fire burning in a large metal can. Oil drum, I guessed.

I entered, careful not to step on broken glass, or the can and string tripwire. A warning for the current occupants. I set my back pack down, and took off my jacket. I removed the belt/harness, and stepping into it, pulled it up. I tightened the straps, and stretched, making sure I had mobility. Check. I checked the buttons on the flaps to keep my gear in. Check. A new dark jacket with bronze designs went on next. Check. Finally, my mask. Pulling my hair together and behind, I put it on. Check.

I would need to adjust the design. I couldn't quite see out of my peripheral vision as well as I should. The Number Man could put me into contact with someone. I put my non-costume jacket in the backpack, and put the backpack back on. No pillowcases this time. I left the building, and started to the target.

In front of the warehouse, in the fading asphalt lot, were five cars. At least five people inside then. Lights could be seen through the windows, however they were either boarded up, or had sheets hanging behind them to obscure the interior. Two pinpricks of light near the door identified two smokers, along with a third who wasn't smoking. With only two streetlights in their line of vision, I might as well have been in shadow form already.

I passed up the street, and passed the target. Out of sight of any possible sight of the guards, I crossed over, finally reaching my target. With the only light on me the light of the full moon, I snuck around the opposite side of building from the guards, careful to not block any windows, in case I silhouetted myself. Walking gently as to not disturb any loose pieces of asphalt, I crept towards the breaker box. I peered around the corner. No one there.

I moved quickly to the box, only to find it was locked. Damn. I should have bought bolt cutters. Improvising time. Back around the corner, I picked up a piece of asphalt, covering my hands in moist dirt in the process. Gloves too, next time. I held the rock over my head, and double checking to see which line I wanted, brought it down, surrounded by a green nimbus of light. It burnt right through the metal pipe covering the wiring.

I moved back around again, this time with the lights extinguished. Faint noises could be heard from the windows, and I crept all the way around the building, and saw the guards separating. One stayed, and two went to the box. My inner pool emptying completely, I turned into shadows, wrapping around the building. I waited till they had turned the corner, and moved. I slipped the Taser out of its holster, and silently moved to right behind the guard, who was staring at where his compatriots had left.

Selector set to touch, I clapped my left hand on his mouth, surprising him, if only temporarily, before my right pressed the Taser to his bare neck and discharged. He seized up, and collapsed, wheezing softly. I pulled him back, dragging him along the ground, to the rear of the building. I dropped him, and reaching into my backpack, retrieving zip ties. I hog tied him, and found the third thing I should have brought: Duct tape.

Instead, I tore off one of his shoes, and with muffled protests, stuffed a sock in his mouth. Two zip ties chained together kept it in. Yet I could still hear him, and the returning two probably would as well. Unseen by my captive, I grimaced. I pulled my pistol, and pressed it to his forehead.

I whispered in a low, harsh voice, "You can be quiet, or I can make you quiet."

He stopped mumbling, waving his hands from behind his back as much as he could.

I re-holstered the pistol, and headed for the breaker box. Peering around, this time an inch above the ground, I saw the two guards trying to figure out what had happened. Both were using their cell phones to illuminate the burnt out pipe, the faint stench of burnt wiring in the air. I reformed, pulling the Taser into my left hand, and extending my baton in my right with a flick. I slid in between them.

"And what, you think it just happened-"

I swung the baton at the farther one's jaw, while driving the Taser into the back of the closer's neck. The closer collapsed against the wall with a grunt, and the further gave a gurgled scream, barely audible over his jaw. I drove the Taser into his stomach. He went down too. This time, I took off their shirts, both button ups, and tied them around their mouths after I zip tied them.

Not even three minutes. Quiet and near invisible, I went to the door again. The door had never had weathering installed, so I slipped underneath. The room was faintly glowing, from various heaters set up inside, the majority glowing red. Several dozen women in their underwear, with nurse's masks and gloves were sorting white powder at two long tables. A lesser amount of men and women in blue were sitting around on a variety of couches and chairs, the majority armed. Conversations, from faint to loud masked anything else. I couldn't see into the lofts, which had only two windows facing me. Both windows were covered with cloth.

Fourth thing to shop for; Stun grenades. If the Number Man got all this so quick, he could get me those.

Four armed blue members were further away, either on cell phones, or nodding off. Them first.

My first target was nodding off, and my hand on his face masked him getting stunned. I dragged him behind a set of crates, which as I got closer, could see were full of propane tanks. A quick strip and zip tie, and he was good. Shouts alerted me.

I peered back out from behind the crates, and saw Meat Rod yelling at the collection of armed gangsters.

"-Then fucking fix it!"

With that, easily half of the armed members headed for the door.

Shit. I counted seven.

I reached the door before them, and slid back around the corner facing the street. I heard the door open, and the group exiting followed by the door closing. I slipped back around. They walked in a loose grouping, complaining.

"-and why do we gotta go out and fix it? Fucking lazy."

I grabbed the straggler, taking him down. I didn't have time to drag him. I moved forward, baton now in my mouth covering hand. I swung out, arm appearing at knee level, and hit the inside of a woman's knee. She went down with a shriek, and I tased her conversational partner, jamming it into his groin. The remaining four turned, and I darted between their legs.

"I-" The one of the two in the back started to say something before I tased him in the leg, and whatever he tried to say turned into a shriek. I swung my baton up into the next closest groin. The woman shrieked as well, hands over her groin, and collapsed to her knees. One of the remaining two charged straight at me, or what he could see of me, and I clocked him in the side of the neck with the baton.

Screaming incoherently, the last one stumbled over the first downed man, and then reached the door, slamming it behind him, still screaming in the process.

So much for stealth. I zip tied the six downed men and women, batoning two hands that got grabby. As I did so, I could hear arguments inside, along with metal stairs being stomped on. I slid underneath the door, to find a group of men and women aiming guns at the door, while the three capes stood around with more goons around them. The half-naked women were clustered far away from the door, still wearing gloves and masks.

I returned to the corner with my first indoor captured target, and thought. I could faintly hear the second round of incapacitated gang members outside, and I didn't want to let them back up. Of course, if I could reduce the light more...

Moving quickly, I switched, turned, and clicked every heater off. The faint clicks weren't audible over the arguments going on between the gang. It appeared no one wanted to go out, but I couldn't take that chance that they would anyways. I needed them to stay indoors. How?

Villains used fear, didn't they? And I didn't have to limit my playbook...

Sliding along the crates, and under the tables, I giggled, loud. Everyone fell silent. I rushed up the stairs, just as quiet, and let out a hysterical laugh. I could hear hands tighten on weapons, and swallowing. Perfect.

The dim red light was growing ever fainter, and with the moonlight blocked by the covered windows, it was nearly pitch dark. Tiny cones of light, from cellphones in armed gangster's off-hands speared the room.

It was like daylight to me. I oozed in between the cluster, and let out a giggle, breaking into a laugh by the door, and put my baton away. As one, everyone inside turned.

"It's nothing, pussies! Just trying to scare us-" Meat Rod yelled at the gang's backs. I slid between his legs, jabbing my Taser into his throat, laughing. He fell to the ground, shaking.

"Jesus Christ," I heard one of them whisper. He was in the middle, so not a good idea to hit him yet. I giggled again as I slid through their loose grouping, pleased as I saw them face each other. A quick wailing sound alerted me to Air Raid charging, and I pooled behind him, jabbing him in the ankle. He discharged, blowing out all the door side windows, to the shouts and screams of the occupants. Faint moonlight shone through holes in plywood and sheets.

As everyone covered their eyes from glass, I struck, once, twice, thrice with the taser, three more down. I went back to Meat Rod, dragging Air Raid, and tagged him again. I retrieved zip ties, listening to them curse. I tied them together, both to restrict Meat Rod's mobility, and to prevent Air Raid from firing again, unless he wanted to pulp Meat Rod's face. I sure didn't want either at my back.

Gangbang and two members were still standing. A stab to the back with the Taser, and two Gangbangs fell together, both shuddering. I moved forward, elbowing a gang member who thought it was a good idea to shine his cellphone near me. The last took a kick to the shin, and a Taser to the chest.

I scanned the room. All done. Zip tie time. I stunned Meat Rod a third time, as he was getting to coherent for my likes. I searched through Air Raid's costume, getting to know him entirely too well, but I pulled out his keys. Re-holstering the taser, I moved quickly, turning the heaters back on. The red glow returned, and the silently huddled women in the back looked at the light. I picked up a cell phone, and pulled my gun. Holding the cell phone light to the gun, I illuminated it.

They shrieked.

"Silence!" I snapped.

They stopped, aside from a whimper or two. "Here is what is going to happen. I have Air Raid's keys. You are going to carry all these drugs, and dump them into his open trunk. Once that is done, I will leave. If not, option B is here. Are we clear?"

Frightened nods and "Yes"s answered me. I had to force them to do it, otherwise they would get punished for my own actions. I moved to the door, opening it, and letting more moonlight in. The third trunk I tried responded to the keys, and I opened it, just as the first woman came out with an armful of drugs. I moved around her feet, moving upstairs. Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom, boardroom. An open safe, even. Several desks were covered in various paraphernalia, but I ignored them for the safe, and stacks of money were shoveled into my backpack, nearly filling it.

Back down the stairs, I watched the women make two more trips, only pausing at the sound of me tasing Meat Rod and Air Raid again.

"Hurry," I said.

With four round trips from the forced, or possibly non-forced employees, the trunk was nearly full, and I spoke again, "Back inside."

With a final tasing to the bigger member of the odd couple, I left the building, slamming the door behind me. I shut the trunk, and got into the driver's seat. Keys in the ignition, I dialed my stolen cell phone.

"Nine-one-one Emergency, what is your location."

I dutifully recited it, and added, "I just saw some men loading white powder, and, ohh no!"

I drew my pistol, and shot it twice, before dropping the phone, and shooting it. Cartridges pinged off the dashboard, falling to my feet. The engine turned over, and I sped out.

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Ochre Fountain 4.12

Car burning rubber, I pulled out. I couldn't burn the cargo inside the building without killing the half-naked women. Or injuring them. I couldn't be sure what the effect of cocaine smoke would be, and there was only one exit from the building. I had to get rid of the drugs and the only ways I could think to was burn them, drown them, or drop them off near the cops. Burning was right out, for now.

I pulled a hard right, heading for the river. The car I had cut off honked at me as we nearly collided. I needed to start planning these escapades better. I went as fast as I could, roaring 40 down a side street, only because it was nearly empty save for cars parked along the side. Or not so empty, as I jerked the car over into the opposite lane as a car pulled out in front of me. I sped past and slid back into the proper lane.

With a start, I reverted to flesh and blood. I nearly plowed into a car on the side in surprise. I thought I would have had longer. Shit. I could see the lights of a bridge, crossing the Hudson. I would have to burn nearly from my outer pool in order to shadow out of the car.Or maybe not, as I slammed the brakes before speeding up again and pulling out of my headlong rush into a set of bollards. Bollards, planters, and raised concrete ledges lined the road, as far as I could see.

I swerved across traffic, braking and the accelerating into a perfect turn that took me down a larger road. It actually had traffic, and the chorus of honks alerted me that people were upset with my driving skill. Quite understandable. I turned down the nearest sidestreet, looking for somewhere to stop. Time for plan C. An empty lot in front of a closed store. Some sort of car shop. I stopped and got out.

I opened the trunk, reasoning that fire needed oxygen to burn. Doors opened as well, I dashed away, turning back to it two dozen yards away. I drew my pistol, and shot the fuel door and once below it, hands coming up to shield my eyes. Or fucking not, as nothing happened. Hollywood lied to me. I emptied the rest of the magazine into the general area around and below the fuel door, and all I got for my trouble was dripping gas.

I nearly attempted to rub my temples, before remembering I had a gun in one hand, and a mask in the way. I stopped moping, and thought. I sat back in the front seat, and pushed in the car cigarette lighter. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for it to pop back out. Click. I pulled it out, and jumping over the expanding puddle of gas, pressed it to one of the top bundles of cocaine. The plastic melted, and started smoking. No flames.

Of course not. I repeated heating the lighter, and with another click, removed it. This time, I sprinted away, and with a twist, flicked it right into the gas puddle, closing my eyes. I felt mildly warm, before a small blast of air fluttered my clothes. Opening them, I would have ruined my night-vision were I not a cape, but I saw a merry little blaze going. It was already reaching into the trunk. I could hear sirens, now.

I ran, to find a place to change back into my civilian clothing.

No more repeat of the amateur hour.

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I had over a hundred grand. A hundred thousand dollars. A portion of the stacks, rubber banded together, had been hundred dollar bills. As in, hundred dollar bills all the way through. It made sense in a fashion that if they were selling a million dollars worth of cocaine, that they would have significant cash reserves, both from selling the product, and in order to buy more. But this was more money then I had ever seen, spread across my hotel room's bed. Probably the value of my dad's house. Maybe less, I didn't know real estate pricing. But all this for one night's work. And if I had gone later, there would have likely been an order of magnitude more.

How much money were these gangs making, just on drugs? No wonder they had bunches of parahumans and oodles of guns. What else could they have? Real estate? Mercenaries? Maybe they even bribed the police.

I needed more information, and more supplies. And I needed to stop acting without thinking.

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I stuffed myself at breakfast, predicting a long day ahead of me. A nice late breakfast, too. Eating better was a nice perk.

A trip to a Wal-Mart yielded duct tape, a set of bolt cutters, watch and matches. Thinking ahead, I also bought rope, writing supplies, binoculars, spray paint, more clothing and a blanket. With a quick check to see if my new ID had me as being of legal age, I added lighter fluid to my cart. While I didn't look like my new ID naturally, turning into a plain brown haired girl my height was fairly easy with my powers.

Of course, I wouldn't have space with all this equipment. A satchel was added, and I peeked into the electronics section. A laptop, so I didn't have to got to libraries or cafes for research sounded nice, but I needed to do research on laptops to buy a good one. Once more to a cafe, then. Finally, I added a prepaid cellphone from the electronics section to my cart. As nice as living in hotels was, I didn't want to have to be in one, or find a payphone to make a call.

Catching a cab back to the hotel, I ate lunch there as well. Money wasn't an object, at least for the moment. I did have plans for it, though. One more theft should net some additional money, and negate any additional dealings from the gangs. Reds, tonight. I repacked my backpack, adding all my purchases except the red spray paint and the vast majority of clothes. I had trouble closing the backpack. Better to have it and not need it than the opposite, I reasoned.

Tonight's uniform would be all blue. Running around in my new mask wouldn't kick off any conflicts between two gangs. Dressing as one of the gangs, and robbing them, while spray painting insulting messages should.

After quick nap I took a cab up north, and I arrived back in the Red's territory an hour before sunset. 757s technically, but Reds sounded more demeaning. A stop in a convenience store and I filled my satchel, which already had my writing supplies and binoculars in it, with drinks and snacks. My hands were occupied as well. This time, I wouldn't be caught unaware.

I looked for another warehouse, and staying closer to industrial districts, was rewarded as night fell. Having a secret supply base didn't mean jack if you parked half a dozen cars outside of it, the majority of which were painted red and had decals in the same color. Aside from a few windows high up, this warehouse was almost all brick. Several panes were broken, and were covered with plywood. But not tightly. That would be my entry point.

I turned into shadows. I mounted onto a roof across the road, and released myself back into flesh after a quick peek around. I took out my blanket, and wrapped it around me. Binoculars and pen in hand, I started writing, after a quick glance at my watch.

6:38 pm. 6 cars. No entries or exits.

I placed the pen down and opened a package of donuts, and then took a sip of my coffee. A long night to go.

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I had accumulated two full sheets of observations before the buzzing in my pocket alerted me, startling me out of my reverie. I flipped the cell phone open to doublecheck to see if I got the timer to go off right. 4 AM. Time to go.

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Ochre Fountain 4.13

Repacking my bag, I drained the last of my now cold coffee. I really had to pee. I jumped off the roof and landed on the ground as a shadow. I couldn't help that tiny little thrill I felt every time I used a power. Frankly, it was the coolest feeling.

I slid away, becoming fleshy again after looking around for cameras. One person finding me out was more than enough. I started walking, fiddling with my cellphone. I had put in the number for a taxi hotline, and I didn't want to walk back to the hotel. A quick call and not five minutes later I had a cab on the way back. Far better than walking everywhere, like back in the Bay.

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Bladder relieved, and with a new cup of hot coffee, I prepared to review my observations from my stakeout. A plate of eggs and several pieces of toast served as breakfast. I was really learning to like coffee. Especially with these odd nights. Taking a sip, I checked the hotel restaurant for anyone nearby. Still alone, especially at nearly 6 AM. I opened the note book and read.

By my count, at least 38 men and women had entered and then exited the building over the period up until midnight. Afterwords only 7 had come by, in two separate groups. No capes, so far as I could tell. I had used my sensor power on everyone not dressed in plain red, or with the faintest amount of decoration. Nothing.

I would have left, reasoning that anyplace without capes wouldn't be a significant target. Except that at 11:42 by my reckoning, along with the largest departure of people from the building, I had observed them carrying familiar paper bags, along with two wrapped bricks of white powder. Possibly a more local than regional supply center. Still a decent enough target.

I left, paying on the way out. I stopped by the front desk, and paid for two more nights. I was starting to get odd looks at the amount of cash I was using. Well, at least from this shift at the hotel, but if they talked to the shift that had checked me in, they would both find out I used only cash. I'd need to get some sort of bank account or card. Or whatever. I didn't really know much about them. Another set of things to research.

I collapsed, stomach full and warm. I snuggled under the covers, and with few deft movements, set the alarm for 2 in the afternoon. Door marked do not disturb, I slept, easily.

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I felt giddy. Mostly because I had my own laptop. Sure, it had cost nearly two thousand dollars. Sure, it seemed like a waste of money. Sure, it was probably unnecessary, but it was the first thing I had bought with the money that wasn't really an absolute necessity.

And I could use some of that glut of money to help my dad. Next time I talked to the Number Man, I would see about sending some to him. Actually, I might need to hire a lawyer for him, first of all. I didn't know if he would be on the hook for my actions, but it would be best to check and prepare for the worst. I could pay off his mortgage, or even hire him a PR person. Erasing the pain that my actions had caused him was likely impossible, but I could mitigate it.

I checked my watch. Nearly 4pm. Enough time to put my new laptop away and return to the over look.

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I sat, blanket around my knees, looking at the Red warehouse. I took a bite of the sandwich in my hand, and thought while I chewed. One less car tonight. I had already marked it down in the notebook, noting that two cars looked different from the previous night as well. It could indicate some sort of rotation going on between guards or workers.

I was completely blue, as well. If I did have to jump into a fight, I didn't want to be ID'ed as Defiler so rapidly. I had gotten lucky, and except for the Number Man, no one else knew. I'd prefer to keep it that way. The door slammed, and I reflexively ducked down, even in complete darkness. Feeling like an ass, I looked up.

At least fifteen, or possibly more, left the building, getting into cars. All but one car left, the other six pulling out. Two men who hadn't gone with the group turned back inside, stubbing out cigarettes. What was going on? They hadn't been packing drugs, only long objects concealed in blankets. I debated with myself. By my count, that left two plus however many had been inside beforehand. Dammit. What to do? A quick peek at my watch told me it wasn't even 8pm. So, moving a lot of product? Leaving the store open?

I leapt off the roof, and landed on the head of an out of order streetlight while made of shadows. A jump across the road, and I landed at the base of the building. I snaked up into the window frame, fifteen feet off the ground. Narrow as a needle, I entered in between the barely visible space between plywood and frame.

I was in a large, open room, clearly another loft. Both of the bathrooms and several former offices yielded no one. The open room must have been a breakroom, then. I moved down the stairs, careful to avoid the spotty lighting. It sure wasn't drugs they kept in here.

Guns. Lots and lots of guns. AKs, easily identifiable to anyone who had ever seen a movie, filled several crates. Matte black guns of unknown make, from pistol size to rifle size, filled the rest. Enough to outfit an entire town. Three men and a woman sat on metal boxes around a table, made from plywood and metal boxes, playing poker. Several guns were on the table, in addition to bottles of beer. Not a winning combination, for them or me.

I went back up stairs, and checked once more. No money, no drugs. Nothing I could easily take. I came back down, thinking. Nothing visible I could take, excluding guns. And I didn't know how to sell those. I'd have to ask Number Man for help, and I'd much rather save that sorta deal for something far more important. I slipped around the floor, peering into crates.

Metal furniture, guns, metal furniture, guns, guns, guns, trunk-.

I stopped. Money would be in a trunk, wouldn't it? For temporary storage, at the very least. I quick trip to the edge of my aisle, and I saw the poker championship was still in the quarter finals. Back at the trunk, I carefully unlatched it.

Money.

Quietly, I stuffed my backpack with my find. With half of my backpack full of equipment, I couldn't take it all, so I grabbed the stacks with the biggest bills on top. By the time I was down to ten dollar bills, I was full. I zipped up, and, carrying the blue spray paint, snuck back up stairs.

Reading the instructions on the can was easy in the dark, but something I should have done beforehand. I shook it as quietly as I could, and then sprayed close to the wall for a thick line.

"Faggots!", "$$$", and "Bitches" were my contributions to modern art. Dropping the can, I fled out the crack between windowless frame and plywood. A quick trip across the street, and I grabbed my satchel, then fleeing in the gutter along the sidewalk away from the location.

A dull red glow caught my attention, as did the pillar of smoke rising above it. Most importantly, it was both in the opposite direction of the building I had left, and I hadn't set anything on fire since the night before last.

I slithered closer.

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Ochre Fountain 4.14

Walking down the street in flesh and blood again, I got to within a block of whatever the commotion was before I realized it was a fire. I slid off my bags, pushing them under a dumpster. Freed of encumbrances, I darted forward. A single man in red was smoking, and carrying a firearm while facing the street. He had to be a guard, which meant something was going on in there. What were they burning? It didn't matter, as I heard a quick burst of gunfire. I had no time to worry.

I sprinted straight at him, without a sound. I ran through patches of black shadows cast from the buildings, and I felt it. The same joy from the other night, the release of a fight- and I swung the baton across, hitting the sole guard in the throat. He went down, gurgling. I stopped, tapping him across the temple with the taser portion before I zip tied him.

I heard another batch of gunfire, and ran again, keeping against the wall to remain hidden. Black Flame and Orange Flame, from the first night were sending a cone of flame, and a long stream of smoke respectively, full of what looked like coals, into the upper windows of a building. The only door facing them had a dumpster in front of it, and as someone banged on the door, one of the half dozen men shot into it with an AK.

I could hear men and women screaming inside.

Oh no.

The joy turned to ash in my mouth, and I sprinted forward again, closing to the nearest of the armed six. I couldn't let them keep shooting into the building, but shooting me wasn't a good option either. It was too bright for my shadow-form. I needed them to be as blind as they should be in the dark. Blind no matter what light was cast. I pushed, and I could almost feel my mind twisting into alien shapes, understanding what darkness was. To see through it, to make it impenetrable, and to obfuscate.

I swung the baton, oily shadows trailing like streamers passing into my targets left shoulder, and he screamed. The rifle continued firing even as he flinched up, before it emptied. He tried to swing the butt of his gun into me as I passed him by, but he missed. His swing was blind – literally blind, as his eyes had gone completely black.

I swung again, gaining more than I spent, and hit my next target right next to his eye. With a sickening sound, my baton damaged it, bone shattering, probably irreparably, even as the remnants of his eye and his functioning one turned black. He let go of his rifle to grasp at his ruined eye socket. I caught it, time seeming to slow as I reached for it, and swung it around. My baton wasn't even halfway to the ground yet.

The sharp ratatatat, was followed by the gun jumping in my hands. I shot for a full second, bullets slamming into the two to my left, before I spun back. I took a step back, close to the blinded two, expending energy from my inner pool as guns turned towards me. All three of us fired at the same time.

They missed. I didn't.

Both went down, the sounds of their pain tiny after the gunfire. I had tried to shoot all four in the legs, as I still didn't want to kill them. A burst of fire interrupted my thoughts. I pulled the trigger, aiming at Orange Flame, only to hear a click. I dropped the gun, twisting on my heel to run away, and re-engage at my favor. A twirling line of burning smoke nearly intercepted me, but missed as I slid underneath. I would have left in order to re-engage, had Orange Flame not decided for me.

Someone had forced the door open, enough for a hand to stick out. Even with flesh blistering, the brave soul behind it tried to push the dumpster away. Until his hand was engulfed with fire, as Orange Flame blasted the doorway.

I couldn't leave them in there. I changed direction, sprinting towards Black Flame.

He responded by firing a wall of smoky coals at me. I twisted, trying to run out of its reach. Panicked, I felt them burn my right leg. I strangled a scream in my throat, leg smoldering. I only had one use of my strange dodge ability before I started glowing. Glowing would be bad, but I had to stop them somehow.

Those two bastards were going to keep burning down the building, regardless of who was in it. I stepped around a telegraphed blast of fire that would have burnt my legs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another trail of burning smoke whipping towards me. I twisted, and it followed, missing my neck, but wrapping around my arm before I could pull it away. I screamed, this time, as my entire left arm was engulfed. I dropped, cradling my arm, causing the burst of flame to go above me. The smoke dissipated, and I ran away from the burning building, away from in between the two capes.

I needed to hide. Too much light for my shadow-changing power. I ducked the whip again, topping of my inner pool. And wasting my emergency dodge wouldn't work. Both Black and Orange fired as one, and a blast of fire and a blast of smoke met above my head. It felt like the entire top of my head would ignite. I could only imagine how those people trapped inside felt, suffocating in the smoke and heat.

I pushed once more, and regretted it. Time stopped, and I saw things. I saw the Shadow of All Things. I saw evil – no, not evil, the opposition to everything, something fundamentally other, in both nature and form. That which opposes, tests the limits of everything. I shrunk back in instinctual terror-

And I jumped back, to land flat on my back, as a blast of smoke hit where I would have stepped, and another of flame would have hit my face. I spent more, mark opening on my face, and we were all covered in darkness. Only I, who had briefly understood true darkness, could see through. I ran, ignoring the blast of smoke that missed by a dozen yards, and jabbed with my fist into Black Smoke's throat. I could feel cartilage crushing between my knuckles.

Gloves soiled, I turned to Orange Flame. He had more to pay for. He was burning them in. I sprinted, sickness, pity, and rage all mixing inside me. I laid him out with a punch. The feeling of hate was a much cleaner, simpler feeling, and this man was one I could hate. His face erupted into fire, green flames licking at his hands as he tried futilely to put himself out. I felt a sense of disgusted relief at using my powers on this bastard like this, regardless of who might have seen the signature flames. I left him, screaming and rolling while the green flames continued to burn.

Hands feeling like they were melting, I pulled the dumpster back.A flood of people, maybe three in Blue gang colors, came rushing out. The other thirty or so, including families carrying infants, ran out, heedless of the darkness surrounding them, to get away from the fire

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Ochre Fountain 4.15

A father, holding his daughter's hand, slipped over the still body of one of the armed gang members. I pulled them both to their feet, and keeping a firm grip on their hands guided them out of the cloud of darkness. The dad turned to thank me, but I was already back inside the preternatural darkness. He left, carrying his daughter as best he could.

I didn't dawdle, and turned to help more people out, as several had already tripped, either over bodies or their own feet in the darkness and smoke. All but two of the shot, punched, and burned people had gone still. Black Flame and a shootee were still alive. Orange Flame's face had caved into a bowl of melted flesh. Both of the ones I had batoned were whimpering, curled into balls on the ground. I moved back to the furthest civilians away from me, those still closest to the fire in the building.

"Thank you."

"Praise Jesus, you were here."

"Bless you."

Thanks I didn't deserve, from people I had endangered. Whose lives I had nearly ended by stirring up the pot in the wrong location I still knew nearly nothing about. Fuck. I pulled the last one away, stepping back in to the shadows, watching them flee. I turned to leave, just as I saw a beam of light impact the building. The fire in the hit area ceased to be, and hoarfrost spread across the windows and wall. Freezing lasers. I knew a cape with that power set. I'm pretty sure the entire world did.

Legend was floating above me, blasting the fire out. Legend, one of the three members of the Triumvirate. If Alexandria was a flying tank, and Eidolon was "Fuck you, I win", Legend was a flying artillery battery. He could shoot beams of light, that not only turned corners, but could do just about anything, as evidenced by him freezing the fires in the building behind me with lasers.

And here I was, in gang colors, surrounded by dead, dying, and crippled bodies in opposing colors. I could feel my mark fade, my forehead clean again. Small favors. A rapid series of blasts smothered the fire on one side of the building, and Legend moved further, hovering over the building. I took my chance, tearing off the blue bandanas on my face, and the blue sweatshirt as well. I dumped them, and ran.

I exited the shadows. The space between my shoulder blades itched, expecting a beam of light to slam into me. I pushed my burned body to move as fast as I could. And then Legend landed in front of me. I nearly had a heart attack, and nearly kept running, aiming to slam a fist of green fire into his face. I stopped though, panting for dramatic effect, and pointed with my burnt arm.

"Fire!"

He shot another laser, offhandedly, right into the blaze. It shot right past me.

"Yes, I can see. Are you alright?"

Nonplussed, I waved my burnt arm in the general direction of my leg. He nodded, and gestured behind him.

"I've called in ambulances at least. Not many could be spared with everything that happened tonight, but within a few minutes you will be able to get medical attention."

I almost asked him what else had happened, before I stopped myself. I was supposed to be a normal unpowered girl. I nodded, and tried to make myself look hurt as I stumbled away. Legend took off, and I felt a wave of relief.

I got out of sight before I grabbed my bags and pulled out my cell phone, dialing a cab.

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I peeled the clothing from my burnt flesh. The long shirt I had worn underneath was almost melted to my skin. I had to take a knife, and bleeding all over the sink, cut it off my arm. My jeans came off without leaving patches behind. Ruined clothes kicked under the sink, I stepped into the shower to rinse the smoke smell from my hair, and body.

Hot water stung on my fresh injuries, but it was necessary. I soaped heavily, not wanting to get infected. My legs were almost entirely bronze now. Barring my new burns, at least. I was turning into metal, and at the rate I was getting injured I'd be a living statue by the end of the month.

Still rinsing, I thought back. What had I seen, earlier? I had pushed with my powers, again. It was near impossible to describe, save for the feeling of imitating something more. I bit my lip, trying to remember.

-And compromised of shadows, blacker than black, things danced-

I slipped, and banged my elbow as I caught myself in the combination of shower and tub. Heart racing, I didn't try to remember anymore. Especially not now, when being stunned in the shower of all places was objectively suboptimal. I stood, turning off the shower. A fluffy towel awaited, and I looked in the mirror.

I was haggard, but with the disguise power up, it didn't show. I spent from my outer pool, gesturing. The tub filled with an ocean of shadows, hazy at the edges, and twisting. On my forehead, the mark returned. My mark, composed of the same blacker than black at the edge of my consciousness. What had I seen? What was it to me? I didn't know, and now I needed to, more than ever.

I picked up the phone to order room service. A quick order later, and something that could be called a meal was being prepared for me. I sat on the bed, towel around my hair, along with another around my torso, and turned on the TV.

"-and multiple fires are being reported, up to ten at this time. From our first report right at 6pm, to the last one reported ten minutes ago. In addition, we have unconfirmed reports of gunfire and explosions, along with cape activity. We now go to Field Reporter Alex Borstein."

"Thank you, Lori. I'm here with Mr. Chris Sheridan, and his daughter Emily, who escaped one of the earlier fires."

I was surprised to see the father and daughter pair I had pulled off the bodies on TV. The reporter held up a microphone to the father, and asked, "Mr. Sheridan, anything you have to say about tonight's tragedy?"

"How could anyone one do this? They tried to kill us, and we didn't do nothing! We almost didn't even make it out, when they locked the door."

"Who, Mr. Sheridan?"

He didn't respond further, only hugging his daughter tighter, sitting on the bumper of an ambulance. The reporter walked away, and said, "As you can see here, we still don't know the origins of the fires, but gang activity seems to be likely. Back to you, Lori."

I turned off the TV for now. I couldn't stop what I had started. But I could stop the gangs. I could stop the criminals, the people who dragged innocents into their fights. I picked up my cellphone, and dialed the Number Man. I got his voicemail.

"It's Defiler. 10am, JFK."

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Ochre Fountain 4.16

John F Kennedy Airport was, as far as I knew, the busiest in the nation. It was also gigantic, spread over multiple terminals and lots.

And I had no idea where to meet the Number Man. I took out the cellphone from my pocket, but thought better of it. I had his office number, probably. Or secret lair number. I had a moment of temporary insanity, giggling while imagining a fortress on an island, shaped like a skull, with a tiny little phone booth in the corner of the skull's eye office.

Fugue state over, I stepped around a family that was dragging luggage behind them. Maybe ask for a message to be left for him? Of course, would they be able to contact him before he gave up-

Or not, as he contacted me, my phone ringing. I flipped it open, holding it to my ear.

"Defiler. I am in the Dunkin Donuts at the north end of the Terminal."

With that, he hung up. I slipped the phone back into my pocket, and headed to wrong end of the terminal. A quick look at the signs corrected my course, and I saw the pink and orange logo. It was empty save for people in line for coffee, and one person sitting in the back. Picking a location on the Arrivals level meant no dawdlers. In the back of the tiny store the Number Man sat in a suit, with his seemingly ever-present briefcase. And in front of him were two paper cups of coffee, and a plate of donuts. He was reading a newspaper, or at least making it look like he was. I sat down, without an invitation.

"I want intel on every gang," I said bluntly.

He set down the paper, and after opening his briefcase he passed me three fat folders. I looked at the titles and frowned.

"No Mob, and no Adepts? Or even the Minors?"

"Prior business relationships with them, I'm afraid."

Shit. They were the heaviest hitters, and the most effective, respectively. The latter kept to themselves, but were still an issue for the heroes.

I asked, "Nothing you can give me on them, at all?"

"On the mob, I can say that both Rot and Reinc are both in a strong position."

So those two were unassailable for now. I was certain they had been mentioned on the internet as bosses in the Mob before. "And the Adepts?"

He shrugged.

Nothing. Not good. They did have a significant amount of capes. Any information would have been helpful. I'd have to stick with my laptop. Still, I had multiple reasons to ask him here today. I took a sip of my coffee to marshal my thoughts, and my face twisted like I had sucked on a lemon. I pointed over the Number Man's shoulder, and he passed me the sugar dispenser. It took a fair amount to get it palatable. I took another sip, and was rewarded with caffeine-y goodness. I was starting to develop a problem, I thought.

"You also mentioned banking."

He passed me a final folder, and I examined its front page. A card, with my current disguise's name on it, and a list of various numbers. I looked up, puzzled.

"A debit card, and your bank accounts. The last one is the actual account. Memorize it. The previous two are your current accounts for general use. With a call to me, you can have a set of new accounts and cards made, with the previous ones invalidated. Of course, this is all dependent on you putting money into the accounts."

I motioned for his briefcase. He passed it over, and I took out exactly seventy-five thousand dollars. I placed the stacks inside his case, moving them under cover of my back pack. I closed it, and passed it back.

"Seventy-five," I said.

"It will be available within the hour."

I nodded, thinking.

He added, "The folder also contains both a glossary and guide to banking, checking, and such. I thought you might find it useful, especially with your limited knowledge and experience in finance."

"Thank you. How would I go about selling things I scavenged, or replacing equipment?"

"At the moment, I cannot justify further extra help to you."

That nagging sense, one I still hadn't quite figured out, let me see through that. Inaccurate. A shade of truth, but he could push, I was certain. He was deflecting. I didn't push him on it. Instead, I nodded my acquiescence.

"I also wanted to see about my dad."

"At the moment, he is under PRT protection, especially with your past history with the Empire Eighty-Eight."

I hadn't even thought of that, of how me, nearly killing several members of Kaiser's gang, would blowback on dad. Keeping the panic I was starting to feel from showing on my face, I asked, "Is he okay?"

"Yes. I assume you mean to ask if he was attacked, and to that, no. It is a general gesture the PRT makes to those who are affected by a cape in the family."

"Do I need to hire a lawyer, or publicist for him, then?"

"At the moment, I cannot see how it would help. However, retaining a lawyer in your state would be advisable. As a caveat, the best ones, which would be the ones you would want in your current and possible future situations are very expensive," seeing my non-understanding of how expensive, he added, "Several thousand dollars an hour. A case like yours could take thousands of billable hours as well."

Millions then. Something to save up for, then.

"I can contact you again, I presume."

"Yes, and as I said, your smoke screened accounts will be active within the hour. The bottom one is already so, but has nothing in it until I put in the money."

I nodded to him and he stood, tucking the paper underneath his arm while picking up the briefcase. Full of money. "I look forward to more business with you, Defiler."

I echoed pleasantries, and watched him leave. I took a doughnut and ate it. I knew that I wouldn't have a peaceful morning like this for some time. I intended to savor it.

CHAPTER 4: END