Tyrant 3.4
The trek back into town through the outskirts of the shipping district was quiet. Even for this time of day, just before sunrise, the deserted streets felt wrong, almost inappropriate considering the events of last night. I don't know what would have been appropriate, but rubbish strewn streets as silent as a tomb felt completely at odds with the feeling that the world had just changed.
It didn't help that neither of us wanted to talk. Shadow Stalker was a silent companion at my shoulder, presumably just as lost in her own head as I was. The few times she noticed me glancing at her she shrank back and turned her head away.
I was socially awkward, sure, but even I could read a sign that clear. Whatever was eating at her was her own business, and all I could do was give her space. It was the least she deserved after saving my life. Again.
The silence that hung in the air with the pall of smoke was making me jumpy too. I could feel people in their houses, little cracks and gaps in the wood cladding and tin roofing sheets were open doors for my insect scouts. Most were sitting in front of their TVs or bunkered down in their basements. I guess that is probably what we would have done, my dad and me, taken shelter and hoped the newest cape-related disaster would pass us by. It was one of the reasons most people in Brockton had a cellar cut into the hard ground, the same way people in Tornado Alley had reinforced roofs and many houses in Louisiana were lifted up on stilts.
The thought of dad tightened my chest, and I could only imagine what he would feel when he woke up to me missing in the midst of such a disaster. I hoped he would be sensible for now and stay inside and protected.
Even knowing the typical response of most Brocktonites would be to go to ground, I would normally expect to see someone still out. Those who hadn't stocked up on supplies, or hadn't yet turned on the TV or radio. Considering we were in the docks, the denizens of the night were conspicuously absent. It was a rare day that the drug dealers and gang members heeded public service announcements telling them to stay safe. If anything, many usually took the chance for some opportunistic looting.
But there was no-one. The streets were empty.
My swarms made sure of that, circling around and searching every alley and hiding place for potential threats. We were technically walking through the edges of ABB territory here, pretty much the last place we wanted to be after last night. We needed to be vigilant.
I glanced across at Shadow Stalker again, quickly averting my gaze as she flinched back. She looked like hell, bedraggled, costume dark and damaged. I was sure I looked worse, if anything. For one thing, I was fairly certain there was a bullet hole in my mask. That was going to take some getting used to, coming back from that kind of injury. Even being able to survive that kind of injury was something I hadn't come to terms with yet.
But ignoring the psychological issues, we were banged up, physically incapable of dealing with an ambush right now. I guided my bugs, forming a moving sphere of awareness around us as we trudged on.
It had become second nature by now, my swarms moved as I intended without much direction from me, even as my thoughts drifted. The ache in my head was pretty much gone, which was good and bad. It wasn't distracting me so I could keep track of our surroundings.
The problem was that my head wasn't distracting me, so now I could fully consider the implications of what had happened last night.
The ABB assassin had broken the truce.
I could barely believe it, let alone understand the full ramifications, how it was going to change Brockton.
To make it worse, we didn't even know why. Why would Oni Lee, by all reports a methodical if murderous villain, decide to take on some of the strongest heroes in the nation in their well-defended base? Why would he resort to lethal force, knowing the consequences and having spent his entire career carefully avoiding such an escalation?
Why would that attack coincide with an attempt on my life, even though Oni Lee had no apparent connection to the Cult? Even though the cult had taken down his boss and slaughtered ABB gang members? The simplest explanation seemed unlikely because in the base I couldn't feel the corruption of the Cult leader on him. Oni Lee hadn't been controlled, at least not like the PRT officers had been.
I was sure now that the man in the black costume was controlling the Cult, as well as ensnaring normal humans to act as his unwilling soldiers. My blood boiled when I thought of him. Attacking me and mine, forcing me to do things I would have thought impossible only a few weeks ago, even in self-defense.
To my side I felt Shadow Stalker flinch again and made an effort to calm down. My hands had curled into fists unconsciously, my entire body tense like a wire. I uncoiled my fingers and let out a deep breath.
Thankfully Shadow Stalker seemed to relax too. I really needed to control my emotions better around my allies, those bonds were already strained enough.
We walked on in silence, and slowly the run-down facades and trash-littered streets of the edges of the docks gave way to the cleaner business district. If anything the empty streets felt even more incongruous here. Very few people in the docks wanted to be caught outside at night in the first place, and sunrise was barely safer, even on the outskirts.
The business district was different though. Early rising workers, street cleaners and joggers would normally be beginning their days by now.
The choking smoke that hung over the city would probably be enough to dissuade all but the most committed fitness fanatics from their morning run. The smell of burnt metal and plastic seemed even stronger here than it had on the shore, despite the greater distance to the remains of the Rig.
The skyscrapers rose sharply in front of us as we walked, obscuring the rest of the city from view. I had never quite gotten used to being hemmed in by these buildings, losing most of the sky, but at least my bugs let me extend my reach beyond the claustrophobic towers. The people I could feel were in the residential apartments, cowering behind locked doors. Most were sleeping restlessly or watching their televisions.
We turned the corner, almost there. Maybe now we could get some answers.
Maybe now we could find out if anyone else survived. My hands clenched tight.
Shadow Stalker gasped and stopped dead in her tracks. Cursing myself, I took a steadying breath and relaxed.
Then I looked up.
Shadow Stalker hadn't flinched away from me. The street was clouded, a heavy shroud of dust and ash in the air that did nothing to hide the glassy concrete or the melted steel.
The PRT tower was gone.
We stared at the wreckage in shocked silence. If attacking the heroes was an impossible, unbelievable escalation, what did that make attacking the non-powered PRT? Declaring war on the government directly?
Shadow Stalker overcame her shock and broke the silence, loudly.
I didn't disagree, but I couldn't think of anything worth verbalising. I hadn't even gotten used to the world I woke up to and then the planet tilted on its axis all over again. What could you say in response to that?
Nothing. The word kept repeating over and over in my head. Nothing was left of the gleaming tower that had stood proudly as a sign that the world could still be safe.
Nothing was left of the building staffed by dozens of workers twenty four hours a day.
Nothing could justify this.
Nothing would be the same again.
I shook my head numbly to disrupt that pointless train of thought, turning away and looking back the way we came, finally raising my head from the ground in front on me. I could see the plumes of smoke hanging over the city, consciously taking it all in for the first time. What I assumed was a single cloud spreading across the districts was more than that. Multiple sources, multiple fires. The Rig, the PRT tower. Somewhere towards the hills. The docks.
My breath halted at that realisation. My chest was swelling, straining, pressure building like nothing I had ever experienced.
Dad often worked early, he liked to get his paperwork in order before the usual deluge of calls from members overwhelmed the dockworkers union's meagre resources.
My hands clenched so hard it hurt. Just the thought of that office being torn apart in a blast like I saw on the Rig ... I barely noticed my companion trail off in her tirade, barely noticed the smoke swirling madly around us, barely noticed the rubble and debris shaking across the ground.
I needed information. I needed to hear his voice. My bugs flew outwards, expanding through apartments and buildings and offices, startling those who were awake inside. I found what I needed.
My companion was backing away, retreating against the nearby buildings. I glanced across and she started violently, looking for all the world like a cornered animal. I noticed for the first time that her eyes were dark brown, irises almost completely obscured by swollen pupils.
Some part of me thought I should feel something about her fear, but it was distant compared to the roaring of blood in my ears.
I pointed across the street. "Open the door."
She must have heard something in my voice, because she did it without hesitation, phasing through the wall and unlatching the door from the inside. Another thing to be grateful about. I don't know what I would have done if she questioned me. I felt something warm trickling down my fingers as they clawed into my palms.
I strode in and followed my senses. Upstairs, left, right. Fourth along the corridor.
Shadow Stalker was having trouble keeping up, so I tore the inner door from its hinges.
The apartment was spartan, basic, but power was humming through the wires. No-one was home, one reason I chose it over others. My left hand scooped up the remote and turned on the TV even as my right hand dialed the number. I ignored the tacky feeling of my hands on each device.
The old tube took a moment to heat up, the phone had rung three times before the picture and sound arrived.
As expected, there was a breaking news bulletin. The channel didn't matter, it would be on all of them.
City under siege, the rolling banner said. Multiple bomb blasts, dozens dead. Hundreds unaccounted for.
Five rings gone, the phone still chirping in my ear.
A news reporter was saying something about martial law. Nationwide protocols invoked, capes converging on Brockton Bay in the kind of numbers usually reserved for Endbringer attacks.
Five heroes killed in action.
The line clicked as the receiver was lifted. I could hear someone breathing.
"Taylor?"
He sounded frantic, lost.
The cold numbness I had been floating in gave way to emotions so intense they drove me to my knees. My dirty, bloodstained mask stuck to my face as tears of relief rolled down my cheeks.
"Dad."
In hindsight it made sense. He didn't go to work because he was freaking out that I was missing. I apologised over and over again for making him worry. For not calling.
"It's fine Taylor," he said eventually, sounding weaker than he had for a long time. "As long as you're OK."
"I'm fine," I reassured him. It wasn't even a lie, I did feel healthy. I looked over at the Ward slouched on the couch, staring at the TV. I smiled. "I'm with a friend."
"Can you come home?" he asked, his voice breaking. He already knew the answer, with martial law declared. No-one was allowed on the streets without authorisation. He asked anyway.
I shook my head as the news report played in the background. "I can't right now," I replied. "I'll be home as soon as I can."
He was about to reply when Shadow Stalker turned to me. "You've got to fucking see this," she whispered urgently as I covered the receiver. I looked at the TV to see a young woman addressing the camera, mouth covered by a filtered gas mask, thick tubing running from the sides. Her chest was strapped with bandoleers heavy with high-tech grenades. The quality of the gear practically screamed Tinker-made, the ease with which she wore it suggested it was her own work.
My chest pulsed, a slow smoulder ignited in my belly. On her belt was a familiar silver device.
Her eyes were just wrong, not like the monsters but terrifying anyway.
On her upper arm was a green and red bandanna, colours that any teen in Brockton Bay knew to recognise and stay clear of. The ABB. Lung's gang, like Oni Lee.
My fingers tightened, the handset creaking in my grip.
"Listen dad, I have to call you back," I mumbled into the phone.
He sighed. "Ok Taylor. Stay safe. I love you."
"Love you too," I replied as the bomb-maker started to talk.
AN: So ... this is a disappointing chapter for me. I think this is my weakest in a long time (since the first few). There are a few reasons I am releasing it -
1) exams. Y'all deserve something, and this moves the plot along.
2) I posted it at SpaceBattles and they all seem to like it well enough. I don't think I am being too harsh on it, but if everyone else is relatively happy then I can live with it for now.
I will be replacing it later, probably before the next big update.
That said, the following chapter is written too. Short one, but I think one of my favourites. Will post it in the next few days to tide you over while I go into total exam lockdown for a few weeks. Don't hold your breath for updates till mid next month, unless I catch a heavy case of the writing bug.
On a side note I really like getting reviews, but most of the time I have nothing to say in response except thanks for the kind words and criticism. I got a good question recently though and wanted to reply: Anon42 mentioned they thought the 'Nids were a bit strong/OP in the early fighting around the bank - I just wanted to say that this was intentional, and says more about the Wards than the Nids. Taylor proved the Nids are pretty fragile, as did Sophia and the Vorpal Chair. The problem here is the Wards are trained to be non-lethal, which means the lasguns and Browbeat's fists are specifically tuned to not kill people. Browbeat in particular, with his skillset, could have been tearing through them like paper (think point-blank telekinesis designed to cut or penetrate rather than bludgeon, or in 40k terms lightning claws instead of thunder hammers). Even Vista could have killed their attackers with some creative warping.
Classic "Out of Context Problem" - the Wards just aren't trained or equipped to go all out, and it hurt them bad.
Anyway, thanks for reading, and sorry for this chapter!