Unstoppable Force

by Saphrae

What would you sacrifice to save the world? To kill an Endbringer? To save a friend? How do you know when the price is right?

38. Living in Interesting Times

Author's Note: This chapter contains details on a trigger event and accompanying gore. It pushes the T story rating, but should still qualify.

Chapter Thirty-Something: Living in interesting times
AKA: How to play nice with effing bureaucracy lesson number whatever: When told not to climb the mountain, go under it. And hope it doesn't turn out to be a dragon.

20 days post Ash's death. 66 days post NYC.
(April 7, 2011)

Phoenix took the stairs at double time as she always did; it was good exercise and there was no point in wasting time. She took the door to the fourth floor, then walked over to the PR department. Sherrell Manning, the senior Brockton Bay PR liaison, looked up at her in surprise. Phoenix did not, in fact, have any previous engagement on the fourth floor.

"Hey Sherrell, has Glenn sent over the latest version of my jacket yet?" Phoenix knew full well that he hadn't, since she'd argued against the need for one and he'd agreed, as long as she wore the undershirt that Taylor should be finishing soon. Brockton Bay was practically balmy this time of year, and it would get hotter come summer.

Female: Not yet. I can email you when it comes in if you like?

Phoenix watched Sherrell's face as the words superimposed themselves on the bottom of reality, like scrolling subtitles. The visor was so clear that when the display was blank it was like it wasn't there. Phoenix was still getting used to the translation software, even after two weeks.

She offered Sherrell a big smile, leaning on the edge of her cube. Sherrell was a nice woman, older, with hair that was either still dark or dyed to be so. Phoenix liked her. "Thanks. I'd like to shoot it down as soon as possible."

That made Sherrell laugh. For a PR pencil-pusher, she was extremely sympathetic to Phoenix's issues with her costume and image.

Female: [laughter] Of course. Need anything else?

Phoenix made a show of grimacing. "I don't suppose there's a computer up here I could use? I've got these stupid lectures I've got to watch and Vista and Beetle are going on and on about girl junk."

Sherrell smiled honestly, which would have made Phoenix feel bad about lying except that she wasn't hurting anyone.

Female: Cami is out on maternity leave, you could use her desk.

Bingo. "Thanks." Phoenix stood up, then glanced down at the wall of Sherrell's cube, where a document hung pinned. She pointed to it at the last moment, like she was just noticing it. "Oh, is this a phone directory? Where can I find one of these? I hate using the stupid online lookup, I can never guess how to spell people's names."

Sherrell smiled again, her soft grandmotherly smile, and leaned in. Phoenix leaned in too, assuming that Sherrell was whispering, although the software didn't tell her so. It wasn't perfect.

Female: I hate it too. Take that copy, I'll print out another for myself. I keep an up-to-date record for my own use.

Phoenix returned Sherrell's conspiratorial grin, then snagged the papers and walked over to Cami's desk. She'd seen the directory hanging there before, and had suspected it wasn't a general-use document for pretty much the very same reason that Phoenix wanted it: it was a complete list of every current PRT employee, in one convenient place.

Cami worked in Human Resources, and she was one of the newer hires, which meant that she dealt with silly tasks like double-checking that vacation taken actually got reported and that overtime wasn't over-estimated by desk employees who didn't punch in or out. Phoenix knew this because before Cami had left for maternity leave, she'd spent an hour each day in the gym supposedly doing yoga and actually bitching about constantly having to pull employee files.

Phoenix sat down at Cami's desk and woke up the computer. Like all PRT computers, it opened to a login screen, and like most employees, Cami's username automatically filled itself in. All that Phoenix had to do was guess Cami's four digit pin and she was in.

In this case, the PRT's need for security actually worked to their disadvantage. Certain types of files, including employee files, required those accessing the files to re-type their pin before opening them. This meant that Cami had typed her pin a hundred times a day, and had completely worn the ink off the 1 key, the 7 key, and the 9 key. One repeated digit. The first and obvious guesses were 1997, 1977, or 1971 since years were the most often-used pins. There were no pictures on the desk, so Contract took a guess and tried 1971 since it was the oldest year. No dice. 1997, however, prompted a successful login.

[Computer noise]

The software caught the login's bee-boop, which reminded Phoenix to mute the computer. She also casually opened a couple programs, just to give herself a task to do, and only then gave a very brief glance up at the wall clock, using the motion to scan the area. No one was was paying her the least attention.

With that in mind, Phoenix slid off her visor, pulled out a set of headphones, and hunkered down to work. With the visor sitting next to her on the chair, and the subtly of her costume, there was a good chance anyone walking by wouldn't even notice her. While the PRT had the advantage over regular civilians in that they knew what her costume looked like at any given time, she knew that it was the visor that was really becoming the face of her hero-self. Without the visor, and sitting in a place she wasn't expected to be, she felt she had pretty good odds to avoid being noticed. The headphones would give her an excuse for why it make take her a while to notice anyone trying to talk to her, and then she'd have to hope she could read their lips.

Armsmaster wanted research, did he? Situation not urgent enough? Well, that was his call. She would just have to give him evidence of a little urgency. For Armsmaster, that probably meant proving that Coil had spies in the PRT, and figuring out who they were.

Contract herself wasn't too worried about Coil's spies. The subset of people who were capable of telling Coil that one of his toadies had come running to the PRT was much larger than the subset of people who could actually do appreciable damage to the Wards' actions against Coil, when they didn't know to be on the alert. Just because Lisa might be in danger from Coil's spies didn't actually mean that they were all that highly placed or that they reported to him regularly. But Contract had a feeling that putting names in front of Armsmaster would speed this thing along. She was getting antsy waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Even if Coil's spies weren't placed sufficiently to spy on the Wards with regularity, however, there was still a certain degree of risk in what she was currently doing. Using Cami's account, which constantly did the same sort of searches Phoenix needed, should keep any computer flags from raising, but she still wanted to be in and out as fast and as anonymously as possible.

Phoenix started with the hand-written list she'd been compiling since the previous evening, detailing every time that they knew Coil's exact whereabouts and what he had been doing. The first twenty entries were all crimes pulled from his file, and by Phoenix's logic, they might be able to help her narrow down Coil's spies.

If she was a criminal mastermind, she'd be sure to have all of her spies working any time she was committing a crime. For one, it would position them to help her in case of absolute emergency. Two, it would give them iron-clad alibis. Three, it was less suspicious than them being absent, since statistically most people were working during the majority of the times Coil had committed his crimes.

Since general searches would be suspicious from Cami's user account, Phoenix would have to do this the hard way. She pulled up the payroll records for the date of Coil's first public crime, then took the directory and crossed out the names of everyone who had been absent that day. This would leave her with hundreds of suspects, probably more still on the list than she eliminated, but it was somewhere to start at least.

Avery, Jonathon

Calvert, Thomas

Richard, Kelvin

Thompson, Rogers

Thompson, Kyle

She marked off the names, then searched the next date.

There were flaws with this method, of course. The directory only contained the current employees (Thompson, Kyle was evidently not working for the PRT any longer) and there was every chance that Coil wouldn't follow the same train of logic, requiring his spies to work as she would have. But she needed to be doing something, and it couldn't really hurt.

The second date was a Saturday, so it was easier to list who had been at work. After consideration, she decided to discount that day's data and not cross off any names. The third crime happened at night, but the fourth was another day-time robbery. Seven people had been absent from work, but Thomas Calvert was a repeat absentee so she only eliminated six new names.

She hesitated on the next crime's date, when the number of not-at-work employees jumped dramatically. Reading a few of their files made the problem obvious: crime in Brockton Bay had risen to the point that more PRT response squads were formed, and they worked on a rotating basis. So did she count the employees who weren't supposed to be working anyway as absent? Eventually, she decided to mark their names, but not eliminate them entirely.

She got through ten crimes before she noticed it, but didn't really believe it until she'd finished the list. Thomas Calvert had been absent during the commission of every single crime. It could be a coincidence. With three exceptions, Calvert hadn't been scheduled to work during the commission of the crimes. Three absences in ten years was not unusual. He had perfectly logical reasons not to be at work those days. She was being paranoid.

She still input the date and time that Lisa reported being kidnapped and taken to Coil the first time. Thomas Calvert had taken a long lunch.

When Lisa had reluctantly agreed to a second meeting, Thomas Calvert had been off-duty.

Lisa had reported one meeting with Coil when he seemed to be holding himself stiffly. Thomas Calvert had not only been absent from work, he'd been absent due to medical leave after his unit had a close encounter with the Empire.

Phoenix pulled up Calvert's actual file. There weren't many details that were accessible to someone with Cami's level of clearance, but there was enough to get a sketch. Calvert was a hero, but one quietly hailed, because he was one of the few survivors of Nilbog. The vagueness told her it had not been pretty, and Calvert had been put on administrative and medical leave afterward. Since then, he'd worked his way up to a tactical squad leader, and there was a chance he'd end up as a deputy director or regional director before he retired.

Phoenix sat at the desk, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply for a few moments. Did she actually believe that Coil was a PRT squad captain? It was too ridiculous to be real. She trusted the PRT as little as she trusted any bureaucracy, but there was line between caution and conspiracy theorist. Believing that a villain had been hiding in the PRT for years crossed that line; it had to.

There were medical scans that could prove if someone was a parahuman, or had the potential to trigger. No one liked to talk about it, but it existed. Surely the PRT required those tests as part of the annual physical to check for drugs or other issues? Their entire purpose revolved around holding parahumans accountable to the rest of humanity.

Right, sneered the voice in her head that sounded like Josh, because an organization founded by Alexandria would really be concerned about parahumans hiding in plain sight.

When Ash had uncovered the fact that Alexandria was PRT Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, they'd had a long discussion about what that might mean. She and Ash had eventually decided that Alexandria was probably just an ambitious parahuman, perhaps even afraid of what the government would have done if she didn't propose the PRT. With everything else that was going on, Phoenix had forgotten to reevaluate that assumption in the face of the knowledge that Alexandria was one of Clyde's- Mordor's - pawns.

She wanted to laugh at the fact that no matter how paranoid she had Ash had thought themselves, they hadn't been nearly paranoid enough. They'd blamed a lot on Clyde, but they'd never thought that he and his organization might be responsible for the Triumvirate and the Protectorate.

The realization made her struggle with the sudden lump in her throat. It killed her that she couldn't just call Ash and tell him to thicken his tinfoil hat and know, with certainty, that he would understand that the game was bigger than they'd imagined. She counted softly in her head, refusing to either laugh or sob when it might compromise her position.

She had to be certain. Screw the unwritten rules, and screw -

her brain tripped over itself, her fingers halfway through the command to display Calvert's address

- did Clockblocker know? Did Armsmaster? Was it an unspoken, unofficial secret that the PRT was populated by parahumans? They didn't know about Coil, specifically, she was sure. They hadn't been at all cautious to investigate him. But did they know that there were others? For surely there had to be.

If the head of the organization was a parahuman, and the head a local PRT squad was a parahuman, then there had to be others. Her life was cursed, yes, she knew that. But she couldn't be (un)lucky enough to be the only one to have found the only two parahumans in the PRT. That… that was beyond plot armor and straight into being set-up for something.

Shit, was she being set up?

By who?

No, stop, don't go down that rabbit hole, don't escalate, don't… just… don't.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Picture a candle, Ash always told her when he was trying to teach her to meditate. Phoenix didn't have much experience with candles, but she was intimately familiar with the flames of a funeral pyre as they burned away all evidence of any number of supernatural threats. As morbid as it was, she could picture burning bodies with perfect clarity, could see the flick-lick-flick of the flames. She calmed herself by matching her breathing to the imaginary crackling of burning flesh. What would Dr. Yamada Yamada make of that, she wondered?

The morbid humor finally did the trick, and broke the rage that had been battling against her reach for serenity.

Breathe. She trusted Colin. The idea of him lying to her about this… She didn't want to believe it. Actually, the more the thought about it the more she realized, she didn't believe it. She could see the Triumvirate, or even Miss Militia following a party line like this but Armsmaster? No. She wanted to confront him only to confirm that her trust was well placed. Well, that and to get his help in dealing with the situation. She wanted his judgment and his backup. The same things were true to a lesser extent when it came to Clockblocker.

But those were personal concerns, and any larger conspiracy in the PRT would have to wait. Her first priority had to be Coil. He was the active threat. Would telling them that Coil was Thomas Calvert help the situation or be a distraction? Armsmaster wouldn't let this new knowledge interfere with the investigation, but Clockblocker might.

It would look like she'd gone searching for Coil's identity after he forbid her to do so, and that she'd gone looking in the PRT. He might believe her protests otherwise, but he also might not, especially if he thought this endangered his family, his dad. She would keep the information to herself, for now. A secret could always be told, but anything that had been said couldn't be unsaid. And really, she might be wrong anyway. It still felt too fantastic to actually be real.

She needed to try to verify her suspicions, just in case. With hands that she forced to be rock-steady, she returned to her earlier course of action and pulled up his address. It was within the geographical profile. His file also listed his height and weight, which matched Coil's basic physical description. It wasn't impossible that she was wrong, but it was growing more and more unlikely. Soon, it would be a question of whether conspiracy or coincidence was more improbable.

So what did this mean for her team? Phoenix pulled up Calvert's current timesheet. He was at work today, and was scheduled for regular hours on Friday and Saturday too. Good. That lowered the chances that he was planning anything too dangerous in the next couple of days. It also meant that if she insisted on meeting him on Saturday at lunchtime, it would at the least be an inconvenience for him to get away from his unit when he was supposed to be on standby for any hot calls.

After another moment, however brief, to try to collect herself, Phoenix logged off of Cami's account. She took off her headphones, and glanced at the clock again. No one was paying her any attention. She slipped the visor back on and stood up, wandering back to talk to Sherrell. It had been just over an hour, long enough to have watched a video as she said.

"Hey, Sherrell," Phoenix said, knowing that her voice was chipper and friendly even though she couldn't hear it. Sometimes it felt like she had more practice being fake-happy than real-happy, and she knew the performance would be flawless. "Thanks for the help." She lifted the phone directory in a silent salute, rolled so that Sherrell couldn't see the marks she'd made.

Female: Of course, sweetheart. Let me know if I can do anything else.

"Sure. Have a good Thursday," Phoenix said, striding away in her "I dare you to stop me" walk, which she was slowly starting to think of as her "I am a hero" walk. Most likely, no one in Cami's area would remember her coming by, and the people between Sherrell and the stairs would only have a brief impression of someone important.

Phoenix took the stairs at double time like always, mind whirling through everything she needed to do. She and Jason had gone over the places where Lisa and Taylor had crossed paths, looking for any sign of the supernatural just in case Lisa was something using the Wards to get to Phoenix, though he didn't know that's what they'd been doing. She'd found nothing.

Tattletale was most likely on the up-and-up, and as best as Phoenix and Armsmaster's software could tell, she hadn't out-right lied to the Wards so far. In fact, after what she'd found about Coil, Phoenix was more convinced than ever that the girl was sincere about helping them take down Calvert, though doubtless for her own good and not theirs.

She itched to go to Calvert's house and look for evidence of the supernatural, but she knew it would be useless. It's what she would have done 67 days ago, before Behemoth, and so her instincts screamed for her to do so now, but instincts weren't always reliable. The chances of finding anything supernatural in Brockton Bay were exceedingly slim. Whether it was the large concentration of capes, the control of the gangs, the population density or some other factor, supernatural creatures tended to avoid Brockton Bay like most people avoided haunted houses, even more than they avoided New York City or Los Angeles.

Brooks even had a theory that there was some sort of time-manipulator in Brockton Bay, no matter what the tests said, since supernaturals were more sensitive to small folds and ripples than humans were and would naturally tend to leave an area that rubbed their subconscious like sand paper. Contract didn't buy that, for a number of reasons, but the why wasn't relevant, not really.

She hit the lobby level of the stairs and without breaking step she stalked over to the elevator with Wards' access and rode it down to the base.

That point was that Coil was almost certainly cape. Unless he was just a human pretending to be parahuman, using his PRT access, information, contacts, and training to pretend to be powered and hiring other non-powered mercs to hide the fact… no, that theory was unnecessarily complex. If nothing else, Lisa should have been able to tell if that was the case.

Speaking of, the elevator opened on Tattletale sitting grumpily at the table, while Clockblocker worked on his laptop and Vista and Beetle dominated the console, murmuring quietly enough to each other that her visor didn't register the noise. Kid Win was probably in his lab, and since her schedule said she was supposed to be sparring with Intrepid and Gallant, those two were most likely in the gym. Phoenix had intended to drop by her room, change clothes, put the notes aside to be burnt later, and head to the gym, but Tattletale caught her eye.

Everything about her posture said that she'd been benched and wasn't pleased about it. Well, Phoenix shared her frustration. So she strode over and sat purposefully in the chair next to Tattletale, turning it to look at her, and putting her back to the rest of the room. The brief pause in all the typing and murmuring, which her visor registered as [sudden silence] was not discreet, but Phoenix didn't blame them for being curious.

She hadn't been particularly warm to Tattletale since her shot about killing Coil. Phoenix knew the cold shoulder she'd given Tattletale was an overreaction, which was probably part of why she'd sat down. Great, now Phoenix was psychoanalysing herself.

Tattletale eyed her warily, and Phoenix felt a predatory grin on her face that she didn't try to suppress. What could Tattletale read off her? Any of her siblings would have known that she was upset by the simple fact that both feet were still planted on the floor.

Brooks would have noticed the papers folded and stuck in her back pocket, and might have been able to guess that she'd found something she didn't like while poking through official sources. Danny would have read her suppressed anger in a heartbeat - they were two of kind when it came to wanting to prove themselves to those in authority - and Josh would have known she was chaffing for action. Ash would have known it all. How much of that could Tattletale read?

The villain in question was still silent, waiting for Phoenix to speak first, but Phoenix just kept surveying her, not having anything in particular she wanted to say. She'd sat down on a whim, in a sense of shared confinement and perhaps a bit of eagerness for verbal sparring, but this wasn't a teammate or a sibling or a fellow hunter. This was a dangerous opponent, even if they happened to be temporarily aligned. Phoenix had a lot of experience with that kind of relationship.

That thought alone was enough of an invitation, too close to the things she tried not to consider and she saw Trickster settle on the table behind Tattletale, his feet resting on the arm of her chair, insubstantial to the rest of the world.

Even though she'd closed off the contract with Behemoth, trusting Eidolon to deal with him as he had the other Endbringers, Trickster had enough of a hold to present himself to her on the slightest of openings. She'd held out for 62 days without caving, never once letting him affect the physical world and never once releasing Behemoth, but it had been a terrible struggle to be unable to banish him. He'd whispered, he'd cajoled, he'd joked and lied and told the truth, tempted and tested her will, helped her according to his manipulative whims.

But she didn't have to let him anymore.

She focused on Lisa, on the color of her hair which was surely a dye job, and on the clothes she was wearing. Expensive, if not flashy. Whatever changes Lisa wanted to make to her world, she wasn't shy about spending ill-gotten gains. Not that Phoenix had a lot of moral high ground in that particular area.

In her peripheral vision, Trickster stuck his tongue out and vanished, knowing he'd get nothing from her right now. She was pissed enough that he didn't want to be a ready target, which was smart of him. If he pushed her in a mood like this, she was liable to do him actual damage, no matter what help he'd been in the past or might be in the future.

"Tell me about Coil," Phoenix heard herself saying, and wretched her thoughts back onto Tattletale. What would the thinker say if her power informed her that the Ender could see interdimensional entities? Was her thinker power strong enough to intuit the reasons? Could she read the first stupid contract that Phoenix had ever made as clearly Ash once had?

TT: I already have.

Lisa looked at the floor as she said it, so she was still feeling defensive. Well, Phoenix was pretty upset, no matter how she tried to force her anger to look like confidence. She needed to distract herself.

"Have you ever seen him hold a gun?" Phoenix asked. Lisa nodded. "How does he hold it?"

TT: Confidently, in one hand. He's used it before

"Any idea how old he is?"

Lisa shrugged, thinking about it. Phoenix couldn't tell if she was figuring out the answer, or deciding to whether to tell the Wards information she'd already known.

TT: He's patient, so older than 35, but physically fit enough to be younger than 50.

Well, that was two more marks next to Coil is Thomas Calvert. Neither were definitive, of course, but neither refuted the idea either. This was not helping her mood. "Have you ever used a gun?"

The non-sequitur made Lisa look up and meet Phoenix's eyes through the visor.

TT: Never to kill. But I have shot one before.

"Did you hit what you aimed at?"

TT: I shot until I could.

"Ever fought hand-to-hand?"

Lisa shook her head. Phoenix had guessed that her skills were about what she just reported, but it would make her a liability in a fight and Phoenix didn't like liabilities. There wasn't time to teach her anything useful against the kind of people that Coil put into the field. Giving her a knife would probably make her just as dangerous to herself as to others. The PRT would never give her a gun. A taser? Maybe. If Clockblocker decided that he trusted her.

For now, she'd just mark Lisa as "civilian" and know she'd have to watch out for her. How disappointing.

"How good are you at computer hacking?"

Lisa eyed her for a moment before the subtitle appeared. Her facial expression said that she thought Phoenix was dumb, crazy, or both.

TT: I'm not going to incriminate myself.

Phoenix rolled her eyes. "Not like that. Coil's got mercs in his base, right? Well, if you were a criminal mastermind, would you trust the hired muscle to run around your tinker-base while you were sleeping?" Or working a full time job for that matter? If Coil was Thomas Calvert, then he was a control freak, according to his psych profiles. "There's no way his base isn't under surveillance. Might be hardwired out, but what if it's on a protected broadcast, instead? Could you get in?"

Hardwire was safer, but it limited where Coil could monitor his people from. There might be a hardline connection in his home, but there wouldn't be one here in the PRT. Coil had to have at least some access from his phone, right? It only made sense. Assuming that Coil was Calvert.

Lisa was looking thoughtful now.

TT: Maybe. The problem would be finding the right signal. There's a lot of protected traffic in the area of his base, and most of it's legit. It's protected to guard intellectual property rights.

"But we know Coil has spies in the PRT. Can you look for any traffic between the PRT and that part of downtown?"

TT: I could try. If I was allowed a computer.

At this, Lisa sent a poisonous glance at Clockblocker. On one hand, keeping the powerful thinker away from the internet inside the Wards' base was a good idea, since it would put her inside several firewalls and would potentially give her access to other confidential information. On the other hand, it was inconvenient. Well, laid out like that, Clockblocker was clearly doing the right thing. Too bad.

"Thanks anyway." Phoenix stood up and went to her bunk so she could change into exercise clothes and go catch up with the boys. She could use a good sparring match.

Maybe she'd start with a regular punching bag though, to blow off her steam before she hurt anyone.

---

When she got to the gym, she found Isabelle Gomez and her squad team also using the facility, which made her grin. Isabelle was an ex-marine, still in her physical prime, and a general hardass. She was, in fact, quite possibly the toughest woman Phoenix had ever known, including Ellis. The bartender might have been able to take Izz once... if she'd had the element of surprise and a twin sister to help her.

More importantly, Izz was always willing to spar with Phoenix. The soldier's superior size, decades of experience, and daily job meant that Phoenix yielded two times out of three on a good day. That kind of challenge was exactly what she needed right now.

Gallant waved to Phoenix as she came in, and Intrepid used the distraction to drop him on his back. Intrepid then offered a nod of his own, but didn't try to approach as Phoenix bee-lined for her target. Gallant certainly could see her morass of emotions, and she wouldn't be surprised if Intrepid could tell something was off too. Fortunately, Gallant tended to assume everything she felt was related to Ash, which, to be fair, was about 70% true, and Intrepid never pushed her anyway.

Izz clearly read her anger also, but Phoenix's emotional health was not her concern and they both knew it. So Phoenix waited, poised, while Izz gave her people one last glance. When she was satisfied with what she saw, she turned and lashed out in one even motion. Phoenix deflected the hit with the palm of her hand, already backing toward the practice mats, trying to use the motion to turn Izz into the retreating position, which of course Izz didn't fall for.

The rhythm of the fight came to Phoenix naturally, almost as calming as Ash's flame trick. When your opponent swings like that, you jab and duck like this, and when they counter as so you kick right here. Damn. She was fast enough, but her shorter leg meant that she tapped Izz's hip instead of a solid connection.

Phoenix didn't resist when Izz grabbed her foot, instead using her hands as a cushion and spring, rotating her whole body, but Izz just let her go and Phoenix ended up rolling to her feet, neatly backed into the corner.

Within another sixty seconds it was over. Phoenix was pinned, and she yielded rather than sprain something trying to escape from Izz with a move that she'd already failed to execute in the past. Then came another round, and another yield. Another round, and another yield. Again. And again.

Her telekinesis, which she was just getting the hang of, was nowhere to be seen today, and although Phoenix didn't really need her precognition with one opponent, it was on the fritz too. She kept getting danger warnings that were too loud, or a second earlier or later than she expected, or none at all which scared her the most. She did not need a faulty precog power in the field.

After half an hour she was panting hard, looking up at Izz, who was breathing heavy but not that heavy and still looking pretty fresh. This time, Izz offered her a hand up from the mat and Phoenix took it, then stood and stretched out her muscles while she tried to catch her breath.

Izz: Something you wanna talk about?

"Would I be here if I did?" Phoenix shot back. In the back of her mind, her anger stewed along with a growing but directionless anxiety, which she knew wasn't helping her "Jedi" powers.

The stupid visor had enough memory to recognize twenty voices. What did it say that her cast of characters was small enough that her part-time sparring acquaintance was on the list? She'd even put Ash's voice print into the program in a fit of melancholy and self-pity. Six Wards, her own voice so it didn't caption herself, Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Piggot, Renick, Ash, Izz, the Triumvirate, and four empty slots she used for temporary and rotating needs, like Tattletale. She'd have to see if there was an audio sample from Coil or Calvert on file. Heh. Not only could she not name twenty allies, she actually prioritized the voices of her enemies just in case.

Izz shrugged, not pushing the subject, but not re-engaging either. Phoenix glanced away and then back, weighing her response. Izz wanted something from her, to make sure that Phoenix wasn't in a headspace that would be dangerous to continue fighting in, and she was more stubborn than Phoenix was patient, at the moment.

"Life can really suck," Phoenix finally said. "Sometimes you get to change it. Today, I get to ride it out."

That was enough for Izz to shrug and raise her hands, and Phoenix took a deep breath, letting it leave her body slowly and take her frustration and her confusion with it. Just focus. Izz and nothing else. A twitch in Izz's shoulders and Phoenix lunged to the left, dodging the lightning-fast strike and setting herself up for a kidney punch, which Izz evaded. Game on.

They put in four more matches, including one paltry victory for Phoenix, before her visor flashed yellow for a moment. Phone call.

The distraction was enough for Izz to sweep her legs out from under her (again), and Phoenix yielded even though for once she actually had fallen with enough leverage that it might have been worth the effort to try to grapple with the squad leader.

Phoenix grabbed a towel, thanked Izz, and walked towards the elevators. Her call log showed that she'd called herself, so it was really a computer-generated message from her calendar. Yamada time. Joy.

She'd given herself enough pre-scheduled warning that she could grab a quick shower, another change of clothes, and retreat to her dorm before it was time to actually connect.

As she always did before she logged on, Phoenix re-read the contract she'd made to protect her sessions with the therapist, reminding herself of the provisions she needed to uphold. It was one of the very few deals she'd actually written out in full before she executed it, and the only one she hadn't yet burned. The idea was simple: protect the conversation from eavesdroppers and prevent Yamada from betraying her, in exchange for Phoenix's complete honesty and making every reasonable effort to attend all her sessions, no matter who told her to do them.

The details, of course, were far more complicated, taking up nearly thirty pages of tightly-cramped handwriting. She'd spent days on it while Armsmaster lined up his legal issues, and even grudgingly accepted the help of Trickster, though those sections she'd gone over ten or twelve times before she was satisfied he hadn't slipped something past her. He'd been behaving himself lately and it was making her edgy.

Again, the thought was enough to let him appear. As usual, he looked like a mischievous fourteen year old redhead in casual, every-day clothes. Converse, jeans, witty t-shirt, ballcap, chewing gum. An all-American headache.

"That's not very nice," whined his voice in her head, the closest thing she got to noise these days. His mouth didn't move, neither of them in the mood to pretend he was talking or that she was listening.

Shut up she snarled back inaudibly, and she had enough latent anger that she hadn't released in meditation or physical exertion that he flinched. He might be insubstantial to the physical world, but there were other dimensions where he was not so invulnerable. Phoenix imagined slamming a door, the coil of muscles in her right shoulder and elbow, the snap of the wrist that would make the wood CRACK satisfyingly, and then Trickster was gone.

She pulled out her laptop and connected it, hardline, to the PRT network. Dragon had showed her the coding that protected and then erased her conversations with Yamada, and Phoenix had understood perhaps one part in ten. She trusted Dragon on the strength of Ash's word, trusted her abilities based on Ash's judgment of her, and left the rest to her contract.

She had about a minute to spare by the time the computer had logged in, run its security protocols, and finally opened the chat. Phoenix stretched the cord out from the desk until she could lie on her stomach on the bed. It wouldn't be comfortable for long, but it felt good for her bruised back at the moment.

Yamada opened the conversation, as she always did.

Dr. Yamada: How is today?

Phoenix: Busy. I went ot CB yst as you suggested and we talked to Tay. She'd been approached by BB villain Tattletale in civ IDs. Tattletale's being threatened by Coil. Coil might be a criminal mastermind.

Phoenix didn't bother to fix her typos, knowing Yamada would understand what she meant. A simple tap of the enter key sent the message. Immediately, Phoenix started typing again.

Phoenix: Time is of the essence. Coil has spies in PRT, so closed and accelerated investigation. Planning first contact with Coil Sat.

Dr. Yamada: I'm not familiar with Tattletale. What is her power? And Coil's?

Yamada always used perfect punctuation, and few abbreviations. Phoenix wasn't sure if she just thought that way, or if she felt like she needed to stay professional or something. She wouldn't be surprised if that was just how Yamada was; the woman seemed pretty unshakeable.

Phoenix: TT is thinker. Sherlock Holmes on steroids. My power screws with her, and also my life is too weird for her to believe. Trust strang fiction. ]]]

Phoenix tried to go back and fix "trust" to be "truth," and found her backspace key didn't work. She hit enter to send the message and immediately started typing the next one.

Phoenix: You had Dragon disable my bksp again?

Dr. Yamada: She was actually quite impressed you'd managed to un-do it.

Phoenix: I didn't. Created a second patch program to make ] key a backspace too. Ash used to prank me by screwing w/ kboard, so I know lotsa good tricks. Wouldn't mess with Dragon's program, it protects us.

Dr. Yamada: It's important that you don't feel the need to edit yourself.

Phoenix: Having the option would be nice.

Dr. Yamada: Are you avoiding talking about Coil? Or Tattletale?

Phoenix: You know me so well already. Both. Try to out-think two thinkers and tell me how your brain feels.

Dr. Yamada: Coil is also a thinker?

Phoenix: Or a precog. Or a shaker. Or a probability manipulator.

Dr. Yamada: If you know so little about him, why are you engaging so soon?

Phoenix: TT's life is on teh line. Coil has threatened her in teh past, and she's too scared to try to keep secrets from him now.

Dr. Yamada: Secrets?

Phoenix: Her power guessed our identity. Tay and Mine. TT went to Tay b/c she's not the ender.

Dr. Yamada: I want to come back to your disdain for that name, but let's talk about what you said earlier. Why do you feel like it's up to you to out-think both Tattletale and Coil?

Phoenix sighed. She hadn't really expected Dr. Yamada to fall into the trap of talking about that stupid nickname again, but it had been worth a shot.

Phoenix: Bc I can?

Dr. Yamada: Can you? Thinkers have the ability to think better, inherently. Why do you expect yourself to be able to keep up?

Phoenix: Bc we don't have anyone else who can.

Phoenix: Bc they're my people. I have to protect them.

Dr. Yamada: The other Wards have years of experience.

Phoenix: We're working on it together.

Dr. Yamada: But you feel that ultimately, the responsibility rests with you?

Phoenix: Being a hero means that ultimately you do it yourself. Teh only actions you can change are yours. You are the only person you can make responsible for anything. If you want it done, do it. Others can and will help but if you make them a linchpin it can bit eyou hard.

Dr. Yamada: I wonder what Clockblocker would say if he heard that?

Phoenix: Honestly? I think he lives by some version of that himself. He takes his job seriously, and you should see him defend TAylor. She's HIS people, and he'd just about punch TT event though she dind't really threaten her.

Phoenix: Clock wouldn't be the hero he is if he didn't agree, to some extent. It's why we do and don't get a long. We're too alike.

Dr. Yamada: And Ash? What would he say?

Phoenix: Who do you think taught it to me?

Dr. Yamada: He expected you to be responsible for everything?

Phoenix: No. He didn't. He expected himself to be responsible. I learned by watching him. He did what he could, everything he could. How can I do anything less?

Dr. Yamada: You killed the Endbringers.

Phoenix: That's a good start. Does it mean I shouldn't save Lisa's life?

Dr. Yamada: Lisa?

Phoenix: TT. Whatev.

Dr. Yamada: You shouldn't risk your life for hers.

Phoenix: What else is a hero?

There was a pause, and Phoenix knew that Dr. Yamada was gathering her thoughts, recovering from the rapid-fire back and forth. After a moment of her own deep breathes, it was actually Phoenix who broke the silence.

Phoenix: Sorry. Not mad at you. Shouldn't have taken it out on you.

Dr. Yamada: You're allowed to be emotional.

Phoenix: Not your fault.

Phoenix knew that Dr. Yamada had to be itching to ask who she was actually mad at, but it wasn't enough to distract her from this line of conversation. It seemed that Dr. Yamada wanted to talk about repressed feelings. (Again.)

Dr. Yamada: Emotions aren't logical. You don't have to control yourself.

Phoenix: Do you want me to yell at you?

Phoenix: Or at CB for that matter?

Phoenix: that's what this is really about right? not supressing my own emotional good for the benefit of others?

Phoenix: CB was loosing his dad. I would do much more for the people I love than what Clock did. Taht's not even a drop inteh ocean of what I would do.

Phoenix: that kind of loyality is hard to find. So what if it was to his dad and SS? She was heis teammate!

Phoenix stopped typing and yanked her hands back from the keyboard. Well, if Dr. Yamada wanted evidence that she was still working through her own feelings regarding her team leader, Fi had basically just served it to her on a platter. Which was stupid, because she really wasn't upset at Clock any more. Tattletale's callousness had just opened up an old hurt, one much deeper than Clock's request for his dad. Dennis was not the first person who'd made demands without understanding or considering the costs, and he wouldn't be the last. She shifted positions, sitting up against the headboard with the computer on her lap.

Dr. Yamada: Just because you understand someone, doesn't mean they can't hurt you.

Phoenix: I trust Clockblocker. More than that, I like Clock. He's a good guy, and a decent team leader. No one else on teh team would be better, not even me. I'm too much still a hunter, not enough a cape. Being mad at him doesn't help anyone. He did what he had to, I respect that.

Dr. Yamada: If you just shove your feelings aside instead of facing them, they will fester. What good will that do the team?

Phoenix: Forgiveness is an act of will. I have decided to forgive Clock. God knows I've forgiven people for much worst sins thn his. It's just raw enough that it can still bubble to the surface sometimes. dragging it up with you won't help.

Dr. Yamada: That's very admirable of you.

Dr. Yamada: How do you feel about facing an opponent of unknown power in just a few days?

Phoenix: Can't come soon enough.

Dr. Yamada: Really?

Phoenix: What's two days going to change besides trying to tip our hand? When you've got good sights on a deer, you don't just wait and hope it wanders closer to you. You breathe deep, check windspeed, and pull the trigger.

Okay, so the only deer she'd ever shot was to use as bait for something much bigger, but it wasn't a lie and it made her point.

Dr. Yamada: You're not worried about what you don't know?

Phoenix: Whatever Coil's power is, it's not physical. Getting to him might be a bear, fighting him might be unlucky, but I'm not scared of bad luck. TT told us she's seen him recovering from injuries. He can be hurt.

Dr. Yamada: Hopefully it doesn't come to that.

Phoenix: Oh, I know. I have no desire to ]]]

Phoenix: Scratch that. After what i've heard and with what I suspect, I'd love to break his arm.

Phoenix: but I know that's not appropriate, and I'll only do it if necessary.

Dr. Yamada: Thank you for being honest.

Phoenix: what's therapy for, right?

Dr. Yamada: Has it been hard to be in close contact with Tattletale?

Phoenix: Not really. Lisa's not a bad kid, just got in over her head pretty fast. smug as all getout. Irritating if you let her be.

Dr. Yamada: I meant as a thinker. Given your dislike of Company and other PRT thinkers, I assumed you'd be uncomfortable sharing a base with Tattletale.

Phoenix: Oh. Well for one, TT doesn't believe have teh stuff she does see. Company sets out to be maniuplitve. And, you know, he's an ass.

Dr. Yamada: Is he? I got the impression you haven't had much contact with each other.

Phoenix: He helped gangpress me into the PRT.

Dr. Yamada: If he hadn't been in New York, would you still have stayed with the Wards?

There were a dozen flippant responses she wanted to give to that, but such a direct question required an honest answer.

Phoenix: yes.

Phoenix didn't elaborate. There was nothing else she wanted to say on the subject.

Dr. Yamada: yet you blame him?

Phoenix: Who was it that said emotions aren't logical?

Dr. Yamada: Fair point.

Phoenix knew Yamada would drop the subject if she kept resisting it, as she had every other time that Company had come up, but she was tired of dancing around this particular snake pit.

Phoenix: He was the one part of teh PRT I could resist. And I was so cared of being manipuated in NYC. I was dealing with enough without a stupid person-thinker tryin gto pull me apart and make me think whatever he wanted to make he mthink.

Phoenix: human brain sucks. So much going on we don't udnerstand, subconcious, unconscious, id ego whatev. biases and cognitive shit. it's hard enough to compensate for that suff when you've on your game an dgot good peeps with you. Allone? Against a thinker?

Phoenix: I needed something that was mine. My mind. My thoughts.

Dr. Yamada: You saw Company as a master.

Phoenix: "saw"? Taht's bullhit. Company IS a fricken' master. if he was a villain, you know PRT would give him master 2 or 3 minimuum. Power may function as a thinker, but he's a master.

Phoenix: I'm not paranoid.

Phoenix: and while we're on the subject, PRT ratings are bull too. Focused on how power works not actual effect. Precog technically thinker power, capes like JS who are "striker" but deadly at 100 ft w/ knives.

Phoenix: okay, rant over. wanted to say it.

Dr. Yamada: I can understand your frustration. The PRT had to come up with some sort of standardized response. As I understand it, the current system grew out of many different systems across a large number of teams. It's not perfect.

Phoenix: Figured it was something liek that.

Dr. Yamada: Do you mind if I ask how you'd classify your teammates? If you were focused on their "effects" rather than the PRT convention?

Phoenix: Vista is a shaker through and through. Minor thinker (0/1) cause she can't bend where people are, which gives her a glimpse of where people are and thinker rating would also account for long experience in field.

Phoenix: Intrepid mover, brute bc his grav reduction lets him lift more when flying, plus blaster for tinker weapon.

Phoenix: Gallant mover w/ armor, brute w/ armor, thinker for emotions, blaster/master for emotional blast,

Phoenix: Clock is striker/breaker. Also shaker 1 for his ability to change lay of field by creating barriers. (remind me to tell you the stuff he and Beetle r working on)

Phoenix: Beetle could be anything. Mostly thinker right now, small shaker for swarm effect of field and traps. Working on bug-clones which will give her stranger / apparent changer rating depending on rumors which we might enocurage dependign on what PR says. Could also be stranger if bug spying improves. Could be brute w/ better costume(spider silk rocks), blaster w/ right bugs and tactics. but she won't go that way, not enough presure, not enough confidence.

Phoenix: Actually Beetle proves my point: PRT says MAster X. but that's the least helpful summary if you needed immediate battle info, bc mastering a human is like one power she doesn't have.

Dr. Yamada: And Kid Win?

Phoenix: tinker BS. Need say more?

Phoenix: if I was PRT, would try to keep secondary ratings based on equipment but unlike Arms etc KW tinker designed to change easy, no good way to measure. Just take best rating (prob mover 3 currently for hover baord + passenger) and add two for shenanigans and surprise, so tinker 5.

Dr. Yamada: What about yourself?

Phoenix: Without deals, I'm mover, shaker, blaster, thinker, striker.

Phoenix: with deals just say wildcard and get it over with. easier than listing all. Bottom line: don't put me in a corner.

Phoenix: I'm no one's victim.

Dr. Yamada: And yet you do feel cornered.

Phoenix: If life was easy, anyone could do it. Beaten down, and beat, not same at all.

Dr. Yamada: That's very true. It's been awhile since we talked about your emotional connection with the team as a whole. Any concerns on that front, going into a dangerous confrontation?

Phoenix: Hardest part will be with CB. I trust him, and he trusts me. But we'll have very different information at mission critical times. I will be in field, he'll be home base. He's team leader, he shoud be, but I'll also need ability to make field calls.

Phoenix: He will hate that I'm out there taking risks he can't take for himself, I know I hate the sidelines and I can't imagine he feels any different. I will need him to trust me to take those risks with myself an d with the team. We've had sim times but it s not the smae as field time. We will be a deadly duo someday but right now we are still growning. This could make or break us.

Phoenix: There will also be operational security issues. We don't know Coil's power, so best way to keep a secret is to tell no one. No one. Not bc I don't trust CB but bc Coil's pwoer might be BS. I do trust Clock. I hope he can trust me when we are done.

Dr. Yamada: And the rest?

Phoenix: Intrepid is good people. Both a friend and an ally. He would follow me to hell and back. I have no worries there, except that he might trust me so much he doesn't protest when he should. I'm not perfect, but he might need to see me screw up before he will hold me accountable like he should.

Phoenix paused, considering how much to say about Beetle. She'd been trying to help her heal and become more confident over the past two weeks, but that had been put on the back burner due to the Coil mess. On a personal note, Taylor was also doing what she could to help Phoenix, which she appreciated, but as a cape?

Phoenix: Beetle is new in teh field. Often has the most data, but least exp. Need to teach her to share info more effectively, or else make her a much better strategist very quickly. She's also still recovering from bullies. When she's working/helping people, she's good so she'll be fine in field. Afterwards, we'll need to help her decompress carefully. she should talk to you, actually.

Phoenix: TT will be in field with us. I trust her to help against C bc save her own life. After that? Who knows.

She sat back, considering if she should mention anything about Tattletale's earlier jab about killing Coil, but it didn't seem worth it to lose her train of thought. Thinking her way through her team connections was surprisingly therapeutic. She felt better about the mission already.

Phoenix: Vista is a rock. Solid powers, great exp, good humor… she reminds me of Jo. Except she's even better. Jo had a drama streak, sometimes. Others treat V like a little kid, but she's older than she seems. Best yet, she's a great #2. She's what I need Intrepid to be. She'll call Clock on hsi shit when she sees it.

Phoenix: KW is scattered, until pressure hits. Like Beetle, will be good in field. In general he needs more focus at home. So excited about knowing specality that he doesn't prioritize. I've had to help him keep on track and do the legal junk. Stuff should be approved for Sat, I hope.

Phoenix: Gallant… I don't like that he sees my emotions. I don't like being vulnerable like that, and I don't like that he HAS to see them, know what I'm going through. He shoudln't have to put up with my greif, anger, issues in gen. He's a nice guy, I know. But I avoid him when I can. For field? he hesitates. I think bc he sees the enemy as people. Good as a person, not as backup.

Dr. Yamada: Do you think the seven of you will be enough to take down Coil?

Phoenix: Three in field (TT incl) and five in base. No. Don't think we'll take him down. But we'll learn, and we'll coem out safe.

Dr. Yamada: Have you talked to Clockblocker about your concerns?

Phoenix: No. Don't want to screw up team dynamic before big day.

Dr. Yamada: I think you should. Especially about how the two of you will interact during this time. You said you thought it might make or break you.

Phoenix: I'll look for the right opportunity.

Dr. Yamada: Thank you. We're coming up on an hour. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?

Phoenix: we covered it.

Dr. Yamada: You know you can call me any time to set up an emergency session.

Phoenix: And I know I can call you anytime to set up an emergency sesh.

Phoenix got her message out just a split second after Dr. Yamada's appeared. Darn it. The joke would have been funnier if she'd managed to send hers first. Overall, Yamada was a good choice for a therapist. She was very down-to-earth, in a "horse sense" kind of way that was easy to listen to and accept. She refrained from giving too much straight advice, letting Phoenix work through most issues on her own time.

She'd even had a previous encounter with the supernatural (a hunter named Rusty who Phoenix didn't know had wasted the shifter in question) so she didn't flinch when Phoenix explained her past. That had been both a relief and a large coincidence, which Phoenix was chalking up to her curse, for now.

Dr. Yamada: I mean it, but I think you know that. What time do you want to talk tomorrow?

Dr. Yamada: How does just before lunch sound?

Phoenix: 11 it is. Ciao.

Phoenix: and thanks.

Dr. Yamada: anytime. Take care of yourself.

Phoenix logged off, knowing from experience that Dr. Yamada wouldn't leave first in case Phoenix decided there was something else she wanted to say. It sort of bugged Phoenix, who had never been good at goodbyes except with a few people, but she didn't let it get to her. Instead she unplugged the hard line so she could put the laptop in her bedside table drawer.

Then she stretched out on the bed. She'd gotten only a couple hours of sleep that morning, and those had been broken by some sort of dream she didn't remember now. After exhausting herself mentally, then physically, and now emotionally, she felt like she might actually be able to rest.

---

The smell wasn't anything particularly strong, a little bit of dirty man, a little bit of old dishes, a little bit of dank, but it was still distinctive enough. The rest of the scene filtered into awareness in pieces. Unfinished concrete floor, shelf hooks turned into slave rings, cold handcuffs. Three or four frightened faces - God forgive her, she could hardly remember any more; though she knew there had been five of them, that part was always blurred. Scar across the eye, not damaging his sight but the Nazi bastard had taken a cut to face at some point.

Clarissa's whimper was the first sound her mind recreated, snapping into perspective the entirety of the dream: the cellar, the two attackers, Phoenix's torn shirt.

It was this moment, it was always this moment that her mind brought her back to. Even before New York, she'd been dreaming of this for years, and Trickster had spent 62 days replaying this little drama for her every single night. She'd hoped, prayed, that ending the contract would end her torment. It hadn't. His assault had given the events renewed power over her, and she couldn't fight it, even though she knew it was just a nightmare.

Scar-face chuckled, twisting Clarissa's arm further as he pulled her to her feet and she tried in vain to resist him. Phoenix could feel her own hands behind her back, scrambling against the cuffs.

"You can get out of handcuffs, if you're willing to break your own thumb," echoed in her head in Josh's voice, and in her dream it was actually an audible sound, recreated and laid over the horrific soundtrack of Clarrisa's terrified, inarticulate begging and the click-clank of Phoenix's rapist re-securing her chain to the wall.

What Josh hadn't mentioned was how hard it was to actually accomplish. Phoenix didn't lack the will, but she couldn't get the leverage she needed. It wasn't right. She'd die for that girl, would kill if necessary for all these girls whose faces she could no longer recall, but she couldn't manage to break her own thumb.

Stories never told you details like that, she thought, but it was there and gone as Clarissa keened loudly. Phoenix felt her soul cry out in rage and defiance and desperation and disbelief that this sort of evil could exist, was allowed to exist, chose to exist and she couldn't stop it. Her heart thudded in her chest, and the refusal to accept felt like a pressure in her head, behind her eyes, begging for a way out.

Abruptly, the Trickster was there, dressed as he always dressed for her, red hair hanging long enough to nearly cover his eyes.

"You're not in a story," he drawled. Phoenix was too busy trying to twist her hand just right, her sweaty skin sliding against the metal ring instead of wedging in it as she needed it to. She didn't notice that he'd come without summoning, she didn't care that he had no reason to be there.

Clarissa kicked her scar-faced assailant, and the one next to Phoenix looked over, unaware that the Trickster was between him and his companion, as insubstantial as gaseous nitrogen. The kick did no good; they were only feet away from the steps up to the main house.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Phoenix snarled, and she could no longer even recall if she'd spoken aloud or just to the Trickster. Time and repetition had blurred what details they didn't sharpen.

"Life doesn't work that way," he told her with a heavy-lidded stare, oblivious to the Nazi who was trying to drag Clarissa through his midsection, unaware of Trickster's presence, while Clarissa sobbed and jerked and cried - cried out Phoenix's name. Even with the outside world moving as slowly as it seemed to be, Phoenix could recognize her own name.

"My life does. I came from the side of a highway. I've survived as a first-gen hunter. I've succeeded in manipulating you. I do not accept that I am powerless now. This is not how the story goes. Human will is powerful. I refuse to accept any of this."

"If this was a story, you'd be swearing to kill these men. Isn't that what story-heroes do? You're too good, too not-real for a story. Who focuses on the victims with meaty, sweaty, ugly villains to hate? You'd make a bad protagonist."

"You're lying."

"What if I'm not? What if the only reason you can't get out is that you won't kill these men? Narrative is powerful, but it's also constricting."

"You're wrong. If that's what it takes to make my life a story, I'll gladly kill these men."

As always, the crash took her by surprise. It wasn't just the pop/crack of her thumb finally yielding to her struggle. It wasn't just the scraping of Clarissa's foot flying out and catching a length of unused chain, pulling it across the concrete as Phoenix fought the mind-numbing pain and yanked her hand free. It was the relief of a pressure she didn't know she'd been fighting.

It was impossible to say where the pressure had come from, when it had begun, because it was simply gone, and something in the world felt more in balance now that it was. She knew two things with absolute certainty:

Her life was a story.

She was going to kill these men.

Her rapist was easy: she stood up too sharply, he wasn't expecting it, and she was able to bring her good hand - unbroken thumb, but still in a cuff - around to grab his head and slam it downwards, headbutting him, and driving his nose into his brain. As his body crumpled, she grabbed the knife out of his belt and flung it across the room, through Trickster's non-existent shoulder and into the eye of Clarissa's attacker, completing his scar as it entered his brain.

Clarissa kept crying, terrified of the dead weight that had fallen on her. Phoenix pulled the end of her chain free of the loop on the wall, it was faster than getting her second hand free, and carried the chain with her as she went upstairs. On her way past Clarissa, she stopped long enough to roll the man over, freeing the girl and pulling the knife out of his brain. A part of the eye came with it, but Phoenix didn't pause, taking the steps at double time.

There were four figures there, waiting for her wrath. The first was the Nazi ostentatiously "on guard," who was facing Phoenix when she opened the door. She slit his throat before he could raise his gun. The stroke didn't sever the spine, but there was enough bloodspray to let her feel confident about shouldering him aside and putting her back to the dying corpse.

His two co-conspirators were on the couch. The heavier one stood up, and she slit open his gut as she walked past, leaving the knife buried up to the hilt. It wasn't enough to kill him, not right away, but he crumpled from the pain. The tallest man didn't even make it off the couch before she'd grabbed his chin, and the back of his head, and twisted sharply. Her broken thumb throbbed with muted pain in time with the cracking of his spine. Then she turned to the last figure.

"What are you doing here?"

Death, like the Trickster, would not have stood out on an average American street. Josh had described him as a skeletal man with waxy skin, dressed in a business suit from the 1920s and grey-haired. Phoenix didn't see him that way. To her, he was an unassuming Caucasian with classically dark hair and a soft face, dressed simply in a black button up and dark grey slacks. If anything, he looked young.

He didn't answer her demand, instead just spreading his hands out, encompassing the room. Phoenix was suddenly very aware of the blood dripping from her hair onto her neck. The thickset man from the couch coughed weakly, still dying.

"I didn't invite you," she snapped.

"Oh, but you did." Her body was not her own as her eyes were drawn to follow his until they rested on the gasping man. He was pudgy, shaved bald, and tattooed. Ugly.

At the echo of his word, the Trickster ghosted up from the cellar, walking until he stood over the last Nazi. "Very efficient," he said, approving. Phoenix swallowed the urge to hurl.

"What did you do to me?"

The Trickster raised his eyebrow in the expression that meant either innocence, or false innocence. With the Trickster, there was no observable difference. "I, my sweet? I did nothing."

"You broke my thumb."

"You broke your thumb," Death countered, and Phoenix caught a hint of disappointment in the Trickster's manner as she turned back to Death. "You cursed yourself."

"Cursed?"

Death smiled, and it neither pleasant nor unpleasant. "If it is a Chinese curse to live in interesting times, it seems to me that the American version of it might be to live in a story."

"You're lying," she said, though she turned back to the Trickster as she said it. "You made me do this."

Death didn't let him answer. "My dear, we cannot lie to each other now."

Phoenix looked back at him sharply, wary though she was to take her attention off the Trickster. "Why not?"

"You tell me," he said, and for a second time, an external force drew her gaze down to the man who was still choking on whatever damage she had done to him. Probably the intestines and kidneys, based on his weight and the length and depth of the cut. Not the lungs or heart, which would have ended his life already. Possibly the stomach, but she doubted it.

"Undo it," she snapped, raising her gaze from the man to the Trickster. He only leered at her.

"At what price?" Death asked, and she couldn't even turn around to answer him.

The wave of pressure drove her to her knees, not from any particular direction but pounding from without and within in an uneven rhythm. She felt like she was tilting, even though she had both hands firmly planted on the ground. She tried to reach out to steady herself, but no physical movement changed the sense of vertigo. The only thing available to grasp wasn't… wasn't physical. There were six downstairs. Two here in the room. Four off to her right, far enough away to be in the next house.

She recognized the pressure just as she was about to grab onto five of those not-physical anchors, and realized that this was what had crashed when she agreed to kill the Nazis. She shoved herself away from the not-physical hand-holds. She pushed the pressure away, and then down, and then in, and then up, but it wouldn't leave.

She tried to focus, to think, but the pressure materialized in her brain and she screamed. "Stop," she begged but it didn't, wouldn't.

"You can accept what you have done, or you can undo it. That is not for either of us to decide," the Trickster said lazily. The idea of acceptance was tempting, so tempting, to just collapse and sleep and not-deal with whatever was now real. But she wasn't sure anymore what she would be accepting.

A sick moan came from the same direction, human in a way that the Trickster's voice was not, and Phoenix vomited all over her hands, still planted on the floor in front of her. The stench was overpowering, and she sicked up again, her gut rolling under the pain and the pressure and the realization of what she'd done. She'd killed five men. That was her victim, moaning just feet away, dying slowly and painfully because of what she had done.

She forced herself back to her feet, supporting herself on the back of the couch, bracing for what she knew she had to do. The chain still attached to her left wrist clicked as she swayed.

"Why can I see you?" she asked Death, breathing as deeply as she could.

"You have a connection to us now, to the world beyond your world. You will have to block us out purposefully, if that is your desire."

Her victim, one of her victims, gave another rattling moan.

Phoenix shut her eyes. She didn't want it to be true. After everything she'd endured without triggering, she'd thought it would be impossible for her. She knew what she ought to be doing, but her legs wouldn't move. The pressure started to build again, but this time she could push back down inside herself and it obeyed.

"You've always been entertaining," the Trickster said, drawing her gaze. "Unyielding. Now the whole world will bow before your will."

"Go," she commanded, but he didn't so much as flinch. The smug look on his face was enough to break her legs out of their frozen state. She stepped forward and physically shoved him away. Her hands never touched him, there was nothing there to touch, but nonetheless he vanished.

Her knees gave out, but it didn't matter, she was crouching next to her victim now. His eyes cracked open and even though not a muscle in his face twitched she knew he was afraid. With her left hand still dangling chain, she pulled the knife out of his gun and sliced across his throat, good and deep, finally releasing him from his pain.

There was no sound, no change in atmosphere, but she knew Death had left with him.

Then the front door banged open, and Phoenix raised her -

---

Phoenix jerked awake, and let herself roll to her feet and pull the knife out from its sheath beside her mattress even though she knew it had been a dream. Just a dream.

"Jesus," she whispered in a voice she couldn't hear, both a solicitation for strength and a breath of relief. She glanced at the clock. 17 minutes of sleep. God grant her mercy.

She re-sheathed the knife in her ankle holster and walked to the girls' bathroom. Mechanically, she splashed water on her face and evaluated her reflection. She looked tired, but about the same as she always did these days.

Trickster? I know you're watching, she thought, and after several moments he materialized behind her so that she was looking at his reflection. Or perhaps he was only in the mirror, and if she turned around she wouldn't see him.

"You called?" said the voice that wasn't human or audible.

Why am I still dreaming of that day?

He shrugged, uncaring. "Why not? Perhaps your mind is trying to tell you something." Trickster wasn't capable of human emotion, but even if he was Phoenix suspected he wouldn't have sympathy for her.

I knew nothing that day. I didn't understand my power, I didn't understand what I'd done. I barely understood that I had triggered, and that it let me see you. Even that, Death laid that out for me. What else is there?

"Perhaps you're missing something."

What? I've relived it a thousand times. There's no gap, no signs of lost time, nothing.

"Your brain, princess." He smirked and vanished. Phoenix shut off the water, stared at her reflection a moment longer, and then grudgingly put the visor on.

Almost immediately, words wrote themselves across the bathroom sink, and she looked up to see Jason standing in the doorway.

Jason: You okay?

Her first reflex was to lash out, to ask him, I'm washing my face in the middle of the day after a session with my therapist, how do you think I'm doing?

Phoenix suppressed the instinct. Jason was a decent guy, a friend, her greatest ally, and she refused to take her pain out on him for no good reason. Particularly since he was honestly trying to help. This is what Jason did: he helped. Like her and Clockblocker, he was uncomfortable with inaction, even or especially when there was really nothing to be done. In answer, she grimaced. "Armsmaster said we have to wait until Saturday."

From the look Jason was giving her, even behind his own visor, he knew that wasn't what had her so upset, but he rolled with her prompt.

Jason: Clockblocker told us.

Jason didn't say anything further, just waited to see if she wanted to talk. It felt good, just knowing he was patiently there.

"Think Clockblocker would clear us for a foot patrol? I need to get out of here for a bit."

Jason: We could just go to the Boardwalk in civs.

"Boardwalk?"

Jason smirked.

Jason: Aren't you going to go stare at the bay again?

...he knew her well. She inclined her head, and his smirk widened into a grin.

Jason: I'll go get changed. You tell Clock.

---

Jason was right, civilian time was exactly what she needed. She was wearing her tinker-tech glasses, which required a phone to Bluetooth to for the processing power, but they were lighter and inconspicuous. Other than that, she could almost believe that she was back before New York City, before Behemoth, just wandering through a city waiting for Ash to call her with the next job.

They did spend a while staring out over the bay, and Jason was willing to leave her to her thoughts while they did. She was grateful. She didn't understand why she kept reliving her trigger event. It wasn't just the nightmare of that trauma and others; she had those frequently. The reliving was different. It started out the same, with the surreal dream-like feel, but then sometimes the dream would transition to a full-fledged recreation of her trigger and she forgot that she was dreaming.

She understood her power now, knew how to propose a deal and test solutions without accidentally succumbing to the pressure and changing reality in a way she didn't yet intend. There was nothing more for her to learn from reliving her first, thoughtless trade.

She also understood the presence of Death and Trickster. Death always came to every deathbed, but was visible only to those who had either prepared themselves to see him, or who both believed in him and had a strong enough connection to something unworldly. As a cape and a hunter, Contract fulfilled the second set of circumstances.

Trickster had taken longer to pin down. He was unique among all the interdimensional entities that hunters had encountered, because when he fled to earth for sanctuary he was already severely weakened. He'd voluntarily constricted himself into the human archetype of the Trickster in order to hide. In doing so, he'd trapped himself, losing all previous identity and nearly all ability to interact with or affect the world.

Jo's family already knew that the Trickster could be summoned by hunters, and eventually she and Phoenix had worked out that the same other-worldly-ness that let her see Death would let her see Trickster too, if he was around, willing, she gave him even the smallest opening, such as thinking of him. Thanks to the curse she'd accidentally put on herself, he found her more entertaining than most hunters, so she'd seen a lot of him in the past six years.

It was Trickster's mistake in trapping himself inside a human idea that had been the inspiration for trapping Death in his anthropomorphic archetype prison five hundred years later. Both entities were tightly bound by the restrictions. They had basically no influence in the world at large, and were forced to exist as powerless, immortal observers who could only speak when invited to do so.

Of course, Trickster had enjoyed 62 days of increased freedom when Phoenix had temporarily removed the outermost of his protections in exchange for imprisoning Behemoth. He'd been able to appear to her regardless of invitation or circumstance and he'd manipulated her dreams. For every minute of every day, he'd been trying to trick her into loosening his bonds still further.

Any hunter who had wanted to shoot her during that time was not unjustified. Taking any kind of risk with a B&B was unforgivable, but she'd had to do it. She'd been playing with hundreds of millions of lives, risking Trickster getting loose against the known danger posed by Behemoth. She'd been glad when she finally broke down and emailed Eidolon, cryptically asking if she could release Behemoth, and gotten a yes in reply. Trickster, of course, had thrown a hissy fit of epic proportions but by then she'd been able to shove him away, so she didn't really care.

But none of this was new to her, and nothing in that long-ago day shed any new light on the situation. So what was she missing?

Jason: Penny for your thoughts?

Phoenix glanced at the clock display she kept in the corner of her vision. More than half an hour had passed since they sat down.

"They're not even worth that much. Come on. Let's go back to base."

Jason squeezed her shoulder as they stood up, and she gave him a forced smile, the best she could manage right now.

Jason: Everything will work out.

She could almost remember what his voice would sound like as he said it. How long before she forgot? Before the only sounds she could still remember were her dreams and the not-voice Trickster and Death spoke into her thoughts?

Picture a candle, Ash's voice said in her head, and she remembered the flames licking up the side of the envelope from Jo, burning brighter as they burned away the bit of Ash's hair that Jo had given her to burn.

Still, she breathed in deeply and released it slowly, trying to expel the knot of emotion in her chest. It worked, loosened the emotions at least a little bit.

Jason: I don't like the idea of you going into Coil's lair with no backup except Beetle and an ex-villain who has no offensive firepower.

As much as she knew she shouldn't blow him off, Coil just didn't measure up to some of the stuff she'd taken on with her siblings. "It's not like he's a time lord," she told Jason. Then she stopped, turning to him suddenly, her mind flying a mile a minute.

Coil might be a time manipulator. When Brooks had first suggested that there might be a time traveller in Brockton, a team had been dispatched to test the area. Time travel required enormous amounts of power and bled power like a sieve. The tests had shown no sign of that radiation, not even enough for a single traveler looping once or twice over a couple hours. With that in mind, Phoenix had come to Brockton Bay sure that there was no significant time shenanigans happening.

She'd made that dismissal before she had proof that an individual had successfully led a double life within the PRT for nearly a decade. Her incredulity over Calvert being Coil had shielded her from realizing the implications if he was.

"Spies in the PRT" could be anything from secretaries to accountants, and a precog that had manipulated a teenager when he was also initiating every contact was… well, it was a problem obviously since he was threatening her life, but it didn't pack the same punch as "PRT squad leader who is also living and committing crimes as a successful parahuman crime lord." The power required for those two tasks were separated by at least an order of magnitude.

She'd heard Tattletale's concerns about Coil, but had mentally downgraded the severity of the threat on the reasoning that any truly advanced precognition or spying would never have let the villain get into the Ward's base. She'd dismissed the idea of time travel based on tests that were years old. Maybe Coil hadn't been using his power at the time. Maybe parahuman time travel was the one type that didn't leak. Either explanation was low probability, but much more likely than Calvert managing to be Coil through luck.

The magnitude of that accomplishment was just settling in, forcing her to raise her estimation of Coil's potential danger. Before this, Phoenix hadn't really considered that he might actually pose a real threat to herself or her team.

Shit. If there was even a chance that Coil's power was time-related, then the reality was that her team might already be engaged with him in a future from which he could access this moment. She needed to get Beetle and Tattletale out of the PRT, and get Armsmaster on board with a much more aggressive plan of action. If Coil was a time lord, even just on the scale of sending himself messages from the future, then this was bad.

She took another deep breath.

Jason: What? What is it?

"Give me a minute. I've been an idiot and I'm trying to compensate."

Was she sure Coil was a time manipulator? No. For one, the energy leakage wasn't present. For another, she'd never encountered any sort of messages through time that didn't end up as self-fulfilling prophecies. Powers did weird stuff, yes. They broke the rules, yes. But there was also evidence that they followed the rules. Precogs and masters seemed at least hindered by measures intended to protect against their supernatural counterparts.

Could she take the chance? No, absolutely not. She needed to assume he was capable of looping and changing time, maybe up to two days' worth. Any more than that, and he wouldn't have needed ten years to fail to take over Brockton Bay. Much less than a day, however, and she doubted his ability to lead his double life.

Jason: Is this about Coil?

She refocused on her teammate, her partner. She liked her chances against a time lord much better if she had someone like Jason at her back, who would be willing to trust weird directions in a tight situation. Jason had also proven his ability to adapt quickly, to be observant, and to make good judgement calls. If she'd listened to his opinion of Tattletale, she might have taken the situation more seriously a lot sooner.

"Yes. How good's your acting?"

Jason opened and closed his mouth. She could almost, not quite but almost, hear the wariness in his voice as he asked, "Why?"

Even though she'd already read the word from his lips, could picture how it had sounded, a half a beat later her visor still typed out

Jason: Why?

under his reluctant expression. Her mind was already racing with what they'd need to do, but she took the time to really look at Jason. He didn't think he would like whatever she was thinking of, and the reality was that he probably wouldn't. Jason was a good soul, not destined for the sort of games and tricks that were so necessary as a cape. In another life, he'd have been perfectly happy as regular guy, growing up to be dad and a soccer coach, or maybe a teacher.

Was he capable of holding his own against the likes of the Triumvirate? Yes. He'd proven himself time and again. She just wished she didn't have to be the one to ask it of him. He deserved to go home to dinner with his family.

Jason: What are you thinking?

"I need to talk to Armsmaster. I promise, I will brief you as soon as it's confirmed."

Jason didn't look completely reassured, but he started directing her back to the base while she used her phone to text Armsmaster on an encrypted line, laying out her basic plan. Hunters had certain protocols to use in case of time-hopping threats, and she intended to adapt them to Coil, until and unless she had firm confirmation that he wasn't time-powered.

Armsmaster didn't protest her changes, amendments, and requests but he did ask a simple, open-ended "Why?" as soon as the initial barrage was done.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, wondering how much to say.

Coil might be much more dangerous than I believed. Will tell you in person ASAP, you can check logic.