Heieienej

by Kahlil Johnson

Aka lei

20. T2

1.10

-- Tanya von Degurechaff --

I rolled sideways and diagonally upwards while aiming my rifle, decoys splaying out and mirroring my movements. He's invincible so long as he's touching Siberian, but how far does that go? He'd actually continued trying to speak after attacking me, but he hadn't managed two syllables by the time I'd finished charging my spell and fired.

With less than a second to work, the optical formula wasn't too impressive in terms of power output, and in fact looked rather anemic. Of course, the actual appearance of the beam was just the visual spectrum 'tracer.' The bulk of the energy of the formula was relayed via a more efficient high frequency beam. At this range, *very* high frequency. Still, I wouldn't trust it to burn through Jack's subdermal armor in any reasonable amount of time, even without Siberian's protection. But that wasn't the goal. I'd aimed very carefully. Hitting Jack at this range was trivial, obviously, but my target was rather smaller. Without a reactive mage shell or any other form of eye protection, even this formula was strong enough by orders of magnitude to instantly blind a man.

I released the formula after a second, already repositioning under the camouflage spell while one decoy and two other instances of the camouflage spell sped off in other directions. Jack, initially taken aback by the sudden assault, stopped talking, but he didn't appear to be in any pain. By the end, he looked more annoyed than anything. I watched from just over the lip of a building across the street. The one Siberian didn't wreck. He didn't even need to blink to clear his eyes. How could that even work? Light clearly needs to enter his eyes and trigger his photoreceptors to let him see, so why can't too much light damage those photoreceptors? Well, new plan. Plans.

"Weiss, one of the PRT agents has a remote detonator for a bomb. Come down and secure it." I considered for a moment. "Don't kill any of them unless you have to. Try asking first."

While he went to work, I started scanning the area for a specific cape. Everyone had scattered at the outbreak of violence, likely believing there was no point in fighting Siberian, but his power had been distinctive to my magical senses, like a poorly made internal formula constantly leaking out through the skin. Ah, there! I anchored an illusion of a three meter wide hollow white sphere to Jack's head just as he started to talk again. I moved over my quarry's position hunkered down in a side ally, though my first sight of it made me blink. Stained padded walls, elaborate columns, and bizarre statues interspersed the street. Oh, right, the crazy one. Well, no matter.

I didn't expect the illusion on Jack to accomplish much given that -- ah, given that his power could disrupt it, as he'd just worked out, but it provided the momentary distraction I'd needed. I came up behind Newter fast, grabbing my officer's cap off my head with my left hand. No time to ask permission. I made sure my mage shell was set to block solids and gasses, just in case his power didn't work the way it appeared to, and slapped his bare arm with the cap. He startled badly, apparently having failed to notice my approach. His yelp alerted his teammates, and Spitfire produced a belated gout of flame aimed vaguely in my direction as I sped passed them and towards the Nine, camouflage illusion reapplied.

Siberian was by far the top priority, and I didn't think this would be so easy to do a second time, so I targeted her. I didn't dare get within arms reach, even if both her arms were occupied and I was pretty sure I was faster, so I just threw the cap into her face from 4 meters up, hoping her eyes and mouth might aid the drug's ingress. She leapt to catch me as soon after my throw connected, which was far too late. Her absurd power compensated for her incompetence, though, as the drug appeared to have no effect. Aren't parahuman powers supposed to have weaknesses? How does invulnerability protect against a hallucinogen? She looked a little frustrated as she touched back down impossibly lightly. Jack was starting to look genuinely angry. He slashed at the air with a knife as I sped away, dispelling a camouflaged decoy.

They're frustrated? Perfect immunity to any sort of harm isn't good enough? In my justified frustration, I quickly charged and fired an artillery spell at their feet, hoping to at least disrupt their footing. Naturally, she'd extended her invulnerability into the ground and, defeated by an intense flare of foreign magic, the spell accomplished nothing beyond interrupting Jack yet again. Though, actually, wasn't it a little odd I hadn't been able to sense any magic in the ground until I tried to damage it? She's not nearly quick enough to have reacted to me, so the process of reinforcement has to be automatic, but I didn't sense any mechanism that might handle that.

Koenig interrupted my contemplation, "Ma'am, fire spotted by the boardwalk. Should we investigate?"

"Negative. Weiss, status?"

"I have the device, Colonel."

Good, because I was running out of other ideas.

"Koenig, Granz, distract and harass. Weiss, Be ready to activate it on my signal."

Hatchet Face's corpse was far too heavy to just toss at the group. I remembered exactly where I'd placed the bomb, but it'd still take a couple seconds to get it out, and my camouflage formula would be useless at ground level. Siberian was lifting Bonesaw back onto her shoulders, presumably so she'd have a free arm to throw things at me, but she was suitably distracted when Granz placed a low power artillery spell right on Bonesaw's head. I dismissed my camouflage decoys and sent out four of the traditional sort, sloppier than usual, straining my mental bandwidth for superior redundancy. Sticking my hand in the corpse would be obviously suspicious no matter how many decoys I had, so the goal was more to distract than to trick. Not wanting to give them a moment to adjust, I darted in, quickly placing an active barrier between me and the group as I rummaged for the bomb.

A supersonic crack followed immediately by a worrying dip in my barrier's strength jerked my head up just as my fingers closed around it. Siberian had evidently thrown a chunk of pavement at me with enough power to go straight through a standard mage shell and kill the mage inside. Absurd. A Flak 16, an anti-air gun the size of a van operated by an eight man crew, couldn't do that in a single shot. Well, maybe it could at 5 meters. No way pavement thrown hard enough to crumble under air resistance would have decent ballistics at range, though, which was where I should be. Bomb secure, I rocketed upwards, pouring manna into flight and body reinforcement to survive the extreme acceleration, long gone by the time Siberian's follow up shattered my active barrier. Granz sent another artillery spell into the group, though at this point they were mostly ignoring them. What was Koenig doing? He's been charging something for more than 6 seconds at this point. He does remember no amount of power will actually hurt them, right?

Just as I thought that he cast the spell, sending two dozen green blobs dodging erratically through the air. Good thinking. I attached a matching illusion to myself, little more than a strong blur effect, as I devoted myself to hacking the homing formula for use on the bomb. Not enormously difficult, but a dropped sphere needed a different approach than a fast-moving spin-stabilized aerodynamic bullet. By the time I finished, Jack was waving his knife around wildly, like he was trying to fend off an unimpressed bear, mouth moving like he was still trying to talk this out, and Siberian was throwing anything she could get her hands on, missing a lot more often than not. An undignified end for the villains villains fear, but such is war. I released the bomb, tracking its progress through the air more with my magic sense than my eyes, infinitely more sensitive to my own magic than that of others.

"Weiss, now!"

Rather than the instant vitrification I'd expected, a perfect black sphere encompassed the group for a moment before vanishing just as quickly, accomplishing noth... Where's Siberian? Jack stumbled as Bonesaw fell to the ground, unsupported. Vicious satisfaction played over my face as my rifle snapped up. Maybe it didn't do everything advertised, but this was good enough.

"Another bomb for Bonesaw!" I shouted onto the open channel for the benefit of the Protectorate's mages, waiting as my artillery spell charged sufficiently to guarantee the kill.

Then Siberian reappeared, two meters away from her teammates and seeming a little disoriented, but she looked to be catching on fast. Fuck! I'd considered that Being X was getting more blatant, but this was beyond the pale! At least the mages he sent against me stayed dead when killed! Nothing for it. I shot the artillery spell before it was ready, still far more than enough to kill a normal man, but I couldn't be sure it would completely destroy the brain without a direct hit, which-- no, the shot went a little low, taking him in the neck. Such a vigorous decapitation would normally fill me with the satisfaction of a job well done, but it didn't feel like a victory as Siberian leapt to catch the head before scooping up Bonesaw and, pushing off a street sign, shot away into the city.

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Jul 5, 2022

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1.11

-- Tanya von Degurechaff --

Angry, I just about ordered the pursuit without thinking it through, but a moment of deja vu stopped me. But when? Right, the first assault on the Queen of Anjou. My blood went cold. That had been a disaster, a whole company dead and hardly anything to show for it. Well, we'd killed plenty more of their mages, but we do that without losses all the time, and it's not like they ever seem to run out. With three men to my name and no replacements anytime soon, I simply could not afford that sort of slip up here. I felt my hand drift to the Type 95 without conscious direction. But why am I remembering that now? Just... losing my nerve? I couldn't shake the feeling there was more to it.

Regardless, the interruption allowed me to consider the situation analytically. Immediate pursuit would likely prevent Bonesaw from attending to Jack, but he was never a real threat. He'd be just as easy to kill after Bonesaw finished fixing him up: trivial without Siberian and impossible with. Even if delaying his treatment might cause irreparable brain damage, and I had no clue where Bonesaw's limits lay in that area, so what? There's no bounty for brain damage, and it's not like he's an important piece worth incapacitating for his own sake.

Actually, why had I attacked them? Taking out Bonesaw would have been nice, but I'd have had a better shot at that if I'd just kept the bomb for later when Siberian wasn't paying such close attention to her. Not like I was under actual threat from a man with a knife, either, power or no. I could have simply stared him down, or flown away and preserved some ambiguity as to my capabilities. That had been the plan, actually, to hide from the Nine until we'd killed Shatterbird. But... Ah, Tattletale! Of course I couldn't have left her to the Nine's mercy, and flying her away myself, even if I had been willing to risk it with Siberian in play, would have revealed our relationship at the worst possible moment. I clearly had to provide a distraction to let her escape.

I shook my head. Forgetting my own reasoning? It had been a snap decision, hardly any time to consider at all, but still. I suppose I'll just have to content myself with the fact that I'd made the right call.

And they had no way of knowing I could track Siberian down whenever she used her power. Even now she was putting off enough magic to light detectors down to New York, if there had been any. Of course, she put off far, far less when she wasn't mowing down buildings, but her power was unusually profligate. Even minor uses were comparable to an A rank mage running a full combat suite. And unlike most parahumans, she radiated magic even when she didn't seem to be doing anything. Not that much, but enough to pinpoint her if I was in the right neighborhood. Felt like an illusion, almost, though I'd never confuse the two. Point being, letting them think they got away now would hasten the moment where they felt secure enough to separate, and only then I could kill them.

Of course, once they separated, I'd want to find whoever wasn't with Siberian. I briefly considered sending someone to follow them from stealth, but it could be surprisingly difficult to track individual people from a decent altitude even in the open. Hardly worth the attempt in a crowded city. And Jack had found me easily enough. Was told about me? Well, he was in such a hurry to leave he forgot his phone, so I could do a little snooping. Well, maybe... it'd been a while since I'd held a cellphone. Actually, these hands have never held one. I paused, suddenly disturbed. I am a product of modernity, as I explained to Being X all those years ago, and that hasn't changed. He choreographed this life to break me and he failed. Hardly a surprise, when he'd failed to manage his own workload. But it was... uncomfortable to consider how foreign the other products of modernity felt. But now wasn't the time to reacquaint myself. Probably best I just let Tattletale handle it, anyway.

So, what now? Well, there was the fire at the boardwalk. If we've already tipped our hand, no reason not to take out Burnscar and whoever might be with her. But from what I understood of her power, that was likely to last a while. Let's see what we can salvage of this meeting first. The Nine running scared and everyone more or less still around, now was a better time than we'd likely see again for the duration of the crisis. And given their embarrassing showing, likely no better time for me to assert some authority.

"Koenig, destroy Hatchet Face's body. Granz, remain on lookout. Weiss, follow me."

I dropped my illusions and clapped my hands, magically amplifying the sound.

"Let's get back to it, everyone. I know Siberian is scary but she's gone now."

An explosion punctuated my words, splattering our foe's body across the street and nearby buildings. Perhaps this reminder of the Nine's mortality would put them at ease? If anything, the faces I could see looked more nervous. I sighed and started down at a leisurely pace, not wanting to startle any of the frightened rabbits. I explained myself to Weiss as we descended.

"The Nine probably won't bother us again, and perhaps they'll take us more seriously with a tall, intimidating man looking down at them."

"I... don't think you'll need me for that, Ma'am."

Ah, Weiss, always so courteous. But even if he wasn't willing to draw attention to the fact I looked like a little girl, I could hardly count on everyone to be so polite.

"Nonetheless."

"Yes, Colonel."

Everyone had more or less made it back by the time I reached conversational range. Gregor and Labyrinth were missing, but that made sense. She had some issue using her power, and he was presumably watching over her. Corporal Richter was coming down fast, even though he likely hadn't heard my announcement at his distance. Presumably he'd observed the situation via magical telescope and determined the danger had passed on his own. The Undersiders hadn't made it far, dogs still incapacitated from Hatchet Face's disruption. Purity and Hookwolf were on opposite sides of the circle now, glaring at each other. Ugh, Nazi drama. I'd have to try to keep a lid on it. Not like any of them mattered, except as bait. The heroes, both government and New Wave, had bunkered down in their HQ. Stupid in the face of an unstoppable force, but what can you expect from civilians? The Protectorate mages had far less excuse. Barely a third of the way through their spin up, and now they were letting their magic fade. What? I gave them a closer look. They weren't old men, to be sure, but they were hardly young enough to be green, given universal mage conscription. How had they survived the war with such suicidal habits? Granted, the African Front was far from the worst the war had to offer, especially now, but our mages were getting lazy if these fools had survived down there for more than a year.

Most of the rest were looking up at us, far warier. Always nice to have one's work recognized, I guess, even if I hadn't really been too successful. Or perhaps they really did find Weiss intimidating? I had a little trouble seeing it myself, too familiar with the man's prudent, considerate nature, but he certainly had the stature for it. I touched down by Jack's body while Weiss remained a half meter in the air, perhaps taking my instruction to look down on them literally. Or perhaps not. It always felt a little awkward and crude to rely on the Rube Goldberg mechanisms of non-magical locomotion when simple, perfect vectored thrust was just a thought away. But Jack's body wouldn't come to me, so I'd make do. The upper torso was pretty shredded, but the lower half was more or less fine. Hadn't been much of an 'artillery' spell, given how little time I'd had to construct it. As I knelt down and started rummaging his pockets, I introduced Weiss.

"Everyone, this is my second. He's chosen to go by Major."

Clockblocker snorted. "Because he's a Major? Not a very creative fellow, is he?"

Privately, I had to agree. I'm not certain he understood the assignment. He didn't have much excuse not to; Koenig's English was terrible, but he'd already had his figured out by the time I got around to explaining the custom in Germanian. I might have preferred he understood it a little less well, actually.

"I have other virtues, boy. Creativity is the Colonel's job."

Huh. Was he deliberately playing up the accent? Maybe he got it after all. I had a sudden premonition of danger. Was it possible I was the one who hadn't understood? Granz had seemed a bit enthusiastic for my liking, too, though he was always a bit excitable.

"Major is taken, actually. Ward sibling duo in Texas, Major and Miner," Kid Win contributed, obviously reading something off his visor.

"How unfortunate for your record keeping. I do not care."

... I should have taken Granz. He doesn't know enough English to embarrass me. I finally located the phone. It was a cheap burner, but tough for it. Screen was pretty badly cracked by the pressure wave, but it otherwise looked fine. I was about to stand up with it and put an end to this line of conversation when the collection of knives on his belt caught my eye. Most of them were glorified toys, switchblades and straight razors and chef's knives, but he had one decent combat knife, no fragile mechanisms and not so sharp it'd chip on bone, nearly 20 centimeters of steel and sturdy. I had my bayonet, of course, but if war has taught me anything, it's that it never hurts to have a spare knife. I fastened the sheath to my belt as I stood and looked around for Tattletale. Ah, they might have been a little close to the exploding corpse. Well, she had no cause to glare at me like that. It was Koenig's spell. I didn't tell him how to do it. Glory Girl interrupted my appraisal.

"You know he probably killed people with that, right?"

I shot her a confused look.

"What do you imagine I plan to do with it?"

I held the phone up before any further distractions could present themselves. I made sure everyone got a look at it before speaking.

"Anyone think they can get something out of this?"

Tattletale fortunately picked up on the hint and called out first, so I didn't have to scramble for an excuse not to hand it over to Kid Win or whoever. I tossed it to her, only for her to nearly fumble the catch. I suppose back liners can afford to be clumsy, but that was a little much. I destroyed the body with a weak explosive spell contained by an extension of my mage shell, hopefully demonstrating that I wasn't the one making messes. I topped up my magazine while I addressed the group.

"Let's cut to the chase. I can't kill Siberian or Crawler and I won't kill Bonesaw without a guarantee doing so won't release a plague. Unless you have more bombs, Director?"

She'd been regarding me with a calculating glint in her eye since I'd come back down, not put off by the violence like most of the capes. Appearances aside, she clearly had some combat experience. Taken out of the field by an injury?

"Perhaps. I can't just hand them over, though."

"Naturally. You have an obligation to ensure the munitions in your custody are used properly. I assume an outright sale is similarly off the table?"

She looked a little surprised. At my polite tone? That I was negotiating at all?

"Yes. If you capture Bonesaw and bring her here, we can safely dispose of her."

I shook my head.

"I don't understand her capabilities well enough to risk getting in that close. Perhaps you could loan me a bomb or two? I'll agree to either use them on the Nine or return them at the expiration of the truce, and you can hold Hatchet Face's bounty as collateral. I could likely buy plenty of similar munitions with that money in the normal course of events."

"Not legally."

I shrugged. "Neither could I legally break my agreement to use your bombs in the manner described. If you believe the law would constrain me, the collateral doesn't matter."

She didn't seem to find that argument compelling.

"Would the law constrain you?"

Victor broke in, "Careful. You sound almost like you're fishing for information about another participant in the truce for personal gain."

When I declined to answer, she grunted. "Then no. I don't know you. Your offer might be reasonable, but I don't know if you are reasonable."

Frustrating. I plotted out my next steps: explaining to her that I didn't need those bombs to hurt her or her people, perhaps asking Koenig to provide a demonstration of a full strength artillery spell, perhaps simply taking them by force. But... was that really wise? She wasn't being unreasonable. I doubt I would have entertained my suggestion from an unknown actor in her position, either. If anything, her behavior made more sense to me than anyone else I'd met in this world. A sad state of affairs, a peaceful person like myself losing touch with the civilian world, but that was hardly the worst the war had cost me. Regardless, I could work with this woman, but not if I robbed or killed her now. And I didn't really need the bombs. The original plan hadn't included them at all.

"Very well," I replied, after a too-long pause, then turned back to the capes. "Those three are beyond me. The rest, without Siberian's protection, should fare about as well as Hatchet Face did. We can provide close air support anywhere in the city in less than a minute. Your role is simply to inform me when you've located any of the Nine. Flare guns, perhaps?"

"Those I can provide," Piggot offered.

"You want to use us as bait?" Grue asked, tone a little hostile. I appreciated the misdirection. Or maybe he was also a little upset about Koenig's clumsiness. Getting blood out of leather is a pain, but that had nothing to do with me.

"The Nine target local parahumans as a matter of course. 'Bait' is an upgrade in your situation, because the alternative is that no one comes to save you."

Faultline crossed her arms.

"We don't work without pay."

I scoffed. "Then don't work. I don't need you. If you signal me, I'll come, but if you want to lie down and let the Nine kill you, that's none of my business."

I dismissed her and turned back to the Undersiders. Tattletale was still staring down at the phone with furrowed brow.

"Tattletale, what have you got?"

"It's a new burner. Hard to get much from a single text message. No expression or tone. Just says there was a trap, and where the 'Mama bear' was hiding. Thinker or Stranger. Based on his reactions when he got it, I'm thinking they're the new member, and that he doesn't really like or trust them."

Someone spying on us? Well, that's not too big a deal. Knowing about our strategy won't really help them avoid it unless they want to just give up and leave. Actually, that was probably the biggest worry. I was already planning out how to spend this windfall, so it'd be really inconvenient if they were to just slip through my fingers. But there wasn't really anything I could do about it, so I'd just have to make do. Good to have some idea of their ninth's capabilities, regardless.

"Thank you. Unless there's anything else, we'll be on our way. There's a fire on the Boardwalk I'd like to investigate."

A/N: I'm a little surprised no one mentioned how Tanya's instant violence last chapter didn't make a ton of sense given the plan. I'm never sure how many clues to give in-text when she's not being as reasonable as she believes. Was it just not worth mentioning, was the Tattletale angle too obvious, or what?

Also, is anyone going to be too upset if I invent some instant English Cranial tech? It would have stretched suspension of disbelief if everyone already spoke perfect English, but the language barrier is really getting in the way of letting the men interact with the rest of the cast, and the timeline is more compressed than I realized. Can't plausibly have them learn a language in a few days without cheating somehow.

Last edited: Jul 5, 2022

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Jul 11, 2022

#588

1.Y

-- Cherie Vasil --

"What I need you to do is keep them there. No running away, no overwrought panic, no attacking, that's all so boring. Bonesaw's new friend will keep them scared and disoriented, you just need to seal the deal until I can deliver our challenge. Oh, and try to be a little subtle about it. This isn't what I had in mind for your official debut."

"No problem, boss," I chirped back. Got to play the eager, obedient little monster until they let their guards down.

I settled in to wait, safely hidden in an abandoned office two blocks away.

--

OK, maybe there's a little problem. Well, can't say I'm sad to see 'Bonesaw's new friend' go -- that thing was horrifying when it was alive and just had the one power. Seriously, what sort of cape wants to hang out with a power nullifier? I was doing them a favor when I killed him, but no, she just had to bring him back. It, I mean. I saw what she did to its pelvis, though I wish I hadn't. And she had to guarantee it could get me inside its range before I could kill it again, too. Probably that bitch Shatterbird. They put it back together while I was taking her 'test,' the fucking sadist, so I was concentrating on other things. At least it didn't do much until she added in the local. Brain too far gone.

So, like I said, a little problem, but keeping him 'alive' wasn't my responsibility, exactly. And, hey, it'll just make me look better when I pull this off anyway.

--

I snorted. A trap? You think no one's ever tried that before? I swear Jack has the instincts of a precog sometimes. But it wouldn't do to fail to warn him of this completely credible threat. I tapped out a quick message. There, now let's just hit her with some good old paralyzing fea--

What the fuck? Paralyzing! Stop that! No, no anger! Shit, everyone else is running. Uh, you're all really curious about this fight now. That's subtle, right? And you! Where are you going? You should feel frustrated, this fight is hopeless. Nope... Fuck subtlety, you're super depress-- and now she's out of my range. Well fuck. That definitely could have gone bett-- Uh, Jack? You're supposed to be invincible right now, aren't you?

--

"Thanks, guys, this is so kind of you."

I gave the brothers a poorly faked smile, not that it mattered. They grinned back, ever so happy to be helping out a pretty girl by giving her their stuff. Really, isn't this so kind of me? I'm sure they wanted to be generous, deep down. Lefty handed me the keys and I waved as I turned to my new bike. I didn't strictly speaking know how to drive one of these things. Or how to drive a car, for that matter. Dear old Dad hadn't ever gotten around to teaching me. Must have just slipped his mind, I'm sure. Anyway, now was a very good time to figure it out. Confidence turned to fear, briefly, before fading out entirely halfway across the city. I winced. Mannequin too? Fuck, these guys were supposed to be tough. I can't believe I went through all that just for the chance to co-opt such a bunch of losers.

Who's left? Bonesaw, Siberian, and the science experiment, poor girl. Jack was still unconscious, but I didn't have much hope he was bleeding out. The psycho got Burnscar and Shatterbird earlier, and now Mannequin too. Not Crawler, though. No, I'm ninety percent sure the heroes just offered to hurt him and he raced straight to his execution, the unbelievable moron. You know I used to be scared of him? All my illusions are getting shattered today, I guess. Still, there's more than enough of them left to give me a very bad day. I shuddered, recalling some of Bonesaw's 'art.' Fuck, I hope it'd only be a day. Fortunately, I'm their tracker, so it should be as simple as-- Fuck, Guillaume? Hell of a time for you to grow some balls, bro. And, yeah, that's Nicholas too. Shit!

I took a breath. Guillaume couldn't have eyes in the city yet, right? I'd have noticed him in the city. Though, why is he here now if he doesn't know I'm ditching the Nine? Sorry, the Four. The Three-and-a-quarter? Eh, I'm sure Bonesaw's stuck him on some poor bastard's body by now. Paranoia ran through me as I involuntarily glanced around. My attempts to distract myself weren't helping. Fuck, he must have been getting spies in somehow. Hanging out at a bus station outside the city? Whatever, the point was I needed a new plan. It took barely a moment of consideration before the obvious, brilliant answer hit me.

What I needed was someone tough. Tougher than the Nine, though apparently that's not as hard as I thought. Someone who didn't include torture in their interview process. Someone who responded to overwhelming terror with instant violence. (Get fucked, Nicholas!) Someone with a nice big protective side and a proven willingness to adopt wayward Thinkers. Damn, this is perfect!

...Well, it'd probably mean I can't kill Jean-Paul, but I guess I can live with that if the alternative is not living at all.

--

The roof access door was locked. I sighed. Shouldn't I have a Brute to throw at problems like this? What was even the point of being a Master if I had to solve my problems myself? I contemplated the nine flights of stairs forlornly. Hmm, maybe... I gave the roof access door a good rap, boosting curiosity and flattening suspicion. Not too much. People have a tendency to freak out when they realize their emotions are being manipulated for some reason. Nothing I couldn't handle normally, though it's always a pain, but the little terror is fast.

I couldn't hear their conversation through the surprisingly thick door, but you can get a surprising amount just from the emotions. Still, I barely had a second's warning when a glowing blade stabbed through the gap by the handle and sheared off the bolt. I waited another couple seconds, but the door didn't open. Jean Paul's buddy was crouching off to the side, presumably taking cover while my future minion was hovering a few meters back and up. Steeling my nerve (and un-steeling theirs), I pushed through, sunny smile dying at the sight of the gun pointed at my face. Really? I dampened her suspicion a little more while I raised my hands.

"Hey, just want to talk."

She didn't lower her rifle. It was getting a little awkward when what's-her-name finally provided the exposition. She does realize that's the whole reason people put up with her, right? Well, I can fix her personality later.

"She's not a physical threat to me, let alone you, Argent."

Wow, what a bitch! I work out. Kind of. I look like I do, anyway, Mom had good genes. I mean, I knew everyone thought she was a bitch, but it's a little different to experience it in person. I briefly reconsidered my decision to arrange this meeting while she was around, but no, it had been the right call. Maybe I'd have avoided her if I'd just wanted to point G.I. Jane towards my enemies, but I'll need her on board if I'm going to stick around. Better to get the Thinker first thing, before she can start getting any awkward (and entirely unfair!) ideas about mind control. Instead of the completely reasonable warm and fuzzy ideas about mind control I could give her, I mean. They both relaxed a bit and came in closer so we wouldn't have to shout.

"She's the ninth. The Thinker."

Oh, Thinker? Better than I'd realized. This would be easy. I turned up the interest. Plus a touch of attraction... Wow, nothing? Well, the kid's probably too young and the eggplant is a total bitch.

"Yep! And I'm terribly, terribly sorry. I'm turning myself in."

"You are aware you have a kill order, right? Not that I'm complaining if you want to make this easy," Argent asked, unimpressed.

"Ah, but would you really want to kill a pretty little thing like me? I'm completely at your mercy, surely we could work something else out?"

They exchanged disbelieving glances, then turned back to me, waiting for a real reason. OK, that did not land. At all. Seriously, I was feeling a little insulted. What sort of prude wears a skintight catsuit, anyway? But whatever, we could work on it later. How do you get people to do what you want when you can't just fill their minds with adoration, again? Or even flirt? You'd think the Nine would have given me some practice, but I somehow doubted finding some random people to humiliate and murder would help. They were so fucking weird. Be blunt, I guess.

"I'm useful! I found you here, didn't I? I can give you vital information. And hardly anyone knows I was ever with the Nine. We can totally just ignore that little detail."

"What is your power, exactly?" Argent asked.

Well, this was a little sooner than I'd like to talk about that. I had a pretty good hold on both of them, but not quite as much as I'd prefer. Emotions have a sort of momentum to them, and with some time I can put someone into a position where panic and anger are slow to rise, which makes controlling them a lot easier. Maybe I could dissemble and buy a little more time?

"I can sense emotions. No line of sight requirements, and my range is city wide. I can build a profile for certain people and track them wherever they go. The Master controlling Siberian, for example."

That definitely caught some interest, but I didn't dare push too hard against the Thinker's sudden suspicion.

"Hmm. That's a useful skill, especially if we plan to keep bounty hunting," Argent mused. "The Master controlling Siberian?"

I liked the direction this was going, but Tattletale -- right, it was Tattletale! How'd I forget such a dumb name? -- broke in before I could continue.

"Just sense? That doesn't really sound like the sort of power the Nine would be interested in. And, you know, you remind me of someone. Anything you'd like to add?"

Oh well. I could probably handle this, but in the worst case I could just incapacitate them. If it came to that I'd probably have to kill them so they couldn't hunt me down as soon as they left my range. It would be a horrible waste, but I'll do it if I have to.

"Oh, that's just the most useful aspect. I have some ability to influence emotions at short ranges. Nothing too impressive, really, but with my Thinker power it was enough to get by."

OK, this reaction isn't too bad. I can deal. Just got to quash most of the suspicion before it can turn into anger or fear.

"You're Heartbreaker's kid, aren't you? Regent's sister?"

"Wow, you're smart!" Playing into her little complex couldn't hurt, right? "Yeah. And, you know, he has his own bounty. I could tell you a lot about how he does things. It's not an accident he's lasted this long."

Argent snorted. "I suppose he's not the sort to inspire familial loyalty."

Tattletale still wouldn't let it go, though.

"'Nothing too impressive,' you said? No way his second-gen isn't a primary Master. You're manipulating us right now, aren't you?"

Ugh, that made things harder. She couldn't quite manage an accusatory tone, but the words were damning enough. Come on, it's just a little emotion tweaking. What's got you so upset, Argent? Maybe a bit of protectiveness for your new friend would help?

"Of course not! Believe me, you'd know if I were, it's not subtle."

"Bullshit, you're--"

Yes! Argent cut her off with a raised hand.

"I don't sense anything. Let's hear her out, at least. Tell me about Siberian's controller."

Tattletale glanced at Argent and felt a new spike of suspicion, which quickly morphed into realization and acceptance. Perfect! Argent herself had settled into calm determination, though I did have to keep suppressing some unpleasantness.

"Happy to! I can't sense her at all, so I think she's just a projection. The master is a man. Middle-aged and thin. Doesn't take good care of himself. Spends most of his time driving around to keep close to her. I think he can use her senses when he's close, and he gets some sick thrill out of it when she does her thing. Let me join your team and I'll point you right to him."

"Done. Where is he? What does his vehicle look like?"

I shrugged. "Never saw it myself. Too dangerous to draw suspicion. But he's stationary, in a parking lot I think, maybe a kilometer that way." I pointed. "I think the projection is keeping Jack and Bonesaw company. They're nearby. Fly me there and I can show you the right car."

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

Confused, I was about to respond when she moved. There was no hint of a change in her emotions but suddenly there was something in me, in my chest and it was cold and it hurt and I wanted it out. And then it was out and I was falling but I couldn't feel that and I couldn't breathe and it hurt and I wanted to turn off the pain but I couldn't remember how and I heard voices and maybe they could help? I tried to focus.

"How'd you do that? Break the Master effect?"

"I stabbed her. Hard to concentrate when you're dying."

Dying? No, no, that can't be right.

"I can see that, Tanya. I meant how did you stab her despite her control?"

She was amused? This isn't funny! You need to help me!

"You think I need to be angry at someone to kill them? I mostly kill people for wearing the wrong color clothes. I don't do it because I enjoy it, I do it because it's my job. It's a matter of discipline and professionalism, so I can understand why capes have so much trouble figuring it out."

"Yeah, OK, Tanya. You know, even given that, I'm a bit surprised you didn't take her up on her offer. She'd certainly have been useful. Weren't you thinking a lot of the same things about me?"

The other one took a while to respond. It was getting harder and harder to think. Like I was getting sleepy, but somehow awful and terrifying. I tried to stay awake but it didn't matter. One last line floated through my mind as I faded out.

"You didn't come with a fat bounty on your head. And some things just can't be borne."

A\N: Sorry to those of you who wanted a redemption arc. Cherie is an interesting character with lots of room for development, or at least she could be if you do a good job filling in the gaps, but there's just no way Tanya's going to tolerate someone meddling with her emotions. So much so she's even willing to admit she didn't kill her purely for the bounty.

Why didn't Tanya sense her power? That'll be addressed in-story, but I want to let you know you actually have all the pieces to figure it out on your own if you look at my supplemental posts about magic mechanics.

If you think I undersold her power, two points: First, she wasn't going all out on Tanya at any point, aside from a quarter second after she grabbed the bomb and before she flew up out of range. When she wants to manipulate someone in a manner that keeps them useful when she's not actively controlling them, she needs to use a lighter hand. She would have brought the hammer down if she figured out what was happening, but she didn't have enough time. Second, I think she's actually just kind of shit at understanding most people. How often would she really need to? When she wants something from someone she just uses her power. The main exceptions, her home life before she got her power and her time with the Nine, sure wouldn't have prepared her for dealing with normal people or even people who are fucked up in different ways. So she just completely missed both Tanya's plan and Lisa's recognition of it, despite having all the facts in front of her.

How do you feel about skipping the fights with Shatterbird, Burnscar, and Mannequin? I had some ideas to make them a little interesting, but not enough to justify the screen time, I think, especially when it seems like a lot of you are tired of S9 arcs in general. I am planning to give a little more detail in the next chapter, and I could potentially expand that if there's interest. Cherie is completely right about Crawler, by the way. If you don't recall, that's literally what happened in canon, too.

Do all my non-Tanya perspectives seem same-y? I am trying for different voices but I want to maintain a certain tone. And they are all similar in some ways, too, especially Lisa and Cherie, as cynical and manipulative social Thinkers. It's the sort of thing I think I struggle with. Taylor's perspective would be the real test, I guess, because she should definitely sound nothing like these three. And my tentative plan for the coming PRT interlude is a mid-thirties grunt who's a fly-on-the-wall in the interesting meetings, so that should be different, too.

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Jul 11, 2022

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TorontoTowers

Jul 13, 2022

#659

1.12

-- Tanya von Degurechaff --

"You must use the wrong species of bean or something. Every cup I've had in this world has been awful."

We'd flown back to meet up with the Undersiders after our latest adventure. I hadn't wanted to, feeling the pressure of the time-sensitive opportunity, but Tattletale had convincingly argued that if we didn't want to bombard every parking lot in the area, we'd need help to narrow things down. From Skitter, specifically, whose sensory aspect was evidently quite strong. She hadn't been in any state to leave immediately, so I'd reluctantly acceded to a short break. The whole group was relaxing at Skitter's hideout, so it'd turned into something of a general get-together. Well, excepting Bitch, who sat off to the side with a few dogs and appeared to have no interest at all in the goings on.

"You take your coffee seriously? I can see why you and Lisa get along," Grue offered, tone polite.

Really, his attitude had cleared up remarkably since we'd killed Mannequin right in front of him, though I hardly felt I'd earned his newfound respect. He apparently disapproved of their attempts to help Shatterbird's victims and decided to express that disapproval via an absurdist horror movie shtick. He really should have realized that only works in the movies because the protagonists lack air support. It had been almost disappointingly easy. Three simultaneous artillery spells tuned for armor penetration fired from ambush while he stalked them had made short work of most of his 'parts,' and Granz, having held his in reserve, had spotted and eliminated the especially durable arm trying to crawl away. Frankly, he wasn't that tough. I think their team could have taken him, though I suppose I could see why they wouldn't bother when I'd offered to take care of it. Well, I can't be too upset about getting saddled with someone else's work when I'd be so generously compensated for it by the PRT.

Koenig responded to his remark, tone amused. "You ever heard someone say they'd kill for a good cup of coffee? The Colonel has."

I snorted. "Please. You all spent days whining to 'each other' about herbs and pasta sauce where you knew I could hear you, and now you want to pretend it was all about my coffee? At least Visha appreciated what I--"

I cut myself off at his stricken look, confused, and only then realized what I'd said. I looked down, putting every bit of will at my disposal into maintaining my composure. I was distracted by Regent's curiosity.

"What'd I miss?"

I bit out a harsh "Drop it."

He opened his mouth and my muscles tensed. It had been a while since I'd put my hand through someone's face. It was a bit of a party trick, something no one else in the battalion could quite manage, but one advantage of my diminutive stature was that I could concentrate the same reinforcement behind a fist with much smaller surface area. I could clearly imagine the distinct feel of it. Hard to believe it had disgusted me so much the first time I'd done it by accident. The mage shell blocks liquids by default, so only some of the solid bits had actually made it through. What was there to be so concerned about?

He closed his mouth with a distinct click, interrupting my reminiscence. I elected to ignore Lisa's frantically shaking head and pale face glanced out of the corner of my eye. Hard to ignore how everyone else was staring, though. Even Skitter had looked up from her own mug for the first time since I'd arrived. Surprisingly, she was the one to break the tense silence.

"Want a cup of tea instead, then?"

I hesitated, but what could it hurt?

"Please."

Her henchwoman hopped to it, needing no further instruction. After a couple deep breaths, I turned back to Regent.

"I ran into a suspected acquaintance of yours earlier. I don't suppose you might identify her?"

I projected an illusion of the Master without waiting for a reply. He didn't exactly pale at the sight, but I was still a little gratified by his sudden tensing.

"Cherie? Where is she now?"

Scared of her or for her? Well, the question only had one answer no matter what he wanted to hear.

"Her head's in my bag. I left the rest on the roof of a midrise downtown."

Looks like that actually was what he wanted to hear. I crushed a little burst of petty disappointment. Not the sort to inspire familial loyalty indeed.

"You're carrying her head around? Fuckin' Metal."

It was a little gruesome, I admit, but it had occurred to me I didn't have much proof to show the authorities of her status or demise. Hopefully, they'd be able to verify some of the details with physical evidence.

"What was her power, exactly? I don't think she was being entirely honest with us."

His explanation was more or less what I'd expected. I suppressed a shudder. Her I could kill, at least. Being X wasn't nearly so easy to eliminate.

"So, is no one else going to ask? Why'd you kill that girl?"

The sound of Imp's impatient voice surprised me yet again. I barely suppressed my automatic reaction, knife sliding back with a click. I noted Weiss releasing his rifle and slumping back onto the other couch. He spoke up, annoyed.

"You should really stop doing that. It is going to get you killed."

She snapped straight and rigid like someone tased her and gave Weiss the worst salute I'd ever seen.

"Apologies, Sir! I didn't realize what a little bitch you were, Sir! Never again, Sir!"

Regent and Koenig snickered, Granz joining in after a muttered translation. Grue dropped his head into his hands with a sigh. Weiss endured his martyrdom with good grace. Mostly.

"Ah, my mistake. No reason to worry about that when your mouth will clearly get you killed first."

She dropped the pose and shrugged, smirking. Grue broke in, sounding a little nervous.

"Let me apologize on her behalf. I think you remind her of our dad."

That just pissed them both off.

"Hey! I'm 24! I--"

"Let it go, old man!" Koenig bowled over him. "We all know you were born middle-aged."

Oh, of course, it was Weiss who was born middle-aged. They really had no clue, did they? I was struck by a moment of odd discontent, but I couldn't work out why. It'd passed by the time Weiss, visage perfectly aggrieved, turned to me and quickly assessed my mood before he spoke.

"Colonel, it's my sad duty to report a worrying failure of discipline in the unit."

I gave him a very serious nod.

"I can see that, Major," I coldly agreed, turning to stare down Granz and Koenig. "I'll have to consider what sort of training might correct this deficiency."

The laughter cut off immediately. I let them sweat for a couple moments under my grim regard before breaking a smile and rolling my eyes.

"But I think that's quite enough of that. Now, I killed her..."

I gave them a brief summary of events, taking my new mug with a quick thanks near the end. I took a sip. It was OK, I guess. I'd never been that fond of tea, but the coffee here was undrinkable. It'd do as a substitute, at least for now.

"Really, I should have realized something was going on," I concluded. "My feelings were pretty erratic through the whole meeting. Actually, I suspect she'd been messing with us even before then."

Tattletale gave me an odd look but declined to elaborate. I turned to Skitter with a mental shrug.

"Are you ready now? This opportunity isn't going to last forever."

She shrank in on herself.

"I... don't know."

I sighed. Dinah's death really had been unfortunate, but whatever the tragedy, passivity and self-doubt are never the right response.

"I understand you cared about her. That's why you have to act now so you can punish her killers before they get away. Shatterbird is already dead, nothing I can do about that, but Jack and Bonesaw and Siberian were why she lasted so long."

It had been a stroke of luck, finding Shatterbird with Burnscar. Less lucky to find Crawler there too, clinging to the side of a building and apparently able to see right through our camouflage illusions. Thermal vision? Sonar? They honestly weren't that great, he could have just noticed how things didn't quite line up from his angle. Fortunately, his attempt at a leaping ambush had proven decidedly amateurish. Oh, the jump itself was impressive (and physiologically impossible, I was certain), and he could be remarkably quiet for a creature of his size, but coordinating to maintain full visual coverage was second nature for my men. He didn't have any control in the air, so dodging him had been trivial once Weiss sounded the alarm. Even the acid spit hadn't gotten anywhere close. I hadn't sensed magic from him at any point, putting another line in my increasingly confusing log of magic/power interactions, but figuring that out could wait.

It alerted the others, of course, but they were still under the delusion they could fight us, so no real harm done. Shatterbird was quick for a non-mage, glass beginning to fill the air in a half second. Of course, 'quick for a non-mage' isn't nearly quick enough. That half second was plenty of time for me to line up my shot and fire the fully charged artillery spell I'd been holding since we left the meeting. The fool's glass helmet didn't even cover her whole head, not that that would have saved her. Burnscar was quick to throw fire at me when my shot disrupted my illusion, its path curving to follow my reflexive evasion. It wouldn't have been enough to overwhelm my mage shell, but it didn't even come to that. Granz took her from behind his illusion before Shatterbird's pieces had finished raining down. We'd confirmed the kills, contemptuously dodging Crawler again, then retreated to watch for any new signals. A satisfying bit of work, altogether, though I worried such easy fights would dull our edge.

My gentle chastisement jarred Skitter out of her little guilt spiral, at least, though she didn't sound wholly convinced.

"'Punish her killers?' How is murder your answer to every question? How do you even function?"

"Oh, don't be dramatic. I've only killed"--best not to mention the mercenaries--"six people since I've arrived on this world. And most of them had kill orders. And Coil was arguably Shatterbird, not me."

Regent and Imp burst out laughing, the latter startling me again. Tattletale looked exasperated. I glared at all three of them before turning back to Skitter. I got the sense she was giving me a deadpan stare from behind her mask.

"...Is six kills in two days supposed to be a low number?"

Oh. I guess it probably wasn't, here? No, not probably! Comic book set dressing aside, this is a modern, peaceful world. Most people should go their whole lives without killing anyone! How the hell did that slip my mind? But I could excoriate myself later, right now I have to try to brush over my embarrassing mistake.

"Ah, excuse me, I meant it's been quite a change of pace from the front. We'd had a busy few days there, following the breakthrough."

Tattletale's look had shifted to curiosity by the time I cut off my rambling. Well shit. I didn't want to talk about that either, though she was tactful enough not to hassle me about it here. But it wasn't her I should have been worrying about. Skitter started in slowly and carefully, hostility drained away.

"Is that what you did? For Vi... For your friend?"

I didn't voice my first response or my second. It wasn't the same. Not remotely. She'd barely known Dinah. She hadn't lived with her. Hadn't fought with her. Hadn't trusted her with her life, been trusted with her life. Hadn't practically raised her, gathering up a hapless puppy tossed into the meat grinder of the Rhine and shaping her into the finest soldier the Empire had ever had, not that fools ever realized it.

But Skitter didn't know that. How could she? She wasn't a soldier or even an adult, just some dumb kid acting out a comic book fantasy where no one ever died. How could she understand what we had had?

I hadn't.

I finally spoke, voice level.

"Not exactly. The battlefield is a chaotic place. There was no way to work out who got her, precisely. So I killed the whole division. And then I kept going, just in case."

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Jul 13, 2022

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TorontoTowers

Aug 5, 2022

#743

1.13

-- Taylor Hebert --

I regarded the girl as she regarded me. I matched her frozen composure with my own. The response -- standing firm in face of threat -- was automatic. Leviathan was a real monster, and I'd faced him down. I'd hardly balk from some hollow imitator. And what more could a mere person be? But behind that automatic reaction, I was suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable with the interaction. I'd done it all before, after all. She's another Bitch! I had no clue how Lisa had tied herself into knots trying to figure her out.

Oh, there were superficial differences. Tanya was much more dangerous, but that's just the power lottery. And experience, probably. They approached fights differently, too. Both favored speed and overwhelming force, but that's just basic tactical sense given their powers. When that wasn't enough to handle Siberian, she'd fallen back on distraction and deception while methodically probing the limits of her invulnerability. A little like Armsmaster, though with a vicious edge he'd lacked. She didn't leave any edge on the table and she didn't hold back. Bitch might act like that's her approach, too, but she'd somehow managed not to kill anyone in the last two days. Not in the whole week, even.

And there was the big one: Rachel hated word games while Tanya wielded her ostentatious mastery over them like a cudgel. But she used them the way Rachel would if she could. Like a cudgel. She handled arguments like she handled fights. No, not like. How could she switch between the two instantly and effortlessly? Because there was no switch. Conversation, intimidation, and violence all blended into a contiguous whole, a single unified approach to handling people she didn't trust and couldn't really understand. More effective than Bitch's equivalent but fundamentally similar. I glanced at Koenig and Granz without moving my head, eyes hidden behind my replacement lenses. Easy to contrast with how she handled the people she did trust. Certainly a relief to learn she didn't smile exclusively in combat.

Really, she did an excellent impression of a hyper-violent psycho. It was a little embarrassing I hadn't seen through the posturing before getting this look behind the curtain. I had thought I'd gotten a pretty good handle on the villain reputation game, and her play was pretty simple: Bakuda had explained fear to me as the combination of certainty and uncertainty. In this case, it was the certainty of loss should you fight her combined with the uncertainty of what would set her off. Breaking the truce over a recruitment dispute was crazy, so she presented herself as crazy in the hopes you'd blink first. Then again, the violence was real enough. Not that that was surprising, given this new context. I'd mostly avoided Rachel in the immediate aftermath of the Leviathan fight, but I can't imagine she was very pleasant to be around after losing Angelica and Judas. Especially to someone who tried to kill Brutus the way Dauntless went after Granz.

Really, it shouldn't make a difference. She might have just been lashing out from pain and uncertainty, but excuses wouldn't bring Dauntless back. But... they really should have checked, first. Especially since they already had their own dimensional refugees, apparently. The Heroes failing to do their basic due diligence was... entirely unsurprising, really. Getting a good look at a couple Shadow Stalker clones certainly clarified some things for me. As for the rest... I could hardly argue the Nine didn't deserve to die.

So what am I doing sitting around?

"OK. Let's go."

A serious nod after another long second of staring, then she turned to address her men in German. Lisa pulled me off to the side while they discussed. She looked pretty bad. Stressed to hell, exhausted, probably on the edge of a power migraine. And very worried. She pulled me into a tight hug for a couple seconds.

"You alright?"

I looked away.

"I can do this. I'll process later."

I caught her biting back a sigh. She gave me a moment, then pivoted to a new subject.

"So, spill. What changed your mind on the tiny terror?"

I quickly related my thoughts, then took a moment to put words to the opportunity I thought they presented.

"And she listens to us. At least a little. This could be a disaster, but it doesn't have to be. Not if we can make her understand."

Lisa's expression had morphed several times over my explanation, clearly having to suppress multiple interjections. She settled on resigned consternation.

"That's not... You know what? Fine. It kind of works." She shook her head. "But Armsmaster? Really? Having a gadget on hand for every occasion isn't the same thing as being creative in a fight."

I shrugged.

"It's not just creativity. She fights like she's running down a flow chart. She clearly values skill and efficiency. It's not a perfect fit, but who is?"

"You! Obviously you!"

I paused, taken aback. That was hardly fair.

"I don't--"

"She fights like you would if you treated every fight as life or death."

I.. guess I could see some parallels. OK, uncomfortably many parallels. I looked down.

"Stop that. It's not a bad thing. If you're going to fight, it's better to win, right? And, ah, don't mention your theory about Bitch to her. To either of them, actually. For that matter, I doubt the men would appreciate being compared to dogs."

I snapped myself out of it. Now was no time for introspection.

"Obviously. I'm not an idiot."

I could see that she wanted to comment on that. I raised an eyebrow, confident she'd pick it up even behind my mask. She let it go, dropping her head into her hands.

"Just... be careful, alright? If she doesn't want to talk about something, don't push. Don't bring up her friend again."

"You do think I'm an idiot. I think can manage basic tact."

She raised her head and glared, clasping my shoulders with each hand.

"You're not getting it. This isn't about tact. If you say the wrong thing, you will die. Maybe before you even realize you've fucked up. Maybe not just you." She took a breath. "But you're right. This doesn't have to end in disaster. Just be careful."

"... Really? She's that bad?"

She released me and sighed.

"Look, there's going to be an adjustment period. It happens to regular soldiers all the time. They come back from war and don't know how to return to civilian life, and Tanya never had much of one in the first place. She's adaptable -- it's borderline unbelievable how quickly she's figuring out how things work here -- but it takes time. She's had more kills than conversations. Of course she's quick to resort to violence."

More kills than conversations? What? That can't possibly be true. Wait...

"Lisa, how many people are in a division? Like fifty, right?"

She almost managed to hide her wince. She hadn't realized I didn't know.

"No. That would be a platoon, or maybe a small company. Or a mage battalion, if I'm right and they're organized like aircraft."

"So, how many?"

"It's hard to say. I could tell you about Soviet divisions from the forties, but they didn't even exist during our first world war. And it varies by corps, though I have no idea what the state of combined arms doctrine would have been if the war was delayed by a decade. Not to mention magic, that could--"

"Tell me or I'll ask someone else."

This time she didn't bother hiding her wince.

"Something like ten thousand infantry with some support units. Or a few hundred planes or mages, but I think they'd generally be split into smaller operational units."

"That's... Fuck, that puts her in the running with Shatterbird for body count. More than the rest of the Nine put together, probably. Who else is even close? And that's just in--"

"Paul Tibbets."

I paused, taken aback.

"Who?"

"He led the 509th Composite Group in World War Two. He piloted the Enola Gay when it dropped a nuclear bomb on Hiroshima, killing a hundred thousand people. Then he directed his force to drop a second on Nagasaki for another fifty thousand." She paused to let it sink it. "You're not thinking on the right scale. The world wars were unimaginably vast. The better part of each generation fed into a meat grinder. She killed a division. So what? The Soviets fielded six hundred of them. World War One alone killed more people than all the Endbringers put together."

I needed a moment to digest that.

"She's holding back, then. A lot."

Lisa frowned.

"I... maybe. She's possessive about her command, she'd count their kills. But they would have been outnumbered ten to one. It might have been some clever strategy or she might have worn them down over time, but that's... not the impression I'm getting. I could see them maybe spooking out a retreat with complete air superiority if they've taken out all the anti-air, but most of them would get away. But if she had the personal power to make up that kind of difference, why didn't she do it before? If she has, why didn't they have the necessary forces in place to stop her? Why would they put a strategic asset of that caliber in charge of a Kampfgruppe on the front, where an unlucky artillery strike could plaster her at any moment? Hell, Lieutenant Colonels aren't even supposed to get into firefights, though maybe the rules are different for mages. She's definitely holding back to some extent, but I don't see how--"

We both jerked at the sound of a shriek. How had I missed a fight starting when I had bugs on-- Oh. Aisha was lying on the ground, cradling an arm while Granz stood over her, sheepishly lowering his rifle. Grue was stumbling up out of his chair, darkness boiling around him but not yet filling the room. Regent and Bitch just watched. Tanya spoke up first.

"Granz! Report!"

"I sensed something I couldn't directly perceive pass through my shell, Ma'am. I determined I should try to attack before it could touch me. In retrospect, I believe she was attempting to poke me, coming in slowly enough to avoid the kinetic protections."

"Good call. But did you even break her arm? Don't go soft on me now, Lieutenant."

"Apologies, Ma'am. She wasn't quite where I expected."

She nodded.

"Acceptable." She turned to Aisha. "You were warned. Probing for weaknesses? Well, I hope you realize now you didn't find one. Don't try that..."

She trailed off and blinked. What were we talking about? Why did Brian kick over his chair?

"Ah, we're ready to go?" Tanya half asked.

I guess? I nodded.

"Good. Weiss will carry you. Piggyback, to minimize the aerodynamic penalty and keep his rifle free. We've worked out a variant on the camouflage formula that will cover you both and he can extend his shell around you to keep you in place and to protect you in case Jack takes a shot."

I contemplated riding a grown man piggyback.

"Uh..."

"... He can open a hole in it if it turns out you can't use your power through it. I haven't been able to figure out what the rules are for that."

She waited a second for me to move. I didn't.

"Oh! I'd carry you, but the difference in relative mass means you'd throw off my flight instincts more. But if you insist?"

Riding a little kid into battle wasn't really better. I had two feet on her. Where would my legs even go? I dumbly shook my head.

"I assure you Weiss is a perfect gentleman. And of course all my men will treat allied forces with courtesy and comport themselves in all respects in manners befitting Imperial officers."

She raised her voice a little for the second sentence, but she at least didn't feel the need to turn towards the others. Lisa gave me a little shove towards them, giving me a smile that was not at all sympathetic.

"Well, go on then. If you wait much longer, Regent will finish that joke he's working on."

Oh, is that how it is? Unlike her, I spoke at a volume that'd carry across the room.

"Wait, I thought you were coming? If we're going to just assassinate a man from ambush based on a vague description, we should really have a second opinion."

Tanya jumped on it, of course, as Lisa narrowed her eyes at me.

"Hmm. Good idea. And this association gives us a natural excuse to start working with her in public on occasion. Granz should be able to handle the spellwork, too."

Huh. Koenig was the bigger of the two, though I guess the gap was a lot smaller than between any of them and Tanya.

I dismissed the thought as we filed out. Time to focus.

A\N:

Hey, it's been a bit. Partly outside factors, partly future planning, but I also struggled a bit making this flow. Pretty strange, since 1.12 was superficially similar and that came pretty easily. Taylor's perspective is definitely harder for me than Tanya's. (Still too much sarcasm? Believe me, I struggled to cut it down this much. It's just how I write now, apparently.) I don't have as clear an idea of her character, odd though that seems when we get so much more from her than Tanya, but I think this works.

If it seems like she's changed her mind too fast here, a couple points. First, she actually does really want revenge. She's not even that uncomfortable with what that says about her, given how fixated she was on Dinah at this point in canon. Tanya was just a little too crass about it last chapter, and she'd already predisposed herself to see Tanya as a 'hyper-violent psycho.' Second, she's remarkably willing to ignore evils she didn't directly observe or participate in, at least when she wants to. She obsessed over Dinah, but when Cherish hints at Regent's past as a body-jacking serial rapist, she pretty much shrugs it off. I mean, turning on him then would have been dumb and self-defeating, but that honestly seems to be a plus for her when she's picking out her moral crusades. Third, with no Dinah and no prophecy, she really needs a new project, and Tanya is right there. And she has a sort-of reasonable rationale for why it has to be her.

How did Granz sense Aisha coming through his shell but not before? My take is that her ability to negate nontraditional senses is based on her shard's understanding. Not an issue normally, it can just ask the other shards how they work (though some, like Cherish's, might not play ball). Most magic-based senses aren't that tough to figure out, so it's able to handle the magic sensing formula and direct feedback from the shell pretty easily. But shards aren't that smart. The sense of the shell letting something through was a little too indirect.

Also, Aisha is rated Stranger 5? It's not obviously wrong, but I'm having trouble imagining a stronger purely stealth-based power. Of course, Stranger also covers imitation and various forms of information-based interference, which might be more worrying to the PRT. The Stranger-specific countermeasures seem right, but they're the same 5-8, and I'd think you'd really want the "Parahumans should engage in pairs or trios at a minimum" from 7 for her. She's completely capable of just walking up to most capes and slitting their throats, and they wouldn't even realize something might be wrong until she's done. You'd want to have at least some capacity for indiscriminate retaliation to dissuade her. At least no one on the wiki is canonically rated higher.

So, the promised PRT interlude has grown in my plans into this monster series of scattershot perspectives. It was already three minimum, and at that point, I might as well show you what some other characters are up to. And I was already thinking it was a little too ambitious. But, hey, I've gotten this far, and I can still cut things down if it doesn't work. Still trying to work out a chronology that hits the narrative beats in the right order, though I might just decide to do them out of order if I can think of a way to not confuse things. I'm not a big fan of timestamps, since I can hardly ever be bothered to keep track of them when I'm reading. I'm considering moving it from end-of-arc to a series of start-of-arc interludes, or even a mini interlude arc, mainly because I'm thinking it'll be too long for one chapter and I've run out of letters. Thoughts?

Edit: Fixed some broken italics

Last edited: Aug 5, 2022

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TorontoTowers

Sep 17, 2022

#818

1.14

-- Taylor Hebert --

The flight was... surprisingly boring. Not just boring. Comfortable. Well, physically, anyway, socially it was still awkward as hell. But physically? Smooth acceleration, none of the absurd maneuvers I'd seen the mages do in combat or even what I'd gotten used to riding Bitch's dogs. Closer to a motorcycle ride, maybe. Before Leviathan made the local street topology so much more interesting.

I was held securely in place by a forcefield, slick yet soft, somehow both cushioning and unyielding, in tight enough that I wasn't jostled around. I'd had a moment of claustrophobia as it closed in around me, but being able to see through it and move my arms freely had been enough to get a handle on the feeling while hidden bugs physically vented my agitation. Now it felt somewhere between a roller coaster seat harness and wrapping up in oddly textured, very breathable blankets. In bed, I mean. While spooning a man I'd hardly met. A man who was tall, and very muscular, and half again my age. But I wasn't thinking about that.

The forcefield really was incredible. The light evening drizzle just slid right off it. It didn't block the wind: it reduced it to a pleasant breeze. The interior stayed at a comfortable temperature and the field even shielded us from the notorious Brockton summer humidity. Though maybe the climate control was another power. Spell. And that difference was important. Sure, the 'mage shell' could stop missile strikes and detect Aisha while she used her power, but powers are good at that sort of thing. The little comforts? The small conveniences? Powers just don't do that.

The difference was that spells were designed. Even Cauldron, while they could grant powers, clearly couldn't control how they turned out. The kind of precise control over effects implied by the toggleable 'insect filter' I'd discovered when I'd asked why I couldn't get tracking bugs on them implied a vastly different paradigm. (I'd remained able to sense and control them after they were through the forcefield, to Tanya's visible confusion and annoyance.) All and all, it made a sharp contrast to my last flight, Laser Dream dragging me through torrential rain in desperate pursuit of Leviathan.

My thoughts were interrupted by a quick exchange in German, Argent's voice emerging from the air without warning. I felt Lisa twitch a little in surprise, but the mages seemed to have expected it. Each of them descended a little and spread out before continuing along parallel, gently curving paths. It was clearly a search pattern, but...

"We're too high. I can barely reach the ground here."

Apparently, the magic radio(?) was still running, because Argent responded.

"Huh. Three hundred forty meters? That's not bad. But don't do anything yet. We're going to locate the projection using magic senses first. They're purely passive, so much less risk of tipping them off."

Made sense. A couple minutes passed in tense silence as we described a quick, precise spiral centered over the suspected location. Feeling useless and exposed as the others searched, my range bloomed, giving me a decent circle on the ground. Still not enough to accomplish much, even if I had wanted to take the risk. Finally, Major jerked under me, coming to a sudden stop. He said something in German, pointing towards a small bar with boarded-up windows, well within my current range.

"Siberian is in there?" I confirmed.

He nodded.

Two thousand four hundred twelve bugs in the building. Nine thousand seven hundred eighty one more I could quickly slip in unseen from the surrounding area. Ninety two thousand three hundred seventy three total in my range. Many, many more if I were at ground level. Three hundred eighty hornets, mostly in their nest in the attic of a building across the street. Two black widows. I made no effort to control any of them. I wasn't going to fuck this up.

Instead, I concentrated on what I could feel from the ones already there. It wasn't much. Two thousand four hundred twelve points of reference sounds like a lot, but even a small building has many surfaces to map out, and the bugs weren't very usefully distributed. The bulk of them was in the walls and floor, and another big chunk was swirling around a puddle on the floor in the backroom. Blood? It could as easily be juice.

Out of all two thousand four hundred twelve, though, there was one bug that was more useful than all the others combined. A mosquito, low to the ground, moving in a rhythmic pause-swing-pause pattern. Trying to get through a thin sock to the ankle underneath as its victim walked. Short stride length.

"I've found Bonesaw in the building. Backroom, walking west seven feet from the south wall."

"Jack?" Major asked.

"If he's in there, he doesn't have any bugs on him right now. Don't want to move any around them."

"Good call," Argent broke in. "Siberian is the priority right now. We can mop up the others afterward. Weiss, descend to one fifty and hover. The camouflage illusion should be harder to spot while stationary. Still, put up an active barrier between yourself and the projection. Everyone else--" More German, though the way they readied their rifles was a pretty good hint. "Skitter, you can start searching the nearby vehicles. Do your best to keep it subtle, but let's not take too long here."

"If he's using her senses, his should be dampened," Tattletale spoke up. "Don't be completely blatant and we should be fine."

At my new height, my range covered the whole block and then some. Two lots and a small underground parking area, over a hundred vehicles. I sent thousands of tiny scouts scurrying, climbing, and flying through all of them. Two occupied. A sedan with a couple holding hands -- no. A commercial van with a stick-thin man in the back.

Got him.

... In the underground area. With low ceilings and clear visibility.

Fuck.

A\N:

On Taylor's range: 13.06 describes 1000ft as "three city blocks, give or take," which gives about 100m/block. Her baseline range gradually grows over the story. I'm calling it 270m now, just to have a number on hand, though I doubt it'll come up; when is she ever not feeling stressed and trapped? Her top end is around 650m.

On magic sensing range: Mage abilities are generally going to have much longer ranges than parahuman abilities, given their operational context. Normal infantry in WW1 had an effective range over 300m. Aircraft mounted guns, like the Lewis gun, had ranges measured in kilometers, though scoring hits at that range on anything smaller than a zeppelin was more a matter of volume of fire than deliberate aim. And radar, once it came about, could typically detect aircraft 100km away. I'm thinking mages should be able to detect other mages well outside engagement range, which should be a kilometer or so at the outside. (That'd be a difficult though not impossible shot with their rifles for a normal marksman. Mages can cheat with homing formulae and a few other tricks, so I think it's a reasonable standard.)

Maybe 3km is reasonable? Siberian at rest doesn't put off as much magic as a mage in flight, though, and she's under a roof, which would attenuate the signal. Still, at ~300m, one tenth the distance, the inverse square law says the signal should be 100 times as strong, which should be plenty to make up for that difference. Would have to be much closer on the ground with more stuff in the way, though. And bear in mind powers give off less magic than mages do in general, so other parahumans would be harder to track down this way.

Thank you to Readhead for help editing!

Edit: Clarified that Weiss did in fact sense Siberian in the bar.

Last edited: Sep 18, 2022

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Sep 18, 2022

#853

1.15

-- Tanya von Degurechaff --

"We could just wait? He has to come out eventually," Lisa proposed.

"I don't like that. Too many ways for things to go wrong. Getting spotted. Other people finding Jack and Bonesaw. And he probably won't leave until after they do, so we'd lose them unless we're willing to risk following."

"Could you just blow through the ceiling?"

I thought about it. Artillery spells weren't great at piercing bunkers. The anti-armor variant was intended for tanks, not meters of earth or concrete. Granz's whole company couldn't crack the Kremlin during our Moskva raid.

But an underground parking area wasn't a bunker. It had surely been built as cheaply as possible while meeting the requirements of its use case, which presumably didn't include weathering bombardment.

"Probably."

"The lot's under the apartment building," Skitter clarified.

That complicated things. I glanced over the structure' It left much to be desired. Ugly and squat, in serious disrepair. A tenement, practically. It didn't exactly look sturdy, either. Brick exterior, probably just wood frame and drywall inside. In all likelihood, it had also been built as cheaply as possible while meeting the requirements of its use case. Still, artillery spells detonated on contact, and each layer we had to go through would give the Master more time to react.

"How quickly can he summon Siberian to protect him?"

"Too little to go on. Maybe he can only do the teleport trick when the projection is destroyed, maybe it happens reflexively whenever he's hurt. But in that case he really is unkillable. We'll have to assume it's at will."

Hmm. Well, if Siberian's true nature is secret, he probably isn't prepared for someone targeting him personally. And he'll probably be hesitant to reveal his power. And his senses are probably dampened. Altogether, it might be enough. Might. And if it wasn't, we'd never get another chance.

No, worse: I'd previously considered Siberian a threat worthy of some respect, but if she could truly teleport at will, and stopped trying to hide that fact... There wasn't much I could do about that. And we'd already killed several of their teammates... No, there was no room for half measures here.

Fortunately, there was another option. Normal artillery spells could only pack so much magic into a rifle bullet, but solidified manna was orders of magnitude denser. With the Type 95 I could effectively pack a lengthy bombardment into a single spell. I wasn't happy about it, but if the cost of survival was a few muttered words, so be it.

"I'll handle it. Skitter, describe exactly where he is and be ready to search the bar for Jack once he's dead. Koenig, get into position to kill Jack once Skitter locates him."

I blinked at the rapidly forming bug crosshair a couple meters in front of me. There was even a second component behind it to ensure I got the angle right.

"I'll light the firefly on your muzzle when you're lined up."

That was certainly convenient. I readied my rifle and mentally prepared myself for the switch to the Type 95.

"Ah, Colonel?"

Weiss sounded like he was walking on eggshells. What was that about? Surely he knew by now I wasn't the sort of boss who'd bite his head off over a suggestion?

"Yes, Major?"

"Perhaps Skitter could handle this situation with less... collateral damage?"

The crosshair dissolved in an instant.

"Wait, you were..." She poorly stifled a sigh. "Please let me know beforehand when you want to blow up a building. I can evacuate the people inside."

Oh. There were actually people in there? Why? I glanced around. I guess the other options don't look much better. Though, really, was evacuation worth the risk? What if someone screamed at the appearance of a B movie sentient bug swarm and drew the Nine's attention? And Siberian probably killed more people in a month…

I shook my head, derailing that particular train of thought.

No. No, I can't think like that. These weren't soldiers or capes, cops or criminals. Normal, productive people are the bedrock of society, and the social contract stipulates that, in return for forgoing a profitable but ultimately negative-sum life of violence, they are due protection from those who don't.

I had been one of them, a lifetime ago. Would be now, if not for Being X's interference. Will be again, once I've beaten him. How could I expect others to respect that contract when it was my life under threat if I didn't respect it now?

"... Right. Can you kill him, then?"

She considered for a long moment.

"Yes, I should have enough."

"Should?"

"I normally try to avoid killing people with my power. But fifty hornet stings are supposed to be dangerous and I have four hundred and eight, plus a few other venomous species, though they wouldn't be enough on their own."

"What about your black widow collection?" Lisa asked. "Don't you have thousands and thousands of them?"

"... Not with me. I didn't think of it. They're too dangerous to use normally in case someone's allergic. And they're all working on your new costumes now."

I briefly muted my communication formula to hide my sigh. The perils of working with amateurs.

"How long would four hundred hornet stings take to kill him? Bonesaw is right there. Actually, Bonesaw might have already made him resistant to common venoms."

Lisa said, "You know, I actually think they don't know about the Master. Bonesaw and Jack seemed to think of the projection as a person. So he shouldn't have any improvements, and they might not rush to fix him if he just stumbles in. Siberian could probably convince them, though, if she's capable of that much independent action. There's a bigger problem, though: remember Newter?"

"That failed because I targeted the projection, right? No reason to assume her power makes people generally immune to drugs and poisons, which wouldn't really make sense anyway."

"I don't think so. She has human physiology, more or less. Maybe it just blocked ingress or only worked because Newter's hallucinogen is a power effect. Or maybe it just makes people generally immune to drugs and poisons. It doesn't have to make sense."

"So we have to assume the worst."

We all paused to consider our options. Skitter spoke up first.

"You have illusions, right? You could still shoot him, if you don't think the bugs will work. Just go in disguised as a civilian returning for their car. It doesn't seem like he's even paying much attention to his surroundings, and you wouldn't need to trick him long."

Hmm. Yeah, that could work. There was some risk, but Siberian was a dangerous opponent. Nothing safer was springing to mind.

"Good thinking" I complimented Skitter as I began my descent, charging an artillery spell and forming the illusion as I went.

Someone non-threatening, but not so much so as to be suspicious. A mid-thirties white woman with dark, shoulder-length hair, a little chubby, on the short side. Height mismatches were always hard to manage, but an illusion with my true height wouldn't pass for an adult. Not a nondescript one, anyway. It didn't have to hold up to close scrutiny.

Probably better if I fly so my head lines up with the illusion instead of my feet. Realistic walking was hard to fake, but smooth concrete was an ideal case. I shouldn't be getting close enough for footsteps to matter. And it'd let me escape just that bit faster in the worst--

"Colonel!"

I paused, hovering a meter off the pavement.

"Yes, Koenig?"

"I should go. He's never even seen me. I'd only really need to hide my uniform and rifle. And you're needed to coordinate the follow-up. Granz and I barely speak the language."

My breath hitched. What was this shit? Was he suicidal? I knew we'd had things too easy in this world so far, but was the boredom already getting to him? Keeping these battle maniacs in line is a full time job!

"Absolutely not! Your illusions are awful! Do you think I hadn't noticed? You know, I'd thought that illusion swarm earlier was clever, but maybe you just realized you can't manage the detail work. Half the time your decoys just mirror your movements!"

"But--"

"Not another word, Lieutenant! We will discuss this later. For now, get in position to kill Jack. Weiss, you are to handle any necessary translation and accommodate Skitter's needs. And Granz, focus on keeping Tattletale out of trouble."

I returned to the task at hand to an unenthusiastic chorus of Yes, Ma'ams. No matter. I'd find something to keep them occupied. Lisa needed basic training, anyway. Maybe they were due for a refresher.

I glided down the stairs slowly, getting a feel for the illusion. Really, it wasn't that hard. The illusion was made of my own magic. I just inherently knew where it was relative to my body, and I could move it just as easily as my own limbs. More easily, really, unaffected by the vagaries of nerves and muscles, or even the inconveniences of inertia and fixed shape that plagued my real body even in flight.

I could even get a sense of 'touch' by extending my shell out to the illusion's boundaries and relying on its feedback, though coordinating that was a little fiddly. I was feeling pretty confident by the time I reached the parking area proper. I wouldn't want to try to go through Customs in this illusion, but for fooling a distracted supervillain for ten seconds across the length of a dim lot? Easy.

Still, I felt a little thrill of anxiety as I entered. Wasn't this around the time for Being X to throw a wrench into things? For how long the Nine have been getting away with their nonsense, I half suspected he'd been protecting them for years. Giving people a reason to pray, or something like that. (For that matter, the Simurgh was supposed to look like an angel… Well, I already planned on never sharing a continent with her if I had any choice.) But if I lived my life assuming Being X would sabotage every plan I made, I might as well just concede defeat. Nothing to do but get to work.

I quickly scanned the lot. I remembered where Skitter had pointed, so -- Ah! It was an off-white moving van. A little worse for wear, but it fit in in this city. It'd look a lot worse in a couple seconds. I let the illusion keep walking while I hovered, hiding behind it as I readied my rifle. The firefly on the muzzle lit up as promised, confirming my identification. I almost fired right then, but I held myself back.

Without his projection, he was just a regular person sitting in an unarmored van. A full strength artillery spell was overkill. It'd probably collapse the ceiling, and I'd already decided not to kill the people in the building above. I tuned it down to the appropriate level, took a half breath, and pulled the trigger, starting to fly backwards the moment the bullet left the barrel. Either I wouldn't need a second shot or I wouldn't get one, so no reason to stick around.

Still, there might be more killing to do today. I started charging a new artillery spell as I accelerated out of the parking area at a speed that would kill an unaugmented person. Who knows what fresh horrors Bonesaw had whipped up over the last few hours? Or that she already had on hand? I was vaguely aware of some chatter over the team channel, but the sound of the explosion was still echoing in my ears, even after my shell's automatic dampening. No matter. They knew their roles. And indeed, a second later I heard a shout from Lisa and then a new explosion a block away.

Confident I was out of immediate danger from Siberian, I turned to evaluate the situation. Looked like things had already resolved themselves. No Siberian, so I could only assume I'd been successful. The bar sported a new smoking hole in the wall but was otherwise quiet. The apartment building showed no signs of imminent collapse.

I let myself smile. Success on all points? Perhaps Bonesaw would surrender now that she was alone? Well, probably not. She does still have a kill order. Maybe the heroes would pull their weight now that the scary zebra woman was gone? Either way, we'd done what we'd set out to do. The rest was just cleanup. Cleanup and collecting our substantial paycheck.

I was about to congratulate the team when my hearing finally cleared up enough to understand the discussion that'd been going on while I considered.

"--were already dead! Bonesaw wouldn't have left them any way out!"

I clapped my hands, letting the sound carry over the channel to interrupt Skitter's nascent reply.

"What's all this? Who are you talking about?"

After a moment of silence, Lisa filled me in.

"The 'Bonesaw' and 'Jack' in the bar were decoys. Civilians Bonesaw shaped and puppeted to trick us, or whoever else showed up. Probably filled them up with traps, too. The real ones are long gone, ten minutes before we arrived at least."

A\N: Bear in mind they don't know Siberian can't extend invincibility to Manton. Lisa had a lot more to go on when she figured that out in canon.

Thank you again to Readhead for editing!

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Sep 22, 2022

#912

2.A

-- PRT Sgt. Patrick Stockton --

"Oh, fuck off, Dortch."

"Hey, I'm just saying. If those Nazi fucks want to cover their tower in glass so they can look down on the rest of us, they got what was coming to them. Isn't Shatterbird Arabic?"

"Seriously, what the fuck, Dortch? I just spent two hours waiting to get my face stitched back together. Do I look like a Nazi to you?"

Simmons was black, though the total coverage armor and opaque face plate undercut his point.

"Look, she's a cunt, not saying she's not. But--"

"Anyone want coffee?" I cut him off. Dortch was a stubborn bastard. This conversation wasn't going anywhere fast. "I'll hit up the machine."

I started off towards the secure area to a ragged chorus of yeahs. Normally there's a machine in the atrium, but we've only got the one left. As critical department infrastructure, it needed to be kept safe. Made door duty suck ass, though.

Fortunately, I was just there to shoot the shit with the boys. My shift hadn't started yet, and I'm much too important for such pedestrian assignments, anyway. More important than I was a couple days ago, even, now that I'm the only qualified pilot on base. Maybe I should be more upset about that, but Feld was always such a jackass. Even back in the service. I'd done my damnedest to get Renick to reject his application, but pilots are just too hard to come by.

He'd practically been having the time of his life since Echidna. He had joined the PRT for the chance to shoot capes, and they hardly ever let him. (That's not a guess. I know that was his motivation because that's what he told me. In those words. Me and half the cafeteria. Vista and Kid Win were eating two tables over.) Well, he'd gotten plenty of chances to shoot capes, lately, and it's hard to feel too sorry for him that he found some that shot back.

Brown and Lopes, though? Fucker couldn't have committed suicide-by-cape without company?

I sighed as I exchanged verification codes with the agents on security.

Nothing to do but add them to the list. It had not been a good couple months for the Brockton PRT. Sure as shit better than they'd been for the Brockton Protectorate, but still. Then again, Legend wrote Armsmaster an obituary in the Times, and Haney and Navarro didn't even make it onto the memorial. Not sure most of the public even realized the PRT participated in the fight. I didn't regret staying in the shelter with Sarah and Hailey, but someone needed to keep order in the medical tents.

And things were not looking up. I'd been studying at the Academy in Colorado the first time the Nine had come to the Bay, but I'd kept up with the news. They didn't have Shatterbird then, but it had been bad.

There was the normal pre-shift change crowd gathered around the coffee machine. Oh, was that the new guy? Indomitable, I think, the English one. God, every name they come up with is more generic than the last. I joined in as I waited my turn.

"--drop water from a helicopter? Like, they just tie a big bucket to the bottom."

"Not from my helicopter. Find someone else to rain on Burnscar's parade. We're grounded, anyway, until we can get a mechanic and replacement parts from outside the city."

"Didn't take you for a coward, Stockton." Rowe, face plate up, sent me a mock glare. "And without a working chopper, what good are you? This coffee is for people who contribute to the base."

"Coward? I'm just looking out for you. Unless you wanted to explain to the director how your plan lost us our last helicopter?"

He shook his head with a theatrical shiver.

"I'm on internal security today. You should pray I won't have to contribute."

"A 'helicopter' is a sort of aircraft, I take it?" Indomitable asked. Seeing our nods, he continued, "I thought you had a 'cape' who specializes in mechanical devices. Couldn't he fix it?"

"Kid?" Rowe snorted. "Maybe if we gave him a month. And then it'd be even odds whether he'd have fixed it or taken it apart to build a sonic ray gun."

"Wait, is it sonic or is it a ray gun? I don't..."

Judging by his expression, that explanation somehow failed to clear things up for Indomitable. I took pity on him.

"Tinkers have specialties. There's no guarantee any given Tinker could fix a helicopter, and if they did, the fix would be Tinker tech. Which is to say, irreplicable, incomprehensible, and unreliable. Not the sort of thing you want holding you off the ground at ten thousand feet."

He gave me a grateful nod.

"I've always found aircraft a little dubious. What if there's a mechanical issue? Much better to fly under my own power, where I understand each part of the process."

He thought he understood his power? Well, I wouldn't be the one to deny him that fantasy. I changed the subject.

"You're all from the same world, right? Earth-91?"

"91?" He blinked in surprise. "How many other worlds have you found?"

"Oh! Not ninety. One other we're in regular contact with. Someone started calling it Earth-91 based on the case file number you're certain to get once research gets up off its ass."

"Well, yes. Mi-- Valiant, Blitz, and I are all from the same world."

The new topic managed to draw a couple of the others away from the 'sonic ray' debate.

"And the others? Argent and Major?" Rowe asked.

He stiffened.

"Yes. Them too."

Leffler noticed his discomfort and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Relax, buddy. The import Nazis decided to fight the Nine directly, so we don't have to worry about them anymore. If only the domestically produced ones were so dumb."

Indomitable looked at him like that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

"... You believe a band of roving outlaws is going to defeat the Devil of the Rhine?"

I struggled not to laugh. 'The Devil of the Rhine?' Wasn't she supposed to be like eleven? And I'd thought calling yourself 'Shadow Stalker' was embarrassing. Still, wouldn't do to make fun of the dimensional refugee.

"The Slaughterhouse Nine aren't just some band of roving outlaws," I patiently explained. "They're probably the most dangerous group on the continent. Siberian killed Hero. Jack alone is credited with killing more than two hundred capes."

"The Devil had two hundred kills before her twelfth birthday. More than twice that, now."

What, seriously? I guess in a war capes wouldn't hold back. Poor kid. Still, he'd missed the point.

"No, not total kills. Cape kills. Like--"

"No, I understood. Two hundred mage kills. Total kills?" He shook his head. "I can hardly speculate. Twelve thousand or so--"

"Bullshit!" Leffler laughed. "You know, I almost believed you were actually scared of this kid, but you've got to keep the details believable. Twelve thousand kills?"

"... this week. Twelve thousand this week." he finished, glaring at Leffler. "I assure you, I am entirely sincere."

He gathered himself, straightening and clasping his hands behind his back, and addressed us all, deadly serious.

"The question isn't whether she'll defeat this 'Slaughterhouse.' It's how much of the city will be left afterward. Understand me: Degurechaff is the greatest murderer of the Great War. When it comes to violence, she has no equal, not in skill, not in magical power, and not in... enthusiasm. She killed six mages in the very first battle of the war. She was an unarmed artillery spotter. She was nine years old. An embarrassing showing, relative to her later performance."

He looked around the group, meeting our eyes and letting his total conviction shine through.

"And she's every bit as capable in command. If she's the best in the world, six of the next ten can be found in her battalion. All together, they're the next best thing to unstoppable, and the Devil has an uncanny knack to bring them just where you least want them. I'd thought we'd finally got the drop on her last April, my regiment surprising her battalion. We lost more than two men to each of hers. An intelligence officer later congratulated me. The worst losses the 203rd ever suffered, he said. And that's not the worst of it--"

He startled, composure breaking. His head jerked towards the front of the building.

"She's coming here. Now!" He loudly hissed.

I jumped a little, then wanted to laugh at myself. He was just telling a scary story after all. What excellent acting! Image was going to love him, once things got back to normal.

I started to congratulate him, but he'd somehow slipped away while I was distracted. I frowned and started to ask after him, but just then the building alarm pulsed once. Incoming villain. I rushed back out to the atrium.

"Stockton, you moron, where's the coffee?"

"Missed you too, Dortch. What's up with the alarm?"

"What's it matter? There's a truce," he condescended. "Go back and get our drinks."

"It's the new girl, the one playing soldier," Simmons offered.

The door opened as he finished. Hailey walked in, talking to a girl in purple. Tattletale, a part of my mind identified. She was carrying a rifle. With a bayonet. Was that blood? I stepped forward. Once, then again. Then a hand on my shoulder stopped me short.

"Fuck are you doing, Stockton?" Dortch hissed.

I didn't turn.

"I'm going to go ask my daughter what the hell she thinks she's doing with a gun. With a supervillain!"

I hadn't tried very hard to keep my voice down. Hailey turned her head to--

Not Hailey. The resemblance was there, to be sure. Not as much as I'd thought when I couldn't see her face. A bit leaner, higher cheekbones, sharper lines all around. But the detail that stopped me was the eyes. Hailey's were an expressive chestnut. Warm. She was a passionate girl, and you could always tell what she was feeling. The eyes now boring a hole through my face plate were a very light blue, nearly silver. And so, so cold.

Dortch's voice finally penetrated the fog.

"--don't think that's her, man. She's supposed to be from another dimension or something."

I let him pull me back. She dismissed me without a second glance, walking towards the reception desk.

Only then did I remember. 'Greatest murderer of the Great War.' 'The Devil of the Rhine.' Didn't seem quite so funny now. I shook my head, trying to clear away the mistaken identification. There was a conversation going on at the reception desk I couldn't really hear. My attention snapped back at Katy's shriek, though. There was a teenage girl's severed head slowly leaking blood on the desk. Tattletale had dropped her face into her hands.

This time Dortch didn't stop me when I stepped forward.

"Oh! Don't worry." The girl actually sounded contrite, if only a little. "I already destroyed the brain. Bonesaw has no reason to come here for the head." She turned it over to reveal the gaping cavity, showing no concern for the blood getting onto her hands.

Katy just stared at her, eyes wide, mouth working noiselessly. Poor woman. She'd only started in March. But if she wanted to keep working here, of all places, she'd have to get used to some... oddness.

"You're... turning in a bounty?" I asked, hopeful.

She turned to me and nodded.

"Several, actually, though I didn't bother to gather physical evidence for the others. That won't be an issue, I hope?"

"Uh, no. It shouldn't be. Simmons, collect this... physical evidence. Bring it to... Medical, I guess. Katy, why don't you call the director? ...Katy?"

I reached over and grabbed the phone. Armsmaster had redone the internal network after an incident with a technopath in Boston a couple years ago, so it had survived Shatterbird.

"Director Piggot? I have Argent and Tattletale here to collect several bounties."

"Which in particular?"

I covered the mouthpiece and repeated the question.

She answered matter-of-factly.

"Hatchet Face, Shatterbird, Burnscar, Mannequin, Siberian, and their ninth,"-- she gestured at the head, which Simmons was presently trying to cajole into a plastic grocery bag without touching --"Cherie Vasil. Everyone but Crawler, who you got, and Jack and Bonesaw, who I believe have fled the city."

The room went silent.

"... And Tattletale?"

"Half credit on Siberian."

Despite her smirk and airy tone, you could tell she at least knew what this meant. After a long moment she rapped on the desk and I remembered the phone in my hand. I relayed the list to the director.

"... Send them up."

Rowe was already making his way over from where he'd been peeking in at the excitement. Was he assigned to attend to the director today? I waved him off. I wanted to see this through.

A\N: Well, this is an odd one. Mostly OCs talking to each other. Does it come off as authentic? Is Sgt. Stockton interesting enough to warrant using his POV? I am planning to use him a couple more times, so feedback here is useful.

Bear in mind the PRT hanging out around the coffee machine are next shift. They weren't on duty during 1.X-1.Y, and their info from that period is second hand at best.

I'm going to start doing cape names/ranks/titles in the perspective identifier. Just names was fine for relatively well known canon characters, but if I'm going to start doing OCs and capes without canon civilian names, we'll need the clarity. I'll go back and edit old chapters at some point.

How do you feel about my workaround for avoiding the 'Earth Gimel' confusion?

Edit: Added a brief extension to the scene wherein Tanya lists the bounties they're claiming. It really was not fitting well into the next chapter.

Last edited: Oct 3, 2022

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TorontoTowers

Oct 3, 2022

#997

A\N: Ended up editing a bit into 2.A wherein Tanya listed the bounties they're claiming. It just did not fit here. Look at my post above for the changed text, or check the threadmark. Or don't, I already told you what's in there.

2.1

-- Lt. Col. Tanya von Degurechaff Argent --

I caught movement from the edge of my peripheral vision. My eyes snapped to the PRT agent, our escort turned minder, only to watch him finish shifting his weight onto his other leg.

We'd been guided into the heart of the PRT building, up a few flights of stairs, and deposited in a hallway with a couple chairs. The interior was styled in the same cheap, bland fashion as government buildings across the world. Across at least three worlds, actually, though the particulars varied. Drop ceilings, fluorescent lights, and tough beige carpet here.

I suppose I appreciated the responsible use of taxpayer money, though a part of me was disappointed. Wasn't the Justice League Watchtower supposed to be an unmatched display of opulence and technological achievement? The real life equivalent was something of a letdown, though I suppose that the Rig was supposed to play the role of superhero headquarters. Unfortunately, it had been badly damaged in Leviathan's attack, leaving the PRT HQ as an inferior replacement. More police station than Fortress of Solitude, and it showed.

We'd been kept waiting a good twenty minutes with no end in sight and I was feeling a little twitchy. Not because of the wait, per se -- 'hurry up and wait' is fond military tradition, after all -- but because of what could be happening in the interim. I'd elected against 'calling ahead' via communication formula specifically to avoid tempting the authorities to set up a trap. The real deterrent against that sort of thing was the implicit promise of retribution from my men, of course, but people make bad choices sometimes. Better to make betrayal difficult as well as dumb.

It was just a power play, probably. Or they were having trouble sourcing recording equipment. Or the director was just busy with some other matter. But when it comes to survival, 'probably' just isn't good enough. You have to succeed every single time. As for what they might have set up? Well, I'd had a while to think about it.

Even a simple landmine would probably kill me if I wasn't ready for it, and would certainly kill Lisa. Fortunately, if they wanted to kill me, I suspected they'd prefer the certainty offered by one of Bakuda's bombs, which they likely weren't aware I could sense.

If they wanted to capture me, their worrying options were soporific gas or Clockblocker. I wasn't planning on eating or drinking anything, containment foam set up too slowly and wouldn't stick to my shell, and their other capes were too weak and slow. Gas was perhaps difficult to detect but easy to counter. I'd turned my shell airtight and spun up an oxygenation formula as soon the possibility had occurred to me. As for the latter... Well, there really wasn't any legitimate reason for anyone to attempt to touch me at this meeting. I'd try to de-escalate first, naturally, but I'd defend myself if it came to it. Cutting my way out afterwards would be difficult, but doable.

All simple enough. Unfortunately, the possibility I considered most likely was also the most dangerous: a powerful human Master. They obviously couldn't all be as incompetent or unambitious as Cherie and her father. So, where were the competent, ambitious Masters? In positions of authority or close to them, most likely. And there were fewer than a hundred PRT departments spread out across the US and Canada.

They theoretically had countermeasures against that sort of thing, but given the diversity of possible powers, I was dubious as to their effectiveness. Seemed more like a first line of defense against other Masters than a complete solution. Lisa... hadn't found that notion plausible. Then again, she also believed that a small cabal of Thinkers ran the world economy, so her power clearly wasn't perfect.

Oh, I didn't doubt they made a killing on the stock market, in R and industrial espionage, and perhaps even in corporate governance, but controlling the whole thing? Dzhugashvili and all of his thugs couldn't control the economy of a single nation, not really, not even with his total monopoly on violence and his eagerness to use it to destroy whatever he couldn't control. If nothing else, I was dead certain workers still slacked off on the clock in the heart of Moskva, even in the Kremlin itself. To not just control the economy of the entire world but to do so invisibly? To manipulate the aggregate of trillions of individual choices made for as many inscrutable reasons?

Well, I suppose I didn't know where the upper limit on parahuman power truly lay, but if such a person existed, it'd be more accurate to say they ruled the world than the economy, and with a degree of control no despot had ever dreamed of. And what goal could the state of this world possibly serve? Ridiculous.

Lisa's fallibility was not a comforting thought, not when her power was my best defense against a powerful Master. I hadn't even considered the possibility that Cherie was manipulating me until Lisa had spelled it out. How could I respond to a threat that I'm not capable of even recognizing? Much as I wanted to come up with another answer, the only one springing to mind was the one that had actually saved me: have someone else recognize it for me. Lisa had spelled it out, after all.

Having to rest the sanctity of my mind on another's judgment was uncomfortable, to say the least. She was hardly one of those morons in Imperial Intelligence, but once bitten, twice shy. I glanced her over. She noticed and shot me a reassuring smile. I frowned back. On my side or not, it was still disturbing how she always seemed to know what I was thinking. I'd spent every day of the last decade pretending. Pretending to be a child, a patriot, a battle maniac, even a zealot, when I could manage to swallow my disgust. I'd practiced long and hard and I'd succeeded. No one had ever doubted I was any of those things, not even-- But Lisa saw right through me.

Then another, much more worrying thought occurred to me. Was she on my side? Her eyes immediately widened and I maxed out my reflex enhancement. Her response meant nothing -- she'd find my suspicion worrying regardless of whether it was justified -- but I wanted enough time to think it through before she had a chance to influence the direction of my thoughts.

Our arrangement had made sense. I'd given her a stake in my success and me in hers. But it wasn't perfect. In particular, it only made sense to continue to cooperate so long as the expected return on future cooperation outweighed the current return on betrayal, and we were looking at a lot of money. I was confident I could turn that capital into a far greater return in the future but was she? It... hadn't occurred to me to explain my plans to her, not while I had needed her focused on other things.

As an officer, I'd gotten used to expecting obedience from my subordinates as a matter of course, and my responsibility to them in turn was to handle the long term while they focused on immediate issues. It was an efficient system, so long as everyone fulfilled their roles. Easy enough to trust in that, at least on my end, when the whole of the Imperial Military would back my authority. That was not the case anymore, obviously, and it had been a mistake not to seek buy-in from my stakeholders when I'd had the chance. Well, the change would probably have just worried the men, soldiers through and through. Really, if they were going to prosper in this bizarre new world, they'd need my guidance now more than ever.

Understanding my mistake wouldn't solve the problems it caused, though. I'd have to kill her if she had decided to betray me, of course. She was very likely able to predict my response, so that response had to provide proper disincentive. As I'd noted soon after we met, one of the upsides of her power was the ease of making credible threats. Simply explaining the error in her reasoning and letting it go might let me retain a useful asset now, but precommitting to apparently irrational behavior in such instances would make them much less likely to occur in the first place.

And minimizing that chance was certainly worth some apparent irrationality. The amount of damage she could do with just a few sentences was astronomical. Unpredictability is life, on the strategic level as much as the tactical. And, as I'd just noted, I was actively depending on her warning to handle the most pernicious threats. And after what she managed with Coil's mercenaries, she could even have turned... No. No, I doubt it. I had no illusions about their personal loyalty to me, especially after...

I took a breath.

After my recent failures.

But to the Empire? To their own sense of pride, duty, and integrity? They'd take the offer of a bribe for betrayal, however delicately phrased, as a deadly insult. Possibly literally, in Koenig's case. Far more likely she planned on deceiving them if it came to it. There'd be questions if she returned without me, of course, but there were a lot of ways she might answer them.

None of that mattered unless she actually had decided to betray me, of course. Had she?

It was a lot of money, but not that much. Given how long most of those bounties had been left unclaimed, it was provably too little to purchase the services of a group like mine on this world. And we were far from the strongest group out there: Legend alone could have done everything we had, and more quickly and with less risk. Purity alone might have managed most of it, and she was just the best suited cape in this one city. Though it'd be a mistake to reduce a parahuman to their power. As I understood it, capes were closer to professional wrestlers than soldiers, and most of them had very little experience with and no training for sincere violence. Still, the point stood.

And there was the risk on the other side of the scale, which was substantial. Her power was good, but she hadn't known whether Hatchet Face could affect me and she'd been surprised I'd been able to resist Cherie's power. Another mistake like that here would get her killed, and no amount of money could make up for that. In my first life, I might have stopped there, satisfied that no rational person would knowingly take that risk. I'd been naive.

When danger is unavoidable, risking your life now to get the resources you need to survive later can be a good trade. I'd made such a judgment myself earlier today in choosing to fight the Nine instead of running away. Of course, the fact that such a risk could be worthwhile didn't mean every opportunity was. It was a matter of measuring the expected value against your other options, like any other investment. And I wasn't seeing it here, though it was possible she knew something I didn't, or simply miscalculated.

I obviously hadn't taken my eyes off Lisa since I'd started down this line of thought, but now I moved my attention back to her. She'd already noticeably paled, eyes scanning my face for clues. Her tongue darted out, wetting dry lips. It'd been two seconds, maybe? A pretty extreme response, given her baseline thinking speed. Huh. I'd thought earlier that her response didn't mean anything, but that wasn't quite true, was it? She was scared of me. Genuinely, viscerally terrified of my displeasure. That was... probably not healthy for a working relationship, but it was useful now. People certainly could work through fear. I should know: I hadn't had any choice but to learn. But it wasn't easy. It took practice she likely lacked.

Still. Even if the chance was small, the potential damage was large. It'd be wise to take some precautions. I couldn't punish her without being certain, of course -- if I were willing to hurt her over mere suspicion, she'd have picked up on that, too, and it'd have paradoxically incentivized her to work against me in truth. But there were other options. I relaxed my reflex enhancement to normal levels, dropped the formula relaying sound through my airtight shell, and turned the exterior reflective to prevent lip reading, plunging myself into darkness.

"Weiss, listen quietly and use your best judgment. Keep a recording."

"Yes, Ma'am."

I returned my shell to its earlier settings, leaving the channel open.

Lisa looked confused for a moment before she figured it out. She opened her mouth to speak, then flicked her eyes to the man from the PRT. He had taken a half step towards me, staring. I shrugged at him. He had surely seen weirder, and explaining would obviously defeat the purpose of disguising the action. But why had Lisa... Ah, we couldn't speak freely in front of him. Well, what was there to talk about? I'd satisfied myself on the subject. I deliberately looked away from her, hopefully indicating that I had no immediate plans to hurt her. I heard her sigh and lean back, chair creaking.

Director Piggot's voice emerged from the door at the end of the hall.

"Come in."

I was on my feet in a moment, and then off my feet and hovering a couple centimeters in the air a moment later. Lisa stood and tried to pat me on the shoulder, hand bouncing off my locked-down shell.

She sighed again and whispered, "Just relax, OK? I'll let you know if they're up to anything."

And whatever it was, I'd be ready for it.

A\N: Well, that omake was a little too exciting, so here's twenty four hundred words of Tanya sitting quietly and working herself into a panic over literally nothing. (Or maybe???)

I'd say sorry, but I'm not.

Thank you again to Readhead for editing!

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Oct 18, 2022

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2.B

-- Lina Sommer Notarin --

"Fascinating. The war didn't start until 1923? What sparked the Russian Revolution, then?"

The director clearly found my questions irritating, but I didn't care. She was the one asking me for a favor, after all, and obviously hiding something about it. Pissing off the uniform might have been a problem, but he looked interested himself.

"I don't know. Frankly, I don't have time or manpower to spend on historical curiosity. If you do, you can investigate on your own time. I have other responsibilities."

I caught a glimpse of a stack of paperwork. Handwritten paperwork. I winced. OK, maybe I could give her a break.

"Well, let's get to it, then. Call her in."

It wasn't quite that easy. There was a bit of technical fiddling to get through first. A few seconds later, the Tinker switched my view from the laptop's webcam to the security camera setup. I blinked at the excellent quality. The view was evenly split, so I could see both sides of the room at once. Well, I suppose it is Tinker tech. I don't have to be able to see my subject, strictly speaking, but it can help.

On the other hand, it took more than a minute to get me an overlay with their 'real-time Thinker analysis.' I drummed my fingers on my knee. A dead man's dodgy lie detector and their empath's finger twitches. For that matter, the poor kid looked half dead himself. I almost told them not to bother, but I was aware enough to realize how asking that they show more respect for my time would look. Instead, I reviewed the people already in the room, grabbing their files from the stack I'd prepared.

Director Piggot, sitting behind her big desk, tapping away at her Tinker tech laptop. Nilbog survivor. Reports on her competence were mixed. Bit of a hard-ass personally, but a pragmatist and a moderate by the standards of the directorate. Rumored to have had a great deal of respect for Costa-Brown. The file hadn't been updated since her outing.

And hadn't that been a glorious mess? I'd already known, of course, though I'd respected her polite request not to blab. And it was polite. The threat was all in how we'd had that conversation: taken from my home and dragged hundreds of meters into the air before I even knew what was happening, where the only thing between me and the ground was her whim. To see that secret and so many more revealed through her own incompetence was more than a little gratifying, for all the problems it was causing.

Miss Militia. Moderately well known even outside the States, as one of the original Wards. Recently promoted to the head of Protectorate ENE after Armsmaster's death. She sat beside Piggot, visibly nervous. I frowned, skimming through the file. Right, she'd been a child soldier herself. Triggered there, almost certainly. Was it really wise to invite her to this meeting? Then again, I wasn't the person who'd have had to try to keep her out.

The Wards, Gallant and Kid Win, stood off to the side, failing to appear unassuming in their power armor. They were here as Thinker support, only present because having the meeting in an interrogation room with a one-way mirror was judged too confrontational. They'd been instructed not to speak, but I was dubious how that'd hold up.

Finally, on the other line-- Ah, the overlay finally popped up. Director Piggot wasted no time in moving things along.

"Come in," she called out.

And then there she was, just as described, darting through the door ahead of the others and taking in the room in a glance. A figure straight out of a history book, aside from the flight. And the age. And the sex. And the... flashing eyes? Like, I could swear they actually glowed for an instant.

"What? A Lieutenant Colonel?" Keller grumbled.

Was that even a real rank? Guess he'd know. Whatever.

Gallant flinched despite the warning, hands rising. Argent's eyes snapped to him a bare instant before her hands snapped to her rifle, but she didn't point it. He noticed a moment later and hastily let them fall. Her own hands followed, but she didn't otherwise look any more relaxed.

What was that about? Oh, right, Thinker/Blaster. Well, I'm no empath, but -- the 'suspicion' bar shot up on my overlay as he belatedly relayed his observations instead of reacting to them -- I kind of doubted that was an aggression response. I raised my eyebrows as the bar kept on going up. Really? There wasn't a hint of all that on her face, though she didn't exactly look trusting either. Well, the system was pretty slapdash. Maybe they hadn't calibrated it. Or I was looking at a skilled actor and a genuine Grade-A paranoiac, as if I don't already get enough of that. Yeah, why lie to myself? It was that one.

The others filed in behind her. My eyes glided right over the grunt to the teenager in a purple catsuit. That was -- I glanced over the file -- Tattletale. Thinker 7-- 7? And not restricted to combat, either. She ran with a crew of small-time thieves? Why? She wasn't even in charge! Not for the money, that's for sure. Well, with a little patience I might discover the answer soon enough.

She gave the room a brief appraisal of her own, before focusing in on Director Piggot.

"Well, what is it? Believe me, you want to just get this out into the open. Argent hates surprises."

Argent grimaced a bit at that, but she didn't object.

"... What are you talking about?"

"Whatever you've been setting up for the last twenty minutes."

The director shot her a flat look.

"I'm a busy woman and you didn't make an appointment. You can't expect me to just drop everything for you."

"You had more important things to worry about? Than the S-Class in your city? No one's buying that."

She paused to let Piggot explain. She didn't. She sighed and squinted at her, shaking her head after a moment.

"It's nothing."-- Argent's 'suspicion' bar dropped while 'relief' rose --"They didn't believe us. They were just arranging for an outside Thinker to listen in." The bars snapped right back. Yep, definite paranoiac.

"Who? How does their power work?"

Tattletale shrugged, but Argent wasn't looking at her, eyes fixed on the "probable threats." Tattletale finally spoke up, her voice expressing some of my exasperation.

"I don't know."

Argent quirked an eyebrow at the director.

"You want me to explain the weaknesses in our verification process? No."

She narrowed her eyes, irritation rising on the display. Suspicion was already maxed out, but I suspected that actually was a calibration issue.

"Verification is your responsibility," she finally responded, tone clipped. "In time the absence of the Nine will become obvious. If you refuse to payout on their bounties, who will ever trust the bounty system again? I'll certainly have to seek alternative sources of funding. Tell me who you have or I walk."

The lie detector output didn't twitch. Not bluffing. Director Piggot narrowed her eyes right back. Fortunately, Tattletale sabotaged the ultimatum. Not quite so willing to abandon her cut?

"If you walk away from this kind of money to avoid Thinker attention, you'll end up with a hundred times as much, and they won't all be so easy to avoid."

That raised an interesting question. Did she actually have secrets worth protecting? She clearly thought she did, but that meant nothing with her type. I once mentioned Geoff's favorite coffee shop in an interview and he never went there again. 'It would make the ideal venue for an ambush,' apparently. He still sometimes tried to guilt me into getting him takeout.

Argent's jaw tightened, just a bit. I might not have noticed it if not for the concurrent jump in irritation on the graph. Tattletale definitely noticed, despite standing behind her. The silence stretched for a few seconds. Gallant put some fear on the graph, then a spike of grief. What was that about? And could he only enter one at a time? No, he did two before... Weird. It had subsided by the time she spoke.

"Very well. What do you need?"

The director relaxed slightly, satisfied in her small victory.

"Take a seat, for one," she offered, a hint of conciliation in her firm tone. "Sounds like you've had a long day."

"I'd rather not," she bit out. Then, recognizing the harshness of the rejection, she unbent a little herself. "A bit of light exercise, nothing more. Practically a relaxing vacation from the Front."

Little though that was, I was still able to catch a couple still frames. The wreckage of a forest seen from above, liberally dotted with fires and craters and uniformed corpses. One jagged gash stretched a good two hundred meters. A man gasping soundlessly as he slid off my bayonet to a kilometers-long fall, my eyes already turning away.

I blinked. That bayonet. And those eyes.

Piggot frowned down at her laptop for a moment, which naturally displayed 'truth.' I belatedly tapped out my own confirmation. She looked back up, considering.

"As you like, then."

"Well, I'd like a seat," Tattletale brashly interjected, stepping forward and taking one.

Gallant was only reporting on Argent's emotions, but I didn't need the help to recognize the brittle edge in her voice. But it did cut the tension a bit.

"Briefly describe the circumstances surrounding each bounty you're claiming," Piggot ordered. After a moment, she tacked on, "Please."

And Argent did, and in each case I was right there with her, seeing through her eyes. Riveting. Nausea inducing, but riveting. The director had told her to be brief, but the couple sentences she gave each were substantially longer than the fights they described. That was the first thing I'd noticed: she was fast. Not the flight -- her top speed was above average, but not really special -- but just in general.

In a fight her eyes hardly ever rested on anything, darting to the next thing while I was still processing the last. Mirrors sometimes appeared in the air and moved in time with her eyes, as though turning her head would be too slow. Other times regions of her vision would 'zoom in,' like an invisible telescope. And that's probably just what it was; I didn't get power-based senses, so it'd have to be a real optical effect viewed through normal vision. It was overwhelming. If not for my power-provided perfect memory for the experiences it showed me, I doubted I'd have any clue what was going on in them at all. Even with that advantage, I struggled. And that was just her vision.

Her movements felt abrupt and graceless, but somehow always ended with things in just the right place. Her shooting was technically correct, more or less, though I thought she was cheating somehow with the recoil. But the big thing was that she could aim and fire before I could resolve a sight picture. In melee her attacks felt like random flailing, but each strike landed, and each one had a purpose.

And the less said about the few flight maneuvers I experienced, the better. I felt like I was going to be sick just remembering them. Well, maybe a couple notes were warranted. While the top speed might not be too high, the acceleration she could manage was genuinely impressive. I could say with confidence she had a Brute power from that evidence alone. And she made full use of it, tying her path into impossible knots.

All and all, I was struggling to come up with an explanation. No, that was a lie. I was struggling to come up with an explanation other than fully generalized mental acceleration because that would be absurd. It'd be a decent power all on its own. For a Brute, Blaster, Mover, Shaker, Stranger, and Striker? The highest number on her sheet would have to be Thinker.

Probability manipulation, maybe? Something precognitive? Combat analysis? They didn't quite fit. Well, they'd said Case 91s were different. Not very much on how, but I suppose I was discovering that for myself.

The events themselves had... mostly matched her descriptions. Well, they'd exactly matched the words she actually said. She obviously knew about the lie detector. She had merely omitted a few interesting details. So many fascinating little tidbits hidden in that 'brief conversation' with Ms. Vasil. Familiar regret welled up that I couldn't recursively dive into the events I heard described through my power. I'd had to dig pretty far into my stack of files to find the name 'Regent,' but... ah, they'd already known about that connection. Hijack? Well, the sandbagging spoke well of him, given what his real power could do.

That was the real prize, but I'd also gotten some intriguing context on the Siberian fight. It had naturally warranted some additional discussion, given 'her' ostensible invincibility.

There was a valuable glimpse into group dynamics, intra- and inter-. I'd have to dig into their relationship with these 'Undersiders.' And hadn't there been a mention of an arrangement with Coil, everyone's least favorite Thinker?

But the Undersiders were interesting. I pulled out Skitter's file. Master 8/Thinker 1? I couldn't disagree. Finding and targeting someone from hundreds of meters away through walls and floors and whatever else? She could kill most capes while sipping a latte in a cafe down the street, and she could coordinate her allies in a way most Thinkers couldn't. Seriously, what's up with this group? Two sevens and an eight with good archetypes and they'd barely been on the radar until the last month. The Brockton Bay scene is supposed to be pretty intense, but still.

I skimmed through the pile for the others. Definitely not as strong as those three, but not slouches either. Bitch provided some much needed muscle and mobility, but she wasn't great at either. Imp would be terrifying if not for her easily exploitable weakness to cameras. Though I'd imagine that would be much less problematic against other villains, who wouldn't be so organized. Grue rounded things out with more disruption, crowd control, and stealth.

I frowned. This wasn't some random collection of down-on-their-luck teenagers, like a lot of small-time gangs. No Brutes or Blasters, the most common classifications. Too much synergy, like they'd been assembled from a large pool for a specific purpose, and there weren't a lot of villain organizations who had a large pool to pull from. In the States, at least -- Gesellschaft sometimes did things like that, but the Undersiders obviously weren't their cat's paw. The Elite? It wasn't really their style, but they'd wanted to break into the East coast for a while. Or maybe Tattletale was just that good.

Well, maybe I could work out a bigger deal than we'd planned. Their ties to the area couldn't be that strong if they had been pulled from all over. I doubted the director would complain.

Some insights into their powers, too. I'd gotten the impression the Case 91s all had the same abilities, if not the same skill in using them, but Argent implied only she could take out a low rise in a single shot. Never mind that that would put her near the very top of the Blaster power scale -- not quite on Legend's level, but not far from it -- why only her? And, actually, she hadn't seemed nearly so confident when she didn't know there was a building in the way. Clearly, there was something I was missing there. A limited pool? Shared abilities that waxed and waned, like a cluster? Too little to say. It'd certainly help if the locals would let me interview their Case 91s, but they'd been reluctant to say the least.

And one potentially awkward fact. Civilian casualties happened occasionally -- more often than anyone would like to admit, especially in S-Class scenarios -- but it was never a good look. More often than the vast majority of people knew, actually. I often enjoyed watching press conferences after big fights, but sometimes the discrepancies my power revealed were more tragic than funny.

So, I knew full well the PRT certainly wouldn't have hesitated to sweep it under the rug for a Protectorate hero, and hesitated only long enough for an independent to force them into the fold. For a villain? Well, the incentives pointed the other way. Scarier villains mean more funding, less embarrassing failures, and more glorious successes. And a pissed off villain, of course, but that was normally a worthwhile trade. Most villains couldn't take out the Slaughterhouse Nine in an afternoon, though.

The director was a practical woman, but was she practical enough to let this go? It was an understandable mistake, as these things go, but those without my advantages often find it hard to empathize with enemies. I briefly considered just not bringing it up, but that was a bad habit to get into. Thinkers live and die on their reputation, and cross checking their work wasn't uncommon, at least at my level. Well, she'd proposed this arrangement, so she'd hopefully be willing to compromise a little to make it work.

I typed up a summary of my findings as I thought, leading to a lull after Argent finished her report and Piggot frowned at her laptop. I could see her face morph into a scowl when she reached those last lines, and she directed it at Argent once she finished reading.

"Anything you're leaving out?"

Argent shrugged, cool as could be, though the graph revealed a spike of anxiety.

"Plenty. You asked for brief descriptions. I don't believe any of it is germane to the matter at hand."

And she didn't, the lie detector confirmed. Not untrue, exactly, but cold. The director was undeterred.

"What about Jack and Bonesaw?"

"They got away. I never claimed otherwise."

"... And the decoys?"

Argent stared back impassively for a moment. The paranoia that had edged down through the report shot back up.

"Ah, your mystery Thinker." She turned to Tattletale. "Does that give you enough?"

"Hmm. That's a leap. Not purely analysis based, I think, which is surprising given that it works over the phone. Powerful. Director Piggot doesn't have the pull to call in someone on that level on her own account, so she's either got backing from the higher ups or whoever it is has a particular interest. Neither of which would be especially surprising, considering."

Not bad. Not bad at all. She really was wasting her ability. Then again, maybe that was changing if she had fallen in with Argent.

Argent considered Tattletale's words for a moment, then turned back.

"That has no bearing on the bounty proceedings. I have nothing to say on the matter."

Director Piggot leaned back, pretending to drop the matter.

"Well, I suppose that's alright. You didn't take the shot, after all. It's your associate we'd have to talk to about that."

Tattletale had preemptively winced and started scooting her chair away halfway through. Her caution proved warranted as Argent abruptly rose twenty centimeters, allowing her to effectively look down on the director, expression hard. Her eyes were undeniably glowing now, a piercing silver. Gallant flinched again, but he was quicker this time to put the fear and anger on the graph.

"Absolutely not!" she barked, then moderated her volume and tone with some effort. "Soldiers acting faithfully under orders cannot be held liable for those actions. I would not have permitted insubordination from them and I will not permit prosecution from you!"

"Untrue. Soldiers who obey illegal orders are liable under--"

"My duty is to uphold Imperial law, not foreign barbarism. If you have an issue with my men, you will take it up with me."

Piggot looked up at her with level intensity.

"You're young and sympathetic. If I asked the district attorney to charge a child soldier for the actions of her adult subordinate, I'd be laughed out of the room. I have no way to hold you responsible for this unless you force the issue. Are you sure you want to die on this hill?"

"Dying on hills is for infantry," she growled. "I'm certainly willing to kill on it."

The lie detector agreed. I wasn't sure how it handled awkwardly extended metaphors, but I suspected she was being literal. Well, I'd already thought that was a sore point.

"Very well." The director grunted and leaned back, a hint of respect in her eyes. "I suggest you explain yourself, then. It might not impact bounty proceedings, but it will impact your treatment going forward."

She thought for a moment, eyes dimming. She descended too, but not quite back down to eye level.

"Not with the mystery Thinker. I suggest you consider who has more to lose should relations deteriorate."

Piggot narrowed her eyes at her, weighing her options. Kid Win spoke up before she could decide.

"You know, the way you say things like that really makes me think you want to lie to us."

Argent glanced at him, surprised that he spoke up. Director Piggot pointedly did not look at him, muscle in her jaw twitching.

"If I wanted to lie to you, I'd have to object to your presence, wouldn't I? My concern is inadvertently leaking tactical information."

True. Though that didn't mean she didn't also want to deceive us. Actually, I was certain she did.

Miss Militia, who had struggled to keep her mouth closed up to now, thought she saw an opportunity to get things back on track.

"You don't have to worry about that. The truce forbids taking advantage of that sort of thing."

"And you'd follow that rule? Tattletale, what do you think?"

"Well, Miss Militia might. Everyone else? Hell no."

Ah, the biggest issue with the truce. No one really trusted it, because, well, it wasn't trustworthy.

Piggot was back to scowling.

"Fine. We'll leave it for afterward. How confident are you that Siberian truly was a projection, and that the man you killed was the Master?"

"She did disappear when he died. It could be a ruse, but I'm not seeing the point. If she were genuinely unstoppable, she'd hardly need to resort to tricks. Call it ninety percent."

So it was less than ninety percent when she shot him?

"Ninety-nine for me," Tattletale chipped in. "Powers have weaknesses. Siberian's didn't make sense."

That and you were present to judge Cherie's truthfulness. Actually, it was about time to dig into that. I asked the director to inquire.

"And how did you come to cooperate on that? You've only been in the city a couple days, right?"

"We got to speaking after my team took out Mannequin, who'd been harassing them," Argent responded nonchalantly. "I was impressed by Tattletale's power and decided to consult with her after my run-in with Ms. Vasil."

Uh, wow. Is it even worth bothering with the lie detector at this point? Well, I hadn't gotten quite enough to fully understand the situation. I tapped out another message, relaying what I knew about their involvement and telling her to push.

"And how did you meet?"

That one merited a moment of thought, at least.

"Oh, originally? We ran into the Undersiders pretty much first thing. They were hunting down the clone that summoned us. We spoke briefly, but your people interrupted before we could get very far. I found the sequence of events suspicious. Of course, that was before--"

"Don't bother," Tattletale broke in, eyes narrowed. "They've already figured it out. Our eavesdropper, I mean."

Argent shut up and stared down at the director, consternation peaking on the graph.

"Fine, then. Tattletale has entered my employ and is under my protection. I don't think anything more needs to be said on the subject."

The director paused, taken aback by the abrupt reversal, then went back on the attack.

"And you're working for Coil?"

"No comment. Are we done?"

Her tone made it clear she was done letting things slip, though I suspected she was more irritated with herself than with us.

"What about the rest of the Undersiders?" Miss Militia asked.

Piggot shot her a glance but seemed to decide the question had merit. She looked back at Argent, who was herself looking back from Tattletale. The graph revealed some ambivalence. Yeah, made sense. They were a very solid team, but Argent's was world class. Only Tattletale and maybe Skitter were really worth carting around on that level, but that didn't mean they were willing to abandon their friends.

"... Them too."

Piggot nodded.

"That should give us enough to start on bounty proceedings. Before we move on, though, I'd like to introduce you to a couple people."

I straightened and smiled at the webcam as Piggot tapped a couple buttons and turned the laptop around. Keller just straightened. He'd seemed less and less enamored of the little officer as the conversation progressed, though I wasn't sure what exactly was rubbing him the wrong way.

"This is Notarin of the Meisters and Brigadier General Maxwell Keller of the German Army."

Argent locked up. My own smile froze as I noticed the graph. Panic and rage and a dash of guilt and embarrassment. Wasn't that all a little much? She snapped out of it after a moment, ignoring me to address Keller.

"General. Have we met? I'm afraid I don't recognize you."

Her tone was superficially cordial, but I could hear the steel underneath.

"We have not, Colonel. I'm from this world, not yours."

She nodded, mask slipping a little. All performative? For whose benefit?

"I suspected as much. In that case, I'm not sure what we have to discuss."

My eyes were drawn away by a flash in the corner of the screen: the lie detector activating for the very first time. Partial truth.

Keller proceeded easily.

"Interdimensional travel jurisprudence is an under-explored field, but there's been some preparatory work. The European Union has issued a directive that dimensional refugees are to retain their national and institutional affiliations, transferred over to their equivalents on Bet. The latter was primarily intended to refer to parahuman organizations, given that parahumans were thought to be the most likely examples, but it should cover military affiliation, too."

"And you believe that directive applies in this case?" she asked dangerously.

Keller bulled through, looking annoyed.

"I do, though I don't plan on remaining your superior for long. Article 12a paragraph 7 of the Grundgesetz requires that all German parahumans serve with the Meisters or an affiliate organization, and I am ordering you to do so. Discuss the details with Notarin, here. That is all, Colonel."

He moved to hang up, but she spoke up before he could.

"What a curious thing... What do you call a general of a nation that has not known war in his whole career?"

He dropped his hand and looked right back into the camera, stone faced.

"You call him 'sir.'"

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Argent immediately bit back. "Without opportunities to prove your worth in the field, what's left but brown-nosing? You seem the type. I'll tell you what I'd call him: 'a jumped-up bureaucrat wearing the clothes of better men.' Or perhaps 'a vestigial organ of a once-great nation turned parasitical.' Miss Militia is more of a soldier than you, and I'd sooner take orders from her."

Face rapidly reddening, Keller tried to interrupt, but she just raised her voice and continued over him. Miss Militia looked like she'd been slapped, though it was doubtful Argent knew about her past.

"Your predecessors were hardly better, of course. They lost the Great War. They turned their backs on the Kaiser and their own people, just to leash themselves to the perverse ambitions of a madman. They plunged the nation into ruin and allowed it to get parceled out among the lesser powers and the fucking communists. You are simply the natural product of that tradition of insanity and profound incompetence."

She took a breath, starting again before Keller could collect himself.

"The Republic of Germany is not my Fatherland. It's got the land, granted. Well, it's got half of it, barely. The crown of the world, reduced to a tame Anglo puppet state. A broken people who have rejected the very idea of national pride. How dare you claim national continuity when every other aspect of your culture repudiates mine? Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

What a fascinating view of recent history. When did she even have the time? Well, if I've ever wondered what my ancestors would think of me, I guess I've got my answer. The general's curiosity had fled entirely, unfortunately. He was shaking with rage, barely able to speak.

"I can see we have nothing to talk about after all, fascist. You are no daughter of my Fatherland. You're not welcome here."

He hung up.

I'd lost track of the overlay somewhere in that exchange, but I looked back now. She was... pleased? The fear had mostly receded, though the anger was still simmering. Huh, no actual contempt, despite how much had been dripping from her words. Was it all performative? A hell of a performance, if so. But why? Surely she realized there was nothing he could do if she just said 'no?' Why make an influential enemy? I decided it was about time to make my pitch. Maybe skip the hard sell.

"You know, that's not actually his decision to make." And fuck him for trying to make it, when it was my team who'd have to try to enforce it. "I'm not going to try to order you around, but would you at least visit? No pressure. You've only had a couple days to read up, it might not be as bad as you think. See how the century has transformed Berlin? And you simply can't get a proper beer in the States."

She stared back at me blankly.

"... I'm not old enough to drink. You... are the Thinker, right?"

"... Right." She did have a way of making you forget that, didn't she? It's not just me? Tattletale rolled her eyes. "Well, how about the food? I know a place with the best sauerbraten mit spätzle."

She grimaced and ignored me. Really? Some patriot she was.

"Notarin... How does your power work, then?"

"Well, I could tell you, but I'm curious how much your friend has figured out."

I shot her a smug smile, trying to regain some control over the conversation.

"Cut the--" Argent started, but Tattletale spoke over her, smirk in her voice. Argent wasn't happy about that, but she let it go.

"Not analysis based, but it works over a video call... Goes by 'Notary,' and attests to events she didn't witness. Keyed off speech, right? Right... Voice psychometry. When she hears someone describe something they experienced, she experiences it just as they did. But that's not a complete power... Ah, she can inflict those experiences on others by repeating the words they used, though she can't just use it on a whole crowd, for some reason." She glanced over at Argent and hastily added, "That's sound-based, too. Just deafen yourself if she tries it."

Argent considered for a moment, then nodded.

"I thought there were no mind reading powers?"

"It's not mind reading. She experiences the event, not your memory of it. It's purely sensory, no thoughts or emotions, beyond what she can pick up from body language."

"Impressive," I commented, smile still on my face.

"Oh, fuck off. I don't need your validation."

I raised my eyebrows. Don't you? Why are you showing off to me, then? She scowled at me.

Argent ignored the byplay.

"As much a weakness as a weapon, isn't it?"

Tattletale shrugged.

"Some powers are like that. Most, honestly, though it's usually more subtle. It's still very strong. We've seen enough of that in just this meeting."

I was sitting across from Piggot's desk, carefully keeping my gaze off the note as I slid it across to Miss Militia while everyone was focused on the conversation. No one–

I was myself again. I stared at Tattletale. Her eyes widened slightly, and then she gave me a wink. Huh.

"It is." Argent responded, startling me. "And if it's triggered off a transmitted voice--"

"Doesn't work on recordings," I broke in. "It was like the third thing I tried. I thought some of Nixon's speeches would be hilarious."

"What? But there's always some delay in transm--"

"Don't bother trying to make sense of it," Piggot advised. "Greater minds than yours have broken themselves on that rock."

She didn't look satisfied, but she nodded.

"Well, I don't see what I'd have to say to you I didn't already say to your... associate."

She sounded brisk, now that we were back on subject, but not angry. I honestly had no idea what was going on with that. Well, all I could do was my best.

"The general can be pretty abrasive." I mean, I assume. He didn't really get a chance to show it. "I understand there's been some unpleasantness here, but I don't care about that. I want to issue a formal invitation on behalf of the Meisters. A soldier from our nation's past, our own Hiroo Onoda... Maybe things have changed, but you have a home here, if you want it. Oh, and we'll take the Undersiders too, provided they can pass my interview process."

She was scowling now. What did I say?

"You can just say no."

"No." A moment later she tacked on, "Thank you."

"Well, offer's open. Pass it on to the others, will you?"

OK, that had been the wrong thing to say. She didn't bother with the physical threat displays this time, but she – jaw clenched, nostrils flaring – was every bit as angry as when... Oh. Paranoiac. She thought this whole thing was a plot to steal her team out from under her. She immediately moved to thoroughly de-legitimize the general, but I didn't have the same putative authority. I wasn't really a threat until I implied I was just trying to catch more flies with honey.

Well, leaving her in charge of her people would have been... flatly impossible, honestly. You can only bend the rules so far. If that was a hard line, probably better to learn that here, where if she broke things, they at least wouldn't be our things. I was honestly looking forward to my rant, though I wished I'd had the time to ask some more questions about her world, first.

"Soliciting desertion, is it? So little respect for an Imperial soldier's dedication to their duty, but what can you expect from a nation that has given up on duty? Let me tell you a little story to... demonstrate the point."

Oh, fuck me. I wasn't looking forward to this anymore.

"Dr. Schugel promised me he'd fixed the explosion issue and I believed him. For all his many faults, he rarely lied about his work; that's what's truly important to him. The improved cooling system was integrated into the orb's function on a fundamental level and had more than enough capacity to handle all the energy released by a spontaneous desynchronization event, he said, at least for the relatively light flight tests we were doing at the time."

I looked up -- so far up! -- at the older monocled gentleman as he shot me a smile that he presumably meant to be reassuring. I heard him speak in time with Argent's description. I took the device from his hand after a long moment's hesitation and affixed it at my neck.

"Every word true. What I failed to realize at the time was that for the orb to cool its surroundings must heat."

I was kilometers in the air and rising fast. I twitched at a sudden sputtering hiss, near deafening, then violently flinched from the burning at my throat. It was useless, of course. The device was securely fastened in place.

"He knew, I'm sure. There's no way he could have designed the mechanism without understanding what it--"

"OK, that's enough! I get it!" I half yelled, slipping into German in my haste.

She didn't stop, or pause, or even stutter.

"--would do. Perhaps he thought it a fitting punishment for failing to manage the device -- he was always quick to blame others for his failures -- or maybe he really thought he'd solved the desynchronization problem, though I doubt he was quite that delusional. Not just then. Most likely, he simply didn't consider it. He could always requisition a new mage, after all. That's what he did after killing my predecessor, and his predecessor before him, and who knows how many more?"

There was a branding iron at my neck, and it was only getting hotter. I couldn't breathe. My hands were pulling at the tight collar of my uniform, trying to hold it away. It wasn't nearly enough. I wanted to pull harder, to rip it away and toss it. I could have; I could feel the latent strength in my limbs. But they didn't obey my commands.

"Of course, it would have been terribly negligent of me to foist that inconvenience on him. Fortunately, one core maintained partial functionality. Enough for a controlled descent, if only just. But to do that, I had to hold onto the orb."

Or you could have just worn a parachute! You fucking psycho! I tried to focus on the real world, to interrupt, to hang up, to use my power, anything. I failed. I was cooking. I was dying. My right hand released my collar, then returned. My left released and started to reach towards the device, then hesitated. I fiddled with the sleeve for a couple seconds, trying to work it up over my hand. The uniform was closely tailored. I failed. I knew what was coming then.

In a moment of supreme, terror-fueled will, I swiped my real arm across my desk, sending things crashing down. The voice continued, muffled but audible.

"Still, I needed to take some action. If I left it in place at my neck I risked fatal damage to my airway and critical blood vessels. Dr. Schugel had several skilled medical mages on permanent detachment for simple convenience, but they couldn't help me if I died before I reached the ground. Not a complicated problem."

I hesitated for one more long moment, hand poised. With a final full body shudder my hand wrapped itself firmly around the orb, near molten glass deforming under the pressure. I tried to scream, but my lungs were empty. I twisted and it came free from its mount. I pulled it away from my neck and then I could breathe again, the pain in my throat hardly registering. And then I did scream, piercing and girlish. And then I did it again.

"The analgesic formula might not be too expensive in terms of power, but it's quite complicated. A slight deviation might interfere with muscular control, or make it impossible to feel anything but pain. Casting it on a single damaged core on top of the flight spell? Pure fantasy. But so what? What's some pain next to survival? So I took the orb in my hand. And when my muscles started to fail and I feared I would drop it, I wrapped my other hand around the first. And when that proved insufficient, I held my hand in the crook of my other elbow."

And so did I. Every bit of it, my power stretching the moments of affectless description into minutes, ensuring I got to enjoy the full experience. Each second was a choice between burning and falling. And so I burned because she had made the choice for both of us. It was like--

I blinked up at Sternenhimmel, detached cable in hand. I was lying on my back in my office. All my limbs were intact, though there was a bruise forming on my right wrist. My throat -- my throat -- was sore, my cheeks wet. Ah, I'd presumably been making enough noise to attract his notice. Not the first time. I sat up, still a little shaky.

"Recruitment didn't go well, I take it?"

"Not especially, no." I chuckled. "That little shit!"

My foster brother shot me a confused look.

"Everyone tries to hurt you through your power. Your 'weakness' is the worst kept secret in the country. You tell us not to interrupt whenever anyone makes you relive their fucked up story."

"And yet..."

I glared at him. He turned his nose up.

"Some of us have work to do, you know. We can't all lie down on the job."

I glared some more. He didn't even sleep.

He broke character after a second.

"You alright? That sounded pretty bad. And you broke your monitor."

I waved his words off.

"Have I ever not been?"

"Were you ever, really?" He paused, then continued when I didn't take the bait. "You know, it's actually pretty creepy, how you bounce back like that."

"The part where I bounce back is creepy? Not the part where I'm wailing in agony for no visible reason?"

"I call it like I see it. So, what was special about this one, then?"

"It's not that she did it, it's what she chose to show me."

"Oh?"

"Well, help me up first. Don't think I'm welcome back into that meeting, so let's grab coffee."

He did and we did. I took a minute in the bathroom to put myself back together. We settled down in the lounge, claiming the good couch, not that there was much competition for it this time of night.

"Go on, then."

"OK, you heard about that hiker who cut his own arm off with a Swiss army knife?"

"What? Why?"

"It was trapped under a rock or something. I don't know."

He waited for me to continue. I didn't. He sighed.

"Why do you always do this?"

"Oh, is letting me tell the story my way too boring? Do you want to watch it instead?"

"No, no, your way is good. Great, even," he assured, vigorously shaking his head the whole time. "So... she cut her arm off because it was trapped under a rock or something?"

I snorted.

"Not exactly, but the same idea. Like, 'I was able to do this to myself when I needed a step stool to reach the kitchen counter, because I'm not a little bitch. You, on the other hand...'"

"Talk about asserting dominance." He chuckled, then shot me a quizzical look. "Though that would have fallen flat if you weren't actually a little bitch. How'd she know?"

Well, if he was going to ask for it...

"Not a complicated problem."

He violently jerked, gasping, barely missing his coffee on the table.

"Fuck! Fuck! OK, dominance asserted. Fuck!"

He slowly settled back down. Other people couldn't shake off my power quite like I could, but the sensations themselves didn't linger. And he was used to it.

"Damn, that's hardcore. You sure we don't want her? The PR would be great, too. Like that Japanese holdout you were talking about, right?"

"I'm sure she doesn't want us. Do you want to try to push the issue?"

"You know, I really don't. The others?"

"That's the question that set her off. Doesn't approve of poaching."

"Ah. Oh well."

"The locals were hiding something about her, too. Could be... a lot of things that came up in that meeting, honestly, but I think it was something I missed. And the PR would only be good until she started going off about the spirit of the German people, or whatever."

"Oh... Yeah, that could be awkward."

"Honestly, I think she's just bullshitting about that, but she's really convincing. It's probably reflex by this point."

"Oh?" he probed, tone much more serious. "And how was that? They do look a little similar, too."

"It's been nearly a decade. People can get over things, you know."

"They can..."

He pointedly didn't say 'you have.'

I glared at him, but without too much heat. He was right, after all.

"Nah, she was fine. A sociopath, maybe or maybe not, but definitely not the kind that preys on others' sympathies. She wouldn't know what to do with them if she got them, I think."

"Oh... That's a little sad."

I shrugged.

"That's the job."

"True enough."

771

TorontoTowers

Oct 18, 2022

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