Weaver's Web

by codekinguu

.

2. Chapter 2

Researching the Merchants was difficult. There were a thousand rumors. Skidmark and Squealer worked for the E88, they worked for Lung, they were actually the secret rulers of the bay.

That one, I could ignore.

There were arrest reports, and huh…

Skidmark and Squealer's real names were out. That was…

I leaned back. Sure there were laws against revealing the identity of a Protectorate member or Ward, and everyone knew about the Kenniston Act, which made the use of a cape's real identity for the purposes of causing emotional, financial, or physical harm, a tort.

Mr. Barnes knew some attorneys who practiced that type of law.

But a cape had no innate right to a secret identity if they were arrested, although the authorities wouldn't always publicize it, especially if the cape in question had a vulnerable family.

And Skidmark's name was Adam Mustain. Squealer's was Sherrel Bailey.

But nobody seemed to care. I spent an hour on the computer in the library, getting more and more frustrated, because everything I checked out, even on PHO, just talked about them as if they'd always been Skidmark and Squealer.

There were ways to find out more information, but not ones that a fifteen-year-old girl could avail themselves of.

I needed to find someone who could get me the information I needed. A few more moments at work and I knew who to use.

But first I'd need something to entice them.

I had tonight and tomorrow before my first after-school session, which would run from six until eight. So I needed to move—now.

I was getting a trickle of money in from my exterminator business, and I'd used it to purchase a disguise. A torn, stained, overcoat, ratty pants, and a shapeless beret. I'd rub some dirt on my face and had rubbed some meat that had gone sort of off on the coat, and I would look… and smell, like a homeless person.

Hopefully, it'd be enough.

Then I laughed, stifling it at the glare of the librarian.

"I guess you were right Emma. I really am going to look like a Merchant." I'd have to put them on before I went on my fact-finding mission. Back to the place I'd been.

With the little camera I'd bought and then sewn into my disguise, so I could take pictures with it without having to be obvious.

Because I'd be gathering information. As well as ensuring that my bugs were breeding up to the numbers I'd need before I destroyed them. And I couldn't see through my bugs, which meant I had to be there in person to know where to place my recorders.

I was out late again, and Dad didn't mind. The library was open to nine, after all, and I'd checked—the college libraries were open to 11, or twenty-four hours during finals. I could use them, with his permission. But I'd have to spend enough time there that nobody would notice when I was gone.

If I told Dad…

I shook my head, that discussion playing out in my mind, as I tried to breathe through my mouth.

My Merchant's disguise was a little too good. The jacket was big enough to keep anyone from noticing my body suit on under it. It'd checked and there were ceramic plates for sale, but still too expensive for me.

I'd need to have a lot more money before I could afford that.

But I wasn't fighting, I was looking. I headed through the same streets I had before, only this time, I wasn't trying to avoid anyone. I had the same furtive way of moving that most of the others did.

I didn't have to imitate them. I just remembered how I moved when I was trying to avoid Emma or Sophia.

It made me feel… oddly sympathetic to the people on the street. How many of them had come here because they were drug addicts… and how many of them were here because they had nowhere else to go? I remembered Dad once, right after Mom had died, telling me, when we still talked a little, how she'd saved our house, that she'd argued and yelled and finally talked him out of getting a mortgage for our house that took two salaries to pay for.

What if he had? Would we be here?

I paused for a moment and looked past a trashcan with a fire in it, a group of people clustered around it warming their hands. Beyond them, I could see the lights of the Boardwalk and downtown, the Medhall building towering above its neighbors and the Rig's force fields gleaming in the night.

I doubted that any of them knew what was going on here.

Knew, or cared. I bent down and started for the shop. Under me, in the warmer sewers, bugs flew along, ready to come at my call. Hopefully, they wouldn't, but if I needed them…

Well, it was better to not need and have than need and not have. I kept moving, and as we got closer to the old diner, I heard the sound of…

Music? There were people dancing ahead, if you could call it dancing. Fires had been lit in cans, the smoke and flames lending the place a hellish look, while there was a…

Okay, it looked like an old school bus, except it had treads instead of wheels and on top there was a man gyrating back and forth, holding a microphone in his hand. There was a woman in the bus, I could tell from the…

Ick. The crabs.

Skidmark and Squealer, I presumed.

"All you cumrags ready to party!" he screamed out.

"Yes!" people around me were cheering and I saw a man and woman fucking on the dirty ground. I quickly turned away from that.

That was definitely something I didn't need to see.

A man pushed by me, heading for the front.

"Out of the way asshole," he growled.

"We've got booze, cheap and good! And if any of you shitstains have money, we've got a little more!" A raucous cheer granted his announcement. My bugs were busy, flying through the gaps in the bus' frame, and they quickly detected a variety of plastic baggies.

The real stuff, I presumed.

Why aren't the police here? Granted, me getting arrested would be bad, but this wasn't even trying to hide.

Much like what had happened at Winslow wasn't trying to hide.

On the other hand, even if it wasn't well concealed, he hadn't outright said they had drugs for sale. Caution or Skidmark being… Another man shoved me away from the front.

I let them push me back, not out of the crowd, but to its fringes. Nobody was paying attention to me. I saw a man rush forward, clenching some money in his grimy hands. I sensed..

The wound on his face had maggots in it? Granted, they didn't bother me, but… he was that high or desperate that he didn't notice?

I was filming, although how much I'd be able to glean from the footage was unknown. I didn't have a really expensive camera, after all, and I had to be careful to not show it. Now the front had a group of people slamming into each other. A few people to one side were smoking something, and… one of the windows of the bus had opened and the woman within stuck her blond head out.

"So who wants a fucking fun time!" Everyone cheered.

Was this special, or the usual way he operated. I couldn't put my recorders on the bus—it would almost certainly leave my range too quickly to retrieve them, and I had no way to track it.

Had I forced myself to endure this stench for nothing?

No, I could…

"Hey, Babe, wanna have a fun time?" I backed up, a man leering at me, easily old enough to be my father. He must have seen through my disguise—or perhaps dirt and smelling like bad meat wasn't a deal-killer for him.

"Not interested," I told him.

"C'mon…" He reached out and grabbed my shoulders, and my bugs went absolutely berserk. But I couldn't pull them, out and if I tasered him…

No, I could use one, but I'd have to time it. He was pulling me, in, leaning down and he smelled like something had died and from the sewer, one of my wasps zipped up, flying up his loose pants, the holes in them giving easy access.

And it stung him right in the scrotum just as I brought my knee up, smashing into his crotch, and incidentally obliterating the evidence of my other attack.

His eyes opened wide and a high, girlish shriek emerged from his mouth as he fell over.

For a moment the people around us were quiet, and I wondered if I was about to be attacked, and then they exploded with laughter, pointing at the whimpering man, before turning away.

Evidently, this wasn't unusual.

"Now it's time for the contest!" Skidmark shouted, gesturing to a place in front of the bus. "Any of you assholes who want to get into the pit, go fight and the last guy standing gets a free hit tonight!"

Now a bunch were pushing forward and—

I blinked. My bugs sensed other people moving into positions around us. But they were… clean. Well, cleaner. I looked around, and saw one, the light from a fire gleaming on his face and his…

Shaved head.

Fuck.

Not Merchants. Not homeless.

E88. But why the fuck were they here?

I could… and then I detected one man walking forward. Big. Next to him were two others.

I started moving towards the empty streets, but stopped as I saw several forms materialize. My bugs had detected them, but they were clearly sentinels here to keep anyone from leaving. I moved back into the crowd.

"Alright all of you Cumstai—"

Suddenly there was a blast of wind that shattered the speaker, leaving Skidmark staring, mouth open as the three figures I'd detected emerged into the firelight.

I knew them. Anyone who did any research on the E88 would.

Cricket, Hookwolf, and Stormtiger.

I was not ready to fight them. But now the crowd was growing silent, some moving to the edges and being pushed back by the E88 gangers. Twenty of them.

I cursed mentally. I'd been so focused on Skidmark that I'd detected them too late to withdraw safely. There was no excuse for that.

I'd have to do better.

"Look at all the rats," Hookwolf drawled. "Skidmark, Kaiser sent us to deliver a little message."

"What the fuck are you doing here!" Skidmark shouted. "This is our turf."

"You don't have any turf, you have little corners, where we let you scurry," Hookwolf said. He opened his arms wide, as if he was playing…

Wait a minute. He was playing to the audience. Everything I'd read said that Hookwolf was a near mindless brute, but the way he was moving… It was almost like Emma, the way she moved in and took over a room.

Okay, the tattoos and barely chained aura of violence were a bit different. I had a feeling that Hookwolf never felt the need to hide behind someone else when violence was near.

"See, the thing is, little rats like you…" he walked forward and suddenly kicked out, sending a small man sailing away from him. "…sometimes need to understand your place. Your guys decided to hit a drugstore, and they pay Kaiser for protection. So I'm here to help you understand why that's a bad idea."

"Yeah, you don't fucking tell the Merchants what to do!" Skidmark shouted back. "Why don't you take off before I take you out!" Behind him, in the building, my bugs were detecting one of the human forms that seemed to be… growing?" And then Skidmark was drawing glowing fields in front of him. He could use them to push things away, but how much that'd help against Hookwolf…

"Are you wanting a fight?" Hookwolf asked. Next to him, Stormtiger and Cricket looked eager.

Glancing over at Skidmark and Squealer, I had a feeling they didn't want a fight. The Merchant capes were…

Not in the same league as the Empire capes. The crowd was now backing away from the Empire thugs. They were here to get high, not fight, and Skidmark…

Oh, you… He was making certain to keep them between him and Hookwolf. If there was a fight, it'd be a slaughter. And Skidmark would probably count that as a win, as long as he got away.

Except if I tried to fight Hookwolf, it'd still be a slaughter. Mine.

Now the growing figure I'd felt came stomping out of the abandoned diner, having to squat down and press his way out, the form looking like a mass of ambulatory garbage.

Mush. Of course.

"Well, the garbage man is here. He still looks better than you, Skidmark."

Now everyone was getting ready and suddenly…

"Oh Taylor, why did you get upset?" The thought rose up. One of the times I'd tried to shout back and ended up with everyone blaming me.

A memory. Hookwolf wasn't here to start a fight, at least officially. He was goading Skidmark into starting the fight. Why, I wasn't certain.

But I had to do something. Right now. And I would. I called my bugs, all of them. Sending them into the buildings and keeping them tightly coiled so the cold wouldn't get to them before they'd done what I needed them to do.

"Hello, Hookwolf," My chittering voice came from all around.

Now, Hookwolf tensed. He and his two companions took a formation, him at the lead, looking around, not with panic, but caution.

The Merchants, as far as anyone knew, only had three capes, after all.

"You one of Skidmarks?" he asked.

"No. I'm here on other business." I really was. "But I expect you were sent here for a message, not a slaughter."

He didn't say anything, and I could see his eyes moving around, before he glanced at Cricket. She gave a minute shake of her head. She was trying to localize me.

Granted, I didn't think she'd be successful, since according to PHO she didn't have any powers beyond being fast and dangerous, but…

These were dangerous, dangerous people. If I gave them too much time…

"Skidmark has his drugs in that… vehicle of Squealers. I don't want a slaughter either. How about you take them, as a penalty, and Skidmark will remember to not touch what is not his, during his gang's time on this earth."

"Fuck you, cuntstain, I—"

I used a line I remembered from a cheesy show. "Hush, Skiddie. Adults are talking."

I had enough bugs to hopefully take down the two next to Hookwolf, but rumors on PHO ranged from generating his blades to simply being a metal Case-53 that could create skin to cover his iron form. I didn't want to find out the hard way that my bugs couldn't hurt him.

"And what do you get out of it? Doing a good deed?"

"Blood, too much blood, can attract the wrong kind of attention." I paused. Mush was moving up to the bus. All three might be an issue, but there was the crossfire to consider. I—

"Go Squealer!" Skidmark shouted, as he dropped through a hatch that just opened in the roof, even as Mush jumped on it, and the fucking bus was sounding like a train wreck in progress as it headed down a road. "Later assholes!" Skidmark shouted, his voice vanishing. Hookwolf and company were still here, and I got the feeling I was the reason, them not wanting to turn their backs on an unknown cape.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I could see Hookwolf's expression, and he was pissed. I really don't want to die for Skidmark's sins…

"How rude. I suppose I'll have to add that to his tally."

"What?"

"I'm not here to help him, Hookwolf. I'm here to…" Think, Taylor, think… "Gather information. Before I take action."

"What kind of action?"

"With all the poison Skidmark spreads, is it too odd to consider he may have cost someone a loved one—someone who can… obtain my kind of help?"

"So you're a merc?"

"I am many things. But… I do not wish to get off on the wrong foot." At least not until I'm out of this crowd! Hookwolf was barely fifteen feet away! "Allow this crowd to leave… and I will deal with the Merchants."

"And what then? You thinking of joining up with the Empire?"

Over my dead body… "I enjoy my independence for now, but that doesn't mean our relationship cannot change." I just won't say how…

"Right." Hookwolf nodded. "They come into Empire territory again, we'll hold you responsible, but if you want friends…"

"I'll remember that."

And I suddenly realized why Hookwolf was being so friendly, well, for him. He didn't know my powers. I could be a parahuman with a cute trick with noise, or I could be a nightmare like the Fairy Queen. And he wasn't going to get into a fight without knowing, especially if he could, hopefully, lay the seeds to recruit a new member.

I reminded myself to not underestimate him. But I had some information. And as Hookwolf gestured and the E88 thugs faded back, letting the mob of addicts and homeless flee, myself among them, I would use it.

Right after I changed, went home, and indulged in some deep breathing once I was safe. This mission had gotten entirely too exciting for my taste.

I hadn't been able to place my recorders, but I had my video and its sound recording, and I'd use that tomorrow.

I had a meeting on Tuesday, even if the recipient didn't know it. After all, if I needed more information about Skidmark and Squealer, who better than the crime-beat reporter for the Brockton Gazette?

"I haven't heard of any parahuman with those powers." Kaiser glanced at Brad. "Or let me rephrase, any parahuman who can make spooky noises."

Brad didn't rise to the bait. "Anyone talking like that, while we're all there, has a reason to not be afraid. I figured you wouldn't want to risk pissing off the new Eidolon."

Not that he was. Brad had replayed the conversation in his head, and he'd come to a conclusion. Whoever that guy was didn't want a fight. Maybe he was worried about someone in the crowd. From what he'd said, he'd been hired to go after Skidmark, and that might include recovering one of Skidmark's junkies.

But someone powerful enough to easily take them all down, wouldn't have talked, not like that.

Which didn't mean they couldn't have killed the three of them. Hell, striking from surprise, Brad could do that to just about any cape short of Lung.

So not powerful enough to ignore the Empire, or take three capes down with no risk, but…

"They're after the Merchants. I say we let him have the shot."

"Really." Kaiser leaned back, looking at Brad. "Why? Skidmark offended us, which is why I sent you to chastise him."

Yeah, and not kill. The Merchants were a non-entity, and the Empire could take them out in a lazy afternoon, but why bother? Just smack 'em around and send them scurrying back to their holes.

And every time some black Merchant beats up an old lady or robs a store, we have more free publicity. Taking out the Merchants would mean the Empire would have more work to do when it came to motivating people.

"Because it'll give us some idea what he can do. If nothing happens, then he was some no-name trying to boost his rep, and he'll either take off, or I'll deal with him. If the Merchants get taken out, we'll know how, and that means we can know how to take him out if he gets out of line."

Kaiser paused, then nodded, swinging his seat around to look down over the Brockton Bay skyline. Medhall was one of the largest buildings in the city, and Kaiser's office was at the top.

Brad thought it was a stupid fucking risk to have meetings as Kaiser here, but hey, it wasn't up to him.

"We have another issue," Kaiser said. "The Hess girl."

"Yeah, yeah, black bully—"

"Her family is off limits. Completely off limits."

Brad paused. "Why?"

"That's something you don't need to know. I just do not want any action on our part."

Brad shrugged. It was no skin off his back. That was more Krieg's thing.

Almost as if he was reading his mind, Kaiser continued. "Krieg has some scripts up for some of our meetings. Sophia Hess was a brute, Emma Barnes is clearly unstable… But the third?"

Brad rolled his eyes. "What about the third? Jesus Max, I don't keep up with high school drama."

"Jewish. The kind of person who could take advantage of a brutish black girl and a mentally ill white girl. Who managed to stay out of the line of fire until she lost control over her minions as the Jews always will. Our friends in Europe should be happy, they feel we focus too much on the Asians here in the Bay."

"So she's off limits as well."

"What makes you say that?"

"Fuck, I'm not an idiot. If you want to use this, you don't want some news story about how she got cut up by an official Empire hit."

"Sometimes I think you're wasted in the fight ring. But yes. The Empire will take no organized action against her. Now or when she returns to the streets, which should be relatively soon." Kaiser chuckled. "After all, it's been a few months and I expect the majority of the city has completely forgotten about it until we remind them."

"Yeah, yeah, leave that shit to Krieg, I've got some more fights to organize."

"Very good, oh, Brad?"

"Yeah?"

"I expect that when you next meet that parahuman you will know enough of them to make a more… persuasive argument for joining the Empire. That, or remove them. We don't need another Lung."

And it won't be your fuck up if I screw up. Brad didn't bother to say anything. The Empire was like any gang, and if you got pissed with life wasn't fair, you were in the wrong business.

Madison hunched over, the orange jumpsuit lose on her frame. She didn't have any hairclips. They weren't allowed in Juvie. She didn't have any makeup. Her lawyer, well actually her parent's lawyer, had told her to leave it off, to better show the bruise when the girl (Madison was certain was an E88 member) had slammed her to the ground in the shower.

It wasn't like school. Being cute, the stuff she did to make people agree with her didn't work. And some of the other kids called her Race Traitor, until they learned that she was a Jew. The Asians, Blacks, and Hispanics didn't care about her, and the Empire…

It wasn't that bad. It was all Emma and Sophia's fault. I just went along with it. Why isn't Sophia here? Why does Emma get to go to a hospital? I said I was sorry!

But sorry hadn't worked like it had before and now even her parents looked at her differently. Had quiet conversations.

Didn't smile when they saw her.

"All Rise! Judge Marsdon presiding."

Madison scrambled to her feet before everyone sat down.

"So, we're here for Madison Clements hearing. Prosecution?"

"Prosecution requests bail be denied Your Honor, due to the depraved nature of the defendant's actions."

"That's a hard sell, given that your office did not demand the denial of bail for a defendant in an attempted murder case last week. Defense?"

"We request she be released into the custody of her parents. Ms. Clements has no access to the kind of resources that would make her a flight risk and was not involved save as a bystander in the crime."

"Well, that last is up to her trial to determine, and I'm not inclined to treat these charges as high-spirited hijinks."

"Ah, may we approach the bench, your honor?"

"Come forward, Prosecution, you can join the party."

Madison strained to hear what they were saying. She was good at listening. It was how you kept up on the newest gossip.

"My client has already been assaulted once, and her religious identity puts her at risk…"

"It's a bruise, hardly worthy of a get out of jail free card…"

The judge's voice was a little louder. "If she's found guilty, she won't be getting out of jail any time soon unless your office has changed its mind on trying her as an adult, but I prefer my defendants to be alive for trial." The two lawyers came back.

"Ms. Clements, I have decided to grant you bail under the following restrictions. You will remain at your house, save when in the direct company of your parents. An anklet monitor will be fitted on you. Any medical, legal, or spiritual meetings taking place away from your property will be cleared with this court in advance. You will continue to complete school assignments brought home." He paused. "And this last is very important, so I expect you to listen."

"Y-yes, your honor?"

"You will have no contact, not directly, not indirectly, not via carrier pigeon with Taylor Hebert. You will not speak to others regarding her. If anyone speaks to you about her, you will report it immediately. You are to have no contact with Sophia Hess, and Emma Barnes, along with a list that will be provided to you and your parents. Failing to meet any of these conditions will result in the immediate revocation of bail and your return to juvenile hall. Do you understand?"

I can't go back there, I can't! "Y-yes Your Honor. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I don't want to have to cancel a trial because the defendant got killed."

Madison didn't know what to say as she left the courtroom. She was going home to her room and her bed with the ruffles and her own clothes and the stuffed animals on her pillows.

But her parents weren't smiling, and they still weren't quite looking at her.

Sheila Cho checked the parking garage as she headed to her car.

I probably should have asked why they were willing to pay me more as a new hire. But she didn't want to spend ten years covering the fashion page. So the crime beat on the Gazette. She'd done her initial work in New York, and how much worse could Brockton be?

A lot worse, which is why I'm checking to make certain nobody's waiting for me. Oh, the big names never went after her. Even in the Bay, Lung murdering a reporter might get the wrong kind of attention, but she suffered a very statistically unusual number of robbery, and mugging attempts to say nothing of one attempted rape by an ABB after she'd pissed off Lung.

I wonder if the nickname of Dickless stuck with him? She'd kicked him a few too many times in the crotch after she'd pepper sprayed him. Most guys couldn't keep a high C note going that long.

But there was nobody around, and the swastika carved into her right front fender was from last week.

She opened the door and…

The lights at the far end of the garage faded out.

What the fuck? Grue? No, he's with the Wards now, and after Shadow Stalker, I bet they're not letting him moonlight.

Not that she officially knew about Sophia Hess' night job, but well, it was a pretty badly kept secret, especially for someone with sources in the PRT.

Sources that keep trying to feed me stuff to spin things a certain way, but I can read between the lines.

Still, she closed the door and looked at the growing shadows. "If you're here for a job interview, that's my boss's job."

There was a chuckle, and then the darkness withdrew, revealing a slim figure, a hat and scarf concealing their race, the long coat making it hard to see if they were a woman or a slim man.

"I thought we should talk here, privately."

"About what?"

"You're a crime beat reporter, Ms. Cho, I could make use of the information you can obtain in my operations to deal with crime in this city."

"Uh-huh. What is it, thinking of muscling in on Lung's territory?"

"No. To start, I intend to eliminate the Merchants, but I need information to deal with them in a way that… keeps the gang from rising again."

"The Merchants?" She frowned. "Why?"

"They are small time, but they do a good deal of harm, and they are… vulnerable."

"What do I get out of it?" the figure made a motion and a USB stick landed at her feet.

"A record of a minor confrontation between the Merchants and the Empire and a… new cape."

"You."

"Perhaps."

"What kind of information do you want?"

"Sherrel Bailey, Adam Mustain, Squealer and Skidmark. Their histories stop before they get to the city. I would like you to find out where they came from, ideally why. As much information as you can gain and I will… compensate you with the full story of the total destruction of the Merchants."

"Hah. I'll believe it when I see it…" She paused. "But, how about this, I can always use the information for a retrospective, so I get it, and if you don't do anything with it for, oh, two weeks, then I'm free to use it in my own story."

There was a pause, then the figure nodded its head.

"Agreed. There is a PHO acount on the USB stick. I will be waiting."

"Give me until the weekend, I'll know how much I can get and how hard it will be to get more by then. I may get it sooner, but if I can't get it by the weekend, I can't get it at all."

"Very well, Ms. Cho."

The lights started to fade out, something like a dense, dark fog filling the end of the garage the cape was standing in. A low humm filled the air as the garage became almost pitch black. Then, slowly, the light came back and the fog vanished…

Leaving Sheila alone in an empty garage. She bent down and picked up the stick. She had an isolated laptop she used for this.

"Well, not as overtly hostile as my last meeting with Lung, but still creepy."

But it was time to go home and nuke a pizza. It wasn't like she had a lot of boyfriends. Getting a rep for telling stuff the E88 and ABB didn't like to hear played hell on people's willingness to try for a second—or first—date.

With that cheery thought, she left.

I wasn't certain if I was more annoyed that I was taking time out of my schedule to come to a tutoring meeting, or if the only reason someone was doing their job was because I'd been jammed into a locker.

Or the fact that Arcadia was so damned clean compared to my school. The students were leaving labs as I arrived with Greg Veder and some other Winslow kids, including oddly enough, someone I'd pegged for an E88 ganger and an ABB girl.

Except I'd noticed that the two had been shooting gaze—Oh God, were they actually attracted to each other?

Suddenly, Mr. Thomas's odd comment to the boy made more sense.

Get a good education and you can hop on the bus for LA and never see this town again…

How had he known? I hadn't known, and I had bugs all over the school. And I'd been there for a lot longer than our new administrator.

I'd have to do better.

I'd have to investigate them. If I was right, why was he E88? Not all whites were. Was it because of his family? Or because he believed their propaganda.

My bugs twisted and turned. I'd have to leave it for later. Right now it was time for my first tutoring class, and then get back and finish my special presents for the merchants.

When I got into the room, the clean room with no graffiti, I stopped for a moment. There were other students in the room, from Arcadia.

In fact… The girl I'd encountered on my first night out was muttering as she glared at some homework.

Would she recognize me? Would sh—

"Right everyone," the young man who breezed into the room triggered some Gladly memories, but he walked to the front of the table without trying to act like one of us. "You know why you're here. Some of you have suffered from poor teachers. Some of you have suffered from the strange belief that video games make up for homework. Some of you are here for reasons beyond the comprehension of man."

"Some of us are here because of our brother," Aisha muttered. "Kill joy."

"That is true," the man said. "I'm Mr. Green, and no, it's not a secret agent codename, my parents suffered from poor imagination. We're going to start with placement tests, each one is focused on your specific needs, and we'll set up your curriculum from that. No grades here. You're either working, or you're not, and if not, we'll have chats with your parents."

Then he was handing out papers, and I stared at mine. Time to get to work.

And when I handed it in, two hours later, I felt my face burning. I'd known my grades were bad, but of course they were, because of everything that had been done.

I'd assumed that without the bullying, I'd just go back to where I was when I'd started at Winslow…

God, it was terrible. I didn't know half the answers, and when I glanced at another student, his writing was better than mine.

But Mr. Green didn't say anything as he collected the work and then nodded. "Okay, the thing is, I can see from some expressions that you're not thrilled with how you did. That's good. The first step in getting ahead is knowing you don't want to be where you are. On the other hand, for a lot of reasons, I expect you'll find yourselves moving faster, so don't let the test scare you. This is just to see where you are right now."

Not where I should be.

That was annoying. No, I was pissed.

Fortunately, tonight, I was going to be in a position to introduce the Merchants to some of my new toys…

Because if I was pissed, I didn't see any reason I shouldn't take it out on them.

The Sun was going down when I started my first walk into the Merchant "territory" I'd learned it wasn't so much a territory as islands. Little deserted places the Merchant's took over until they either got bored, burned the building down, or were chased away. The Archer's Bridge Headquarters was the only permanent structure they had, largely held on to on a long term basis. I hadn't gone there. I wouldn't. Not yet.

I wanted to prepare the ground first.

I had dropped my idea of surveillance beyond getting targets. The Merchants didn't have a lot of organization. No secrets. Nothing of value. Just the fact that the longer they existed, the more trouble they'd make for someone.

I spread my bugs out, walking in my "Merchant disguise" keeping to the shadows, a duffle bag slung under a shoulder. The diner would be empty—nobody wanted to risk Hookwolf coming back, but I soon found another place, groups of people coming and going.

It had lights, probably a tap on the local power line, and I heard music and could once again trace the bodies by the number of insect nesting in them. Like many of the buildings, it had been prepared by my earlier walk, insects nesting in the basement, out of the cold.

Now it was time. I stood in an alleyway, the building in sight at the other end, and opened my duffle bag.

This time I was careful to make certain I didn't get distracted, but nobody was standing by me.

Nobody saw me as I ordered my legions to get my weapons.

Did you know that fireworks were legal on the East Coast? I'd spent over forty dollars on the genuine, tinketech based (according to the blurb), smoke bombs that could generate more smoke and non-toxic smoke than any of the competing brands. It'd taken me time at home, but I'd modified the fuses, match heads cut off and crudely attached, that my bugs could rub against, fast enough to ignite the matchhead, and then the fuse.

The bugs flew, spider webs holding the smoke bombs. It was a little unwieldy, but in this place, nobody was going to notice. I had some other ideas for later use, but this would be their first test.

The music continued, as the bugs moved in, and I set the crickets to rubbing their legs against the match heads. Other bugs headed to the fusebox, and started biting at the wires.

And last and not least, I sent another group of bugs to my last secret weapon, before I got my shotgun mic ready so I could hear what they were saying.

Fluorescent, glow-in-the-dark paint. Non-toxic, as various types of bugs lightly dipped their bodies in it, spiders and moths alike.

And then there was a sudden silence. The music had died, along with the lights.

"What the fuck! Where's the smoke coming from!" I gestured, and my glowbugs flew for the doors, the smoke already pouring out of them.

"Gentlemen." I rumbled. "You didn't think I saved your lives from the Empire out of kindness, now did you?"

"Who the fuck—" the voice broke off into a scream. I knew why. Someone had been running for the door, only to see the eerie humanoid outline of a glowing figure… Actually my glowbugs, but they didn't know that. The addicts outside were heading for all points of the compass.

"I can taste your fear… that is not all I taste. I know your sins. I know what you fear… Because I am what you fear…" I sent a few streams of my glow bugs, looping and spinning around the people I'd marked by their own bugs, daemonic spirits twirling around them, yellow paint giving the impression of some daemonic set of eyes.

Without the smoke, without the dark, they'd just be clouds of moths, the odd tugging feelings some felt, just spiders landing on their heads after dropping down from the rafters…but in the dark and smoke…

"Why are you fucking with us!" the man tried to shout. It came out as a whine.

"You harm the Bay. You trade poison… when you aren't devouring it." Spiders spun their lines and moths and wasps took them up, lifting some syringes on the floor, looking like the inhuman figures were holding them. "I can see you. I am the city, and I know where you have been, where you will be… forever." I dropped them or rather released them, and the little crowd heard the sound of the syringes drop onto the dirt.

"I'm a little hungry, perhaps…"

"Oh, God, please…"

"You would ask God for help? After your sins? How did you know he didn't send me? But you can distract me. For a day. Purchase a day of freedom…"

The men and women were clustered, looking around, unable to see anything but smoke and my ghosts. Someone was crying. Someone had shit themselves.

"Wh—"

"Bring out the drugs. All of them. You have some gasoline. Take them and pour the gasoline on the drugs in front of this building."

"You're fucking crazy—Ski—" The man fell silent with a shudder, as I sent my moths up and around his body. In the dark, I had no idea what he imagined they were. But suddenly he also crapped himself.

"Skidmark is not here. I am. And I'm getting hungry… But you can choose. I'll let you. But remember, I'll be watching. Set them afire, pour them out, leave this place. Or I'll return. Tell your friends, this is the time to get clean. Skidmark can't help you…"

And then I sent my bugs into a frenzy inside the walls, a hideous chorus of laughter, as I dispersed the bugs inside the room, looking like a swirling vortex of glowing lights, pouring out the windows.

"He's… he's fucking gone." One man said. "Let's get—"

"Ahem. Don't forget your drugs," I said from inside the walls.

Terrified whimpers answered me. The group fled, tossing their drugs onto the ground in front of the building. Someone fumbled with some fluid, another with a match, and then there was a cheery little fire on the ground. Then they were fleeing.

I recovered my bugs and waited. The place was deserted. I walked into the back door, looking around for a moment. There was actually a pile of cash on the table, next to the scattered drug paraphernalia. The product of crime.

And exactly what I'd need to make some purchases that would help me. I didn't grab it with my hands. But opened a bag and let a swarm of moths and spiders pull it in. I didn't touch anything, save for one last action, the real reason I had to be in here.

Spiders and ants came out of the walls at my command as I opened several small pots of paint. They marched up to it, dabbing legs and abdomens in the paint. And then they marched up to the wall, and started painting.

Any one ant or spider would take forever, but I had thousands. And in a few moments, under my watching eyes, the symbol took shape on the wall.

A stylized orb weaver.

My duffle bag held more paint. I wouldn't just be drawing here, after all.

For the next few hours, I happily terrorized Merchants. I knew of two other drug houses, and I repeated my actions in them. I didn't know where Skidmark was, probably high, but he wouldn't be happy when he came off of his high, especially when he found out about how many of his dealers had politely destroyed their drugs at my request.

I couldn't set the stage on the street as well as I had in the houses, but it was dark out, and a few glimmers of my glowing bug "spirits" were enough to send people fleeing. When the morning came, and light rose up, they'd find that more than a few Merchant symbols had been eaten away by some strange power (especially if you didn't know much about cockroaches), and replaced by the symbol of the Orb Weaver.

I would have to be certain to deposit my cash on the way home. I'd made just over 1200 dollars, and there were a few expensive tinkertech-styled two way radios, light enough for my bugs to move, and vastly more sensitive and longer ranged than my walkie talkie listeners.

There was also a tinker-tech service that advertised selling any chemical you cared to name.

After all, Skidmark didn't care about what other people thought of him, so I didn't think he'd mind overly much if I introduced him to some Thioacetone…

But when I got back home, and Dad and I had our pro-forma talk about the tutoring and my later stay "at the library" I found something very interesting waiting for me.

A private message on my PHO account. The one I'd left on the USB I'd given to Cho.

From: Capesnoop

To: CapeGroupie1

Nice name. Got some stuff about Squealer. Skidmark is normal story—was a druggie before he got powers, and got worse since, but Squealer… I think you'll like this. When can we meet? I ain't gonna talk about this on PHO.

I quickly responded:

I will call you, tomorrow, 6:00 AM.

Normally the time of my jogging, when I'd be away from the house and in a crowd. I'd take a burner phone with me.

Her response came back.

Great, another morning person. Fine. Don't forget.

I wouldn't.

I actually started a little before six, jogging a different path. If she was trying to find me, she'd be disappointed.

I muffled my voice with a scarf. I couldn't use my bugs, not here, not without risking being detected, but I wanted to hear what she'd found, now, before she got nervous or changed her mind.

I called, and she answered on the first ring.

"You have news," I said, my voice muffled.

"Yep. Gonna owe me for this."

"We'll see."

"Okay, first of all, got her DOB. She's 18."

Wait, what? Squealer had been with Skidmark since… I shook my head. Why should I be surprised?

"Interesting."

"Oh, it gets better. You know that triggers often have a component of need in them, right."

"Yes."

"Sherral Bailey grew up in a nice community, everyone goes to church. White picket fences. Not a parahuman. Just a kid who got a prize in seventh grade for building a scale model steam engine."

I rolled my eyes. I could tell that Cho enjoyed being dramatic.

"And?"

"And Sherral Bailey got knocked up and claimed it was the local mayor. Community closes ranks, bad seed, she delivers the child, parents disown her… and next week she's in the Bay driving a truckosaurus, right before she runs into Skidmark."

"Was she telling the truth?"

There was a pause. "Well, would it surprise you to find out that our small-town mayor is currently spending a ten stretch in for playing hide the cabbage with a 14-year-old intern whose parents were a little more loyal than Bailey's?"

"So why didn't she return?"

Cho's voice lost her amusement. "I did some digging. Not a lot, I don't exactly have sources in every town in America, but Mom and Dad appeared to have come up in the world monetarily, about the same time they were calling their daughter a conniving, lying, slut. Their words."

"It would make sense…" I said. I'd done some studying on trigger events, even if most books about them spent every other page warning that the exception was often the rule.

Already predisposed for a tinker trigger, but caught in a no-win situation. The trigger lets her escape…

And she came to Skidmark, likely never even thought about anyone else. Why should she? Authority had failed her. Or maybe it had been bad luck that she'd run into Skidmark. Someone older, with… An ability to play on her. To convince her that her parents were right. To make her Squealer.

"What about the child?"

"Dunno."

"Find out."

"Hey, Spooky, I don't owe you that much, and I don't have that kind of pull. She might have gone into the system, been handed off to parents or…"

I knew what she was hinting.

"Then I will need to take a little trip. Who would have the pull?"

"PRT, maybe. They have a lot of authority over parahuman related affairs. But they aren't going to help you."

"I will have to… convince them. Also, I have some pictures of a group of Merchants choosing to just say no to drugs by burning them. Are you interested?"

"Yeah, I could use a humor piece. What's next, demolishing the E88?"

"One step at a time."

"Hah. Funny joke. That was a joke, right?"

"Send me your files to the email address I gave you. I will be in touch."

I would destroy Skidmark, and how better than to first take his right-hand woman…

"Sherral Bailey, Sherral Bailey…" I murmured. Time to write a little script for our next meeting.

As the rest of the week passed, I spent time at Winslow, watching. Some of the most arrogant students weren't so arrogant anymore.

More rumors were swirling around our new administrator. Oni Lee had shown up and he'd kicked him down the stairs. He'd killed Night and Fog.

He hadn't done any of those things. He hadn't even claimed to do those things, but the rumor mill gave him power.

I took notes. Especially about the part how he never pushed it, never made claims that might call his power into question.

There were still some issues, he wasn't a god, but the worst was going away, especially when a kid who supposedly was with the E88 got caught selling drugs.

In the old days, he'd probably be suspended. Expulsions looked bad.

This time, he wasn't just expelled, he was arrested.

But there wasn't an assembly. Which was…

I paused, as I scribbled away at my work in Gladly's class. It was a lot more tolerable now that the trio were gone, but I still had a chair at the rear of the class, a wall behind me.

Why wouldn't he?

Because he can't stop all the dealing. Nobody could. It was like the antigang assemblies that everyone laughed at. By not making a big deal of it…

It's like this is the way things are, and nobody knows how he found out…

Like me. Because who would be afraid of an upright frog in a coat?

I smiled as I got back to work. It didn't matter what they thought about Taylor.

They had to deal with Orb Weaver.

And this Friday, I'd finish Squealer and Mush.

I'd continued my little patrols into Merchant territory, sometimes in the daytime coming home from school, sometimes at night. I knew their patterns, and I'd tagged Skidmark, Squealer, and Mush with bugs—and interestingly enough, my power could tell the difference between individual bugs. So if they came in my range, I knew who they were.

I'd also listened in, using my walkie-talkie bugs, and found something interesting. This Friday, Skidmark would be heading out of town to get some stuff, to replace the drugs I'd gotten rid of.

Squealer and Mush, at least according to my unknowing informant, would be remaining at their HQ. I smiled when I heard that.

This would be my big move. Not one, but two capes, and if they were Merchants, they were still capes.

And it'd cripple Skidmark.

And I had a plan to deal with both Mush and Squealer. Mush was a joke among the Merchants. According to the Merchants I'd listened to, he didn't use as much heavy stuff as the others. They called him a lightweight.

I could use that.

I would use that.

After all, Dad had once told me that one of the main signs of someone about to jump ship was that they didn't feel they got respect.

Dad was at work. He'd be at work until at least ten. Friday's were always busy, because you had people wanting laborers for weekend jobs. You might even be fooled into thinking the DA was a real union and not a glorified day laborer management organization.

That wasn't fair. They were doing the best they could.

As I walked through the Merchant territory, I noticed rather fewer people on the street. My little moves evidently had had an impact.

But tonight, they'd be free of me.

I had more important goals. Finding their HQ had been easy. Easy enough that the police certainly knew where it was.

An issue for another day.

I paused by the corner, looking at the building under Archer's Bridge. Under my feet, the sewers were alive with insects, one reason I'd walked here. I sent them running up into vents, a few walkie talkies born along. I wouldn't go into the building, after all, it was a Tinker's lair. I knew Mush was on top, from the indistinct vibrations I got, watching TV. I'd have to wait until I got one walkie talkie up there, but right now, I could start with Squealer.

She was working on something that was large and rectangular. A bus, perhaps.

But my microphone was in place and I could hear her cussing. Evidently Skidmark had taken the good stuff, and she needed a hit. She turned to walk away from the vehicle, and I sent a tide of bugs into it, hiding so she couldn't see. There were also a few smoke bombs.

"Hello, Squealer."

Something fell as her body spun around. "Who the fuck was that!"

"Who do you think? After all, I did tell the Merchants what I was going to do. I just… decided to start with you and Mush."

"You think you can fight us! We're the Merchants, asshole!" She reached out, the tiny insects on her letting me track her. Probably going for an intercom. Time to stop that.

In the rest of the building, screams erupted as smoke bombs went off and my insects rose up in chittering, buzzing clouds, looking like demons. I didn't want anyone to know what my power really was, so for the other gang members I started chanting in deep, faux Latin.

It worked, as Squealer hammered the intercom and only got buzzing in response.

"I think they're busy," I said, while I watched a tide of men and women fleeing their HQ. "They can't fight me, you can't fight me, Sherral Bailey…"

"I'm fucking Sq—"

"Sherrel Bailey, Sherrel Bailey, found a man and made a baby…" the words came around her, a chant. Underneath it, other insects made a sound much like a crying child. The druggie said nothing, but turned and ran for her bus.

I was prepared. Her scream was loud in my earphones as the mass of insects that filled the interior of her vehicle came spilling out, rising up, looking like a cobra with glowing eyes. Behind it, a smoke bomb was triggered, the rising smoke no doubt making it look even worse.

"Nobody believed, everyone lied, took her baby and then she died…"

Not good rhyming. If I was going to do this again, I'd have to find someone better at it.

"I—"

"Sherrel Bailey died, didn't she, Squealer? You ran here, and Skidmark gave you poison and it made you forget." In the room above, I was having a different, more businesslike conversation with Mush. "You became everything they thought you were. He made you his…"

"I… No. Skiddie loves me! He took me in!" There was a difference in her voice. A whine. Suddenly Squealer sounded younger, even though her voice was still rough from smoking.

She darted for an exit, but my legions were surrounding her and she backed away.

"Did he offer to help you get your child back?" Now I was off the script. If Skidmark had been smart, he might have been stringing her along with promises, but I didn't think Skidmark was smart.

"No… I… Kids are a buzzkill…" her words were breathless, repeating something she'd been told. Likely told again and again, whenever she had doubted.

"But you want your child back…" I continued buzzing. The conversation with Mush was far more businesslike. "Or don't you…"

The next words startled me. There was no forewarning, no hesitation.

"THEY DIDN'T EVEN LET ME HOLD HER AFTER I'D HAD HER!" the shriek was raw, louder than anything else she'd said. And then she fell onto the floor and started weeping.

My bugs went still.

I had been intending to use this to force her to turn herself in. But she wasn't even moving, just weeping and then moaning. As if somehow I'd broken every barrier she'd built up, hammered her down.

Like Emma.

I changed my plan on the fly. Nobody was in the building anymore, and I sent my bugs swirling around, a dark cloud in the dim light of the few functioning street lamps disguising me as I walked into the Merchant's HQ. My feet were loud on the garage floor as I walked into it. Squealer made no sign that she knew I was here.

I spoke, and she twitched.

"I would never expose a child to Squealer. Would you?"

A moan answered me.

"But Sherrel Bailey? That might be a different matter." She went still. "But that is up to you. I cannot tell you, for certain, that you will be able to get your child back." The kid might be living with a loving family. They might be vanished, they might be dead. No matter the case, I wouldn't promise something I couldn't deliver. It wasn't just a matter of rep, but decency.

"But I will tell you what you will do to make it more likely."

"Wh-what?"

"I am going to call the PRT. You will remain here. You will turn yourself in, without resistance, and then, you will work to get off these drugs." I reached over to her, unzipping a fanny pack and letting some syringes fall onto the floor. I crushed them with my foot. "Tinkers are important. Important enough that if you work with them, I believe they will work with you." And I'd also remind them that they had Sherral and that the Merchants were on the way out, because of me.

In the building, the remaining stashes of drugs were being destroyed. Bugs devouring them, and then swarming down or carried if they died. There would be no signs left of how they were destroyed.

"Skiddie will be angry…"

I let my bugs speak for me. "Skidmark will have other problems…" while we spoke, my bugs were cleaning the concrete of the garage floor, cockroaches pulling up the grease… In a very special pattern.

When the PRT came, Sherrel Bailey would be in the middle of a great web….

My web.

"Remain here," I told her, and turned and walked, vanishing into the clouds of smoke and insects.

On the way out, I noted that Mush was leaving by the back entrance, heading for the hotel I'd suggested after I'd had a bundle of cash "appear" in front of his door, one with very good showers. I'd speak to him tomorrow.

I picked up the burner phone and called the PRT number, insects swarming around me in the little alley I'd stopped in.

"PRT, this is a recorded line. Is this an emergency?"

"This is Orb Weaver. The Merchants will soon no longer be a problem. Squealer wishes to turn herself in. Mush has divested himself of their company, and I will be dealing with Skidmark soon. You may pick Squealer up at the following address."

There was a pause. "I see. Velocity and Miss Militia will meet you there."

"There is no need. Also, I made a promise to Squealer that you may be better suited to fulfill."

"That is…" the operator's voice was cautious.

"She was raped as a child and her child was taken for her. Presuming she successfully deals with her addiction issues, I said I would attempt to at least arrange a meeting. I'm certain you will see your way to doing the right thing. Good day." I hung up and put the burner phone down. I had no idea if the PRT had methods to track them, but I was gloved so they'd get nothing off the phone itself. I didn't wait for the PRT to arrive.

That would be out of character for most of the people who lived here, and so I pulled my scarf down, and put my hat in my pack, and became just another homeless person making their way thru the city.

Once I was back at home, I sat on my bed, thinking. My costume was safely hidden, and I'd taken two of the Merchant's capes off the board.

But Squ—Sherrel. I'd used fear, and some would say that it was for a good cause. After all, if she got off the drugs she'd be better off.

But if she hadn't? If she'd freaked, ran, killed herself? Would being in a good cause be a justification?

I undressed and prepared for bed, still thinking of that.

I didn't know the answer, but I did know that I couldn't become comfortable with the terror I might inflict.

Because the next step after becoming comfortable with it would be enjoying it.

With that thought, I pulled the covers up over my body, the spiders in the basement continuing to weave more accessories.

I needed my sleep. I had an important meeting with a new associate tomorrow.

Hopefully, he had taken a shower.

Note the interlude with Mush is taking place while Orb Wever is speaking with Squealer.

Mush sat down on the couch, bags of garbage around him. It was good to be armed. He lit up and turned the TV on, the flickering screen showing the most recent episode of "What Happened To Tommy!" a sitcom about a stranger cape who was always getting marked absent even when he was in school.

Mush enjoyed it, especially when Skidmark wasn't here, but he couldn't say much, because like Skidmark said, who the fuck would take care of Mush if it wasn't for—

The TV started to buzz.

"God dammit," Mush said, getting up and walking over to the TV. If it was broken, Skidmark would be screaming until they boosted another one. Squealer couldn't make—

"Hello, Mush."

The voice came from all around him, seeming to reverberate in the walls.

"What the fuck—" Mush reached out to grab his armor, but then jerked his hand back. There was a crawling mass on the bags, bugs, only they couldn't be, because bugs didn't move like that. Some of them were glowing, and bugs sure as hell didn't do that. Then the lights went out, and when they came back, the bugs were gone. Had they ever been there? Were they really bugs?

"I'd like to talk to you."

"What the fuck about?"

"Job opportunities. I didn't find out much about you from my other sources, but I… have ears… everywhere." There was a scary as fuck chuckle. "Garbageboy…"

"I'm fucking Mush!"

"But that's not what the others call you. Even Skidmark when he gets angry. Squealer…"

"She's nicer," Mush said. She was. When she wasn't high or pissed off that he'd tracked garbage over her workshop.

"She is. She's leaving the Merchants. Right now. She called the PRT."

"Why?"

"Everyone has a price, Mush. I found hers. Now, I'm looking at your price."

Mush looked around the room, empty now. But he knew better. "What do you think I want?"

"Why did you come here?"

"Who the fuck would help me! At least Skids gave me a place to stay."

"Why not the PRT?"

"Them? They don't get people like me. They just put us in prison."

"And while I don't have all your information, petty theft, vandalism, numbers games… until you trigger and then you came here." There was a pause. "Let me guess, someone bigger than you got angry…"

Mush bit his lip. Whoever this guy was, he didn't know. He didn't know, how the Hells Angels had been laughing as they put Mush into the dump, tied him up, and then drove the dump truck to bury him in the trash, let him smoth… He took a deep breath and looked around. "Yeah… yeah, they did."

"And here you are. How long before Skidmark makes someone bigger than him angry? You already almost got into a fight with Hookwolf."

Mush didn't say anything. He didn't want to remember that. Fuck, if not for that…

"You're him."

"Yes."

"What do you want?"

"Your employment. Not as a villain. First, I will assist you to clean up and get off the drugs. Fortunately, you've not indulged in the heavier drugs."

Yeah, Skid always called me a pussy—wait, how the fuck did he know? "Are you like, a Thinker?"

"I'm many things. But right now, I'm waiting."

"What would I do?"

"First? I might find you work as a guard."

"The Garbageman…"

"We'll have to work on a name and your powers. Tell me, can you manipulate tools within your mass?"

"Huh?"

"Guns, other systems. Can you control them, if you take them into you? That could be very effective."

"I uh…."

"And have you experimented with materials? Ceramic plates, sand, other such things? Garbage might be disgusting, but I doubt it's bulletproof."

"I never, um, thought about it."

The voice sighed. "Then, if you accept, we will have to… optimize your power. After all, I need you at your best. I'm not doing this out of charity."

"What if I quit?"

"If you accept my deal, I demand at least a month of work—you'll be paid, but since I'm saving you from arrest…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it. After that?"

"You'll be free to go and enter any legal line of work." There was a rattling sound on the ground and Mush looked down to where a bundle of money had somehow appeared.

The fuck?

"Three hundred dollars. I have an address of a hotel for you. That's a week's worth of stay and there is a cheap diner there, but one that is healthy. Remember, for now, no drugs. I need you healthy. They have a shower, I expect you'll use it. And Tomorrow, I'll send a messenger to guide you to where I'm waiting. We'll have some practice work."

Mush stared down at the money. Nobody just handed you that kind of money if they thought you were going to run. Or if they thought you could run. He licked his lips. "What if Skidmark gets pissed?"

"You will soon be the last thing on Skidmark's mind. I have him penciled in for tomorrow night." There was an unnerving chuckle. "I might have neglected to tell him."

Mush looked around and felt a clenching sensation. Skidmark had thought that Orb Weaver was just some nobody trying to make a rep. He was wrong. Nobodies didn't talk like that.

People like that didn't need to tell you that you only got one chance. Anyone with a brain knew it.

"So, um, it has a shower?"

"Yes. As I said, make use of it. We'll give you money for clothes tomorrow."

"Right. Sure." Mush waited, but nothing else was said. He got up and walked out the door. Skidmark would be pissed.

But there was another thing about people like that. When they got annoyed, the source of their annoyance went away, and this was the same person who hadn't cared about telling Hookwolf, Crusader, and Cricket to back off.

Skidmark wasn't going to be a problem, for anyone, much longer, Mush thought.

Emily Piggot stared at the image.

"She came in willingly?"

"Yes, Director," Armsmaster said. "She was quite distraught, and asked to be called by her civilian identity."

The image was from Armsmaster's helmet cam, showing the drug addict curled up on the floor—in the middle of a web.

"What was the web created with?"

"Not with, an absence of the oil and dirt on the floor. How it was removed, I'm not certain. Analysis shows no signs of chemical removal."

Only in this town would I worry about a parahuman who could clean floors. She shook her head. "And Ms. Bailey? Signs of drugs or Mastering?"

"None. Our interrogation indicated that Orb Weaver used her own psychological issues against her. How he learned them, It's hard to say, but I believe he may be a Thinker."

Great. We believe he might be a thinker… Orb Weaver hadn't been an issue, just one of a hundred capes who appeared, tried to save the world, and failed. But then one of their sources had told them about how he'd somehow convinced the E88 to back off.

He or she. We haven't even seen Orb Weaver yet. She glanced out the window at the late night skyline of the Bay. The Boardwalk was still busy, some of the attractions being 24 hours, while other parts of the city were dark.

"She currently shows a willingness to detox, and seek counseling." Armsmaster glanced at the readout. "But as to her child…"

"Oh, that didn't take more than ten minutes." Cutting through paperwork was easy if you had the PRT's resources. "The child was taken, and Ms. Bailey's parental rights were terminated immediately, voluntarily, in fact." She paused. "There are several inconsistencies with the report when we ran it through analysis."

"Such as?"

"The name given for her Guardian ad Litem doesn't correspond to any attorney admitted to the bar in the state."

"Ah."

Emily shook her head. "We'll probably find out more, but I'm curious how Orb Weaver learned this information. The call shows that she knew enough of her backstory to talk about it, and knew that something unethical had occurred, which is why she dropped it into our laps."

"Along with a Tinker," Armsmaster said. "Squealer, even crippled by her addictions and lack of education, was able to create rather durable vehicles… she may not be useful as a frontline Protectorate member, but presuming she is willing to work with the rehabilitation program, she might be able to assist in equipping the High Threat Rescue Teams."

Emily frowned. The HTRTs went into places sane people avoided to rescue civilians, and that normally meant things like an Endbringer attack. A tinker… "I'll speak with the Directors. We might suggest that she be transferred to New York. Legend enjoys taking in lost causes and they have the resources to monitor her." And if she goes back to type, she won't be my problem, at least.

"Director, what about Skidmark?"

"Well, we'll see if Orb Weaver's record holds." She called up a still of some new emblems in the Merchant part of town, a Merchant symbol defaced by an Orb Weaver. Emily frowned at the image. There were orb weaver images springing up around Merchant regions, and nobody had seen anyone paint them. In fact…

"Armsmaster. Could this be a new gang or more than one parahuman?"

The armored figure shook his head. "We do not have enough information to make that determination. They might also have a stranger power, which allows them to move around freely. However… They have not been physically violent in their dealings."

No, just psychologically traumatizing, along with knowing a bit more than they should.

"Very well. If we make any contact with this individual, unless they are engaged in illegal activities, try for the soft-sell. Cooperation, working as a rogue. I don't want anything more certain until we know who and what we're dealing with."

The problem of working with Mush was that I couldn't assume he was stupid. If he noticed I was only meeting him at night, never talking to him save by a creepy voice, he might start drawing conclusions I didn't like. He might decide to strike out on his own again.

And given his previous decisions, it probably wouldn't go well. But the books I've read stressed the importance of misdirection. Some of the characters were even stage magicians. Maybe I could learn that.

With what time?

I could keep track of what my bugs were doing, so if I could learn how to read with them… But so far, the best I could get were vague impressions. I could tell where people were, but nothing more detailed. Still, with practice…

But there wasn't any time. I was going to meet Mush tomorrow.

So I had to be seen in the day, but that meant my bugs would be obvious. I would be obvious.

And who could be scared of a skinny fifteen-year-old who used bugs….

Wait a minute.

It wasn't like there was some visible sign that I controlled my bugs.

And maybe the best way of ensuring that nobody linked Taylor Hebert to Orb Weaver was to have them both be in the same place…

I had most of what I needed—I just had to be out of the house a little early to… set the stage.

I had to confess, I was slightly surprised when I saw Mush walking to the diner I'd told him to come to, calling the hotel he was staying at from a pay phone, using Orb Weaver's voice.

On the other hand, some of the books about addiction I'd read seemed to indicate that people like Mush were vulnerable to strong personalities. So I followed him in, the waitress giving me a suspicious look.

She probably wondered if I was here to give Mush drugs. It was that kind of neighborhood.

So Mush was sitting in a booth and then blinked when I sat down opposite to him.

"Hey, um, I—"

"A mutual friend sent me. I owe him."

"Shi—him?"

It was odd. With the Merchants, Mush was as foul-mouthed as anyone, but here, in the diner, he seemed embarrassed when he almost cursed in front of me. He wasn't attractive, but then that made two of us.

"Yes," I said. "Orb Weaver told me to tell you that there's a drug rehab clinic on fourth. They know you're coming." After all, I'd called them. "They don't ask for names."

"Okay."

"And he wants to talk to you." I pulled out a walkie-talkie.

This was a dangerous part. Mush might wonder why I was using a walkie-talkie instead of a phone.

The answer was simple. My bugs and touch screens had an issue that I hadn't quite figured out yet. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn't. Since I didn't need to hear, I could just stick a walkie-talkie's send button down and use it.

But Mush didn't say anything.

"Hello Mush, Ms. Hebert. I see you arrived on time."

"Um. I—shit!" I looked to the side, Mush following my gaze, and we both saw a cloaked form briefly appear on the roof of a building across the street before it vanished.

In truth, it was painted spider-silk and a hat, with a mass of bugs under it. It 'vanished' when the insects left.

But now Mush had seen Orb Weaver and Taylor Hebert at the same time, so he'd hopefully never think I was anything other than another one of the strange cape's minions.

"Do not worry, Ms. Hebert. You have paid your debt to me… for now. Leave the walkie-talkie, and you can go."

"Right," I said. "Sorry," I said to Mush as I took off.

I crossed the street and found a little corner where I could see him, but he couldn't see me.

I was really going to have to figure out how to see through my bugs.

"Now that Ms. Hebert has departed, let us speak about your new job. Did you enjoy your hotel room?"

"Yeah, I mean, it wasn't bad, but…"

"You are wondering what I desire of you. Well, nothing like a fight. You are nowhere near the condition needed for that."

"I can fight!"

"Against Lung?"

Mush fell silent.

"I do not need parahumans to fight against the weak, but the strong. But I will not ask that of you. Not unless you decide you are willing to return the, ah, favor I have done for you of your own free will."

"Crap, right. So what do you want?"

"You know of the Dockworkers Association."

"Yeah. Bunch of guys hoping the Docks will come back."

"Yes. That is for the future. Right now, there are several parts of the Docks that are unusable due to containers and such that were left, and the Association cannot afford to remove them. You will do that."

"Make me a forklift?" Mush paused. "The Fuck?"

"How else can we train you in plain sight?"

"It sounds like a lot of work."

"It is. But do this, and when and if you leave my association, I can make one promise to you."

"What?"

"Nobody will ever call your Garbageboy again."

"You think I'm worth it?"

There it was again. The tone. I knew that tone. Maybe Emma was really right about me? Maybe all the people who laughed were just laughing at the truth, and I was the only one not in on the joke.

I'd expected to face parahumans. I'd started with the Merchants because they were easy. But of them…

I hadn't expected to find that so many parahumans were just as broken as I had been. What would have happened if Mush had run into someone other than Skidmark? If Squealer had run into Kurt and Lacy, or Dad, when she first arrived.

Well. It was a good thing I was here to fix it, wasn't it?

"Oh Mush, when we're finished, I can assure you, that if you work at it… that will be a question nobody will ever ask."

It was odd. He'd been hunched over for our entire conversation, but now my bugs told me… he was sitting straighter.

"Yeah. I'll do it."

I had one more phone call to make that day. To dad.

"Hello, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Mr. Hebert. I trust that Kurt and Lacy are doing well with their houseguest? I will have a place for her to stay in the next few days."

"You're…"

"Orb Weaver."

"Right, yes, well, they say that Maria's doing fine. I don't think you need to hurry."

"That is good. Let me know if there is any difficulty, and I will see if I can resolve it."

"Right." There was silence. "So you didn't call me for that."

"No. The warehouse and docks on 43rd street, they are still technically owned by the Association, correct?"

"Yes…"

"Good. I would like to get permission to remove the garbage in that area and render it ready for disposal or salvage. A new parahuman needs to test his skills. There is no danger, and I expect the price you will gain for selling the scrap once it has been reduced to a usable size will be enough to pay for our use of Docks."

There was silence. I wondered what Dad was thinking.

"That won't work."

What? "Why not, Mr. Hebert?"

"That kind of quid pro quo arrangement looks too much like getting in bed with a gang. Faultline's crew asked for the same thing. You'd have to pay…" There was a tapping sound. "But we could hire you to clear that section and place the salvage where we could obtain it. Say… twenty dollars a day?"

It was a good thing my bugs didn't transmit my feeling because I was confused.

"That would…"

"Make the paperwork go easily. It shows that you're at least paying lip service to the idea that you need to rent the property, rather than just moving in. It also makes things easier for the IRS. It's a small amount, but there's a big difference between off-books and something written down."

"I see. That will be acceptable." I hope so. "But many parahumans are protective of their real identity…"

"As long as he's not trying to pretend to be someone else, a Parahuman can sign as a DBA name. It won't help with the IRS."

"Very well."

"I didn't say yes. You've done some good things, but you're new in town. Are you bringing trouble with you?"

"No. The only person who currently has cause to dislike me is Skidmark, and I will be meeting him later this evening… after which he will be in PRT custody."

"Well, I'll talk to my boss, but it's been years since we've even had someone go through there with a broom.

"I will have my associate see you in the next few days. Good day."

I leaned back as I thought about what Dad had said.

The Merchants just squatted or stole stuff, which made it easy to find. But if you have a lot of money, like Lung or the E88, and you bought something fair and square…

Nobody would think to look at it.

I pulled out my pad of paper and wrote on it: Investigate how financial crimes work.

Then I moaned. It was at the bottom of the page, with things like "learn martial arts" and "finish homework" above it.

No wonder the Shadow was fiction. I was swiftly running out of hours in the day, to say nothing of my sleep.

But I'd just have to keep pushing forward. The city wasn't going to save itself.

and Chapter 12 will be up on my tomorrow. Bit of a delay this week, the God daughter went to special olympics for her school district-and won 3rd place trophy for 50 meter run.

That is precious to me.

Getting ready to talk to Mush during his drills was going to be difficult. I'd set up several listening devices, my cheap walkie-talkies, in the place, but in all honesty, I'd have to make certain Much didn't move too far away, or I'd lose my ability to hear him.

I wasn't on the property, of course. There was a little nook that wasn't visible to any casual visitors. That was where I was. I had one of my burner phones taped up to the roof and was using its camera. The visual wasn't… very good, but it was good enough.

Mush came walking into the dock warehouse, looking at the old, wrecked machines. I'd done some studying. They'd been due to be shipped in for an expansion of a number of manufacturing plants, taking advantage of the dockyards. The owners had assumed that the decline in trade would be a short-term thing and had banked on everything blowing over.

They'd gone bankrupt, and the creditors hadn't even bothered picking up the material.

The DA only owned this particular place because the owners hadn't bothered to pay taxes, writing everything off.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mush," I said. "At some point, you'll have to choose a better name."

"Yeah, well, it sort of fits me."

"If you say so," I told him. "Did you check out the rehab center?"

"Yeah. They, um, are willing to talk to me, but I'm gonna be out of it for the next week when I come down."

"You've done this before."

"Sure. Got clean. But… What's the point? I mean, I'm Mush, and getting high makes things go better."

"Not now, they don't."

"Right…" I could hear the doubt in his voice.

"So," I said. "You pick up garbage, form it into a new body, and you can use sand. Have you tried other materials?"

"Like what?"

I gestured at one of the bins. "Ceramics?" There were shattered plates in there, and I'd dropped by before and put in some pellets I'd found in another warehouse. It was quite interesting what you could find around here. More importantly, I'd read that some powers were very… idiosyncratic. Mush might only be able to handle trash. Why that was the case…

I'd read a few books, and the more advanced books used larger words, but the general consensus appeared to be: "we have no clue." But it was important to find out if that was the case regarding Mush's power.

But he stuck his hands into the bin and slowly, then quickly, started pulling matter up into his body, tendrils seeming to adhere to them.

It was hard to tell through the video, but it didn't look like the tendrils were touching every bit.

Some sort of shaker effect? I didn't know. But then the materials were flowing over his body, including the pellets. A few moments later, and where there had been a short man, there was a hulking mass of ceramic, just over eight feet tall.

"Good. Do you need to breathe air?"

"I… yeah."

"We'll have to do something about that. Someone could use tear gas or something similar on you."

"Am I gonna be fighting someone like that?"

"It pays to be prepared. Now, I have some other materials here for us to test."

The day passed, and Mush, to his credit, didn't complain. Much. Ball bearings would also adhere to him, as would steel filings and fragments. He could even layer his body, putting some things on the outside and some things on the inside, as well as concentrate his mass over certain areas. He didn't need eyes to see, or rather anything I could tell were eyes. Mush had never thought about that, just accepting it.

I wonder if that means he could form eyes on other parts of his body, or create a 360 visual radius? Time to worry about that later. I had one last test.

"Mush, see the little fire extinguisher?"

"Yeah?"

"Incorporate it." Moments later, it was invisible, save for the nozzle. "Can you use it?"

"Um… sort of… I mean, I can feel… let me…" Moments later, Mush shrieked in surprise as a cloud of white enveloped his form. He flailed around, and then suddenly, the extinguisher went flying across the room. There was a loud clanging sound, and then everything fell silent.

"We'll… work on that some more later. Let's start moving stuff and see how strong you are."

It amazed me that Mush had done so little with his power. Here he was, a mass of metal and ceramic, probably immune to most weapons, and I had ideas on how he might be able to regenerate, say by keeping caches of material around for him to use to replace lost material… but he'd never tried it.

Because he was just Mush. Just Garbageboy. Why try if you know how it's going to end up?

Was every parahuman like this? Sure, Mush, Myself, and Squealer weren't exactly an unbiased sample, but three for three… Were heroes like Armsmaster products of a more positive environment, or were they just stronger?

Speaking of that, Mush walked forward to the first bin and picked it up, grunting a little. That container was full of the remains of machine tools. Easily a few tons, and he lifted it.

"Wow, I've never done this before," he said.

"The matter you're using is different," I told him. "Steel and ceramic are stronger than random garbage." I stared at the way he was moving. "Be careful. If you throw that at someone, you're going to kill them."

"Heh…I guess you're right." Mush said. He walked to the loading dock and put down the bin, and walked back for another.

By the end of the hour, there were twelve containers waiting for the scrap man. Not a lot of effort, but the DA would have had to hire someone to come over, get a forklift and move everything, and at the current price for scrap, they'd be lucky to break even.

"I'll be giving you the money we got for this."

"Don't you get some?" Mush asked.

"You did the work, you get the money," I said. He seemed a little confused at that. "Don't forget, you can't just attend the rehab center once."

"Right yeah," he shook his head. "I get it."

Do you? The books I'd read warned that everyone started out eager. But sooner or later, they felt bad, lonely, or just got bored, and it was then that the drugs beckoned. They also warned that staying with the old peer group was a good way to fall back into bad habits.

Well, I was taking care of that.

We wouldn't do much more. Not only did I have other places to be, but I didn't want Mush to clean everything up in a few weeks. That was another thing my quick read-through had told me. Regular work, rewarding work, was another way to hopefully work against falling into bad habits.

And while the fire extinguisher hadn't worked, not yet, it did give me a thought—what if I had Mush incorporate CO2 cylinders in his hands, set up to be punctured when he punched someone? It'd be a partial fix for fighting brutes.

But now, I had to notify the DA that we had their salvage, and then go visit a man.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE THOSE FUCKING CUMSTAINS!" Skidmark was shouting. Behind him was the pile of drugs and money he'd brought back with him. I was going to have to pick up some more walkie-talkies. I had a book on radio work at home, but no time to read it. For now, I would make do. I had also prepared a special present for Skidmark. I wanted to end things on a high note.

I couldn't easily detect shapes, but my bugs were on those around him and I felt him chuck one man across the floor.

"Skidmark!" the guy said. "He was like a ghost! I dunno what happened to Mush, but Squealer turned herself in."

"Fuck you, you cumdrop!" Skidmark shouted. More profanity followed. Much of it repeated.

It was time.

My laughter started out soft, so that hardly anyone could hear it. Then slowly got louder. Skidmark didn't notice, in the middle of his temper tantrum. The other man and women started looking around.

My bugs set off some smoke bombs in the vents, and the thick gray clouds started pouring into the trash filled "HQ" he'd chosen.

Suddenly Skidmark fell silent, listening to the unnerving laughter. I laughed, my bugs filling the air with the sound, as some of Skidmark's thugs looked around. A few had guns.

That was good. It'd be a good little bit of show.

"Skidmark, Skidmark, Skidmark…" I spoke. "I wondered if you'd be foolish enough to return. You don't need to worry about Squealer. She's with the PRT now. I made her an offer… she couldn't refuse. As for Mush, I doubt any of you will ever see him again."

In the dim room, I set my bugs to flying around, forming into unnerving shapes.

Suddenly, one man lost his nerve and opened fire. The shots echoed through the room until he emptied the magazine.

"Do you think you could hit me?" I asked. "Or maybe you did…" I laughed again. "Do you want to try again, or is it my turn?"

The man lost his nerve and ran for the exit. I let him go, his shrieks vanishing into the distance.

"Does anyone else want to depart? My business is with Skidmark…"

"Fuck you!" Skidmark shouted and started drawing his fields. I could sense the air being pulled over them. He kept layering his fields. I waited. After all, he was aiming in the wrong direction, even if I had been in the building. Which I wasn't. He tossed nuts and bolts down onto the fields and they zipped out, smashing into the walls and some of the furniture.

I laughed. Louder.

"You missed, Skiddie, but then, that's your thing, isn't it? You want everyone to respect you but who respects a druggie like Skiddie? That's why Squealer turned herself in."

More bolts went soaring through the room.

"It's anticlimactic in a way," I told him. "You weren't even my main objective. Just… practice. On the easy bits…" I laughed again. "You were so very easy, Skiddie. No drugs, no money… what will your suppliers think?"

"I've got fucking drugs and money!"

"Not anymore…" I'd been sending my bugs down. Each one holding a tiny piece of lighter fluid-soaked cotton. Individually, insignificant. But there were thousands of bugs in that relay race. Each one adding a little bit to the baggies of cocaine, and the stacked money.

I could use the money, but this was about making a point.

My last bug landed, this one carrying the fuse I'd pulled out of one of the smoke bombs.

"…in fact, I think they are going up in smoke." With that, my bugs moved, and I could smell the smoke rising, as the bugs on Skidmark showed him spinning around to see his bundles of drugs and money cheerily burning.

"What the fuck did you do!"

"You are in my city, Skidmark, and there is nothing you have that I cannot take. As I have." The rest of his followers were also decamping out the doors.

"You fucking cumstain! I'll kill you! I'll kill you—" He shrieked as I sent a roaring mass of insects through the smoke, both from the drugs and my smokebombs, and then rose over him, the fluorescent bugs forming glowing "eyes" as it loomed over him.

"Kill me, Skidmark? Would you like to try? Of course, if you fail… I might… just… take… a BITE!" That last was a roar, and he shrieked again, stumbling back and then…

Went sailing across the room, his scream dopplering away until he slammed into a bunch of chairs and boxes.

I didn't say anything for a moment.

Did he—did he actually stumble into his own fields?

"Oh God, my legs, my legs…" I sent my bugs down and put them on him, getting a layout of how he was…yep, legs don't bend that way.

Outside, I sighed and opened my phone.

"PRT, how may we help you."

"This is Orb Weaver. I have secured Skidmark and the last of his drugs, but you might want to send an ambulance."

"Are there injured?"

"Skidmark appears to have broken both his legs. He managed to stumble into his own fields."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was."

There was what sounded like a laugh at the other end. "We'll be there in a few moments. Is he suffering any other injury?"

My bugs didn't smell blood, and from the volume of his cursing…

"Unlikely. I will leave this to you. Ah, you might wish to bring masks. I'm afraid that his drug stash suffered an accidental fire."

"Right."

With that, I left, once again discarding the burner phone.

I was three blocks away when the first police car dropped by, and could observe them doing in, and then a few minutes later, an EMT unit drove up, along with Assault and Battery in a PRT vehicle, and a cursing Skidmark was dragged out. Evidently, the pain had faded and now he was letting everyone know that the Cumstain Orb Weaver was dead! DEAD!

I didn't need to stick around any longer, and it was getting late. Being grounded would be a poor epilogue to the destruction of the Merchants.

Later, lying in bed, I struggled against a sense of… irritation.

I had brought the Merchants down in a few weeks. The Protectorate could have done the same. Why hadn't they? Oh, I knew the reasoning, that there would always be someone like the Merchants…

But that was like refusing to prosecute murderers because, well, someone would always commit murder.

An excuse.

And even if they were right, the Merchants had grown like weeds, out of the poverty of the Bay.

Beating Skidmark, had been easy, especially since he'd… beaten himself.

Keeping another group from rising would be hard. It would require changes not just among the criminals, but the people. And I didn't know how to do that. I didn't have enough time in the day, and burning up drugs—

Wait a minute.

My bugs could smell drugs and detect the difference between the chemicals.

In a moment, I was out of bed, reaching out for one of my school books. I opened to a random page, and then moments later, it was covered by my bugs. Endless bugs…

And they could taste the difference between the written word and a blank page. I lay back in bed and closed my eyes. It was hard to get what the words were saying at first, but I could unite the bugs covering the page, and I knew where every single bug was. I could…

I strained to try to just reach out and grasp the concept, and slowly the strange senses the bugs were feeding me…

Made sense.

"The Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy was a devastating blow to an America already reeling…"

I could read it. And if I could read it… Controlling all my bugs, I could read more than one book! And this gave me some ideas on how to see—and even hear from my bugs. It'd be hard, but now…

I fell back into the bed and laughed. The sound was alien.

I guess Skidmark had done something for society after all. He'd given me that little thought that was gonna make me so much more effective.

"Tattletale," the unwelcome voice was clear over the phone.

"Yeah, boss?" Distracted. Considers this a minor issue.

"You read the file on Squealer. What do you think about Orb Weaver?"

Lisa shook her head. "I don't have a lot of information on it, but my guess? A Thinker, maybe focused on parahumans." She let her power free, thinking about the envelope with the USB holding the interview with the former Merchant.

Used power to determine her weakness. Trigger event weakness. Attacked it. Doesn't care about the unwritten rules.

"Would he make a good member of the team?"

Lisa shook her head. "Boss, we don't even know who he is. Just that he has a habit of going for the jugular. Like he did with Skidmark."

"That appears to have been an accident—of Skidmark's creation." Amused. Amused at Skidmark's bad luck, thinks that—she wrenched her power back under control.

"Sure, but from what I got, he was still smashing every psychological weakness Skidmark had. Hell, depending on what type of Thinker they are, they might have known what Skidmark was going to do and planned for them to hit the wall."

"And the fact there would be another thinker on the team doesn't bother you?"

Lisa sighed. She didn't need her power to know that Coil would like two people to play off against each other. But the distraction—he was more asking casually, rather than considering Orb Weaver important.

"He tries that with Bitch, or hell, just about anyone else on the team, you won't have two thinkers, you'll have one thinker and one dead body."

"Hmmm… Perhaps you are correct. What I want you to do is keep an eye out. The Merchants may have been small fry, but this will still open opportunities for us."

"What about the other job?"

"I'm still scheduling it. We have to provide you with some more muscle." Bank job not the most important thing to him. Wants it to succeed. It must succeed. Still not the most important thing… A lance of pain ran through her head. They were about to graduate to the big time, and Lisa had no idea what was so important that it made the bank job a secondary priority.

Coil put the phone down and collapsed the other timeline. The unannounced drill hadn't ended, but he'd seen enough to know his men were still maintaining an acceptable level of performance, and if it was because they thought he had an almost supernatural ability to know when they were slacking…

Well, he really did.

He opened a new timeline, in one conducting a tour of his base, congratulating his men, mentioning the little things that let everyone know the boss cared for them. And he did. Mercenaries were expensive and a long-term investment, and unless you were in a throw away timeline, expending them needlessly or treating them poorly wasn't smart. In the other timeline, he was sitting down and examining the file he'd already sent Tattletale. But it made sense to double-check her conclusions.

The file on Orb Weaver was very slim. Thinker 2 in the aftermath of Squealer and Skidmark, and possibly Brute 1. While little evidence had been found, there was some evidence from smoke residue that ordinary fireworks had been used. A small time player, using smoke and mirrors to shield his weakness.

But possibly useful.

Tattletale was right—Orb Weaver wouldn't fit in with the Undersiders, especially since they were without Grue.

On the other hand, Orb Weaver appeared to be focusing on small time criminals, and that could be an issue in the future. The Merchants had been part of Coil's plans—once his operation had come to fruition, he was going to sweep in and eliminate Skidmark as one of his first decisions as the new director. It would be easy, especially considering the fact that he knew exactly who Skidmark got his drugs from.

A cleaned up city would not be a city that would see Thomas Calvert as their savior. But a city that devoured and chewed up some naive would-be hero?

Especially if his death was played up as a tragic outcome of the failure of the PRT and Protectorate that needed new blood.

Coil put the folder away. He'd need to find out more about this Orb Weaver. And after that, he'd determine which group would be useful when it came time to turn a would-be savior into a martyr for Coil's cause. Now it was time to read more reports.

His power did many things. But perhaps the greatest was the way it ensured that he was always up to date on his paperwork.

Madlyn Cho (Maddie to her friends) shivered in her seat. The Chess Club was starting. Twenty-five of the best chess players in school. Twenty-five members of the ABB, even though she'd never been asked to do anything. Just… Play chess. Play chess to the best of her ability. Do her best to win against…

Against Lung. Sitting on the other side. And behind him the prize to the student who beat him. Not money. Something more important. A favor from Lung, that beyond certain limits, and they'd been explained to her, would be anything she wanted. A house? Certainly. A high position? Yes. To simply be left alone by the ABB, or to put someone under their protection? Just ask. There were lesser prizes, bundles of cash, and such, but that was the big one.

Madlyn's brother was thinking about joining the ABB. If she won, she'd ask for enough money to give to her parents so they could move far away from the Bay.

And then the games began. As usual, it started out with Lung making errors, and Madlyn had him on the backfoot.

A new member was grinning. Madlyn wasn't. She knew what was going to happen. And it did. Lung seemed to loom a little, heat coming from his body. And suddenly she was on the defensive. Where Lung had frowned and spent minutes looking at the board, now he glanced down, made a move, and walked to the next person.

Madlyn was hesitating now, taking longer and longer to make her choice… The new member was now sweating, staring at the board, half his pieces suddenly under threat.

Two members were checkmated and left, taking the gift packet as they did.

Finally it was up to Madlyn and two others… the last. The sun had gone down and Madlyn was trembling as she tried to figure out what the next—

"Mate in three," Lung said. Madlyn stared, spent a few moments desperately trying to find a way out…

Then tipped her king over.

Lung nodded and went on. Two moves later, he stood victorious.

Madlyn and her two fellows stood and bowed to Lung, and he bowed back. Then they left. Madlyn checked her gift bag after leaving (checking it before might imply you didn't trust Lung). A five-hundred-dollar gift card.

It wasn't getting out of the Bay, but she could use it to pick up some stuff for Mom. She just wouldn't tell her idiot little brother where she'd gotten it from.

Kenta sat down at his desk. The game was over, and nobody had won, but the looming threat of what the winner might do had been enough for his power. His mind sang, thoughts coming quickly as he started the paperwork, doing the work of a dozen subordinates, considering and dismissing plans. The night went on, and slowly his power ebbed, until he was finished.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Oni Lee stood by him, but his most loyal supporter said nothing. Oni Lee said less and less, these days.

His thoughts were slower now. By morning he'd just be Kenta. When he'd learned that his power could also enhance his mind, he'd been ecstatic.

But a simple fight didn't make you smarter.

And simply reading a book didn't provide the risk. His power demanded a real contest. If he'd just played a game of chess, it would have been worthless. But the buzz, the knowledge that someone might ask for something painful, risky… deadly if they won, set his power to running. Something that challenged him..

But even that was declining. The knowledge that nobody really could beat him, made the stakes less important. The same went for the fights in the Bay. The risk was less and less.

Oh, for a challenge. Something that wouldn't just make him feel that clarity for an hour or a day, but for weeks. A foe that would help him reach out and grab that perfection…

But there were no such foes. Lung put the last paper down and turned to Lee.

"We're going."

Lee nodded and called for the car. Lung would go to a brothel, and the whores and booze would let him endure losing the clarity he felt now and returning to just being Kenta.

When I got up the next morning, my mind was literally buzzing with potential. I'd managed to quickly rig up a way to turn the pages of my book, and while I couldn't read any faster, I found that I could keep track of as many books as had been able to test.

Dad was waiting for me at the breakfast table, and we ate in silence for a little while.

Odd. I know exactly what to say to Skidmark, but not Dad.

"Taylor," he said. "Are you certain you want to stay at Winslow? I could try to get you into Arcadia."

"Right now, I couldn't keep up," I told him. "You saw my evaluation."

He winced. "I'm sorry."

I tried not to get angry. Dad had been sorry, but that hadn't translated into doing something. He hadn't…

My bugs started to gyrate a little bit, but slowed up as I calmed down.

"It's not a problem," I told him. "I need to get ready and head out for school."

"Do you want me to take you?"

I shook my head. "No, the bus is a lot better than it used to be."

Dad just nodded. "Okay."

I got onto the bus, checking everyone with a few bugs before I entered it. There was the normal crew from Winslow, who ignored me.

I ignored them, although I kept my bugs on a few of the ones who had been more friendly with Emma's group.

The bus dropped us off at school, and I nodded to the new security guard as I went in. The teachers were moving around, but there was a sense of tension in the air.

People were talking about the announcement that the Merchants were no more.

"Gonna be the E88 taking over," one student muttered. Another poked him in the side. "Nah, totally gonna be Lung!"

I didn't frown, but they had a point. The territory might be nearly worthless but nearly wasn't completely. Would Lung take it? He seemed to be more focused on the Asian parts of town, most of them established in the aftermath of the great Exodus from Japan. Leviathan had killed over nine million—but over twenty million had left their shattered nation. And as much as they didn't like Lung, and it seemed like few did, he wielded his status as "protector" of the Asians of the Bay effectively. Every time the Protectorate made a coordinated move against him, they weren't simply defeated, but were asked if they would keep the E88 out? It didn't help much that the E88 tended to launch demonstration raids on ABB holdings when Lung was otherwise occupied.

There were places where it was unwise to go if you weren't Asian, or at least Asian looking, and places where it was unwise to go if you were nonwhite—and while there were neutral regions, they were shrinking.

Which meant I had my new target.

The E88.

Lung was only one person, and Oni-Lee didn't seem to do much save by direct command. He wouldn't invade the E88 holdings, and the more the E88 was damaged, the more the Protectorate would be free to go after Lung.

I got to my locker and hesitated for a moment. It was a new locker. On a different floor, and my bugs were around me…

I looked to the right and left, even so.

Then I put my things in it, including a book on top. Dismantling Organized Crime. It was a book I'd seen at the library.

I'd be reading it while I was in school, bugs flooding into the locker moments after I closed it.

I'd have to find another, better way to read books than just one. After all, school was for education.

I ended up being very bored. There was no way to change books in the locker, and I finished my selected book not long after lunch. In Ms. Knott's class I finished my project and spent my time browsing PHO.

There were a thousand rumors about the Empire and its capes, and if I cared to, I could find just as many contradictions. Even Hookwolf, for all that he was obvious, kept much of what his power could do secret.

I saw one "amusing" video of a cape with the ability to electrify his hands being beaten silly by Hookwolf… who had equipped himself with an extra large pair of bright yellow rubber boots while he ensured he touched nothing else that could ground him.

People were laughing, and the usual suspects got banned but…

He's smart. He'd checked out his enemy beforehand, learned his power, and countered it. Sure, that wouldn't help much against, say, Alexandria, but I could not depend on Hookwolf or any of the Empire being as easily fooled as the Merchants.

I spent the rest of the period going over some other things about the Empire.

Crusader was someone who was only rarely seen in costume, never identified. There were rumors he was a stranger in addition to a Master, but he was, if not one of the Empire's heavy hitters, a powerful swiss-army knife. When the Empire's capes were out, he was lurking in the back, ready to send swarms of ghosts to help them break contact. Businesses that irritated the Empire suffered accidents, men and women falling down empty stairs, and in a few cases dying in closed rooms.

The Empire might be thuggish, but they clearly didn't waste their capes. Both Crusader and Hookwolf knew what they were doing and how to maximize their capabilities.

Were the others like that?

It would be wise to assume that they were.

But a business like the Empire had to make money. And no matter how organized they were, the capes weren't numerous enough to do it. They needed baselines to work with them. I needed more information about them. I couldn't just go wandering through like I had with the Merchants.

Supposedly, according to PHO the Empire didn't have any Thinkers.

On the other hand, I doubted they told PHO all their tricks.

The bell rang, and I got up along with the rest of the class. I needed to call Mush after school, to make certain he wasn't backsliding. But first I needed to call someone else.

"Sheila Cho speaking."

"Hello, Ms. Cho. I take if you found my gifts amusing?"

"Well, taking down the Merchants isn't the same as taking down Accord, but yeah, my boss liked 'em. Skidmark getting wheeled in was page one."

"Excellent."

"You want something."

"I have enjoyed my time with the Merchants, but now the time has come to seek… larger prey."

Cho was silent. I knew that she was thinking about how she could benefit from it.

"What prey."

"The Empire."

"Whoah, hold on there. Sure, you took out the druggies, wonderful, you're hot shit. But the Empire is a different matter."

"Perhaps. But they still must go. And you can assist me in this."

"What, get killed?"

"No." I paused. "I have no intention of meeting the Empire head-on. At least not right now. But I do need information. Information that a crime beat reporter can get."

"What, Hookwolf's shoe size?"

"No. The Empire's street-level operatives are regularly arrested. I cannot obtain their records. You can. In fact, as part of your job, you would be expected to."

The pause was longer. She was thinking about it.

"Crossing the Empire is a good way to get dead. You know, accidentally pushed down the stairs—"

"By Crusader, yes. But you won't be doing anything. I won't reference you, or write anything you say down. You have full freedom to choose to publish the information I give you, or not, if you feel it will endanger you."

"Why the Empire?"

"Because I have no evidence that Lung would feel the need to rampage over the neighborhoods the empire once ruled. He would simply expand his criminal Empire. You know, as well as I do, that the Empire's goals are not just to make money. If Lung leaves, they will see it as cause to start a crusade."

"You think you can beat Lung?"

I laughed, my insects chirring ominously. "We will have to see, won't we?"

"Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Yes, actually. I notice that you haven't written much about Squealer, other than the news on her capture."

"She wasn't that big of a deal."

"I would like you to change that."

There was a pause, then her voice came back, full of suspicion. "Why?"

"The PRT talks about heroes as a glorious thing, villains as evil. How much room is there for a sexually abused girl? I would like you to do a two-part human interest story—the first part about Squealer. How she sent from a girl who earned first place in her sixth-grade science fair to… Squealer."

"Why?"

"Perhaps because I do not want her to be demonized. Perhaps because it may show others in her position that they are not alone. You could, for example, end it with ways to seek out help." I paused and shook my head before my bugs started speaking again. "Behind the glamor, being a parahuman can be very lonely. Perhaps the PRT could also help you by suggesting…"

"You want to make it difficult for the PRT to just chuck her into a hole."

"And if they are considering rebranding her, your story could… help ease her path."

"Hah, if you think the PRT is gonna pay back any favors."

"I'm not doing them a favor. I'm just doing a good deed."

"Sure you are. Fine. But I'm gonna tell you flat out, I'm not your hit-lady. I'll do stories on the Empire, but they're my stories, and I'll choose what to run and what to hold."

"Very well."

"You know, the number of people who say they're gonna stop the empire and the number of closed-casket funerals in this town tend to have a high correlation."

"Then I will have to be cautious."

"Your funeral."

After the call ended, I looked around the room. I was reading two books, one on electronics, one on stage magic. I was working on a place downstairs, where, when dad was asleep or not home, I could set up six books at at time to read.

And now, I'd have to use the last of my money to pick up some micro cameras, officially sold to watch over cheating spouses and dishonest workers. But I needed them for a different purpose.

The Empire's capes were deadly. But they didn't collect the money, patrol the streets, recruit new members—not in the vast majority of cases. That was left to the rank and file.

So before I went after the trunk, it was time to prune the branches and kill the roots…

Sitting in class, I was listening to Mr. Gladly's lecture. We had fewer group projects, more individual tests. I was taking advantage of it to do something else—listen to four conversations at once. I'd decided to try my stunt with reading books with my direct senses…

And I could parse out several conversations if I tried. It was odd. I'd originally just assumed my power was to control insects, but it seemed to be so much more.

I'd sat down and thought about it for hours. I could control every insect for over a block around me. And I knew how many there were. Each and every one's status.

I'd explored on the Internet and read a story about a non-tinkertech researcher trying to build and control a single "insect bot."

It'd taken a vast amount of time and effort and still wasn't really as flexible as my power—and that was one insect.

Not millions.

Was my power about insects, or command and control, associated with insects? Powers tended to be idiosyncratic, and the information out there was contradictory. The Manton limit, for example.

"Emma was totally cracked," Julia said to one of her friends. "I mean, what would you do? I just kept out of her way and let her pound on the weird girl."

I would carefully not infest her new backpack with lice. I was better than that.

But the Manton limit made no sense. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Mostly it seemed to be a way to keep from killing yourself, but… not always.

The books I'd found were full of exceptions, especially among the Case-53s.

"Taylor, what do you think about the Teeth?" Mr. Gladly asked.

I didn't miss a beat. "They're about the show."

"What?" someone asked.

"The get up. They wear the teeth and bones of their enemies and have an unkillable, leader. They're dangerous. Because of that, people don't want to fight them." I shrugged. "And they move around, so that you can never be entirely certain if you pushed them out or if they were already leaving. They get a lot done without ever having to actually fight."

There were other reasons, but while I needed the grade, I didn't need to let too much out, and Mr. Gladly went on to someone else. Greg. Who immediately sidetracked the discussion to the question about whether or not any of the Teeth were the mythical cauldron capes.

I shook my head. If they were, did Greg think you'd be able to find that out on PHO like he was quoting, Mr. Gladly trying to bring him back to the conversation?

Parahumans on demand would be… Well, even a power like Squealers would be worth nearly any sum of money, if you could say, ensure it got to a mechanical engineer. If they existed, or were easy to find out about, people would be trumpeting the news from the skies.

Which meant that either they did not exist, or the people who passed them out were very serious about confidentiality.

Regardless, it wasn't my problem right now. If the Empire or ABB had the ability to order capes on demand, the city would be a far different place.

Wandering out into the hallway, I kept practicing.

One girl was trying not to cry as she talked to her friend about her missed period, mentioning that her boyfriend had told her that missing one period didn't mean you were pregnant. Her friend didn't say anything for a moment, then told her that she'd heard of places by the docks that would fix any prob—

I wrenched my attention away. There were downsides to my power it seemed, and I didn't have the solution to the world's problems.

Not all of them.

Not yet.

"God, the new principal is an asshole, it was just a little weed…"

"Fuck, I'm going to flunk tomorrow, and Dad said one more blown test and I'm grounded forever—"

"You ready? We got a target for your initiation."

I didn't slow down as I walked past the two E88 members talking to another student. They weren't wearing colors—the school no longer tolerated that but the buzzcuts and comments made it plain where there loyalties were. They were looking around, but the jabber of the hallway was loud enough that they clearly felt safe to whisper.

But I could pick the conversation out.

"Who?"

"Fucking Darkie, who else. The guy down on Fourth and Wallace, the one that owns the store? Kaiser wants a message sent."

"You… you talked to Kaiser?"

There it was, again, image.

"Nah, but the guy who told me what to do totally did."

"Are we gonna kill him?"

He was nervous and eager. I remembered that tone from the first few times Emma had gone after me, as she psyched herself up to break another bond.

In the ventilation shafts, bugs started to twirl.

"Nah—I mean, if he fights back, sure, but remember I've been telling you to store the pee?"

"Yeah."

"Gonna pour it all over him. He supposedly was some hot-ass guy back in Vietnam, and he said nobody would chase him away. So we're gonna kick the shit out of him, pour the pee on him and then they're gonna roll him into the ER smelling like he pissed himself just like a monkey!"

There was laughter, loud enough for others to hear. One short girl moved away from them.

I closed my locker. It looked like I would be joining some people for a party tonight. I wouldn't have my special presents, I wasn't yet finished with some of my reading material. I was kicking myself for not haunting the military surplus stores earlier. After all, manuals on unconventional warfare were very much something that could help me.

But not my targets.

I didn't need to follow them. They'd given me their target after all.

Lake's Hardware, the sign read, patched and cleaned, the remains of racial epithets carefully painted over. "Since 1985" the sign read.

A gray-haired, African-American man was humming as he cleaned the floors of the shop. It didn't look like many people were using it. I could see why. This was part of the DMZ, the border between ABB territory and the Empire.

Protected by none, victimized by all.

I had my bugs, but giving someone I was trying t o help a heart attack wasn't a plan of mine.

I called him. Two rings and I heard his voice, older, cheerful.

"Lakes Hardware."

"Mr. Lake, I am Orb Weaver. I do not know if you've heard of me."

"The guy who took down the Merchants? PRT said you had a part in that."

"A part. I regret to inform you that the Empire or some members have chosen you to be the victim of an initiation."

"Finally got around to it, did they?"

"Yes. I might be able to assist, but you could be in danger. If you were to leave for—"

"Now you can hold off right there. I founded this place in 1985, me and Martha, God rest her soul. I'll leave when I can't work no more, but nobody is chasing me out. Not the Klan, not the Empire."

"I see. It could mean your death."

"Mr. Charles almost meant my death, back in Nam. Doctor said smoking's gonna mean my death, but he dropped dead of a heart attack during a marathon in 2000, and here I am. Lot of things could mean my death, but I'm not gonna let 'em run my life. Besides, I figure if I turned tail, what'd I have to live for?"

"I see…"

I thought furiously. If Orb Weaver defended this place, I would make him a target. But I couldn't negotiate, not with the Empire, not over this. I might need…

Assistance. Someone who the Empire might not wish to risk antagonizing. Not without good cause.

The Protectorate? If the Protectorate helped, it would put their own reputation on the line. Kaiser would have to consider that going forward. For a simple initiation, would he risk a major conflict?

But I couldn't be certain he wouldn't, or that the Protectorate could consider a dying store in a dying part of town worth it.

The answer was… Not assistance. Not right now. But that didn't mean I couldn't be… proactive.

"Mr. Lake, I do not ask that you run, but if the Empire realizes I had a hand in this, that we are linked, you might be targeted, and I cannot stay here forever. Would you be willing to… put up an out-to-lunch sign at my signal? After all, it isn't your fault if I just happen upon some individuals up to no good on a patrol."

"I think I could do that. You do have a sneaky way about you."

"Thank you."

"You be careful now, you hear? The Empire isn't any group to joke around. If they throw Hookwolf at you, run. Wouldn't be the first time someone burned the store down, and it wouldn't be the first time I rebuilt it."

Not if I have anything to say about it.

"Thank you."

I had my bugs around the area, and when I picked up three individuals, the bugs I'd put on them coming into my range of control, I made a quick phonecall , and got my shotgun mic ready to go from my hiding place.

And when they came to the storefront, it was closed, with a cheery "out to lunch" sign on the front.

"Fuck!" the leader said. "He never fucking goes out to lunch! Always eats in here like some fucking animal."

"What are we gonna do?" the kid who was going to be initiated asked. "I can't just keep storing the pee!"

"Fuck… We torch the place!" the third one said. "Show him Darkies aren't wanted!"

"But we don't got any gasoline!"

From my position, I shook my head. The Elite, these individuals weren't.

"Yeah, look, we go into the alley, then we can pile up some trash on the side! That'll burn the place down for certain!"

Soon, the three were moving into the alley, full of garbage. Whereupon another problem became apparent.

They had not considered this was a seacoast town and fogs had been regularly rolling in.

"It's not catching fire!"

"I—fuck, my hands!" a lighter fell to the ground.

"Maybe we can go buy some gasoline?"

I considered. Should I let them do that? That would be…

No. Besides, if they committed a crime like that, they might be completely cut off. I didn't want them cut off.

I'd been gathering my minions, and now I sent them overhead, the sun blotted out by the endless legions of flying bugs. At the same time, I closed off the exit of the alleyway, forming some of my bugs into vaguely human-shaped forms, others into an amorphous mass.

"Well. Well. Well. I go for a walk, and what do I find. Three little mice…" I made my voice adopt a rumbling, resonant sound, a voice of a legion.

"Who the fuck are you! You'd better back off! We're Empire!"

I chuckled, as they clustered against each other, one holding the lighter he'd been trying to use to set a man's business on fire in one hand. I sent a bug zipping down, invisible against the others, and its suicide snuffed the light, leaving the three in near darkness, unable to see exactly what was billowing around them. Bugs? Or something worse.

Just like I wanted.

"Empire? I think not. I can see your past, winding down the lines of probability. Looking at you, I see one wanna be racist, and two others who… Well, you're not really part of the Empire. You know someone, but I doubt you've fought in Hookwolf's pits, have you?" The others didn't say anything.

"What was it you said… let me look into your souls… into your past…" I paused, and then spoke again. "Ah, here we are…"

"You ready? We got a target for your initiation."

"Who?"

"Fucking Darkie, who else. The guy down on Fourth and Wallace, the one that owns the store? Kaiser wants a message sent."

"You… you talked to Kaiser?"

"Nah, but the guy who told me what to do totally did."

"You, you fucking read our minds?"

I laughed. "Minds might be overstating it. But I see you, and know you for what you are…" I paused. "But I digress. What should a hungry cat do with three little mice who thought they were wolves…" Now I sent spiders, invisible in the gloom, running over their clothes, attaching lines, other insects tugged on those lines. A flurry of moths ran around them, making the air tremble, like something was breathing on them.

"You—you—"

"Hush, mousy… I might be convinced to not eat you…"

"We ain't gonna rat out the empire!" one said, his voice trembling.

"Of course not. You have nothing to tell." And let whoever talked to them take that as they would. "But I'll let you walk. Out of this neighborhood… After you douse yourselves in what you were bringing."

"Pee!"

"Yes." I said. "Or…." I sent up a thrumming roar….

And suddenly jars were coming out, and with cries of humiliation and disgust the teens were pouring them over each other.

I had no pity. And then they were running, heading out onto the street, but one had his phone out.

I sent tiny midges to land on the screen. Hopefully, he wasn't stupid enough to actually store the number… and he wasn't. His hands hit places on the screen, crushing them, and I had my own phone out, mentally tracing what numbers he would have hit. They left my area of control not long after, but that was okay.

Then I called the number after a brief pause. A pissed-off male voice answered.

"Who the fuck is this!?"

"I'm Meridith Jenks with the Boston Life Insurance Company. I'm calling due to an open payout, and we're trying to track down the heirs to the decedent." I paused. "Sir, for payouts of over 10,000 dollars, I am legally not allowed to continue unless you can provide your name."

"Wade Green," now there was another emotion in his voice. Greed. "You need my address?"

"That would be helpful, sir."

"763 Davis Plaza, apartment 3A."

"That does seem to be close to our records, sir," I said. And not at all surprising that an E88 member lived at the bastion of heritage known informally as the Jefferson Davis Plaza. "Will you be available at this phone number?"

"You bet!"

"Excellent. Please expect a call in the next week to discuss further matters regarding your… reward. Thank you."

I looked down at my burner phone. If he checked it… But no. I bet he was thinking of what he could do with the money. Greed was a great way to keep people from asking questions.

And I had a phone number and address. I doubted Mr. Green was anyone important in the Empire, but he would talk to people. And I knew where he lived, and I had enough cameras to see and hear everything he did.

And even if he wasn't important, he had superiors.

Soon I'd know everything about them.

But I had one more job to do. I dialed another number.

"Mr. Lake?"

"Hey, Scary."

I paused. "Scary?"

"I was in the back room with a shotgun. Just in case, and heard your little talk." He chuckled. "That band ain't gonna stop looking behind them, even after the smell comes out."

"Indeed. I'll leave you an email for PHO. If it looks like there are further repercussions, you can contact me on it. If I hear of anything, I will call you."

"This ain't the last is it?"

"I have… intentions regarding the Empire."

"You be careful. City's had enough martyrs. Don't need any more."

"All the Empire must do to avoid that fate is to change their ways."

He laughed. "Well, you got big brass balls, I'll give you that. Good luck, and don't forget, it ain't no sin to retreat if in you get in too deep."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Now it was time to get home, finish my homework, set up a few more books from those I'd checked out. After my homework, I'd practice putting the information in the electronics DIY manuals to good use…

A pity. After years of lazy afternoons, and then years of days that just stretched too long, there just didn't seem to be enough hours in the day, anymore...