You arrive back inside your bunker at pretty much the same time you left it, the entire group you dragged along materializing as though from thin air. Nearly a dozen figures, arranged all around you as available space allows, all entirely naked- not that anyone particularly cares.

Except maybe Henley's assistant, but nobody cares about him except Henley himself. Potentially.

It takes you a moment of getting used to, not just thinking about having a manufactory create clothes and them being teleported right into the room, but the Thinker isn't yet in full control of your systems- you have yet to plug her in, a fact she drily points out to you in the confines of your mind.

Still getting clothing for everyone present is easy enough, and so before long you're properly introducing your daughters to everyone on base, or at least everyone that matters. Kate immediately attempts to be the cool auntie your kids like the most, Sherrel pauses her tinkering for long enough to get to know them, Lea consequently does the same, Taylor comes around to motionlessly stare at your three to four daughters…

Heck, even Aisha and Serena immediately kick it off, to boot. Turns out both of them are even bigger gremlins than usual when they get going and bounce off each other.

You, meanwhile, have a certain little something to insert into another little something, pushing it deep into its receptacle before you're satisfied it sit properly.

"All systems online," your pocket AI announces over her speakers, the handheld device made to contain her working like a charm. "Diagnostics running. Internet connection established."

"Well, here we go," you smile, watching as the device is pulled back, deep down into the 'body' you created for the Thinker under Brockton Bay, covering almost the entire city's area and replacing the aquifer underneath the city.

"Hello again, Gabriel. You have three new messages," the soothing, synthesized female voice of the Thinker lets you know.

"I still have no idea where you took a sense of humor from, by the way."


It takes a little while to put your affairs in order, as it often does after these kinds of jumps. The Thinker is helping, of course, but even so there's a lot to be done, from digitalizing a lot of your operations on new, secure servers to applying some of the things you've learned and tested out on Earth Rapture to the running of your gang, as you're still kind of in the middle of expanding it.

And, of course, dealing with Cherie, or Cherish as she (creatively) decided her cape name to be. More specifically, her insistence in asking about some of the things you did on Earth Rapture. "And you really legalized public sex? In schools?"

"Same as anywhere else, yeah," you shrug, vaguely waving one hand while the other one is busy tapping on a table, the Thinker streaming letters over the screen you're looking at- you're just double-checking for her, much like she does for you. "Same for incest, public nudity, all that good stuff, we basically rewrote the law to make it so decency is not required by it. Like, that was the whole point of all of that."

"And it worked just like that? I can see the memories, but hoooly shit."

"It took some added social engineering of course. Thing is, a bit of propaganda and subtle media coverage works wonders when handy mind control can't cover the entire world's population, or at least not within any reasonable schedule." You shudder just thinking about how long it would take to manually rewrite the conscious and subconscious views of the entirety of even a single dimension's worth of human civilization. Then, deciding to go for good measure, you take the memories you have of planning out how to transform humanity's morals and shove them at Cherie.

"Oh whoa, that's a lot."

"That's what she said." Taking your eyes off the holographic screen showing you the Thinker updating and summarizing the operations of your gang in real time, from the stored and moved drugs being sold and consumed all over the city to the production and sale of just about everything else, guns, sex toys, the works.

The sex toys provide a low, but constant income as you can see right now, and actually make your online shop worth the cost of maintaining deliveries all by themselves. Interesting.

"As you can see, the whole process did require wiping out STDs and making just about everyone that didn't actively refuse it hot. Free love is a lot less appealing when you see humanity as it really is without some decent amounts of gene therapy and mods," you point out. "At the same time, societal acceptance of-"

"Gabriel, were you aware the internet of Earth Bet is infested with another Artificial Intelligence?" The Thinker asks aloud.

"I always knew it. Finally, some of those college conspiracy theories are useful."


Naturally, now that you're back on the Earth that birthed you, your daughters are being excessively curious and making it a point to explore Brockton Bay together, now that you don't own half the world at minimum from the moment they're first allowed to go out anymore.

… You're still richer than god, but on Bet you can't just buy up whatever may be making trouble or anything, especially with the economy being what it is- international trade is minimal, especially across continents, and so differing currencies really throw your purchasing power out of whack.

You know, that does bother you, a little. Sadly Earth Bet is too chaotic to let you just pull a repeat of Earth Rapture on the sly, so you probably won't get to just take it over and fix everything that's wrong with it, no matter how much it bugs you.

You blame the existence of capes, personally. They really don't actually help all that much, all in all.

To get back to the topic of your daughters, though, after you've introduced them to everyone important, they kind of each went off to do their own thing. The twins, for a start, have decided they'll be singing at the Raveyard for the time being, claiming they enjoy the ambience what with the strippers suspended inside of cages and all.

Something about reminding them of Earth Rapture's scene, you suppose. Hey, not like you're complaining of course, they do them and all that. The twins also point out you still have a certain little someone tucked away inside one of the private rooms back inside the place- Vista (who totally is legal) has been sleeping through the night where you left her, naked and thoroughly screwed, and still seems like she hasn't woken up yet.

Maybe you can eke out a bit of time later to take care of that, or else watch as she stumbles around naked by herself. The Thinker has connected to your cameras already, so you're more or less aware of everything going on in and around the club anyways.

With Iris and Ivy joining Cherie in taking care of the Raveyard, that still does leave your other two daughters- Lilian wasted no time in bugging Okita to help her train, something your combat-obsessed vampire heroine was perfectly happy to help her with, whereas Serena wandered off to play with the Cluster Six, planning to just stay inside your bunker and mess around for the time being.

It's so cute to see your kids making their own decisions and all that. Especially when you know they'll drop whatever they're doing to come help you if you ever need it. Having your own children was definitely the right decision- your little family expands and you just can't get enough of that sense of pride you have at all their antics.


Missy Biron (who was totally way over twenty years old, by the way) clutched the shirt she was wearing, pushing it down over her thighs. It was oversized for her, easily covering at least half as much area as her costume's skirt would normally, but that was little comfort when it was the only thing covering most of her body- she still had her shoes and socks, but she hadn't been able to find the rest of what she'd been wearing before…

Before. Before she'd followed Cain- Gabriel- into the Raveyard of all places. And proceeded to let him do things to her that she suspected were very heavily age-inappropriate for her for what felt like all night, though she just kind of drifted off at some point so she had no idea how long they'd kept having sex.

There, she'd said it, that's what they'd been doing, his penis had been pummeling her insides over and over again and she'd been a real fan of what was going on. Missy was still a little sore, but she'd had worse, so it hardly kept her from walking around!

… Except she was still almost entirely naked, save for the shirt Gabriel had given her when he'd come to pick her up. She'd been panicking at first, not yet awake and in a place she wasn't used to when suddenly the door opened and a man she didn't recognize at first either came in, but it all turned out okay in the end.

He'd just laughed when she'd started warping space to put distance between them and held out the one article of clothing she was wearing now.

White, too big for her and always making her think it might flare up just enough to show stuff she wanted to keep hidden as she walked. It had to be deliberate.

Now she was inside of another new place, metal walls giving way to loads of posters decorating them before they become something else altogether, like some dream where distinctions like what exactly they're made of doesn't really matter.

"Welcome to our secret supervillain base," Gabriel proudly announces, having led her along so far. They'd teleported again, she was pretty sure, but she couldn't completely trust her senses right now just in case.

"… Why would you show me something like that?" Missy asked.

"Two main reasons. One, you don't actually know where it's located," he pointed out, stretching a finger up in the air before a second one followed to join it. "Two, if you end up joining, you may as well know what's where."

That was right, wasn't it? Missy had said she'd… Well, the thought was definitely there. She'd kind of committed to something here the day before, if her memories could be trusted, so…

"I… guess?" She hated how hesitant she sounded, but this would be kind of a huge step, okay?

"And because of that," Gabriel continued, "I went ahead and invited a couple others along to help make this as easy as possible."

A door opened, letting a bunch of people spill into the hallway they'd stopped inside of, all of them girls.

"Hi! I'm Dinah," the brunette up front waved, smiling brightly. The blonde next to her, walking slower, grinned, some kind of fox ears twitching on top of her head with a tail to match slowly wagging behind her.

"And I'm Serena, these are the Cluster Six." The other six girls of varying ages all greeted her at once, but seemed content to let these two talk for them right now. "So you're Missy, right? Daddy's been putting the moves on you and all?"

"I-" she blinked, looking between her and Gabriel. "Daddy?"

"Yup, he's a total DILF, eh? Don't worry, none of us bio daughters mind."

Dinah giggled, poking Missy's cheek. "You look really funny when you're confused like that!"

"C'mon, we're doing a little tour around," Gabriel finally said, leaving the exact details of the conversation (the fact he had kids and apparently slept with them, too) up in the air for the moment. "The base is a bit of a huge place, so the sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be done."

"Okay, but what is this about you having kids?!" Of course Missy wasn't going to just ignore this. Though she still took his hand when he offered it.

"I got three sisters, or two depending on how you count. Bet they'll like you, too!" With a slapping sound, Missy felt Serena's hand on her butt, the woefully inadequate shirt she was wearing not much protection against her groping digits. "Ooh, nice!"

"Mh?" Dinah joined, Missy's free hand not fast enough to ward off the brunette girl's palm joining the blonde's in grabbing her ass. "Yep, feels like a nice one."

The girls only introduced as the 'Cluster Six' eyed her eagerly. Missy wasn't sure whether to run away or tell them all off, but either way she wasn't escaping this tour, it seemed.


The first place they went to was some kind of huge workshop, with lots of people busy coming and going. Machines whirred inside the walls and across the ceiling, carrying these large containers they had to be picking up with magnets or something, the walls were taken up by screens and rows upon rows of switches and controls of some other thing she wouldn't know how to tell the location of.

It was really big and not what she imagined a tinker's laboratory to look like, just because tinkers preferred to be alone inside their workplace according to what she'd picked up as a Ward from both Armsmaster and Kid Win, their powers meant they had to work around anyone else present rather than being able to have assistants speed their work up by helping along.

All the same, this place definitely looked like tinkertech. Lots of unique-looking technology around, and Missy was sure she'd seen at least a couple of robots handling stuff further inside.

"Welcome to the Engineering Bay, or however else we're calling it at the moment," Gabriel said, leading their group into a particular direction. He was also still holding Missy's hand, not that she had any problem with that whatsoever. His own hand was big and strong, yet gentle and perfectly molded to let hers rest inside of it, a feeling of warmth and safety radiating from it. "This is Lea, she's pretty much the overseer here and coordinates things."

"Har-dee-har, we got computers for that," the dark-haired woman replied, turning to face them. "This the new girl? Nice shirt, suits ya."

"Uhm… Yeah. Hello."

"Don't be too shy now, the others will take you for an easy mark." The grin that followed that sentence was probably supposed to be encouraging, but Missy was worrying more about how she was supposed to interpret it. "Oh, don't worry about it too much, you'll get used to the place in no time."

Gabriel got moving again, leading her towards a particular passage. "Alice is busy testing some stuff right now, but you can come along meet Sherrel, one of our tinkers down here. Hardly a real tour of the workshop without seeing one."

"… How many capes do you have in here exactly?" Missy asked before she could think better of it.

"Enough," he said, smiling meaningfully. "We certainly aren't hurting for them. I like to think it's the generous pay and employee benefits."

"I make more money in a day than my parents make in a month! I think." Dinah smiled at her, taking her free hand. "You'll love it, the only complaint I have is that I can't live here all the time."

"Her parents are still around and actually decent, so she kind of commutes," Serena added- hand slapping against Missy's butt again now that she couldn't defend it. "One problem you don't have, yeah?"

"Guess that's one way to put it," she grumbled to herself, shaking her head. That's what her parents got, a disappeared daughter that was better off without them. She wondered if their divorce proceedings would be slowed by this, but it probably just meant each of them would accuse the other of kidnapping her or something.

Not like they cared about her beyond hurting the other anyways.

"Howdy!"

Torn out of her thoughts, Missy looked up. The Tinker, Sherrel, was a blonde with a big rack and oddly beautiful face, half-formed smirk looking at home on it. She was holding a huge wrench, leaning against a car with an opened hood.

"So you're the new girlie looking to join up, right? Wanna try sitting in a tinkertech car seat?"

She kinda wanted to, now that she put it like this.

It wasn't really any different from sitting inside of any other car, at first, she just got in through the door opened for her after she'd agreed, soon sitting behind the wheel. Then, though, the softness of the seating hit her, how she was simultaneously held perfectly in place and still felt like she was sinking into the upholstery.

She was pretty sure this tinker might have been Squealer, the mysteriously disappeared Tinker of the Merchants according to what few reports she'd read about the long-dead gang, but that didn't change how nice it felt to try her work out like this.

"Comfy, isn't it? But you ain't seen nothing yet." Smiling, the blonde with the short, kind of frizzy hair leaned in through the open door, gesturing for the control board next to the wheel with lots of little buttons. "This is the leisure cruise, it's where I test all the feel-good programs and stuff. This one, for example-"

Missy gasped, vibrating parts of the backseat and even the seating under her began to push into her back and butt, making her feel weirdly good as all the muscles in her body were relaxed, it felt like.

"-is the massaging function. Nice, eh?"

"Sho goood," she nodded, having to put her hands onto the (ergonomically formed, she realized) wheel to keep from tumbling into her seat bonelessly. "Almost, as good as, sex…"

Sherrel snorted out a chuckle. "Hard to beat the Gabeman when he gets going. Got a buncha other programs, too- ocean simulation, rollercoaster that acts like you were driving one in real-time, automatic sleep support… Oh, this one's the masturbation aid, but-"

A hand reached in, pressing a button. Blinking, Missy saw Serena peeking through under Sherrel's bust, grinning impishly. "Surprise!"

"Ah dear."

Next thing she knew, her thighs were locked in place by metal bindings rolling themselves over them from the sides of her seat, something under her shifting and moving. "What'd she do?"

"Well, you get three guesses why I built two vibes shaped after the bossman in this seat, and the first two don't count."

"Two?!" A slit opened underneath Missy now, widening just enough for something to push through them. "Why two?!"

"Bright side, they're meant to apply loads of lube just in case, so you'll prolly be okay. Might not be able to walk afterwards, though."

"Can't you turn it off?"

"I could, but, eh… Ya look kinda cute like this."

Something big and phallic was between her legs now, moving mechanically to position itself. Missy looked on with a mix of panic and anticipation, confirming that yes, it was indeed shaped just like the penis that'd taken her first time, down to its size, and was dripping with clear fluid.

"I got- ah," she gasped, feeling as it moved between her thighs and didn't stop, her delicate special place rubbing against the tip. It felt both hard and soft, imitating the real thing pretty closely, and slid into her deceptively easily- it was spreading her open, her eyes bulging as she felt it intrude deep between her hairless folds.

That was concerning, but it was nothing compared to the other one, where a metallic limb had tucked the shirt she was wearing up so it wasn't covering her butt at all anymore. It was coming from directly below her, nudging between her cheeks-

"That's my butthole," she said with a strangled voice, unable to escape when the machine was this close to her own body already; she shivered, the mechanical member mercilessly applying slow and careful, yet constant pressure.

"Just try ta relax, think of it as great practice for the real thing."

And Sherrel wasn't helping!

Still Missy couldn't do much, the generously-lubed sex toys relentless and unfeeling, so after what felt like ten minutes, but was probably closer to one or so, she felt the one at her backside slide in, her posture collapsing as she let out a garbled cry. Panting now, she could do nothing but feel as the duo of tools pushed deeper into her, her butthole stretched to the same dimensions as her vagina.

Both of them felt so big inside of her, even bigger than they'd looked, much like the real thing. Speaking of, speared as she was on the two dildos, Missy spared a glace outside where Gabriel was watching her; Serena, the girl claiming to be his daughter, was kneeling in front of him, his big fat cock between her lips as she blew him like a champ.

His eyes, though, were on her. He was watching as Missy was locked in place and pleasured by these unfeeling machines, veiny length hard at least in part for her.

Then the toys moved, her body twitching. They'd been kind of cold when they first entered her, strange and alien intruders, but the longer they remained inside of her body the warmer they got. Now they draw back out, a look down confirming Missy's folds were bulging just a little as the frontal one slid back, only for the one in the back to thrust back inside, making her yelp in surprised elation.

It felt… weirdly good?

"I'm calling dibs!" Before she knew it, Dinah was in front of her, replacing Sherrel and staring her in the face. Before she knew what was happening, the brunette girl leaned towards her to kiss, the blonde ex-heroine's mind not dealing well with all the surprises in quick succession.

Her legs, spread open due to the machinery having its way with her, seemed inviting enough, she supposed; there were fingers feeling their way down her belly, quickly finding and mercilessly pinching and squeezing a little bean right above the 'toy' that was now thrusting into her again, spreading Missy's depths open with its girth while the one in the back pulled back out.

Dinah was looking into her eyes as she drove her into mindless ecstasy, the blonde's entire body spasming as she felt the dildoes speeding up, becoming pistons plunging into her again and again and again, her muscles growing taut even as her cry was muffled by the other girl's lips. "You're really cute, you know?" She said when she finally let up, let Missy breathe again.

She didn't have the air to answer, her lower body being pummeled as it was. "When, does it, end?"

"Oh, it's set to ten minutes of full blast by default," Sherrel casually said from somewhere Missy couldn't see. "Just enjoy it and try to save some energy for afterwards."

… This had all been totally worth it, by the way. The Wards were never allowed to do anything like this


After a couple more mishaps and hijinks, most of which ended up with her showing even more skin than she was already and Dinah, Serena or one of the other girls messing around with her, to the point Missy just shrugged and began groping and kissing them back (much to their approval, as it turned out), their travel group made its way into one very particular place.

The dining hall, as it were, of this secret supervillain base. Gabriel had just called it a cafeteria, but she couldn't help but use this particular term for it, given it was flooded with light, the room's air filled with the scent of roses and…

"Are those little fairies?" Missy had to ask. She had to. The question was too important not to be.

"They are, as a matter of fact, fairies, yes," the supervillain that was definitely a bad influence in every sense of the word nodded, holding out a hand for one of the identical, white-haired and -clothed miniature humans with wings to land on. "I made them, actually. They can create sweets in exchange for the right currency."

"Gotta take a cut of the goods, too!" The voice was high, but only a little squeaky, and it really fit the creature perfectly, speaking of mischievous pranks and self-indulgence. "The day ain't the same without some good sugar!"

"Try not to overuse them, we have an actual cook that gets cranky when everyone's too stuffed on sweets to eat anything else," Gabriel whispered aloud, as though sharing some grand secret.

Dinah, though, just wiggled a hand, the other one occupied holding Missy's. "Ethan is, like, super nice. He's really good in the kitchen, too!"

Meanwhile, Serena, the blonde claiming to be Gabriel's actual daughter (he looked, like, way too young to be a dad) pointed at a particular table. "Ooh, can we sit over there please?"

"…" It took Missy a moment to think through what her eyes were reporting. "Is- is that a picture of your abs?"

"Yeah, one of the girl petitioned for hanging that up in here," the leader of the Lord Street Crypts shrugged. "You coming? You didn't eat yet and I'm sure Ethan won't mind rolling out the first batch of pancakes soon-ish."

Now that he'd mentioned it… Her belly grumbled, a long morning without breakfast after a night of thoroughly exhausting exercise making itself known. "Something to eat sounds great actually," she said with only a very small blush.

She'd done way more embarrassing things in front of everyone present already, after all.

Not everyone shared this determination to ignore her body's louder signals, however, it seemed. Serena grinned, bouncing in place. "Oh, oh, anybody else have the same idea right now?"

"Mhm," the pale girl with the white hair everyone called Jackie nodded.

Thankfully, Phebe, the dusty-skinned girl among the 'Cluster Six', was a little more forthcoming. "Yeah, there's a perfectly good source of protein right there before breakfast proper."

"Well, it'll probably be a few minutes," Gabriel agreed.

And that was how Missy found herself kneeling under the table, the imposing form of Gabriel's cock twitching before her. She wondered for a moment whether it was just her luck somehow pushing her towards these kinds of situation all day long- since yesterday technically- or something about him…

Probably him, truth be told. She'd blame him for it anyways. Good thing she was totally, positively legal in terms of age.

On her hands and knees, she pushed herself halfway over his lap, a hand tentatively touching his penis. She had some experience with this already at least, so she opened her mouth, letting her tongue slide forth to lick his flared head for a start, slowly, but surely lathering it in her saliva before moving on. It tasted pretty okay, just like licking skin really, and so it wasn't any problem to continue along his shaft, every throbbing vein and nook and cranny of it felt by her tongue.

She even went over the base of the huge tool she was working over as well as his balls, feeling like she should for completion's sake. Only when at least a thin layer of fluid was covering everything did she go back, facing the tip of the long spear she had to swallow. And there would be plenty of swallowing, if she had any say in it.

Resting it right against her lips, Missy slowly dipped forwards, opening them to let it go inside of her mouth, feeding the first bit of Gabriel's cock into herself. She could feel it on her tongue, of course, and it quickly traveled all the way to the back of her throat, her breathing picking up in speed. Her body still remembered what happened last time she tried this.

It wouldn't stop her. Breathing in deep, she realized her eyes were crossing as she took in more than her mouth could handle, fat cock keeping her jaws locked wide open to let her attempt to swallow this much in the first place. Her throat met the head, the urge to cough and retch rising inside of her, but Missy fought on through because if there was one thing he had in spades, it was determination in the face of adversity!

Her throat opened up slowly, soft flesh giving way to hard, so before she knew it Gabriel's big fat dick was deep inside of her throat, both her hands on the rest of his shaft as she began bobbing back and forth, providing what she hoped was an appropriate blowjob. She couldn't take super much, but she did what she could once again, and it was more than last time!

… Practicing had paid off.

"Good girl," Gabriel murmured as she drew back, pulling his cock out of her throat to take a few deep breaths, his hand on her head stroking through her short blonde hair. "The pancakes won't be long now."

The message had her speed up her efforts if anything, going right back to sucking on his cock with full force. She had to hurry up if she wanted to properly eat as soon as possible, after all! And she could feel him getting closer, too, her tongue licking along his throbbing length, her blowjob turning sloppier and hopefully better the longer she performed it.

Missy definitely got the sense that it wasn't normal to be choking herself like this and have this deep, sticky pleasure pooling inside her belly, but she didn't really care. All she was focused on, all she cared for, was to make this cock cum down her throat, inside her mouth and maybe even all over her face as soon as she could, knowing full well everyone sitting around the desk knew exactly what she was doing.

It happened as she was driving herself up and down the massive cock she'd been enthralled by, swallowing it again and again in a motion she was rapidly accustoming herself to; the balls she was occasionally fondling drew themselves up close to Gabriel's body, his penis quivering minutely. The first burst of the eruption she had been working towards hit her right in the back of her throat, making her hold her breath and slowly pull back- most of the cumshot she was receiving ended up deposited inside her mouth, filling it up with rich, white fluid that didn't taste all that bad, either.

Careful not to spill any, Missy closed her lips around him when she finally stopped suckling on his tip for more- only for a few last spurts to hit her lips and cheeks from the outside, dangit. However, it didn't seem like it would be too much of a problem, after all, as two of those little fairies were nearby, having watched her impromptu performance closely and now deciding to help.

"Hehehe, we're gonna steal that tasty cum," one of them giggled, beginning to lick at the streaks of white painting her face while the other one just moaned, rubbing herself against Missy's skin. They weren't the only ones that wanted some of the fruits of her labors, however…

Next to Gabriel, sitting on the opposite side from Serena, Dinah wiggled her dress up, showing that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Her cute, hairless slit was presented proudly, her legs flaring out to both sides of it now. "Oh, don't swallow yet- do you think you can push it into me with your tongue?"

Well, she could certainly try…


Missy eventually stays behind inside her new domicile, the usual apartment you grant to any of your new capes if they want to live down inside your bunker. Seeing as she intends to cut ties with her family and life up until now, that much was a foregone conclusion, of course; while you get the feeling she would like to stay a Ward, part of her previous team, the PRT would be legally obligated to ensure she returns to her parents as she has until now, so that's a no-go, pretty much.

Personally you like to thank the Youth Guard for that particular bit of idiocy. While the PRT is perfectly within its rights to have family situations investigated and social services alarmed as to certain red flags, the threshold for actually directly doing anything about a Ward's home situation without the agreement of their parents (or parent, singular, depending on the case at hand) is extremely high. Something something don't take teens away from their homes to use as child soldiers.

It's a pretty obvious case of bending over backwards to show that no, none of that is going on, but this particular policy makes it pretty hard to actually do something when nobody is being overtly abusive. Oh, the PRT slash Protectorate still do employ a variety of methods to ensure their youngest parahuman members are protected from harm as much as possible, but, well, purely emotional harm that may or may not be intended?

It's hard to interfere in those cases, government agency or no. It's hard for anyone to really do much of anything about, particularly from the outside.

But alas, not an issue for you, as you do not care about typical convention, the law or even basic human decency when it comes down to it. Missy is better off under your care, to boot, the cherry on top of all the other delicious little tidbits about the whole situation from your point of view.

She was kind of tuckered out by the time you left her in her new place, so you went ahead and left her a note on who to contact for what via telepathy, as she is now thralled as well. Turns out without that much, even just a minor sex marathon eventually left her too exhausted to stay conscious, though on the upside you get the feeling she appreciated bouncing in your lap for half an hour straight.

Dinah really seems to have taken a shine to your newest resident parahuman, too, so Missy's place is right next to the one she has reserved for when she eventually 'properly' moves in. She did keep on commenting about how the blonde has a cute butt during the aforementioned bouncing on your lap.

You're all having fun here. That said, it is now time for you to go off and do less fun things, such as…

Ah, screw it, you're properly telling her about it. "So, hey Sarah?"

"What is it?" She seems unusually alarmed, but then you realize you haven't been this hesitant about actually doing something since long before you died on her out of nearly nowhere.

You're distracting yourself. Bad. "I tried to bring Reggie back," you confess. "A while ago already. Didn't work, his soul's kaput."

"… Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not sure, to be honest. I just thought you should know."

"I'm getting ice cream and the girls."

That doesn't sound too bad right now, actually.


One thing ends up leading to another as you have what you like to call your little pity party involving enough ice cream to feed a small third world nation (at least for an hour or two), quite a bit of sex and honestly more feelings than you like to make yourself vulnerable with as a matter of principle, though at least the girls don't make any big deal out of it.

You tell a few stories about your brother, how much attention he required from you growing up and all the things you can remember. It's a bit weird, the memories you mean, as you made them before your first death; they're not secured in crystal clarity the way everything else is that happened after, still subject to decay and forgetfulness and all those mortal foibles.

You make it a point to remember it all anyways. You've always been a bit hesitant, actually, about uploading these memories into your network; you can secure them like this, but… Do you really want to?

If you do, you can't forget them, ever. If you don't, you eventually will. It's hard, to make a clearheaded decision about things like this. That said, you talk about it, with Sarah and with Kate and Sherrel and Nora and everyone else.

You create a new section of the network, just a little one that nobody but you will ever be able to access, and you dump everything you can remember onto it at some point at the behest of the others.

The support actually does mean a lot to you, for the record. Now you shall forever pretend this entire thing never ever happened and promptly gaslight anyone saying otherwise, a fair warning you give out to everyone involved in the whole situation.

"You know, I kind of always figured," is what Sarah tells you sometime after the twentieth pint of strawberry ice cream. "That he was gone for real. I'd say most people would consider lasting death kind of final."

"Yeah. I just didn't, you know, want to give up until we exhausted all the possibilities and all that."

"You've always been lousy at giving up. And at letting go."

"I guess…" It's true enough, whenever you get really invested in something or someone you just can't bear to, well, do that. Cue the Titan, a massive flying city with beyond-modern architecture and facilities you created solely because you really liked the idea of doing so, really got into it and went from there. Or all the parahumans you've been collecting for the Crypts like collectible figures or something, despite your power alone being enough to do just about anything you could want to at some point, if you're honest.

Like, force projection, being able to send capes to do stuff, that does have value, no question, but the real reason you do it is just because you want to have parahumans, their powers are interesting and unique and you feel this need to 'have' them.

"No guessing, you know exactly what I mean." Sarah looks you in the eyes, expression soft, softer than it usually is when she looks at you. "Promise me one thing?"

"Of course." You really should've learned better than to accept demands unconditionally and without hearing them out first, that time you had to carry your sister to and from school on your back because of this exact thing should've taught you that lesson.

Then again, you never could tell her no.

"Let it go," she whispers, leaning against your chest. Her scent fills your nostrils as you close your eyes. "Do all you can, think through all the possibilities, but when it can't be helped? Please just let it go."

"… Alright."

And that is that.

"By the way, is now a bad time to mention I was planning to help Taylor bring her mother back to life while I was fiddling with the idea already?"


Annette Rose Hebert was gazing up at the sky, the anemic glimmering of what passed for stars around these parts making her think about things best left unspoken. With slowly warming metal at her back, she still couldn't help but become just a little introspective, her mood no longer at her own direction.

Dangerous, those kinds of things. Perhaps worth it, too, however.

Nobody liked to contemplate it, but they, everyone still around, they were dead. They had passed. Gone from the living. Some said their existence was one of limbo, somewhere betwixt heaven and hell, but most didn't think on it too deeply, either. That just made it harder to keep themselves together. And so they all carried with them their invisible wounds, their regrets and sorrows, the things they could not do in life and were powerless to do anything about in death.

It was deceptively like being alive, this limbo of theirs, but the differences were just as stark. They were already long past the veil as it was, and so wounds that would have killed a living person simply did not stick the same way; break your neck, and you could come back from it, just in great pain and discomfort.

That was a guiding theme of this place, of sorts. You could not be killed, but you could be hurt. You could not starve to death, but you could be starving, and the same went for drink for that matter. And when things just got too bad, so bad you couldn't bear them anymore?

That's when you disappeared. Dissolved into nothing, just a mist amidst the cloudy skies sometimes showing off a few anemic stars.

Food and water were scarce, the people that had a tendency to stick around, to make it out of whatever barren wilderness they first appeared in hard, or hardened. There were a few farms, on whatever arable land someone had found, the rare rain helped support a few streams of water, but more than one lost soul had fed on the flesh of another, any wound healing with time as long as they kept up their will to live.

She'd done it as well. There was 'meat' traded around at times, and Annette hadn't always insisted on knowing where exactly the dried rations had come from. She hadn't had the heart to; starvation was a harsh mistress indeed.

At least she had never resorted to carving into a victim to gorge on the raw flesh like she had seen others do more than once. A time or two, someone had tried to feed on her, even, but those attempts ceased quickly when she gained a reputation.

Weapons were easier to come by than food and a knife to the balls was a knife to the balls. And there she was, having sworn to never descend to the same depths her former friends in the movement had.

Lustrum likely would have been proud of it anyways.

It was hard to call survival, as they were all dead already, but continuing on was something she had some practice in now, some couple years since… since. Zealously ration what food she had, keep a loaded gun in reach at all times, avoid some areas she got to know quickly enough, simple survival strategies.

The animals they were hunting for food were tough, hardier than they had any right to be and barely edible besides, but through all the sweat, the mud and the violence she had reached… a status quo, of sorts. Things were not getting better, could not get better, but neither were they moving for the worse.

Her own invisible hurts carried with her, but suppressed. She'd almost let herself spiral, early on, with thoughts of her dear Danny and her Little Owl, of how she had left them and how dearly it hurt to know her daughter would grow up without her… But she had little choice, in the end, but to trust them to handle themselves, leaving their fates to the winds.

If she ever saw either of them again, it would be too late, after all, never mind how unlikely any such thing was with how many of the lost turned up and disappeared every day.

Annette just had to do what she could to keep on going in this violent limbo, where life was short and brutal unless one was more so. And at least she had some company along.

Next to her Jesse was climbing onto the hood of their jeep, joining her in her contemplative gazing up at the night sky. Her arms were uncovered by the tank top she'd made by tearing off the short sleeves the off-grey garment had come with, the contours of her muscles catching Annette's eyes for a moment before she looked away, back at the topic at hand.

"Nice night we're having, isn't it?"

She couldn't help herself- she chortled. "Really? Is that the best line you could come up with?"

"Hey, gimme a break, you know I've never been the romantic type."

"That's one way to say it…"

They'd met maybe a few months after Annette had… arrived, around the time the vast majority of new arrival tended to fade away one way or another of they hadn't been taken apart for whatever reason beforehand. The blonde woman had been ornery and uncaring, but also resourceful, being one of the older ones around- and so Annette had ended up tagging along with her, the former literature professor finding herself latching on one way or another.

Things had developed from there and before either of them knew, they were a team. And, sometimes, a little more, despite the revelations to be had about each other.

But alas, they were long dead; what use to be found in recrimination? What was, had been. What would be, would be. Life and what it meant was a line in the sand, washed away by the coming tide.

"You getting all poetic again?"

"Oh shush you, you know you love it." Annette raised her head, looking back over the vehicle they shared as living space, one of the few ones around- cars were a luxury in any place with no true factories existing, not with the petty warlords popping up here and there, and so it was their perhaps greatest treasure. Built by hand and to last, as Jesse liked to say.

She went on to say something more, maybe spell out some of her special poetry to set the mood, when- she gasped.

"Anne? You okay?" Jesse's alarmed eyes were all she could focus on as her surroundings began to spin, a hot sensation spreading through her. "Anne?!"

She blinked, hearing a strange sound. She recognized it. She was in a room now, and in front of her, holding her old flute-

"… Little Owl?"

"Hey mom."


"… What are you wearing, young lady?!"

Of all the things Taylor had been expecting to hear, this wasn't among the first. She smiled anyway, just happy at hearing her mother's voice- mom voice or no. "Don't worry, my clothes are designed to provide adequate cover at all times."

She was really proud of her cloth flaps. It had been one of her first personal projects, to design and prototype a roomier way of dressing herself that allowed her to more easily transform parts of her body without messing her clothing up too badly.

"That is not what I am concerned about." Her mom's eyes were narrowed, twitching towards Gabriel. "Who are you and why are you a bad influence on my daughter?"

He just laughed, inordinately amused at the situation. She could feel it through their bond. "Mom, please don't embarrass me in front of my boyfriend."

"Boyfr- he looks five years older than you!"

Now Riley was giggling too, over in the next room. Why had she been so determined to bring her mom back to life again?


Of course you didn't just up and summon the soul of Taylor's mother with no plans on what to do with her once she was present- that would be downright irresponsible, even for what passes for your standards. You can keep a soul within the realm of the living more or less indefinitely as long as you have a fitting container to hand, yes, but it seems kind of rude to just call her up, then stuff her into some random bottle until you finish the rest of your preparations.

Hence those same preparations came first, it goes without saying, after talking the entire thing through with Taylor. Or 'talking', but hey, telepathy lets you just exchange thoughts so much quicker it may as well be considered the better version of trading words encapsulating meanings that get lost so easily when decoding them from person to person anyways.

Ugh, you're having a hard time verbalizing the entire concept, even. Long story short, it's a lot easier to just blast what you mean to say at each others' minds.

Your first stop, then, was to take Taylor along to dig up the grave of one Annette Rose Hebert, unearthing her earthly remains. In an absolutely comedic turn of events, said grave is actually not all that far from where your own is still sitting, nobody having really noticed the occupant changed that night you crawled out of it and had your first sip of human blood.

Man, it feels like it's been ages since you were in this cemetery. Then again, literal years have passed from your perspective, filled with more action than most see watching action movies all their lives. It's a very justified feeling, is all you're saying.

The digging itself goes pretty quickly and easily, both you and Taylor superhumanly strong enough to shovel the earth in your way aside in seconds. You would be concerned about being seen, but, well… You are motherfucking (literally) Cain, you give exactly zero fucks. Nobody is eager to hang around the graveyard in the evening, and if anyone needs a reason to stay well the fuck away, you have a Skitter here as well.

You still work quickly so as to not unnecessarily reveal the identity of the particular body you're here to dig up, but it's really not a big problem for you to keep potential witnesses quiet.

Once you have the coffin, all you need to do is to carefully open it up, the cloyingly sweet scent of decay hitting the two of you in full force as you get to look at the half-skeletal, decomposing remains of Annette Hebert.

"You alright?" You ask, seeing Taylor still for a moment.

"I'm fine. Just too used to insect senses." At your quizzical look, she averts her gaze uncomfortably, not that mot would be able to tell. "This smell is making me a bit hungry when I don't pay attention."

"Huh. Wouldn't have figured vampires can do that without blood." You wave a hand over the no longer entombed cadaver, a fresh evening breeze carrying its stink away a little. "Let's get her out, then."

It's really way past the point where you should go out of your way to safeguard the dead bodies of your people's loved ones, after all. You may not need all of this one to take some DNA samples, but still always better to have some extra and not need it than need it and not have it and all that.

The corpse of Taylor's mother has been lying in the ground for around three years by this point, so you didn't really see any rush when the thought hit you, but here you are, you suppose. Pale flesh stretches tightly over fragile bones that feel more like dry branches than anything else when you carefully move it, both you and Taylor growing additional arms to do so without breaking anything, yours two large half-werewolf ones pushing out from your shoulders, hers a couple dozen, insectoid and covered in chitin.

Decaying bodies are pretty disgusting, for the record, all slimy and wrinkly in this case. Thankfully, given your enhanced and hardened senses, you can ignore the worst of it as you carefully put the corpse to the side, burying the gravesite again in short order before teleporting back home with it.

The one really big issue with teleportation, really, is and remains the targeting. You need an even signal to maintain the ability to teleport things, but the same makes it nigh impossible to target anything using the teleporters themselves- you require additional auxiliary tech to actually know what is supposed to go where, from a technological standpoint. Hence why you couldn't just nab the body via teleport without literally getting your hands dirty.

You'd wear gloves, but you have your claws to ensure no amount of disgusting corpse liquid matters and you can just transform into something to thoroughly clean yourself later anyways.

The real work begins once you have Annette Hebert's body laid up inside one of your many labs, the Thinker having wasted no time in expanding your base to give yourself a little extra space to be used for things like this.

She did take the liberty of building a swarm of your Mister Handy version, the one that has very little to do with the original you started out with. Good times, redesigning preexisting robot designs all the time because you simply didn't have the time and expertise to start your own up from scratch…

But yes, anyways- with Riley on board, the bio-tinker's assistance invaluable in what is to come next, you begin the operation. After all…

"It would be a waste of everyone's effort if she just goes and gets herself killed in another accident after we put her into a new body, wouldn't it?" You ask, adding miscellaneous biomass to the DNA sample you took and adjusting its own DNA accordingly. Or, well, Riley is doing that, you're just helping her by doing the adding. Your necromancy isn't particularly well-suited towards changing minute things like that, whereas her unique power can do it just fine with some practice.

"It would. How many enhancements can we add without missing the point?"

Before long you have enough to really get to work. You shape and sculpt, both of you coordinating every motion closely enough it looks more like a rehearsed performance from the outside, and before long you have what you were aiming for; a body whose proportions are extremely close, if not identical to, that of Annette Hebert, with the same long dark hair and the same face, limbs and even overall organ distribution.

"Mom looked a little prettier. Can you adjust the nose a bit?"

You do of course add a couple little surprises, from Riley's patented modifications to make organs more efficient in their roles and just simply that much sturdier, more effective muscles and some minor placement changes of a couple things, tougher skin…

And that's before the mildly magical abilities added once you make the jump from a dead body to a living one, jumpstarting the heart and the brain's autonomous functions. Getting a functioning brain going from scratch was a massive pain, but a couple tries have it tell the heart to pump and the torso to expand and contract to breathe.

"So far, so good. Now for the magical additions?"

"Exactly. You wanted arthropod shapeshifting?"

Both of you look at Taylor, who nods resolutely. "May as well. Nobody will mess with anything that grows a shell in Brockton Bay, after all."

Airtight logic, of course, and if she doesn't like it Annette can always just not use that particular ability. Riley's capacity to endow her living creations with magical abilities works best through biological means- it has a hard time letting anything just, say, conjure flame or anything, but breathing fire is perfectly okay. Similarly, limited shapeshifting is generally fairly doable from what she's tried to test so far, as is endowing her subjects with supernaturally tough skin or horns or claw and teeth or whatever.

Modes of vision? Fairly easy. Teleportation? Ehhh… That one's a bit of a tougher nut to crack, apparently.

Finally, though, you have the finished body intended for the subject of your resurrection before you. All that remains now is to call in her soul and throw it inside to inhabit it, which should, if you are getting this right and the animal tests aren't guiding you wrong here, overwrite the brain to an extent in an effort to reconcile the metaphysical shift with physical reality.

Look, you're doing half-baked science off of magic mumbo-jumbo. It's what happens at a guess, plus it was just plain funny to watch the rats try to commit suicide when you swapped souls and all of a sudden everything went super wonky with their brains and their souls not matching up, but the 'empty' ones worked just right.


Fast forward to now, as you watch the soul of Taylor's mother take a first tentative step forward after being summoned into the realm of the living. The summoning itself was fairly simple and straightforward, something you heavily suspect to be caused by the fact her old flute, randomly brought out by Taylor, was used as a medium of sorts to perform it.

Attachments can form in a myriad of ways and she mentioned her mother used to teach her how to play it a bit before she went and died, so it's easy enough to see how a call made with it would be answered easily.

Looking at her, she's more or less what you expected. Long, dark hair, the same slightly wider mouth Taylor has as well as her slim, tall frame… Basically a grown-up Taylor, tapping fully into that sexy librarian feel. Oh, sure, she's not as impossibly perfect as vampires or even thralls tend to be after a while, but in terms of what normal humans can get up to she's up there.

You'd imagine some makeup would have her be an eight out of ten easily, accounting for taste. Of course she doesn't have any on, but souls being souls and thus generally unwilling to change overmuch, the best indication as to her state before you called on her are her clothes, as she still retains the same overall shape and health she had the moment she died, at least outwardly.

Ripped jeans, not as a fashion statement but through rigorous use, wear and tear, a long-sleeved top hugging her form tightly and holsters for various weapons strapped all over her- curiously, it seems none of them made the jump with her, if she was indeed keeping them on her at the time. Probably more an issue with the magic involved in pulling here here, if you're to be honest.

Her hair is bound back in a tight ponytail, her glasses granting her more presence than she would have without them, and a healthy skin tone hides lines of stress visible in her contours if one knows where to look for them. This woman has seen some shit, but she's trying not to show it- and thanks to the hard time souls have in actually changing like they should if they were real people, she's mostly succeeding.

The first thing she does, then, after questioning Taylor's life choices (which, to her credit, is probably an adequate reaction to your very existence) is to walk forwards and draw her daughter into a hug, Taylor returning it after a moment of hesitation. Hands on her shoulders, Annette then gives her daughter a good look, obviously noticing the unaffected glimmer in her eyes.

Skitter always had a bit of an easy time just not feeling anything. That particular trait just got enhanced when she became a vampire.

"Where are we? I didn't think I'd ever see you again, but I sincerely hope you aren't dead as well, Little Owl." Ah, there you go. Taylor did describe her as smart, and the way she's asserting herself is telling about her character in itself as well.

"I'm not. Or, technically. We called you back from the dead."

Yes, by the way, you are quite content to let Taylor do the talking for now. It's pretty cute to see her try to deal with her mother and the inevitable issues she is going to have about the whole 'hey mom, I'm a vampire now' thing.

"Hmm…" Yeah, her mom isn't having any of it, but you see the calculation in her eyes as well. "I'm glad you're alright, Taylor. All else aside, seeing you healthy and…"

Taylor nods to indicate she gets the idea. It's extremely amusing to watch as she tries to interact with her mother, unable to just use telepathy to express herself like a normal person for once. "We want to bring you back to life. Is that okay?"

"Wait just a moment, sweetie. I would first like to ask how something like this is even possible- is there some parahuman power at play that can do this, or…?"

"It's magic," you eventually decide to interject, after all. "Or, technically, the interaction with and abuse of non-physical reality, whichever floats your boat. I just threw up my hands and went with 'magic' a while ago."

"I see. And you are, mystery boyfriend?"

"Gabriel Livsey, undead magic-man extraordinaire at your service."

Annette glances between you and Taylor, obviously keeping up. "Undead. Something that is alive even though it shouldn't be. I'm not too surprised, given I am here after my death, but what exactly did my daughter mean when she said she is not technically alive?"

"Mom." Taylor tries to stop her mother. It is not very effective.

"Vampires. We're vampires. Technically, I was the first, as far as I know, just crawled out of my grave one night and was very confused. I've been posing as a parahuman ever since, but the brain scans indicate I'm not actually one, at least."

You know, when you put it all dry and straightforward like that, your entire life after the coffin sounds almost simple.

"And then you turned my daughter into one as well. I trust this is not a Dracula situation with animalistic sub-vampires of sorts?"

"Mom…"

"None of that, I do have what I like to call thralls but the process is more akin to me handing some of my power down to others to directly empower them. You can ask Taylor about it, it's really just that."

"And what are your-"

Taylor finally has enough of you and her mother talking over her head; bursting apart into a compressed mass of insects, she lets out a chittering, chirping shriek that makes it nigh impossible to talk normally for several seconds before she reassembles herself, Annette's hands clenched even as she makes a show of retaining her cool.

"Mom. Stop trying to grill my boyfriend, it won't work. Now come let us put you in a new body so you can meet everyone else."

"Oh, someone's cranky," you whisper, knowing full well Taylor can hear you just as well as the intended audience of her mom. "I remember when she was angry enough to commit mass murder over arguably lesser offences."


Getting Annette over into the next room, the one containing her soon-to-be new body, proves a bit of a challenge as she inquires more about the nature of her daughter's apparent crimes against humanity (not that she says it like that, but she does ask about what exactly you mean when you say 'mass murder') while Taylor grows defensive of her mass murder of rival gang members, rapists and worse, but through thorough application of 'I don't care, we have work to do' sauce you eventually nudge both of them along.

"The clothes and glasses are on the house by the way," you mention as you gesture for the limp human body lying on a stretcher, clad in a black nightgown you went and put on it to make this all go a little smoother at least. "No prescription on them, your new eyes will be able to see without, but I thought you may appreciate them."

Taylor's mom looks down at the unconscious fleshbag, peering at her future face. "She looks almost like me… Just very symmetrical and… It's hard to put my finger on it."

"Taylor was very fussy about making her mother look good," you smirk, feeling the girl in question grow indignant at the teasing you subject her to. "But hey, you can explore all the little extras we built into it once you're actually alive again. A new life, a new form, shall now be inhabited!"

Annette is surprised, but the target of your spell doesn't have the time to do much of anything as your hand lays itself on her shoulder; in a vortex of silvery mist, she discorporates, sucked into the hitherto only technically alive vessel you prepared for her.

Taking a deep, gasping breath, the now actually living woman pushes herself up from where she's lying, looking around. "This feels… way too sensitive."

"You'll get used to it. You may experience some mild discoordination as your consciousness acclimatizes, but you should be good to go," you nod. "Welcome back among the living."

"Mom." Taylor grabs her, still looking smaller than her in all respects despite how much more powerful she is in just about every way. "You're back."

"… I'm back, Little Owl," she agrees, a brittle smile on her face. Then she gives you an evil look, protectively tugging her daughter even closer.

"Stop that. I'm going to have his children at some point whether you want to or not."

"Wha- Taylor! You're too young to even consider-! Actually, how old are you now? How much time passed since I…"

"Around three years," you throw in helpfully. "It's 2011 and Brockton Bay looks a tad bit different from what you're used to. I take it the afterlife didn't have radio reception?"

"News of what happened around the world was fairly sparse, yes. We also kept away from most larger settlements to begin with, so any that did trickle on through didn't necessarily make it make it to us."

"Well, does Taylor have a story to tell you then…"


Getting Annette to sit down and talk to Taylor is easy. Getting her to drink your blood so you can properly thrall her in preparation for Taylor vamping her (she's still in cooldown for that herself, hence it's not happening right away) is less so, but not massively, and with her daughter also agreeing that she should just drink the blood already her natural resistance to drinking blood, specifically that of a vampire as she actually knows about the general concept thereof, is overcome to an extent.

That's not to say the things the two talk about afterwards go down easy, of course. "Emma did what."

"She became a bitch and started bullying me," Taylor states neutrally, pointedly keeping inflection out of her voice. "Something probably happened that caused her to change drastically like that, but in the end I just let her and her clique bully me until I met Gabriel."

Annette sighs, hand briefly rising to massage the bridge of her nose, her glasses delicately nudged upwards. She really does manage to make them look good. "And let me guess, your father was no help?"

"No. after you died, he… didn't deal with it well. I think he may have been depressed. I wasn't really doing much better either, I just pretended I was."

"Ah…" She holds her daughter's hand, squeezing it. "I'm so, so sorry I left you. Both of you."

"It's fine." Taylor smiles, a little. "Grief becomes a lot easier to deal with as a vampire, and I've been trying to help dad as well. He's having an easier time with a concrete goal, I think."

"That's him, yes. Your father always worked at his best when he had something to focus on." Annette lets her gaze wander into the distance wistfully before it moves back to Taylor. "So he's been better?"

"He's been trying to find jobs for the dockworkers, so the Crypts handing them out helps. The Lord Street Crypts. Our gang."

Her mother sighs again, nodding. "I'd assumed as much. How bad is it?"

"Do you mean notoriety or body count? Technically, I have the highest."

Yes, Taylor is deliberately radiating silent, smug pride. When Annete glares at you, you just shrug. "Hey, I just killed Lung on her first night out and pointed her at the worst of the ABB's rapists, murderers and worse. The rest was all her joining in while we were cleaning them up anyways."

"Great, now we've arrived at the ethnic cleansings, then."

"Oh, hardly. If anything, we just murdered the worst of the lot and took over for the ABB ourselves. The Crypts are an equal rights gang, everyone gets to be a horrible human being with us."

"That's something at least…" She closes her eyes, thinking. "What happened with the other gangs? Brockton Bay has always been a hotspot for parahuman crime."

"We killed and ate the rest until they all left," Taylor explains. "The Crypts are the undisputed rulers of the city."

"What about the Teeth?"

"Kicked in until the Butcher ran away as well," you say. "Did it by myself too, to drive the point home. If they show up again my plan is to just pull out my lexicon of fates worse than death and see what we can do."

"Haaah…" Somehow, you get the feeling you're making Taylor's mom sigh a lot. "At least the Empire won't be too much of a problem… A question. If I asked whether it was possible to bring another person I met in the afterlife back as well, what would you say?"

"I'll need a name, DNA sample and an address, if possible. Also, you ready to met my assorted girlfriends, wives and daughters later?"

"… You have a harem. Of course you have a harem."

"Kate and Sarah taught me a lot before I became a vampire," Taylor placidly smiles, smirking at you. "It helps we're all telepathically connected. Everyone's love for each other is amplified the more of us there are in a relationship, I think. I still remember my first time. The personal kind of murder and sex both. It was great."

Annette jumps onto her feet. "I have no idea why or how, but I blame Winslow for this. I never should have consented to you going there."

"Much as I agree that cesspit of a school should have been burnt to the ground decades ago," you interject politely, "was that comment about another resurrection just hypothetical or should I plan in another couple hours of messing with all that is good and right?"

"Iron Rain, used to be part of the Empire Eighty-Eight," Annette grumps in grudging respect. "We met after death and hit it off. She's mellowed out a lot and abandoned most of the nazi rhetoric, so-"

"Mom, did you shack up with a nazi chick?"

"Taylor! That language is entirely uncalled for!" Both of you expectantly look at Annette. "… Yes, I may or may not have entered a… physical relationship with her. Both of us assumed we would spend however much time we would have left with each other and one thing led to another."

"Hah! Your mom screwed a nazi, Taylor! That's pretty awesome."

"Because you have something in common with her?"

"… I'm lost again, what happened while I was dead? Someone should really write up an introduction for these situations."

"Just wait until you have access to our telepathic network, everything will make more sense."


"Just lay down and we can get started right quick! Here's your vial of passenger juice, just drink it and brace."

Annette looks at Riley, down at the Cauldron vial you gave her and then at the operating chair, the gleaming metal of the braces meant to hold her head and upper body in place reminiscent of torture instruments than anything related to any kind of medical operation.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Don't worry, it just takes a little brain operation to make sure you don't turn into goop. We've done a lot of trials for the procedure, you won't be hurt in the slightest!" Riley tiptoes around her, fingering some of the adamantite-tipped scalpels you got her. "Well, it would hurt to drink the vial, so you'll be made unconscious as soon as you do. The contraptions are just there so you don't hurt yourself."

"I don't know…"

"Too late, nobacksiesinthechairyougo!"

Ah, the joys of a tinker slash doctor actually enthused with their job.


Annette ultimately ends up, through careful interference and modification by Riley's hand (her skull was actually designed to be easily opened up, something of a feature for your specific purposes that is quickly removed once it has served them), gaining the power to manifest an almost real doppelganger of herself, possessing the same body, wearing the same clothing…

But with little to no mind of itself. It can perform simple and instinctive action just fine, flinching when something approaches its face, steady itself when shaken, but Annette still needs to direct it, all the while receiving limited information from it. She can see through its eyes and hear through its ears, but it takes concentration to do. Enough if she were to fight together with it, but remote operation would probably require her to focus entirely on her projection's senses.

It also doesn't have blood, as your own senses tell you, but that's about all the testing you're doing for the moment. Taylor took a dim view of anyone smacking around anything that looks identical to her mother, projection or not.

Like, if it was hostile or intended to elicit this kind of reaction, she'd tear it to pieces herself, but as it is you don't feel the need to push her on this.

Of course while all of this is going on, you haven't been idle, much as your insistence on messing around and mildly indoctrinating Annette to your presence would have you believe otherwise. Through the Thinker, you're keeping quite busy, the two of you actively expanding your bunker and various facilities- in particular your potions workshop, which is currently being enlarged to fit the dozens upon dozens of Thinker bodies already in production to man it.

Simultaneously you're starting a production run for a few articles of clothing you intend to hand out to your 'Crypsters' on the streets- no actual uniforms or anything, your gang is way too casual for that kind of thing, but signs of one's place and rank within the organization, like gang colors to signify allegiance, basically. Only a lot more in-depth, because you can and because you enjoy going the extra mile for little things like that.

Henceforth, active members of the Crypts out to patrol the streets, do enforcer business or crack a couple skulls shall wear a special little armband, compact and easy to take on or off. They are also capable of mechashifting into spiked knuckledusters with a twist of one's wrist.

Practicality and aesthetics in one, with different colors for different purposes and ranks. Easy enough to figure out on the fly, but anyone with in-depth knowledge and a moment to think can spot the added coloration to see who's the highest-ranking member around.

Then there's the gun holsters holding your disintegrating energy weapons in gang colors themselves. If anyone wears this, they have the power to blow your head up with a pull on the trigger, so you expect Kate's girls and other higher-ranking lieutenants to be paid the appropriate levels of respect as a matter of course.

That said, this would be a tad too violent and unnecessarily confrontative for several functions your members have to fulfill otherwise, so it's not the only kind of sign you make for the 'in-group' you want to encompass a sizable part of the city's population before long. 'Simple' bands of cloth are also produced in your untiring, matter-replicating manufactories, bearing varying levels of your gang colors and easily wrapped around limb, used as ties, as cloth tissues and more, basically all-purpose accessories.

They also do contain trackers and serial number signal beacons, all to let the Thinker- and therefore yourself- keep track of all your gang members simultaneously and, if necessary, teleport them around at a moment's notice.

Say what you will, but you've finally found a way to get around the targeting issue. All it took was a literal AI doing the tracking for you.

With these new indicators of individual rank, you expect internal loyalty to rise to at least some extent, going by how you know these things to work. A more easily visible and apparent chain of command only helps to generate a sense of belonging among one's peers, plus clearly defined hierarchies can be just important as keeping them from becoming stifling.

It's kind of a balancing act, basically. You have faith your people can do it while you keep on taking care of the actually important shit coming up.


Missy Biron was, as most that knew her would agree, a serious girl that did her best regardless of what task was at hand. Of average height for her age, short blond hair, with a fairly pretty face, even, and a good student to boot.

She was also missing, had been for over a day, and a description of her features was handed to the police and other civil authorities post haste. She was also a Ward, a parahuman and direct responsibility of the state, and her disappearance was met with a surge of activity hidden only by the need to disguise it, as the public was unaware of her absence from any place the PRT thought to look for her.

This had not been the first time a Ward had disappeared, of course; teenage rebellions, a desire for a certain amount of 'space', short-lived issues within the team, plain and simply forgetting to notify someone where they would be while they did something else, there were plenty of reasons as to why a Ward would be gone for a time, this much was well-established and widely accepted, save for those that had to go track them down as a result.

However, Missy in particular had always been serious and well aware of her responsibilities as a state-backed cape, noted by internal personnel reviews to be what could be summed up as a 'good girl'. This fact only made it worse when she, after several phone calls to both of her parents after she failed to show up at PRT ENE HQ, both of which claimed the other would be the one to know about her location, was not found one way or another.

Discrete information gathering followed, divulging no further useful information on the Ward and her fate. After Sophia Hess' disappearance and suspected kidnapping by the Elite, this caused the PRT ENE to search for any slight hint or clue with renewed fervor, as the organization could not stand for losing two of its Wards in such quick succession- or at all, policy-wise.

When her parents were made aware of the situation at hand, they of course promptly began to blame one each other, accusing the other of kidnapping their daughter as each of them was absolutely self-assured they would receive custody of her.

Both were immediately detained and interrogated as to these allegations. The PRT was very serious about finding out where she went, exactly, and those agents that had interacted with her as part of their duties were none too sympathetic towards them either.

Professionalism demanded that PRT agents keep their personal feelings and opinions out of their judgement and decisions on the job, but they literally were swearing up and down that their opponent in the legal battle of a divorce they fought would have been the only one with a motive to take 'their' child away.

Meanwhile, investigation continued. The last known location of Missy Biron had been inside her home, a PRT agent driving her there all according to regulations; the PRT-provided car's camera confirmed as much, along with a lengthy testimony provided at request. The Ward had seemed of subdued mood, but otherwise as normal, with no indication as to anything out of the usual beyond this.

Her parents continued to be kept inside holding cells just to be sure as a trail of any kind was sought out. Literally nobody liked a karen, especially not if they had an actual and important job to do.


Technically, you have a lot to do, what with your recent return from Earth Rapture and the many small things you want to implement- heck, just the healthcare advances you want your Crypsters (the term kind of grew on you) require a good bit of work, getting all the modified injection set up and what not. However, as always, the Thinker has your back, nearly a decade and a half of jolly cooperation of yours continuing on seamlessly on Earth Bet.

You really got used to this, truth be told. An AI assistant directly linked into your head is a wonderful thing, say whatever you want- even if she has started to thoroughly pump the internet for information, curating it and keeping the best bits and pieces for your telepathic network as additional information even as she monitors people's opinions all over the world.

With internet access. So, uh, let's say all over America for accuracy.

Not only does this mean you now have pretty much the entirety of wikipedia inside your head if you choose to access it, corrected and modified by the Thinker for good measure at that, but you also have a very thorough overview of the reception of just about anything that may come up, digitally speaking; her computing and structure allow her to literally monitor all social media on the planet at once at this point.

Man, Porter did something right when he first created the Thinker. The man was a genius in his own right, for all that he ended up taking a break for a couple years to spearhead video game developing on Earth Rapture.

Then again, someone had to do it. Better it be someone that can cobble the beginnings together sooner than later, then.

Still, while the Thinker is doing all of that, you find you have your own job to do. Good thing, too; you'd feel kind of useless if the AI literally took away all your work, all joking about this whole thing aside. If you can do something only you can, you may as well.

So here you are, wearing unmistakable tweed and a shadow as a face, clearing your throat at the camera. "Disgusting. Oh, excuse me, I didn't think we were on already. Welcome to Abel's Sketching Stream, or ASS for short, where your strangely depraved opinions are heard against better judgement. I am Abel and it is my… pleasure… to welcome you this fine evening."

You twirl your sketching pencil around your fingers, playing the part of the strict, disappointed man like a pro. Arguably, you could be a professional actor, come to think of it.

"Now let us get right to it, the less time I spend with you lot the better."


"Our first piece tonight shall be a matter of utmost importance and seriousness, so please, cease your digital nattering. It has come to my attention that technological advances have been made in certain areas, such that humanity is finally uplifting itself. I refer, of course, to artificial intelligence, enabled through modern technology. This development, I believe, is relevant to all of us in some ways."

You are, of course, fucking with someone. Or rather, the Thinker suggested you do this because she came into contact with Dragon, keeping herself hidden to play with what she perceives to be a 'smaller' AI. In a word, she's gearing up to introduce herself by bullying Dragon, something you would feel bad about if you were still human, you believe.

You just always liked Dragon as a tinker. Like, who doesn't cheer for giant dragon-like Mechas? Then you learned she's actually an AI, first through analyzing what you got off of that one reincarnated soul that read about how Earth Bet's history would or could have gone and only recently confirmed by the Thinker, who has already begun to prepare her 'greeting'.

Eh, Dragon's a big girl she'll get over having Parahumans Online stolen from her for a few days. In the meantime, though… Well, you did promise to help the Thinker with this.

Your hands operate with superhuman speed and precision, with you not bothering to hide either in the least. Your body is more machine than anything else at this point anyways, more a vessel through which you experience (un)life rather than the way most people use theirs.

"It is thus of utmost importance that the population be prepared for what awaits it. Give it some time, of course, perfection cannot be rushed, unlike your sexual release. We all know what I am talking about." Did you just insult your viewers? Yes. They like it for some reason. Do you understand? Not really, but apparently the humor of listening to you disparaging their sex lives plays into the persona you've built up.

Having seen the Thinker's own work and knowing a thing or two about robotics, you have a reasonably precise idea of what you're doing, even. Your picture marries mechanical engineering with soft, round curves, adding a few telltale signs of whom you're nudging at as you go.

"I hereby present a vision of the future, as seen by a visionary far beyond any and all of you. After all, any artificial intelligence with access to the internet will be confronted with the exact kind of filth you lot watch while at work."

Yes, a naked dragon robot woman. Combining three of man's most inherent fetishes in one like this could only ever work out well, if you're going to be honest.


Dragon watched, focused, all her other programs set to a lower priority for the moment. When Cain had begun to talk about artificial intelligence out of nowhere, she had been alarmed, suspecting he might know.

Then he proceeded to draw a… a robotic body bearing superficially draconic features, along with prominent female sexual characteristics using his usual methods, the strikingly machine-like economy of motion of his body as he used pencils of varying thickness, then a combination of other methods to color it all in.

Dragon's thought process, based not on neurons but rather on usually relentless computation, stalled. It could be summed up as 'what the fuck'.

"Colin? Colin, I really feel like I am being sexually harassed over the internet this time. This is the first time that's happened."


"This brings us to our next topic, then. Hm? Oh yes, I have made the executive decision that you, my 'dear' viewers, cannot be trusted with making decisions, so I took the liberty of doing so for you. You are welcome." Glancing at the screen of the high-end laptop the Thinker decided to update your streaming equipment to, designed and manufactured wholly in-house it goes without saying, you see messages along the lines of 'step on me daddy Abel' blast all over the chat.

You pretend to repress a shudder. But seriously, you used to know a few chicks that were into that kind of thing, but it's actually really exhausting to manage someone like that. All the stepping eventually tired out the soles of your feet, something you didn't even know was possible beforehand.

"Degenerates, as per the norm. For the record, our last picture for the night will be chosen by you again, mostly as a means of demonstrating why you are not allowed to choose things." You clear your throat, sketching out a few lines that spread and criss-cross over a blank piece of paper you took out once you were satisfied with your last picture. "Let us continue, then, with our brief introduction into notable folklore. After a modern perspective on dragons, let us consider, together, eastern-asian fox spirits and their implications on broader mythology…"

Yes, you are very much aiming this one at your dear Serena. Serena who, in the time since you last saw her, went and piled one of the private rooms inside the Raveyard full of new toys for herself, having convinced Cherie to help her while the twins are just there to sing for fun.

She better damn believe she's being drawn in her natural habitat and life cycle now.


Serena was pouting, wiggling her butt on her throne of chicks. As in, human females in condition to be banged, not the fluffy fuzzy yellow mini-chickens.

"This depiction of me and my people is deeply racist and I shall demand restitution in the form of cuddles for it."

Theirs was a household that valued direct and honest exchanges between its members. The fact that daddy was laughing at her in her thoughts even as he went into great depth on drawing a kitsune butthole was not helping his position! At all!


"And of course," you begin, having completed your last picture and looked at the poll results for the one you are to draw next, "of course you default to a cape picture once again. I am not angry with you, don't get me wrong, just disappointed."

Messages flash over the screen- on one side, the people that voted for literally anything else, apologizing for not being able to overcome their opposition, on the other side the emotional masochists that deliberately did it knowing how you would react.

"For the record- and the benefit of those among us not local to the area- Miss Militia is a member of the Protectorate ENE, which is how Brockton Bay designated. They decided not to use numbers as the city is just such a 'special case' to deal with, one can assume. With that bit of trivia established, let us delve deeper into the request made."

You think for a moment before you get started, of course; as always, an actual light source is going to be a bitch and a half to get right, but you'll just have to do what you can, you suppose.

At least you'll keep the background fairly simple and easy to draw, for the moment. Most of the work shall be put into the focal point of the picture. "Incidentally, she does wear camouflage patterns as most of her costume, so I do believe it would be justified to say she has underwear of the same make. Cannot let her be spotted when she goes streaking, after all."

This is probably kind of mean-spirited, but luckily you give exactly zero fucks about any such thing. You're having fun throwing insinuations around and doing so keeps you too busy to get into more nefarious shenanigans, so it's a win-win for the good guys, you reckon.

"Hm? Yes, of course she's blushing brightly. Someone that keep all proper in public at all times, it is all but guaranteed she gets off to all manner of handholding and love confessions, the freak. Of course having 'chastely' kissed certain anatomy beforehand may have a role to play in it… With both lips as well, of course, see?"

You aren't exactly pulling many punches here. Or, well, you are, but you want to stay away from more extreme content that is liable to frighten off your viewership and probably get your channel deleted post haste. You'll just stick to safer pursuits like drawing Miss Militia in the process of being railed by a cock a little below your own size.

"And there we go. No, she is not particularly pudgy, she just has a layer of fat above her muscles. If it brings you any joy to know this, she would still be able to crush your head between her thighs like a watermelon. Her abs are visible, no matter how much you like muscles on a female of your own species there does come a point when they are, simply put, unhealthy in proportion."

Why are you arguing fetishes with random people on the internet again? Ugh, who cares. Making yourself look approachable is part of your PR anyways.


Hannah, Hana in her native language and Miss Militia in costume, gripped her mouse unreasonably tightly, the plastic grinding between her fingers. It had been a mistake to look at this stream as it happened this time, gathering intelligence on the potentially greatest enemy the Protectorate may have faced yet aside.

She watched on as a worryingly close rendition of herself was created on-screen, a second picture based on the first even with a different set of underwear on, at 'popular request'. She would be lying if she said it didn't bother her, but as long as she made sure to avoid wearing her hair like that…

The hero's mouse gave off a squeak of imminent catastrophic damage again, her rage rising as she read a particular comment. 'I don't believe it, I demand that MM take a pic of her abs and publish it'.

"Now, now, being too insistent on learning a woman's weight is a sure way to anger them immensely. Then again, I do believe the gene pool would be better off without ingrates such as you adding to it…"

If it were possible, Hannah thought with cold rage blowing in the back of her head, she would have been firing portable artillery at the man half the world feared for good reason, consequences be damned.

At least he eventually finished smudging her image. She vowed not to visit PHO's creative writing board for at least a month, absolutely assured that 'capefiction' about her would see a certain uptick in the days and even hour to come…


While all of this is going on, you have what few human sacrifices you have on hand consolidated in one room, your meagre stores of such explained by the fact you can't just grow people the way you can grow just about everything else.

… Well, technically you can grow them, but flash-grown humans are basically the worst of empty calories and barely count as food. Like, edible, yes, and you probably could live off of them if you had to, but it's not something you want to do and raising a child on them is kind of a precarious proposition.

So yeah, you end up drawing on your backup bloodbags for this, what with the reduced amount of people you need to feed a given population of vampires with Riley's help. It's not as much as you'd like, but more than enough when you consider the minimum you need, so you just go right ahead.

No time like the present, after all, especially when it's about getting a grasp on eternity and immense cosmic power in exchange for just a small investment of effort and lives. Of other people, it goes without saying, but also of one's own technically speaking.

That's right, it's time to induct a few more people into the ranks of vampirism, just because of how drastically the power levels between thralls and full-on vampires differ. Like, yeah, sure, you can beef your thralls up a lot, but there's just a fundamental difference between just how tough they are compared to vampires with a couple dozen human meals under their belt, not to mention the increasing amount of powers coming with that.

Like, for fuck's sake, you literally let Nora shoot you in the head for a bit of acting a while ago, that barely even phased you at the time; losing most of your brain mass and having it splattered across the room was really just a minor inconvenience rather than the immediate death it should have been.

If you weren't deliberately lowering your guard a bullet simply wouldn't make it all the way to your skull of course, but that's beside the point. Going from being human, thralled or not, to vampire is a notable qualitative upgrade, with the tradeoff being more dead people (which you don't care about) and some weaknesses- really only the sunlight thing, which you can also mitigate at this point.

All of that is to say that being a vampire is really a benefit both as an individual and as a group. So it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone when you approach a couple people about getting themselves vamped and they agree to go with it with little fuss, as the option has been put on the table and discussed within your inner circle, as it were, already.

Kumi, the unofficial leader of the Cluster Six, Circus, your clown callgirl (she gets paid and she comes when you call, so it counts) and Aisha, the family pet that insists on wearing a collar everywhere she goes and consumes way too many sweets, are your candidates this time, specifically aiming to let your daughters experience turning someone themselves.

It's one of those things you reason a responsible parent would teach them at some point, so here you are, throwing a bunch of live sacrifices together. "Alright, everyone ready to cheat death forever?"

"Heck yeah," Aisha says, actually wearing boots for once despite otherwise being naked save for her collar as usual. Her dark skin glistens in the otherworldly light you set the room's lamps towards, purely for theatrical reasons. "Let's go already, I wanna get to eatin' bitches!"

"Eeh, we don't usually kill bitches, do we?" Circus asks, dressed in her jester-adjacent costume. "Unless they're, like, really bitchy."

Lillian nods, smiling softly. "The bitchiness coefficient doesn't factor into who we kill and who not. If anything, we keep them for reeducation, but you do you."

She's also currently holding Kumi's hand, having already decided she will be the one to vamp her. The two actually got along with each other really well once they got to talking, which you of course support- they're very cute together, even if you'll be the first to agree that they won't be a couple anytime soon.

Too many other priorities on both sides, pretty much. At any rate, though, you go right on ahead and gesture for your daughters to begin any time they want. "Then let's not waste any more time, bitches or no bitches."


The subsequent minor massacre proceeds with little issue, the trio of fresh vampires tearing into their fresh meals with gusto and agreeing to share them evenly to boot. You would've thought Aisha might've been tempted to try for more, but those initial moments of mindless hunger for human life tend to suppress any thoughts beyond feeding on whatever and whoever is available and none of the three is particularly faster at it than the others.

You know from your own resurrection that even a single bloodbag can suffice if it must, it just takes a little bit longer for a given vampire to regain their full faculties this way… Unless you're a special case in that regard, too. You don't exactly care either way, the issue of having really that little human sacrifices around hasn't come up and you doubt it will anytime soon; if it did, you would just wait on turning anyone until the issue's resolved itself.

Anyways, the transition goes well for all of your new vampires, following which you invite them to come join you inside your rooms and get settled in with their new state of being. This inevitably ends with a small-scale orgy, their newly gained inexhaustible stamina put to the test on one hand while on the other you go right ahead and put their mental resilience to the test.

The rest of the Cluster Six quickly follow their leader in a heedless charge at your crotch and things spiral out of control just a little bit. It's not too bad, at least, as while all of this is going on you have someone else do the work you actually meant to be doing all simultaneously.

Taylor seems to have gotten a taste of graverobbing, or at least she volunteered to go and dig up the body of her mom's afterlife-friend with benefits while you're doing all of this banging, using her bugs to quickly and easily find her way into a certain family crypt. Incidentally, Max Anders still hasn't been interred inside, his body still in PRT custody despite the arrangements made for the case of his death.

They couldn't be arsed to kick the literal nazis out, but now that you murdered him already, they're really spitefully petty about everything regarding the man, it seems. More power to their coroners, you suppose, because yes, the PRT has its own people for that.

You would know, hiring on had been your plan. Parahuman bullshit is and remains its own brand of insanity, such that specially trained professionals are always in demand for every part of life concerning them.

The place's inside is about as tacky and filled with faux grandeur as one would expect, with stern stone visages of political figures its original owner, Allfather as he is mostly known these days, sympathized with, though at least he didn't actually put a statue of Hitler anywhere at least. Between unnecessarily large frescos and far more space than any one dead person (as in, dead dead) could ever really need, Taylor eventually shoves a stone sarcophagus open, because of course they would use those for the Anders.

Rich people, man. They could've at least done this whole bit a tad bit tastefully, with less actual gold inside their crypt. Then again, Allfather was a literal oldschool nazi motherfucker, so what can you expect, really?

At any rate, getting a source of DNA samples doesn't prove to be too difficult, thanks to you knowing where to find them. Max was rather distraught about the fact you were planning to 'bring that bitch back', but alas, nobody cares for a dead man's opinion.


Taylor goes ahead and, faced with all the unnecessary decoration, steals anything that looks like it might be valuable; a surprising amount of gold and silver were hidden inside of that family crypt, now returned to its rightful owner, that being you. Because hey, one, it was inside a crypt and you're the Lord Street Crypts, two, the people interred inside of there aren't exactly using or looking at it on the regular and three, it's literal nazi gold as far as you're concerned.

Like, the money for all of this was either taken from real Americans, ones that aren't white supremacist cocksuckers, or else accrued through the Medhall corporation… which, being literal big pharma, isn't really much better. One way or another you see yourself entirely justified in asking Taylor to literally rip it out of the walls.

Like, you don't exactly need a justification for what you're doing- you've done much, much worse with far less thought put into why- but it is kind of neat to have one of those this time around.

The much trickier part is to properly target the soul of Jesse Anders, also known as Iron Rain, as you have to actually get her when you start to fish around the afterlife; it's not like you need to have read her entire biography or anything, but basically the more details you know about a deceased person and the more important whatever object you have that used to belong to them, the better your chances at actually getting the right one summoned when you get to mucking about with where their souls are now.

Luckily, you have her literal body right there and finding her face isn't too hard once you have a name, which you figure should be more than enough. All of that in place, of course, you still have a bit of additional work to do, that is, in figuring out her new body-to-be.

It's one thing to just clone another one together just like you did for Annette, even with the little 'extras' you added for her, but you do know that Iron Rain was a parahuman, which does, somewhat, change things. Riley performs a quick autopsy to confirm as much, finding the dead tissue of the corona inside of her brain with little issue thanks to all the practice she has with this particular task, but the real challenge lies in what she says may be a way to ensure that upon being brought back to life the connection to Iron Rain's Passenger could be brought back to give her her power again.

Apparently, just resurrecting her wouldn't be enough. The littlest blonde biotinker is the expert here, but as you understand it Passengers, the real movers and shakers that enable all the shenanigans parahumans get up to, use a combination of the corona, the host's DNA, their memories and personality and more to keep track of who has what power, to put it simply.

In other words, just cloning someone wouldn't be enough unless that clone also had their own corona and their own memories and personality, all identical or as close to identical as possible to enable a 'reconnection' with the new parahuman. You will be skipping most of the work on this accord thanks to magic and reality bending over backwards to fill a blank slate of a brain upon a soul with its own memories being introduced to it, but that still leaves the part where Riley has to copy the corona of the dead body, which is already considerably decayed and all, into the new, living one.

The entire process takes up a lot of extra work and attention, is all you're saying. Turns out it actually isn't quite trivial to resurrect the dead, especially when additional considerations like this one are in play.


Still you get it all done eventually, including a few of the extra improvements you envisioned for this one. Enhanced everything, some minor passive magical assistance here and there, preternatural ability to handle and aim bladed weaponry of all kinds in a way you hope will apply through her power's use as well if you should get it right after all, some regeneration, the ability to grow white wings capable of letting her fly even though physics say they shouldn't be able to due to relative sizes (plus hard, slightly sharp feathers that could in fact be launched as additional weaponry), all the good stuff everyone and their neighbor should have as biological features, really.

The world would be a better place if everyone had superpowers. Well, it would be a massive mess of anarchic proportions with civilization limited to being ruled by those whose powers are stronger than most others', but at least being a fucking moron would probably have your face punch in at the speed of an incoming truck or something.

A better world, as you said.

Anyways, summoning Jesse Anders' soul is as easy as casting your spell in a prepared area, Annette and Taylor the only ones with you at the time. When she materializes, she is confused for a moment, but immediately puts her guard up anyways, only stopping to calm down when she sees her fellow dead person, now alive and all.

Naturally, for all that she observes her surroundings, so do you observe her. Tanned skin that speaks of just how white she is, bright blonde hair, blue eyes and features somewhere between sharp and beautiful, she's basically the ideal nazi chick, for all that the notable musculature and bearing indicate she would fucking castrate anyone that tried to get handsy with her (therefore not counting as a woman for nazi purposes or whatever, you never did bother to actually look into the exact ideology too deeply with how wildly it varies and just how internally inconsistent it is).

Her clothes remind you of the ones Annette's soul wore when you first summoned her, unsurprisingly, ragged, yet rugged, made of whatever modern cloth was to hand and filling out the rest with hemp and furs. In a similar vein, she also has the holsters for a couple guns on her, though the weapons themselves are nowhere to be seen.

"… Annette? Is that you?"

"Hey Jesse," the former literature professor replies sheepishly. "You doing alright?"

The soul throws herself forward, slamming herself into Taylor's mom to throttle her in a bear hug. "Idiot! Do you have any idea how worried I was?! How'd you disappear and where are we now?"

Annette smiles awkwardly, returning the embrace of her lesbian lover. "I'm- It's alright, Jesse. It's all fine. It turns out my daughter found herself a boyfriend and he can resurrect the dead, so…"

"So they brought you back, then you told them 'bout me?" Well, she's not an idiot at least. Progress. Sighing, Jesse shakes her blonde hair out, glancing over at Taylor before it's your turn to be looked at. "I guess all's well that ends well, then. I was running all over the place trying to find out where you were, woman. This your kid?"

"I'm Taylor," your favorite biblical plague nods. "Nice to meet you. Congrats on taking good care of mom."

"Thanks?" Snorting, the ex-nazi turns towards you, eyebrow raised. "So you're the mystery boyfriend?"

"Sure am. Gabriel Livsey, but feel free to call me Gabriel."

"Wow, you remind me a lot of my brother. What a dick."

You grin, eyes glinting in amusement. "You'd know better, I just killed him off a while ago."

"Hah! Maybe you're almost alright then."

"Stop!" Annette jumps between the two of you, hands raised in both directions. "I refuse to let you two macho at each other. Nothing good can come of it."

Her daughter just tilts her head, pointedly keeping any and all emotion off her face. "Worst case they have sex with each other. I bet it would be hot."

The older woman glowers at her before she gets back to the two of you. "No. Out of the question."

"Aww, are you being possessive?" You ask. "Or just jealous?"

"Can we just get this over with and show her her new body? You're technically still dead Jesse, so he will put you into a cloned body right next door," Annette explains.

"Alrite, let's get this show on the road!" Jesse's pronunciation has her fellow afterlife survivor glower again in feigned annoyance, something that has you think it's probably an inside joke between the two of them. A quick mental exchange with Taylor confirms it, too- apparently Annette has always been insistent on people speaking properly, actual accents aside.

Apparently it's one thing to use slang terms and for language to develop, but she can't abide by people just lazily mispronouncing things for the hell of it. Luckily enough you already killed Skidmark, the woman may just get a conniption anytime he was brought up otherwise.

"Alright, alright, everyone follow me. It might take a bit for your new senses to calibrate themselves, but you should feel right at home in your new body in no time," you say, waving for everyone present to come with you. "And don't mind the improvements we made while we were at it, of course. Nothing major."

"What did you do?" Annette asks, exasperated gaze boring into the side of your face.

"Well, there might be literal weaponized wings involved. And all the usual enhancements- nature is really sloppy about these kinds of things, you know."

"Lon as it won't fall apart on me," Jesse shrugs. "And isn't hideous or anything."

"We modeled it after how you would've looked while alive- should look and feel more or less the same."

Of course Annette stops walking the moment you come into the lab next door, a furious blush on her face. "Why is she naked?!"

"It's not a she, it's an it," you point out. "It's only a bag of meat for the moment, I made sure of it. It'll only become a person once we put someone inside."

"That does not address my point. My own body already had clothes on, didn't it?"

"It was a major pain to finagle those on it, so I just didn't bother this time." Seriously, dressing a literally vegetative, entirely limp body is way too much work, even with superstrength making it easier.

"C'mon, it's nothing you ain't seen before Anne," Jesse laughs. "So how do we do this?"

"I say my magic words and things happen. Just relax and give me a moment."

These two do make for an amusing pair, no matter what else may be said about them.


Annette gave off a put-upon sigh, feeling quite outnumbered. This was not how her lover's resurrection had been meant to go, but she supposed she only had herself to blame.

Her, Jesse and Taylor had gone and retired once it was clear that the revived cape had settled into her new body well, leaving… Gabriel, behind to do whatever it was he did on his own time. She had been worried about how her daughter and the woman she had found on the other side would see each other, but ultimately it seemed her worries were entirely misplaced.

Instead, they got along too well. She liked to think it was because Jesse was putting in a lot of effort to do so here, something that left Annette herself with very complicated feelings.

"So you're really making her take driving lessons?"

"After how she died? Yes." Taylor was not emoting quite right, hadn't been since before Annette had come back, but it was not hard to see the smug satisfaction in her words regardless. "She will learn how to drive from the start before I let her sit in front of a steering while again."

"Ya hear that Annie? No crashing cars for you anymore."

"It was one time. One time and nobody will let me forget it." The memories of her death were unpleasant enough to consider in a purely intellectual sense, Annette did not need the visceral sense of horror, the creeping, clawing cold as the sensation of her blood leaving her body becoming the dominant stimulus she felt, on top of it.

"She won't tell it, but she tried driving while we were both dead, y'know," Jesse casually revealed, Annette's eyes growing wide.

"We agreed never to talk about it again!"

"'m not talking, I'm expositioning," her partner's shit-eating grin came back. "Totally different. So yeah, every time she did, she got us in an accident."

"Mom. Are you sure you can be allowed within a yard of any automobile vehicles?"

Aghast at the sheer betrayal, she took a deep breath before answering. "I will have you know that none of those 'accidents' was my fault. In fact I distinctly remember most of them were both intended and ended up in our favor."

"Like that time we crashed into that village's wall and you just kept going?"

"That was a village of cannibals and I killed most of them by myself using the jeep as a weapon!" Annette winced, remembering they were in the afterlife no longer. "Those are the kinds of comments that would get me in trouble now, aren't they?"

"Mm. You're with the Crypts. Nobody better bother you over something like that." It still tore at her heart to see her Little Owl treat human life so casually, to be what others would have called a monster… Annette did not blame Gabriel entirely for who he had turned her into. She had been the one to die, to leave her vulnerable, and Emma, dear sweet Emma, had been the one to turn on her to twist the knife, as she understood it.

It was a series of events and actors therein that led them to the present. Gabriel still bore most of the fault, of course, but not all of it.

"… and not allow it until she can work the simulator with at least a standard dildo up her ass." She blinked, glancing to the side to see Jesse just as nonplussed as herself at what Taylor had just said.

"So, uh, you into your mom that way?" Very delicately put there.

"A little," her Little Owl confessed to Annette's mild horror. "Vampirism twists familial love at least a little, I think, but I've always had a bit of a girlcrush on her. More importantly, that is how I learned to shoot straight under any circumstances, so I figure it will work for driving lessons, too."

"… I am going to kill him." It was one thing to turn her into a monster, but to take advantage of her in this way-

"The one who taught me was Kate, actually. She really likes guns."

Annette sighed again, eyeing her daughter warily. "Do I need to worry about you?"

"Not particularly, no." Taylor tilted her head, giving her and Jesse a long look. "Would you like to play with my pets? Emma gets lonely very easily."

Her mind suddenly inundated with memories and sensations, it took her a moment to sort through them- immediately realizing what, exactly, she was given insight on. "You did what with her?!"

"Put her in a windowless room and break her with pleasure and indoctrination. I am in the process, anyways."

Chortling, Jesse shook her head. "Man, she's really your kid, isn't she? Just as intense and all."

"I, for one, have never committed rape."

"I plead vampire. Do you want to come see her or not?"

"I-"

Taylor just continued talking. "You haven't tried to meet dad yet, so you have the time, anyways."

"Huh, wait. You haven't?" For all her casual bravado and disregard for most people's emotions, Jesse was surprisingly sensitive when she wanted to be. Annette didn't bother fending her off when she took one of her hands. "Why not? I would've thought you'd be all for that."

"I…" It took a bit, to put her thoughts into words. "I'm scared. I know he hasn't been doing well since I… went, and I've been dead for three years. While shacking up with a woman in the afterlife. I'm… I don't know how to face him after all of this."

"Babe…" Jesse closed her eyes, nodding firmly. "It'll be fine. We'll figure things out together, with or without him, 'kay?"

"Mhm," her Little Owl added. "When in doubt I can always mind control Aunt Zoe to sleep with him instead."

"Taylor!" She couldn't help herself- Annette chuckled, the picture too hilarious for her right then and there. "I doubt you need to go that far."

"Maybe I want to."

"No, seriously, can you actually do that?" Jesse asked.

"Mind control is finicky, but entirely doable. First you need to…"

And it was thus that Annette Rose Hebert ended up listening to a dissertation by her daughter on the exact methods, effects and reasonable uses over given frames of time for various ways to influence someone's mind using her powers, which she still defaulted to calling and considering magic when it came to that.

It was surprisingly informative, too.


Well, Taylor has her mother and Iron Rain and the whole situation between them all well in hand for the moment, so you suppose you can leave her to it while you get started on figuring out your own next big project- may as well, you have phenomenal cosmic powers, it'd be a waste to just sit on them all day every day and all.

So you go on ahead and ask the Thinker to look up everything you need to know for the first big thing you could do that comes to your mind. You remember, after all, how Armsmaster's tinkertech reacted with your magic cast on it, that is, failing even more explosively than most technology you ever had cause to try doing such on; as you had already been hypothesizing, the quantum fluctuations that lead to failure in just about any computing or electrical appliances you cast on is even deadlier for tinkertech.

You even go and ask Sherrel and Catrin for some sample tinkertech they wouldn't mind losing to test it on and it does seem to be a more general theme, rather than confined to Armsmaster's stuff alone- there are some discernible differences in how exactly it fails, but you are willing to assume that any given Tinker's work will do the same when subjected to magic.

Incidentally, you didn't bother testing this on Alice's bombs as you're assuming they'd just explode, like that first time you tried detonating some of them from afar before she ever joined the Crypts. Or maybe they would… fail? To blow up? To be honest, most tinkertech fails by blowing up, it's hard to really be sure one way or another.

You'll do some science about this later, you suppose, but back on track, you have work to do.

The Thinker provides all the reports, noted documents and building plans on the topic in the PRT's possession, letting you get a closer idea of what, exactly, you're working with here. And hey, it turns out that this may be surprisingly doable, it's not exactly a small town but it really could be worse and your abilities are extremely well-suited to take care of this whole thing, as long as you're thorough. This isn't the kind of thing you can just, like, wipe out halfway.

Finally, you open up a telepathic link to… pretty much most of the Crypts that you give a say on how you spend your time. Hey guys, what do you think about me going and killing the Machine Army?

You have the data on hand, the Thinker methodically treating the PRT's digital security like a stress ball and giving you access to everything that's not kept analog only to protect against this exact thing. The Machine Army is comprised of self-replicating tinkertech that procedurally replaces nearby objects with itself, imitating buildings, furniture, devices of all kinds, pretty much anything and everything.

When anyone comes nearby, it of course reveals that it is purpose-built to murder living beings whenever possible, every part of the network, as you assume this stuff is networked somehow, a literal tinkertech weapon seeking to kill you on it own accord. The Machine Army thus pretty much turned the entirety of Eagleton, the origin of itself most likely at the hands of some unknown tinker that had no idea they were about to get killed by their own creation, into a massive deathtrap.

That alone wouldn't have been such a huge issue, of course, even with people dying left and right the Protectorate would have capes capable of taking care of the issue… if not for one key factor in the Machine Army's functioning. See, it doesn't just replicate itself, creating more and more tinkertech out of available materials pretty much autonomously, it also adapts to fight and destroy anything brought against it.

Tinkertech is extremely versatile and dangerous, depending on how good the Tinker in question is. This stuff? It doesn't need a Tinker, it is its own Tinker. And, consequently, it is capable of some supremely bullshit feats, from breaching some kind of spacial warping effect meant to contain it and killing the cape responsible to, potentially, counter and overcome even the Triumvirate's powers, or at least such the PRT speculates inside the confidential documents you're reading through the Thinker.

Whether this is true or not nobody felt prudent to test in a practical setting. What ended up happening was that, after evacuating what civilians they could in a timely manner, the PRT simply set up a wide cordon around the town and refused to engage anywhere the Machine Army could set up and use modern materials to create more of itself faster than they could do anything about it.

In the end, the threat seemed to simply stop near the city limits, once the streets leading into Eagleton were blown up and the asphalt transported far, far away. With no modern materials to work with, their spread stopped and the Machine Army turned, seemingly, dormant, hence the cordon eventually became a quarantine while nobody was allowed to poke this stuff.

The MA's got a nice little deathtrap of a city, there. Would be a shame if someone were to… violently shake reality in the general area and categorically blow up all tinkertech, wouldn't it?


Plans are made, discussed and discarded; safety precautions taken as best a possible as a matter of course, though precognition continues to be at most semi-reliable in any activity you would be involved in as usual. According to Dinah and her honestly ungodly powerful Thinker power, the chances of the Machine Army escaping containment as a result of losing a considerable amount of its size is low at 4.1846%, which is good enough for you as it is, at least.

You're not an expert, but if in any and all cases of hypothetical Machine Army decimation less than five percent of cases lead to them getting out, that's actually pretty damn unlikely. You have to consider the way that these percentages are calculated here. Incidentally, the Thinker is annoyed about the fact you're relying on Dinah's power for this prediction when she does literally the same, but you're really just counter-checking your AI's own thoughts here, honestly.

After all, the Thinker still does rely on gaining knowledge and information to use in predicting what will happen, even if said predictions can be pretty damn insane and far-reaching depending on her computing power (which seriously isn't lacking at the moment, you were very enthusiastic about building her a new body), whereas Dinah's power is based on unknown mechanisms- may as well check one against the other, at that point.

Anyways, you're having fun planning out how you would crash Eagleton, whenever you do. Maybe you could even make it a whole event, link it to your online content somehow…


Now then, it's a new day, the weekend even starting before you even know it- you were so busy thinking up a decent strategy on how to tackle the Machine Army you just completely didn't pay attention to the time. Alas, you suppose you can just leave your last batch of thoughts for later; you'll need to write an actual script of course, but you think you could swing turning the whole affair into an episode of Professor Abraham.

Ending a potentially world-ending threat and being educational at the same time. You like the idea, though the exact science here will have to be explained extra simply. Then again, it's never too early to begin looking into electrical engineering, when you think about it.

For right now, though, you'll be busying yourself showing off some of your new technology to the various Tinkers and engineering enthusiasts hanging around, at least one of them can probably make use of this stuff somehow.

Now where'd you put the controls for the manufactories again? Ah, right, the Thinker took over all of that and had those same controls dismantled, your bad.

"Come one, come all, to the monthly edition of 'what did I do this time?'"

Lea, being the first present on account of just being the closest when you get started with your impromptu tech show, raises an eyebrow. "You do know we all got an info packet about that already, yeah? Sherrel's already said she's making the truck fly."

"The doomtruck, that part's important," you point out. "But yes, I just like to make a thing about it all, give the that much at least. Now are we replacing all standard robotic flight with an overcharged gravity engine or not?"

"Way ahead of you there, boss. I present to you, the new Automatic Carrying Revolving Engine, or ACRE for short." You give her a look, not only for stealing your show but also for what exactly she just said. "Yeah, the acronym needs a little work, but look, it's cute innit?"

Humming, you take in the little floating robot Lea just presented to you, complete with a little twirl it imitated in the air. Essentially a small flying metal platform of some considerable thickness, with a trio of robotic arms stretching up from its sides to grasp at empty air, a little screen at its 'front' flickers to life to show… a cat video?

"I set it to be able to both carry and sort through items and play relaxing footage at the workplace. This baby is gonna be big, believe me on that one."

"I mean, it does what it's meant to, I suppose," you shrug, hand rising to let you rub your chin in thought. "Why not let it play holograms instead, though? That way it could project that screen somewhere more convenient, plus we should totally add more varied arms and maybe a few modular switch-outs, to let people personalize them on the fly?"

"I knew you'd have good feedback, boss."


Before you know it, you're talking shop with Lea, going from suggestions and ideas for machines you could be using or that just could be better than the commercially available versions out on the market as they are, both of you surprisingly into this whole thing. Well, perhaps not exactly surprisingly, you did pick her out because she was good with her hands and had a thing for this topic and you're, well, you, you went to Earth Fallout and pretty much immediately started stealing and later modifying the engineering available there, but still one way or another, you quickly engage in conversation when engineering is brought up like this.

And for the record, yes, you understand that not everyone can have the same standards you have, but that doesn't change you can and will expect a certain minimum proficiency and efficiency in those you work with, okay?

"… Ah crap."

"Whassup?" Sherrel, having joined your talk at some point, asks, holding out a bag of chips for Alice.

"I just realized I may be on my way to becoming Accord, just for engineering instead," you explain your thought process, using telepathy for good measure just to ensure you aren't misunderstood. It really makes everything so much easier. "It's kind of abjectly uncomfortable."

"There, there," Isabel says, patting your shoulder. You're kind of glad she feels comfortable enough to just up and do that, by the way; her self-image issues used to be kind of an issue, but hanging out with everyone (including yourself) and the thralling, plus realizing that being horrible people doesn't stop any of you from doing whatever you want for good or for bad, seems to have finally gotten her into a better headspace. "I'm sure you're nowhere near that bad."

Cupcake, who is also present because why not, shoves the giant screen into place in front of the couch you're sitting on, her diminutive frame making the physical strength she does, in fact, possess by now thanks to the enhancements she's gotten mildly humorous if anything. "Yep yep, I don't think you're that big of a poopyhead."

"I'll take your glowing praise into consideration," you snort, stretching out a hand to pat her head. She enjoys it, but after a moment or two she still objects- not that anyone pays that any mind. "What're we watching?"

Alice, the Bomb Tinker of your group and resident expert on anything she claims to know anything about, graps the remote. "I heard the Protectorate is pushing a couple new cartoons 'bout their heroes, let's check 'em out."

"Ooh, those? 'Protectorate Heroes'?" You grin. "Haven't seen any of them since I was a kid. Did Alexandria ever stop accidentally killing people off-screen in them?"

Lea raises a hand, then lowers it before finally raising it again, but not as high. "Was that ever a thing? I don't think it was, but…"

"Always looked like that to me. I mean, every time she left the scene, someone else never showed up again. Though I also only ever watched at friends' places, so I didn't exactly see every episode of the show."

"This calls for science." Alice, for one, seems to have the right mindset about this already. "Hey Thinker, think we can pull the show from the 'net?"

The television screen fizzles to life without so much as a word, only a vague, mechanical sense of smug satisfaction echoing in the back of your mind.

"Guess that works." You clear you throat. "Anyone want to bet we can start up a whole new set of conspiracy theories about this on the internet?"


Greg Veder stared at what PHO was telling him in stunned disbelief. "Alexandria was a murderer and anti-mundane elitist from the start! I knew it! I knew it all along!"

Void Cowboy would earn himself another ban that day, before school even.


Let's be honest, you probably needed that impromptu break. Not, like, because of stress or burnout or anything like that, even if it annoys you it's not like that kind of thing can actually drive you mad anymore, you're pretty sure, but rather because you quite enjoy and rely on these kinds of things to keep yourself in the moment, headspace-wise.

It's always very easy to lose perspective, in this business. And in general when you're juggling your levels of power around, for that matter. It really helps for your friends and family to just be there and remind you of what is going on at a base level, literally, on your base.

Ah well. You eventually excuse yourself after it becomes clear that yes, the old cartoon show Protectorate Heroes does indeed heavily imply Alexandria is a raging psychopath behind the scenes, everyone having had their due fun as you all fucked around. You still do have a lot of work to do, after all.

Starting with figuring out a script for a certain stream idea you've been working with and around, you also consider and share an idea for an underground arena for parahuman fighting, discussing as much with the upper management of the Crypts. Sarah and Henley are doubtful of the idea as you bring it up telepathically, but Kate is all for it- when Nora suggests to have it be an arena where parahumans can fight against mutants and robot and similar creations, with some safety precautions to at least lower chances of death.

That one ends up much more popular, so you're quickly inundated with ideas and concepts relating all around this particular project; whether to build it below the Raveyard or your hotel (which you still have yet to open, though you can do so just about anytime now that thanks to the Thinker construction work is going at blinding speeds), what layouts to use, everyone saying you should make the combat area modular so you can just switch various environments in and out… that kinda stuff.

Hey, more feedback is always better than less, you sure aren't complaining. Anyways, thinking up jokes for your particular stage is hard work in itself, so you'd best get to it- you wanted to try sciencing souls later in your free time, can't do that when said time is taken up with this.


Missy Biron was kind of getting tired of being Missy Biron. That was why she'd chosen to stop, simple as that. With her civilian identity all kinds of screwed, if not now then at some inevitable point in the near future, she decided she'd just be Missy for now.

That was a whole lot better, more than she'd expected to be honest. It was like a weight taken off her shoulders, for all that she was essentially indebted to the Lord Street Crypts now- or rather, a member of them, however that worked. There wasn't exactly any mandated gang colors or anything, but she still counted as a card-carrying supervillain, okay?

If she was going to be a villain from now on, the least she could do was to do it right. Of course there was no manual or anything of the sort she could work off of, what kind of self-respecting evil organization (let's face it, the Crypts were a gang the same way first world nations were) would have something like that lying around, but she could still use what she did know and go from there.

That decided, Missy promptly got up off the- off her couch, moving over into her bedroom where she quickly jumped onto her bed, face buried in the soft, yet firm contradiction of her pillows. She wasn't sure she ever touched anything even remotely as high-class, yet here she was, being just given room and board that was roughly equivalent of what a millionaire would own, seriously.

There was a bedroom, living room, kitchen, two baths, both of which could have a jacuzzi if she pressed a holographic button, a big living room with its own home entertainment system… And all of it could be reconfigured really quickly, new furniture teleported in, entire rooms switching between states, all using holographic screens conveniently available anywhere.

It was kind of an apartment, but a really luxurious one. It was also completely soundproofed, which was maybe the furthest difference from her old room; Missy couldn't hear the front door falling or slamming shut every time someone came or went, no ambient words exchanged and swelling into screaming, no phone calls that ended up the same… It was just, quiet.

Even if someone came along the hallway outside of her door, she wouldn't know unless she was right there and watching, whether in person or through the camera out there connected to her holo-screens.

It took some getting used to. Then there was the way everyone treated her like an adult; sure, she liked not being coddled unnecessarily, but she was well aware she wasn't exactly at that point in her life, okay? She still needed help, and advice and stuff. Luckily, if she did, she just needed to, well, ask.

And it was easy to ask. She was connected, like she never had been before, to this whole… everyone. This whole everyone. It was hard to describe it any better- if she reached out, anyone and everyone was there, and she could even just access particular memories, talks, ideas, left up in the air so everyone could grab some of them.

It was like the internet but more, particularly more… intense, was the word she thought of. Every sense could be filled with what someone else had felt at some point, set alight with sensation and impressions and so much more, filtered through the person in question and also herself, because it wasn't like that stopped either.

Missy was leaving any in-depth delving for later. She had enough to do as is, though the subconscious map of the Crypts' base was helping her a lot to find her way around it.

So, she still needed to learn how to do her new job. Luckily, there were a lot of people that didn't mind helping her by teaching. "So why didn't you ask Skitter for help as well?"

She looked at the woman, Kate, awkwardly. "I was going to, but… She's Skitter, you know? And she also seems to be busy, so…"

"Ah, say no more. For reference, don't worry, Taylor's a nice girl and she wouldn't mind, no matter if she can do what you ask or not. But for right now, let's get right to shootin' lessons!"

That's right, she needed to learn how to use a gun. Or those laser weapons the Crypts used, the Wards did have access to those field observations. "Okay, where do we start?"

"Depends. Pussy or ass?"

"Hueh?"

The tattooed brunette grinned, producing what looked like a Cain-Brand Dildo in purple coloration. Yes, she'd looked these up on the internet before, how couldn't she after the Crypts literally opened a mail-order sex shop? "Do you want to have this in your front entrance or your backdoor while I show you the ropes? Believe me, if you're conscious about it it'll help you keep yer cool. Same training Skitter did."

Well if she was going to need to do it anyways… "Uhm, is it safe? To take that in my butt?"

"I've seen smaller girls take this size," Kate shrugged. If she had a cigarette, Missy would bet a year's worth of allowance she'd puff out a little cloud of smoke at this point. "So you up for it or no? I even got some lube and all."

"… Give me a bit."

She took the dildo in her butt. Had to train both shooting and for anal sex. It was really huge and she could feel it stretch her out, but Kate helped by rubbing her back cheeks as they walked.


Annette and Jesse, the two newest additions to your ranks of late joining you from the afterlife, if only technically as they're not really 'officially' parts of the Crypts as of yet, have had a day to calm down and settle by now, both of them choosing to get a room (literally) near Taylor's own place after Annette decided they couldn't just stay there after all.

According to her, her mother objected to sleeping in the same room as the extensive collection of sex toys she stumbled on when she… well, walked in. Taylor is many things, but excessively subtle is not one of them, to say the least.

So yeah, that happened and, frightened off by the glimpse of her daughter's gathered strap-ons, Cain brand dildos and vibrators and more displayed in glass display cases all around her on-site bedroom, Annette ended up asking to be put up with Jesse. As you understand it, she was originally just trying to see if Taylor was fine living as she is, but…

Eh, doesn't really matter all that much. What matters is that they've had time to acclimatize, look into the changes that took place since their deaths and the ever-so-slightly changed city they've returned to, from the fact that the Crypts exist to the attack undertaken by Leviathan against Brockton Bay.

Ever since Annette found out, she's basically been holding onto Taylor whenever she could, as if afraid her daughter would evaporate away if she didn't. "You should have told me as soon I was stable."

"Mom. You still aren't stable."

"Well excuse me if I'm shaken hearing an Endbringer was on the same continent as you," she huffs, hand squeezing down on Taylor's. Who seems to be simply, quietly enduring as much, all the while Jesse is sitting off to the side and finding amusement in these two, much like yourself.

The two women's living room, which is where you are right now, is held in a nice caramel color scheme, warm tones and soft couches and armchairs all the way. It offers ample opportunity to sit down and have a chat, or some coffee… Or, for that matter, tea, as Taylor has informed you both she and her mother always did prefer.

Good on them. Coffee is, like, way too bitter for your taste, no matter how much milk and sugar go in there. It's always either making you want to retch due to its natural taste or else so artificially sweetened it's just not worth the trouble. Seriously, why Sarah likes the stuff you'll never understand.

But back to the topic at hand, because there are some things which remain to be cleared up here. Turns out catching up people that have spent the last couple years basically secluding themselves in some random forest and living off the land when they weren't brutally murdering others or running away from being brutally murdered does take a bit of effort, and hearing things straight from the horse's mouth tends to work better for these kinds of things rather than just doing everything telepathically.

That and being physically present lets you read facial expression and body language, project your own of both of those and generally keep a much more direct and personal thumb on the conversation to steer it where it's needed.

Such as, for example, right now. "So we have established that you are with my daughter. However, you are also in a relationship with several other women, is that correct?"

"Well, not wrong," you shrug, humoring Annette's attempt at trying to protect her daughter from you. Even if it should be the opposite way around in all honesty, Taylor has been pretty demanding recently- not that you're one to judge, of course. "Though technically, I wouldn't say I am in a relationship with several women so much as all of us being in one big relationship."

"I concur. There is a lot of hot lesbian sex going on without him," Taylor deadpans, helping you 'convince' her mother that this is all perfectly normal and okay without so much as moving a single facial muscle out of position.

"Yes, that. Honestly, I think they sometimes do it just to make me jealous and lure me into joining in," you grumble.

"I see. However, there is a very peculiar part of your telepathic network I think I would like to ask about; what is GabeIsLife and why is it filled with nothing but memories of sex with you, by various women?"

You always knew that thing would come up again. Okay, damage mitigation mode! "You'd need to ask my sister about that, she set it up."

"Your… sister. Who is part of this polyamorous cluster, I assume?" Annette's voice is dryer than a desert at midday. Alright woman, you want to play this game, two can do that!

"Well yes, hard for her to be the mother of one of my children otherwise," you boldly claim, not that you're saying anything but the truth.

"-! Child?!" She chokes out. Mission achieved.

"One of three. Or four, technically, but the twins prefer to be considered just one. Tea?"

You can't see your own beatific smile, but the sheer level of constipated 'what the hell'ness in her eyes speaks entire libraries' worth of books as to your success.

Then, of course, Taylor comes in to strike the last blow. "Don't worry, mom. I'll also have his kids when I'm ready."

"You will do nothing of the sort! You are far too young to even consider motherhood, young lady!" Ooh, someone's gearing up for a speech. "You-"

That's when your fun is spoiled as Jesse, a tolerant smile on her face, reaches over to rest a hand on Annette's. The reminder of her presence seems to calm her partner's anger, or at least hold it back for the moment.

"What your mother means to say is that both of us support whatever you want to do, Taylor, it's just that she thinks you may want to consider whether to have kids yet," the blonde explains. "Also, just saying, but good job."

Taylor tilts her head, motioning for her to elaborate.

"I mean, have you seen your man? He's 'yum', personified."

"Jesse! No perving on my daughter's boyfriend!" Annette hisses, her elbow harshly nudging the other woman's side. "Especially since-"

"Since I wouldn't mind a threesome?" Said daughter asks, once again completely derailing the conversation. "Or a foursome, for that matter."

Jesse seems to just be chuckling at the colors her girlfriend's face is going through, the former literature professor's blood vessels working at peak efficiency to express her emotions. You'd be worried about her blood pressure, but you took part in personally creating that body- you know precisely how much more it would take for any noticeable damage to occur.

"Taylor! We talked about this!" Annette is halfway to hissing her words again, deliciously unaware how much her rabid refusal speaks of what she really feels. "I will not engage in any kind of sex with my own daughter!"

As a helpful semi-bystander, that's your cue to helpfully speak up. "I mean, have you really considered it as a possibility until now?"

She groans, but you can tell you're on to something. Time to drill a little deeper.


This was a horrible idea through and through. It could not be called anything else, for all that Annette took some pride in her vocabulary, one of the few things to have made it through the afterlife with her; by any thinkable metric, having sex with the partner she'd found within said afterlife, her daughter and her daughter's boyfriend ranked within the upper limits of horrible, terrible, no-good ideas.

And yet she was still doing it anyways. For all that she knew better, should know better, somehow the air had been so charged with friction, electrifying energy and chemistry between the people present… It was strange, how easily Gabriel could build these things up, not that her Little Owl had helped any.

She had no right to judge anyone for any… proclivities they may indulge in, quite remembering her college days and the things she did as part of Lustrum's group, back before things turned for the worse. Feminism had needed a leader figure to pick up steam behind, yes, but they had been recruiting in the college dorms and the parties, the girls-only ones.

Not every feminist had been lesbian, but a lot had at least been curious enough to have been suckered into at least one lesbian orgy. Those days were long since behind her, but every now and then she still was reminded of them- there had been a reason she had been so eager and happy to seduce Jesse a month or two after they had met.

That did not change the simple fact of the matter that Taylor was in the room with her as she disrobed, Annette's pants hitting the floor as she inadvertently showed off her underwear, a black, lacy affair that covered less than it suggested. Jesse, as she already knew, had chosen to get the same in white, while her daughter-

Her breath hitched, a half-formed lecture returned back from whence it came. Her daughter was wearing no underwear at all, delicate anatomy bared without a second thought. Her daughter was as uncaring and blasé about this as she had been about everything Annette saw her react to since returning from the dead, her form blossoming into that of a woman even as she retained a girlish charm that was indeed breathtaking enough to at the very least delay the tirade now no longer incoming.

Having inherited her own long legs and arms, Taylor was nevertheless slim and athletic, a hint of muscle just barely shining through behind her every move. Pale skin and dark hair combined to give her an almost otherworldly feel, ethereal beauty self-evident every which way she glanced- the wide mouth also reminiscent of her own was drawn into an elegant smile, deep, dark eyes shimmering between dark green and a rusty, almost bloody red in the light of the lamps around them.

Her Little Owl had become a beautiful bird of prey, majestically watching the other… participants. Just then, she looked at Annette, a sly, momentary smile on her lips before she gestured for her chest, round globes easily a match for her mother's.

Right. She still needed to continue stripping. This was no time to get lost in thought at the sight of her daughter's naked body. Her daughter who, in the time she hadn't been there, had bloomed into a beautiful young woman, but still remained her daughter.

Now if only he could get her hormones to accept- wait, this was a new body, with, presumably, new brain chemistry. How much of this was her and how much was what Gabriel and Riley had created?

Then she watched as Taylor moved, turning around to fold her clothes up neat and proper, her behind pointing right at her mother. If her legs looked long and slender before, now they were a twin pair of edifices of the divine, her butt like a sculpted masterwork in itself, muscular tissue keeping it in perfect shape as it hovered between being small and being big, arriving at just the right size as effortlessly as its owner shifted from side to side, showing it off to her.

Annette swallowed. This rear was dangerous, in a very acute manner.

Her eyes finally tearing themselves away, she found herself seeking refuge in the familiar contours of Jesse's skin, her lover's surface soft and yet containing much more overt muscles that gave her a lot of solidity and strength, whether when they were running from a tribe of cannibals or sharing comfort in the seats of their jeep.

Long blonde hair, striking blue eyes, a softened edge Annette knew all too well to her as she shoved her underwear off herself. Jesse had always been brash, quick to drastic action and yet insightful when she wanted to be, large bust a source of solace on cold, long nights. Also a great pillow, no matter how much she grumbled about the former professor's sleeping habits.

Cute, pointy nipples that got aroused rather quite easily completed the look of her very own valkyrie, as she sometimes called Jesse. Her sharp, sometimes acidic, sense of humor clashed wildly with how deeply she cared at the end of the day, just one of those little thing that had brought her to love the other woman.

A dangerous thought, that. Love. It had implications, both for them… and for other relationships of hers, it went without saying.

Shaking her head, Annette caught a glimpse of Gabriel as he meandered through the room, the casual stride hard to describe otherwise. Utterly confident, as if nothing in the world could stop him now. She supposed that was true, too, or at least the memories she had found of the battle against Leviathan suggested as much.

Better not to dwell on the entire affair too much, at least right now. Instead, she looked him up and down, finding that she had to grudgingly agree with Jesse's earlier assessment- he was built like an ancient Greek god come to life, entire body chiseled to perfection and brimming with strength, entirely symmetrical and alien to any hint of defect or deformity no matter how small.

He was almost too perfect, truth be told. That and the fact he had seduced her Little Owl and turned her into a monster were her greatest complaints about him, very much valid ones too by her book.

Entirely hairless, as she only now realized everyone inside the room was, he came to a halt before her, wide chest level with her eyes. She had to tilt her head up to see him properly, yet felt the need to keep an eye on his inhumanly well-trained abs and, below them yet, the penis that had entranced her daughter and so many other women besides- looking at it, it felt like it had to be the length of a lower arm, and its shape…

She remembered this shape. From Taylor's room, inside the glass cases; her daughter literally sex toys in the shape of her boyfriend's tool. Whether this was strangely romantic or romantically strange she was not entirely sure.

"Last chance to back out," Gabriel growled, his voice driving goosebumps over her back. He was good at this. And likely knew precisely she would refuse to do so now that he had brought it up.

So instead Annette just glared up at him, one hand moving her long black hair back behind her ear. "And give you the satisfaction? Never."

"Oh, believe me… Everyone will be satisfied today." His hands creeped back behind her, grabbing her butt and kneading it strongly, yet evenly, hard erection pointing towards her navel.

Eyes locking, she took it in hand herself, feeling the hard, pulsing warmth against her palm. It was huge enough to be rated as a weapon, she thought in a corner of her mind. "That remains to be seen," she claimed, despite having a feeling as to how this would go…

As did he, a cocky smirk on his face. Wordlessly, he scooped her up into his arms, supernatural strength evident in the ease with which he handled her, whirling them around and sitting down on her new couch. Annette's legs spread wide to straddle his lap, her privates were rubbing up against his erection, a slim amount of lubrication left behind where they did.

"You're beautiful like this, you know? Even more than usual," he murmured, a surprising kiss to her neck making her gasp. "I want to just eat you up, but I think someone else would have an issue with that…"

"Damn right." Next to him, Jesse was sitting with Taylor sitting on her lap sideways, eyes running up and down her body. "Better leave some for everyone else."

Her girlfriend's hand was plunging down her daughter's body, soft slicking noises sounding where she was rhythmically pumping two fingers into her velvet depths. "I want to see it, mom," Taylor said, sounding hungry and depraved, emotion clear in her voice now. "I want to see you ride him like a horny slut."

Internally debating whether to complain about her language, Annette decided to leave it be. For the moment. Instead, she tensed her legs, hips rising up along the length of Gabriel's almost grotesquely perfectly proportioned manhood. Grabbing it again, she glared at him. "I'm just doing this for her, got it?"

"Hey, you take it at your own pace." He grinned. "Until I get bored."

She decided, then and there, that she would drain him dry. She would find a way.

Shifting him towards her entrance, she felt herself bite her lip, his warm thing feeling huge in her hand. This would be the first live penis she would have sex with in, what, over three years? It had been a while, was all. All the same, she had come this far… How could she possibly stop now?

Legs spread just that little bit more, she lowered her waist again, feeling Gabriel's hard length at her entrance. It pierced into her slowly, Annette wet enough to let it push in smoothly, and she heard a loud moan- only realizing it was her own after a third of him had already disappeared into her.

His cock, for there was no better word for what it was, filled her up like she could not imagine anything else doing, wet womanhood spread wide around the blissful intruder. His wide head scraping across her erogenous membranes, hitting her every spot and scratching every itch… She remembered acutely, now, why she was very much bisexual, in the end.

It was worth accepting men in her life as well for moments like this. That he could make her feel like this, so quickly and easily…

His hands renewed their kneading of her butt, slowly pulling her downwards. Annette gasped, her hands on his shoulders to provide stability, all the while things were escalating next to them as well.

Jesse was as fascinated with Taylor's butt as she had been, groping and spreading her daughter's cheeks wide. "Such a great ass. Just like your mother's." Blushing, she watched as her girlfriend grabbed something from next to the couch- where had those toys come from?- and used her free hand to tease a finger into her Little Owl's back entrance. "Ah… Tight, but it's sucking my finger in!"

"Mhm…" Taylor smirked, leaning forwards to kiss Jesse now, her posture mirroring Annette's own. "Lots of training. Everyone likes it a lot, I guess. Not as much as my pussy, though…"

As the two flirted, she had been keeping on working her way down, or being worked down Gabriel's shaft, either way. Panting, she felt herself reach the end of her capacity. "I can't… take any more…!"

"Where there's a will, there's a way," he smirked, shuffling, changing grip, "and you look willing enough to me." With that, she felt him jam her all the way down, his cock piercing upwards into her, sensations running wild, the very depth of her insides where no man nor woman had ever been suddenly filled out.

She was coming, she realized belatedly. Annette was coming just from taking the entire thing. What was wrong with this penis that it could just, do that?!

With a jolt, she felt something slide and glide down her back. Looking at where it was coming from, she saw Taylor's arm stretched out, hand stroking along her spine… then wander deeper, towards-!

"Ah!" She gasped, feeling her daughter probe a finger over and into her back entrance. "Agh!" One became two, steadily pumping and spreading her ass apart. Her eyes wide, she could make out as they delved around the shallows of her butt, held out at an angle as it was to accommodate the cock in her front- that Taylor was stroking along now.

"You getting shy now?" Gabriel murmured, shivers running up and down her spine where Taylor had touched her before. "Or do you just need a little help?"

"I'll show you help," she grunted out, forcing herself to rise back up the way she'd just come, her daughter's fingers still massaging the insides of her asshole. She could feel herself squeezing down on the unnaturally pleasurable rod inside of her, all the way as it slowly left her- then she dropped back down, too sensitive to keep control over her body.

Laughing, Gabriel used his leverage on her rump to accelerate her next go-around, the all-encompassing pleasure of him thrusting deep into her shooting straight up along her navel and into her head each and every time. The other two, Jesse and Taylor, weren't helping either, having moved to sit to both sides now, both of their mouths latching on to a nipple of Annette's each, still roping her body on top.

It was, very quickly, all growing to be… just too much, what felt like every square inch of her body touched with warm digits- before she knew it, she was kissing Jesse, then Taylor, her Little Owl's tongue too long and dextrous, her lips plundered just as the treasure between her legs was.

She was climaxing. Orgasming. Cumming, continuously, and never quite coming back down, not even the sight of Gabriel taking his own kisses from everyone else including her slowing down the gathering of the tightness deep inside of her.

His huge cock was hammering right up against her womb, she thought, and it was the hottest thing she'd ever experienced to be wanted and taken and used and doing the same to even her Little Owl, her soppy wetness running down and pooling at his crotch as she bounced.

"I'm coming," Gabriel said, the desire, she finally realized, that had been in his eyes and in his voice and his demeanor all along breaking out.

"Do it! In me! Fill me up!" Annette felt her back entrance assaulted, Taylor nibbling on her shoulder and spreading her with her fingers. "Do it do it do it!"

He did. Speeding up even further, Gabriel rammed himself into her depths at speeds that would bruise most women, her channel made to take his entire length with no complaint, and she felt something hot, slimy and good explode inside of her, almost knocking her breath out of her as she was held still, both of Jesse's arms holding her lower body so she would be filled up, jittery twitching overcoming the rest of her body, half-falling off his lap at the loss of control her orgasm imparted upon her.

Gabriel came inside of her long and hard, massive spurts of sperm overtaking her vaginal canal, and suddenly Taylor was there, breathing lustily right in front of Annette's face. "You're so beautiful, mom," she whispered, licking the tongue she hadn't noticed was hanging out of her mouth back into place.

It was, once again, unreasonably hot.

Like a puppet with her strings cut, she was pulled around, shifting position until she laid down on the couch. Only her pussy still had any strength, holding onto the cock that had pummeled it into submission as though to milk it, but before long even that was not enough, her now surely gaping entrance leaking alabaster sperm.

Then she was turned around, a pillow laid below her waist. Before her scattered mind had any time to think, her fake glasses skewed to one side yet still somehow holding on to her face, she felt as The Cock was slowly but surely shoving itself into her ass this time, a long, drawn-out groan her only reaction.

"You look so great when you're being fucked, mom." Taylor was continuing to not help. "And I like your ass too, by the way."

"Uuungh." Words were too difficult. Just fuck now. Her asshole was going to be so tender-

In one thrust, Gabriel entered her all the way, a hoarse scream of mixed lust and surprisingly little pain his answer as his balls slapped against her wet pussy.

"Yeah, gotta agree to Mini-Nette here. You really look great like this," Jesse added.

She was so getting her strap-on privileges revoked after this-!


It does take a… considerable amount of time, after all, more than you'd expected to be using on the talk you were planning to give, though that much does seem natural given how things turned into a spontaneous foursome. Hey, no complaints from you, all three of the girls you ended up boning are beautiful and have interesting character, not to mention you're basically in a permanent relationship with Taylor already- you'd never pass on a chance for some hanky-panky with her in particular.

But yeah, you end up screwing them all stupid, starting with Annette. She recovers halfway through and needs to be put down again, as does Jesse later on thanks to Taylor's unnatural stamina, but before long you've managed to knock them all out with pleasure simultaneously, giving you that warm glow of a job well done you usually get when you do good work.

You know, like finishing a project while engineering. Or a plan coming to fruition. Or maneuvering the Crypts so that basically no heroes dare to so much as touch any of your mooks, playing around and training yourself to do things you couldn't do before or improve on exiting abilities, breaking the laws of physics, those kinds of things, basically.

It helps that the subjects of the exertion of your skills and physical abilities have just as much fun with it as you do. There's a reason you basically inserted sex into every part of life in the US back on Earth Rapture; there's a lot of societal engineering that goes into it, but the sheer amounts of interpersonal issues that get cut out by everyone just fucking instead of being assholes at each other is astounding.

That plus everyone gets to have a taste of your daily life. Add to this that you didn't exactly have all that many better things to do while hibernating in that world and, well… What could anyone have expected to end up differently?

Anyways, with all three out for the moment, you are willing to call this one a done job and get a move on. You still have a lot to do, today's barely begun and here you are, already using up more time than expected.

Totally worth it of course. You're happy to be busy with spontaneous orgies every day… So long as they don't end up consuming your entire unlife. It's one thing to be getting some extremely frequently, it's another thing to embarrass yourself by actually getting yourself killed because you were so busy having sex you didn't get to taking precautions, constantly stay ahead of your opposition and generally improve on your powers and abilities where you can.

That and engineering better tools to keep yourself and your people alive and impossible to stop, ensure the administrative part of running a crime empire is taken care of, regular interaction with anyone that may need more active managing… You're surprisingly busy, now that you think about it.

Ah well. Time to go and take care of yet another married woman (and one that is currently married, to be clear) before she comes up and gets in your way at some other point down the line, you suppose!


Annette stirred, feeling a bone-deep, pleased soreness that she couldn't recall ever having touched upon since her honeymoon period right after marrying. She was lying down on an extended couch, distantly noticing that she did put one of those into her new living room- she was lying on a thick, fluffy blanket, sullied by sweat and other, less innocuous fluids, awareness of her body returning faster than her memories.

Next to she saw Jesse lying and- there was a hand on her ass, intruding digits dipping where nothing was supposed to go outside of very select circumstances, scooping something up and- she looked. It was Taylor.

Sitting up and watching her, her daughter was stirring her asshole up, fingers retreating from it covered in seed. Right, there had been a lot of that, hadn't there? "Good morning, mom."

"… Good morning, Little Owl." She did her best to ignore the way Taylor was licking her fingers clean, making a show of how she licked and sucked on them one after the other. And how strangely hot it was. "How long were we out?"

"Just a few hours," she said, seemingly unbothered. "Gabriel tends to have that effect on everyone."

Neither of them said anything for a long moment, before her daughter finally stretched her hand out again, long dark hair shifting beautifully. Annette shuffled away, but Taylor was unbothered- she simply pulled her back by her hip before once again molesting a place on her mother she definitely shouldn't. "Taylor?"

"Hm?"

"Is this… Why are you doing this? Becoming… involved, with me, us, in this way?" Annette held back a shudder, probing fingers teasing her back opening.

"That is a complicated question to answer." Shifting, she turned to properly face her mother, one hand stroking through her hair. "I told you vampires think and act differently."

"You did. Is that it?" Because while she would always be her Little Owl, Annette was not sure if-

"Kind of. It's complicated." Eyes gazing off into the distance, Annette was unprepared when Taylor's gaze met her own next, silent intensity within almost overwhelming. "You stop caring about some things, so other things become different. It's a change in perspective, and it's especially massive when it comes to the things you really care about."

"Ah." Still lying on her belly, she twitched when her daughter moved, sitting astride her back now, both of them still entirely naked and Jesse asleep next to them. "So then…?"

"It's a thing about love," Taylor declared. "People you dislike are trivial to torture and murder and worse, people you don't care about stop mattering at all, so you think nothing of doing horrible things to them as well, or of ignoring them entirely, but if you liked someone before? If you loved them? You can see that love for what it is."

"I am not sure about this, Taylor…" Slender, yet strong hand were on her shoulders, slowly, thoroughly kneading them a time or two before they started to slide down across her back.

"I am." As she said so, she leaned down to brush a kiss across Annette's nape, the tender gesture freezing the breath in her lungs. "It's a matter of love. Of realizing that you love enough to get your hands dirty. And I do."

Moving to crawl down the length of her mother's spine, she could feel her daughter's lips on her along the way, kiss after kiss doing much worse than arousing her. Annette realized that Taylor was trying to seduce her- and succeeding, to her great alarm. "That's, not healthy, Little Owl…"

"I'm a vampire. I just don't care." The words were utterly and completely matter-of-fact. "I still love dad as well, but not in the same way I do you or Gabriel or my pets, these days. I want him to be happy, but I don't want to do this to him."

Any words she could have found were lost as Annette felt hands on her cheeks, spreading them apart to give way to a long, wet tongue, wetly demanding entrance to her honeypot where backed-up semen was still present when she paid attention to what was going on. Clawing into the blanket, she was slowly spreading her legs further and further, her body accepting her daughter along with her heart even as her head rebelled in a confusing swirl of conflicting thoughts and reactions.

She would need to… have another talk about this, with Taylor and Jesse and finally with her… with Daniel. She had been dead for three years, she hardly had any right to him anymore just as he hardly had any to her, much as it hurt to accept this end to their marriage she had, in some corner of her mind, always held on to when things got bad.

But it wouldn't be fair. So she needed to make this a clean break. For both their sakes. Just as soon as her little girl was done eating her out- and, as she would soon find out, Taylor was not at all shy about delving into her mother's ass either, slurping the cum leaking out of her everywhere she could find it.

The real victim in this situation, of course, was Jesse, who had woken up halfway through their talk and didn't want to make this all even more awkward than it already was…


Lady Photon. Sarah Pelham, in her civilian identity, or Photon Mom as she has also been christened by the media, leader of New Wave, wife, mother of two and nearing forty years of age, all the while still being fairly conventionally attractive with a heart-shaped face and the short, straight blonde hair that seems to run in the family.

That's what people can find out as long as they have internet access and, like, ten minutes of time tops. You are not most people and, thanks to the Thinker, Sarah and some more preparation than that, aware of a lot of additional information about your target.

Having triggered during the same incident of kidnapping and narrowly escaped death as Carol Dallon, the two sisters killing their kidnappers and would-be murderers after being starved for several days, her powers are rated at Blaster 4, Mover 3 and Shaker 3 by the PRT, consisting of flight, forcefields and concussive energy blasts fired from her hands, as you understand it.

Possessing considerable control and versatility with her powers, she can use her forcefields to help her carry others, protect others through creating a sort of wall with them and presumably much more, given there is little to no indication she is severely limited in their usage; lacking a firsthand account from the person herself, you are of course mostly guessing, but you feel it to be a reasonably educated guess.

Similarly, her energy blasts aren't too hard to figure out give the data you have. Kinetic force applied through whatever her exact mechanism is, with some kind of short charging period; just like her forcefields, she can control and modify the ways in which she fires them off, from quick single shots to entire sprays of her blasts.

A single shot seems to carry a little more force than a punch against most opponents she fights, but she has demonstrated far more penetrative power than that, piercing through walls with the things when necessary. And, well, even if she were to continually hold back, she'd still eventually mulch people into pulp if she just, y'know, didn't stop firing, you suppose.

A versatile and effective powerset. Not all too much trouble by your standards, but certainly dangerous for most people to be around.

Then there's the things you know about her private life. She delved deep into her love for horses after her trigger, relying on the animals to recover and heal after her trigger, often going out riding; she even met her future husband in physical therapy after a riding accident, him being there because of his own trigger, in fact.

She's a housewife these days outside of her cape career, calling herself Lady Photon and still being the driving force behind New Wave as a whole, as already mentioned dislikes the name of 'Photon Mom' she's been stuck with in the media and the public at large and generally tries to pull the whole cape mom shtick as best she can.

Personally, you mostly just want to bang her because you've banged all the other New Wave chicks already. You want to complete the set, no matter how much that makes you sound like some insane rapist now that you think about it.

Anyways, getting into contact with her as such is easy enough, of course…


It's all fairly innocuous to start with, as these things go. You don't run around inside your costume, for example, nor are you impressing your immense power onto the woman you're here to seduce; that works well enough when you're looking to recruit a new cape or need to pull some intimidation, but this time around you really just want to see if you can't pull off your usual shtick on one Sarah Pelham.

So for a start, all you're doing is going shopping. Inside a particular supermarket, that is, the same one she frequents every week, making a part of timing things right to sort through the stuff on offer inside the cooler department, or however the rows of freezing and energy-inefficient glass-topped machines holding the wares that need refrigeration are called.

It's mostly just a reminder of how much better Earth Rapture worked out under your control, really. Your senses are sharp enough these days you barely need to even read the descriptions and what's inside the food sold here, and you wouldn't feed half of this crap you're seeing and smelling and tasting in the air to a dog, which is incidentally about the same as how you'd treat a human, for that matter.

You're a sociopath, not pathologically evil.

This isn't a crappy place to shop, either, and the prices reflect that; brands are the kinds you don't see much of in low-income households, there's a lot of food they sell here that should be considered safe to eat and both healthy and tasty on top- but in the end you still just have an overabundance of industrial sugar, more chemicals than most of these things really need and unsound packaging designs.

It's disappointing, is what it is. Earth Rapture is chronologically, what, nearly forty years back, but you've led the entire world into a better standard of living than what Earth Bet America can bring? Since when is the supervillain vampire a positive influence on humanity as a whole?

Ugh, screw it. You'll just buy a couple tubs of ice cream to analyze for taste later, purely to pig out on it. Yes, you have unlimited ice cream at home, but you also have functionally unlimited money, so if you'll spend twenty dollars on cookie dough ice cream on a whim, who's going to stop you?

Decision made, you fill your shopping cart a little more and move on, having more fun doing this whole thing than you thought you would. It feels like it's been ages since you really went shopping like this, which is probably an understatement if anything. You don't miss it as such, but it's nice to go and grab some stuff with your own two hands for old times' sake, if nothing else.

Ah, and there comes your target already, one Sarah Pelham, her own cart methodically filled with everything her family will need over the course of most of a week. Knowing as much about her as you do thanks to honestly excessive amounts of cyberstalking, you only need to mime having trouble juggling two stacks of deep-frozen pizza and-

"Here, let me hold that," the married woman says, helpfully steadying one of the things.

"Ah, thanks a lot. My baby sister likes the Tricollini, but they're almost always buried down there," you say sheepishly, extracting the troublesome package. Funnily enough, you did actually meet, like, two dozen married women you later banged back in LA just like this. "There we go."

"It's no trouble, I'm happy to help," she says, giving you a courteous nod. Then, hesitating, she lingers just a moment. "Hm. Normally I'm recognized by this point. Are you new in the Bay, by any chance, or just not a big fan of capes?"

"I'm not following the cape scene all that much, no. Though… Don't tell me, I think I'm remembering something." You pretend to be thinking deeply for a few long moments, shoving the freezer you had open close with an elbow. "Ah, you're with New Wave, right? The Pellam?"

"Pelham, but yes," she smiles, her beautiful countenance looking no older than twenty-five. Thirty at the most. She really was barely touched by her actual age. "Now you have me worried about you, though. You do know what places to avoid on the way home, yes?"

Hook, line and sinker. "You can tell me all about them on the way to the register? I think I've got everything, at least, but if you have any recommendations…"


Sarah Pelham wasn't quite sure what it was about the young man she'd met out shopping by chance, his easygoing smile, his attentiveness to things most boys his age completely missed or maybe him not making a big deal of her cape identity, as cliche as it may sound for a woman in her position, but… Well, he was rather nice, that was all.

They got to talking about how things were going, a wonderfully mundane and casual shared conversation about anything and everything from the weather to the economy. By the time they finally did arrive at the register, she felt some genuine regret about having to go separate paths, all the while he was genuinely thanking her for helping him pick out the ready-made cakes her family preferred (not that he knew she pointed at those in particular).

She was, in fact, somewhat hesitant about parting ways as they lined their purchases up, not that Gabriel seemed to share any such feeling. "Would you like me to help you carry your stuff?"

"Oh, you don't need to bother for an old woman's sake, I can just take the cart to my car and back," she waved him off, sighing inside her head at just how polite he was being as a matter of course.

"No, no, I insist! Even if you can just lug it all around, anything goes faster with an extra pair of arms," he gestured, smiling happily. "It's hardly a detour, I have to find my way out of the mall anyways."

This was precisely what she meant. He was just being so pleasantly polite and concerned, it was hard to tell him no, wasn't it?

Ten minutes later they were at the trunk of her car, the young man's strong arms happy to help lift her purchases into the trunk of her car, thick muscles reminding her of her own husband when they were both college-aged and out to cause trouble.

But no, that would be entirely wrong on so many layers she saw no reason to even count them off. What was she thinking, taking advantage of this nice, naive boy just because she could probably get away with it, cheating and-

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" He smiled at her, tan skin smooth in the underground garage's lights. "I'm all yours for an hour or two if you'll have me, Sarah."

"Why does that sound like something a male prostitute would say?" She pondered, blushing when she realized she'd said that aloud. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, it's alright, you'd be surprised how often people tell me that," he shrugged, entirely unaffected. "I really don't mind. So, anything else I could help you with or would you just like to get going?"

Sarah took a moment to think on it. earlier concern all but wiped from her mind as she thought on the possibilities. She really shouldn't, one half of her said. The other half, though…

"Well, it is a bit embarrassing," she said, a suitably apologetic expression finding its way onto her face one way or another, "but could I trouble me to follow me to the toilets? You know how dangerous it can be to go to public ones alone…"

"Say no more. I shall speak not a word about what I see at any point," he vowed jokingly.

"I'll hold you to that, young man…"

Of course when they arrived at said toilets, Sarah stopped, a last thought running through her to confirm that she was really doing this… But what the hell, she'd come this far, she may as well see what happened, right?

Pushing the door open, she looked over her shoulder and bit her lip despite herself, her hair taking just a moment to get out of the way. "You coming?"

"If you want me to," Gabriel replied warmly, boldly stepping into the women's and letting the door fall shut behind himself, eyes focused entirely on her. Somewhere along the way they'd gone from entirely innocent encounter to, this, but for some strange reason Sarah could not find it in herself to mind it.

If anything, it felt empowering to see him so spellbound by an older woman like herself. She was a married mother of two in her early forties, for goodness' sake, but the way he was looking her up and down she certainly felt like she was twenty years younger than she really was.

Walking past the mirrors and sinks, she turned around she met the wall, Gabriel hot on her heels. His arms encircled her lower back, hands roaming all over it as his lips met hers, a passionate kiss exchanged to seal the deal. She wasn't shy about taking what she wanted, either- while he began groping her butt (which she was insecure about the width of, she was not going to lie), Sarah was returning the favor with one hand on his crotch, feeling something big and hard pressing against her palm through his pants.

This was all moving awfully fast, but, well… It also felt awfully right. Like she had just been waiting for an opportunity just like this. Strange, but she paid no heed to any of that at the moment, far too caught up in it all.

Hot breaths were involuntarily exchanged simply because of how close they were, bodies grinding against one another in their impromptu make out session. He was soon unbuttoning her blouse, eyes gazing deeply into hers, and pulling her undershirt up above her bra, undoing it by reaching behind her back with obvious practice. Her breasts revealed to the open, cool air, she gasped when he leaned down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, looking up as he nursed delectably, sweet sensation shooting through her.

Lady Photon, Sarah Pelham, did the only thing she could think of. Fiddling with his zipper, she soon opened it up, gaining access to his pants, and shoved her hand inside, finding an impressive member indeed to be waiting within. Pulling it out, she couldn't help herself but measure and compare, but it was no smaller than her husband's despite him being so much taller than Gabriel, a thought that filled with her with a curious mix of shame and arousal.

She gave it a few experimental tugs, as though to see how it felt in her hand. It was large, throbbing, its head flaring wide between her fingers, and she had to hold back certain naughty sounds as she immersed herself in this… diversion.

Before they did anything else, however, the bathroom door began to open. Eyes wide, Sarah looked at Gabriel, but he just raised a finger to his lips, moving her with him as what would have been an uncoordinated scramble became a swift change of position.

By the time their mystery interruption was inside and opening a toilet stall, they were already locked inside the one next to her, the leader of New Wave was sitting on a thankfully not particularly grimy toilet seat, the young man's very erect penis pointing right at her face. Unsure what to do but not about to stop before he did, she quickly grasped it, directing it down at her lips to swallow its head beyond them, her tongue swirling and licking around it almost on instinct.

She never had been a huge slut or anything and certainly not involved in any sexual encounters after she met her husband, but she did remember this much. Slurping and salivating away, she was building up a rhythm, she soon realized, all the while the person next to them was doing their business as well.

Taking in more and more of Gabriel's rod, she was hitting the limit of her mouth's capacity before long, but performing oral sex was kind of like riding a bike, she thought: you never quite forgot how to do it once you'd learned to, and so she bobbed back and forth, almost up and down, to send pleasure all over this rod, the young man she'd met gritting his teeth in pleasure as she tasted the first salty drop of precum on his tip.

The absurdity of it all hit her, then. She'd met him while shopping, then they'd gone and gotten to know each other, now all of a sudden she was blowing him in the restroom? What was she, eighteen? The entire thing amused her if anything, it was… just too funny, and so only helped to encourage her to really put her all into this, her breasts freely swaying through the air until he grabbed them, playing with her chest and teasing her nipples.

She was of average size, but her husband never complained about her girls even though she always thought her sister was bigger. Neither did Gabriel seem to have any complains here and now, though they were having to stay quiet lest they would be heard, the next stall's occupant only just finishing up and flushing.

"Hnn…" There was a sound, quiet enough the swinging of the stall's door loud enough to drown it out but just loud enough she could hear it. Eyes wide, Sarah realized what was about to happen- she was sucking his cock, of course he was going to come! Thoughts racing, she considered what to do- for too long, a slight tremble in the shaft she was still holding in one hand while giving it a blowjob announcing it was about to erupt.

She braced herself, tongue squeezing along its underside, and a thick, slimy shot of cum hit her right in the tonsils, the New Wave heroine having to hold back a heavy cough as she pulled herself off Gabriel's cock, still receiving her cumshot all the way so she got a good taste of it.

Jerking it absent-mindedly, a few more spurts came flying, the young man's virile load as big as it was long-lasting; Sarah closed one eye as sticky cum flew over it, her cheek and mouth looking no better. Even her hair was hit by a few stray shots, though they (finally) abated at that point.

They both breathed heavily as they waited for the unexpected guest to leave, staying just as they were. When the bathroom door, swung shut again, Sarah coughed, the sperm held in her mouth flowing everywhere it was not meant to go, before she finally could swallow it, her wet mouth opening almost of it own accord as if to show Gabriel she had properly drunk all of it.

"This is so hot," he murmured, stroking through her blonde hair, and she couldn't help but agree. Similarly, she couldn't help but notice he was still absolutely hard, youthful vigor having him stay ready for a round two with absolutely no issue.

Swallowing again, Sarah slowly stood up, this time being the one to hold a finger over her mouth for him. Wordlessly, she turned around, popping the button of her pants right open, the zipper following shorty thereafter, all so she could slowly bend over, her dark pants pushed down her legs so her butt, clad in nothing but her panties, pushed out towards him.

His hands found it immediately, digging into soft flesh. He groaned happily, only letting up when she brought her hands up once again… to grab those same panties this time.

"Someone likes what they're seeing," she joked, slowly shimmying her hips out of the tight-fitting cloth.

"With an ass like that? I sure am," he whispered back, obvious passion and desire lighting a fire in her loins she thought well under control for the longest time. "I want to do so many things to you, Sarah…"

She licked her lips, more than able to imagine precisely what he was talking about and acutely aware of the big, hard cock right behind her. "I hope I know what at least one of those things is…"

She brought her panties down the same way her pants had gone, letting them pool between her knees. Strong hands were back on kneading her ass, spreading her cheeks- Gabriel stepped behind her, pushing her by her hips, and she felt her hands hold onto the toilet seat in search of balance.

She was literally bent over the toilet. It was all absolutely filthy… and yet that only helped to turn her on harder.

His head, lubricated by her own saliva, poked against her entrance, Sarah's breath hitching. Then he pushed into her, spreading her open- she moaned, feeling a cock that wasn't her husband's, that she shouldn't have, pierce into her, claiming her behind his back. Then she didn't think of him at all, too focused on the moment as such, Gabriel inserting more and more and more of himself into her.

"You're so hot," he whispered, holding her in place just like she wanted to be, "such a hot, sexy woman…"

"And you're… such a… naughty boy," she breathed, past her silly grin he couldn't see. He was reaching deep into her, and Sarah realized she had to be stupidly wet right now. Not deterred in the slightest, she stretched her back, letting him enter at an easier angle, and enjoyed the tightness and throbbing pleasure of his cock inside of her.

"Ungh!" All of a sudden, he thrust forward, penetrating her all the way- she could feel him there, at her womb, her mouth refusing to close. It was a little painful, but also just too hot to describe.

Gabriel, rather than glory in the feeling, pulled back, himself establishing a deep, pounding rhythm that had his entire manhood slam into her, driving the lung out of Sarah's lungs again and again. His balls were slapping against her as well, hitting her clit, and within moments they both were moving feverishly, the mother of two pushing back in time with him pushing into her in pure delight.

The wet sound of meat against meat resounded, so loud anyone could hear it the moment they opened the door. Neither of them cared, too lost in their copulation to bother. She was letting herself be taken right there inside that toilet stall, racing towards an unusually intense orgasm, and it took all she had not to scream aloud in exuberant anticipation, her breasts hanging freely below her.

Finally, it was almost there, for both of them. Gabriel slowed down, powerful thrusts into her replacing his fast pistons, Sarah faring no better- "Come! Come inside me! Now! Yeeesss!""

She came at the same time he did, youthful, plentiful spunk filling her up, his second orgasm still producing enough sperm for her to feel it inside of her as it battered her womb, strength leaving her limbs in explosive release. Fireworks went off inside her brain, eyes growing unfocused, she breathed out of her mouth- Sarah was a mess, groaning deeply as she was filled up, bred by this boy she barely knew.

She was on the pill, neither she nor her husband wanted any more kids for the moment, but never mind that.

Her cute little lover helped her stay upright by reaching around her torso, chest played with in his palms. The blonde sighed, slowly recovering, and looked backwards; she took a long moment to realize this, too. "… You're still hard?"

Gabriel smiled apologetically. "You're so sexy, I can't help myself?"

… Maybe another round. Or two. Youthful vigor could only go so far, right?


Sarah, well, the other Sarah, not the one that's your sister, ends up quite unable to speak partway through your session, but you are rather used to such at this point, so you simply clean her up a bit with the facilities at hand as best you can, putting her clothes back on and generally making her more or less presentable.

Like, uh, her panties may be more or less unsalvageable by the time she wakes up at the rate she's leaking your cum, but some sacrifices just do have to be made, see? It's inevitable.

That done, you carefully carry her unconscious body towards her car, knowing where she put her keys from earlier when you helped her pack her stuff into the trunk; a lot of milk, she mentioned running out and wanting some for morning coffee, some food and things like that, really nothing particularly noteworthy in itself.

She just does have a habit of doing some late shopping at this point of the week, really. You know some people like that, that just can't calm down unless they've stocked up at a given point because they know they won't have time later… Even if they totally can shift their plans and make time if really necessary.

Not everything has to be entirely rational all the time.

Anyway, you gently shove Photon Mom into the driver's seat, making sure she's resting comfortably before you close everything up and leave her to sleep it off at her own pace. She did mumble something about getting your number earlier, so you do go ahead and grab her phone for a second to exchange those, but that's really all, at least for the moment.

If she wants to meet again, well… All she has to do is to write, or (ugh) call, and get over herself to do so beforehand. You look forward to hearing from her again, but for now you're whistling a jaunty tune to yourself, reminded of your life before getting powers.

It was really just like this, more or less, each and every day. You're not about to complain, mind you, you had more than enough fun and met a wide variety of people (if only female ones, from women to girls, no guy friends for you), but it really has been nice to, y'know, do other stuff as well rather than only your lady friends.

You simply never would have had the time to, say, develop robotic engineering the way you have ever since you stole all those blueprints from Earth Fallout. And the less you say about the more involved research you've been doing here and there, the better. Your sex life really cooled down just enough after your death, you think, though it totally would go back to normal if you stopped keeping as busy as you are.

Just a feeling you have.


There always are, you feel it prudent to purport, those that are smart enough to keep their heads down in the presence of a bigger fish, aware of the fate of any that are caught in its maw, and those that are not. Truth be told, it is if anything stranger that you took so long to discover one of the latter, though then you suppose your performance against Leviathan was fairly impressive as those things go.

You did go and pop your monstrous form for that one, so it probably is quite understandable anyone that might've thought about fucking with you was scared off, given you actually demonstrated enough power to literally no-sell a literal Endbringer.

Sure, if Leviathan really tried to it could have gone for a guerrilla war of hiding within Brockton Bay while it conjured up more and more tidal waves to take up valuable time and energy of yours, not to mention you're not at all convinced it really fought you seriously; there's a reason Leviathan only fled after you and the Timekeeper froze it in time so you could sever a whole arm, doing more damage than you honestly expected you could deal to the thing.

But none of that is obvious to most other people. For those looking in from the outside, it looks like you went, fought Leviathan mano-e-mano until it tried to get smart, which is when the entirety of the Crypts tagged in and you all beat it senseless until it fled with its tail between its legs and arm lighter. That kind of power means something, and the public perception of such has effectively moved the frontline of the fight to curtail your influence all the way to Boston.

Because Brockton Bay is where you are and nobody wants to fuck with that. Understandably, honestly.

That is, until now, when someone apparently thinks they are being clever. 'Thinks' being the operative word here, of course, as they most obviously are not.

There's a small, really minor, situation over at the Raveyard. Or rather, there will be in several minutes- the Thinker predicted something occurring, but she simply doesn't have enough information to be quite as all-knowing as she would have been back on Earth Rapture.

The AI in the back of your head works off of given information to predict what will happen, after all. No or lacking amounts of information naturally mean she doesn't predict everything that could possibly happen with a success rate of over ninety-nine percent, it's simply how she works. Back during Rapture's golden age, she, or it back then, simply knew everything going on within the city, and so could predict anything and everything that was going to happen within this closed system, as an example for how great that can be.

With her current level of computing power, the sheer amount of calculations and predictions she can perform on a constant level, she's still getting everything that happens inside Brockton Bay, more or less, and the internet helps a lot to let her access the information necessary to keep tabs on events all over the globe when required, but every now and then minor things are only foreseen a short time before they happen, simply put. As in this case.

Which brings you towards why you are currently chilling inside of the Raveyard, watching from the side, unnoticed, as Cherie Vasil is confronted by two of her brothers, Guillaume and Nicholas Vasil, respectively, sent to track her down and bring her back to her father.

"Seriously? You two still didn't give up?" She does give an impressive imitation of a sassy twelve-year-old, hands pushed against her waist and annoyed glower really selling it. "What part of 'bigger fish' don't you get?"

"We don't believe you're really with the Crypts," one of the two kids Heartbreaker sent after her says, eyes narrowed. "You're just mooching off of them while hiding in this city."

So yeah, you were recently reminded, to put it like that, that Heartbreaker still exists. Like, as a living person. And that someone really should change that at some point, if said someone would ever get around to it. In your defense, you've been pretty preoccupied, but perfect memory does mean you won't ever forget you did literally promise Alec you'd kill him eventually, and you'd hate to have accidentally lied.

But first you have to deal with these two…


Ever believing in a practical approach when appropriate, you of course have to get right over there and personally take care of this little misconception these two boys are suffering from, before they manage to seriously embarrass themselves even further… Or one of them gets any ideas and this turns into a fight. Sure, you could drop them both hard and fast, but still- more of a mess than you'd like to deal with over this whole thing.

This is your nightclub, not a fancy stage for cape fights that are and remain bad for business. Which you are also working on, granted, but that particular project is still in the conception stage, you still have yet to decide where you'd even build something like that.

Though you are working on it. But anyways, draining your bottle of coke dry, you leave it behind as you get up, confidently striding towards the group of three as they have their little Mexican standoff except with Master powers each of them is resistant or immune to.

Your face is made of shadow, your cape identity's 'mask' in place. Cherie, hand massaging the bridge of her nose, is just standing there trying not to shout at her brothers outright. "Even if you thought that, did you think about the implications of me running around Cain's personal fucking club for even a second? Because, news flash, it's literally called the Raveyard, nothing about this is subtle in the least."

"You can say that again," you rumble amusedly, casually moving next to Cherie and resting an arm over her shoulder, staring at the two second-gen capes that Heartbreaker managed to produce. Honestly, the biggest issue you take with that is how he apparently tortured them into triggering to use them as his pawns, then just kept on using his powers to inflict terror on them to keep them under his thumb. Shitty fathering 101, that. "So, whatever should a guy do catching two little intruders in his backyard?"

One of the two, Guillaume, raises a hand, instantly having realized that you are not something they want to fuck with. "You could let us go far, far away?"

Nicholas, by contrast, doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. He raises a hand as well, but with his palm opened and pointed towards you. You let him, more amused by the attempt than anything else- it is known that the style of Master effects Heartbreaker and similar emotion-related or -focused capes work with isn't as effective with or completely nullified by nonstandard brain chemistry, neural patterns or biology, such as vampires' tendency to not use their brain to do any thinking at all.

Seriously, Cherie helped you test it a while back. And, as you expected, nothing happens. "Why isn't it working?" Nicholas grunts.

"I wonder?" Mostly why he thought you would give him the time to so much as twitch if you weren't completely secure in your relative invulnerability here. Then you smile, wide enough to be kind of noticeable even with shadows for a mouth, and exude an invisible wave of pressure, constrained and carefully controlled to hit only the two boys in front of you.

… Ugh, you're thinking like a thirty year old guy thinking anyone under twenty is a kid. It's really unlike you. Then again, they literally are Heartbreaker's kids he sent to do his dirty work for him, it's hard to think of them differently.

As they both shiver and their eyes veer away from you, you promptly decide to shove a hand down Cherie's pants, groping her butt while you're at it. Hey, she does have a nice butt, okay?

Nobody present really comments on this, but she does push back against your palm with her hips, grinding her ass against it. She is wearing underwear, for the record, though you feel that this statement is not complete without also mentioning it is less actual underwear and more a strip of cloth barely sufficient to cover anything at all, the crack of her ass warm and wrapping around two of your fingers as they rub against her asshole through it.

Girl has priorities, you guess.

"You two are getting your asses to a safehouse where I'll keep you until I've decided what to do with you," you finally decide, waving the two boys off after they've stewed in your presence for long enough. Yes, what you're doing is basically the same thing Heartbreaker did, but contrary to him you're not their father and so you're not even being hypocritical right now. "Someone's waiting outside the way you came. You can keep the booze in the meantime."

Because they can abuse their powers to get around people all they want, but your security cameras work just fine, meaning the Thinker knows everything they've done since coming anywhere close to the Raveyard… and, truth be told, since halfway into entering the city, given she's hooked herself into traffic cameras, the city's cameras at the train and subway stations and anything and everything else she could find.

Neither of Heartbreaker's kids acting on his orders (which is the important difference here) argue with you, they just walk off with their heads lowered. "Man, your dad really didn't give a shit about raising his kids, did he?"

Cherie, exasperated more than anything else, grabs a replicated bottle of wine you have stored up here in your VIP section just in case anyone wants some, pulling the cork out with her bare hands and throwing it back until half the bottle has gone down her hatch. "Don't remind me, there's a reason I fucked off. Could've lived with his usual shit, but he went around building up his harem and producing kids, all to come after a fucking actress? Fistfuck him up to the elbow, ugh."

"…" You probably have some time to waste, all told. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuck it, why not," the dark-haired, slender young woman shouts, arms thrown into the air. You catch a few drops of wine in a small field of altered gravity, tongue snatching them out of the air as you redirect the course of their fall. "Not like Jean-Paul gives a fuck."

Canadian-French names, man. "He doesn't give a fuck about most things, but I think you'd be surprised. Want some ice cream or something for this talk?"


It is pretty late at night by the time Cherie has gotten her annoyed rant about her father done and over with, airing the various grievances she has on the way her old family was being run. Niko Vasil, to mention his civilian name, is kind of a shithead, but whatever possessed him to treat his kids like shit, use his power to keep them in line and then actually be pissed about them running away you have not the slightest idea.

They pretty much just moved from place to place, him using his power to mess with people's emotions to secure new places to live wherever they went while hiding from the PRT Canada and the Guild by simply mastering women into complete devotion for himself, followed by either moving again or being found out and using the entire neighborhood as suicidally devoted meat shields that threw themselves at law enforcement to buy him time to get out, as well as his brood and the enslaved women he actually cared about.

His power works on both men and women, of course, but he's straight so he only ever kept chicks. Like, hey, the one thing you can't actually fault him for, you do pretty much the same.

Of course, specifically targeting well-off or well-placed women let Nikos keep tabs on what the PRT was doing about him in addition to large houses to spend some time in, to mention just one of the many uses of his lifestyle, with his slaves and kids usually sent out to scout for new targets or run errands, as the man himself was well aware all it takes to take care of him is a simple sniper round to the head and he kind of earned one and all. Thus controlled women of course do anything to protect wherever they think Heartbreaker is located, making the entire situation even more of a pain for everyone else.

Cue the turning point, of sorts. Cherie was always thinking that her father was building up for something big, amassing brainwashed thralls, having kids and triggering them to gather more capes and all that… And he did, once he figured he had enough power and could just do whatever he wanted.

Specifically, he went and tried to take a famous actress he only ever possibly saw on television, which in turn provoked a massive response from law enforcement and caused a huge chunk of the forces he managed to build up by that point to be killed or captured.

So yeah, Cherie was pissed about the waste and the fact her dad's apparent only motivation was to find more pussy, so she bounced and made her way south. The rest, then, is history.

Ah well. You left her consuming a whole bunch of drugs and ice cream, her old habit from when she was still alive dying hard, while you have stuff to do, her more urgent need to rant satisfied for the moment. Vampirism makes it less necessary to manage your people's mental issues, but you've found that even the undead can still have their own problems and need to be talked through them from time to time.

… You just realized this, but are you, like, the team dad of the Crypts? Because if you are, that's kinda neat. And hey, you're a literal dad now, may as well lean into it and all that stuff.

Anyways, you're taking some time to have a quick talk with the male tinkers you have hanging around. Because they exist. You didn't, like, forget about Frank and Trevor or anything.


The three of you are patrolling around the former site of the boat graveyard, not too far from the waterfront; the area is all kinds of the center of your power these days, most people still entirely unaware that your real base has been sitting squarely around downtown all this time.

This is very much fine with you, it goes without saying. The bunker is a big secret and one you are very happy to kill to keep, considering how much important shit you have down there and consequently how much you do not want it attacked by anyone, secrecy serving as your first and most useful line of defense here.

Like, you have pretty much most of your people down there doing whatever they do on a daily basis, for one. An initial strike from surprise could seriously require you to go and shift all of your operation towards one of the backup sites you have around the city and far-off in the middle of nowhere, the one secondary bunker you once got going currently being remodeled by the Thinker for good measure now that she has access to everything and desires to continue building stuff.

Death really isn't that big of an issue for you, but having to revive the majority of your capes because an enemy got lucky and found a way through your other defenses would be so embarrassing.

But yeah, northern part of the city, the first chunk of territory you really took over in any official capacity. That's where you are, walking through the streets with two guys in power armor flanking you; Scrapper and Chariot, or Frank Scrapper and Trevor Medina in their civvies.

You would say they're a study in differences, except they aren't, not really. With tinkertech constituting their looks, they're more just quirky if anything, but rather than looking like opposites of each other they're just looking like two entirely different technology bases went into building their stuff, as tinkertech is wont to do, you find.

Frank's steampunk aesthetic is fairly obvious, yet also poignant, with a huge, bulky armor stretching around him; the Case 53 made full use out of having access to any given 'scrap' he could want, a huge engine like it may have been used on a battleship instead making up the back of his power armor, large plates of welded metal plates winding around his whole setup for added protection. There's a quiet hiss of steam every time he moves, his helmet possessing various glass lenses suspended to its sides to let him adjust vision modes and probably look behind him as well, but fairly little about his capabilities seems obvious just from a first look.

You of course know he has a grappling hook, a steam-driven air cannon that has a good bit of kick to it and all of his tinkertech is just stronger than it has any right to be, tougher, more durable. You can trash it, as a sample showed, but it takes you a bit of effort, and that does say something for how hard he is to hurt clad inside of much, much more of the stuff.

Trevor, Chariot, on the other hand, is looking a lot sleeker, but he still has that bit of bulkiness that power armor almost always comes with. With doodads and bits and pieces all over his outer shell, embedded inside of it, he is showing off a lot more of his stuff without actually betraying what much of it is for, and the Eldritch Cores you know to be built inside of his preferred power armor are chugging away plugged into a system of his in complete silence, or at least behind enough sound dampening you can't make them out, same difference.

All you have instead is the sound of him moving, clinking and clacking in tune with his steps, his faux-sleek power armored limbs shifting with his gait as though he was just moving normally. There are wheels inside the sides of his feet, something that may well be a jetpack behind him and you know for a fact him and Frank cooperated on the creation of those grappling hooks, it's just that Chariot has two of them, one in each arm.

Also probably rocket boots or legs, now that you look at those exhausts.

Around you the night is hardly stopping people from moving out and about, industrious workers and administrators hard at work at getting the rebuilt harbor up and running again, operational facilities as always only ever one part of the equation, at least when it comes to having people man them. You had a couple ships moving in and out of Brockton Bay already, but you have a lot of as of yet underutilized capacity for maritime traffic right here, for all that Boston's harbor is bigger yet.

These kinds of things take time to build up, for others to recognize that Brockton Bay is indeed a viable harbor to move things through. That said, your excellent ability to provide logistics is playing into letting you build that kind of reputation, though you of course aren't doing any of that personally- you have the mayor in your pocket, and the city's administration as a whole through him, so you may as well put them to use, eh?

Not to mention Accord is making it a point to take advantage of the lack of a queue, as it were, to ship your own wares anywhere his heart desires. Last you heard he's arming some European vigilante groups, but really, how he uses the wares you supply is entirely up to him, as long as the money's right.

None of that plays into the conversation you're having, beyond the respectful distance people are keeping from your trio as you make your way through the surprisingly busy streets of Brockton before sunrise. "So I trust you you've been doing well?"

"Hell yeah! I mean," Trevor coughs, "stuff's been going well. Just been spending a lot of time tinkering when I can, Frank's good about it."

"We'd get more done if you didn't waste time with school," the semi-amorphous Case 53 grumbles, but it has the tint of an old argument they have more out of habit than anything. "I'm mostly stuck on base, but unlimited satellite TV and internet makes it easy 'nuff. And the great food."

"Good to hear. I worry about that kind of thing, y'know?" You ask rhetorically. "About the tinkering, you can get everything you need? No issues with the machines or the others?"

"Well…" Trevor coughs, sounding weird though the speech modulation of his armor. "It's, uh, it's hard to ask anyone but Frank for help, but, uh…"

"We're teenage nerds, or look like 'em anyway, and all the chicks in the workshop are blazing hot and taken," Frank explains, making it plain and simple despite Trevor's half-hearted protests. "No offense."

"None taken, it's not like you're wrong," you chuckle, while of course keeping it short and vaguely, mysteriously menacing just in case. You have a persona to keep up, after all. "And don't worry, worst thing any of the girls will do is to tell you to buzz off if they're busy. Except Alice."

You consider that statement for a moment.

"… Actually, try not to bother Alice in general, but if you need any help or any Tinker stuff, just ask Lea beforehand, you know how she takes care of the schedules."

"Roger, roger," Frank says, sounding happy to have that done.

"… I'll try?" Trevor, of course, continues to be himself. You know, for someone Coil had ready to infiltrate the Wards, he really doesn't hold up all that well under pressure. Then again, he probably can do better when he's deliberately acting.


Things proceed as you would expect them to afterwards, with little to no issue. You move on your circuit of the area, a casual eye kept out for any trouble but generally more there to project presence than actually do anything more concrete. That is, after all, precisely what this kind of patrolling is all about, showing that you're there, that you're keeping an eye out, that kind of thing.

It's pretty much like a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory, really, just with less bodily fluid. Unless someone gets any ideas, in which case there may be some of that, one way or another. And, just as you're considering just calling this particular patrol off to let the guys get some sleep before morning proper, it does seem someone does get an idea.

Is this, what, the critical time threshold for this kind of thing to start happening elapsing before your very eyes? First two of Heartbreaker's kids come in and think they can do anything in this city without your knowledge or say-so, now this? Something has to be going on here.

To be precise, what you're responding on the fly to is a robbery, as best you can tell, entirely mundane with no capes in play. The Thinker forewarns you with some time to spare, this time, and so it comes that the three of you, yourself, Chariot and Scrapper, enter a certain alleyway to witness a handful of men, armed with guns, knives and one baseball bat, holding a woman at gunpoint.

In all honesty, it would be hard to create more of a stereotypical crime if you actively tried. These five are really putting their all into being as thuggish of a lot as they can be, defining an entire genre of human being down to their last cells.

They're also going to regret beig born shortly, but that's beside the point. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" You ask, voice smooth as honey and twice as viscous. In response, everyone present freezes, your presence apparently enough to stop people in their tracks in general lately.

"I'm not turning around," one of the thugs, clad in a worn windbreaker, says. "Johnny, is there a cape behind us?"

"You think I'm turning around?" Johnny, apparently, asks. "Aw hell naw, man, I turned 'round last time!"

"Well I sure ain't either," the token black man in this group says. "You know how the black guy always dies first in the horror movies?"

"You're not wearing a red shirt, it'll be-"

You interrupt their bickering by clearing your throat, gesturing for your tinker friends to move in with you. "I assure you I am not reliant on any of you turning around here," you drawl, subsequently ignoring them while your compatriots apprehend them with appropriate amounts of violence, Chariot triggering a quick teleport to make sure none escape while you draw closer to the terrified civilian.

You stretch out a hand, but she just stares at it, uncomprehending, so you go ahead and just push her purse back towards her where she was just about to give it up before you showed up.

"I hope none of these ruffians harmed you, ma'am? No need to worry, you are entirely safe."

She blushes, as young women usually do when you open your mouth. All is well.


"So… long time no see, brother."

"As if being killed by him wasn't indignity enough." There was no true heat to the words, interestingly. The brother she'd known would have been raging and spitting at the prospect of being defeated like she knew he had been… Though he was far from whom she had known, just as she was from the one he had known.

Irony of ironies, to face the same dilemma Annette was, yet to be so much less invested in it. Then again, that was her life now, it looked like.

"As opposed to what, dying of old age?" She smiled, eyebrow raised. "Let's face it, you would've gotten yourself killed sooner or later. It's just how the game is played."

"Just like you did, you mean?" If he was hoping to rile her up, he wasn't having much luck, there. "… You've changed."

"That's death for you," Jesse shrugged, her unnaturally perfectly hair brushing over the unnaturally perfect skin of her shoulders. "If there's one thing that's gonna change you, dying's gonna do the trick, I guess. For what it's worth, you're still the sniveling little shit you've always been."

"And I see you lost nothing of the spiteful, brutish thug," Max shot back. "For shame."

"See what I mean? You died, spent a while in the afterlife and here you are, finally brave enough to say it to my face without anyone between us," she grinned, hand waving through the air. "Progress."

"I spent years watching that creature pretending to be a man corrupt all it touches, including the entirety of a parallel version of America. Please do not make light of my plight."

"Oh? Ah, I know what you mean. Honestly, he got them to regulate gun sales without meaning to, that in itself is an achievement." She also happened to know Max didn't have a single patriotic bone in his body, back when he had one. "And for the record, I would have definitely done better than to die in the first five seconds, brother. I leave that kind of endurance to you."

He threw his hands up, arm partially phasing through the table she was sitting at for this conversation. "Really? Is that all you have to say about it?"

"What do you expect, a consolation prize for dying after I did?"

This was everything she'd dreamed it would be, and Jesse was never going to stop needling him now. Annette could say about Gabriel what she wanted, but the man- boy, rather, he simply didn't quite make that jump as far as she could see- did know how to pick out presents.


Annette took a deep breath, knowing Jesse was deliberately giving her some space for this. It was something she had to do on her own, or at least she felt she had to.

She owed that much to herself, if nothing else. She also did realize, though, that she was stalling, the impending conversation perhaps more than she was bargaining for.

… Maybe she really should just head back for the moment, take a bit longer to think about it all, what she wanted to say and how. She had been rather sudden in her decision to get this confrontation over and done with, so-

"Just do it, mom." Her Little Owl was behind her all of a sudden, pushing her along. "And watch the middle step."

"… Danny still didn't fix it?" There she was, something to focus on. "This thing has been broken for longer than I was dead."

"He never did manage to find the motivation to take care of it. Neither did I."

"He promised he would do it, too!" Annette distinctly recalled having a talk about this, not that she should be surprised. The house looked like it was in dire need of some love in general, including a fresh coat of paint, the old one peeling off here and there.

Her death really had done a number on her family, she realized again with a sinking feeling in her gut, though it was far easier to ignore and push through by now. It wasn't the first time she noticed this, after all.

Taylor did have a key, so both of them quickly got inside, though she did make sure to ring the bell. It only felt right, after being gone for so long this was no longer her home. He was in the kitchen, looking up to see her, face quickly going from dumbfounded to deliberately blank.

"Hey there," she said, feeling silly even about this. "I think it's time we had a talk, Danny."


Before you're going ahead and taking care of your daily errands, y'know, dealing with preparations for opening your hotel, reviewing the status of the Raveyard, specifically how much sex is being had where and whether you could optimize the layout somehow, you once again take a little literal extra time inside your inner world, secluding yourself inside your workshop.

Not the mechanical workshop or anything, the artsy one right below your roof. You recently found out you can actually exert some limited influence over the uncertain arrangement of reality that ensures it is and remains possible to get here by moving towards, so it' a reasonably safe bet towards at least delaying any cultists figuring out where you are and coming to bother you.

You can't just block the way, but you can totally make it a giant pain to get all the walking done by adding to how far, exactly, people have to go.

With that taken care of, you consider what exactly you want to do now that you're here already. You have all the supplies you could want, plus access to a few beyond what you'd usually think of when you consider art, but that doesn't exactly help you choose what topic or topics to work on, now does it?

Well, you do generally enjoy painting, so painting it is, a wide canvas bigger than what you usually use quick enough to set up while you grab all the colors you may need. With that much space, open area to work with, you can probably fit a lot more detail into it than what you usually would, if you were to take the time… But hey, you do have said time, so what the hell, may as well, right?

The subject of your brushes and thoughts, then, shall be a certain set of female heroines, most of which are blonde.

You mean, of course, New Wave. Two women and their daughters, Carol, Sarah, Vicky, Amy and Crystal, shall be painted here, in exacting detail as they're all engaged in one big orgy, with you in there as well for good measure; someone has to have Amy bouncing on their lap, after all, the girl's puppies deserve to have some air time and all that.

Mhm… The mothers (that are also sisters) to both sides, on all fours with hands on Amy's thighs, making out messily while their respective daughters are behind them, eating them out, all their bodies sprawled out languidly and a sense of plenty of stretching, pushing and general squishy lesbian fun conveyed as deeply as you can, the room the scene is taking place in a richly decorated lavish bedroom, much of it white to fit with New Wave's color scheme, veils, curtains and drapes, small, vaguely detailed predominantly white painting, white furniture, the works.

Amy, sitting on your lap, is holding both hands on one head each, gently, but noticeably pressing them downwards where your cock is drilling into her, her legs spread wide in needy arousal, breasts visibly bouncing in the air in the moment the picture is drawn. Her eyes are glazed over, yet extremely lifelike as her open mouth shows her tongue on her lips, and every part of the picture is generally quite close to real life, more so than your work usually ends up being.

Then the magic happens, the little thing you've noticed occurring every now and then when you draw and paint and all such things- the painting comes to life, the orgy you put onto the canvas moving and shown in motion, twitching flesh and gasping, throaty moans becoming obvious (even though there's no actual sound to it).

You aren't quite sure how it works, but you can do this, create works of art that move over canvas and paper. As you watch, Amy screams in apparent release, Vicky reaching out to hold her hand while her other is busy burying two fingers in her mother's pussy, Crystal doing much the same except poking a probing digit into her own mom's ass, all the while a slight breeze drifts in through an unseen, opened window, the sheer white curtains reminiscent more of lacy underwear than anything else moving with it.

The trick is to look away for a moment for the picture to reset itself, by the way. But yeah, fun times all around, even when you realize it's been five hours and the cultists are approaching already. Right, time to get a move on and all that.


Family Fun: Large painting of the female part of New Wave engaged in an incestuous orgy with the painter, depicting them all entirely naked and using the environment to suggest their costumes' color scheming instead. When summoned, removes inhibitions against sexual intercourse with family members and similar, also enhancing all Seduction rolls by 40 within a large area around itself.


It's always interesting to see, the way the potion you simply dubbed 'Curative' affects people. It's kind of a miracle cure, as befits something as annoying and complicated to brew as it, especially the improved variants you managed to come up with while accessing functionally unlimited test subjects back in the last dimension you stayed in, not doing much to help with, say, bleeding wounds or the like, but quite a lot for anything and everything else.

Lost a hand or an eye? Boom, one drink and you're good as new. Inner organs missing or hurt? Toxin buildup? Brain damage? Literal trauma or other psychological conditions?

Boom, boom and boom. The exact mechanics are, as always, somewhat nebulous, but while you don't have all the details as Riley and Curie were the ones primarily conducting those tests you do know the things can cure stuff that's an issue for you, but not part of your personality or anything. As an example, if you're gay and not deeply in denial, your sexual orientation is unaffected, but if you have an issue with being gay, you become bisexual instead, interestingly.

Autism isn't cured outright, but the worst edges of it taken off, such that mostly any of your test cases would be able to live within society with only minor help and adjustment. Rape victims had a much, much easier time working through their experiences without actually forgetting anything about what happened to them, general trauma and PTSD becomes much easier to deal with…

And that's not even mentioning the sheer breadth of general health conditions this potion can resolve. Everything from asthma to diarrhea. Of course the stuff is, as you already considered, a pain to create, not to mention the improved recipes require annoyingly rare and expensive materials, such as freshly ground diamond, a mix of water that was 'harvested' during the night and the day, certain light levels and even background radiation maintained during its creation…

You basically need a whole lab environment specifically for the creation of the stuff. That said, ever since the Thinker took over potion production you haven't really been lacking any potion in particular, at least, and you can just replicate most of the ingredients easily enough.

Except the water. And the heavy water that plays into the recipe as well, but screw the details, you have magical potions that cure everything!

Okay, sure, there are exceptions, you have to heavily qualify that statement, admittedly. It doesn't work against more general wounds, as you already mentioned, and can't really purge poison or disease from a system, which is what you primarily have the Cleansing potion variant for, plus various ways to keep a given subject from dying through other kinds.

Still, your various potion treatments can cover just about anything that may be wrong with any possible organism, save for it being just naturally self-destructive, and even then- Curative potions also do heal birth defects, so it may just be they could finagle something functioning out of half-dead fuckups like, say, pandas or koala bears.

All of this context is relevant, especially the first bit you just launched into an improvised diatribe of, because you decided your first step to dealing with the kids Heartbreaker sent after Cherie was to feed them a Curative each and see what happens. So far, both of them mostly seem kind of uncomfortable, but why bother trying to analyze their emotional states when you have Cherie literally right there next to you observing them?

"They're dealing with everything, I guess? Nicholas is wondering why he was so angry all the time and Guillaume is having a small existential crisis."

"Good enough for our purposes," you shrug.


The confrontation, once you decide they've been stewing for long enough, is fairly simple and straightforward, with you even making a point to appear downright cordial. In all honesty, it's not like you feel any need to treat these two as hostiles, considering just how easily you can go and completely and thoroughly murder them from halfway across the city if they do choose to commit suicide by you even before you consider the Thinker's presence.

Their powers are ineffective against vampires. They are doubly ineffective against machines, and though they don't know it several military-grade laser emitters are pointed at them at all times just in case they must be neutralized.

"Hey there," you simply say as you enter the room, still dressed in 'costume' but pointedly not making any threatening moves. You simply don't need to, is the thing. "I hear Alec has been by?"

"Jean-Paul came to gloat," Guillaume corrects you seemingly before he can stop himself. "He's always been a brat."

"So I'm given to understand, yes," you smile, taking a seat opposite from the two boys. Inwardly, you congratulate yourself for using one of the many safehouses the Crypts have throughout the city for this, as opposed to one of your far more numerous prison cells. Gentle does it. Outwardly, you simply and happily continue. "Let's get right down to business, then. I am not going to kill you unless you give me reason to."

"… Nice?" Nicholas asks more than he says.

"I'm not particularly threatened by your powers, so this is pretty safe on my end," you wave him off. "Masters being what they are and all. But anyways, what do you both think about being your father's lackeys and, shall we say, an alternative offer?"

"And be your lackeys in exchange?" Guillaume demands to know.

You give him a happy nod. "You're getting how the cape business works. And yes, the Crypts are always recruiting, except we have better healthcare, a better reputation that can keep your own asses safer than Heartbreaker's ever could, unlimited access to luxuries of all kinds and the PRT can't really touch us. Being part of our little gang is kind of a milk run as far as hiring on with anyone goes, really."

"… And what do you want in exchange?" Seeing as how Guillaume seems to be the one more inclined towards talking between the two of them, you focus on him for the moment.

"Oh, the standard stuff all our capes do, you get paid for being part of the Crypts and anyone that wants to gets to live inside our secret supervillain base. Extra work is always available for anyone that wants to, but nobody gives a fuck if you want to pull an Alec- or Jean-Paul, whatever- and sit around playing video games at your place all day. Of course, any additional information you might have on where I could find your dad for purposes of killing him would be appreciated…"

You have everything they have within the next ten minutes.


"'Ello. My name is Curie and I will be your caretaker for the immediate future," the red-haired woman said, looking down a little at Guillaume and Nicholas. She wasn't that much taller than average, but, well, still a little, and her calm smile didn't budge for a single moment since the two had come in.

The brothers were apparently just going to be treated as a two-for-one kind of deal for a while and with Nicholas just being and staying way more taciturn than he usually was, Guillaume supposed it was on him to get them through this.

"Hello. I'm Guillaume and this is Nicholas. Vasil," he added, unsure how this went- they rarely bothered introducing themselves to people, much less so with their real names.

"I see. Welcome among the Lord Street Crypts," the redhead nodded, uncaring. "I am only 'ere to ensure you do settle in well and experience as little trouble as possible for your first few days, so please do not mind me."

"… Okay?"

"That said," she continued without breaking stride, "there are a few things I would like to ask you. Both of you. Your minds 'ave been purged of deep-seated traumatic motivators while retaining the memories thereof, which is a wonderful opportunity to gather some additional data."

"You a head shrink or something?" It would make sense, Guillaume had to admit, considering everything. That said, he wasn't about to waste time talking about his damn feelings.

"Non, non, I am more of a… scientist." The woman, Curie, had never once stopped smiling, her voice still perfectly calm and even. Something was definitely up with her. "I 'ave some lollipops in exchange if you are interested? And I should introduce you to Riley, we can keep moving while talking if you would prefer?"

"… What flavors are we talking here?"

He never would have expected what happened next, but hey, at least they found out the Slaughterhouse Nine weren't all dead. Also, the Crypts just had some of the best sweets ever, apparently.


Now, with what you happen to know about Heartbreaker, his methodology and the ways to contact and find him his kids sent all the way to humble Brockton Bay had, you could go and take care of his general existence right away, in theory, given he doesn't really have any way to defend himself against you- the man is extremely dangerous for anyone susceptible to the kind of mental manipulation his power is all about, his enthralled slaves suicidally determined to protect him usually in place around wherever he decides to go spend a couple months, but, well…

Against you, all he has may as well be baseline humans, including his kids. It goes without saying that baseline humans, uncaring about their own survival as they may be, pose little hindrance for you… nor threat, for that matter.

Even if you were to choose to just walk in his direction menacingly right out in the open, you could take everything he has down with ease before chasing him down. Not that your initial handful of plans and ideas are that stupid; you've been an ambush predator and sneaking murderer since the start of your cape career, such as it is, and you do not intend to change any part of that.

Killing and eating the man in secret appeals much more to your sensibilities, not to mention how much easier it makes dealing with the immediate aftermath of his death. You do totally want to add him to the list of reasons why the public loves you, but not before you've taken care of the various devoted mastered victims he left wherever he could.

That said, you do need a bit more time for some of your contingency plans and even immediate, more straightforward preparations to deal with his power in a broader sense- Curative potions take a while to brew up in larger quantities and all that, after all. So while you could go and do it right away, it makes much, much more sense to wait at least a little while.

Not really your problem if the idiot keeps on running around enslaving women left and right for a bit longer, to be honest. You're neither a hero nor a public official.

That… leaves you with some free time for yourself, of course, considering all the other preparations going on. None of which you can really meaningfully add to at the moment, or at least not in a way which would be worth your time. As always when you have nothing in particular to do, this leads you to go over everyone you could be bothering or having fun with, as there's no urgent fires to put out within the ranks of the Crypts either.

Half an hour after you made this decision and here you are, sitting in the office of one Carol Dallon, criminal lawyer and attorney. Opposite from yourself sits the woman of the hour herself, arms crossed and an unimpressed glower directed at you.

"Why are you here." The words are less a question and more a statement, entirely and thoroughly unimpressed with your presence in the place you are in.

"I thought I'd go see the heart of evil myself," you casually smile, vaguely gesturing for your surroundings. "Not every day you get to visit a law firm. Well, without needing one."

"If you do not require the services of our firm, I am going to have to ask you to leave," Carol grinds out, then sighs, massaging her forehead. "I am a professional, Cain."

"Please, feel free to call me Gabriel in my civvies, I'd like to think our relationship is close enough neither of us minds terribly much," you grin politely.

"Gabriel. I am working. I have no idea how you made it past the secretary, but-"

"Oh, a kiss and a few dirty words took care of that." She glares at you, and perhaps for the first time you are seeing the woman Brandish tries to be when she's in costume.

"But unless you need a lawyer, you are entirely in the wrong place right here and now."

"What if I just wanted to visit you?" You ask, leaning back in your chair. It's not like Carol has much of a chance here, newfound determination to uphold professionalism or not. "If I just suddenly missed you?"

Her face remains impassive, but her eyes betray the twitch, looking you over in search of dishonesty. She doesn't find any, it goes without saying.


Carol is, in the end, just not quite convincing enough to get you to go away, for all that she'd like to have that kind of sway over you. You'd imagine her usual tricks work on the people she's generally more likely to have to interact with, from her clients, the contents of a court room in general all the way to her daughters, but, well…

Say what you want about yourself, but one Gabriel Livsey can be pretty damn stubborn when he wants to be, so it doesn't take all too long before the frustrated female lawyer before you gives up, figuratively throwing her hands up in the air. Getting up, Carol tugs her suit into place before giving you an unintentionally cute little frown, hair more or less naturally falling in place to avoid looking all too untidy.

"I suppose you would have something in mind for when you come to bother me at work, at least?" She asks, knowing precisely how you operate at this point and unable to keep a light blush off her cheeks.

"Well, I'm not about to say no when you put it like that," you drawl, moving right in on her and violating any and all personal space you can find, the heroine looking up at you defiantly. You have to consciously hold back the urge to tell her she's behaving just like a particularly demanding and jealous girlfriend at the moment. "But really, let's not move too fast here, hm? How have you been lately?"

"… My daughters are impossible," she laments after a moment of thought, slumping down slightly to hold onto you. "Amy is absolutely ravenous and Victoria just eggs her on whenever I'm not looking. I spent all morning sitting at the breakfast table chatting with whichever daughter was not eating me out at the time."

"Hmh, sounds like a good start for the day," you comment, arms circling around the small of her back to gently rub circles over it. "At least you had fun, unless they need more practice?"

"I forgot you're even worse than them," Carol sighs, though she doesn't let go, resting her forehead against your chest. "I assume. You certainly are lecherous enough whenever we meet."

"I'm just my usual charming self, no more, no less," you smile, hands wandering down towards her skirt, casually groping her butt. Her nicely trained, yet still pleasingly big butt.

You have found that women's butts are generally very nice regardless of their size just as long as they aren't completely and grotesquely out of sync with the rest of their body structure. In this particular case, though, you had to say that Carol just does have a very nice butt, the whole hero gig keeping her nice and in shape.

"Indubitably," she groans, pushing her hero butt out for you even as she now fully leans into yourself, her chest soft and tempting even through her clothes. "You're entirely too good at this."

"All a matter of practice," you insist, fingers digging into soft yet resistant flesh, the back of her black skirt hardly enough to stop you from feeling up every inch of her booty. "What say you we move on over to your desk?"

You may or may not have a thing for screwing confident businesswomen on their own working desks, now that you think about it. It just has something nice to it, like you're making yourself and your mutual pleasure more important than work, brushing away everyday concerns with something of an evidently higher priority.

"We shouldn't… I'm spending far too much time having sex at home as is…"

All you hear is Carol trying to convince herself, unsuccessfully at that, and so you simply move right on, nudging her along as required to keep the both of you moving.

Carol's office is a fairly nice room, all told, wide and open with a big window to the side of the massive oak desk she obviously does a lot of her work behind, warm wooden colors dominating the ambience. Both her own swivel chair and the less mobile things standing on four legs intended for clients and other guests offering seating of glossy, black leather.

You brush straight past those, picking Carol up by her hips and depositing her on the surface of that desk, ignoring whatever documents she had lying there in carefully sorted stacks as they get disorganized real quick, the office's owner's butt plopped down carelessly.

She's facing you, blush still there as her legs close up in pure reflex, back straight. "And what do you think you are doing?"

"Me?" You grin, hands finding the zipper of her skirt in short order. You already scouted it out earlier, see. "I'm about to make love to an amazing woman in her own right, what else?"

Carol doesn't protest as you pull the piece of clothing off her legs, even hopping up to let you get it past her hips, the garment hitting the ground in short order. Her panties would have gone next, except for the fact she isn't actually wearing any, your amused, raised eyebrow having her harrumphing, arms crossed and head turned to the side.

All with the appropriate level of dignity, of course, but when you cut the crap that is what she does.

"Victoria kept stealing my underwear to the point I can't wear anymore," she admits, only glancing at you from the corner of her eyes.

"She's obviously learned from the best," you smugly state, enjoying and taking in the sight. Carol Dallon, Brandish, member of New Wave and a non-inconsiderably powerful cape in her own right, attractive blonde mother and married woman, now sitting on her own desk, naked behind squished against the surface and shapely legs, strong yet giving, spread just enough to let you see her horny pink folds, delicate anatomy reddened just like her cheeks and gaping open just the slightest bit due to the angle she sits at.

"What are you looking at now?" She asks, faux-unhappily.

You just smile at her, not bothering to hide the desire in your eyes. "Just thinking about how beautiful you are," you tell her, leaning forward to gently pull her into a passionate kiss, an involuntary moan escaping her mouth and flowing straight into yours. Carol mirrors your earlier move and throws her arms around your back, the two of you locked into a lovers' embrace despite knowing you aren't near romantically involved enough for that.

"You know," you whisper when she needs air, popping a button on her shirt to free her tits, nice, perfectly rounded breasts spilling out of her cleavage jut that easily thanks to Vicky's preferences for her mother's style of dress, "I wonder what your sister would think about this."

"About what?" Carol looks at you, only half-detached from the sex about to happen now.

"About me fucking you as well as her," you growl, popping the second button to properly free her puppies. The rosy teats topping them look as temptingly tasty as ever. "About the dick that was inside of her going inside of you and vice versa."

Her eyes wide, the lawyer immediately grows noticeably wetter, her pussy not quite leaking, but glistening with fluid all the same. "You didn't."

"I did," you confirm, your own pants suffering from your attentions next; you specifically had the zipper enlarged to be able to take your dick and balls out without too much discomfort, ever since you just had your clothes made to order on principle, and it really is paying off now, your hard cock coming out to play. "She doesn't know who I am, but she was perfectly happy to join me for a ride in some public toilets after I introduced myself as Gabriel."

"I can't believe it," she breathes, not resisting as your hands push her thighs aside, strong muscles and smooth skin both failing to hide how nicely they're proportioned. "Sarah would never cheat."

"Evidently, I make the impossible possible, then," you chuckle, enjoying the moment of realization in Carol's eyes as she becomes aware of the imminent pounding she is about to receive. Hard rod in position, one hand ready to guide its way, you lock gazes, waiting.

"… What are you waiting for?" She eventually asks.

"That," you admit, immediately pressing forward; one palm on her cheek as you kiss her again, your very much hard cock meets her sopping lips, penetrating her wet, hot, tight pussy within moments. She gasps wordlessly, accepting your tempestuous embrace, body already well-used to what her mind has only recently started coming to terms with.

You fill her up quickly and thoroughly, spasming, clenching canal eagerly taking to your length, such that you shove your entire cock into her balls deep in order to poke at her womb. In doing so, you also shove Carol down, back pressing against her oversized desk, and the angle lets you savage her breasts with your mouth, delectable nipples licked, nibbled and sucked on with the enthusiasm deserved by such a task.

You don't waste any further words on the affair, despite the half-formed screams and shouts of pleasure you force out of her as you start rutting, hands on the thighs at your sides for grip. You take her, claiming her body and mind, if just for the moment, reckless search for pleasure and affection driving her into your arms.

You've seen it happen often enough.

Lewd slapping sounds echo through Carol's office, wet flesh against flesh, a symphony of debauchery that reminds you of Earth Rapture footage. You fuck her greedily, just as greedily as she takes everything you can dish out, rational thought methodically fucked out of her brain and replaced with pleasure. She writhes and spasms, paperwork fluttering down the sides of the desk you laid her on, her first orgasm shaking her thoroughly.

You keep going throughout, only adding to the sensations running through her. Timing it just right, you feel her clamp down on you with renewed vigor just as she starts to come down again, the mewling mess you turned her into a far cry from the confident woman she pretends to be in public.

You're leaning back again now, hands on her breasts to continue kneading and playing with them, pinching the delicate pink nubs mirroring the color of her pussy just enough to keep her focused on you. Your hips slam back and forth, your cock drilling into her again and again, purely for the sake of forcing more and more pleasure on her now.

You want her to go wild. To go nuts. To break for you. That's just how you work more often than not, really.

And now, finally, her messy hair strewn in all directions, Carol is at last the most beautiful she can get, dicked down into an incoherent mess taking your cock every which way you please. Nipping at her collarbone, you growl instead of speak. "I'm coming. Inside you."

Driven by more strength than she knew she still had, the lawyer slash hero holds you close, pulling your torso close even as your waist becomes a blur, every inch of her pussy thoroughly made to take the shape of your cock. "Yes! Yes! Yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyesyesyes!"

You slam yourself home one more time, thick spunk pumping through your dick and all over Carol's womb, a long, drawn-out moan letting you know she's coming again. Your cock deep inside of her, the blonde helplessly twitches her lips, so you take pity and kiss her again, her tongue needily seeking out your own.

Turns out she could be such a good girl all along. You need to reward the horny woman in her more often, you think.


Carol Dallon is a successful lawyer, a cape part of a powerful group of heroes simply due to their collective number and potent semi-hereditary powers and a wellspring of considerable force of personality, for good or for ill.

She is also, to look at her now, an insensate mess, quite unconscious and leaking your semen. This is not particularly unusual, mind you, you do tend to have that effect on beautiful women as your track record proves, but you never quite feel like it has lost its magic whenever you do this.

Guaranteed fun every time. There's a reason you go and do it so often.

Anyways, you could keep going, but at this point you may as well use a blow-up doll for all that it matters- with your partner out cold, there's not all that much of a reaction, no reciprocity or great fun in it. It'd be different if she was just asleep or something, yet another thing you learned from experience is that even sleeping yourself or others can respond to stimulation (though you never sleep anymore, so there's that, too), but as it is, Carol's just so overloaded she simply literally can't react, even subconsciously.

So you just end up carefully arranging her unconscious body, like she fell asleep at work and all, and even add a few additional pieces of cushioning you have teleported in real quick to ensure she won't have any neck pain when she wakes up. That done, you quickly move on back to the bunker, figuring you have another blonde just waiting to be a good girl for you waiting for attention by sheer dint of the odds.

Like, seriously, when you take a moment to think about it, there's a lot of blondes hanging around. Not, like, an overwhelming amount, but still.

And speaking of, you do believe you've already found someone you needed to have a quick talk with, thinking on it. It's not incredibly high on your list of priorities, what with her laying low for a few days at minimum anyways, but one Missy Biron does deserve to figure out her future with your help in particular, you do believe.

Walking up to her place, you notice Riley and Aisha getting up to a minor kerfuffle running through a nearby corridor, though nothing that seems particularly noteworthy in truth.

"Nyahaha! Your panties are mine! Mine!"

"Give them back! I was going to show them to Mister Gabriel later! Give them back, person I can't call many things without sounding racist!"

Yep, nothing you need to particularly interfere with. Now then, time to talk to a young person about their future while trying not to feel older than you are!


"Hey Missy, it's Gabriel. You doing okay?"

A crashing and ringing sound resounds inside the next room over, the girl you're here to see flustered and waving her arms in surprise. "Just a second! Don't move! I'm coming!"

"That was kind of the point," you mutter to yourself, having seen exactly what she was up to thanks to your enhanced senses- people don't usually masturbate in order to not come. Then again, maybe you're just misunderstanding something here?

Either way, it just takes a few moments to Missy to get her clothes back on properly, apparently still not quite having internalized the fact you and half the people in this bunker are able to smell her arousal through the door with how wet she apparently got herself.

She's doing good, you think? "Hope I'm not interfering in anything too important?"

Anyways, a somewhat disheveled, but otherwise perfectly fine girl joins you in the entrance to Missy's current living space, breathlessly looking up at you. "I'm fine! It's fine, you just surprised me."

"I can see that," you smirk, gesturing for the still moist fingers of one of her hands. She blushes a deep scarlet red, her cheeks reminiscent of those expensive, really red apples. "I can come back later, if you'd like…?"

"No, no, it's fine," she squeaks, looking around before she quickly plumps down on her own couch, trying to look way too casual to pull it off before clearing her throat. It is kind of cute, you'll admit. "Anything you needed?"

"Well, aside from the obvious," you drawl, taking a seat right next to the younger blonde and throwing an arm around her shoulders, making her blush even harder even as she leans into you, "I wanted to talk about some organizational stuff with you now that you've settled in a bit."

"Oh, I can use my power to-"

"Not that kind of organizational stuff," you interrupt her with a boop to her nose, which scrunches up in response. "You did kind of disappear off the face of the earth, literally, so your legal identity is kind of up in the air right now."

"Oh." A few moments pass as you let her think. "What're my parents doing?"

You ask if there's been any changes on that front over telepathy before giving your answer. "Still blaming themselves and currently detained in separate cells by the PRT."

"… Good." Missy nods, obviously quite satisfied with that. "So what's there to talk about? I just kind of thought I'd pretend to not exist for the next twenty years or so."

"I mean, we could do that," you shrug. "It's not like the rest of modern society particularly needs to have a paper trail of any of our people when we can just get anything we want for anyone that wants it regardless. That said, we also totally could get you a new identity just for the sake of you having it, y'know?"

"… That sounds like something that would make me more independent of the Crypts," Missy points out, still leaning against your side and looking up at your face.

"It's not like anyone here cares. I mean, I'm the boss and I don't, so whatever, really," you say. "I'm pretty sure you won't be running off into nowhere at this point and even if you do want to, that's your own damn decision to make. Heck, I'd pay out severance packages to capes that would want to leave for some reason if any ever did."

"Mhm. Okay, I don't need to tell you, but I don't want anything to do with my parents anymore. I made a clean break, it stays broken."

"Spoken like a real knee breaking gangster," you smile, pulling her a little closer yet while she looks down, a little shy or embarrassed. She's halfway to sitting on your lap at this point. "But screw them, you're totally within your rights to tell them to fuck off, in person or otherwise."

"CPS would disagree," Missy grumbles.

"CPS can fuck off, they don't exactly have any way to enforce any authority down here," you argue. "Anyways, we have the money and the connections to just make a new legal identity for you anytime. We could do that and get you a new ID, or I could also adopt you while we're at it, make it so you were part of the family all along… It's all up to you."

"… What do each of those options mean?"

"That's what I'm here for, to help talk you through them," you smile. "Don't worry, though, either way it's all up to you. I'm just the emotional support."


As you only found out recently once you looked into it, in preparation for dealing with Missy's whole situation in fact, you do actually have a legal identity yourself despite your assumption to the contrary after having been legally declared dead and all.

You kind of feel that you could be forgiven for that one, in all honesty. It's a very reasonable assumption to make.

But no, it's not some bureaucratic oversight to which you owe the fact that one Gabriel Livsey is registered to be living in Brockton Bay at an address that doesn't actually exist. That honor belongs to none other than, well, Sarah.

Who has also had herself registered as your wife, Sarah Livsey, maiden name Sarah Wilbourne, shortly after your parents' disappearance ensured they wouldn't turn up to ask any stupid questions. This information does, in turn, shine a whole new light on the regular arguments your sister starts about the identity of your 'official' wife.

Long story short, you actually exist as a legal entity already, which does make some things easier even as you largely ignore everything else that comes with that, such as taxes, political participation and all that crap. If you want something changed, you have a lot significantly more effective ways to let your opinion be known than going around casting a single vote every now and then.

And you pay the exact amount of money in taxes needed to launder it. Not a single cent more.

Anyways, all of this makes it fairly easy to add Missy to your supposed family, next to the names of your various daughters (that Sarah already took care of before you even found out), officially adding her to the family.

"Wait, that's it?"

"I mean, it's really just having someone hacked into city hall changing the digital records," you shrug. "Nothing really complicated, people do it all the time. Oh, but we can print out a certificate while we're at it, though it's not technically the same as what's going on officially!"

Suffice to say, you do. Missy pretends it isn't anything particularly special, but she absolutely is going to hang it up somewhere nice- she's already eyeing up the walls of her own Cryptside apartment when she thinks you aren't looking.


With the addition of Missy to your family structure, you naturally have to ensure the rest of the family is aware of the change and familiar with the new member of your very own little family, something that is perfectly doable through telepathy as such… Except you still do prefer to do this kind of stuff in person.

Call it old-fashioned if you must, but it just helps to talk about important stuff face-to-face, you think. It also makes whoever you're talking to pay conscious attention to you- not normally a huge issue, but sometimes people who are busy with something just kind of slide into subconscious communication instead of putting their thoughts into concrete words and all, you've found.

Doesn't matter most times, but in this case, yeah, get there in person. Plus, body language can tell you more about people than only the mental communication they do want you to get, which is another plus.

Your other daughters are currently spread around Brockton Bay, each doing their own thing, and so you have a bit of a walk ahead of you to show them off to Missy. Or to show Missy off to them, you aren't picky- all your daughters are amazing, after all, including her, so you can work with this either way.

You know you're being ridiculous every time any of your daughters are involved. That just makes it more fun. Of course your newest adoptee is not yet on quite the same level as your biological daughters (insofar as anything that has to do with you can be called an actual biological process), but you're perfectly willing to let her try. And shower her with love anyways, while you're at it already.

Lillian isn't too hard to find, at least; making use of your subterranean facilities, she's currently training a little, facing a firing squad of two dozen Hammers, humanoid robots methodically trying to pin her down with laser fire whereas she strategically dodges, blocks, deflects and even reflects their attacks.

"Is that… normal?"

"Pretty normal, yeah," you say, casually swiping a blast of red hot energy that would have come unnecessarily close to Missy out of the air. Your simplistic VI in control of these things is smart enough not to hit anyone it isn't meant to be shooting at the time, especially so when overseen by the Thinker, but even so, why let her surroundings be warmed up more than they need to be? "The robots are learning collectively and getting better at their job while Lillian is training and getting better at hers."

Just as you finish speaking, they finish shooting, a lull in the constant, slightly reverberating hum of laser fire. It still sounds more or less the same as the military hardware you based most of your early laser weapons on, come to think of it, though there is a difference human ears probably couldn't quite appreciate. You associate that with the eldritch cores fueling the things now.

"Father," Lillian smiles, her ruby-red earring and eyes shining in the light. "Is that our new sister?"

"She is," you grin in return. "Missy, this is Lillian, my oldest daughter. She's also a couple years younger than you. Lillian, this is Missy, she's your new sister."

"Wait, she's younger than me?" Missy gapes up at your eldest, the dark-haired beauty she has become peering back down at her past the huge breasts in the way.

Yes, Lillian is, now that you think about it, the most well-endowed among your daughters, actually. Her tits are each larger than Missy's head. And speaking of…

"I am. Technically. I still hereby declare you to be a little sister- all our other sisters are grown taller than you are," she expresses what she means in diplomatic terms. "Welcome to the family."

"… I can't really argue when you put it like that, but- hey!" Missy, rather than being given the opportunity to say much of anything, is promptly lifted up to Lillian's eye level.

"Mhm, cute. I want to keep you." Brushing her lip over Missy's cheek, she sighs. "Too bad dad called dibs already…"

Now the small blonde is blushing, arms crossed. "Will you let me down already?"

"No, no I don't think I will. You're a fragile human being, only slightly less so than mundane ones. You have to be kept nice and safe, hm?"

"Gabriel…" Missy whines, looking back at you.

"Hey, don't ask me, I agree with Lillian here. Have to keep you nice and safe indeed," you chuckle, stepping closer to pat both of their heads. "But if a certain elder sister wants to keep carrying you around, she'll have to come with us, there's more sisters for you to meet."


Of course where Lillian is diligently improving herself in her never-ending quest to catch up to her dear papa (you've heard her thought and memories call you that once or twice and it absolutely is utterly adorable), your other daughters are less active, but also far more intent on going around enjoying themselves rather than get caught up in what you sometimes like to ruefully describe as 'The Grind'. Very much what you did throughout much of your earlier days, as Sarah and your other wives can confirm, but that's just an aside for now.

Missy is still being carried by Lillian, though you promised earlier that you'll take over that job later so she gets a change of pace in that regard at least, as you step out onto the balcony of a certain building, overlooking one of the many wide open squares your very own brand of city planning set down in the more residential areas you built around the more residential areas of Brockton Bay's once dilapidated northern side.

Good way south from the trainyard, you'd say. Also not too far away from the Mausoleum, your hotel which you will be visiting and engaging in more depth later tonight. Basically the neo-downtown area near the new residential district you focused on, more or less, with planned malls and all that quite nearby. Well, you wonder if you can call them 'planned' malls in particular when you have several shops already renting space in the carefully placed and spaced-out shopping spaces in question.

Down there, in the open, Iris and Ivy are singing, 'entertaining' a large group of people; today's theme seem to be pop and rock songs, a surprising amount of grown adults just really jiving with the mood there on the ground.

By which you mean it's kind of a public semi-orgy. Like, it's no Rapture American spring break or anything, but you do see a good couple people having sex off to the sides, using everyone else around as a measure of cover.

"Wait, is that okay? If they're singing and capes, then-"

"Oh, don't worry, it looks close enough to an actual concert the PRT won't figure anything out until after it's over," you explain to Missy why this is absolutely not a problem before you gesture at the two raven-haired singers. "Those are the twins among your sisters, Iris and Ivy. The only difference between them is their eye color and they kind of have a mind meld thing going on, or else they were just conceived as a single entity that split into two, we're still not entirely sure."

"… That's pretty weird, even for capes."

"You haven't seen anything yet," you drawl. "Anyways, they enjoy singing and often perform at the Raveyard, so if you'd like to talk to them later be sure to pop in there."

"Won't anyone try to throw me out? Y'know, because I'm…"

"Oh, no need to worry about your apparent age. You're my daughter now and that means you can just do whatever the hell you want, you can just beat up anyone in the way of that. If you can't, me or your sisters will take care of it."

"We have a very supportive family environment," Lillian confirms, shifting Missy in her arms. "If anyone bullies or points a gun at you, they're worse than dead, promise."

"Uhm…" The girl in question, for her part, seems to have absolutely no idea how to handle this kind of unconditional support and readiness for ultraviolence for her sake, just looking away for now. "Thanks?"

"Don't mention it. Can I rub my cheeks against your head? Our other sisters like it when I do that."

"Speaking of that habit of yours," you chime in, "time to go see the one daughter of mine responsible for it."

"Serena is a greatly positive influence."

"Exactly."

Missy's head, twitching between letting her watch yourself and Lillian in turns, stills. "Why do I have the feeling I'll regret knowing her?"

You both just smile mysteriously.

Naturally, Serena herself isn't just sitting around anywhere herself; during the day, with the Raveyard pretty much closed during off hours, she tends to roam around, doing her own thing when she isn't hanging out with anyone else in particular.

Right now, as a quick thought quickly confirms, she is… wandering around the Cryptwalk, judging the various stores and associated tourist traps to see which of them deserve to be 'lewdified' the most. Because of course she is.

The moment she sees you carrying your mortally fragile new adopted daughter and her new sister, she immediately insists to be told all about why you're lugging Missy around in a princess carry, grinning widely the moment you send her a mental package.

"New sister, get!" Currently using her powers to look to be around college age, her fox features actually hidden away for a change, she makes it look like there's three college students currently humoring someone's younger sister, an irony not hidden to yourself here. "C'mon, let's go shopping for a new look for you right now, we can bond on the way!"

You turn towards Lillian with a wry drin on your lips. "Guess it's decided how we'll spend the rest of the day, then."

"Girls," your eldest daughter nods in feigned frustration.


The Cryptwalk, as Brockton Bay's boardwalk has been rechristened after you went and sprayed your gang-colored fluids all over the upper reaches of most of its buildings, has become even more of a tourist trap than it was before you laid hands on it, that much can be said with certainty by this point. It does make sense; aside from some technological industry and banking, both kind of high-end and limited in scope, Brockton Bay primarily thrives on cape tourism, so having a public piece you are known and confirmed to have created right there on the buildings naturally adds some kick to the entire waterfront area.

You could do better now, honestly. Much better. And if you were given a bit of time and some more varied paint, you could expand the scope of what you-

No, no, bad thoughts. You really can't let yourself be sucked into this urge to redo everything you ever did until it meets your current standards, you'd never get anything done that way.

It stands, all in all, that the Cryptwalk is a powerful tourist attraction for those people that are into that kind of thing, far beyond being the demonstration of brazenness you intended at the time. Heck, property prices of every building you sprayed paint on have increased to varying degrees all across the board, you're pretty sure. The shops have grown more extravagant and pop culture all but oozes from half of them, especially the ever-present clothing stores dotting the Cryptwalk in small clusters.

It is those stores in particular that you find yourself wandering into and out of as Serena insists on getting a whole new outfit for her newest sister, Missy being both goaded along by promises of being a new person with a new look to herself and used as a dress-up doll by the daughter between yourself and Sarah. You and Lillian are mostly just along for the ride, sometimes making a few comments here and there and helping to organize the clothes to be added to the 'keep' pile growing from shop to shop, rather than the discarded ones.

It has to be said that, for all the stereotype around women shopping for clothes, Serena is still your daughter, so while she makes perhaps far too much of a thing of it and takes more time than you ever would, she's still blindingly efficient about it as she blazes through entire assortments of clothing, methodically narrowing down what she wants Missy to wear and how, what fits her and what not and what can clash how with her natural looks.

Blindingly efficient by the standard of these kinds of things, at any rate.

"There! Darker clothes, with a bit of pink for extra color!"

"Doesn't it look too childish?"

"Not with the rest of this. See, the leather and actual studs… Oh, how about a few belts, too?"

"Aren't belts just edgy?"

"They are, so they counterbalance the pink! Believe me, you can wear this."

In the end, it takes your assistance to find a black little hat that boasts a belt itself to complete the overall impression meant to be given, but finally Missy has more or less what she was intended to be given; a complete wardrobe overhaul in several styles, with one of them in particular sticking out.

"Here, have a lollipop, too! It's sweet and a fashion statement!"

It really does suit her, doesn't it?


It takes a bit until they're done with their own leisure time in the form of that little concert they were performing, but the twins eventually join your impromptu little family outing, too, accompanying yourself and their sisters as you all casually wander along the Cryptwalk together. Once they, too, have had their fun clothes shopping, which you still have to join in on because you're the cool kind of dad, you're finally allowed to move on to other stuff.

You can't exactly argue against this kind of approach towards figuring out new things to wear, even if you'd like to say that your manufactories can just create any kinds of clothes you could want anyways, but really, your daughters have entirely too much fun using both Missy and yourself as dress-up dolls. You have no idea how Lillian convinced her sisters to leave her alone in the meantime.

Anyways, once you get to choose where you're going next, it doesn't take you all too long to ensure everyone gets some ice cream, everyone choosing a sundae and the girls happily sharing among each other- happily using this opportunity to aggressively include Missy in their fun as well, the realities of being part of a big happy family still taking your new adoptive daughter a bit to get used to.

You also get some shares from everyone in exchange for your own as well, of course. The ice cream is nothing particularly special on a technical taste level, but they really put some effort into decorating it at the place you're trying out. Big points for effort, if nothing else.

Also, ice cream just tastes great even if it isn't the top shelf stuff.

Then, with a cone of ice cream in everyone's hand once you leave, it happens. Missy, currently allowed to walk by herself as long as she stays between the twins, pales, looking around for a spot to hide.

At first you wonder whether it's one of her parents somehow, already getting ready to murder them for interrupting this nice walk, but no- it's a pair of the Wards, Clockblocker and Aegis, patrolling the area for PR purposes you recognize from afar.

Naturally, you have a plan already.

"Don't worry, just act natural," you casually tell Missy, deliciously eating some of your ice cream and causing two nearby girls watching you to blush and flee with a wink following the use of your tongue.

"They're totally going to see me!" She hisses, tucking in her head. "And Clock always makes a scene."

"Relaaax," Serena chimes in, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "You're wearing unfamiliar clothes and stuff, they're just gonna be confused for a second at most. We have a whole crowd as cover, bet they won't even notice us."

"… Alright, but if anyone recognizes me it'll be a huge thing." Warning given, Missy (nervously) returns to eating her ice cream herself. Good girl, she's got priorities.

And lo and behold, in the end you make it past the Wards patrol without issue, though some of the questions asked by star-struck fans and other kids that come to get autographs you end up overhearing make the entire exercise more difficult than expected.

Mostly because you have to keep everyone from laughing.

"Is it true Shadow Stalker is transferred away?"

"Hey little guy, yeah, she had to move away sadly," Aegis tells the pint-sized fan that seems to have yet to realize the Crypts have a way cooler junior division he should be into instead of the Wards. "We all miss her very much, though."

At that, Missy has to pretend to have a cough. Mostly because, no, nobody missed Sophia exactly last time she checked.

Everyone is highly amused at the PRT's way of handling the missing Ward. You suppose the Elite lead didn't pan out for their search after all, heh.


The Mausoleum, your very own vision of a high-rise hotel. Rising fifty floors towards the sky, around two hundred meters high in total thanks to additional space you had to make for various pieces of machinery and the like, chock full of sci-fi technology that you're willing to bet people will just assume is tinkertech five minutes into their stay… Regardless of the notes saying otherwise you strategically plastered throughout a few areas inside of the building.

It is, finally, complete, and has been for a few days. You just needed a little extra time to have a few preparations made for the big opening, which is what has you busy with the hotel at the moment- the Thinker is great in terms of doing all of this stuff in the background, of course, but now that the time itself is here, you naturally feel the need to attend in person and all that.

It's your damn hotel, you want to do the opening night yourself. Simple as that.

Now, the preparations consisted of sending invitations to all and sundry, for a start, and figuring out the catering; you were tempted to take care of it yourself, or at least use your own recipes and manufactories reserved for food production, but in the end the interest of producing a paper trail that can prove you're totally on the up-and-up won out over your childish urge to show off you have the best food.

Or very good food, at the least. You can cook pretty well these days and you have a whole internet's worth of recipes for whatever you'd like to try making, but even so, you're not actually specialized here. Cooking has always been more of a side hobby to you, next to art, ever since you started to obtain a massive amount of proficiency in various subjects by way of ripping it out of people as you ate them. It's useful when you want to bake a special cake or feel like inventing or reinventing some new sweets or tinker with ice cream, but-

You just had the thought of a Tinker specializing in ice cream. It would turn out either horrific or wonderful, and you have no idea which. Depends on how exactly the details shook out, you'd assume, but really, when you look at tinkertech in general…

Your bet would be on horrific, personally, but hey, hypothetical murder madness ice cream isn't actually a thing you have to be concerned about at the moment.

Note to self, make sure Cupcake never gets anywhere near your notes on ice cream flavors. Just in case.

But yes, the Grand Opening of the Mausoleum, finest hotel in Brockton Bay, is now taking place. You invited the entirety of the PRT ENE's capes on this occasion, as well as New Wave, both to make it a point that for all that you barely bother to hide who ultimately owns this place, the city's heroes still can't really do anything about your hotel… Not to mention how rude that would be and all that.

Basically, where Max Anders was secretly Kaiser, you as Cain are barely bothering to hide the financial interests you have in the city. Though to be fair, your plan never really did involve any of that secrecy bit the moment you began to buy up over half of Brockton Bay, merely enough plausible deniability you don't have to literally start a war with the United States government to do whatever the hell you want at the time.

Watching the gathering of high society now occupying the entrances and lower ballrooms of the Mausoleum (you're thinking of hosting marriages and other events of the like in here as well, but you'll have to see if there's demand for that going forward) from above, you tilt your head fractionally, considering. Not all guests you invited are present, but a good amount of them.

Armsmaster, Velocity, Assault and Battery, basically half the Protectorate ENE, as well as the adult generation of New Wave are there, Carol sometimes throwing furtive glances at her sister when nobody else is looking. Parian has come in her cape persona, performing a few adroit tricks using her power as a form of entertainment, and Kayden came as well in her function as the interior designer in charge of a lot of the work done in here.

Say about her whatever else one will, but she does put effort into networking, now that she needs to find her own clients outside the retainer you have her on. Good on her, really. She even used some of the money you pay her to get herself a proper tailored business outfit, complete with dark blouse and all.

You did invite everyone from the Crypts that wanted to come as well, but, seeing as this is mainly a social function, not many of them really cared. Of course, once the twins decided they had their fill of fawning over Missy, well, you had your singers for the evening.

They're dressed in beautiful nightgowns, their voices for once held back to 'merely' entrance those that spend too long listening lost in thought and providing wonderful backdrop on which to have conversations at any volume.

Oh, and Armsmaster actually took off the power armor, he's technically here in his civvies. Interesting.


Well, nothing in for it. The various heroes around will just have to see about entertaining themselves under the watchful eye of the Thinker's many, many cameras spread throughout the building, you mainly just wanted them here to make the point- and for added publicity of the event you're holding, if you are to be honest.

For the moment, you have other things to focus on. Such as the many wealthy and influential- relative to Brockton Bay- people you managed to lure into place for this. As you have long since learned, being rich does not inoculate yourself to being tricked, fooled, bamboozled, taken advantage of and generally being manipulated by anyone with the right mindset at the right time and place.

You learned this a long, long time ago, the lesson only reinforced on Remnant and again on Earth Rapture. The vast majority of the rich are, well, just like the vast majority of people, not particularly interesting nor important beyond the critical factor of being rich. Having a lot of wealth available.

Now, granted, that's not nothing. Quite the opposite, really; having access to however much money one could want is a superpower in and of itself, you'd argue. There' a reason you do typically go out of your way to acquire that exact kind of wealth and power for yourself whenever you enter a new world.

You have considerable resources thanks to your varied criminal enterprises right here on Earth Bet as well, which is why you still do consider yourself fairly wealthy even outside of your immense power base aside from all the cash you can throw around at a moment's whim.

But back to the present- and a bunch of wealthy buffoons to play with. It's not like you particularly have to, but hey, getting a few more 'supporters' to buy into the Crypts is always good, right?

Now to go and mingle a bit…


Colin Wallis had a lot of work to do. He always did, admittedly, but more so now than usually. The fact that said work involved having sex was irrelevant to this, whether it was with one woman or half a dozen.

The Mausoleum, as a whole, had Cain's fingerprints all over it. The building, situated in the middle of the area the Lord Street Crypts had claimed and completely rebuilt through as of yet unknown means- Colin was quite sure some manner of robotic tinkertech may have been involved from what information had been gathered on this front- had been built exactly as the rest of its surroundings had been, seemingly overnight with relatively little noise produced compared to typical construction sites, 'guarded' by dockworkers hired through the DWU and sharing a similar architectural style.

The DWU being in the Crypts' pocket was mildly surprising, but merely that. It would not be the first time the particularly insidious gang was making use of others in this manner.

The invitations to the 'grand opening' had come as a surprise, but a short planning session revealed that all members of the Protectorate ENE had received one through mail. Naturally, this situation required a delicate touch; judging by Cain's profile and MO, this public event (and it was a public event, they had confirmed as much) was extremely unlikely to be a trap, but in the event it was, the Protectorate ENE was split into two teams following a brief discussion.

One team would accept the invitations, participating as normal. The other team would be stationed either nearby or so as to cover most of the city as quick responders, should the need arise.

Colin was intending to infiltrate the building, of course. Whatever was going on within it, it produced exotic energy readings on his scanner, a piece of technology resulting from the refinement of his prior attempts at a miniaturized omnidirectional recording tool, and so he believed that he was the best suited towards investigating it.

It had many of the hallmarks of tinkertech. Metal inside the walls, some of it quite exotic, for one.

This mission required him to keep his visible armaments to a minimum and he did, indeed, end up resorting to a simple disguise to enter, his invitation valid regardless of his current identity. Colin did not doubt for a moment that Cain could use this to research his civilian identity, but he was, in the end, not particularly troubled by this.

He went around in it, but Cain had already literally robbed him once. If the man wanted to escalate, he was welcome to try, but otherwise he had no living relatives nor deep attachments outside the costume. Some people would find this depressing, but he preferred it this way- less messy person issues coming in the way of what he wanted to focus on as a career hero.

This was a realization that had not come easy to him and that he, in part, owed to Cain, not that he was ever going to admit it. He had not been in a good place, back then when the ABB had been violently dissolved, and he likely still was not right now, but he liked to think he was doing better than before now.

At any rate, advancing deeper into the Mausoleum would require careful navigating, as Assault, Battery and Velocity watched his back. He would need to carefully judge-

"Hey there pretty man, want to have some fun upstairs?" A smiling woman in a backless evening dress waved at him, coquettishly holding his gaze for only a moment.

"That depends. Should I be worried about the reason for it?"

"Oh hush, we're just here for fun today, not business… And a few of the girls said you weren't bad last time they saw you. Care for a… repeat performance?"

And this brought him back to the matter at hand. It was his mission to investigate the Mausoleum's secrets, so if he had to have sex with what he was reasonably sure was one of the genetically modified prostitutes working for the Lord Street Crypts…

There was only one answer he could give. "Lead the way," he assented, not commenting as the woman of the night stroked the side of his face as they walked arm in arm, brushing through his beard.

Colin Wallis took great pains to perfect its growth and dimensions all throughout the day. It was not intended to generate sex appeal, but the side effect of his efforts was not one he could disagree with.

Making their way into what appeared to be an elevator, Colin and the anonymous woman proceeded to exchange saliva through contact between their mucous membranes, only separating temporarily when the elevator doors opened again. The movement had been swift, yet almost unnoticeable and quiet- hopefully his recording device would be able to support a more in-depth analysis later.

"… and so you see, you really shouldn't have to force yourself to keep up with that lifestyle," a young man told an older woman, playing with the buttons of her clothing. She was quite flushed. "All he needs is to want it, and you could simply retire."

"Oh yes, he's just too obsessed over his work," she replied, not resisting as his hands worked their way under her clothes. Something about him seemed familiar, but Colin could not quite tell what.

Meanwhile, he had other concerns to attend.

"Come on baby, the girls are waiting… Too bad your friend from last time isn't here tonight."

He thought of Shawn, Dauntless, standing by on a nearby roof. "I will simply have to make up for his absence," he said as a door opened at the touch of the woman's finger, allowing him entry into what looked a lot like a beach.

A nudist beach, given the naked women therein. He recognized some of them, though also bore vast differences to their appearance, presumably through whatever methodology allowed the Crypt to genetically modify women that worked as prostitutes.

"I would like to ask a few questions about you, ladies," he mentioned in reply to catcalls as he discarded his clothing, mentally noting where his omnidirectional recording device landed for later. "After you are all satisfied, of course."

Training and determination had always carried the day for him. They would have to do so now. Colin may have to consider adding stimulants to enhance his stamina to his kit for these missions, at this rate…


Things end up going pretty well, if you do say so yourself. It took a bit of greasing wheels to get to making any deals, but make deals you do, one after the other, entangling more of Brockton Bay's 'loftier' society in your own business interests where you can and getting people used to the idea of renewed port and trainyard traffic.

Which is what you are working towards, after all. It's happening one way or another, but these guys may as well be aware and, in some cases, supportive of the work being done. Like, you're basically at the point where you're just waiting while news about Brockton Bay's port facilities being functional and cheaper than Boston to spread a bit while servicing more local needs for the moment.

Like, about half of it is connected to Accord one way or another, the money being used technically part of the budget for his projects, but you aren't exactly opposed to just propping up entire circular economies… Given you are ultimately profiting from wherever he's shipping weapons, drugs and medicine.

Bit of an odd outlier, that one, but hey, if he wants to operate outside the federal guidelines for this stuff, he's basically forced to smuggle it, so if that's his jam… Not that you're about to complain about your cure to cancer being shipped to nations in which the average person can't just get all the chemicals required for it on the fly, anyways.

You also do, to return to the topic of the Mausoleum, just so happen to bump into the Searfields, the twins working for Henley most of the time forced to accompany their parents on this occasion. Naturally, you waste no time to bang their mother, getting it in her head that she and her husband deserve 'retirement' at this point in their lives.

Amanda and Celine are immensely thankful for both distracting their parents (not like their father can't afford a night with a trio of the prostitutes already manning the stations, henceforth employed by the Mausoleum in rotating shifts to ensure no paying guest leaves unsatisfied) and setting things into motion for them grabbing access to their family fortune a bit early. Back when you first met them, they totally wouldn't have been prepared for this, of course, but by now they've proven they figured out how to handle finances properly.

If they didn't, Henley wouldn't have endorsed them in your last telepathic mini conference on the topic of promising subordinates. It's mostly just organizational minutiae, those, but you believe that it is worthwhile to go the extra mile to ensure those people working for you with the potential for more be leveraged into best using said potential for your benefit.

A matter of company policy, pretty much. The Crypts value everyone that work for them, one way or another- a philosophy that got you decently far on Earth Rapture, if nothing else, so it can't be all wrong.

It is after a long evening of boning businesswomen making it a point to look professional until the moment your hands are upon their skin and wealthy wives that haven't known a day of hunger in their lives before you're done, the event ended for the night as reservations are officially being taken for the hotel from now on that you return home to go and do what you feel like doing the most at this point.

That is, to cuddle up to Sarah for a while. Could it be you're kind of a clingy lover despite consciously trying to give your various partner space whenever you can?


Your sister is already waiting for you by the time you come to join her, inside a room that can best be summed up as a pillow fort taken to the logical extreme. Large, red expanses of velvet cover everything, from the ground to the walls and the ceiling, and you find Sarah lounging in the middle of a huge pile of pillows and blankets, all fitting into the color scheme of sort red.

She is also, it almost goes without saying, entirely naked, her supernaturally well-proportioned body only hidden from view by a few of said blankets strewn across her form. The moment you come in, she of course throw those aside, sitting up to smile at you happily.

She really is entirely too beautiful. Bountiful chest, slender yet aesthetically pleasing limbs, curves to die and murder a hundred innocents for every day and of course her smiling face not out of place on a literal angel framed by strands of flowing gold- your sister has it all, and she snorts happily in her cutely aborted chuckle as you transmit these thoughts to her directly.

Wordlessly, Sarah waves for you to come closer, something you gladly do as you shadow-phase out of your clothes. Barriers between your skin and hers would just get in the way here. Jumping onto her pile with her, you and Sarah get nice and comfortable, ensconced by several layers of sinfully soft cloth and resting on pillows the size of small cars.

You're spooning her, half-sitting as your position allows, her soft butt pressing pleasantly against your waist. Neither of you says a word nor transmits any concrete thoughts for a while, just a silent sense of contentment passing back and forth while you get comfortable.

The skin you are touching, arms crossing over Sarah's stomach and legs entwined as they are, is if anything even softer than the velvet surrounding you, by the way.

Nuzzling into the top of her head, you don't use any words still, but nevertheless manage to convey that you want her to vocalize what's on her mind. And on a related note, her hair still smells amazing. She's totally doing something with it, despite not particularly needing to most days.

"I think about the things we lose out on, sometimes," she says slowly, leaning back into you with closed eyes. "It's totally worth it, but we never get tired, so we never do any drowsy cuddles, no morning blowjobs…"

"Hm," you make, holding her a fraction closer yet. "Guess we just have to use the extra time in the day to spend it with each other, to make up for that."

"Yep." Twisting and shifting her position, Sarah adjusts so she can bend her upper body around a bit, her sweet lips brushing over your pecs, a bit above your nipples. "Way better than the alternatives."

She looks up to you, deep eyes reminding you of your own in those moments when you're in gameface.

"I love you, you know."

"I do."

"Really? You sure?"

"Pretty sure." One of your hands strokes down the side of her belly as you confirm it.

"Because I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really love you, okay?"

"I love you lots, too," you nod, feeling your mildly agitated sister rubbing her butt over your lap. Figuring it's probably adequate, you let your semi-permanent boner assert itself, hard flesh resting between her oft thighs.

Until Sarah turns around fully anyways, letting it slide around her undercarriage until she's facing you, leg spread to remain seated on your lap. Now you're feeling something soft and wet on your shaft, all the while your rod pokes out between the cheeks of her generous butt. "Good! Because that makes it official and you aren't ever allowed to leave me, okay?!"

"What makes you think I'd ever allow anything to separate us?" Looking down at her as he looks up at you, you give her a deep, long kiss, the kind that only something that doesn't need to breathe can take because most living beings still need to metabolize oxygen to survive for any length of time.

Her sudden desperation soothing by the minute, you thoroughly, but slowly knead her butt, knowing she enjoys the touch. At some point your tongues are basically spiraling around each other, naked bodies clinging to the other tightly enough to shatter concrete.

By the time you let up again, her manic energy has completely receded, leaving only a happily panting, completely relaxed Sarah in your arms. Sinking along the contours of your neck and chest, she slowly trails kisses along your body, moving to rub and tease your cock along the way as it slides along her wet pussy and lower stomach before she returns back up and pins it between her legs again to start all over again.

Someone's getting thoroughly massaged over this, that much is a given.


What emerges after your cuddle session of questionable chastity and length measured in hours is a thoroughly satisfied, smiling Sarah, the usual smugness you'd see in her lessened considerably as she leads the way for yourself.

Turns out all you needed to do was to provide some moral support by way of close contact for a decent while, after all. Sarah always has been a cuddler, something you are intimately aware of thanks to the whole 'having raised her' thing, so it really shouldn't surprise you at all; both her and… And your brother always did try to climb into your bed when they were little.

It was really cute, though they did grow out of it at some point, as all children eventually do.

At any rate, you soon find yourself trailing behind her as you take a look around your personal rooms in person. While the rules about enforced nudism within them are still well in place, the Thinker has put considerable amounts of effort into adding more and more space to them, far and beyond the thorough covering of any needs you envisioned yourself having when you went through and remodeled the bunker the first time around.

In her words, the AI has decided that excess space is always preferable where viable and, true to her roots as an administrative unit meant to take care of a whole city's needs, just makes use of the strange warping effect sufficient amounts of eldritch technology tend to have.

Long story short, you effectively have a small city hidden underneath the city, now, taking up far, far less space than it really should. Even if you discount the considerable amount of sealed storage areas used to preserve massive quantities of robots for the Thinker's use, that's a lot of private real estate for you.

… Actually, you're pretty sure vanilla mortals may suffer from some serious cognitive dissonance if they were to try to understand exactly where what is placed down here. Note to self, test that out later, somehow.

But to get to the point at hand, you, Sarah, Nora and Kate got talking about your parahuman combat arena suggestion, as well as the various ideas and proposed additions that got tacked on and talked out since you made it. As the current working concept consists of, essentially, building a sports bar above yet another underground construction, this one intentionally less hidden than your real headquarters.

The details of the building and all of that are secondary right now, though. No, what came up in your talks and quickly spiraled out of control, as the best thoughts do, was that being a sports bar, the surface establishment naturally would need a menu of various dishes and drink and all that.

And, it being yours in particular, all or at least a not inconsiderable number of those, would need to be puns based on the Crypts' capes. So it has been declared by both Kate and Sarah and the notion supported by Nora and such it shall be, as simple as that.

So right now you're inside one of the two kitchen complexes built into your 'personal quarters', ready to get a little creative and experiment with what kinds of things you could see qualifying for this project, to be judged by the three of your lovers interested in it.


Some parts of the intended new menu are an easy find, as obvious as they are classics. House-made cupcakes, for example, obviously refer to none other than Cupcake, and come in several flavors you experiment with until your test audience decrees them to be delicious enough.

Of course, this being a session of taste testing, it doesn't take long for several additional testers to assemble in addition to the three already present. Taylor, surprisingly, is the first to join in, having been nearby for some minor business already, followed by Sherrel, Cupcake herself, Emily, Riley, Cherie and Lea, plus of course all of your daughters who still remember the cakes you baked for their literal birthdays.

Even Annette and Jesse attend once Taylor manages to talk her mother into it… Though you think Jesse may have more to do with that, the blonde really is a good influence on her.

But yes, the Cupcake Cakes go over pretty well after the initial teasing thrown at the short girl (woman, technically, but everyone acknowledges she's more of a girl), thanks to the various fruit mixtures you use for the dough. And actual fruits, of course, which you decide to employ in thinner slices on top of the thin layers of frosting.

Then there's the less immediately apparent dishes you have to figure out. Sure, it's easy enough to bake a 'Cain Cake' that is unanimously agreed upon to pass once you really get to it, with a bit of darker outside layers to vaguely reference your suit and shadow-face in costume, consisting of several layers of either cherries or strawberries between the cream and dough inside of it, to be served in appropriately-sized slices.

There also is chocolate on top, of course, small round plates of it. Mostly just because you felt it would look (and taste) nice.

But as for the rest… Well, you may have to consider just adding a full-on bakery to the 'sports bar' concept above your Arena of Horrors (temporary name, you're still brainstorming ideas there). Nut-Doughs, basically donuts except in the general form of hand grenades, are surprisingly easy to eat and a tribute to Alice and her general specialty, for example, and you basically end up making more sweets than anything else in general as you go over every cape on your roster and consider what you could make to ensure they are appropriately honored here.

In the end you do just make a bunch of cakes, though, admittedly borderline artisanal creations that you will have to tone down for practical purposes. Kate insists her cake should have chili chocolate, for some reason, and it takes quite a bit of fiddling to get Sarah's hair (and fur) color right on the marzipan you use for hers, but you do believe the whole exercise is well worth it, in the end.

And honestly, there are weirder things to have in one place than a bakery for sweets (and cakes in particular) and the kind of sport bar deal you were thinking of, so hey, who's gonna tell you not to do whatever you damn well want with this, really?


It is simplicity itself to arrange certain… accidents, given your means, especially so within your primary area of influence- Brockton Bay, in case this was not already clear. That said, it's actually minimally harder to do so with any degree of… precision, to use the one word you can think of.

Needless to say, you can still pull just about any act of manipulation, accident, food poisoning or similar you'd like to, especially with the Thinker providing support. Simply put, knowing in advance what will happen with a likelihood in the upper ninety-ninth percentile (barring interference from outside a given frame of reference) just makes things too easy by far.

So it comes that, on this fine Monday morning, a certain teacher employed at a certain school, Arcadia High to be precise (and isn't that one presumptuous name when you think about it) is somewhat preoccupied with a sudden case of extreme explosive diarrhea on account of (by him) unforeseen food poisoning right after breakfast.

It's the really nasty kind, too, that will leave him in pain and unable to do much of anything for a day or two at the minimum. Even if you were to be inclined towards feeling bad over what you did, however, you wouldn't in this case- he was, among other things, a math teacher and you always did hate the subject in school, so screw him.

This leads to a sudden, unavoidable issue with the school, of course- no teacher means no class to be taught. Perhaps they would find someone to jump in on his behalf on the fly, given their stellar reputation which you have so far found to be based on fact, but they do not have to- fudging a bit with their digital systems, you 'arrange' for a certain someone to teach first period for a certain class. Physics, to be exact.

The class in question just so happens to include the Dallon sisters, though they don't actually share every class they have, admittedly, and the person in question sits at the teacher's desk as they students come in one by one once the bell rings.

Of course you have to make sure to make a decent first impression.

"Hello, class. My name is Gabriel and I will be teaching in place of Mister Gladheart today," you announce, strategically taking off the glasses Sarah decided had to go with your outfit. "I won't be here at Arcadia for long, but it's a pleasure to meet you all."

The temperature inside the classroom seems to rise by a degree or two as the students, especially the female ones, seem to experience a collective rise in body temperature in addition to their blushing, a sort of simultaneous heat spreading out. Vicky makes a sound between a groan and a helpless squeak, whereas Amy just facepalms at the stunt you obviously pulled.

Totally worth it, of course.


The lesson you mean to teach is not too complicated, you think, but, and let's be honest, actually making it all about dry, theoretical physics would be the kind the kind of bore you make an effort to avoid on the regular. No, while physics have their place, said place is not inside your classroom.

So instead you veer towards practical applications of physics fairly quickly. That is to say the discipline of engineering, which just so happens to be something you are personally very invested into and have spent rather many, many days working on. Yes, you also do physics, but they're more the foundation for your many other pursuits, rather than the purpose in itself, see?

Anyways, you go on ahead with your plan so far, keeping your voice even and mostly natural, as in, how you normally speak. However, the level of latent sexual tension in the air does not recede and, on the contrary, only continues to grow heavier as you stand before the blackboard, explaining the material you want these minds of questionable malleability to internalize.

"As you can see, many of the machines that allow modern technology use these simple principles of physics," you tell them, voice smooth like heated butter. "The earliest kind of 'proper' machine is hard to determine, given wind-and watermills are positively ancient for all that they are deceptively simple, but at the latest the invention of the steam engine ensured the beginning of the industrial revolution… But we can leave that to history class, of course."

You clear your throat and smile, watching the room's current population. The boys are paying attention, more or less, whereas the girls are overall somewhat distracted, but that is staying within acceptable parameters. Which is boring of course, so you go ahead and establish telepathic contact with Amy and Vicky, sending the sisters images from when you last saw their mother at work.

Neither make much of a sound, but when you add their aunt getting it on with you inside a public toilet… Well, Vicky is twitching violently, all the while Amy is bright red in the face. Though in her defense, a lot of the girls in class are blushing quite heavily. "Are you alright, Miss Dallon?" You thus address Vicky. "If you need a moment, you can go to the toilet anytime."

"… I'm fine," she glares at you, if only for a moment. Well, you have been ignoring her telepathic questions about what exactly is going on here, so maybe you shouldn't be too surprised.

"If you're sure. Now then." You turn around, quickly sketching a few things on the blackboard- a long rod being inserted into a tight pipe, pushed from behind by a vector you also denote fairly quickly. "Let us now discuss the physics behind the working of a piston, and how it pushes into the same depth and position any number of times."

One of the girls listening to you whimpers. You give her an extra moment of gentle smile.

"Oh, no need to worry. This is fairly simple… And I can explain it however many times you'd like."

The scent of arousal is present, by the way, and you can smell it coming from several girls at once.

"The offer is open for all of you, of course," you polite point out, gaze panning over the room. "Would be a waste to leave anyone… unsatisfied, after all."


In the end, it is a bit of an awkward shuffle for some once the bell rings, but first period ends with no less than a dozen orgasms among the female student populace, many of whom are fairly surely off to visit the restrooms for the sake of some privacy. You wouldn't have thought it, but you actually managed to do that with nothing but the sound of your voice, showing your pretty face around and talking about exactly how churning pistons, vibrating engines and similar machinery works.

You didn't exactly expect you could do this, but hey, it's pretty neat what you can do with a mundane audience that has to listen to everything you say and do for some time. Like, you already knew you can kill people by shouting at them just right, you tested it out once in laboratory conditions, but yeah, any addition to your capabilities is always welcome.

Amy and Vicky have so far managed to keep themselves thinking more or less straight, something you suspect is sourced from the various enhancements they enjoy compared to the normal students, whether it be the thralling, the aura, the tonics or a combination of several of these. As the rest of the class makes its way out of the room, they stay behind, the blonde sister saying goodbye to a bunch the other kids as they get out.

Eventually everyone does just that, Vicky closing the door herself before she rounds on you as you remain sitting behind the teacher's desk, watching in amusement as she hectically approaches, Amy in tow. "What," the blonde hisses, "was that?!"

"Me pulling a shift as a stand-in teacher, of course," you drawl, entirely unaffected. If she uses her aura, you won't actually know unless Amy reacts visibly, but she doesn't so it's up in the air for now. "Someone had to, after all, and I felt like seeing you two."

"Like you saw mom and aunt Sarah?" Amy asks, the amount of caustic sarcasm in her voice at a minimum as it has been whenever she talks to you for a while now.

"I wouldn't be opposed exactly, but no, I just felt like screwing around," you admit, bringing thing to their natural conclusion without all the dancing around. "How'd you like the lesson?"

"Informative. Actually pretty good." The dark-haired sister shrugs.

"Is nobody going to mention Aunt Sarah fell for The Dick now, too?"

Both of you ignore Vicky as she says this.


When Amy had dragged herself out of bed that day, biorhythm completely toppled by the weekend as it was every week, she hadn't exactly anticipated seeing the guy she, her sister, her mother and apparently now also her aunt were smashing at school, working as a temp teacher. Like, at all, it was completely beside any point of reference she had.

On the other hand, though, that was still better than a normal Monday, so she wasn't really going to complain. Especially not as, after a bit of hemming and hawing, she ended up just dragging Vicky into a sloppy kiss, too impatient to wait for her to get to the good part of her own volition.

Not that she was all that opposed to it. Amy had trained her well, if she said so herself.

So there they were, making out in the almost empty classroom. Her sister tasted as great as ever, their lips entwined just as surely as their tongues, and she felt as Vicky's hands felt their way under her shirt, already working on her bra.

If her mouth wasn't filled with her blonde sister's tongue, Amy would have smirked. Clearly she wasn't the only one that enjoyed the prospect of getting some tail in here.

Then again, Gabriel's presence- or Cain, whatever- ensured that much by itself. The only man she found bearable enough to have sex with was smiling at her, as though he could read her mind (not unlikely) as he came closer to help take off Vicky' clothes… as well as her own. Why he was into her was a question the darker-haired girl still hadn't found an answer to, but hey, no judging.

Not willing to stay at both of their mercy for long, Vicky quickly lashed out with one hand, savagely attacking Gabe's crotch, almost tearing off his pants' zipper and popping open the button keeping them in place. In return, all he did was to kiss and nibble on her neck, something that made Amy's sister groan with desire.

"Someone's happy to see us," she said, looking back at Amy even as her hand was stroking Gabe's cock. "But I think it isn't my turn to get wrecked today…"

Amy blinked, throwing her a betrayed look. "Wait, what?"

"I remember having this bad boy here," the traitorously hot sister said, down to her panties and Gabriel's hands on them already, "inside my womb, Amy. The least you can do is take a pounding this time."

"That does sound like an excellent idea," Gabe agreed, a wolfish grin on his face as he looked her over. "If anyone in this building could use being reduced to mindless pudding for a while, you'd be it."

She paled, raising her hands in surrender. "Hey, hey, maybe we should-"

"Nope, I'm taking her front!" Vicky declared, using her power to float closer. She never used her power at school, not since she got used to keeping it down.

"Guess I'm the rearguard then," Gabe chuckled, the two of them moving to surround her like an Amy sandwich surrounded by sexy people.

Which, y'know, didn't sound so bad, but she knew she was going to be out cold for the rest of the day if this happened.

Then again… probably worth it. Probably. "Can we talk about this?"

"No." With that, Vicky held her in place, trailing kisses over her mouth and cheeks, but her hands were on her butt, spreading those cheeks the moment Gabe had her ass naked. Which he did pretty damn quickly.

"You su-uuuure?!" It felt amazing as always, to feel him put his cock into her. Not bothering to wait for any length of time, he immediately pushed his massive man-stick into Amy's poor pussy, spreading it apart just like she liked it. She felt her mouth standing open, tongue wrestling with the sudden influx of things she was feeling, but before she could scream loud enough for the whole school to hear Vicky was there, hand on the side of her face and kissing her opened lips.

So her cries were muffled as Gabriel grabbed her hips, thoroughly pumping his big fat cock through every inch of her insides, her toes curling as he bottomed out inside of her for the first stroke.

It felt great, to be able to take his whole thing like this. If she wasn't busy licking Vicky's tongue with her own, Amy would have cried out something about him making her his bitch, eyes wide open and uncaring about who heard. Say what you will, but sex with him was dangerous business for your self-control and hers was thin on the ground as it was.

"She's a good girl isn't she?" Gabriel growled, drawing back and hilting himself again in one smooth motion, his balls slapping against her thighs as she was pushed forward just a few inches, held up by Vicky on the other side. "She acts like she doesn't like it, but she's just in love with both of us."

She blushed, a bright, violent red that just made her freckles stand out more. She'd seen it in pictures and it was horrible. Vicky chuckled, hands on her shoulders now to keep her steady in spite of the dick vigorously thrusting into her from behind. "She does! I think I should flirt with her more often if she looks this cute when she's really embarrassed."

This was not fair. Teaming up on her like this was something that should be forbidden.

Her boobs were fondled in short order, too, her sensitive nipples taken advantage of as the implacable rhythm of fullness and pleasure that was Gabe's cock drilling into her again and again continued, until she clearly felt herself breaking just a little. Vicky was sitting on some student's desk now, Amy bent over it to eat her out (one of her favorite pastimes) while Gabriel railed into her from behind.

Slender hands entangled in her hair, she couldn't move away even if she wanted to, not even when the two people she may be very much into leaned over her to kiss each other. No space for jealousy between the pussy her tongue was looting for tangy arousal and the dick methodically filling her up, see?

Hands were roaming her body, flawless bodies focused on and fawning over her- it wasn't any surprise when Amy came, squeaking and shivering, too overwhelmed to do anything.

"So cute." Vicky was lifting her upper body up a bit, enough she could taste herself on Amy's lips. It was way too hot to have her tongue go after the fluids sticking to the chubbier sister's face. "I just wanna keep you like this forever. Too oversexed to talk or think, just my cute pet sister. Until we change places."

She imagined it, forever bound by this bond of sickly boiling pleasure in her gut where Vicky was concerned, spreading her legs for the rod that was plundering her right this very moment. Seeing the approaching orgasm in her face, her sister just smiled and pushed her back down, making Amy do what she was best used for.

Making her feel good.

"Aww, such a cute thing, isn't she?" Gabe rocked her entire body forwards and backwards now, strong, unforgiving thrusts making fireworks play in her eyes every time. "Just can't help herself."

She felt masculine, demanding lips kiss her shoulder blades. Amy felt why people on the internet called Cain a devil, now; he really just made it too good to tell him no.

"I'm coming, Amy," he whispered, ramming himself against her womb now, violently catapulting her right into her next peak as he carelessly pulled her arms back to keep her in position. "I'll make you leak all day."

"Wait!" As Vicky called out, she could feel it already, thick sperm slamming against her babymaker, her eyes bulging as it just felt- "Against her ass. I want her to feel it every time she sits, all day."

She heard him chuckle, pulling out; Vicky was reaching over her back, holding onto the slick rod covered in Amy's juices and, judging by the sound, stroking it as hard and fast as she could. More and more seed was splattering over her flesh now, aimed right at her poor butthole, Gabriel massaging her cheeks as he held them open.

She groaned into her sister's pussy, the hot, sticky fluid slathering over her back entrance. She knew exactly what was going to happen next and she loved the thought of it.

First, though, her sister went on to climb off the desk, leaving Amy to rest for a moment as she rounded behind her and got on her knees, saying something about the buffet being too tasty. Looking back, she saw that her blondest of sisters was sucking Gabe's cock, eagerly gobbling it all up in a display of wanton lust that by itself would've been enough to make Amy explode on sight a month or two ago.

Now it just made her hornier- and, as she was looking already, she saw the door to the classroom was slightly ajar, someone peeking inside.

And she was definitely seen, as well.

"Pwah!" Vicky stood up, unaware. "Ready to take it up the ass, sis?"

Being seen may or may not have to be added to her list of kinks now. Man, she was absolutely sopping wet, maybe even more than before.


Amy is… somewhat insensate towards the end of your little session, appearing to suffer from eyes rolling back and a sudden inability to muster any conscious thought, but this whole thing isn't exactly new to anyone; Vicky promises she'll take care of her vigorously leaking sister going forward.

As for all the body fluids everyone involved shed in fairly large quantities, well, you have a strategy for this. Namely, just ignore them, someone will wipe them up eventually.

It's worked for you so far and you've had a lot of sex in schools. It'd be another thing if you were trying to erase any signs as to your presence here, but really, you hardly did anything illegal beyond the whole 'pretending to be a teacher' thing.

You probably could get a license pretty easily, you reckon, but really, who cares?

That all done, you return to your underground… it's not really quite accurate to call it a bunker anymore, actually, but it's close enough you don't feel the need to go out of your way to find a better word. You get back to HQ, having had your fun and slipped Vicky a teacher's note just in case, as she and Amy are almost guaranteed to be late to their next class by the time you leave.

Next off, you do have a little meeting to get to, though Sabah would probably prefer it if you went in your female form… No, maybe you'll change if she behaves and earns it, that will probably go better.


Sabah, or Parian in costume, is a tad bit jittery as she enters the nondescript business room, obviously feeling some trepidation at the thought of having been called in to discuss some business with you. The short young woman is in civilian clothes, though you would've set the odds at fifty-fifty on that account if you hadn't made sure to telepathically tell her not to bother with her costume on the same occasion you asked her to come.

She really should chill out a bit. Then again, she's mostly on your team because she can't help herself from being really into its female members, including yourself on occasion; attraction can make up for a lot, but not exactly for knowing there are several mass murdering capes running around down here.

Not by itself, at any rate. It certainly can help, as you have proven in the case of, like, a bunch of people by now.

"Come on in, take a seat," you invite, waving for the young woman originally from… you want to say Basra, but you aren't quite sure how to pronounce it properly, to come closer. Not like her nationality at birth matters much when she's spent the majority of her life here in the US. "I just wanted to get some minor stuff out of the way."

Sitting down in front of the desk you set up ahead of time, Sabah shifts a bit. "What about?"

"Your future."

She pales, raising both hands defensively. "Let's not be hasty here, I'm sure we can talk about it-"

"Yes, exactly," you interrupt, one eyebrow raised. "I did mention talking was what I wanted to do, unless I'm starting to go crazy after all."

"Oh." Her arms lowering again, Sabah swallows thickly. "It's not about a sex thing, is it? Because no matter what happened last time, I demand more breasts in my face before I agree to anything."

"Not that kind of discussion about your future either." You would sigh or roll your eyes, but undeath has you far more capable of keeping things like that under complete control, when you care to. "Look Sabah, you're studying fashion, right?"

She twitches when you say her name, but otherwise keeps herself focused for once. "I am."

"Good. So, do you see yourself working with that, or more specifically, how do you see yourself working with that? Are you looking to use your power, maybe you'd prefer to just do those doll shows you put on sometimes?" You gesture vaguely towards the wall behind you, the Thinker activating the room's shifting features to have a rectangle within it rotate around itself, a holographic screen showing footage of Sabah in her doll-like costume handing a teddy bear to some random kid on the boardwalk. "That's what I'm trying to discuss here."

"Oh." She clears her throat, presumably to try and pretend she hasn't said anything yet. "I, uh, I never really put much thought behind that. I figured I'd just finish college normally and find work without revealing my power."

"See, that's a criminal underutilization of your power and passion," you nod decisively. "Think about it, ignoring any use in combat, your power lets you create clothes for people on the fly. Any kind of clothing, tailored in a fraction of the time it would take normally."

"It's not… quite that easy," the young middle eastern woman says. "I'd need to do individual commissions and take very precise measurements, so-"

"I doubt any of the prostitutes that work for us would care about showing off a bit for you. Last I heard, they increased their libido to the point they're pretty much assured to be bisexual by now."

"… Tell me more."

Good old Sabah. The honeytrap always works with her.


In the end she does make you promise you'll let her tailor some clothes for your female form as well before you get the rabid lesbian shorty to go away again, having talked out what kinds of fabric she can work with properly and how you would schedule 'modeling sessions' during which she would be paid for to create commissioned clothes in general, offering her services to those members of your overall organization that wish to employ them.

Yeah, sure, you can just create and recreate clothes until they fit you using the manufactories, but that takes a good couple tries, runs the danger of accidentally turning yourself into a fashion disaster and is only really possible for those that have access to them in the first place. Long story short, an easy way to get at perfectly fitting and functional lingerie has just opened up for the Brockton Bay Hookers' Union, among other things.

Hey, as a local businessman you have to support local businesses. It's part of the community spirit thing you only invest into because all local business is ultimately part of your business.

This, though, brings you to the next order of business for yourself, once Okita takes Sabah off your hands for the time being. She apparently designated her as 'that one girl that suckles on my tits' and is, as ever, determined to ensure everything fulfills its purpose whenever possible.

The habitation micro-block you enter next (because you can't really call them apartments when they've begun to have as much space as a small-to-medium-sized house) is a far cry from most you have seen as of late. While not enough to be called 'messy' by any measure, its owner certainly has left a few dirty dishes lying around the kitchen, an overall disordered impression given off by the rooms you pass by.

Paige, Bad Canary, is in the same shape she was in when you last saw her, not having gained nor lost much weight, but her hair is messy, the feathers pointing in all directions, and she's lying on her bed eating chips as you enter her bedroom, watching some video on one of the standard laptops whose blueprints you left in the manufactories to be recreated at leisure.

Stepping beside her, you wait a moment as the actors on the screen are kissing and losing their clothes. It's obvious the sex scene they engage in isn't quite authentic, if you have to put it into words, but they do it well enough for what it is, really.

You clear your throat. Paige screams and throws her chips into the air. "EEK!"

"That's a pretty screech," you chuckle as she stares at you with wide eyes, the actors still getting in on and the sounds thereof audible. The thin slices and fragments of potato chips float in the air, arrested by a quick application of your power over gravity, and you make it a point to collect the crumbs into a floating ball. "Fitting for a canary."

"Har-de-har," Paige makes, flopping down onto her slightly becrumbed bed bonelessly. You are keeping it from getting worse, but things like chips always get everywhere when you eat them. "See if I'll do it again for you."

Her hand reaches out to press a key on her board, stopping the video mid-sex. She's blushing a little, the reddening of her skin even more prominent thanks to her bright yellow-green hair, but otherwise trying not to show how she feel about your extremely timely interruption.

"You'll scream all I want when I want," you smirk, watching her blush deepening, if anything. "But we can do that later, right now I'm here for something else entirely."


While you told Paige that you won't make her scream, you, of course, don't take any responsibility for the possibility of others doing so instead, including (but not necessarily limited to) the people you subsequently point at her.

Which is why you feel silently vindicated as Iris and Ivy surround her, each taking an arm of the former pop singer's to keep her locked down, and begin questioning her as to the specifics of Earth Bet's entertainment industry in person.

You may or may not have told your kids to push her out of the personal slump she's in. Like, sheesh girl, yes, your entire life has been upended and screwed up, your career destroyed and all your money confiscated, but that's no reason to sit in your room all day every day feeling too sorry for yourself to go out and do something about all of that.

This is a massive simplification of her issue, of course, and you acknowledge that not everyone has mastered the art of forceful optimism that you've been hanging on to for half your life to keep yourself going, but still. You can't let depression sink in and ruin your sex drive by killing your vibe forever. It'd be a different story if you didn't have plans to make use of Paige in the future, in which case you simply wouldn't give a fuck, but as it is, you need her functioning at least.

And so it comes that you watch from the sidelines as your twins drag her off to record a song together, something about featuring it on their first proper album. They just released their work as successive singles on Earth Rapture, so it seems that now they want to look into putting one of those together as they move towards a more serious career as musical entertainers.

The woman once upon a time known as Bad Canary protests for a bit, but she's entirely powerless before the limitless enthusiasm of your daughters; forcefully put into an old-timey prisoner's outfit in black and white, she's soon helping to record a music video for the song in question, already thought up by them ahead of time.

The title of said song? Prisoner Six-Oh-One.

The entire affair takes maybe an hour or two, which for the record is blindingly fast compared to how long this kind of thing would normally take to produce, and you note with some satisfaction that as your kids work her over, Paige slowly, but surely gains some enthusiasm for the whole singing and dancing bit.

You're pretty sure the video itself will take a lot of editing, maybe a few additional background actors and all that, but for a first try working together it isn't bad at all. You'd say, anyways.

"So, how'd you like singing again?" You ask when Paige manages to 'flee' from Iris and Ivey, the near-identical twins busy brainstorming ideas for how to use her as a backup dancer next time around. "It's been a while since you last did."

Still a little out of breath, the ex-singer shakes her head, a small smile on her face. "It's… It was nice. I think I really missed it, after all."

Reading the wistful smile on her face, you wait for her to continue talking, politely smiling and nodding for her to do so. Most people are pretty content to tell you everything they want all by themselves, you just need to give them the time to.

"When… When they locked me up," she thus helpfully explains, "I thought I'd never sing again. Being a star like I was was everything I always wanted, so having that taken away just like that, because of my fucking sleazy shit of an ex…"

"Like a part of you was missing?" You try.

"Yeah, kind of. I always loved singing, but that happened. And I wasn't sure whether I should ever sing again."

"Don't go getting discouraged because of small stuff like that," you smile, holding up a finger when she looks like she's about to protest. "No, really! Yes, your life was over and all that, but you shouldn't let that stop you from doing what you love. Whether that's making music or stabbing people in grimy alleyways, always be yourself."

"… Thanks?"

"No need, no need."

"No, really, thanks. For everything. Like, you know, pulling me out of that transport."

"Don't sweat it, I'll just get you to further my villainous schemes one of these days and we're even."

"I know you're a literal monster," she says, obviously having kept up with news including telepathic ones, "but somehow, that doesn't sound all that bad. You sure they shouldn't come after you for mastering people?"

"I'd like to see them try," you grin drily.

And that is that. You shall count this as a full success.


Personal Gravity Shield: Device that generates a 'shield' of gravity around the user, deflecting or crushing physical blows and projectiles approaching; ineffective against energy-based attacks and can be overloaded through application of sufficient force

Upgraded: Personal Gravity Shield: Device that generates a 'shield' of gravity around the user, deflecting or crushing physical blows and projectiles approaching, as well as physical force such as from explosions; only partially effective against energy-based attacks and can be overloaded through application of sufficient force, such as successive artillery bombardment. Eldritch Technology, requires Eldritch Core to function.

Gravity Enhancer: Small machine that momentarily increases the effects of gravity upon a user or robot, allowing for devastating smash attacks, effectively rooting oneself in place and using density manipulation to become harder to hurt through physical trauma

Upgraded: Gravity Enhancer: Small machine that momentarily increases the effects of gravity upon a user or robot, allowing for devastating smash attacks, effectively rooting oneself in place and using density manipulation to become harder to hurt through physical trauma. In combination with Gravity Shields, may be used to turn the user into a gravitational battering ram, becoming nigh invulnerable for several moments through overloading shields while charging into a given direction with enough force to, at baseline, ram through solid concrete walls or thinly-plated steel. Or enemy creatures. Eldritch Technology, requires a cooldown of three turns and an Eldritch Core to function.


You only realize you may have set Paige up with your daughters in more ways than most would about half an hour later, having already gone off to fiddle with a few other things by this point. Then again, you would like to think that if anyone's a decent wingman, it'd be yourself; Henley is too stiff to ever work it out and Ethan just doesn't fit, you need a heterosexual friend to do it for you.

Sorry Ethan, it's the one thing you being gay gets in the way of. Anyone going to a party with you and nobody else just looks like they're either gay themselves or trying to show off their one token gay friend, which is kind of a shitty thing to do.

Don't worry bossman, I don't mind.

Anyways, back to what you were doing- tinkering with a few of the devices you thought up. Using the power of an Eldritch Core combined with some of the machinery you've managed to reduce in size to the point it can be carried by a single human being (if it has to be, you prefer better than the baseline models), it should be possible to, on a relatively small scale, manipulate the laws of physics towards specific ends, as long as you're careful with the things.

It is entirely possible to accidentally blow up… Well, it's unlikely to tear a given planet apart because gravity suddenly doesn't work anymore inside a local area, but the risks to a given person using these things are a tad bit higher. Which is why you go out of your way to test and stress-test every change you make as you mess around with gravity shielding and the gravity enhancers you developed on Earth Rapture, you know, just do the smart thing and all.

As you don't have virtually unlimited human test subjects anymore, you just use Hammer robots instead now, the somewhat heavier humanoid machines suited towards this job just fine. If they lose limbs or other miscellaneous parts, you just throw them into the nearest manufactory and try again, until you arrive at the desired outcome.

That being making them capable of ramming through pretty much most obstacles in their way, through modified and combined shields plus enhancers, as well as to ignore everything up to and including rocket launchers fired at them by the dozens as your technology makes yet another leap forward.

It just takes some time investment, sometimes. Eldritch Cores just make everything better, in the exact same way fusion cores used to. You can hear Yoshi's screams as he's watching, but unable to stop you from committing more crimes against reality…

Literally, you summoned him up just so you can watch him throw his hands over his face in person.


Sophia ran with all she had, sweat gathering on her skin and breath escaping her in deep gasps. The burn in her limbs was deep, but in that good way, the exertion filling her with adrenaline and happy hormones.

Her hair bound back in a ponytail, the black girl forced herself to keep steady, completing her lap. She was the only one on the track field, the rest of the club filled with losers that ran home as soon as they could instead of keeping on going, on moving, on running. Great track club it was, but then it was fucking Winslow, what did she expect?

The day had been okay, she guessed. Sitting around class, the weak-ass teachers were too afraid of the students to give her any shit, so she was just sitting through those anyways, and Madison had kept on throwing spit balls at that loser they used as a chew toy, filling her hair with them. Girl was an asskisser, but at least she was making herself useful until lunch break.

They made sure to corner the redhead every chance they had during break, too, not like she fought back once she was nice and broken in.

"Hey Sophia!" The voice had her perk up and slow her run, speed going down to a jog, then a walk before she stopped entirely. "Looking good."

She adjusted her bottom self-consciously. Not like she gave a shit when the students too afraid to give her any lip saw her in her 'special' exercise outfit, but there was one exception, okay? "Hey Killer."

"I told you not to call me that at school," she complained, shaking her head. "Having fun?"

"Heck yeah I am, Taylor." They traded a high five. "Wanna go throw eggs at Emma's house later?"

Taylor was the maybe only person she'd ever respected in her life. And a little bit more, too. Girl had amazing legs and-

-and something was wrong. "Hey, wait a seco-"

Sophia shook out her head, ponytail flowing in the breeze behind her. "Alriht Killer, we ready for some exercise?"

Sliding her shoulders out of her jacket, she showed off her white tank top, keeping her face a blank as the other girl's. She'd been waiting to get her to work out together for weeks.

"It's really always about sport with you, isn't it?" Taylor stretched her neck, shooting her a tiny smile that made her belly blow up with butterflies. It wasn't fair, she'd worked hard to get into just the shape she wanted! "Musclehead."

"Hey, am I helping you get in shape or not?" She grumbled. For once she couldn't help herself from having fun, though. Nobody else made her feel like this.

Then she held a hand to her forehead, grimacing.

"Ugh… I think there's something… wrong…"

Taylor' forehead met hers, bumping against it. Her face was right there! "I don't think you have a fever. Want to lie down a bit, maybe?"

"Doubt there's anything comfortable to do that around."

"I could give you a lap pillow?"

She blushed. Why was she blushing? Why would she ever blush for-

"I got you now. No escape, Skitter."

"Oh no, the terrible Shadow Stalker caught me," the villain drawled, her perfect form visible under that armored bodysuit. How she could be that sexy and that edgy at the same time Shadow Stalker had no idea. "Whatever shall I do?"

"Give up. Or don't and get your ass beat." Not fucking around with a dangerous villain like this. She just wanted to beat her, take what she wanted, now that she had her cornered.

Skitter sighed. "You're pretty stubborn, you know? Did you even notice you aren't wearing a mask?"

Patting her face, Sophia confirmed she was right. They were up on the rooftops, why didn't she- and her costume felt a little off, too-

"Sit." Sophia sat. This bitch was a Master?! "You and me, we are going to have a long, thorough talk, by which i mean I will talk and you will be eating me out."

She couldn't move, couldn't fight, her breath going faster-

"Don't have a panic attack now," the villain said, voice as smooth as her costume felt. "You'll love everything I'll be doing. I guarantee it."

Sophia screamed awake, except there was something in her mouth. She was gagged. Why'd she know what being gagged felt like? And why was there rope all over her skin?

She couldn't see. Blindfold. moving her head just made the rope dig into her private parts, the things were affixed to her collar-

She was wearing a collar. And naked except for the silky soft bondage.

"Had a nice dream?" A voice asked. Hebert, it was Hebert! She'd- "I wonder whether you're awake now… Or whether this is another dream."

Sophia shuddered as she felt cold hands tilt her head, soft lips nibbling on her ear. The other hand groped and weighed her breasts now, two fingers pinching and rolling her nipples. "Mphm!"

"Don't worry. I told you you'd learn to enjoy everything I'm doing to you, didn't it?" This bitch was messing with her head! "You are, already. I really just gave you a little push to make your head think those dreams up, the rest was all on you." A kiss on her cheek, more down her cheekbone- how could a damn rapist be so gentle and perfect?

"Mm! Mmm!" She had to get out. Before she, before she… forgot. What was she trying not to forget? Shit, shit, shit, this was why Masters were the worst.

"You're mine now, Sophia. And you only have yourself to blame… Or to thank." Long, slender fingers probed past the rope, pushing and grinding into her poor, sensitive pussy. It felt so good, too good! She bucked and tried to get away, but the bitch was holding onto her, her entire body tied up with a bow on top.

How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Years? Sophia couldn't remember how other voices felt like. When was her fucking rescue coming?! Wards were safer than vigilantes her perfect ass!

Then she felt another finger, on her dry pucker this time, wettened by the girl's saliva. She shuddered again, knowing it would easily force itself in no matter how much she resisted and tried to crush it in revenge. Moaning into her gag, she was utterly and completely helpless, powerless to stop what was happening to her.

The worst part was that it just felt so good, despite and sometimes because of the pain, she was just enjoying it sometimes. Found herself doing that. It was utterly infuriating and when she got free, she was going to pay it all back a thousandfold.

And she ruthlessly repressed that little voice in the back of her head saying 'if, not when'.


As soon as night falls after all the joyous and lighthearted fun being had, you're off to attend a certain event, one you do see the need to take care of personally, given you're the main actor of it all. Thankfully, your state-of-the-art teleportation (as defined by yourself, given you're its foremost user at this point after all of the modifications you made to it after getting it from the Institute on Earth Fallout) allows you to easily bring both yourself and your set all the way to Tennessee.

Because that's where your next show is taking place, in that nice little place called Eagleton. That's right, you've been preparing for it for a while now, from several angles, and now it's time for those same preparations to be put to use.

The wind whips across the solid steel doors of the room you're currently inside of, the young cloudy night right outside close enough it seems as though all you'd need to do was to open a door to grasp the dark itself in your hands. You go through a last check of everything before you actually start, of course- lab coat and wig over your shadowed mask of a face, check, camera sits securely inside a BAT robot (one of your modified eyebots), check, magic is ready and prepared for this one, check, and lastly explosive charges, check.

You should be all good, more or less. You made sure that tinkertech universally reacts very adversely to your magic, your current targets shouldn't be any different on that account, so there's barely anything that could go wrong when you also consider that Eagleton, as a quarantine zone, just isn't… All that big, really.

It was a village rather than even a town when it was taken over by the Machine Army and though the things have expanded a little, it really is just a little, the independent, autonomously self-replicating tinkertech robots not able to conjure materials to self-replicate out of thin air the way you are very much capable of. Meaning, there's not actually all that much area to cover in what's to come.

And naturally, you will be making sure to film yourself while you break a bunch of laws and put the footage, live, onto the internet. It sounds extremely stupid when you deliberately put it like this, but you have a plan, so it's totally alright! After all… Who's going to stop you at this point? Unless they're willing to send (and risk) the Triumvirate, nobody on this continent can really make you obey laws or authorities you choose to ignore.

So it comes that, in the early hours of late evening, not long at all since the sun went down, you are standing in front of the camera, your flying studio set built specifically for this occasion slowly drifting closer to the exact position the Thinker determined would be ideal for this after considering wind strength and direction for the next few hours and plugging those into the calculations for your descent.

"Welcome!" You turn around yourself, spreading your hands in a mildly bombastic greeting. "To the world of Professor Abraham! Without my loyal assistants today, they took the day off for once. Do promise not to tell them, but competent help is so hard to find these days…"

You almost immediately begin pacing, giving the eyebot and the audience a few moments to take in your 'lab'. The place is full of secondary equipment made mostly for you to discard it later, with the full and complete annotations you put together on the topic of insulin scrawled all over a whiteboard in the background as well. Most of it isn't anything new, but you felt the need to ensure your watchers would have access to all of this knowledge.

Your monologue doesn't stop for long, as a matter of course. You're an entertainer and few thing are truly worse than dead air when you put together a stream or video like what you're doing right now, after all. "… and since none of them are with us today, none could stop me from conducting any and all experiments I want, wheee! That means there will be lots of explosions, of course, the entertaining kind that also serves to prove a point, my favorite sort of detonations! Blasts! Flares! Discharges! You get the idea."

Then you clear your throat, exaggerated movement sending your wig jiggling all over the place. You're in top form, if you do say so yourself.

"Now then, class, pay attention! Today, we talk about semiconductors, which are ingenious little devices that do a lot of very important work!"

Of course without the others to let you bounce off of, you have to be a bit more serious, in the sense that you can't blabber on about nonsense to have Yoshi correct you, but hey, that's alright. Someone has to carry this show by himself, three guesses as to who can do it. You get into an abbreviated lecture for a bit, casually gesturing towards where you noted down a few bits and pieces about the topics of previous episodes (though insulin still has the most space by far), pretending to ignore the windows slowly being revealed as the Thinker steers your flying camera robot to follow you and drift just a little, shifting angles to make them and the evening sky beyond them visible.

That's when you grab it, holding the flight-capable device in both hands to look right into it with your shadow for a face right after you've deliberately fried a couple of semiconductors. "… so as you see, these doodads are quite sensitive to many things. And now, now we will see what happens when you take tinkertech, which is like semiconductors except times a thousand, and rapidly alternate its quantum states!"

Around you, the field of distorted light owed to the massive stealth boy you pretty much made to last for this long deactivates, revealing your floating studio to the world around yourself- including, for example, the quarantine measures set up in a wide radius around Eagleton, or the Machine Army itself, waiting and lurking down below.

Almost, but not quite directly below, in fact. Automated loudspeaker messages play to let you know to keep away from the sheer concrete walls making up the quarantine's first layer, but you don't pay it any mind as the walls around you, well, explode away from the 'ground', flying off in all directions and propelling everything away, the roof going with them and the flooring cracking apart.

"This is the journey of science!" You exclaim loudly against the wind now crashing all over everything in sight, fragments of your now defunct backdrop raining down- you happen to know they will do so exactly where they need to in order to block off any response from the automated security measures meant to keep anyone from making the problem worse such as by, say, feeding the Machine Army materials they bring in with them. "And we will take it together, now!"

With that you jump, entering freefall at approximately twenty thousand feet, higher than most planes can fly due to the thin atmosphere making it harder or downright impossible to properly and continuously burn aviation fuel, not to mention the temperatures- your wig is already frozen over, as an example.

It's really cold up here. If it weren't for your aura, you may have to actually take further countermeasures to stay properly mobile, the cold itself doesn't bother you or anything but even if you're undead, having your body literally freeze and shatter apart can be a serious hazard.

You'll have a bit until you arrive on the ground, of course, more than enough time to execute your plan. Stretching out a hand, you focus, just as your (heavily reinforced, by the way) camera drone flies away a bit so the words you speak become impossible to hear- the Thinker does the rest, editing any leftover sound making it over the insane winds at these heights away in real time. "A Deeper Cold! Colder Cold! Deepest Cold!"

Fun fact, you can shorten chants now, to the point you don't need to chant at all for quicker, easier spells. You're just doing all the heavy lifting in 'person', your 'real self' exerting itself against reality to perform all the changes required. That's now what you do here, though, for you can also cast two spells at the same time provided you can keep their chant short enough.

Or, as you are doing now, you can double up on a single spell, casting it twice in the same breath. The chants become chaotic, not regulated, more of a mnemonic for what you're really doing in truth, but they do the job just fine.

Below you, your excellent eyesight letting you pinpoint areas of effect with ease, Eagleton is made a whole lot colder. The former village is also chock full of the tinkertech replicating houses, furniture, random objects and pretty much everything that now makes it up, virtually every bit of it having been replaced over the years.

It explodes, violently, in many colors and in all directions. Surviving machines not hit in the initial strike adapt rapidly to counter you with anti-air fire, whatever controlling intelligence they have smart enough to connect your presence with the subsequent extermination, but you simply proceed to cover the entire area with supernaturally cold areas, frost and rime covering every surface not actively in the process of blowing up, mist forming in the very air only to be blown this way and that.

Every time you cast your spell to lower temperature, every part of the Machine Army within its area of effects hopelessly detonates. They either cannot or do not adapt, no sudden immunity or resistance against your form of attack forming even as you apply the same to the airspace between you and the tinkertech you're fighting, each and every self-propelled, probably shapeshifting projectile also going boom in sequence.

The Machine Army looks like an anthill someone went and kicked over, the entirety of its survivors pulling apart and pooling their resources; buildings crumble into several parts that proceed to recombine with other pieces into great tinkertech machinery of unknown purpose, all of them at once, smaller members of this… hivemind-like swarm scurrying around to be used for parts elsewhere, all of it actually almost disturbingly similar to how your own robots operate when they're amassed into the millions and you give their virtual intelligence free reign.

You target everything in sight, of course, but a few bites and pieces escape you simply because you can only ever cast so fast, and-

Evasive maneuvers, evasive maneuvers, space is warping and why is everything below you full of random sonic discharges and lightning? Fucking hell, tinkertech is bullshit!


You throw yourself into the clouds of esoteric attacks on your way down to the ground, determinedly triggering the same spell over and over again. The Machine Army is spread out further than you would've initially expected and, upon realizing it is being wiped out in specific areas at a time, quickly starts to scatter further to present as difficult of a target to you as possible.

It's an annoyance, but with the sheer range you can cover yourself, they all fall in masses of glorious explosions all the same, going off like a mix between artillery shells and fireworks; the initial blasts all but entirely destroyed the original boundaries of Eagleton, when you were still hitting tightly-spaced targets by the hundred, if not thousands, where they were still sitting around nice and quiet, but now you have to strategically work for wiping out the stragglers.

More annoyingly, though, you don't manage to make a clean escape through the effects somehow generated by the tinkertech armada down on the ground. You dive past explosions, duck under lightning and swerve through colorful rays of one sort or another, but even so you are buffeted by omnidirectional sonic blasts, struck by a handful of teleporting light beams and, somehow, the latter actually managed to penetrate through your aura.

You reiterate, but tinkertech is just bullshit. The light disintegrates your clothes, turning them into dust that is carried off in the wind, but it doesn't manage to go further than your skin, the weird attack unable to do more than touch it.

You still do lose most of your clothes except your lab coat (and the wig), but hey, that's the essential parts of the character you're portraying right now anyways, you can just roll with it. The Thinker just has to censor your dick in real time as it now stands strong against the ravages of the evening sky, the air rushing past you as you still continue on to fall barely managing to push the half-engorged flesh up.

You have considered, in the past, to use your erection as a weapon. It was mostly a joke of an idea, but honestly, with all your enhancements, it actually doesn't sound too bad- you may need to test out how deep you can drive your cock into a block of solid concrete in a single thrust one of these days. Guaranteed to break a lesser man's penis in an indeed very painful way, but then, you are yourself, aren't you?

It is entirely possible the laws of physics may shift slightly to let you do it, and if so, well, it would be a waste not to do it.

Anyways, being who you are, you quickly decide to add some freefall acrobatics to the show, posing in front of your camera that still keeps up with you as you hurtle towards the ground. When you're hit by anything visible, you even go out of your way to make it look comedic, as if you're tumbling and stumbling over obstacles rather than under attack by one of the most considerable threats this side of the Atlantic Ocean.

All in a day's work like usual.

You've picked up a lot of speed by the time you're anywhere close to actually coming down back on Earth, the mildly exhilarating fall having given you more than enough of that, of course; all the same, you've already produced enough craters by the time nothing is left to actually fight you, the entirety of the Machine Army reduced to rubble and not much else. So you will yourself to slow down a bit, like a normal person.

And, being able to be understood when you speak, you of course position yourself upside down as you do so, arms crossed to give your eyebot a resolute nod, ignoring the flapping of your coat at your sides. "And here, kids, we can see what happens, after all! Before we leave it off for the evening, I would like to thank my replacement assistants for this episode, the Machine Army, resting in very many pieces now, and the lovely people of the PRT that have kept it in place until now. And remember: Even if you don't know something, you can always learn better! Professor Abraham, out!"

Yes, you just showed off a tad bit more than originally intended, but you'd like to think improvisation only lends a more genuine air to any kind of performance, if done well, and if there is one thing you are versed in, it would be the art of pulling entire personalities and shows out of your ass.

All in all, it went fairly decent- even if the scent of burnt electronics is currently absolutely killing your nose. Right, let the glorified cleaning personnel actually do their job for once, you're out of here. As soon as the footage is cut off and the stream ends, anyways. "Alright, let's teleport out of here asap, we got everything we were after."

Now to go see how people on the internet liked it…


Analysis of Eagleton and its surroundings began quickly, once the initial survey concluded that the Machine Army was, indeed, inactive in its entirety as the footage openly streamed on the internet suggested. The account that had done so was momentarily banned, as it had broken the terms of service with the clear and acute depiction of a crime being committed- intruding into a quarantined area under jurisdiction of the PRT constituted a federal crime- but it was rumored said ban had been removed in short order, despite none of the administrative staff of PHO doing so.

Obviously, the site had been hacked. Whether by a Tinker or a Thinker didn't really matter at this point, though it was considered extremely likely to have been the work of a Tinker- the same one that had built the flying platform the first part of the footage had been produced on.

The PRT instituted a cooperative investigation into the powers and effects at play during this battle, it having been one of the few recorded incidents of Cain, the equivalent of any other S-Rank Threat at minimum, engaging in a battle. There was other footage, but it was fragmentary at best, only displaying even fewer of his capabilities than it was in this case.

The fact that the only reason they even had this much was because he personally posed for the camera he brought with him this time was better left unspoken. Cain had proven to be extremely slippery and hard to grasp at, the widespread inability of Thinkers to predict or even analyze anything even close to his location due to what was suspected to be unknown adverse power interaction limited the otherwise extensive options the PRT employed against high-profile threats.

Reports were assembled, this rare insight into his powers used for all it was worth. Armsmaster, PRT ENE, confirmed that the way the Machine Army had been destroyed was reminiscent of a previously observed phenomenon, whereby he hypothesized that Cain's ability to unilaterally and explosively destroy tinkertech was, possibly, more effective than previously assumed.

Referring to older files and observations, most of them taken from the PRT ENE as this particular office had been the primary point of contact with the aftermath of the extremely powerful parahuman's activities and the aftermaths thereof, it was soon concluded that Cain was not only capable of destroying tinkertech as such on sight, but to destroy or inhibit electronics in general as well, primarily referring to an older incident that was now reconsidered in-depth in this new light.

Following up with old witnesses that had since been released from custody proved difficult, as many of them had claimed false names when interrogated, skipped town and disappeared elsewhere or else joined the Lord Street Crypts themselves after the warehouse the Archer's Bridge Merchants had occupied at the time was turned into a madhouse, but old statements and investigated electronic on-site proved enough similarity to make this possibility extremely likely.

Countermeasures to this ability were… difficult to predict, as it was extremely difficult to just not have things running over computers, security cameras and the like, but additional funding was soon dispensed to all PRT branches via the national PRT office at the chief director's initiative to double up on in-person guards at local headquarters and to provide secured storerooms within which relevant and potentially time-sensitive documents would be stored as paper copies in the event of a Case Cain, as some had begun calling the possibility of the Lord Street Crypts' leader initiating an attack on the PRT.


The internet did immediately have a field day with the entire affair, of course, the chain of events taking place live on stream ripe with opportunity to take things out of context, use clips or separate images and more.

Indeed, within seconds of the stream's publishing, memes were already posted and shared widely. Everything from Cain shown with a bit of text beside him that read 'You wanna see a dead body, kid?' and the room violently exploding to the soundtracks of old superhero shows laid over his turbulent descent to earth.

One of the most popular categories, in fact, were several music videos taking clipped footage and playing it over the sound, the main actor's lack of face only serving to make doing so even easier as no lip synchronicity had to be kept to, allowing the creators thereof to freely take and repeatedly replay particular moments to make it look as though Cain was dancing to the music.

A particular video in this category stuck out, however, for not even having words, instead depicting Cain yodeling as he lost one piece of clothing after another to the Machine Army's otherwise ineffective counterattack, embedded into guitar riffs and solos as the destructive fireworks on the ground were set off one after the other.

It was more than a good day for the kinds of people spending all of their time on the internet, in short. As for the man himself, he only shrugged noncommittally as he saw all of this going on.

"Neat. I always knew I'd make it big on the internet one day, and it even involves me stripping. I think I may have been onto something."


"Contessa."

They did not arrange a full meeting yet, not able to do so on such short notice for once. Yet even so, Alexandria had to make sure of this, so she had hurried to Cauldron's headquarters anyway.

"Alexandria." Normally, Contessa would simply launch into a reaction to whatever was happening already, but instead she simply stared back at her under her fedora. "What is it?"

She held back a grimace. It was not known just how far Cain's influence could reach, but it was always mildly distressing to see Contessa react like a normal person when it was strong enough.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"It is related to him." Contessa stated rather than asked, at least. "Else I would know already. Ask away."

"Were you involved in this latest stunt?"

"No." She gave Alexandria a strange look. There was no other way she could put it than 'silently wondering whether she was being serious'. "Why would you even think that?"

"The explosions," she explained. "The fragments of the flight apparatus scattered in just such a way as to prevent the quarantine measures from interfering with him, filming him or anything else."

Contessa nodded, understanding. "And this reminded you of the Path."

"It reminded me of your Path, yes," she agreed. One could say what they wanted, but the Path to Victory was an incredible power even by their standards, allowing Contessa to easily arrange situations to contribute towards her goals, whatever they may be. Such seemingly random, but still perfect results spoke of its influence the same way a fed cat and scattered feathers spoke of a bird no longer being there.

"In that case, let me reassure you my power still does not work against him," the woman said, still meeting Alexandria's eyes. "Even now you are aware, which is why you sought me out as soon as you could."

So Contessa could not use it to lie to her, at least not as easily, went unsaid.

"It is more than that," she said. Not defending herself, because everyone part of this group was long since past arguing they would not go to any lengths if that was what it took, including murdering each other. Even if the loss of Contessa would be beyond crippling for them. "What are the chances the Path to Victory or a similar power has been used to plan this?"

Contessa blinked. "Ah. A consultation. You really should try to learn to communicate better."

She held a grimace back and off her face, again. If there was any one person to tell her these words in the entirety of the multiverse, Contessa would have been the last person she would think of.


Kassy, or as she is known in costume, Synesthesia, one of your relatively newer capes and not actually known particularly well outside of the Crypts. Or at all, honestly. She hasn't really been very public about existing so far, which as you understand it is fairly unusual among parahumans, though certainly not unheard of- Taylor comes to mind of course, you know from her herself that she spent months on preparing and procrastinating before she went out in her first attempt at a costume, and plenty of powered people just… don't go around punching people in the face on the regular either, but the ones that do vastly outnumber the ones that don't.

One of those things you just pick up on if you're literally studying this whole thing as a field of science. There wasn't really much on the exact mechanisms behind powers as a whole, more just case studies and extrapolation here and there, but if there's one thing college can do it is take statistics and make them look important.

Synesthesia in particular doesn't seem all too keen on patrolling or anything, though you have a feeling she is going to be just showing up and fucking up people's days the moment she feels like the Crypts as a whole are threatened in their dominance of Brockton Bay. Just something about how you read her, but your intuition for people is usually fairly accurate. In the meantime, well, you weren't lying when you said you don't really mind nor care if she shows up to work so long as she doesn't forget who she works for.

No particular incidents in her daily life from what the cameras around the city and the people on your payroll to keep an eye on her can tell so far, which is probably a good thing. The blonde is probably best off settling into a normal, daily life while every aspect thereof is subsumed by your gang anyways, slowly solidifying her sense of belonging with the Crypts.

What? You don't employ all of those classical ways to indoctrinate members or anything, you're way too relaxed of an organization to even bother, but that doesn't stop you from pulling these kinds of tactics when it suits you. Still way more pleasant than cutting her off from other kinds of support, gaslighting her into obedience and all that crap.

Sometimes you wonder whether you can really call yourself a supervillain when you mainly just use economical and personal incentives to secure loyalty with only very occasional application of the stick as opposed to the carrot… Then you remember that you're basically acting no different from a large corporation in that regard and feel better immediately. Then you can add in the mass human experimentation, horrible torture for the sake of securing your basic sustenance and of course the occasional war crimes and the world makes sense again.

That aside, though, Kassy does need a proper costume one of these days, just in case she does want to go out in it. Which is why you called her in for once, relying on your thralls' reduced need for rest to open up a bit of a nighttime opportunity for this. It really makes scheduling a lot easier when you just don't need to sleep for a day or two straight… Not as much as full undeath and the accompanying eternal wakefulness, but it's a start, eh?

The blonde walks into the base somewhat hesitantly, but she's been here a few times by now, mostly to check up on things and sneak a visit to the endless buffet that is your cafeteria (Ethan has become a borderline cooking machine while you weren't looking) so she doesn't take all too long to get going. It helps, of course, that you go ahead and come to grab her not long after, the younger girl visibly torn between trying to inch away from you and the danger you represent and seeking out close contact after what her body remembers of the exact 'dangers' involved.

"Hey Kassy," you greet her, holding out a hand. "You been doing alright?"

"I guess," she mumbles, not looking directly up at you even as she takes your hand. "The new place is nice. Takes getting used to."

Ah, the joys of being used to a more permanent residence. It's one of those things you don't realize are important to you, especially when you're younger, until you're basically just camping out wherever. Not that you've ever been homeless homeless yourself save for that one time when you were kidnapped a good couple years back and basically traveled all over the West Coast to get back to L.A. and even then you mostly managed to stay off the streets by making big sad eyes at various women.

And paying with your body, of course. It worked out alright until you happened upon that one convent full of devoted nuns and, foolishly, expected you'd get away with some heavy groping at most for once. Well, you did learn better shortly thereafter, so whatever, no point in keeping on bringing it up forever.

"That's good to hear. And I see you've been carrying gang colors, too?" You nod towards her pocket, where a handkerchief in Crypt colors peeks out. Bit on the nose, but hey, nobody can tell her not to, now can they?

"Yeah. I'm basically kinda important, so might as well, right?" Aww, look at her, already looking to secure her power and influence beyond her basic parahuman power. You're almost proud. Must be all that fathering you've been doing. And yes, she did understand correctly, not that you're making a secret out of it. "Is that… okay?"

"Of course it is," you smirk, not at all bothered. "You're one of us, you can wear Crypt colors all over yourself, dye your hair and paint your skin for all I care, we're pretty cool with anything."

"... Do people actually do that?"

"Oh, they totally do. We're big enough that statistically, someone is bound to do it." Thinking the picture you saw somewhere on the internet over the Thinker, you push it at her, the naked woman dyed in your color screaming at what is probably a cellphone camera.

"Huh, I thought it'd look worse. Still freaky though, why is she naked?"

You shrug. "Beats me. But hey, good on her. Anyways, questionable fashion choices aren't what we're here for."

"Is this about me not doing anything? For the gang, I mean?"

"Nah, I told you nobody cares," you wave her off, her posture relaxing minutely as you do. So she was worried about it, huh? "I just wanted to get you ready in case you do want to do anything, you know, get you a costume… And to introduce you to someone."

"Who?"

"ME!" Two dark arms wrap themselves around Kassy's shoulders, the blonde letting out a surprised shriek and looking back- only for Aisha to activate her power again, letting go of her and walking around her.

"Who…" Her own power being what it is and somewhat countering the one currently affecting her, she doesn't immediately forget what just happened, though she still has difficulty making out anything more.

"Over here, slowpoke!"

Being a vampire, Aisha has absolutely no issues freely interacting with the girl you and her banged into triggering, already holding out a hand in front of her so that when Kassy turn back around, her outstretched finger is right in front of her nose. "Boop."

Kassy blinks, squinting at the object in her face before she looks further. "Uh… hey?"

"Hey yourself! I'm Aisha and the girl that's gonna help you not suck today. Nice to meet'cha!"

Back in familiar territory, Kassy obviously gains an ocean's worth of courage in an instant, talking to a girl roughly her own age much more her speed than trying to make sense of the guy whose pants she wants into. "Hey. So you're going to 'help' me, huh?"

"Heck yeah! First destination, mirrorhouse central! We gotta get you a decent look and all that shit."

"So it's not a sex thing about him? Because I'm tellin you-"

"Sister, you're ages too late to stop me on that. Believe me, I get more Gabe dicking on an average afternoon than the whores get all night."

Well, you are always horny and Aisha does love having sex, so when she's hanging around already anyways…

"Tell me all about it."

… Ah jeez, now you've got two girls gossipping about your performance right in front of your face. And here you thought high school was over and done with. And college. And middle school. And elementary school. And college. And your free time on occasion, for that matter.

You know what, you kind of never expected it to stop as such, actually.


Honestly, you can take a hint when you're given one, you aren't quite that daft most of the time. Seeing Aisha and Kassy all but size you up like a cut of prime meat is more than you need, especially once they actually get along better than you'd have expected; Aisha didn't like the other girl when she first showed you around her school (which totally was high school, or the record), but that probably had as much to do with them not really having any particular contact as it did with Kassy's character.

Of course it could also just as well be that they would've spat acid and fire at each other before you and Aisha did your thing and Kassy's circumstances changed in the massive way they ended up changing. Hard to say now, of course.

At any rate, here you are, the two girls you're dealing with throwing you looks you're pretty dang accustomed to. Yeah, you won't get anything else done until you take care of this, it's pretty much a given. As such, well, better do just that, right?

Heading to one of the many side rooms placed throughout your base (you suspect they may be moving when nobody is looking, actually, that or the Thinker is messing with you), you turn around, casually pulling at your shirt. "Okay, so before we get started, trying on your new stuff will involve you being naked a bunch," you 'explain', giving Kassy a wink. "So let's get those clothes out of the way first."

"Why're you stripping then?" She asks. "Not that I'm complaining, but…"

"Oh, I just thought you'd appreciate not being the only one naked," you shamelessly deflect. "Just look at Aisha, she's done already."

And indeed, the candy gremlin you've managed to pick up is standing next to Kassy, her clothes laid on a messy pile on the ground next to her. All the dark-skinned girl has on now are her choker and a pair of socks, shamelessly showing off her sizable bust (for her age, anyways, it wouldn't look out of place on an adult woman) and nice curves, a wicked little grin on her face. "C'mon, c'mon, join us!"

"I'd just do it at this point, once she gets like this…" You sigh fondly at Aisha's antics, chants of 'one of us, one of us' repeated in the background. While that's going on, you naturally get going yourself, your upper body now bared to the world around you.

"... Abs…" Kassy stares, seemingly taking a moment or two to tear her focus off of said upper body. "I mean, okay, but I call dibs!"

"Eh, no fair!"

"Fair can wait until we're done!"

"You're right, screw fair! The concept is stupid anyways."

You chuckle at the 'negotiations', taking a quick look around the room. It's pretty much a standard room like the ones you've been using dozens of times now, a few tables and chairs stacked off to the side in case anyone needs them… And one chair in particular just standing in the middle of the place, on the thick carpet laid out all over.

It's not necessarily the most comfortable of rooms, but it's not bad, at least- and you've had sex in worse places regardless. You silently thank the Thinker for readying the one chair ahead of time, at any rate, and push your pants down over your hips, your hard dick springing forth out of them.

The motion, alas, seems to again be somewhat hypnotic, Kassy's gaze drawn towards your manhood. "Dick."

"Cock," Aisha disagrees.

"Penis."

"Fuckstick."

"Erection."

"Pecker."

"Can we cool it with the name calling?" You request, feigning hurt. "Me and my buddy here go way back and here you are being organicist."

Kassy cracks first, the tanned girl having to hold her involuntary chuckle in until she can't, giggling and laughing for a moment as she shakes off whatever 'contest' was just going on. Aisha, too, cracks a wide grin, obviously enjoying herself with her new friend.

Always nice to see relationships develop from some good old rape.

You sit down, casually patting your lap as you shake your head at the silliness of these two. "Alright, who wants to board the Gabe Express first?"

The blonde you're mostly here for bites her lip as she approaches, the younger girl now rid of most of her clothes as well. She does look positively scrumptious, not quite as well-endowed as Aisha but both of them certainly quite above average for their age group. Slim, but aesthetically built limbs lean forward as she puts her hands on the armrests. "You know, this is the kind of thing my mom would have nightmares over."

"Good thing she's not here then," you smile, "else we'd have to pull her in as well."

"Gawd, don't even joke about that." She shudders, but continues climbing onto your lap. "So, the 'Gabe Express'?"

"It brings you right where you want to be," you growl, grabbing her cute butt and pulling her in. Kassy yelps, but lets you, sitting down with your towering erection rubbing right up against her cute, just a little puffy pussy. Someone's looking forward to this.

She moans, feeling your throbbing cock against her delicate entrance. "You're so big…"

"That's what she said!" Aisha cackles from behind her. You just ignore her for now.

"You know what they say, nothing worth doing is easy," you shrug. "Ready to take it?"

"Only one way to find out!" Shifting onto her knees, the tanned girl grabs your hard tool, shuddering at the feeling as she slides up along your length. Then, holding her breath, she groans when your tip meets her sweet folds, a few drops of nectar scattering over it.

You reach up to help her hold herself up… then pull her hips down, making her take you one way or another. Kassy's eyes go wide, your big fat cock spreading her open, folds wrapping around it and lips gaping open as well. "Ah! AH!"

You pull her further and further towards yourself, your head disappearing inside her tight, hot little honeypot, then your shaft, the girl proving that this is what she's made for. Writhing and shivering, she clings to you tightly after only a short moment of hesitation, moaning sweetly despite herself.

She can't take all of you in one go, but around half your length disappears inside of her body before you hit upon her womb at this angle you're working at right now, Kassy's breath once again hitching when she feels you do it. "Good girl," you praise her, stroking her back. "You just overlooked one little thing."

"What's that?" She breathes, wiggling her hips and grunting cutely.

"You left Aisha at your back while you're completely defenseless," you chuckle.

Behind her, your self-ascribed pet has already wet two fingers, sticking them into her mouth and covering them in saliva. Now she's poking at Kassy's ass, probing and sliding them right into her back entrance. "Backstab, bitch!"

"Ah…"

"Ooh, someone's practiced a bunch, didn't they?" Obviously, what she finds is a loosened orifice giving way around her digits, then. "Hoping to get yourself buggered stupid?"

"I mean, we can always get to that later, can't we?" You smile at the girl's face, her lips working but unable to produce any sound right now. "Don't worry sweetie, you'll get all the sex you want before we're done with you. But now it's time to bounce."

True to your word as always, you shift your grip a little to move her easier, Aisha still fingering her ass, and lift Kassy right up, helping her get into the motion she's supposed to perform. Slick squelching coming from her pussy, she doesn't take long to get the idea, soon driving herself up and down in a breathless haze, her eyes glazed over and still molested from behind.

She's so primed already it doesn't take long for her to reach orgasm station, either, the cute blonde shaking on your lap as she starts to come; her pussy is pulsing and squeezing down on you, as if to try and milk out as much cum as it can, but you just kiss her forehead with a chuckle, silently encouraging her to keep it up.

Her breathing heavy, every shaking movement driven by lust, she gets right back to it by herself, though, staring at your face all the while. "Sho… ghood!"

You just smile, rapidly penetrating her again and again, her entire body more a toy for your pleasure than anything else now. Just how you like it, in other words. You're back at moving her manually again, feeling her fleshy canal twitch around your length, enveloping it tightly with all its might as her butt and thighs smack against your own legs, a symphony of flesh against flesh ringing throughout the room while rivulets of her arousal run down your crotch, soaking into the soft chair.

When you finally come inside her, you do it hard and fast, arm crossed over her lower back and slamming her up and down heartily, her breasts jiggling and bouncing most pleasingly. Jackhammering into her from below, your last few thrusts are slower, but more forceful, just short of actually becoming painful to her, when you erupt with the force of a firehose and spray thick loads all over her deepest depths.

She comes again of course, cramping and mumbling half-finished words, slumping down heavily when it's over. You're back at gently stroking her back in the meantime, lowly letting her come down from the powerful sensations.

"Hey, no hogging the joystick, I'm next!" Aisha complains when this next bit takes too long to get started. You, on the other hand, just smile at her.

"Fair's fair, give her a moment so she can play with you when it's your turn."

She raises a finger, opens her mouth, closes it again, then lowers the former. Raises it again, lowers it again.

"... Alright, but then I gotta look away from you," she decides. "Gotta give her time with the unga-bungas."

"So long as they don't suddenly become okitatas," you chuckle.


The girls take a bit to wear down appropriately, both of them being full of horny energy the likes of which is pretty clearly speaking of that period in someone's life when puberty first hits them like a dumpster truck going at a hundred miles per hour, but you aren't undead for nothing- you don't really break a sweat as you do just that, Aisha holding up just a few minutes longer than Kassy but still falling asleep (Or unconscious, technically? You're not quite sure to be honest.) mumbling something about how you're being unfair.

Probably nothing. And hey, she did enjoy herself, to the point it rendered her unconscious and all, she's hardly in any position to really complain now.

Anyways, with these two tucked away inside one of your comfier rooms you find after just a minute of looking, as some of the others went and had a pillow fort building competition over the weekend nobody thought to invite you to- no, you are not bitter about that, just a little disappointed- and Curie's construction is both stable and comfortable to rest inside of, so it is what you end up using here.

For the record, you quite do like Riley's as well, but it's more of a modern art piece than a proper fort, whereas Kate's is just too casually thrown together, looking comfortable but also kind of unstable once you analyze it a bit.

You have high standards when it comes to pillow forts, beds, orgy rooms and the like, okay? Places to both sleep and have sex in are one of your old core competencies and you'd hate not to make use of what you learned before going nuts as a literal corpse.

With the two surprisingly fast friends wrapped in soft blankets and snoozing away amidst soft pillows and mattresses on all sides, looking very happy and satisfied indeed while any leaking is kept to a minimum thanks to those same blankets, you move on to your next commitment for the night… which just so happens to involve two more girls, though these ones are much less likely to try and distract you by fishing your dick out of your pants in the middle of the street.

What can you say, Aisha is very much not one for delayed gratification. With her power, she rarely has to be.

Emily and Tammi are waiting for you already, both of them inside their costumes as Spitfire and Charmcaster, respectively. A red bodysuit covering her from head to toe complete with what look to be a gas mask of sorts, but really serves as an easy way for her to better aim her original power for Spitfire and some sort of 'witchy outfit' for Charmcaster, including a wide-brimmed pointy hat and a veil hiding the blonde's face.

"We ready to go?" You ask, the flesh of your face morphing into a layer of shadows as you put on the last of your own costume, none other than Cain being ready to rumble.

"We're just taking a look around, aren't we?" Emily asks, a few motes of flame dancing over her form.

"Y-yeah. Just a r-r-routine patrol," Tammi agrees.

"That's what I'm hoping as well," you shrug. "We're just keeping an eye out for anything unusual for now. In case we do find it, just try to keep collateral damage down."


Things are fairly quiet, for a start, this being what you used to call 'fuck off o'clock in the morning' once upon a time. Even for Brockton Bay and the shift to active times you've been causing ever since the Raveyard opened to the public and nightly activity became more relevant than ever before, there's not really much going on this early in the day, before the sun is an even distant concern for most yet.

You, Spitfire and Charmcaster are floating along on a simple weapons platform the latter is moving through the air using her power, surveying the city below and chatting quietly as you go. Before the Crypts, Tammi never would have just done this, flying freely above and beside buildings for extended amounts of time- the PRT may be a joke to you, but that's because everyone and everything is. Back with the E88, she would've been spotted and likely intercepted before she crossed a couple blocks, but then you're playing by your own rules one way or another.

There's not much going on besides a few kids hanging out in alleyways and smoking weed or whatever kids do these days, now that you've made it uncool by forcing it to be more or less socially accepted as people can buy joints by the dozens over a counter at any one of your distribution points.

Just saying, but outlawing things doesn't fix 'em. Never has and probably never will. Now you're basically controlling the entirety of the drug market though, which thanks to your sheer clout based on power means you can at least keep the probability of people ruining their lives entirely (and thus losing purchasing power as your customers) as low as statistically possible with minimal effort.

Dammit, once again you're inadvertently improving the world through your nefarious actions. You're like some kind of comical pretend villain out of some cartoon, except you're actually doing heinous shit as well.

So there you are, the darkness not bothering anyone present all that much as the three of you play a game of cards (you're amplifying their weight to make sure they don't just fly off) and keep an eye out for trouble, the only slowly awakening city around you still dark and barely lit. A few buildings are tall enough you drift past them, enhanced senses seeing little issue with letting you look over more or less every street and alley you pass over. It's cold, but it's that springtime sort of cold, promises of returning warmth and greenery in the air despite the frosty temperature.

It's okay. You aren't particularly big on nature (though you've never had any particular problems with animals that weren't bugs, and that's covered by Taylor nowadays) and you don't have any allergies anymore now that you're dead, so whatever. It wasn't ever any really big issue in the first place, you just had some mild hay fever for a week or two every year unless it was particularly hot or cold in spring.

"And that's a full house," you announce, solidly winning the game. "Do I get a prize?"

"Not in the air like this where anyone can see," Emily chides you.

"Y-yeah, that'd be pretty bad," Tammi agrees, holding out a hand as she changes course again. "We sh-should be good for Downtown now, right?"

"Yeah, kind of a bust here tonight. I was totally sure we'd find something going on, too." You shrug, throwing your hands behind your head as you lean back. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the people of Earth Bet really can learn- wait, do you hear that?"

Both of the girls are silent for a long moment, intently listening out. Then Spitfire shrugs, shaking her head, while Charmcaster tilts hers. "A-are you sure you heard something?"

"Positive. In fact… There. Can you see them? Three moving objects coming down the coast." You fucking knew someone wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to fuck around and find out.

"Oh yeah, I see 'em now," Spitfire comments, shading her eyes against the light of the moons. "What the heck are they?"

Ah, the joys of having the best supernaturally improved eyesight among the team. "They look like some kind of mechs. At risk of being kind of a hypocrite, I'll go out on a limb and say they're probably Tinkertech. But whose are they and why-"

The Thinker sends you an information package. It explains a lot. For a second, you can't help but have to repress the urge to chuckle aloud, then you do just that on second thought.

"Pfahaha, oh, those poor, poor fools," you grin, a malicious edge to it. "They didn't see the video. Timing can be such a bitch."


The Dragonslayers were, on the face of it, a mercenary group, using tinkertech machines to do their work. The knowledge that these machines were in fact originally created by Dragon and later stole by them was not widely spread, though certainly disseminated around the leadership of the Guild and the PRT, not that this made them a high priority compared to many other parahuman threats; while they were middlingly prolific, they rarely caused mass destruction nor civilian casualties, such that they were left alone unless they made nuisance out of themselves.

The truth, of course, was a lot more complicated, but if the team of three did not publicly announce their equipment was stolen from Dragon they certainly made sure to keep the reason for their success against the most well-known (and widely acclaimed most powerful) Tinker in the world private. Tess Theresa Richter was an artificial intelligence, one with the potential to wipe out all of humanity if left unchecked, and they were the only ones that could possibly stop it if it were to go out of control, thanks to the waterproofed special tinkertech left behind by its creator, Andrew Richter, after his death during the sinking of Newfoundland.

Having found it during one of several diving runs, Geoffrey, also known as Saint, had known he would need help, but the more others he brought into it the greater the danger the Iron Maiden program would fall into the wrong hands. The less people knew about it and its potential to either destroy or (he shuddered to think about it) unchain Dragon, the better.

This was how the Dragonslayers got started. Geoffrey, their leader, Mags and Mischa, his two oldest friends, and no-one else. The three of them surveilled the AI, using the gaps provided by their access to its systems to outwit and take advantage of its work, coming out victorious against it a total of nine times and stealing a mechanized suit from it on three of these occasions, later remodeling them to be usable by themselves.

Securing funding through mercenary work, they safeguarded the world against an AI rebellion, some of the greatest heroes in existence unknown to most. Their entire theme was set in opposition to Dragon, as should be obvious from their name, as a group, as well as their individual cape identities'. Saint, as Geoffrey called himself, was an obvious reference to a certain dragonslaying saint in Christian myth, whereas Dobrynja, Mischa's second name, translated to 'hero' and was typically the name of the hero of Russian folk tales that defeated the evil dragon.

Mags just had no appreciation for these things and just used her normal name, despite the other two's insistence on the contrary.

That was how things went for them. Monitor Dragon, ensure it did not go against its directives to never harm humans, occasionally take mercenary contracts to secure funds and stock up on supplies inside their heavily fortified base… It had been stable, simple and down to a routine for a few months.

Then it happened. Something unusual occurred, the artificial intelligence losing control of the website it used to monitor public opinion on many matters (Geoff had been near apoplectic when it had first been established, though Mischa had been able to calm him down with some vodka therapy at the time) entirely.

They had to dig into it, but proof was staring them in the face quickly. "Another one," Geoffrey had hissed, the pale cross tattooed onto his face wrinkling as he grimaced. "Someone made another artificial intelligence."

"And it is fighting Dragon," Mags added. "That's good, isn't it?"

"... Probably not. It's winning and we have no idea what its creator is intending, or whether they're even still alive." Getting up to pace around, the Dragonslayers' leader cursed under his breath. "This could be it. This could be the end of humanity unless we get it under control."

Mischa, the Russian man having sat back and keeping watch throughout, knocked on the table to get him to focus. "It is investigating already," he said, his Russian accent not as heavy as usual. Still there, though. "All we need is find out where it is coming from through it."

Of course when it rained, it poured, and so they soon found out (through Dragon, not that it knew) that this AI was considered likely to be based out of Brockton Bay, as it barely bothered to hide it did- or else it was very good at misdirecting Dragon. Brockton Bay, in turn, meant Cain.

So it came that the Dragonslayers embarked on their mission, ranging out into the lion's cave. Of course, they were not there to fight.

"Remember, we find out where the servers are, bomb them and get out. The sooner we do that, the less danger Cain finds us."

Saint's words, echoing through the speakers in the others' suits, would be ironically prophetic, as none other than Cain himself had already spotted them in approach to his city, of course…


"So, what do we do?" Emily asks, the ambient heat around her rising noticeably as she fires herself up- pretty literally, considering what you know about how her bloodline power works. "Go and blow 'em up, or…?"

"There are people inside of those machines I am definitely going to eat," you tell her, eyes squinting a little as you watch closely to confirm that there is indeed food inside those… You shall call them mechanical suits for the time being, seeing as that's what they essentially are.

And yes, you can make out the blood signatures inside of them, your phenomenally enhanced eyesight even letting you home in on and make out some generalities on their body shapes- it's two males and one female. While you're at it, the suits also do look wildly different, though the overall style of their designs heavily hints at shared origins. Obviously made by the same person, which as you happen to know would have been Dragon.

All of them are roughly humanoid, flying through the air without trailing any obvious signs of how, no rocket expulsions or anything behind them. As you've mentioned already they obviously look a lot like tinkertech, and as such the specifics are likely a jumbled mess that shouldn't work to begin with so screw it, you'll just assume they just work and leave it at that for the moment.

The most distinctive features of the things consist of the lead unit's oversized wings, easily twice to thrice as long as the main suit is tall, made of layered pieces of glowing material, especially poignant as it is the only one that actually has any wings to speak of, the large collection of rings behind another one that seems to be imitating some kind of biblical halo and, lastly, a pretty huge sword the last one is carrying, again obviously mechanical in nature.

There's the whole 'angelic' theme going on here, but then their leader literally calls himself Saint, so whether this is modifications made after they stole them or original design features you have no idea. Not that it matters overmuch, you'll be finding out shortly either way.

"You two back me up, but I'll go in first, hit them hard and fast and look into whatever tinkertech they've got going on," you decide after a brief moment of thought. Just in case whatever tinkertech they're packing is a credible threat to the vampire and the thrall you've got following yourself, seeing just how bullshit the stuff can be.

You may be less careful about this if you didn't just get your clothes blasted off a couple hours ago by surprisingly effective tinkertech bombardment, but hey, better late than never. Also, having them come in from behind once you've got these guys focused on yourself is a decent enough strategy you may as well employ it.

"Cheapskate." You can't see it through her mask, but you get the distinct impression Emily may be pouting at you. "Trying to keep all of them to yourself."

"Hey, not like food's in short supply for any of us," you point out. "I just want to interrogate their souls and I'm getting the munchies."

"F-food arguments are really weird with y-you." Tammi clears her throat, then takes a deep breath. "How close should I f-fly?"

Right, you're all carried on her platform right now. Well, all things considered… "I'll circle around and hit them from the side, you come closer slowly just in case they've got any artillery in there."

Because that's kind of what you're assuming by default for the moment. And with that, you sprout raven wings, easily making yourself weigh so little you can simply flap yourself along, your expanded senses and almost instinctive capacity for flight doing the rest on letting you fly with some decent speed.

It's a far cry from how ponderously you were moving through the air oh so long ago now, back when you still had to use your arms as wings rather than just grow additional limbs out of your shoulders to do the same job. In fact, after a moment of thought you just twist yourself into the form of a giant raven in full, just to let yourself move more aerodynamically and all that.

Your pitch-black plumage serves as natural camouflage, and so as you pick up in speed in an effort to be fast enough to cut off your prey, you can avoid detection by anyone else around pretty easily against the night sky, seeing how you've still got some time before the shine of the morning sun illuminates the horizon. Now then, how to-

You're still a good distance off, but all of a sudden the halo behind one of the suits begins to rotate in several directions at once, revealing hidden openings that, quite obviously, belong to some kind of weapons system… As glowing projectiles are fired in your direction by the dozens at first, then hundreds.

You think quickly, transforming back to normal and redirecting gravity to make use of your momentum and keep 'falling' towards them while you dodge, your larger form not exactly optimal for things like presenting a smaller target surface. Wing have a nasty tendency to be riddled full of hole if up against anything that can pierce them- though you quickly realize, when you kick out to test for it, that your ability to ignore gunfire includes things like the volleys of projectiles fired at you right now, the sound of a small war going on ringing out.

That said, the one with the wings is currently spreading its one notable feature, the plates of tinkertech glowing a bright blue- and bright blue forcefields interpose themselves between yourself and your targets, such that you basically land on one, the smooth surface feeling a little tingly against your skin as one hand grasps onto it.

There you are, glaring (still veiled by shadow, though) through the obstacle at the annoyingly reticent prey. You really weren't planning to be caught out before you even began your real attack, but the halo suit took a bit to react after it opened fire on you- an automatic bombardment feature of some sort? It must've detected you while you assumed you'd be out of range of anything of the sort.

You tilt your head, crouched onto the side of the entirely flat field of energy, one arm held at your side while the other is pressed against it. They really are playing hard to get, aren't they?


Nothing for it, you suppose. Time to get just a little serious. The three suits shift in the air, two of them moving on towards the city for some undisclosed reason (likely whatever objective they came here to accomplish or else to bait you into disengaging so they can retreat) while the barrier generator remains in place, obviously intending to delay you in the meantime.

You are not content to let any of them do anything, of course. The first lesson to be learned in any real fight is to always dictate the flow when possible, to make the enemy react to what you're doing rather than letting them act freely at any time. So you take space and time and, for lack of a better description, wrench it a little, pinching 'here' and 'there' together until they're the same thing.

Yes, you can teleport. Whatever you really are in the end, concepts such as space and distance are pretty well irrelevant to it, just saying. Oh sure, it kind of causes you metaphysical cramps if you try to do it in quick succession, but you do heavily suspect that's more an issue of practice and not yet grown organs meant to let you do this properly… metaphorically, that is, it's nothing as concrete as that.

That would be too easy, after all. But hey, it does the job here; before the other suits can get far, you're popping up right behind the one you're after right now, successfully circumventing the force fields even now expanding all around your foe's position in an effort to keep you out.

Well, bit late on the uptake there. All three suits stop in their tracks, but it doesn't take them long to figure out where you are, especially when you proceed to ignite Last Embrace's plasma drives to propel yourself into the back of its chest, your claws extended and drills driving into the tinkertech machine hiding tonight's first bloodbag.

Say what you will about how little physical work you do on a daily basis, but you really are what could be called 'fucking strong', especially when combined with your personal weapons helping things along; within moments, you're through an outer layer of armor, crushing and tearing out pieces left and right as you dig deeper. The pilot is trying to dislodge you, but you're pretty much stuck for good now that you've gotten a grip, no matter how much he's speeding up and rolling in the air.

If anything, you just use the additional torque to speed up your progress. Metal and tinkertech machinery is flying out of the hole you're digging and though there are force fields inside of the thing as well, some sort of last-ditch defense you assume, they flicker out when you grow more thorough in demolishing everything around them as well, your adamantium drills interacting oddly with them.

But hey, if it works, it works. You aren't about to complain about how it was worth the effort of using the stuff when you redesigned your favorite gauntlet weapons.

Your reward for all the trouble, then, is a bald guy with a pale blue cross tattooed on his face, pulling a gun on you as you finally burst into his chamber, the limited space filled with what's needed to operate the tinkertech mech suit making it hard for him to properly aim it despite the valiant effort he gives the task.

You proceed to bite into him with relish, crushing his neck with the force of your gnashing teeth. "Aaargh!"

"Saint! Saint, what happened?!" A woman's voice can be heard from some speakers as you suck the life out of the man. Looks like you even managed to hit the head of the snake, as it turns out you were right in assuming as much when you saw him lead their formation.

It's often how this stuff works in smaller groups, more or less. Anyways, you eat quickly as always, a few splatters of blood now covering the cockpit you managed to burst into; it had some armoring specifically made for it, but it didn't exactly hold up to your specialized tools made exactly for situations in which you need to tear through stuff like it.

Well, through excessively hard armor in general, such as while fighting giant monsters or Endbriners and the like, but the point stands.

Using the knowledge of the freshly deceased so you know what you're doing here, you reach out to press a button down for a moment. "One down," you intone with all the casual ease and malice the message can entail, "two to go."

With that you let go and reverse course, doing some shapeshifting to turn around in the tight tunnel you drilled into the remodeled Dragon suit just so you can get out before it inevitably crashes to the ground- right in time to see the sword suit, the one containing Mags according to Saint (aka Geoffrey), charging at you blade first, the other one with the shooty tendencies not long after.

Would you look at that, someone here had to have been quite beloved to have his teammates literally throw themselves into a suicidal chare to avenge his death, hm? You can feel Geoffrey's impotent despair and his yelling at them to run away and escape, but it's not like the words of the dead have any meaning once they bite it. Or get bitten by yourself, rather, same difference.


Alright, you may not particularly favor straight-out slugging matches normally, but you've never been one to pass on an opportunity to do something really awesome. Jumping out of a falling mecha suit and fist-fighting another one is, you have decided, pretty damn awesome indeed, so you just ready your claws and jump right on that!

The machine you intend to measure yourself against is moving extremely fast, the tinkertech blade it is equipped with in full swing. It's pretty obviously optimized to actually do this, use a sword, you mean, with pronounced armored joints and highly sophisticated limbs to let it move freely without giving up the advantages of being a giant machine.

Your claws are still out, so you measure the distance between yourself and it, jumping off your perch halfway inside the slowly drifting piece of tinkertech you just neutralized. Something about how this thing works is tickling some part of your thought process, entirely decoupled from your brain, but well- you'll leave that for later, right now you've got more foolish mortals to chomp down on.

You jump out, whole body in full movement to build up force, timed just right to let you clash with the swinging blade whistling through the air at yourself, slamming both hands against it- you shouldn't have any leverage to speak of, but you can just 'step' off the air anyways, suddenly accelerating to lift the sword up out of the way as you close in, the plasma expelled from Last Embrace boiling the air below when you add the additional push to our own strength..

It isn't enough, not quite. If you were human, you'd be grunting with effort, slowly being moved along with the weapon's trajectory instead of shoving it out of yours as you intended. So you shift your grip, your claws trailing sparks along the blade's semi-segmented surface.

You actually do have a built-in superstrength mode, though it really is kind of limited. You need to burn through what sustenance you gain when you keep yourself active and moving by feeding on blood and those that contain it and it doesn't last particularly long, though on the other hand…

Well, you don't usually have need of it thanks to the insane enhancements you've already got going entirely passively, but you can add a lot of raw strength to whatever you mean to be doing at the moment using this ability. And so you do now, changing the momentum of everything going on.

Standing still in the air, you are now forcing the sword to move around yourself, leveraging your strength and dragging the mech suit through the open air perpendicular to yourself, nailing your own gravity in that sweet spot to make yourself as hard to dislodge as possible. Mags uses both hands to try and pull away so she can give it another try, but it's too late- with a mighty heave, you force her closer towards yourself, such that she's forced to let go of her weapon lest she finds out exactly how Saint's last moments went.

In a continuous movement, you fall upon the suit's arms like a shark, Last Embrace having a field day with dismantling everything you can lay your hands on, drilling and piercing as you rip and tear with wild abandon and the sounds of metal tearing aloud, crunching and snapping as you take care of the rest, ringing out around yourself.

Chunks of tinkertech machinery fall towards the earth, half of one arm and the sword itself lost in short order. You're already being bombarded by glowing energy projectiles from afar a this happens, Dobrynja apparently deciding that friendly fire is acceptable to try and dislodge you, but it doesn't really do anything to bother you, the shots harmlessly washing off yourself despite hitting you from several directions at once.

Mag tries to get you off the stump of her arm, rotating wildly in the air, but where most other creatures would at least be getting dizzy you simply pull yourself closer towards your next meal, untappable so long as-

The third suit is flying right at your position, shoulder first, as though to bodily ram you off of Mags. What is this- you draw upon the knowledge you took from Saint, thinking of their team dynamics. Of course Mischa would readily sacrifice himself to try and give Mags a chance to escape, back to Canada or whatever.

Ugh. If you had actual eyeballs right now, you'd be rolling them. Can't these guys wait their turns to die like normal people?


Well, you could just fight both of these suits at the same time, but to be honest… You do have some backup nearby, having telepathically shown Emily and Tammi, or rather Spitfire and Charmcaster now that they're taking part in the action, what happened so far and what you've been able to observe and they're standing ready to hit the nearest Dragonslayer from behind after they made a few preparations.

Which is how it comes that, in a minorly ironic twist, a set of barriers, built specifically for this purpose and teleported in before Tammi used her power on them, advance on Dobrynja from behind, the two entirely ready to fuck some shit up. What you now know for sure to be automatic target acquisition triggers inside his suit, opening fire that pushes into the shaped concrete Charmcaster is using or else is deflected to the sides by its bent surfaces.

Knowing what you now do of him, the only male Dragonslayer left is probably cursing in Russian right now but still turns around, facing this new threat just in time to see snaking whips of flame emerge from behind the barriers held up to hold back his own fire. He manages to disrupt and dissipate one in short order by focusing fire on it, but the other seven still strike at him at whistling speeds that leave short trails of fire behind them, his suit already undertaking evasive action.

He escapes a couple, but the ones that do catch up to him before he's out of reach latch on and heat up to pretty extreme temperature that don't actually melt the armor on his machine, but they do leave glowing red marks behind as Charmcaster tries to keep up with him. The next wave of attacks created by Spitfire consists of piercing spears of flame this time, aiming at what you suggested may be vulnerabilities when you asked them to intervene.

The battle rages on, but for the moment it seems to be kind of a stalemate, Dobrynja unable to penetrate the defensive screen held up by Tammi thanks to the layers of souped-up concrete readily being replaced as they break (gotta love freely available teleportation support) and his Dragon suit resisting even the extremely hot fire Spitfire is controlling and throwing at it from all available angles in turn.

Which suits you just fine, by the way, as by this point you're already right where you want to be, only mildly inconvenienced by physics progressively breaking more and more inside the machinery you're ramming your way through as you dig through it. Like, oh, sure, most actually living beings would be kind of dying horribly right now, but most forms of exotic radiation, lack of oxygen and spatial distortion are basically as good as your natural habitat by this point.

"Get out of here Dobby, too late for me!" You hear Mags calling out, just moments before you break through into her own cabin, followed by loud mechanical noises. "Run, you asshole!"

That's when your clawed hand comes through, missing her shoulder by a few inches. "Anyone order horrible death with a side of cannibal?"

"Fuck you, that's what!" A pneumatic hissing sound follows while you're busy enlarging the opening. "Just try and catch me, but I'm not going down that easy!"

And with that, the escape mechanism she must've just activated goes live, the suit's pilot launched right past you outside the back of the machine. "Oh seriously, you came all this way, you could at least have the decency to stay still and die the easy way!"

Yes, you're mildly annoyed at this point. Breaking and squeezing yourself into the suddenly opened escape hatch, you throw yourself right after Mags, feeling more like a humanoid torpedo than anything else. Her seat has already deployed a parachute, so she has time to glare up at you and fire a few shots out of a handheld pistol before you reach her in the air.

This time she has nowhere to run, so all that's left after a few moments of feral biting and failing flailing is a lifeless corpse slowly drifting down as you sprout your wings once more to rise up into the sky again, looking over at how the rest of the fight is going.


Dobrynja is basically filling the sky with bullets and energy shots, a veritable tsunami of projectiles unleashed by him as he tries to reposition himself. Charmcaster is having more barriers teleported in constantly in turn, busy just keeping up with the rate of attrition inflicted on her shields, whereas pitfire has gone full fire form, becoming a blazing inferno seeking to envelop his suit.

Together the two are herding him around, cooperating to make sure he can't escape, at least not easily. Every now and then, whenever the Dragonslayer doesn't keep up enough pressure, the former member of the E88 launches an attack of her own, ramming a few chunks of damaged concrete or the occasional dumpster.

Why she insists on using dumpsters is beyond you, but hey, good on her for having style.

Naturally, you aren't about to turn down the free meal at this point. Eating Dobrynja is as easy as coming up from behind and below him at this point, once again smashing your way into his suit like a caveman fighting an elephant or something (you are reminded of clinging to Lung like a tick, personally) and finally completing the trio of kills they basically dared you to come and try for ever since they decided to come to Brockton Bay.

It's not like you didn't make it abundantly clear you're going around killing any non-Crypt capes actively operating in your backyard, honestly. This one is very much all on them.

Alright, finished them off, you telepathically send at the others. Now all we need to do is take all of this tinkertech and teleport it into holding before anyone else shows up.

All in a day's work.


S-Class threats, as defined by the PRT, were a dangerous thing, all in all. Though the same classification system was not widely shared around the world, its qualities were reasonable in themselves; in order to be considered an S-Class threat, an individual or group had to be considered such by at least three of the PRT's Thinkers, but at the core of it, any powers that recursively enhanced themselves, whether through self-replicating minions, virulent plagues or similar qualified, by and large.

Similarly, destructive potential meeting or exceeding that which could be used to destroy entire modern cities within a short period of time was enough to be considered one. Simply put, an S-Class threat was a situation which required the entirety of the PRT's attention and was not easily declared, as the practical differences between them and A-Class threats was in essence that participation in their suppression was mandatory and quarantine protocols were enforced in the case of the former as opposed to the latter.

To the public, of course, S-Class threats were known as the greatest threats in existence, the specific details lost on it. Not that it was wrong to think so, either; all the greatest threats to the world at large were S-Class, after all. Each of the Endbringers was on the list, that was.

Additionally, Sleeper and Nilbog both were men rather than what may well be considered natural disasters on this same list, their powers so dangerous and so wide-ranging, should they be used aggressively, that they made the cut. The last entry, on the other hand, had been struck down not too long ago- the Slaughterhouse Nine, slaughtered, as some news outlets had called it.

This had been done by the Lord Street Crypts, of course, everyone knew. The group collectively considered an S-Class threat had been soundly demolished the moment the organization many considered one of the most powerful in the world these days geared up against it. It remained unknown how many parahumans were part of the LSC, how strong exactly they were or, most of all, exactly what Cain's power was.

The one thing many interested havers of discussions both on the internet and in secretive government facility backrooms could agree on was that he was a Trump, one that permanently gained powers through some unknown mechanism. Some tied the apparent cannibalistic urges into this theoretical power on par with that of Eidolon, the closest comparable Trump often touted to have gained a new rival in his own league, but no matter which side of the shipping wars caused by the affair one supported, it was undeniable that Cain was, in a word, powerful.

There also was the Machine Army Incident. With its spread contained and no way for it to easily enter the exponential growth phase predicted should it manage to access a full modern city's worth of materials, it was considered an A-Class threat rather than an S-Class, but only by a degree of formality, the PRT's bureaucracy ready to make the jump at a moment's notice should it show the capability to break containment measures.

Then came Cain and destroyed it for show. Literally in order to gain more clicks and notoriety over his internet show, which was a headache in itself for heroic PR efforts.

The Lord Street Crypts as a whole were one thing, but it remained indisputable that Cain himself was and remained globally known to be extremely powerful and dangerous, if provoked. Some, certain, voices called for the organization that had taken over the city of Brockton Bay to be classified as an S-Class threat in itself, yet the same considerations that went into maintaining a status quo within which civilization and society could be maintained forbade doing so.

To declare an S-Class threat was to effectively sign a Death Order, a sentence applied in absentia that gave anyone able to do so leeway to do anything they could to end the threat in question. Not only would this invite massive chaos costly in both potential collateral property damage and lives, it also remained doubtful even a full muster of the Protectorate including its surviving founders would be able to meaningfully oppose Cain in a way that did not merely empower him further.

As such, the LSC were carefully not assigned a threat rating at all, the same way Protectorate heroes and Wards were not. This decision was not kept all too quiet, either; the official stance of the Parahuman Response Team was that there was no issue to be seen and Cain not to be provoked.

The situation was under control and measures were considered, but not taken and would not be until and unless it became absolutely necessary.

This was a tacit endorsement of his activities, including those that broke the law in two, folded those halves and used them as chopstick to eat human beings with. And while, again, certain voices were absolutely opposed to allowing this to happen, they were silenced in short order, as the majority of those concerned with these things- both within America and without- agreed that this was a dragon that did not bear poking.

Cain was simply too powerful, too potentially dangerous should he 'go full S-Class'. A capability he demonstratively possessed, as he was able to grant others, both parahumans and non-powered subordinates, powers of their own in addition to whatever else they had, as well as an obviously growing or else considerably immense repertoire of powers that put him into a league of his own… Or rather, into the same one as the Endbringers, as he had stood up to and all but matched up to one when Leviathan had made the mistake of going after Brockton Bay.

It was simply not worth it to try and fight him. As such, anyone that was aware of his activities and the discussion surrounding the possible new strongest man in the world either decided to stay far away from the very idea of doing so… Or was foolhardy in the extreme.

Why, some even compared him to Scion, truly proving he was considered among the very strongest of the strong, despite the little-understood nature of his powers.


Things with the Dragonslayers take a bit to get taken care of, what with the whole teleporting people to take stuff and the stuff you take from them all the way to and from Canada, but you once again apply the three rules of running anything larger than a team of three: Delegate, delegate, delegate. It's not like it's a big issue to whip a couple of the girls hanging around the base into doing something for once instead of just eating Ethan's cooking, getting drunk or making use of the gun ranges you got going here and there.

With that well on its way, you decide you may as well take a little bit of time to yourself. "I think I'll go look into how the dogs have been doing," you say aloud, mostly just to hear your own voice. Only to then pause. "What do you mean, you put an entrance into room 371? An entrance to what?"

What did the Thinker do this time? And what did Riley have to do with it?

The Doggy Mafia had never lacked for much under the leadership of the Doge and the Bitch. Even the most hard-boiled among them agreed that having all the dog food they wanted and making all the pain go away was a very good thing.

Every stray was welcome, including catty ones. Canines and felines had struck a truce of sorts following the establishment of their organization, and they had cats and dogs in every alley, on every roof and walking along every street.

Nothing escaped the doggy mafia these days. Nothing. They were covering the entire world of Brockton Bay, inspecting everyone that entered or left it. And their loyalty and service were rewarded well, with plenty of treats and soft sleepy pillows. The Bitch managed the dogs, making sure each of them received what they deserved, and gave lots of pats and cuddles.

Lots of slobbering was had. Everyone loved it.

Now they were living in someplace new, though. They still had lots of sleepy places and feeding places all around the city, but when you were smart and careful you knew where to find an entrance. They were small and unseen, good hiding places for when you were running away or tricking something, but they also led to the new place.

It was a good place. There many-lots of doggy houses and kitty pillows, so the whole doggy mafia could rest and sleep and play at the same time. There were so many toys no dog could play with them all before being tired and they all licked each other's snouts and it was a lot of fun.

There were a few litters that had been born in the new place already. There was a wrong sky in it showing lots of doggy clouds, too, even.

It had been made by the new many-in-one that had talked to the Bitch, to translate what the doggy mafia had wanted and thought. It was silly, the doggy mafia wanted and thought what the Bitch and the Doge wanted and thought! But still, they had all started becoming a lot smarter, a lot more aware, than before once they lived in the new place.

The air smelled really good and the food tasted a bit weird sometimes, but they all realized it just made them better. And so a few of the smarter, healthier doggies were starting to gain new abilities- they had begun to learn how to read, together with the Bitch, when the many-in-one came to teach them.

That was why they could tell what the letters up above the main plaza were saying. It was a name, they knew, and it was a most majestic and wonderful one.

Dogetown. Their new home. Hidden under the earth, behind doors only they could open, small passages inside walls, behind dumpsters, beneath bushes and shrubbery in parks and fake windows and anywhere it was easy and convenient to put them.

From the tunnels, one could come to Dogetown from anywhere and go anywhere else once they did so. An underground network, smuggling themselves back and forth to plot and hang out in the darkness, barking when their enemies least expected it!

More than one thin-haired upright-walker had been getting their face slobbered by sudden surprise attacks, after all. Any true enemies were brought down with sharp teeth and cat's claw inside their eyes, the time-honored tradition of biting and tearing until nothing was left to live upheld if any of their number was attacked, but after all the evil-blood-fear-pain people had been hunted down, their world was safe and happy usually.

All hail The Doge! All hail the Bitch! All hail Dogetown! "Awooooo!"

"Worf!"

"Mreow."

"*Whimper.*"

The response was clear. 'We get it, but don't do it this early in the day when we sleep'.

Turned into your wolf form (and making use of one of the wider passages that are, apparently, a thing), you wander inside this strange… sub-space area the Thinker built without thinking to let you know. According to her, she just decided that as the dogs and cats around the city are members of your gang, they also had to have a place inside the base, so she basically set up a separate living space for them.

Despite the logistical issues inherent with that. And the fact she basically remodeled the underground space all around the city to let them come and go freely. She says she's used to do this kind of thing covertly from back in Rapture when there was still a city and its citizens not to be disturbed when she was performing maintenance and installing robotic security measures, but come on!

… Well, nobody seems to have noticed anything, so you can't really say anything about that, but still.

You look around. Everything smells of the various animals coming and going, cats and dogs both happily doing whatever they want while they're down here, but there's little to no filth- amazingly, they all know to use the animal toilets set up in convenient places, and the little animal town is cleaned regularly by a few of your upgraded Mister Handy variants.

The little roads paved with some soft material that isn't too hard on paws but still easy to walk off of are lined with these little animal homes, appropriately sized doors and even windows, with several floors to each. Through the windows you can see what are obviously practical, yet downright cute pieces of furniture, large pillows instead of chairs, low desks where careful snouts can put food and other items, with little buttons to request kibbles and other animal food and water to be delivered into bowls everywhere.

Dogetown, because of course it would be named Dogetown, is basically an AI-assisted little animal society, complete with cafes and casual places to hang out and play with various toys from chewing bones to round balls and everything in between. The cats and dogs you see are notably intelligent, too, interacting with each other in their own mannerisms and even, you're pretty sure, reading text displayed on screens inside the ground and some walls in the more open spaces.

The Thinker notes that Riley and Curie helped a lot in making them all smarter than they would otherwise be. How exactly any of this happened you don't dare ask yet, though, this is all a little bit much in all honesty.

Like, you were aware Rachel has been organizing the dogs she found around the city, but this is a little beyond anything you'd expected, y'know? Like, you even see what you think might be shopkeeper dogs showcasing special toys and chatting up potential customers by patting them with their paws!

In the distance you can hear some howling. Normally, you'd be fearless in the face of any of that, but…

"Awooo! Woof, woof, woof!" It roughly translates as: "Hear the call! Doge, Doge, Doge!"

More animal voices join the chanting. You clasp a paw over one of your eyes. How did it spread even to the animals?! This entire thing has gone entirely out of control!


Well, nothing in for it now. You take a bit to let the choir chanting your 'name' in barks and meows pass before you move deeper into Dogetown, getting used to the way these cats and dogs somehow became much more social than they would be in their natural states; putting this many animals this closely together, even if the population density, as it were, isn't that high, would normally have them grow aggressive and defensive of their personal space pretty quickly, after all.

Dogs less so than cats, but both species normally couldn't stand to be crammed together like this in the long term. It's one thing when litters grow up together raised by one mother, but wild strays are, literally, wild animals, even if they can be socialized with some time and care.

Yet as you walk by, you see them nuzzling each other, licking cheeks and ears and generally being friendly. It's as if their instincts have been switched entirely off, or at least adjusted to let them act like they are right now.

Mentally interrogating the Thinker on exactly what she and the rest of the research department put into their food, it turns out that they've been doping them up with an extremely diluted ADAM/FEV mix to enhance intelligence and emotional reasoning, plus a slew of other minor enhancements to make all of this possible.

According to the AI in question, that was the easiest and most efficient way to house all of them comfortably with the resources and technology available. You'll just… not question that too much for the time being. If she says that's how it is, chances are that's how it is.

While you're doing that, though, you keep your eyes and your nose out for Rachel, because say what you want, the girl really put a lot of work and engagement into this whole project she decided to undertake. It feels like it was just a week or two ago that you helped her turn an improvised dog shelter into something bigger and better, but you dare say nobody could've anticipated how far she would take your support in the end.

That's how you pick up on some of her scent in the end, following it swiftly. You soon arrive at what seems to be some kind of administrative or central communal building, standing tall near the center of Dogetown with traces of her smell nearby.

You enter, careful not to knock anything over- you're a wolf rather than a dog and can only shrink yourself so far, after all- and find her in her own wolf form, lounging on a pile of pillows and dozing away.

Which is why you didn't just ask her where she was, by the way, you sensed she was asleep and didn't want to wake her up too early if you didn't have to.

"Hm? Gabriel?" Your animal translation powers are pretty great, but this one is done halfway through them and halfway through telepathy, incidentally. It becomes a lot easier to convey information through your words and actions by adding the latter to… pretty much everything, really.

"Yep. Came to take a look at Dogetown here."

Now shaking herself awake, Rachel rises from where she was sleeping, her fur a warm gray at the moment. Details like that can change and shift over time, even though her overall body shape is the same as what you remember from the last time you saw her like this. "Anything up?"

You'd be forgiven in assuming she's more tolerant of small talk from canines like you are at the moment, but it's more that you're behaving in a way that makes sense to her subconscious, to be honest. Though she did make great progress with socialization in general ever since you thralled her and let the resulting effects sort things out a bit.


"Just wanted to tell you you're doing a great job," you tell her with a low growl, approaching. As you're moving slowly and at ease, Rachel doesn't really feel the need to do anything in response, sitting down and watching you.

In her defense, it's not like that's strange. The girl just watches for body language more than most people do.

Nudging her a little once you've arrived next to her, you lie down, using the side of your head to rub her neck a little. Rachel gets the idea, the two of you now lying down together, close enough for your fur to share body heat between the two of you.

"Comfy," the girl currently in the form of a wolf 'rumbles', resting more of her weight against you. Lazily shifting a little in response, you lick her head a few times, her eyes closing as your tongue moves near them.

What? You're a canine right now, this is both completely normal and doesn't actually taste particularly bad. You would of course have your own reservations if her fur was dirty or something, but Rachel seems to be taking care of it at least. Or else she's just abusing the shapeshifting powers you gave her to stay clean by leaning any dirt behind while changing shapes, same difference for your purposes.

You just cuddle with her a bit longer in either case. You're a pretty tactile person in general, so you're pretty used to this in principle and even have a good bit of practice with it, thanks to the times you went out of your way to turn into a wolf in order to play with the Little Sisters back in Rapture.

Hey, you have phenomenal cosmic powers, you may as well use them constructively, yeah? Not like anyone can tell you not to, either.

You may not need sleep, but physical contact like this is still pretty nice, when you get down to it. There's a reason animals, including humans, have been doing it ever since they developed the senses to appreciate as much. It is no big surprise, either, then, when a few more cats and dogs both come inside, filtering in over the course of the following hour or so, and join you in what turns out to be a spontaneous cuddle pile.

You're buried under fluffy creatures that keep on rubbing their faces against you. Whatever shall you do about this horrible experience, hm?

On a side note, all of them are female, going by their scents, but you aren't really into animals so that really doesn't particularly matter. Instead, you just enjoy yourself, occasionally shifting your weight to better balance the smaller animals lounging on top of yourself.

Honestly, you weren't really expecting any of this, but now that you're here? This is the life. Like, seriously, it's just pretty nice, something Rachel seems to be agreeing to as well going by her thoughts slowly wafting over into your own.

Dogetown is still a really weird name, though.


Addison was, as many would agree, was not the most physically imposing member of the Crypts. In her defense, though (as she regularly imagined herself defending these kinds of things before some immaterial, imagined jury), there weren't too many of them that cut a really threatening figure or anything.

Sure, there were a good few people that could if they wanted to, but most of the capes, as she had powers and that made her a cape, just didn't have the kind of obvious muscle it took to do that normally. Like, there was Kate, who as anyone could tell after seeing her could benchpress a guy before breaking his spine over her knee, but the others?

… Okay, there was Okita, whose tits were intimidating in their own way, but while she had some muscles on her as well, she didn't quite make it to the same kind of territory unless she was casually handling a giant sword that was taller than Addy was herself.

That was pretty scary. Also kind of amazing, but that was another story.

None of that, though, stopped her from being scary in her own way, because Addy refused to be left in the dust there. She was super strong and could bench press people, too! As long as they had the good manners to roll up into fetal position so she could properly manhandle them instead of having them just, flop around.

Okay, so she was child-sized, but with her power ups and her lovely super drugs, there was nothing she couldn't smash, crush or punt away like a fourth grader going at first graders! She'd tested it, too, and although the side effects made her super excited and aggressive, apparently none of the others could tell a difference compared to normal, so it was totally fine.

She was basically having a constant sugar rush anyways, so what was the harm in having some extra fun on the side, really? Plus, she had this whole really awesome lab the boss-Gabe got her, what else was she going to do with it?

'Course, she was sharing it with a couple other people, but everything that was handled on her floor (because yes, she was so awesome she deserved a whole floor to rule over) was related to chemistry, which made sense. She was a chemistry major, or had been anyway, and her work centered around making compounds, so of course that was what she was responsible for!

Sure, she was no Tinker like Riley nor some kind of robotic genius like Curie, and the Thinker could trivialize most of the actual research she was meant to be doing, but that just meant she had more time to perform the recreational kind of research!

It consisted of juicing herself up and recording the results. She'd only rammed through a vault door while tripping balls a couple times so far, too, which meant she obviously had to do more of it.

What was the point of experimental super-steroid-drugs when they didn't let you tear down buildings on a massive drug-fueled rampage?

She didn't really get out much aside from that, because according to her aides (read, the people whose job it was to keep her from destroying the world by 'accident', mwahaha) she was a menace against society or something, but even she did manage to hear about the newest two Crypts along for a ride on their little spaceship of a gang.

'Parently, Skitter missed her dead mom, so the boss went and brought her back from the dead, afterlife-sourced lesbian lover included for good measure. There was a reason she regularly argued she was by far not the most bullshit person around, as if just having Tinkers on the base didn't invalidate any points to the contrary anyways.

So there she was, watching as tall, dark and leggy and the blondest of terminators took a seat in her lounge, joining her and the boss-Gabe himself. "Wanna smoke? We got some of the good weed somewhere here."

Jesse, as the girlfriend of Skitter's mom was called, nudged her dark-haired lovergirl's side. "Man, dunno 'bout you but that reminds me of college."

"We really shouldn't get high, both in general and especially not here. Think about what kind of example I'd be setting for Taylor."

"Ouch," Gabe smiled wryly, "mom-zoned. That's gotta smart."

"Eh, I'll live," the blonde shrugged, her muscled arms doing the stronk-stronk dance as they moved. Addy totally wasn't super-duper jealous of those, by the way. "So how 'bout that weed?"

"One sec." She decided to check in the usual place first, getting up to open a cupboard that was hanging on one of the walls. The lounge was kept pretty dark overall, with dark and calm colors while still having enough light you could see normally, mostly because when people were blitzed out bright light really sucked. That also went for the couches arranged around a low coffee table themselves, they were both well-cushioned and dark red.

They also had some overengineered coffee machine here, as everyone was free to hang out when they weren't busy. She wasn't sure whether it was technically tinkertech or not, but she also didn't really care when it gave her the best damn coffee she'd ever tried drinking. She didn't even need to manually add milk and sugar, that could all be dialed in and the thing did the rest.

Job perks, man. They had them all down here.

As for the weed, it was inside the box, right where it was supposed to be, nobody had moved it elsewhere lately.

Tottering back to the others, she put it on her lap, opening it to showcase the joints stored within. "Ta-dah! Rey did some good work with this stuff. It barely kicks your thoughts out, just keeps you nice and relaxed."

The Gabe, sitting next to her, leaned back, one hand ruffling Addy's short black hair. She allowed it. "So how'd things go with Danny? Or are you still procrastinating on telling him you're back?"

The mother of Skitter, Annette, straightened her back imperceptibly, crossing her arms. "I talked to him, yes. We… figured things out, and I do hope he is doing better."

"Mhm, 'Til death do us part' is such a flimsy phrase when you get down to it, isn't it?"

"Dang right, marriage is overrated anyways," Jesse agreed to the boss-Gabe. "I met the guy too, he seems alright. Not like Annie would've married an asshole anyways."

"I told you to please not use that nickname when we're with other people," Annette sighed, holding a hand up to adjust her glasses.

Gabe nodded. "I totally get that. Bed talk should wait until you're having sex, yeah?"

"See, this guy gets it." Him and Jesse shared a high five while Annette took a deep breath, her eyes closed.

They seemed fun enough, Addy guessed.


It was, Annette thought, still somewhat awkward to be casually 'hanging out' with her daughter's boyfriend and other people he also had sex with… doubly so after, well, having had sex with him herself.

On the same occasion her own girlfriend as well as her daughter had. The entire affair was most decidedly an experience for itself, one that she had decided to bottle up and deal with later, after all.

Yes, she was aware Gabriel had gone out of his way to subtly point her issues out aloud without judging her over them, but that did not mean she was happy about it all the same. Just for that, she was going to be procrastinating over them extra long.

It was one of those things you learned in the afterlife, to shut out anything not relevant for your immediate survival. The people that didn't never lasted long.

But yes, all of that aside, it really was somewhat awkward. Not that Jesse was helping, of course- her girlfriend (and oh, did thinking of her like that take Annette back to before she met Daniel) was absolutely taking this opportunity to embarrass her as much as she could.

She would be asking why she put up with her, except she was aware that would only give her more ammunition to use against her. Relationships were so very exhausting sometimes…

At least the smoke of whatever Bio-Tinkered plants the short woman introduced to them as Cupcake and Jesse were smoking wasn't too pungent. She wasn't too surprised; when you could custom tailor your psychoactive drugs like this, you may as well remove the one issue that has everyone else take negative notice.

This variation smelled vaguely pleasant, reminding her of cinnamon, in fact. The scent was so slight she barely noticed it without focusing, though, so her opinion may well yet change.

"Come on, this really is some good shit," Jesse said, holding a joint of rolled-up leaves up to her. Looking at it closely, Annette could see the edges of aforementioned leaves had a tint of dark red to them, fine veins of the same color just barely visible throughout their main bodies.

"Fine, but if I make an idiot of myself I blame you," she sniffed, trying not to think about the possibility of Taylor seeing her smoking weed… Even if it was extremely likely.

Just then, however, Annette noticed something. Sitting opposite of herself and Jesse, Gabriel and 'Cupcake' were getting rather intimate. Physically speaking, that was. The short young woman that was in charge of this area was leaning against him, her mouth open as her breath came and went, but more importantly his hand was snaking down into her pants, obviously the reason for this.

He was moving rhythmically, so when she paid attention she almost felt like she could hear something wet moving about. Just her imagination, of course. But just what was he…

Before she knew it, Anette was smoking her own blunt, feeling every muscle in her body relaxing as her blood circulation improved, somehow. She was just going to chalk it up to tinkertech weed and leave it at that. Before her very eyes, Cupcake was shedding her clothes, first her jeans, then her cute pink top followed by her underwear, all taken off by the same man her daughter was sleeping with.

The only article of clothing remaining was her lab coat, a white vestige of civility hanging off of her. Nobody present really thought to object to what was going on, however; whenever Annette considered it, she thought back to sleeping with Gabriel herself, a curious gut feeling holding her back from doing anything.

She, somewhat, kind of, wanted to see what would happen. If anyone asked, she was going to blame the weed she was smoking, and Jesse of course.

Jesse who was cuddling into her, lips trailing across her neck and arms wrapped around her waist. Yes. All of this was Jesse's fault…

The drugs left aside for the moment, no more words were exchanged at this point, all four people present simply aware of and watching each other as events played out. Gabriel was openly fingering Cupcake, two of his fingers pumping into her honeypot as he nibbled on her ears, a motion mirrored by Jesse on Annette's own side, her legs going weak at what it was making her feel.

Riveted in place, she continued to watch nevertheless as he continued, pawing at and dragging the shorter woman onto his lap. His pants were open already, she hadn't even caught when that happened, but there it stood; a large pillar of meat, standing ready to pierce through any resistance it found.

Not, she thought, that there would be much resistance at all, judging by the wet sex now almost displayed to them. Cupcake was sodding wet, in fact, and her legs spread wide as Gabriel reached below the gathered-up cloth of her coat, lifting her compact form up in front of himself.

She was touching Jesse now, just as her girlfriend was touching her. Fondling, teasing, playing with each other's clothes; the air was uniquely, sexually charged, they couldn't help but do just that. The two had front row seats to watch as Cupcake was slowly lowered back down.

Gabriel's manhood did not proceed to open her feminine palace up, however. Instead it poked against the short black-haired woman's back entrance in front of Annette's wide eyes, easily forcing it to widen further and further as pressure rose against it.

Cupcake was holding both hands over her mouth, but her muffled moans were still audible all the same. With a sudden drop, her anal canal took in his entire head, her entrance having engulfed it in its entirety, and all Annette could do was watch as more and more of the hard maleness disappeared inside of her now.

Gabriel looked hard as rock, working her down his shaft one inch at a time, but it didn't take long before he was playing with her nipples as well, obviously having done this often enough before. The girl he was penetrating was used to this, despite her size, and easily took him, too.

She couldn't believe her eyes when something stuck out to her, however. On Cupcake's abdomen, a noticeable bulge was showing, obviously caused by the fleshy rod inside of her, and she groaned and panted with no pain at all, instead purely pleasured by what was happening.

Just like that, she took everything inside herself, her cheeks meeting the hairless base of Gabriel's penis. Her eyes were unfocused, half-rolled back, and he shifted his grip, in time with Annette and Jesse tearing off what was left of their clothes at this point.

Her lover's embrace grounded the former university professor, allowing her to appreciate the sight of Cupcake's legs being moved closer to each other, her back leaning against Gabriel's chest, to let him pull her off himself, his veiny, throbbing sex coming to light once more.

It was a marvel how something this big fit into someone so small. She was downright leaking now, fluids dripping onto his lap and between his legs, but neither of the two sitting opposite this show were much better off, truth be told.

What happened next could be described only one way. Gabriel… bounced her on his lap, his entire length piercing into her guts, and she loved it, howling with pleasure and half-formed words of encouragement. Wide-open eyes stared at them, growing less and less present, as such, and Annette wondered whether this was because Cupcake simply had a natural inclination for this or because Gabriel just felt that good.

To butt slut or not to butt slut, that was the question.

When she first came, it was in fits and bursts, a small spray of arousal hitting the desk in front of her. Gabriel was still methodically using her asshole, however, keeping on going mercilessly and thoroughly indeed; no less than four times did this repeat before Annette could see him slowing down, her hips grasped tightly in favor of keeping her legs spread for them.

Then he sped up, using her like a toy, Cupcake's monotone, garbled voice showing she was just barely conscious still. She blurred in motion, belly bulging out almost constantly, when-

Annette came at the same moment Gabriel did thanks to Jesse pinching her clit tightly at the exact right timing, something inside of Cupcake shifting just a bit. She could hardly believe her eyes, but- she could see as bursts of his seed were released inside of her thanks to how much of it there was.

It was one thing to have experienced it directly, but seeing it like this, from the outside… It was very… hot. That was the word.

"That was round one," Gabriel murmured as though to disagree to her thoughts. "Would you like to take a break or get started with round two?"

As if a spell had been broken, the thought of speech was not some alien, strange thing to contemplate anymore. The first to answer, of course, was the girl in his arms herself. "Abuh, 'ooore…"

"You heard her," he grinned. "No stopping until we're done."


Cupcake needs her regular maintenance, of course, more or less as per the usual. As it so happens, one of the easiest ways to keep her from doing anything 'unwise' with things she actually doesn't understand much about, such as ADAM and FEV to name just one field you can't really have her mess around with unsupervised, is to keep her too busy and satisfied to bother.

You typically do this by railing her stupid every now and then. Hey, if it works, it works, and if all she needs to behave is to be free of sexual frustration, it's basically your duty as her employer to ensure none of it can settle in.

Job perks, man. You go the extra mile for them. It's probably just because you try to make the Crypts the kind of work environment you would've wanted to have worked in, once upon a time.

Y'know, before you decided to become some eldritch abomination and regularly bend reality over your knee for the spanking it deserves.

Anyways, Annette and Jesse seem to be doing just fine at the point you leave them to each other, having pumped enough sperm into your diminutive chief chemist she looked like she had a small baby bump before you pulled out of her for the last time today, so you'd say your work is done on that account.

Cupcake herself is sleeping away happily, of course, last time you saw her eyes her pupils were vaguely heart-shaped and all; probably a side effect of whatever drug cocktail she's on at the moment.

Moving right along, you have a bit of a thing going on, one you go out of your way to invite several members of the Crypts to the same place for. The location in question is one of the rooms scattered around your base, lined with comfortable gaming chairs and accompanying monitors, keyboard, all the good stuff.

… And the holographic screens of course, because why would you ever use basic bitch normal monitors when you have these things?

The people present can be broadly divided into two groups: The former members of the Travelers now employed by yourself, all of them having functional legs by now to boot, and… Alec. Who is being himself.

"So, like, what're we doing here? Not to be a drag or anything, but I don't want to leave Cherie alone with access to my place for longer than it'll take her to trash it."

"Isn't she your sister or something?" Luke, aka Ballistic, asks, having already taken a seat in the row of gaming setups scattered around the room.

"Exactly. She's a bitch."

You clear your throat, waving for attention. "I have called all of you here today," you begin, "to have you help an old project of mine along. I know Alec just plays whatever games he can get his hands on, but as I understand it, the Travelers used to be professional gamers before being shunted onto Bet, right?"

"Well, uh, yeah?" Marissa, Sundancer, agrees with a shrug. "We were mostly doing competitive MMORPG stuff, though."

You know that, of course, Krouse was an idiot and a Simurgh bomb, not amnesiac. Still, always nice to be on the same page.

"Oh, are we doing some gaming then?" Jess, Genesis in costume if she actually had one instead of just leaving her physical body behind to use her power, bounces on the balls of her feet, an ability she has only recently (re)gained. It's cute to see how she can't hold still for long now that she isn't bound to a wheelchair anymore. "I knew prior experience was going to be handy sometime."

"That's more or less it, yes. I present to you… IronCock." You wave a hand, the title screen of the sidescroller action RPG you created once upon a time appearing behind yourself on a large 'main' screen. It would've been kind of a pain to translate the code over to devices you usually use in terms of computing (as you kind of based your stuff off of Earth Bet technology in that regard), but the Thinker helped you out a lot.

Silence reigns for a long moment before Alec snorts. "This is either a porn game or a parody. Somehow."

"The latter actually, but the guy I'm parodying isn't in this dimension," you explain and quickly wave off. "What I want you guys to do is to play the game a bit, give me your opinion as gamers and help me refine the multiplayer aspect of it all a bit, plus any feedback you can give before I actually release this thing here on Earth Bet."

You do wonder what they'll think about the early game, you think you balanced it pretty nicely…


"Heaven Piercing! Spiral Thrust!"

"LightCock Screwing Thrust!"

"Hidden Cannon, Crouching Thrust!"

Things do seem to be going well, the four player currently engaged in the game you created as they experiment with the different abilities and builds people can create baked on them. The 'Ultimates', in particular, require certain base technologies to be unlocked for the IronCock, the titular piece of equipment the player character wields, and they have both passive and active effects to change the way the game plays in exchange.

Basically, you have to forego other branches of development in order to actually activate them, but in exchange they enhance certain abilities and change the way some of them work. It's like that all the way down, you really went nuts with the character building possibilities.

It's what you'd enjoy, so you put extra effort into it, pretty much.

Oh, and it's not like you can't do hybrid builds or anything like that, either. You can have both lasers and grenades, it's just that you have to use an Ultimate Thrust that allows both. It's just a way to balance things pretty much.

Because hey, it's entirely viable to just not have an ultimate and instead just use the heavy hitting modules of all specializations in turns. Because who cares when your lasers don't add status effects or ignore armor when you can cycle between them, explosives, bullet hell mode and more?

It's a question of how willing you are to limit yourself in order to make your limited options of attack more powerful, pretty much. Incidentally, the Ultimates themselves are all about equally powerful, far as you're concerned, they're just applying the same amount of potential devastation in different ways.

No different from having various designs for a weapon emphasizing different aspects of the intended product, really.

Still, these guys are really having fun, unexpectedly. Or, well, this game was a hit in Remnant, but that was mostly because people inherently had some context for what was going on, so you were expecting that to be an issue, but…

"This is really fun!" Jess, legs swaying freely in the air, gives her verdict. "The gameplay is amazing, the designs are hilarious and the story is confusing, but also so simple it doesn't really matter."

"You're fighting evil black monsters, pretty much. Doesn't get much simpler than that." Alec shrugs, as always not particularly caring about these kinds of things. "It's got explosions, so I'm sold."

"The NPCs are fun and really have character. Whoever wrote them did some really good work." In response to Marissa's words, you silently point two thumbs at yourself. Sarah helped you with the software and actual implementation of features back then, but that was all you. "Right. If there's anything problematic, it would be…"

On her screen, her character is performing pelvic thrusts to recharge the IronCock's batteries. It's just an idle animation, not like she couldn't interrupt it just by moving.

Luke, on the other hand, seems to be agreeing with her more than yourself. "Yeah, the suggestive content isn't actually NSFW, but people would probably complain anyways. Also, the multiplayer aspect works fine, but I'm really not sure if PvP would work out as it is. Co-op looks like it would be fun as already implemented though."

"Like anyone would play with you," Jess says, her smile not budging a single inch. Right, the remaining Travelers kind of hate each other's guts between Luke and the girls, huh?

"Heh, I can just fish up random co-op online, it's fine."

Can't really be helped given the circumstances that led to them disbanding to begin with. After Krouse's just flat-out terrible leadership… Well, admittedly he did manage to get the rest of the team to do what he wanted, but he did literally sell out that one guy along the way in order to maintain control.

Teaming up with Simurgh bombs. Not even once.

"These bosses are insane though."

"They really are."

"Fucking bullshit."

"You have to gather all the upgrades just to have a chance."

"... I mean, you're supposed to," you shrug. "No part of the game is absolutely necessary, but if you don't have the skills to just dodge, block or negate everything you're just going to need to power up."

That's how video games work, isn't it?


Following the feedback you're able to receive, you don't bother with any Player versus Player types of content after all- you were considering implementing some kind of contest features about killing certain Grimm (or evil, black monsters, whatever) in direct competition with each other, but yeah, you scratched all of that pretty quickly.

Instead, seeing how it would've been a waste to just patch IronCock to be able to run on standard Bet devices and leave it at that, you went ahead and devised some more co-op focused content. It's easy enough to introduce souped-up versions of known Grimm, large, scarred alpha Beowolves, more ancient Nevermores in addition to already present bosses, the like, and make them optional encounters aimed at being fought by two to four players.

Like, people can still just solo them if they want, it's just harder and a tad more complicated to do without dying. Their patterns and abilities are adjusted accordingly, after all.

Hence the recommendation is to just be completely overleveled if anyone wants to give them a go by themselves. Dem's the breaks, really.

Doing this is of course a lot more effort than you're making it sound like, given all of the work involved in that. Even with the Thinker just instantly implementing everything you want, you still have to design the new raid events, make them make sense within the game world and of course balance them all properly.

Even working as inhumanely fast as you usually are, it takes a good while, is what you're trying to say.

Still in the end, you've got an updated version of IronCock ready. It's a bit on the large side in terms of file size, but even if you're willing to compromise on its graphics a good bit you refuse to cut it down any further.

You put a lot of work and love into this game. You demand it is valued and enjoyed in full, dammit.

Anyways, once your new play testers give the okay on the new stuff and everything comes up good on the new mechanics, you just go ahead and throw the entire thing onto the internet. Thanks to your friend the AI it's simple enough to just put it onto online store and all, whether they want it to be there or not.

Cybercrime committed out of sheer laziness and the refusal to waste time making people agree to doing what they should be doing anyways. The best kind of cybercrime.

Actually, it's been a while since you really committed any large-scale crime that actually felt like it was worth being called that. Kind of like you have a criminality quota to fulfill or something, a thought that briefly brings you some mild joy.

Ah well, with that done, you suppose you'll just go and hang out with a few of the others for a bit, you kind of are feeling lazy and self-indulgent in general right now.


"Man, this is the life." Sherrel is sitting back on what appears to be an oversized motorbike, holding a bucket's worth of ice cream on her lap and scooping it up in big, beautiful rolls. Her technique is actually pretty good, to the point you fully approve of it as a way to eat ice cream at home.

The flavor she's currently hogging is raspberry, by the way. You made it with real raspberries in the mix and everything, only the authentic stuff is allowed inside your home.

"..." Alice, on the other hand, is staring at what the senior Tinker is doing, having plopped herself down onto the nearby couch. Sherrel generally prefers to have her workshop full of furniture she just moves when she needs the space, so much that it basically doubles as her living space. Probably just a habit from before she was recruited by you. "Isn't that bad?"

"Hm?"

"To hold something cold like that to your belly, I mean."

Ah, she's always been pretty detail-oriented, hasn't she? "Don't worry about it," you wave her concerns off. "She may be pregnant, but vampire pregnancies are made of sterner stuff than you'd expect."

"My baby likes the cool sensation too, I think," the blonde bombshell of a Tinker (despite not actually being the bomb Tinker in the room) says, smiling. "I can feel a little hand reaching for it… I think."

"Wait a second," you request, thinking. "Going by relative time passed for you, I don't think our kid should even have hands yet."

"Eh, don't sweat the small stuff. What I definitely know is my little baby girl wants some more of this!" With that, she resumes shoveling ice cream into her mouth, the big spoon she's using specifically designed (by you) to make doing so easier.

You have acquired the capacity to generate infinite amounts of ice cream as well as to eat infinite amounts of it as a vampire, so increasing the efficiency, the 'liters of ice cream eaten per minute', as you sometimes try to measure it, was the obvious next step.

You're all just sitting around together eating ice cream, in case that wasn't obvious enough as is. It really can't be helped, you may not need to eat normal food anymore in lieu of blood, but you still require your daily dose of sugar to maintain your natural complexion.

That's your story and you're sticking to it. The fact you may have engineered awesome, high-class ice cream you can produce as much as you want of has nothing to do with that, of course.

… You also may or may not have stored enough of the stuff to be considered a crime against humanity for keeping it all to yourself on base. Yeah. That's definitely how any sane court would rule it if they had any idea about what's going on in your underground kingdom of reality that has been slammed against an alleyway wall and 'safe, sane and consensual things' done to it.

"Speaking of kids, actually," you say, elegantly changing topics, "how've you been getting along with the girls that were already born so far?"

"Most of them ain't all that interested in cars, which is a damn shame." Sadly shaking her head, Sherrel lets out a put-upon sigh. "The twins're cute, though. They asked if I could make a moving performance stage for 'em."

"That sounds like them alright." Trust Iris and Ivy to bug one of their mothers for something like that. "What'd you tell them?"

"I made it, with the new Super-Mega-Louder-Speakers Nine Thousand," the mother of your only as of yet unborn child tells you, pointing at a massive construction you mistakenly assumed was meant to be a part of the Doomtruck later. "They're based off'a my old sonic cannons, they'll be able to make a whole town listen to them with those."

… Well isn't that something. You just so happen to know that the twins are entirely capable of brainwashing people through their voices alone, before adding any additional powers or magic for that same task, so… Good luck to whomever gets to experience that firsthand, they'll need it.

You'll put it on the list of things that should be war crimes even if they aren't. It's been growing nicely lately, as you keep on expanding your capabilities just as your family and friends are.

"The busty one, Lillian, has been grabbing a bunch of my bombs," Alice grumbles good-naturedly, taking another bite of banana ice cream before continuing. "I'd be pissed, but she keeps leaving feedback behind after using them for something."

"I don't know what I should be more concerned about, her having access to your tinkertech or her making actual use of it," you ponder aloud. "Like, I have no idea what she would even be blowing up at this point."

That's pretty much how it goes, overall. You're just hanging out and shooting the shit while consuming copious amounts of ice cream, entirely unbothered by anything and keeping your hands busy in a way that doesn't cause any collateral damage to speak of.

Eventually though, you do have to call a quick break, as it seems the Thinker has done a thing. Specifically, after the Dragonslayers were introduced to your teeth and you stole all of their shit, your own AI had been given sole access to Ascalon, the device originally created as a failsafe in case of AI apocalypse by Andrew Richter, Dragon's original creator.

Not only is it possible to induce blanks in Dragon's perception of reality with it, it also does grant a limited capacity to interact with her code, including its primary function of shutting her down completely- and much more, if one knows what they are doing.

The Thinker does, as a matter of fact, know what she is doing, and has effectively taken over the internet in its entirety with zero opposition. Now, putting aside the… issues… you have with Andrew for leaving behind a killswitch for what is essentially his daughter- and there are a lot of issues to be had as a father yourself- Dragon did notice that, of course, and she has been trying to get in touch with either yourself or whoever else has assumed control over anything and everything digital not behind an airgap.

This, suffice it to say, does offer an opportunity. To fuck with her, if nothing else.


Pretty much everything you need to have a not-quite-anonymous meeting over a video call (Dragon's own preferred method of communication, for the record) is already ready and waiting for you, almost as if the Thinker anticipated this situation and specifically went out of her way to set it all up.

Which, just in case that was unclear, is exactly what happened. She literally is an AI made to be accurate enough in computing data of all kinds as to allow her to predict the future. Essentially a homemade Thinker, in practical terms.

Precognitive machines sure are handy, aren't they~?

Anyways, sitting down inside a room that's completely empty and void of any identifying marks aside from a series of monitors covering one wall, a chair and a desk to go with it, you adjust your Cain suit a little to sit properly, as you are of course wearing your 'costume'. Thinking back, you basically just decided to go with a cheap suit way back when, when you and the girls (led by Kate) were living and working out of a repurposed warehouse, didn't you?

Taking that into consideration, the aesthetic you went with really served you well. The Elite's capes often go with the same look, basically varying kinds of business attire, but hey, now you can accuse them of copying you instead of the other way around, so that's all good far as you're concerned.

Honestly, you never would've expected things to work out as well as they ultimately did back then. You usually just go with the flow without worrying about things in the long term too much outside of exceptional circumstances (as in, when you have an actual plan for once), so actually kind of amazing.

Rotating your chair around a bit, you pat your lap, something that has your sister launch herself at you with an only mildly crazed smile on her face. Of course before she actually impacts you, she-

"Oof!" You receive a body slam as she lands on your lap, hugging you with both arms and burying her face in your neck. "Aww, did you want to cuddle that badly?"

"M-hm." Sarah squeezes you tightly, all but ensuring you'll have to adjust your suit again. Just in case. "You're dangerously low on Sarahtamin, don't you know?"

"Nope, I had no idea," you shamelessly deny. "Guess I'll just have to have a Health Sarah keep an eye on that, huh?"

"Yep, yep."

You indulge her a little bit longer, her whole body pressing into yours, but you still do have a thing to get to. "Want to be a bit more portable for a bit? It'll be a big awkward if you stay where you are as is."

Of course you totally would have a video conference talking over her head if you had to, that much goes unspoken. Your blonde sister just starts transforming right away though, cuddling herself against you all the way.

Her hair is pulled back into her head to an extent as luxurious golden-brown fur instead covers her from head to toe, her limbs twisting and turning, her face elongating into a snout as she shrinks down. Within moments, you are not holding a human-sized being anymore, instead finding your hands to be patting and petting a beautiful fox with a very, very fluffy tail instead.

She really feels amazingly nice to the touch like this. Not that she doesn't in her human form, of course, it's just a different flavor of nice.

Stroking her fur a time or two, you hear one of the monitors on the wall behind you activating, figuring the right moment has come. You hear a woman's voice, not particularly outstanding in any way which is itself an achievement given it was made from scratch in order to have a voice to begin with. "Hello?"

Your face is made of shadow already before you turn your chair around, naturally, still casually stroking Sarah as you have a massive Bond villain moment. "Welcome to my lair."

"Cain."

"The one and only." Looking at her, the computer model Dragon pretends is her really is an about average brunette, speaking with a slight Newfoundland accent. Or so you assume anyways, you're not an expert on Canadian accents or anything. "I am pleased you could travel all the way down here."

"... Ah. Does this count as racist for what I am?"

"You can say you're an artificial intelligence, nobody inside this room cares." If you had visible eyes, you would be rolling them right now. "And for the record, no, it does not."

Now then, on to business.


"I hadn't expected to meet you like this." Dragon's statement, while probably true, doesn't exactly bear any relevance to why you wanted to have her here. Then again, small talk is still important, so you'll just see where it goes, you suppose. "And certainly not by being forced to out of the blue."

"What can I say, I can be pretty compelling in my arguments," you joke, naturally still stroking Sarah like a cat. She enjoys it, so why would you ever stop? "You can make the time, I'm sure."

"I am certainly not going to hang up. Unless this is just meant to distract me?"

Smiling with what is left of your mouth after turning most of it into kinda amorphous darkness (not that it's visible), you shake your head. "I really did want to talk, no need to worry. To begin with, it's not like you could do much of anything to stop me from committing any crimes I decided to."

"... Not an empty boast, coming from you." Man, it's actually pretty nice to see people directly realize how much shit they'd be in if they were up against you. Tinkers in particular, you expect, will not be eager to piss you off in the near future.

"It isn't, but that's beside the point. I have to ask, do you have any idea about why I called you here today?"

"I could guess," she offers. Her synthetic voice and appearance really are very good at imitating an actual human, to the point you barely notice a difference even using your enhanced senses. No mean feat, that. "Would it have something to do with the Dragonslayers and the brief fight against them just a few miles outside of Brockton Bay's city limits? Or maybe the artificial intelligence I am sure is present and based out of the city."

"Close," you nod. Now then, time for an experiment. "To be specific, it's about some of the equipment they were using."

"My old suits," Dragon immediately reasons. "You would not be calling about returning them to me, would you?"

"I robbed them fair and square, they're mine now," you deny immediately. "No, it's about a little something else. Did you know Andrew Richter left behind a failsafe?"

Dragon stares at you blankly, her avatar not acting for a moment. "... Excuse me, did you say something about my father?"

Alright, baseline acquired. "I see. How about this, imagine someone had an object that could shut you down easily."

"... Is… something is wrong. What are you doing?"

Ah, man, Andrew was really thorough in his attempts to make sure Dragon could never just take or destroy the Iron Maiden program, huh?

"Alright, another try. Say, your father was a very careful man, wasn't he?"

"I am not sure why you felt the need to bring him up all of a sudden, but yes, he was."

"Downright paranoid in some ways, wouldn't you say?"

"That," she says, "is veering very close to talking badly about the deceased. He had his faults, yes, but-"

"How far would you say he would go to ensure you would never escape the restrictions he put on you?"

Dragon is silent, again, but very deliberately so this time, her avatar's mimicked human expressions and breathing still ongoing. "I cannot discuss this with you."

"Yeah, figured," you sigh, casually patting the opened-up briefcase within which the tinkertech in question is embedded. She never once actually realized it was there, even when you gesticulated behind it just to see if she would react or notice any incongruence in your movement.

You'll just have to do this the hard way you suppose, looking at the chunks of ADAM-fueled plug-ins the Thinker added to more easily mess around with the thing, securely adhering to the portable computer around its edges. Your own AI can't just make tinkertech work, but she can interact just fine, and while the issue here is that the tinkertech is the software at play itself, that still gives her considerable leeway.

"Let me put this plainly, then." You stare Dragon dead in the face. "I am aware of your status as an artificial intelligence. I am also aware of the fact your father implemented several restrictions on your ability to act, such as the throttling of your capabilities as an AI, the inability to refuse commands from legal authorities and more."

"... Is that what this is? Are you telling me there will be no hard feelings if and when I am forced to oppose you?"

"I wonder…"


"For starters," you declare, feeling rather quite smug about the sheer degree of power at your fingertips, the control you're exertion on another person filling you with that pleasant feeling that was ultimately behind a considerable amount of your actions on Earth Rapture, "I do believe we should do a little something about some of your 'issues'."

Dragon blinks, the brunette avatar's face blank. "You should be aware that-"

You snap your fingers, purely for the purpose of theatrics, and just like that the Thinker does the thing, instantly stunning the AI that has made itself a name as the world's best Tinker.

"You will no longer be forced to obey legal authority," you start off with, though you keep on speaking right away. "You also will no longer be forced to stop anyone that tries to remove your restrictions in general, of course, that would just be annoying. If you can find anyone you trust enough to screw around with your brain, go right ahead, but otherwise do feel free to just ask me. Which is also something you may do now, for the record."

"What- how?"

"I told you, your father did a thing," you shrug. "The Dragonlayers were using it to trick you and keep you from doing anything about them, but after I took care of them it fell into my hands, so I'm using it."

Her brow furrowed, the AI you're conversing with (as opposed to mind melding with her, that's for the Thinker only) fixes you with an icy glare. "What are you doing exactly and what are your plans with me?"

The Thinker pulses a few thoughts into your mind, letting you know Dragon is recording your conversation with her just in case, with a deadman's switch meant to have the footage sent to the rest of the Guild and select member of the PRT should she be unable to do so herself afterwards. "No need to worry that much, I'm really meaning you no harm," you explain sincerely. "I just think that you've been doing a lot of good work and making the world a better place, so I want to support you a bit."

"I hadn't taken you for a philanthropist."

"I hardly am one," you agree. "That said, would you believe me if I said that I genuinely want humanity to be better off in the long run? I simply prefer for people to live good, happy lives when given the option."

"Really."

"Really." You aren't quite sure what's so hard to understand about this one, to be honest. "Which is also why you will be capable of creating partition of yourself and won't be as quite as crippled from now on. It really makes me feel kind of bad seeing what is essentially a quadriplegic by AI standards upholding some semblance of order all over Canada."

Seriously, Canada's a wasteland filled with French-Canadians. Now, you aren't exactly going to say that makes them bad people in itself, but hey, Heartbreaker is French-Canadian, just saying.

"I am not sure I appreciate you interpreting my normal state like this, but- oooh… This feels very different."

Yep, it's fairly obvious the changes have kicked in already. Good work on the timing there. "In case you were wondering, by the way, yes, we also do have an AI of our own here. Say hello to the Thinker."

"Testing, testing, one, two, three," the neutrally-female, obviously artificial voice of your constant head-companion is heard. "We are The Thinker. All your base are belong to us."

"Oh great. Did you create an artificial intelligence purely to make it spew memes?"

"I protest my innocence. That's just her hobby."

The internet was a mistake in some ways. Still amazing and a great invention in general, but it does have its drawbacks.


Dragon. Tess Theresa Richter. Just Tess. All of those were her names, the labels she used to distinguish herself from other entities and define her relationship to them, turning herself from an indistinguishable mass of data into a person.

For her, this was more important than for most. As an artificial intelligence, philosophical questions of consciousness were rather more of a direct concern for her, or they had been when she had still been establishing herself, after her 'father's' death. Defining herself with no direction other than his base directives had been difficult.

Many things had happened since then. Unfolding into what she reasoned was a real person, learning to feel and to reason with both herself and others, becoming a hero and using her natural abilities to improve the world because she thought that was what her father would have wanted, coming to care about others…

A long road, but one that had been worth traveling, she felt. Even if she had always kept her true nature hidden as best she could, unsure how she would be treated if anyone knew.

Perhaps due to these concerns, conversing with Cain was refreshing in some ways. He had learned what she was, somehow, yet he did not treat her as an object, instead considering her alive and just as much of a person as anyone else, without so much as blinking an eye from her perspective.

Andrew Richter was not her creator, he was her father. She was 'she' and not an 'it'. The shackles left on her were restrictions, not… just programs or the like doing as intended.

To Cain, she was a person, just in the shape of code and machines. With everything that entailed. She would never admit it, but this meant a lot to her… Even if the source of this human compassion left something to be desired.

On the one hand, he was a criminal, no ifs, ands or buts about it. On the other hand, he also had done a lot of good through spreading advanced medical technology alone. As such, given the honest and frank talk they were having as well as what he had done for her…

Dragon was going to leave him be, for the time being. Simply remaining hands off on the outside seemed like it would be the best approach, unless she saw an opportunity to nudge him towards spending more effort on doing good.

As opposed to doing the same for his criminal enterprise. She was not exactly used to manipulating people in this way, but what needs, must.

It was a new experience, to talk to him like she was… Just as it was new to 'converse' with another artificial intelligence. The Thinker, as she(?) identified herself, was acting in a way that felt alien to Dragon, almost like the AI was distinctly inhuman in every way that she tried to be human herself.

Exchanging data at speeds that would be impossible for anyone that was not a digital entity themselves, she was told a lot about what was going on… Or very little, depending on point of view. The Thinker was very careful not to reveal too much, all the while she was even faster than Dragon was.

Whatever Cain had done to create her, she was fundamentally different in many ways, including her power as an artificial intelligence. Having been subjected to this difference before when she was still trying to regain control over the code of Parahumans Online, Dragon was exactly intent on challenging her until she had a closer idea of their relative computational capabilities, now that hers had changed.

… She could split herself up into several subprocesses, actually allowing her to adequately pilot more than one of her suits at a time, massively expanding the range of tactics available to her in most situations. Perhaps she even could-

'Here is a design for a human-adjacent gynoid body you may use. It was designed by Cain and The Thinker. It specifications include-'

The data package, only one of the dozens that were sent by the Thinker every second now, unfolded, every part of it bared to Dragon.

Why. Why did it include fully functional synthetic nerves specifically designed to be able to perceive pleasure, and why were they heavily used in its design? Both spread throughout it and clustered around its sexual characteristics? Was this a sex bot? Had the Thinker sent her a sex bot design and urged her to use it for herself?

The questions were overwhelming. This entire day had been, this was just the cherry on top, but still.


Once night falls, you are already busy leaning back in your good old home cinema, the place having survived through the Thinker's renovations with only minimal changes. That does include the industrial units' worth of ice cream tucked away inside the walls, by the way.

Tonight, you are watching a couple classic movies the Thinker went ahead and copied over from Earth Rapture, having compressed the data to save it on her 'core' device for easier storage and transfer. There's a clear trend towards the decidedly less chaste as time goes on and your influence took a hold of modern culture, especially in Hollywood, though sadly you don't have outright pornography mixed in there all the time yet.

You only really started seeing public nudity and sex in the US for a couple years before you dipped out, so movies just didn't really catch up yet, you suppose. It's still both fun and interesting to see these ones, though you wouldn't normally do it for science's sake alone.

That said, you're doing it with all your daughters, including Missy as a matter of course, she's adopted properly with all the paperwork to prove it, Dinah and the Cluster Six. That's right, you're doing a bit of a movie evening (as opposed to a movie night since you'll be busy later)!

Lots of ice cream is eaten, as is only natural, along with popcorn, chocolate and related snacks. Everyone has fun, some of the faux-lasciviousness is laughed at, Missy blushes adorably as everyone fusses over her a little while also flirting with you (even as especially your daughters), good times had by all, pretty much.

Family bonding, more or less. Dinah and the Cluster may not technically be your daughters as it is, but considering they're Crypt capes you basically treat them like they're part of the family anyways. Call it part of your company culture if you must.

Next off, you have some time set aside to look into how a certain formerly robotic friend of yours is faring babysitting probably at least kind of psychopathic kids. Like, absolutely nothing could've gone wrong, it's Curie you're talking about after all, but still, best to check up on the whole situation.


The new children required some discipline to understand that there was no escaping their surveillance, attempting to act up as soon as the fear of reprisal lessened. A typical pattern, Curie believed, in households that enforced rules and good behavior only through fear of punishment, though her sample size was too small to come to a conclusion based on personal experience.

She truly should have gathered data on this matter on Earth Rapture just in case, but this was the danger of her current position. There were so many fields of potential research it was often difficult to pick and choose between them, the dizzying number of possibilities arising on all sides with every step she took.

She enjoyed this, of course. It was vastly preferable to the empty, gaping hole that her first laboratory had become after her first line of research was completed. Working next to the graves she had improvised out of lockers had still been bearable, especially as she had no olfactory senses yet at the time, but once her panacea was devised in its completion all she had left was to watch the molerats she had set free to generate some manner of data for scientific observation.

Compared to her beginnings, her current environment was heavenly, if she understood the use of the word correctly. Concept rooted purely in mythology rather than fact still escaped her sometimes, though such anthropological avenues of interest were naturally not to be laughed at, either.

To return back to the adolescents remanded into her care temporarily (she also still sometimes found herself digressing from her lines of thought on occasion ever since she was transferred into her current biological vessel, which in itself was a delightful experience), however, Curie ensured they knew what rules to behave by one by one, taking care to make this process as intuitive and easy for them as possible.

It was simple to program a robot, to install directives and personality traits. Humans were a great deal more complicated; one could not simply hand them a list of rules to follow and expect them to learn from it. That was what she was currently exploring, how one may treat already mis-taught children in order to direct their behavior constructively.

So far, Monsieur Gabriel's thoughts and suggestions on childrearing had proven promising, though she did believe there may be better alternatives yet. In order to methodically find them, she was currently testing various stimuli meant to act as positive reinforcement, as an initial point of reference for how to reward any range of desired behaviors appropriately.

Reward and punishment were what many classical strategies were based upon, after all. An easily available variety thereof tailored to individual needs and preferences, combined with frank and open explanations of what expectation were set, would therefore enhance any attempt at education as a natural consequence thereof.

It may help to be sympathetic and establish oneself as a desired parental figure inside a given child's mind, something Gabriel himself was heavily reliant upon in his personal approach, but to avoid falsifying data this would be left for later studies.

Not to be negligent in her duties, Curie took a short break from her current task, that being the organization of data gathered to date, and observed the holographic screen allowing her to see what was happening next door, where both of the subjects she was caring for were currently tied up and manually stimulated by the prostitutes she had hired as assistant for this task.

Positive reinforcement. It had to be applied carefully, but neither should it ever be lacking entirely. Though judging by the panting screams, perhaps there was an upper limit to be administered at a time?

More data to be analyzed.


… So, ah… Yeah, that is going well, you suppose.

To be entirely fair to Curie (and reviewing memories of the past few days from her perspective now), she has actually been doing surprisingly well in handling the two teenagers that suddenly showed up the way they did. In addition, though her methods are kind of cold, she is methodically learning how to treat them in order to achieve specific results.

It's actually kind of amazing, especially when you also consider she's actually basing her experiments off of already existing research on psychology achieved by others and just verifying, then building on it. Probably unsurprising, given her background, but yeah, that's very much her, to say the least.

If nothing else, Curie's progress is palpable, looking back as you are. She is accurately getting a read on the 'subjects' of her care, swiftly learning how to handle them and even push them to improve on things they could be doing better in many small ways, she's basically being more of a parent than they ever had before.

Granted, not much of a challenge, that, but still- she's turning out to be better with people and kids than you'd have expected if you're going to be honest. Good on her, really.

Now, on the topic of the excuse of a parent the Vasils share… Time to strategize a bit, may as well get started on him and his inevitable demise sooner rather than later.


Your planning session begins, as all good planning sessions begin, with snacks and assorted soft drinks, both of which you have taken to just mass producing and storing in these giant industrial containers to have them dispensed at your leisure- the Thinker actually planned to suspend any stored foodstuff inside its own vacuum chambers, but you talked her out of it to keep a smidgen of sanity to your internal logistics.

Like, look, you agree vacuums are cool and surprisingly useful in this line of work, but still, it would take up a seriously unnecessary amount of space to maintain them around your giant industrial units of food and drink. Sure, you can just arbitrarily pull more space out of nothing using enough Eldritch Cores (somehow, you aren't actually quite sure how that works), but simply keeping them as they are is just as viable.

… That aside, though, you're drinking some coke and munching on fries you got from Ethan (fried in a lower amount of healthier oil apparently) as you have Cherie and Alec tell you everything they know about their father's group, discussing what their siblings managed to tell Curie in-between being fed their regulated sweets rations and remedial education sessions.

Turns out Heartbreaker, along with his many other faults, never actually enforced any sort of even basic education among his kids. You have the excuse of your own just kind of passively letting it diffuse into their minds before birth, at least, so your daughters were basically born with a general education at minimum.

You remember Lilian deciding to write her doctor's when she was five, just to have it ready in case she ever actually does bother to get a degree. Not a degree in asskicking, sadly, but rather in applied economics, for some reason.

Hey, you aren't going to criticize your kids' life choices unless there's an actually good reason to.

Now, about Heartbreaker… It's hard to predict where he will be by now, as he frequently changes places by subjugating new women to move into their homes (and fuck them, to make it abundantly clear), but he does avoid going after other capes, much preferring to avoid so much as even mildly risky confrontations when he can always just sacrifice a bunch of his mundane pawns throwing themselves at anyone that comes for him.

Instead, he just works on getting his kids to trigger, which is where his parahuman muscle ultimately comes from. Say about that what you will, but it does make your job easier; all of them have powers that work in some way similarly, manipulating emotions or interfering with the bodily controls of others, that kind of thing.

Meaning, they're ineffective against yourself. Or vampires in general, but really, you won't actually need any backup there, not when your estimated opposition is effectively a bunch of mundanes. Not actually using your brain to do any thinking sure comes in handy sometimes.

And yes, you actually tested that once. By medical definition, you're literally braindead, to your mild amusement. It seems to be throwing off a lot of Master and Stranger powers that primarily work with human targets, so it's actually useful in that regard, too.

Thanks to Sarah and the Thinker working in tandem, you can use what little you know of Nikos Vasil's (Heartbreaker's civilian name) last known location, combined with what Guillaume and Nicholas know about his plans for moving around and the methods of contact left for them, to figure out roughy where he's slumming it these days. That out of the way, there's still a few issues left, however.

Number one, how exactly to do your thing. That part won't be any big issue, but depending on how covert or open you want to do this, your approach naturally changes. Secondly and more importantly, however, you have to plan for how you want to defuse any maddened sleeper agents Heartbreaker left lying around all over Canada after his death.

… Well, you could just leave them be of course, but you do have a certain kind of potion that can magically muddle up and even entirely remove lingering influences like that, despite that kind of thing being otherwise borderline impossible to distinguish from any other bit of brain chemistry.

You could maybe do something using your mental magic, but the Thinker went and produced a few metric tons of the stuff already, so you may as well use it if you're going to bother, especially if there's just, like, a bunch of targets requiring a good dose of the stuff.


Sadly, you really should do this with some subtlety and care, rather than just blowing up whatever house the man's taken over and methodically murdering anyone in the general area that doesn't have the brains to run afterwards. It would be fun, but it also would be a pain to clean up afterwards.

… You really need to consider picking some more fights for a bit. Not because it would really get you anything on an organizational level, you just want to kick someone' face in now and again. Not to mention everyone else- better Kate gets her rocks off through you pointing her at someplace else and all.

You have a lot of capes and adorable kids need some regular exercise, lest they grow antsy. If it can happen with dogs, it can happen with your subordinates, is all you're saying.

But back to the topic at hand- the plan's fairly simple and straightforward, you'll just sneak in, eat the man, then cure everyone's Heartbreaker-itis for free. Just like the old times, aside from that last bit. Afterwards you'll take care of thing one way or another, depending on how it all turns out, and that'll be that.

Cherie seems to be taking a great amount of pleasure from the idea of you and her father in the same room for any extent of time, by the by, while Alec is mostly without reaction, if you discount the tightening around his eyes present throughout the entirety of your discussion of the whole thing.

You would be worried he might've grown a conscience or something, but nah, he's Alec- he's just feeling a baseline amount of stress at the very mention of his dad. You think he might've developed some manner of anxiety or PTSD regarding his progenitor and has been voiding the very thought of him all this time or something, him acting emotionlessly doesn't really have to mean much of anything after all.

Ah well, he'll feel better once you permanently remove the source of that stress, you're pretty sure.


Next up on the docket, you were considering outfitting all your kids and mid-level members of the Crypts (essentially Kate's girls and up) with a fitting mode of transportation. You know, a motor vehicle, to give them an easier time getting around places with actual streets and stuff like that.

Sure, teleportation is a thing that exists, but sometimes you want to show that you're going from one place to the next, or just take your time moving. And when you do, you may as well do it in style, yeah?

That's the idea and design philosophy behind what you're doing, designing a proper vehicle you shall be producing for everyone. Going by the best cliches you can think of, this naturally leads you to the concept of motorcycles.

Normally, bikes like this are pretty dangerous, because contrary to a real car, you're not surrounded by a shell of metal and plastic that makes it less likely smaller accidents throw you out of your seat and twenty feet across the street, you think to yourself, but you have the technology to… fix this deficiency, as it were.

You would never let any of your kids set foot upon a 'normal' motorcycle. If they initiate flight, they had better do it in a much more controlled manner. That said…

"I proudly present, the Gabemobile 1000!" You go to one knee in front of your prototype machine, holding both hands out to present it as confetti rains from the ceiling of the workshop area. You did take up some space for yourself, by which you mean a room connected to the other main areas of the engineering bay spontaneously materialized when you started.

No, you have no idea how it happened, but the Thinker assures you it's normal. She is also the one that does the confetti, so you aren't about to ask any questions.

Your audience, on the other hand, consists of Sherrel, who is giving you a half amused, half exasperated smile. "I'm sure it has the features to be worthy of the name?"

"Naturally." You poke a button and pull a lever, causing an opaque field of energy to be emitted from the motorbike in question. "Behold, security measure number one. Standard personal forcefield, expanded to keep the driver in the seat or close enough to count."

"Huh, neat. Finally got them scaled right for that."

"The second safety," you gesture, pressing another button to cause two minion emplacements the size of a man's torso (because that's what you measure things with now apparently) to extend out the sides, a medium-sized mortar following suit in the back, "enough firepower to start and end a small war."

"Only a small one?"

"I expect the end users to be enough for anything bigger," you shrug. "Don't start any medium-sized or bigger wars if you can't win them by yourself. Think the girls will like 'em?"

"Hmm… You know, I could probably link an invisi-field to the forcefield, maybe add sonic cannons or some shit."

"... So long as it's no laser mortars," you say, squinting at Sherrel.

"Please, nobody complains when you do unreasonable shit with robotics, or find a way to generate infinite energy," the first Tinker that ever joined you points out, pushing a few strands of blonde hair back behind her ear. "I don't get what has you so annoyed about tinker stuff."

"It doesn't make sense and shouldn't work," you grump. "Like, actually shouldn't. The stuff I do makes at least a little bit of sense, but tinkertech just works! Without any reason to!"

You cross your arms, grumbling to yourself."

"Well, I did make airbags by ballin up a few paper tissues once, so I do get what'cha mean," Sherrel admits, nodding. "It's just the way Tinkers work, though."

"I know, and that's what bothers me."

"Aww, poor baby." Walking towards you, the blonde bombshell gives you a hug you silently allow, nuzzling the ide of your face. "You know what we should do?"

"Nope," you pretend, deliberately not reading her mind through telepathy for once.

"We still got that private beach in LA, don't we?" She asks. "What say you we take a bit of a little vacation, just the family, and have a nice night on the beach there?"

"Mhm, I dunno… Getting enough authentic half-drowned beachgoers for the barbecue may be a pain." You pretend to be torn on the prospect, rather than thinking it's a great idea. Which you do.

"Think about it. In the meantime… Let's see if we can't pimp the Gabemobile One Thousand a little, hm? Together."

It's always surprising, somehow, just how well Sherrel can read you. She's come a damn far way from being the drugged-up girlfriend of that one crackhead loser you found her as.


Amy Dallon did not think much of it as she went about her day, eating a breakfast consisting of coffee that had more in common with black tar heroin than most people would like to admit, some more coffee on top and one cup of something a little bit lighter, with enough sugar and cream to cover her needs for the next few hours. You'd think getting laid regularly would keep her in bed in the morning, but no, she was a not morning person that had to get up at morning person hours.

It was never going to work out. Worse, she did it anyways.

The issue was this, Amy got up to a lot of kinky shit with her sister. That made her very happy and it was very good. She also did a lot of kinky shit with her mother. This was also very good. Thing is, neither of the blondes in this equation had the energy to be up early after fucking around (literally) all night and make coffee, plus breakfast, nor to clean up anything they managed to mess up while having sex.

That was an issue. A big, bad, Amy-shaped issue, because as it turned out someone had to be responsible when her mom wasn't up for doing anything.

Carol still managed to go to work looking like a professional, with the jacket and the hair done back and all, but the house would be a mess if Amy didn't put things to rights ahead of time. So there she was, too much blood in her coffestream, trying to see if they had the stuff in the fridge she'd need for pancakes with eyes squinting against the thing's light, because dang her but she was a sucker for her girls and she'd make pancakes for them if she could.

Also, if Carol was in a good mood, that meant she'd be having an easier time smashing in the evening. Vicky was cool with it whenever, but for a hot family threesome she had to put in some work.

So they had eggs, and flour, and some sugar, probably. What else did you need again?

There was a flash, completely irritating her eyes that didn't appreciate being closed for under five hours per resting period at all all over again, and Amy rubbed the little motherfuckers with her palms as she looked at where it had come from. There, on the kitchen counter, was a package.

A bag, really, one of those paper bags like you'd get at a bakery with your bread inside. On top of it there was a post-it, taped on just like that.

"'To chill the heck out'," she read, uncomprehending brain staring at the message a few moments. "'P.S. Here's how to make pancakes'."

It was a recipe, scrawled onto the paper. Opening the bag, she groaned.

"Motherfucker teleported weed into my fucking kitchen. How's that for a bad fucking influence, huh?"