It was the afternoon a day after her meeting with Faultline and Gregor, that found Taylor out and about in the city once again, at Faultline's request. Unlike yesterday, she wasn't meeting the mercenary at her base in Downtown, but rather at a different location on the outskirts of the Docks. The text she'd gotten mentioned being introduced to the rest of the team and figuring out what she could do as Pyroclast.
Gravel crunched beneath her bare feet as she stepped in front of an abandoned-looking warehouse. She hadn't forgotten the shoes this time; just given up on them after it started feeling like there was sand and countless small pebbles rubbing up against her soles. It wasn't a feeling of pain – she hadn't felt that since that night – just one of pure and considerable annoyance. And, since emptying out her boots and socks only alleviated the issue for a couple minutes before the ash accumulated again, she'd made the executive decision that shoes weren't necessary after all. She could deal with the asphalt and pavement just fine, but her ash was like low grit sandpaper even to her.
Still, Taylor imagined she looked mighty suspicious right now. A teenager dressed in dark, baggy clothes with no shoes on, standing in front of a boarded-up warehouse. She glanced around nervously, searching for entrance into the building. The front wouldn't budge and trying one of the side-doors yielded no better results. She looked at the text again, then back to the road sign and faded number on the warehouse's wall.
It was the right address. Maybe they weren't here yet?
It took only ten minutes of pacing around the building until she realized she could simply try knocking. Standing at the front entrance once again, she raised her fist. Three loud bangs echoed through the empty street and from inside the building. A minute went by, then two. She had just raised her hand again when the sound of grating metal stopped her.
The door slowly slid off to the side. A teen with orange skin and blue hair poked his head out, smiling in recognition when he spotted her.
"There you are. Come on in, we're downstairs. Less chance for someone to hear something." He ducked back inside, and Taylor followed. He dragged the door closed and locked it with a ground bolt, then beckoned her towards a staircase that led to a lower floor. She thought it a bit odd that he walked on all fours but didn't linger on it.
"So, I'm Newter," he began as they walked, "You've met the boss and Gregor already. The crew's got another two members, though one of them couldn't make it today. Gregor's looking after her back at base."
Taylor nodded absently, moving down the stairs right behind Newter. They didn't have to go too far before they arrived at what looked like an underground garage of some sort. Faultline waited for them at the landing, standing next to an assortment of filled jars and jugs, alongside another person in a red and black suit with what looked like a WW2 gas mask.
"Finally made it I see," Faultline greeted her, "Let's get the introductions out of the way and then we can get down to business for today."
She motioned towards Taylor's guide, "The gentleman that escorted you is Newter-"
"Already introduced myself boss."
"- and this here is Spitfire." She didn't pay any mind to the interruption. Spitfire gave her a little wave.
"You two, this is our new teammate, Pyroclast." Taylor waved back.
Faultline turned back towards her, "Gregor and Labyrinth, our other member, couldn't be here today unfortunately. Still, we've got some samples from Gregor's power to test with. Figuring out any interactions between you and Labyrinth will have to wait for another time."
Taylor wasn't exactly sure what all that was about. The worry must have shown on her face because Spitfire decided to elaborate.
"Labyrinth's a strong Shaker and her power can be pretty intense for her sometimes. It's better if someone is there to help her through it. She'll be alright, don't worry. Gregor will keep her safe."
That sounded familiar with her own struggles. Even though it'd been days since Taylor last had a nightmare about fighting something for control, she remembered enough of it to sympathize.
"Let's get started, shall we?" Faultline cut in, getting them back on track, "Pyroclast, why don't you tell us what you've figured out on your own so far to begin with?"
"Right, uhm," Taylor cleared her throat, stalling for a bit as she got her thoughts in order, "I guess, the main thing is the changes to my body. It's made of this weird stuff I thought was sand at first, but now I can't help but think of it as ash, though it doesn't feel exactly like that still..."
She paused, taking an unnecessary breath.
"The doctors back at the hospital didn't see any internal organs on x-rays or anything, and they couldn't decide between calling it a Changer or a Breaker power. But either way, I haven't been able to turn back, so I'm stuck like this. Feeling texture is still somewhat there but not hot and cold. I haven't felt the need to eat or drink since I got out of the hospital, but it does make me feel like I have a bit more energy when I do. I don't think I need to sleep either."
It was more like adding a drop of water to an ocean, or at least that's the impression she got after every meal. Sleeping didn't seem to do anything at all, but it was still nice.
"It could be a mix between the two classes. Have you tried changing your body in ways other than turning back? Also, I can't help but notice that your skin still looks like normal skin." Faultline noted. Taylor hadn't considered that. Her ash's color was a dull grey normally, so how come her skin looked human?
"I don't know about that. But I think I did change my face when I went out one time, so people couldn't recognize me."
"A permanent Breaker to change your bits into ash, with a Changer to let you manipulate it? Is that how the bigwigs would classify it? Also, can I take a look at your hand real quick?" Taylor nodded, rolling up her sleeve and extending her arm towards Newter. Spitfire chimed in.
"It doesn't really matter, right? I mean, as long as we know how it works, we can call it whatever."
Newter leaned in close, rubbing her forearm with his thumb a couple times. He recoiled back when he pressed too hard. A small red mark was left on her skin.
"Ouch, now I see why you're not wearing shoes. This stuff feels rougher than the lowest-grit sandpaper. That's got to be a pain."
Taylor shook her head, "No, not really. I can tell it's rough when I rub the ash between my fingers, but it doesn't feel all that bad for me. Well, except for when it rubs off inside my socks. But that's just annoying, not painful at all."
Faultline nodded, her hand rubbing her chin behind the mask, "Perhaps a degree of Brute as well? More things to test."
"Probably," Newter agreed, "Say, could you do that thing you said, with your face? I wanna see something."
She thought back to that day, focusing on wanting her face to be hidden. She felt it slowly shifting for a couple seconds.
"Well, that does look a bit unnerving. Cool disguise though. Can you see and talk like that?" Taylor felt around where her face should have been, but nothing was there.
"Yeah, but I have no idea how," she answered Spitfire.
Newter hummed in thought, "I think it's refraction."
Three heads turned to look at him.
"Not the seeing and breathing part." He held up his hands for a moment, "I noticed what looked like small crystals all over your skin earlier. A bunch of them, almost too small to see. It was all grey close up too. I think those crystals refract light in such a way that, when you're far enough, your skin looks how it used to."
Taylor supposed it made sense. Faultline and Spitfire kept staring at him.
"Hey! Just because Gregor is the bookworm of the team, doesn't mean I don't dabble every now and then. Anyway, it looks like your power is handling all that automatically, making sure everything's aligned properly for the effect to work. But when you consciously take control of the stuff, the effect breaks down and the ash is the color you'd expect it to be."
That made her wonder if she could learn to do it herself. In that case, she might be able to make decoys of herself, or even her teammates. Camouflage was another thing that came to mind, though she had absolutely no idea how to make that work.
"Surprising insights aside, I'm also noticing that she's immune to your power." Faultline said, pointing to the smear of blood on Taylor's arm.
"It's not that surprising. That she's immune, I mean," Newter replied, "I wonder how the ash will hold up against Gregor's stuff or Spitfire's napalm. Is there a way to test that without throwing it on Pyroclast?"
Yeah, no. Taylor wasn't getting drenched in napalm today. She let the mask melt back into her face, revealing the unamused expression underneath.
"I can make a wall of it or something for that. That's the other part of what I do. I can make more of this and move it around," she said, letting a small trickle of ash flow from her fingertips.
"Breaker-Shaker then..." Newter muttered idly. Taylor made a note to look up the specifics later and continued.
"The flow starts slow like that, but it speeds up the longer I keep it going. I couldn't test the range very well back home and I couldn't find a limit on weight either before..."
The ash stopped flowing. She shuddered, feelings of back then bubbling up to the surface, "It felt like I had to stop, or something bad was going to happen."
"I see why you wanted help with your powers as one of your conditions to join." Faultline turned around, reaching for something among the assortment of containers. She grabbed an empty bucket, placing it down in front of Taylor.
"Whether that feeling you get is justified or not doesn't really matter. Getting to that point in a real fight is only going to distract you from staying alive. Labyrinth has a similar issue, where overusing her power can become dangerous for herself and us."
The woman stepped back.
"What we can do is find your limit and work within that. What happens if you stop the flow and restart it?"
Taylor hadn't really tested that, but she could make a guess, "I think the rate resets instantly, but I don't know for sure."
Faultline nodded, seeming to accept the answer for what it was.
"We can work with that. Depending on your upper limit and how fast the rate increases, this part of your power could be easier to work with than you expect. Now then, this is a five-gallon bucket," she said, pointing at it.
"I want you to keep this volume in mind. Push as far as you're comfortable with, but as you do, imagine that you're filling this bucket. When it's full, imagine a new one. This will be the benchmark for your upper limit that you can later use as a reference. The thought is that in the future you'll be able to know how much you've still got in you and when you need to reset, without reaching the point where using your power becomes uncomfortable. Got all that?"
She did, mostly. Since that late night walk and her call to Faultline, she had only been thinking about how to eliminate that limit she'd found completely, not once considering that she might be able to learn and adapt to live with it.
Taylor really understood now that it had been a good idea to ask for Faultline's help. Powers weren't all the same, each with their own limits and eccentricities, but some concepts were universal. When it came to the aspects and difficulties many powers shared, a newbie without any help would have to reinvent the wheel. But a veteran already knew how the wheel worked, what mistakes to avoid while using it and could teach those around them.
Perhaps she would have figured it out herself eventually, after months of trial and error, but she didn't think the city would give her that kind of time.
"Ok, I'm starting now. Can you keep track of the time for me?"
"Good idea. Spitfire?"
"On it, boss. Ready when you are," the girl in the suit said, pulling out her phone.
Taylor took a deep breath, keeping the image of the bucket and its volume firmly in her mind. As ash started to flow, she imagined it filling up. Slowly at first but the rate kept increasing. Out in the real world, she compacted the ash into a dense ball but didn't pay any attention to keeping a constant size.
Seconds became minutes. Ash poured freely from her sleeves and the top of her hoodie in a torrent. A small tingle in her chest bloomed into a soothing warmth. Maybe half a minute later, that warmth became a suffocating heat. She almost lost the mental image she had painstakingly maintained through the whole thing, as her mind screamed at her to stop. Remembering Faultline's instructions, she did right then and there, though she felt she could have kept going for a couple more seconds.
The flow stopped pretty much instantly, a door in the back of her mind that controlled it being firmly shut. Reopening it meant starting the process all over again. She did so for a couple seconds, then stopped. Everything felt normal; the flow had reset as they thought it would. Left behind was a small ball of ash held under her control. She could dismiss all the material if she wanted, but it didn't seem like keeping it there took anything out of her.
"Well, that looked like it worked," Faultline's words snapped Taylor out of her thoughts, "Spitfire, what was the time?"
"Two minutes and thirty seconds, boss. Almost on the dot."
The mercenary went to poke the small ball hanging in mid-air. Taylor felt the force trying to push against it. Keeping the ball still barely took any effort.
"So, did you keep track of how much stuff there's in there?"
Taylor took note of her mental count again.
"I think, somewhere around 500 gallons. It got a little hard to stay focused near the end."
Newter whistled, "That's, what, three and a half gallons per second on average?"
"Can't make any assumptions further than that, unless we know if the rate scales linearly or exponentially." Faultline shook her head.
"It doesn't really matter anyway. Pyroclast, set aside some material to drop into these", she said, motioning to the containers next to the stairway, "And, to test your range and how well you can multitask, why don't you send some upstairs. Spitfire can guide you out back where we can see how fire-resistant your stuff is."
They got to work. Taylor started out guiding just one thin tendril of ash, then two and eventually four. Trying to handle eight individual streams going in different directions ended up with her losing her grip on them eventually. Scaling back to six proved to be easier, but the moment she tried to move herself, it became impossible. It seemed she could manage five while keeping her own mobility. She'd stick with four just to be sure, at least for now.
The amount of material in each stream apparently didn't matter. It was the number of directions that limited her. It didn't bode well for her idea of using decoys. Convincing ones at least.
She let one stream follow Spitfire upstairs and outside, using a small pile in the girl's pockets as a guide. The rest spread out, splitting the ball into many smaller portions.
The tests that followed were mainly just mixing her ash with the different liquids, and seeing if something happened.
As it turned out, the stuff she was made of was almost completely inert. Some of the stronger bases and acids bubbled a bit but there wasn't much of an immediate reaction. The adhesives and thicker liquids were more of a problem, messing with her control to the point where she could barely move the ash inside or get it out of the containers. Plain water absorbed well into it and made it a pain to control as well. Not as much as the adhesives, but still a pain.
It almost felt as if each individual grain could carry itself along with a bit of extra weight. Taylor supposed it made sense. After all, her power wasn't general telekinesis; it only let her control what she made. Maybe she could carry a person if she used enough of it; the compact ball had resisted Faultline's attempts to move it pretty well after all.
At the half hour mark, Spitfire joined them downstairs again. She'd tried to set fire to the stuff she'd taken with her, but all that had done was make it very hot. Taylor could still feel it somewhere above, maybe a block away, though she couldn't be exactly sure. She kept part of her focus on letting it slowly float further away.
Around twenty minutes later, part of it disappeared from her senses, maybe a bit under five blocks away. What was still under her control there felt sluggish and slow. She let it fade away, not bothering with bringing it back.
By the time an hour had passed, they were about done. She, Newter and Spitfire had gotten comfortable on the ground, leaning against a wide pillar. Faultline was sorting through the containers they hadn't used yet. She picked one up, reading the label.
"Nope, that's just another adhesive. I think that's everything we brought with us. How are the acids doing?"
Newter looked to the jars on his right, "The stronger ones have dissolved some of it, but those crystals I saw earlier are still pretty much intact."
"And I can still move it around," Taylor added, the solution going cloudy as she stirred up everything that had settled on the bottom.
"Spitfire, how's chipping away at it going?"
"The knife's dull," answered the teen, throwing the ruined blade to the side. It was as good a way as they currently had to test how tough Taylor's body should be. Maybe they could try a gun next?
"Right, I think that does it for this little experiment of ours." Faultline set the jar back down, letting out a sigh of relief as she stretched, "Damn, that feels good. Now then, before I dismiss the class, there's some homework to give out to our new student."
She held up a finger, "First, remember the exercise we did earlier to measure your limit? I want you to spend an hour every day doing that, until knowing how much ash you've made becomes second nature. Make sure to stop at random increments as well, not always your maximum. It's important that you don't have to actively focus on keeping track. Power-related distractions are exactly what we're trying to avoid with this whole thing."
Taylor acknowledged that with a nod. It was something she could do at home, or out in the yard next door. Another finger went up.
"And second, you'll need to think about what you want to wear on the job. Heroes have their flashy costumes. Villains like to dress up a bit more menacingly. As for us, we're mercenaries. The only dress code we have is practicality and cost. I'm squishy, hence all the riot gear. Spitfire there isn't immune to her powers, so she gets a fireproof suit."
She gestured towards Taylor, "As for you, it looks like you're sturdy enough to go light and cheap. It's basically a guarantee that if we face something big, your clothes will take more damage than you will, so make sure you'll be able to replace them easily. The ash was coming mainly out of your arms, so I'd leave some access to them. Hell, even a sturdy T-shirt in your favorite color will do. As for pants? Pockets are good. Just don't go overboard with them. You'll still have to remember where you've put what. That thing you can do with your face is pretty good for a mask. It's fairly distinct and as a bonus it'll unnerve anyone you end up facing. Those are my recommendations, use them as you will."
Taylor considered that. She wasn't sure about going out in anything short-sleeved. For better or worse, the mess at school had made her preference for hoodies and sweatshirts – or anything that didn't show off any skin – grow. Maybe she could pull it off with something loose enough? Then again, if she was trying to at least somewhat separate the two identities, dressing unlike herself could be ideal. If she were honest, it'd probably come down to cost.
A phone buzzed. Faultline pulled hers out from a hidden pocket somewhere beneath the armor, tapping away at the screen.
"Gregor's asking if we're done yet. Labyrinth is doing better, and it looks like she's in the mood to go out. You two up for it? Pyroclast, you're invited as well, of course. You're one of us now, after all."
Spitfire dragged herself up, shoulders giving out a what sounded like a satisfying pop.
"Sure, why not. I could grab a bite. Newter?"
Hearing his name being called, the teen turned away from the still swirling jar, "Oh, sorry. Yeah, I'd be down for that. Come on, Pyro. It'll be fun."
Was this what peer pressure felt like? Taylor sighed.
"Ok, but I need to swing by home first."
"Fair enough. We need to change out of our work clothes anyway. Spitfire and I at least. It's a no mask outing; you alright with that?"
Was she? She'd be going out with a group of parahuman mercenaries and unmasking completely to them. Faultline already knew her full identity, but it seemed she hadn't told the others. They'd seen her face today, but they wouldn't be able to keep calling her Pyroclast in public if she had no mask.
She could give a fake name, but Faultline would know. Besides, it didn't feel right. They seemed like good people. She didn't want to start this relationship by lying to them. Maybe it was her being naïve. Maybe it was a lack of meaningful interactions beyond Kurt and Lacey. Maybe it was the still tense atmosphere back home after the talk yesterday.
Whatever it was, it pushed her to reach out. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn't end in disaster.
"Yeah, that's fine with me."
Smith wiped down the countertop, as another customer grabbed their drink and walked off to one of the booths. It was a slow evening, being too early for the proper night crowd and too late for those coming home from work. A lull to be cherished.
The bell atop the door rang out and he turned to look at the newcomers. A group of regulars dressed casual, and a plus one he hadn't met before.
A very curious plus one.
To the sixth sense granted by his power, it felt like no one was there, despite his eyes saying otherwise. Blind spots were nothing new to him. He'd met a handful of Brutes and Strangers in his years that could work around his power. This was something else, because it really felt like no one was there.
He frowned. This was going to bother him the entire night, but he'd just have to deal with it. The customer was sovereign, at least until they proved to be an absolute idiot. Besides, the company she kept was always good for business. Another reason to keep his mouth shut.
Maybe if she came up to the bar alone, then he'd get to satisfy his curiosity.
"Melanie," he called out, "Same as usual?"
"Heya, Smith," she waved back, "Same as usual and something dry for the kid. She doesn't do drinks." Melanie added, head motioning to the oddity that had walked into his bar. Smith was starting to suspect that she was another stray the woman had picked up.
"Sure thing. I've kept your favorite spot free."
He hadn't. It simply happened that no one was using that booth right now. Saying otherwise was just good business. Melanie gave him a knowing grin.
"Aw, you shouldn't have. I'm buying extra tonight, just for that." She moved away towards the back, the rest following behind her.
Smith huffed. She would have done that anyway. This lady could even drink him under the table, and there wasn't a single time that she'd come to his bar and hadn't left absolutely shitfaced. He'd been worried at first about enabling an alcoholic, but her mates had reassured him that she only really drank here. Something about a busy work life. Smith didn't really care, so long as he wasn't helping put her into an early grave.
Time passed as he prepared the group's drinks – and some salted nuts for the kid – and took the order to their booth. Soon after, came time for the refills. More guests walked in, others paid and left. The TV played on near silent. Work as usual.
That is, until the kid decided to come up to the counter, holding an empty plate.
"Uhm, thought I'd bring this back."
"Thanks, kid."
She turned to walk back to her friends, but he spoke out before she left talking distance.
"Actually, could you stick around for a second? Just got a couple of questions, if you don't mind."
She frowned, but stayed regardless, taking a seat in front of the counter. Smith turned up the TV a bit and kept an eye out for eavesdroppers.
"No offense meant to the unwritten rules or anything but humor an old man and his curiosity. Why does it feel like you're not really here?"
Instead of a guarded expression and the denials he had been expecting, the girl instead looked confused.
"Are you...asking about you know what? Wait, are you-"
He shushed her. At least try to be inconspicuous, girl. Just enough to keep that thin veneer of plausible deniability intact was all it took.
"Don't go saying such crazy things in public, kid. I can just tell when people are around. Nothing more." He fixed her with a stare. She seemed to get the message, exclaiming a silent 'oh'.
"I don't know what you mean. I'm here talking to you."
Well, that was better. He leaned back, grabbing a rag and getting started on drying the freshly washed glasses.
"I can see you just fine with my eyes. Something else is telling me that my eyes are wrong. That you're no different from the building we're in."
She frowned again. This seemed like new information to her, so she probably didn't know what was up either. Her answer only confirmed it.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I can help you with that."
He sighed. It wasn't a big deal, though the curiosity would bug him for the rest of the night. Whatever, he could deal. Smith wiped down the plate she'd handed to him, then refilled it and handed it back.
"Here, it's on the house. Sorry for the bother."
She smiled and nodded, taking the plate and going back to her friends. He watched her move, talk, breathe, laugh.
But still no one was there.
He shook his head, trying to put it out of his mind. The TV drew his focus, as the tune for an emergency broadcast played out.
"Good evening, Brockton Bay. We are coming in live from outside the PRT Headquarters, where many members of what is known as the 'Azn Bad Boys' gang appear to be gathering."
She spotted the reporter at the edge of one of the side streets. It was just the one, but that suited her needs just fine. A feral grin spread across her face as she approached with two henchmen in tow.
"-currently unclear if this is an attempt to assault the PRT building or-" The reporter yelped as the microphone was grabbed out of her hands. The boys subdued her, as the masked woman stepped fully into the shot.
"We're journalists. Just journalists!"
"You two, shut her up. And you," she pointed at the practically shaking cameraman, "Keep rolling. Let me talk and no one gets hurt." He nodded, fear rolling off him in waves.
It felt great.
The rest of the members she'd brought hauled her precious cargo – still concealed under a tarp – closer, so that it would be clearly visible when the right time came. She cleared her throat.
"Citizens of Brockton Bay. You may not know me, but I am Bakuda. I come here today to talk. To the heroes that would try to silence me, I ask that you stay your hand for just a moment. Simply let me speak and no one will be harmed. However, if you need an incentive to allow me such, you should know that every person present here today has in their possession a tinkertech bomb device created by me. Should you wish to interfere, the blood of innocents will be in your hands, not mine."
Oh, how she had been waiting for this day. Sure, it had barely been a week since her plan was set in motion, but just that week of eager anticipation proved to be almost unbearable.
She continued, "Not one month ago, I was recruited into the ABB by the great Lung," her voice practically dripped with sarcasm at those words, "For he desired a Tinker in his hoard, and what the dragon wants, he gets. That is how Lung has ruled this gang – this city – for the last three years. His reign inspired fear and respect. Where he went, the ants cowered and fled before him."
She had to fight to keep from fidgeting in place out of excitement. She settled for widening her grin instead. None could see it through her mask, but they could hear it as she spoke.
"Lung became complacent, a dragon growing fat and lazy. He lived his best life in stolen luxury, while nazis and druggies assaulted his people in the streets. While his subjects were starving, struggling to make ends meet, he dined and feasted in the city's finest restaurants. Lung was an arrogant fool. An uncaring and unworthy ruler. He held the city in the palm of his hand yet refused to remove the filth that infest it. Now..."
She turned, sweeping her arm to point at what she'd brough with her. The tarp was pulled free, revealing a pale Lung atop his favorite throne. Dried blood stained his face, having leaked from his eyes, nose and even ears.
Her voice rose, "Lung is dead! I watched as this tyrant cared nothing for his people. I watched, as he burned them alive, setting the city ablaze. And I said, no more! I, Bakuda, have slain the dragon, the bane of Brockton Bay."
And she hadn't even needed to fight for it. She'd certainly expected to, but by the time everything was in place, Lung was already gone. Whatever that bomb had done, it had slowly cooked his brain while he was still alive, using his own power to do it. And to think, the effect had seemed weak to her at the time. Perhaps it was some kind of power interaction specific to Lung, or maybe not, but either way the long-term effects of her baby were delightful to witness.
She wanted it. She needed to build it again. But every time she reached for the schematics, her power refused to give it to her.
It was frustrating, just thinking about it, but she wouldn't let that ruin this glorious moment. She probably had the whole city watching by now, glued to their screens, seeing every frame, and listening to her every word. The peasants were watching the play she had masterfully crafted.
This was everything she'd imagined it would be.
"And I am here, not to take his place. I won't let my people suffer, like he did. This is the dawn of a new age for the ABB, and for Brockton Bay as a whole! To the esteemed heroes, I have only this to say. You have failed this city and its citizens. Step aside and let me restore the balance you have been unable to. And to Kaiser, that filthy rat scurrying in the shadows. Your brutality will not go unanswered. It won't go unpunished. Lung tolerated your presence like the fool he was. I am no fool, false king, and I am not afraid of your Empire. Soon, my people will not have to be either."
Bakuda discarded the microphone, walking off. The camera showed only Lung's corpse. Her boys left it there, as they began dispersing back into the streets.
There was one grain of truth in what she'd said. Kaiser and his Empire would go. Maybe not soon, but she'd see those ingrates pushed out of the Bay eventually, either dead in the streets or fleeing with their tails between their legs. Not for any of the noble crap she'd spouted, but simply for the fact that no one else could be allowed to rule her city.
Hm~, her city. Damn, that sent goosebumps racing down her spine. After she was done with Brockton Bay? Boston was only a hop away. And why stop there? Someone like her could carve a proper empire out of this lawless land.
Though there was one part of the plan that had not gone as expected. Instead of flocking to her side, Lee had vanished. Her enforcers had seen neither hide nor hair of him since the day after Lung's rampage. No matter, she'd find him soon, gaining another pawn to use in this exhilarating game. After all, greatness awaited her.
She just couldn't wait to see how her legend would unfold.
