Cans of Worms

by Louis IX

You end up in an endless corridor with numbered doors. Most of them lead to another version of Earth Bet, where the nexus that is Taylor Hebert experiences life differently - sometimes very badly. Others reflect upon other characters.

73. Unpowered Stalker

CANS OF WORMS
by Louis IX

Check first chapter for disclaimer and global warnings. Additional warning for more violence, gore, and death, than what I usually provide.

Unpowered Stalker

I realized, quite early, that Emma and Sophia would be the death of me. I just didn't think it would be literal. Here I am, a mental and physical wreck, after having been pushed inside a locker filled with biological hazard and left to rot.

And for all the pain it brought me, I didn't even trigger.

I'm held in a mental hospital, now, after a stint in a regular one to get rid of my infection. They say it's for my own good. My room is on the floor with the various war veterans and other persons suffering, like me, from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You can say I'm still in shock, as I seldom react to stimuli around me, and rarely talk.

On top of that, I learned that the doctors, to heal me, got rid of the necrotic tissue. And besides muscle and skin on half of my body, it included womanly parts I thought very important to build a family. I'm now officially a genetic dead-end. My life as I imagined it is over, and my body only goes through the motions. Weakly, at that.

An asylum isn't the best place to live, when you're a young woman, as those other inmates can be quite rough. And since I'm quite apathetic, some think they can take some liberties, even though nothing can come from their humping at me. Only pain.

It doesn't help that my physical prowess is even lower than a newly-born kitten. Remember I said that the mess is physical as well as mental? The only benefit is that whenever aggressors discover the state I'm in, under my loose clothing, they generally lose the will to do anything with me. And, sometimes, their lunch too.

When I have been shoved into the locker, it was through brute force, and a couple of undernourished bones broke. As a result, my posture inside the cramped place was quite uncomfortable, and skewed. The various insects inside proceeded to feast on the proffered offering, without needing to explore much.

All this to say that the right half of my body, at least the visible part, is a darkened mess of half-healed gangrenous tissue… and only that. All that I have left, in relatively healthy condition, is the left half. Thankfully, I still have my long hair (even though the insects ate quite a bit of it): it helps hide the damage on my face from onlookers.

And I won't be visited by Panacea anytime soon, because she doesn't do brains, and as such never visits mental hospitals.

Thankfully, I got other friends able to help me.

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Awaken, Sleeper

Marcus is one of those military veterans living on my floor, and one of those who helped me after a couple of "old friends" tried to take liberties with me. Needless to say, they aren't his friends anymore.

Contrarily to the numerous depressed ones, he's very active, and even thinks (and professes) that mental healing can only come by exerting his body continuously. Already addict to gyms before, he spends most of his time there. And with his veteran's income, not spent anywhere else, he buys protein supplements to his diet, online, in order to become even more muscle-bound.

I wonder (without expressing myself, because I'm still inexpressive and mostly unresponsive) why he's still there, because it looks like he's in perfect control of himself. "It's the nights." he tells me, one day at lunch. I haven't asked, but he can be quite perceptive. "I can't return to normal life until I get rid of those nightmares."

I don't make any motion or mention but he nods as if I just nodded along. I know about those nightmares, because I have others. Similar, even though different. He wakes up and tries to kill everything around him – and since he can't sleep without a weapon nearby, he often knifes through his mattress (thankfully, he doesn't have a gun, here). Me? I wake up and shiver impotently on my bed. With the light on.

Being an old soldier, Marcus has some training, which he continues to apply by running around the compound and doing gymnastics and athletics. Sometimes, he finds other soldiers on his runs and pushes them to follow him. Some do. Most refuse in anger. And once Marcus takes me under his wing, so to speak, he pulls me along.

It's difficult, of course. I was ready to spend the rest of my life in an armchair (one with wheels, even), defeated, not doing anything. He convinces me that I can still walk. And run. However lamely I do it, the possibility is there. And despite my frail appearance and gauche demeanour, I soon learn that I can actually do it.

He also shares with me some of his protein supplements. With the proper use, I can feel my lost muscles coming back, slowly.

After that, he teaches me boxing, too. It's even harder than running.

In the evenings, he reads me books. It's as if he found a goal in his life, and it's helping me. Like a surrogate father. To be honest, the place was free already, my real dad having long since forgotten about me. I know he still reels from mom's death, but that's no reason to practically ignore me for years. Not that I said anything, mind. And, of course, I say even less now.

Marcus' books are anything he can lay his hands on. Some are pure fiction, like Harry Potter, Artemis Fowl, or the various mythologies of the world. Others are pure instruction manuals for things like Martial Arts, Household Economy, or Cooking. Others are philosophy treaties… from the likes of Sun Tzu, Machiavelli, and Clausewitz.

And while my body is slowly awakened and pulled towards its peak, my mind is reforged too. I start reading by myself again, and even imagine stories where the hero would rise despite the difficulties… which I model after mine. I start writing them, too, except that I obviously can't name my hero after myself. So I call her Themis, like the mythological deity of justice. And I start enjoying my stay, too… even if I still can't talk correctly.

And much too soon, but still after several months, it's time to leave. I arrived in winter, after the Trio's "prank", and I'm let off in summer.

Marcus left a few weeks before me, and in an unexpected manner. I don't know where he went, and the doctor is evasive. I hope he hasn't been sent back to infiltration missions, because he certainly won't heal that way. Still, it's the most reasonable place to send him to, if the people in charge don't want him to start slaughtering his neighbours every morning.

I don't like the doctor, mostly because he always tries to downplay what happened to us. After having successfully gotten out of my shell to explain what happened, I was faced by the figure of authority telling me "there, there, that wasn't too bad, now was it?" I shut up even tighter after that.

And if they can't see that forging links of friendships between us "inmates" is the most useful way to get better… then they don't deserve their cushy jobs and titles.

Anyways, I'm soon liberated in the care of my father. He's his usual self, unsure and hesitant. I understand that he's sorry not to have visited more, but that his work is still taking most of his time. He's still not paid enough, and the only reason I was able to even stay in an hospital is because the school offered to pay… in exchange of us not suing them. Life as usual, then.

Thanks to the various lessons from Marcus, I have already decided to take care of my own life. Seeing dad like this reinforces that decision.

"What are you doing?" dad asks as I head outside, the morning after he brought me home.

"Morning run." I reply tonelessly.

He's doubtful, of course. Due to my injuries, my body is still misshapen and asymmetric, and I often use a cane when walking outside. But he hasn't seen me running yet. In addition, we live in Brockton Bay, a city known for its crime rates as much as its parahuman presence, and a lame duck like me, alone in the street, would be an easy target for muggers. Or worse.

As such, he wants to humour me (and then disabuse me of ever trying again) and asks to join. I shrug and start doing warm-ups while he searches and put on his old sport shoes. And then we go. He's soon convinced that I can run, in fact, when he notices that my uneven gait while walking has nothing to do with how I run: smoothly… and fast.

"I'll wait for you at home!" he gasps as I outpace him. I merely nod.

He doesn't ask to join on my following runs, even when I start doing them in the evenings too. He still does try to care, in his awkward way, by providing pepper spray and a collapsing baton, both items courtesy of Lacey and Kurt, respectively. The baton is truly a godsend since I can actually have it out early: with my disability, it can be thought of as a walking cane.

There's one mission I give dad while I run, though, and he's happy enough to comply – perhaps because it gives him something else to think while I'm not at home. And that is… cooking.

See, with Marcus instructing me on various subjects, I learnt that our habit of taking takeout dinners is not only unhealthy on the long term, it's also more expensive than buying the products and cooking them ourselves. And tasting like cardboard. Unhygienic and overpriced cardboard, at that. And which tasted even worse the next day.

With freshly-done food, we can make twice the needed quantity in the evening, which leaves enough for our next day's lunch.

And we work out, with dad, the fact that I buy the ingredients on my return trips. It has several advantages, the least of which being that I control the expenses. I can tell him there was a sale and bring back more stuff… and more money. Not that I show him everything I get.

You see, with the training I got still fresh in my mind, I reacted a bit too quickly when someone ambushed me in an alleyway's mouth, some random day on my first week back. I extended the baton on a down swing to his head, knocking him prone instantly.

Seeing the unconscious mugger, I panicked for a few seconds, before noticing that his knife was out. Remembering that he had grabbed me and would have probably threatened me with it (and potentially harmed me, too), I immediately thought to remove the weapon. And then I noticed a roll of bills in his pocket and took it out as well. And so on.

From some trawling of PHO and assorted sites (on which I never write anything, not wanting to leave traces leading back to me), I knew that, as the victim party or even as the one who downed a criminal, I could loot the man without repercussion from the law. So I removed everything, including the drugs. But the only thing I brought back, though, was the money: everything else was thrown in the nearest sewer. I was a bit anxious at leaving the man unconscious and alone, but if it was him or me, I knew who I'd choose to live.

That was the start of a period during which I would refine my health, my body, and my combat prowess, by finding muggers and mugging them right back. That had several advantages, such as allowing me to buy more food. In addition, these runs allow me to explore the whole neighbourhood, using a different street each time.

Strangely enough, and despite my person appearing as a second-rate baseline human, I seen more and more my activity as that of a cape: like them, I run towards screams, on my patrols, jump on the thugs (often from the back, I'm not stupid), and proceed to bash their head until they're unconscious – an action that takes less and less blows as I progress in my fighting skill. I'm not covered in sparkly spandex, though, so the victims often flee, leaving me free to ransack the thug's pockets.

Sometimes, I'm less lucky, or there is a second mugger there as well. I still beat them, but I take a couple hits too. Nothing that shows, thankfully, even if some try to get at me with knives or batons. As a result, I'm less and less reluctant to leave the unconscious men there. Or pull my punches.

Sometimes, I'm in a hurry to leave, or there is no sewer available. In these cases, I bring home a bit more, while still leaving the drugs onsite… emptied on the bad guy's clothes. Or face. At one point, afterwards, I learn that several died of overdose. However, given how they were ready to kill me, these deaths don't disturb me much.

Besides, given that some of these lowlifes come at me several times, I'm also less and less inclined to show mercy. I start by breaking legs, only to find them on their feet some days later, ready to mug again (some, apparently, complained and got healed by Panacea, of all things). In fact, I almost die in an ambush from several of my earlier "victims".

Thankfully, I'm also more proficient in combat, and able to deal with several opponents at the same time. Even when they hold weapons. But it also means that, when defending myself from now on, I don't limit myself to nonlethal means.

Given what the consequences are for murdering vigilantes, I ensure my future well-being by ensuring my adversaries are well and truly dead… and that nobody filmed the altercation – I look before, of course, and try to flee if I know people with phones are nearby. Or, at least, pull the fight into an alleyway where, to see anything, the person with the phone will have to enter. My intent isn't to harm those tactless onlookers, but to ensure that nothing is seen from what I do. If I have to bash one more head and steal one more phone in order to get that, it's practically priceless.

Given that I'm starting to get involved more heavily, I also start looting them more seriously. And when I bag wallets and keys, I get myself with a few addresses nearby (or, in some cases, further away). Exploring the places, I find more loot… and more information. For instance, some of those places are lived in by more than one dead thug – so to speak.

I leave alone the mostly innocents, except that I take advantage of a moment of absence to enter (with the keys) and explore the place, remove hidden drugs and weapons, and leave.

Those places with people less innocent, I scour for everything that I find valuable, destroying the rest.

Those places with nobody, I keep for myself. They become my hideouts, lairs, and caches. I spread my physical loot between several addresses. Especially the weapons I can't really bring home.

You see, from the downed thugs, I already got baseballs, knives, and even a few guns. In some of their tenements, I find more weapons, but also heavier ones. Using a computer in one of the unoccupied and uninteresting places, I download and print instruction manuals for their handling – Marcus hasn't taught me anything about guns, thinking that I wasn't ready, but he has told me that using one without knowing how was a recipe for a catastrophe.

In one truly scary basement, I even get explosives. Thankfully, the documents explaining how to handle them were already there. And I'm not speaking about already-made explosives like grenades, either. Semtex or C4, I have to learn how to make them, safely enough, in order to be sure of myself enough to actually touch anything. Apparently, the thug I killed for this place has left everything "as is" and I didn't want to lift any of the spread vests.

In another place, I find the holy grail of any would-be hunter: a sniper rifle. It has so many optional attachments (and related documents) that I can't carry everything in a meaningful way – by now, I often climb roofs and jump over alleyways, allowing me to move around like a cape, and jump down on miscreants, using them to soften my landing. Like a cape too. So, in order to continue to do so, and bring the beauty with me, I have to be carefully select what I take with it. And I can't carry a full case of ammunition, either.

I'm also thankful to the fact that the most interesting locations (including the ones with explosives and sniper stuff) aren't leased – in order to use them indefinitely, I just need the keys. That's not to say that I have to pay for those with a lease: some places have seen their owner dying, at varying points in the past, and nobody taking care of the estate. It left the people living there quite free from paying their monthly fee… even though they have to take care of the building, which is another problem altogether.

Whatever the case, I take care of changing the locks, each time. And, to go with my on-going self-instruction in weapon handling, I start playing a few war-related MMO games advertised for their realism.

I also start creating various scenarios to deal with the various threats I would encounter in the near future. Because, to be honest, street-level thugs are starting to become less and less visible, in my neighbourhood, and that attracts all kinds of unwanted attention: while regular people (except dad, still oblivious to the world around him) enjoyed a drop in criminal activity in our neighbourhood, others thought it was a new parahuman. A new Villain, more specifically.

And Heroes are undeniably attracted by rumours of Villainous presence.

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A New Face In Town

While I'm waiting on the roof of one of my lairs, my ears peeled to cries in the night (with the adjunction of special materials to detect sound from further away), my eyes also wide open (and behind infrared goggles), I notice someone running over the rooftops, scanning the streets. Apparently, Shadow Stalker has chosen to visit the Docks for the night, and prowl on my hunting grounds.

Yes, it's Shadow Stalker, as I recognize her costume but also her gait and her intermittent use of parahuman power. I do keep myself informed on people I might cross in the night, you know. For instance, I know that she's not only a Ward, but also an ex-Vigilante. As such, she normally patrols with another Ward, and only in "safe" areas.

And the proof that she plays the predator in my backyard is that, as soon as I hear a shrill cry in the night, I see her turn that way too. I notice her stopping on the roof atop the "action", seeming to wait for something to happen and wonder what it is: what hero wouldn't come to the rescue of someone assaulted in the night?

Anyways, she decides herself and jumps. Immediately afterwards, a male voice joins the female in the disturbing symphony of pained cries. I stop just shy of witnessing the action and notice that Shadow Stalker has broken thug's leg… and is still kicking at it, the sadist.

It's a good thing that I stopped, too, because Shadow Stalker is soon facing another violence-prone individual, in the form of Glory Girl – who conforms to what I think of ditzy blondes everywhere: she's blonde, and she's ditzy. But she's also a flying brick, so I won't say it to her face.

The two of them almost fight it out, given that Glory Girl thought Stalker was the murder-prone cape hunting there in the night. The appearance of a black cloud at the end of the street makes them stop, though, and realize that they are in the same camp. In name, at least. Besides, Shadow Stalker leaps away from the flying damsel and towards the cloud, yelling in anger after someone named Grue. And, of course, she doesn't hesitate to launch bolt after bolt in the darkness, some of them exiting the cloud's other side, thankfully empty. The opaque obstruction moves away, then, and she pursues, leaving Glory Girl with the downed thug.

Not that the bimbo has any intention of waiting for the cops, since she can (and does) lift the thug and bring him to the station herself, broken legs or not – although with how the fracture is compounded by the subsequent kicks, she prefers to visit her sister for a quick healing before dropping him off. But the interactions in New Wave don't spark my interest, tonight.

I am not the Taylor from before the Locker, unsure of everything and wary of everyone. And I'm quite sure that I have heard Shadow Stalker's voice before tonight. And quite often, too. Seeing her in action, too, brings up memories. Not when she uses her power, but when she runs, and when she fights – because, yes, I see bits of a fight between her and several others, including big dogs.

Grue, darkness, dogs? I remember bits of cape lore (needed, once again, when you enjoy running around like me, especially at night and on rooftops) and identify the Undersiders. I don't stay long, though. Cape fights aren't my forte, and I have other things to do with my time. Like picking the money bag left on the ground from when Shadow Stalker has started peppering the villainous group with bolts – such a bolt, with a pointy and still-bloody head, was speared through the bag.

Money is money, even slightly damaged, and what's in the bag tops whatever I made before, combined.

The bolt is something else, too: I remember, quite distinctly, that Shadow Stalker, upon becoming a Ward, has had her ammunition changed to tranquilizer bolts. Holding onto the bolt means that I have something on her, something that would perhaps grant me the upper hand, should she seek me out.

Why would she? Because, like Emma, she has that unhealthy (for me) fixation upon my person, and will never let me live peacefully if I don't force her to.

I'm not stupid, and I have realized that it's Sophia, under that mask. As one of her long-time victims, I would recognize her voice anywhere.

Besides, I have to return to school, soon. Summer is coming to a close, and, as the saying goes, winter is coming.

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A Learning Moment

Yes, I return to school. But given the months I spent in the mental hospital, and the summer holidays themselves, I'm held back a year, while Emma and her clique go on to junior grade. It's another reason for them to mock me, in addition to the stay itself as well as my diminished physique.

At least, they can't interfere with me in class, now. Not directly, that is. And to ensure that even indirect action will be difficult for them to organize, I arrange for a few mishaps when they try their usual bullying ways. Such as falling when they push me, but in a way that pulls at the person, while I hold my cane so that it hits their falling body painfully – such as holding the tip in the way of their trachea.

Emma gets that treatment once, and Madison twice. Sophia doesn't stop, though. Getting stabbed in the throat with a blunt instrument is quite painful, and it can also damage the recipient's voice. But that enrages her, and she persists, trying to kick my cane to the side so that she wouldn't be hurt upon falling.

In her fourth attempt, she finds that I can also make her fall so that her head strikes the back of a nearby chair, crushing her windpipe. She still doesn't stop.

In her fifth attempt, I carefully arrange for a special cane to break cleanly, its insides removed in order to hold her pilfered crossbow bolt. When she slams into me, knocking me down, I arrange for her to fall along, straight on her lost ammunition, which goes through her heart. The two half-canes I still have, both of them quite pointy, aim for the jugular.

When facing a deadly and imminent threat, her trained reflex is to become a shadow. "Deadly and imminent" not being something she often sees in school, she doesn't take the half-second of thought to try doing something else, outing herself to me in the process – even if I already knew. However, because I still hold the cane pieces, they don't become shadow as well, and I can see twin fountains of shadow erupt from the shadowy figure's neck, even as she flies away through the wall and roof. And the shadow of the bolt I released, still preventing her shadow heart from beating.

Over the next few days, there's a frenzy around the school. Police comes, sniffing around and making arrests for various crimes (the most common being drug possession). More telling is the presence of troopers from the Parahuman Response Team. Both law-enforcement agencies can ferret lies better than overworked school faculty, and it is soon revealed that Sophia wasn't the "good guy" everybody thought a Ward should be. And that she had accomplices.

When Emma tries to reverse the pressure by telling them lies about me, I'm under investigation for a short time, just enough for them to decide that my disability makes me unable to strike back at Shadow Stalker, a trained parahuman. Besides, I'm not the sole victim from Sophia's shenanigans, so I'm left in peace.

In fact, they are mostly searching for a villainous parahuman able to counter the ex-Vigilante's powers. And they do find a few capes, too, some even registered already and belonging to gangs. Such as Rune and Othala. Thankfully for the PRT and the city, some people still follow the Unwritten Rules (yes, I studied parahuman bylaws) and they aren't arrested on the spot, once they are cleared from any wrongdoing in Shadow Stalker's demise.

The death of a Protectorate Ward makes it into the news. Because the police was at Winslow, dad is already in the know. But seeing things on the telly gets him to ask questions. I evade as I can, but there's something he says that stays with me.

"I don't know why such a violent vigilante was recruited in the Wards, at all. It looks like the PRT wants all the meat shields and cannon fodder they can put their hands on. At the Union, we have people who have been stabbed by her, in her vigilante days, and they can't complain about her, now. Even when she was alive, it was their word against a governmental agency. Those overpowered capes are either villains or can do their "heroic" collateral damage with impunity. All this parahuman infestation is going to sour the world for everybody."

It isn't the first time that he'd say something like that, after a couple beers. Often, I ignore it because it's old news – apparently, with the various gangs prowling on the poorer sections of the town, the Union was regularly targeted for recruitment… and those attempts always failed, dad would say. But I fear that, one day, they will be successful and I will find myself an orphan.

It also brings to mind something I read, in one of those philosophical books, in the hospital: people in positions of power have to show the rest of the world that they are worthy of those positions, otherwise they are often dethroned with violence. Ask the French about their Revolution, for instance: they beheaded their own king! And many such movements include violence, even to this day.

Given how Shadow Stalker was integrated into the Wards, the blot of her bad manners extends to the whole Protectorate, in my mind. As for villains, they are villains, enough said.

Given my own activities, though, I realize that I'm not lily-white either. But if I can both make ends meet and better the city by removing criminals in a definitive way… so be it – of course, I don't kill indiscriminately, and those whom I see for the first time, doing minor crimes, I let live and leave. Otherwise, the punishment I deliver is definitive

But dad's reflection adds some more depth into that vigilante mindset, and I'm starting to wonder how I, a non-powered person, could take out villain capes.

As a point of fact, given how the rules work, I can even don a mask myself, with a costume and pseudonym, and I will be thought of as a cape – given the rumour of a new parahuman vigilante in the neighbourhood, it would be quite an easy sell. I even have a name in mind for this: Themis. The one I used to write fantasies about revenge (or justice, really) upon the Trio. Hey, that's a thought: should I visit Emma? Or not?

While waffling about that particular decision, I continue exploring my "territory", expanding its boundaries by removing criminals further away or following back those who dare enter it.

Soon, I can feel some sort of pressure in the opposite direction: unnamed criminals travelling alone are replaced with gang members prowling in groups. I keep to the roofs, those times, and select the weaponry that can offset the numbers: flashbang grenades, to disorient; grenade launcher, to deliver the booms; and to finish the stragglers… a bow, for its silence – sometimes, I choose the crossbow for its penetration power, because even if it's noisy, the targets are generally deafened by the earlier explosions.

And it works on capes, too. One night, as I patrol the edge of my district, coincidentally bordering both ABB and E88 areas, I notice two groups of people harassing each other… with weapons. Gangs. I sigh. And, of course, the people living in the area are, for the most part, too cowed to act, even calling the police – in some places, you become a target if it becomes known that you called them. But I see, through my recently-acquired binoculars, some of them still using portable phones to record the fight. I'll have to be cautious about not being seen.

Because I'm going to fight, yes. You might think that I'm no match for two groups of thugs, even after they mostly decimate each other… right? That's not the case here: thanks to my diminishing the ABB ranks, the group of Asians is younger than the Nazis, and I see the panic inherent to first-timers. Possibly people coerced there by threats to their family.

And, facing them, there's a cape. Crusader, I think he's called. He walks around in a medieval armour getup and generates ghosts of himself that skewer his enemies. He kills them outright. It means that the gloves are off.

Lining and timing my grenades carefully, I use the launcher to make flashbangs explode in a descending wave, as if they were trailing a cape landing from the roof (not mine) and in the middle of the Nazis – I read somewhere that some capes (the Butcher being the most well-known) can move like that, teleporting while leaving explosions behind him. Or her, now.

After the flashes, it's a six-pack of shrapnel-loaded grenades that I send to go off in the night, killing most of the bad guys and seriously injuring the others. Crusader being in the middle of the pack, he's so riddled in metal spikes that he looks like Hookwolf… until he collapses, his ghosts popping out. I then deliver a few more flashbangs in a line going from there towards the ABB contingent, scattering them.

I imagine that I will have to deal will some repercussions, especially as I see videos of the fight on PHO, but the only information I get is that the Empire tried to retaliate by invading some ABB holding. Apparently, Kaiser seems to have concluded from Crusader's death that it was the Asians' fault.

They made some progress… until they found Lung, already ramped up after a fight with Cricket and Stormtiger. The two of them ended up burned to a crisp just from the man-dragon infernal aura, and the Empire stepped back.

Neither gang seems to think much about the possibility for the Docks to harbour a "parahuman" able and willing to kill their ordinary members… and some capes. I didn't get a visit from the white supremacists, and I didn't see the Asian gang's managing capes either. For the former, I can imagine that they made their conclusion and stuck to it. For the latter, I'm still wondering, as I practically slaughtered dozens of people (those willing to kill, and rape, and enslave, and many other distasteful acts against their fellow humans), why weren't the few top-tier Asian capes breathing down my neck?

Reading some tin-foil forums on PHO, I realize that there's a viable explanation for that, and it's that Lung is a coward: as long as he faces people willing to play to his rules, starting low and then escalating alongside him, he's ready to battle. And win. When the rumours of someone actually killing his gang members with lethal projectile weapons, he initially thinks that Miss Militia has had enough and has turned rogue. But whoever is behind the scope, Lung knows that the gloves have come off, and any competent sniper can off him from afar, when he's in his base human form.

I have to find another way. And the plan that comes to mind is almost hand-delivered to me when I notice, from one of my sniper's hideouts, the Undersiders jumping around after a bank heist – the black cloud is quite a tell-tale. With my binoculars, I'm able to follow their progression relatively well, and luck puts them in my sights when they dismount their dogs. I then see Grue, Regent, Hellhound, and Tattletale. I also see another one, not normally accounted in the Undersiders. According to that person's outfit, it looks like Circus is now in the small gang.

Well… no more. I think about things carefully, and rationalize the following: first, Circus is an asshole. An asshole whose gender is yet to be determined, but an asshole nonetheless. All reports of when the cape steals refine the thief's personality: obnoxious, deliberately cruel, often binding victims in humiliating positions with lethal consequences if they aren't helped quickly enough. Several died already, and the cape still walks and steals.

Second, if I kill Circus now, Tattletale (who is rumoured to be quite the Thinker) will definitely know where I am, and deduce everything there is to know about me – that bank heist? I know about it because I read PHO and listen to the news, when doing my surveillance self-assigned jobs. Apparently, she's all-knowing to the point of being psychic, according to the ex-hostages testimonies. And what she does with her knowledge? Does she keep it? No, she uses it to demean everyone around her, with some of her victims being pushed to suicide. She will have to go.

Third is Hellhound. According to PHO, she prefers Bitch, and doesn't speak much. I don't care about extenuating circumstances, her careless use of car-sized rhino-like dog mounts often destroys streets and walls… and the few people on the way.

I have less on Grue and Regent, but by associating with those three, chances are that they belong to the same mindset. Or not: in my binoculars, I notice the one thought of as the leader (being that he's taller than the others) trying to argue something with Tattletale, only to be put in his place quite promptly, just with words. And Regent seems apathetic to everything.

Circus being quite agile, I determine that I have to strike when s/he and Tattletale are aligned with me. And then I'll get Hellhound. Grue and Regent will have a reprieve, and I'll see what they become after this.

The shot parameters are quickly computed and set. Holding breath is easy with use. Smoothing my heartbeat too. And, soon enough, my first targets cross paths – ironically, it's to shake hands in a parting gesture. My elevation means that the first bullet enters Circus' ribcage and pierces through the heart before exiting and piercing Tattletale's right eye. And brain.

I needn't have waited for them to be face-to-face, if the reaction from the others is what I could have expected from those two: they are frozen. The game of "cops and robbers" has just become much more real. I see Grue stepping back, shouting orders. But the dogs don't comply, and don't grow either: they actually crowd around their master, who had just fallen from one of my bullets. As dogs often do, they push her with their nose. However, the girl's influence disappears at the same time her power does, upon her death, and the wild dogs that she took under her wing become wild again. And eat her.

Grue doesn't wait anymore. After a shout at Regent, he grabs two bags and hurries away. Soon, he's behind a wall and I can't see him anymore. As for Regent, the apathetic renaissance fair reject calmly grabs another bag and heads in the other direction, not caring particularly that I can still see him. Grue isn't a novice, and has seen the bodies fall. I guess that Regent is much younger. And perhaps touched in the head. It bears investigation.

Said investigation is short: Regent returns to the Undersiders' lair, alone. He uses the money to get pizza, and spends his time playing video games. Grue returns, eventually, and the two of them get in heated disputes about their "gang", and their future. Meanwhile, I enact my plan to get at Lung.

What does it entail? Nothing much: I just have to point Lung at the diminished Undersiders. Since the moment I saw Shadow Stalker stalking them, I learned much, especially the fact that they were coming back from the Ruby Dreams casino – an ABB front to launder money. And not as clients. It's easy to plant information among dim-witted gang members, pointing towards the Undersiders' lair. And while Lung doesn't care much to investigate a territory held by what he thinks is Miss Militia on crack, I hope that he'll come in person to take a well-deserved revenge on the repeat offenders in thievery.

And he does. He's so certain it's a small group of "normal" parahumans that he can't wait and almost jumps the gun, starting his growth and his fire aura… thus damaging the bombs I planted in the area (I wanted to be thorough). An explosive bullet to the head gets him before he can ramp himself too far, though, showering the gangsters behind him with grey goo.

Due to his recent paranoia, Lung doesn't leave his house without his most faithful lieutenant. Seeing his boss down, the teleporting bomber… teleported inside the lair they were heading for, grenades in hand. Grue showed his quick-thinking, though, by expanding his black cloud immediately, trapping Oni Lee (who, apparently, needed to see his surroundings to teleport). The grenades' explosion is a bit dulled, but still damages the two fighters quite heavily.

Having the advantage of seeing his blinded and powerless opponent, Grue decides to capture him – despite the current death toll around him, he must be too much of a goody-two-shoes. Oni Lee is well-versed in knife-fighting, though, as well as many kinds of martial training. From whatever hold the bigger man takes him with, he deduces his position and strikes unerringly.

In the end, they die together. Not necessarily from each other's hand or weapon, but because of the various bombs I planted in the street – I learned that the forces of Law and Order were arriving, and didn't want them to be caught in the explosions. As it is, I only get gang members and capes. Regent, too – whom I read was probably a Canadian villain named Hijack, able to Master humans. Not someone people were comfortable to have living nearby.

Four villains in one go? Including Lung? That's a good day, and I go home with a smile – after making a pit stop to stow my weapons and costume away, taking a shower, and using bleach to remove all traces of my wrongdoings everywhere possible.

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Actions, and Reactions

The next day, the news blare the story of a new parahuman, responsible for the deaths. Given that I used explosive bullets (thankfully available where I found the rifle, as I couldn't find them otherwise, or even buy them, legally or not), the police didn't find much of the bullets themselves in the dead bodies. Or the parts I hit, either. From this, and the explosives I used, the PRT is quick to declare me a powerful Blaster (along with the Striker/Mover rating I got from the video of the Empire/ABB show-off).

Meh. I'm not impressed. But if it can throw their Thinkers on false trails, all the better for me. Since I think my life as being ended already, anyways, I don't really care if I'm caught. Or killed. I'll just continue as long as I can.

Some days later, another villainous parahuman starts to make waves near my territory again. It's Bakuda, the last cape holding the ABB together, if only fleetingly. Apparently jealous that I stole her shtick (of using bombs, as she's a bomb Tinker), she starts a bombing campaign against masses of innocent people.

I can't let her continue, of course, and climb back upon the roofs to find her too. I'm lucky, in a way, because she's ferreted out by someone else, someone wanting to expand their own territories too: the Merchants.

When I arrive in position (several hundred meters away but still able to target them with my sniper rifle), she's doing cape stuff again: exchanging banter and generally gloating about the "frozen explosions" she has trapped Squealer's vehicle in. Even from where I am, I can hear the monstrosity roaring and nearly uprooting itself from the blockade.

Both the heavily modified car and the bomb Tinker get an explosive bullet to the hood. On Bakuda, that made her quite impossible to identify. Strangely enough, barely a minute after she's dead, I hear many explosions across the town, and see several of her lieutenants also beheaded by an explosion. I realize, right now, that she had a dead-woman-switch… and that if she had more time, it could have included a massive bomb destroying the whole city. Talk about mixed blessings.

I shake my head and return to the contemplation of the trapped Merchants. With time-locked areas, parts frozen to near-absolute zero degrees, stable black holes, and other ongoing explosions around them, they can't do anything but go forwards. With the damaged motor, they can't. Due to the heavy armour, they can't even cut their way out. Besides, the explosion in the motor compartment got Squealer's legs, and she flailed around, in quite a bit of pain.

Skidmark has only one product in store to help people with medical conditions. The drug is… drugs. Giving Squealer a shot so that she'd shut up, he ends up pushing the plunger quite a bit far, and ends up overdosing her. Mush tried to interrupt, only to be pushed against the tank's enclosure due to Skidmark's fields. The man is mad and adds several fields, one after the other, adding to the pressure against his team member.

Before he collapses, though, Mush sends a tentacle to grab him, strangling him even as he's crushed to death. Cape Merchants dead, I stand, nod, and flee – after cleaning my vantage point, of course. These times, I'm paranoid enough to clean everything several times, not leaving traces of my presence. I even get rid of my hair, pretending I have cancer for the hair salon to keep the hair aside and make a wig of the same. Costs a pretty penny, but I'm quite flush, now.

On the question of alibis, I always have receipts of food joints far enough from my hunting grounds so that no one sane will imagine me walking there, especially with my cane and walking gait. Of course, I'm able to run there, using the roofs as shortcuts when necessary.

With the cape leadership of two gangs being taken care of, I let each of them splinter and self-destruct while I turn my sights towards the last one. Unfortunately, while they still send their unpowered forces to grab land, the Empire close ranks around their capes, and I can't find them by just patrolling the city at random intervals.

To find any lead there, I use Winslow. Every student knows that it's a recruitment platform for the gangs, and I make myself visible to the Empire wannabes by complaining about the many attacks I got from Sophia, a "highly visible minority". Soon, I get people commiserating with me, while others give me the gimlet eye. I don't care: once the Empire is dealt off, I'll go to another city to start cleaning there too. I find that I like playing the Vigilante. The lone warrior. The deity embodying Justice.

I studied the Empire capes, too, especially the younger ones, to see if I could find them in school. Despite the fact that they would surely be hidden, I looked at hair styles, obvious disfigurements, height, skin, clothes, and way of fighting, of running, and of generally walking around. In the end, I was still able to determine that the one commiserating with me with the obvious intent to pull me into the sect was Othala, while the one being honest about it, to the point of warning me about the Empire recruitment, was Rune. Was she unhappy as an Empire grunt? Was she there against her will? I have never thought about it this way: were some capes induced into gangs due to family pressure? Peer pressure?

I start an easy friendship with Rune, or, as her civilian identity says: Tammi. It lasts until I find myself resisting one of their forays into the Docks, and jump on her platform. "Hi, Tammi." I say cheerfully before shooting her boss in the armour, my selected ammunition for tonight being armour-piercing explosive rounds. It worked just fine on Hookwolf, and I got a minute of fascinated contemplation at seeing him trying to grab his burning intestines from where it was strewn on the street, to shove them back into his body. A second round got his head.

As for Kaiser, we can now declare that the tin can is now just that: a can, with a dead man soup inside. Well done, too.

The flying platform is ideal for my needs, especially as Tammi tries to fly away from the conflict, making me safer than close to the two close-quarters combat specialists. With a sniper's rifle, it's easy to get at the highly-visible Othala (I got Victor at the start of the fight, and I actually had to wait for him to start shooting to determine his own sniper's nest's position) as well as the ankles of Fenja and Menja – high-penetration bullets with an explosive payload are the must to transform them into clay-footed giantesses.

Unfortunately, the rest of the Empire includes Purity. Despite her initial shock, she returns to the offensive and strafes Rune's flying platform with one of her helix-shaped beams of destruction.

Given that she's a beacon of light in the night, I have seen her approach from afar, and managed to jump and roll on a nearby roof, at the last second. And then, barely needing to aim due to the proximity and her obvious presence, I shoot her. Not being a Brute, she dies immediately – of, if not, she dies upon striking the pavement.

Same as Rune, in fact. I'm almost sad because of that, but my feelings have been muted since the Locker incident, and I don't feel that bad. Some would continue giving me psychiatrist's labels, like "PTSD"… and they would be right. Other labels would follow, too, like "murderer" or some such. Whatever the case, I don't have much time to leave, especially as I don't want to be shot (whether by a gun or a camera). I start by unobtrusively shooting flashbangs in the air, once again timing their release so that they explode in a line going from one side of the now-ended fight through another, and then into a side road. Meanwhile, I clean the places I was on and move away.

Unfortunately, there are people who are able to step away from a fight, even one where their comrades are dying, and sniff around to find the source of the mayhem. I'm shot in the back and then bowled over by a man right as I enter my nearest lair. A completely white man, while another, wearing a SS uniform and a gas mask, follows at a more sedate pace.

Shit. Alabaster and Krieg, in my home, and I'm defenceless!

Not entirely, though. I do have experience with explosives, and I have made preparations for scenarios much like this one. Still, with a half-collapsed lung and two enemy capes, I'm not in a good situation to actually enact them.

Thankfully, I'm offered some reprieve. And that's only because of my relatively frail appearance, highly visible once they rip my costume away. I guess that they aren't fans of the Unwritten Rules… and then recognize that, as I don't apply them myself (there is something about not killing), I don't have a leg to stand on. And that's almost literal, too, as Alabaster was so keen on disrobing me that he broke my ankle by stepping on it.

He still stepped back to converse with his associate, leaving my half-naked shape heaving in pain in my own (stolen) apartment's floor. Soon, they are quite convinced that I am no danger to them: my various weapons made it clear that I had no powers, and my frail appearance makes them forget I was able to run, and make quite long jumps. Besides, I have a bullet in the lung, again, as well as a broken ankle. It means that they don't react much when I crawl up a bar stool, next to my bar. I then use the bar as a hand rail to get behind it.

They smile when they see me taking several bottles out, placing them on the bar.

"Offering booze won't help you, in the long run." Krieg mocks me.

Alabaster nods along, but he still takes one of the bottles, sniffs it, nods appreciatively, and starts guzzling it. I wonder about that, but realize that, with his body resetting every few seconds, he doesn't risk intoxication. The only way for him to feel even slightly inebriated, for a short time, is through constant drinking. Like now.

"That's some expensive vodka." Krieg comments, seeing his companion's bottle quickly emptying. He takes another bottle and inspects the label. "And whisky."

I shrug, and then wince at the pain. Those bottles were there before I took over. Besides, I only needed them removed from the cupboard in order for me to reach inside and press a button. Given my meek demeanour, Krieg doesn't see it coming, and the whole place explodes in a hail of quickly-moving shrapnel.

Alabaster's body is shredded so much that bones are visible everywhere. I know he will reset in a few seconds, though.

Krieg's aura makes the shrapnel move slower… but it still comes at him from all sides. So, instead of feeling a short moment of pain, and then death, he feels the shrapnel slowly bite into him. And despite his power also granting him some attack power, his speeding bullets hitting the bar only slam against the pane of metal reinforcing the thing. That's some ingrained reflex, there, as I would have used the power he has to move the shrapnel around. It might shred his hands, but he would have been safe.

In order not to make him think too much, I grab another bottle of alcohol, this one prepared with a bit of cloth hanging from the neck. A lighter puts some fire on the Molotov cocktail, and crashing it between the two capes makes it difficult for them to concentrate.

Soon, Krieg is dead… and Alabaster is alive again. He winces at the pain from the fire and simply walks away from it, knowing that if he resets in an area free of the fire, he'll be fine. I have a gun, though, while his has been thrown away by the explosion. My number of bullets is limited, but I also have ropes. All kind of ropes, including tape and zip-ties. So, after killing him every few seconds, using those seconds to tie him up, I'm left with a very alive Alabaster… but very tied up. And with enough tape around his head to prevent him from talking, seeing, and even breathing, I'm at peace again. Especially as he can't move the rest of his body: I rammed a knife in his neck, where it stays in place even when he resets.

I can think more about my ankle, then. And my lung. And what to do with the constantly-resurrecting cape. And the place, too – no doubt that the explosion brought some neighbour's attention, and I'll have to relocate soon. Not that I lack opportunities, but I'll miss the comfort of this one.

After using industrial tape to bind my own ankle, and then a sturdy boot that I tape to my calf so as to walk without putting stress upon my damaged body part, I start cleaning the place. I always clean after me, thankfully, and I make short work of whatever I put my hands on today.

And then I think about my next step and stop. Looking at Alabaster, I feel my mood worsen. I can't really stay, nor can I carry him, and if I leave him, it's a security risk: he has seen me, and knows how I fight.

"Hello?" comes from the door. I only now remember that my two home invaders didn't close it, and, even if the explosion slammed it shut, it wasn't locked.

I should panic, but my feelings are muted, again. It allows me to react by hurrying back into the bedroom and put on some spare costume quickly – mainly a coat with a cowl and a mask. Thankfully, while I won't run or jump, the tape around my boot allows me to walk.

"Hello? Anyone alive?" the voice enquires again, and I see a head peeking around the wall as I return to the living room. It's a neighbour, and he freezes upon seeing Krieg dead and Alabaster all tied up. And then his eyes travel up and see my standing form. "Umm… sorry. And thank you."

"Why?" I ask. I don't have a voice modulator set, but the blood in my lung garbles my voice enough to be unrecognizable. And makes me cough, damn it.

His hand points at his own body, and I realize that, he being black, he must be a common target for the Nazis. Behind him, other people start trickling in. Most of them share the same status, regarding the Empire, including the man's daughter, a teenage girl who introduces herself as Aisha.

She's the one to notice my limp, as well as my gloves and the disinfectant-dripping cloth I use to clean behind me. "Do you need help?" she asks.

I move my good arm towards Alabaster. "How can I… silence him?"

Her father steps forward. Seeing that the situation was handled, the other gawkers have retreated. "Temporarily… or definitely?" he asks.

"The latter." I breathe out. "We can't kill him."

He nods. "Before the parahuman came, there used to be gangs, still, and some used a peculiar means of killing off their enemies: cement shoes."

I nod back. "Do you suggest you can… do it? I'm quite… overwhelmed, myself."

He looks at the downed cape, still resetting every few seconds only to find his spine cut by the blade held there. I hope that he suffocates, too, but no luck on that front… yet. "I'll manage."

"Thank you." I say, and hand out a hand to shake… with a sizeable pile of banknotes. He nods, again, accepting both the shake and the money.

And, effectively, he bends down and lifts the all-white Nazi before leaving. Aisha was ready to wait for his departure before drowning me in words, but a sharp call gets her away too – I guess it's to get his car keys, and perhaps whatever he needs to get to a workplace where he can find enough cement to form a whole block around the man, and then put him on a ship and deliver him to some deep trench. If Leviathan finds him and uses him as a chew toy, all the better, provided he succeeds in killing him, eventually.

As for myself, I leave the door closed but unlocked, after finishing my clean-up, and leave the place with a backpack full of "necessities" (the non-replaceable weapons I used to store in the place, as well as most of the money).

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The Professionals

Sometimes, you don't have to search long and far to find trouble. Sometimes, it's trouble that finds you.

By now, going to school has become quite unappealing. Those who might have given me a token of sympathy, once Sophia was out of the picture, are now shunning me because of the connections I made to get closer to the Empire. What a bunch of hypocrites, as usual: if the Empire had reached out to me, in the early days, I would have latched onto them without reservation (mostly because the first contact is not with actual gangsters). If they were so willing to cross the Empire, why didn't they reach out to me, instead of criticizing me, just now?

Besides, the school board may have found itself under scrutiny after Sophia's death, but they certainly haven't reviewed my status with a better eye. Quite the contrary: considering me a lost cause, they didn't bother phoning dad anymore, when I miss school.

So, it's with eyes laden with sleep that I wake up, quite late and quite unexpectedly. And it's not because an alarm clock or anything like that, no: the noise that woke me was quite sudden, and loud, and involves mechanics… and construction. In fact, as I sit up on my bed, I see the external wall of my current hideout crumble in debris after what looks like an accident with a car. And said car must be quite sturdy, because it wasn't totalled immediately. Instead, its engine roars, and its exhaust fills the room with black fumes as it tries to extract itself from the hole it had dug in the wall.

I jump out of bed blindly, and try to walk on all fours towards the back of the apartment, eventually reaching the bathroom. There, I have two tasks: clean my face (at least my eyes), and take a weapon – I know I hid one of those shiny and oversized revolvers under the sink, already loaded with heavy bullets. Not lead, no, because it deforms easily upon firing. No: these are depleted uranium, able to punch through heavy steel plating. And, yes, I don't really care about the long-term consequences on my reproductive abilities, since I have none. Same for my life. Still, I'm not one to lie down and let others ruin whatever time I have remaining.

Holding my gun in a sure hand, I tip-toe back towards the damaged masonry, and notice that the driver wears a costume, even as he rages next to the opened hood. So it's not an assassination attempt, then, and barely a road accident? I'm almost disappointed. Still, the costume, as well as the floating ball decorated with an eye in the sky… This is Leet. And, as usual, he's impersonating a video game character in real life. The question is: which one?

And the more important one is: what do I do about it? Nothing?

That last choice is ripped from my hands when he slams the hood shut (and, in a veritable Leet fashion, he crashes it atop his thumbs) and notices me. I don't know how his floating camera works, but it zips forwards without a visible input from the Tinker, and I just have enough time to realize that my image is getting plastered, live, on the most obnoxious video channel in the whole of Internet.

Thankfully, because of the fumes, I'm quite dark-skinned. Pitch black, even. And since the room has the same colour, I'm almost invisible.

"Wow! You sure like the dark theme! Suicidal, much?" Leet sneers, his manners not that different from that creep, Greg Veder – are they the same? Is Greg a cape? Well, I don't know… and I don't particularly care. What I care, nowadays, is stopping in a permanent manner people who are a plight to society.

What is Leet's game, again? Ah, I remember, now, reading a PHO post about their upcoming re-enactment: Grand Theft Auto. And the prostitute who worked right next to this apartment could attest to it without words, given that she was now crushed under both cinderblocks and the heavily modified car.

"You are the suicidal one." I intone. I'm only barely healed from the wounds I got against the Empire, and the blood I kept coughing did something to my voice box, making the sound deeper. And gravelly. "By coming here and killing people."

The gun is lifted towards Leet, and fires. And the highly-perforating bullet goes straight through… the Snitch. Normally invulnerable to powers and normal firearms, it appears that the heavy and radioactive bullets can really pack a punch through its fragile components. And that it chose to fly, by itself again, in order to protect its owner.

Not caring for it, I fire a second time where Leet was. But he isn't there anymore, rushing to where his invention is crashing and rolling down the street. Like a parent after an escaped toddler. Or said toddler after a hamster who decided to seek its freedom by rolling its ball down the street. Same mentality.

Speaking of which, I notice he finds someone else, at the next intersection, someone who helps him. Someone taller, and broader. And if Leet is the Snitch's wailing mother, by process of elimination, Über must be the angry father. Especially when Leet designates my general direction with an arm, the other cradling the damaged piece of engineering.

I shake my head, thinking that some people really ought to get their priorities in order. Speaking of which… I know I have to start the tedious work of packing another lair up. And passing next to Leet's car, I notice something looking like a weapon, on his back seat. As strange as his usual shenanigans are, this really looks like a shotgun, and not a fake prop. I pick it up.

"Hey!" comes from the "angry father", preventing me from wondering why doing that simple gesture stung my palm. "What do you think you are doing?"

"You crashed my apartment." I show the damaged wall with a wave of the shotgun-armed hand, while the other brings my big gun up towards him. "And killed the nice lady." I finish, the shotgun lowering slowly. At the same time, I marvel at its lack of real weight.

I barely notice Über turning a gimlet eye in Leet's direction, and the Tinker's guilty expression, followed by a heavy sigh. "Alright. I guess that we'll have to try making another camera- shut it!" he turns to Leet, who has started wailing loudly. Seriously?

"You killed the nice lady." I repeat.

Über seems guilty, but he shrugs it off. "Accidents… happen. We are not murderers."

Hmm. He may have a point, there. I lower the guns. My attention wanders towards Leet's over-the-top commiserating. It's a mistake, as I discover when a haymaker makes me fly back into my meagre lodging, losing my gun but, strangely enough, not letting the shotgun go. However, when trying to fire while in flight, I find out that the weapon is empty… and it then disappears.

As I roll in a crouching position, before shaking my hair backwards, I remember the half-second before it disappeared, as it cycled through several weapons, all telling me they were empty. And now I have nothing in my hand.

Losing concentration on a fight is quite bad, especially when in close-quarter combat against a specialist in close-quarter combat. Über practically demolishes me but, thankfully enough, he doesn't kill me.

And when he turns to leave, he almost jumps in fright at seeing Leet with my gun pointed towards him. The Tinker even has the finger on the trigger. "Hey!"

"What? Move to the side, so that I can finish him! He killed the Snitch! With this very gun!" And then he drops his aim, panting. "Why is it so heavy, though?"

"First, you ought to say "she", because she is a girl."

"One you fought."

"One who fought back, too." Über growls, his hand gingerly touching his own nose. "Ow."

"I see that." his partner notices, smirking. "Got your ass handed?"

"She got lucky once. I finished the fight." Über says, not even bragging. He is frighteningly competent in everything he learns. That's his power, even. I couldn't win even if I took martial arts lessons for years. Still, that's an idea… "What's your name?" the big guy asked, towering over me.

"Why?" I rasp.

He shrugs. "I like to know who I'm meeting. Helps keeping track of scores."

Ah. As if I needed to do that. Well, I should, if I don't kill my targets anymore. Besides, even if Leet is a douchebag, Über seems nice enough. He even holds his hand out and lifts me up.

Now, what to give, what not to give… "Gamekeeper." I reply, using a common noun as if I was a cape. And then I follow with a "real" name. "Themis Foul."

"Hey, you don't unmask to capes, lady!" Leet stammers. "That's against… some sort of code, or something."

"The Unwritten Rules." Über says, more seriously, and he looks me over. "But you don't care about them, do you? Gamekeeper, you say? As if you play games, too? Or are you the keeper of the forest dwellers?"

"Like those old-school druids?" Leet intervenes. "Always True Neutral, seeking Balance in all things…" He eyes my body carefully, and I feel dirty under his gaze. I am dirty, but the short fight got some soot wiped out from my skin, and the differences between right and left – or, as I say sometimes "right and wrong" are more visible. "You look like Two-Face, you know, the villain from Batman? The one always flipping coins?"

"Leet…" Über sighs. "Stop."

"No, seriously. She's even more impressive, as Dent had only half his face burned. What's your story?" he asks me. "Or, let me guess. Given your duality, you have some Stranger ability on one side, and a Brute on the other. Or Shaker on one side and Blaster on the other. Am I right, or am I right?"

I look him down, shaking my head. "Eaten by insects." PTSD from that event has gone down the drain with the heavy use of good ole violence – as someone said, somewhere, at some time: when violence fails, you just didn't use enough.

That shuts him for all of three… seconds. "Daaamn. Way to Trigger, I guess. And then you got something about insects, that's right? Gamekeeper, Gamekeeper… I know! You control insects. In a wide radius. And they are… surrounding us? Right now? Ready to attack us?"

I smirk when I see how pale he becomes. He doesn't move, even, when I step (slowly, and gingerly) towards him, before picking my gun back from his unresisting hands – strangely, or not, I feel that it's getting lighter, somehow. And then I whisper "No."

Did I just make friends? I wouldn't know: I don't know what that means anymore. With my gun, I shoot Leet point-blank. And then, with Über reeling from both the sound of the shot and the sight of his friend's head exploding, I have enough time to turn around and point my gun towards him. He still jumps to the side, before jumping at me, his kick sending the gun back towards its resting place. Fuck.

However, while stepping away, my hands trying to defend myself again, I notice something blinking on my hand. Putting a finger on it, it summons a solid handgun. Not quite the same I lost, but the same calibre. And I shoot the surprised Über too.

And then I inspect my gun. It was a shotgun, earlier. I take the gun in my other hand… and it disappears, which is bad. But I see the light again. It's on my right palm, and I notice that there are pictures there, as if tattooed. Weapons.

I blink. I press the icon resembling the shotgun I had before, and I get it to appear. It still disappears when I try to use it, but this time it's replaced with the gun I used, the one with a couple bullets left in it. So… not only does this system store weapons and ammunition, but it can also share ammunition between compatible guns. Nice!

I inspect the icons again, and notice that they are all arranged in circles around an already-healed puncture wound. As if by taking the shotgun before, I was injected with what controlled the change in weaponry. In fact, I'm realizing that it's some Tinker stuff from Leet, and I become a bit wary about using it, if at all. And then I remember that most of Leet's mishaps happen quite rapidly – whatever he creates that lasts for some time has more chances to last longer. Look at the Snitch! The thing has lasted all their career!

Finding the icon with a naked fist, I press it and am rewarded with the disappearance of my current gun. Remembering how one plays those First-Person Shooter games, I realize that it's a way to emulate in real life the "inventory" effect of those games, when equipping weapons. By learning where to press fingers in my own palm, I will even be able to summon weapons blindly. If it's an accurate representation of the game (which, as I remember, is Grand Theft Auto), I should also be able to add more weapons to this inventory, just by grabbing them. I head to the kitchen and grab a cleaver. Nothing happens, but I notice the outline of a button appearing around the central puncture wound. Pressing it makes the wide blade flash and then disappear. And a cleaver icon appears above the empty hand. It's really nice, and it will save on weight and encumbrance. I also notice that, if I throw it, it has just enough time to strike its target before disappearing, back safely in my inventory.

I quickly rifle through the apartment. Several weapons can't be added, mostly because I already possess a similar model. However, some disappear from my hand without creating icons either, and exploration makes me realize that I copied options for the same basic model of a weapon – such as sights and silencer, for guns, up to tripods for heavier machine guns. In fact, the system is right out cheating about ammunition, as it just indicates a number of bullets (for each type) and you can just pull the trigger all night long, provided the counter doesn't reach zero.

I also realize why Leet has started with so few melee weapons: the guy was crazy about powerful and/or interesting options, but not the nit and grit of "early levels" – those with no ranged weapons and thus quite a bit of close combat. As such, I can fill up those options with several items I can find in a normal house, each of them useable in melee: a shovel, a woodsman's axe, a crowbar, and a baseball bat. I can't find anything new for the other end of the spectrum, on the other hand: Leet already added things like a submachine gun, for example.

And, when considering alternate means of damaging our fellow humans, he got several electricity-based weapons, such as a Taser, an electric gun, and a rail gun. He even got an EMP gun. Given that they are "empty", I briefly wonder what is needed to power them, but quickly find batteries, and they work… albeit only barely. I then wonder if I can recharge by touching live wire. After an intense but short-lived experience (by virtue of not grabbing stupidly at exposed wires, only touch them briefly), I discover that, yes, it works. It doesn't diminish the pain, though, so I imagine that I'll have to find some circuitry to lower the intensity or something.

With most of my weapons added to a weightless inventory, I leave with a lightened step and a backpack containing mostly money. The weapons that didn't fit into my "Miss Militia lite" package, I left in the middle of the apartment, in a pile. And then I melted them: that crazy Leet had gotten me a flamethrower, which got itself replenished by emptying any kind of alcohol. I emptied the house. Given that it belonged to a high-level gang member, I had quite a bit to replenish it.

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Grinding and Gnashing Teeth

Once again, I spend quite a bit of time healing from my various wounds. Thankfully, I don't need a time at the hospital, as most of those are blunt trauma, and none caused organ failures. Thankfully.

On an unrelated tangent (I hope), I'm a bit surprised when, while I'm walking down the street (in an even more uneasy fashion, given my current state), I see a portal opening in front of me. Behind it is a woman wearing a suit and a fedora hat, and she looks at me curiously. I can see when her eyes dismiss me as unimportant, especially as she shakes her head and dismisses the portal as well.

Given that she was pointing a gun at me, I guess that my current appearance wasn't menacing enough. Was that the cape bogeyman, only hitting capes who didn't respect the Unwritten Rules? Maybe that legend exists, as the tinfoil-hat forums on PHO imply. Or maybe not. Whatever the case, I just feel like I avoided a tragic disappearance by sheer luck. And I resolve not to rely on luck too much, too.

It means that I continue training… and experimenting with the Inventory – that's the name I gave to Leet's invention, now grafted to my right hand. I store more weapons, but also more options for each weapon. I also try to store things that aren't weapons, as such: paintball carbines; guns which throw darts, or soft foam ammunition; and also water guns of all types. With the understanding that I can easily use them to store other liquids. Oil, fuel, alcohol, even liquid soap, bleach, or glue (which doesn't congeal, something that makes me think of bringing fresh blood, too).

Still, plain water is fine, because some capes use fire quite a bit liberally. By Inventorying the business end of a fireman's hose, I get the ability to push water with a rate that could push crowds back. I'm not linked to an unending pool of resources, though, and I have to physically move to the shore, in order to put my hands in the Bay and Inventory the ammunition for my new toy.

I also found a way to remove things from my inventory, by holding them and then pressing the incorporation button. It's quite useful when I want a better version of my axe, or shovel. Not the bat, though, as selecting wood or metal is a mere cosmetic change – for me only: the recipients of hits from the metal weapon would beg to differ.

Once healed enough, I take martial arts classes. Even if Über was the best in that, and even if I got the best of him in the end, I can't rely on past successes too much. Besides, each improvement I get is one more card to play against my enemies.

Speaking of which…

As soon as I can, I return to my active hunting of parahumans in the city. Apparently, we are quite freed from villains, by now. Only Faultline remains, her status as grey as the streets around her nightclub.

I spend quite some time preparing said streets, sticking explosives in the sewers, only to find out that they are regularly removed. Even worse, in a way: the sewers themselves change! With a bit of thinking about it, browsing the mercenaries' profiles on PHO, I realize that their Shaker is the one who does that… without even caring about it!

I deem Labyrinth worthy of her name and power category, and head further away to build a new strategy, this one based on luring them out.

How? Easy: by coercing a few remaining gang members into showering the club's walls with hot lead. And then flee in random direction, the biggest cluster going my way.

I get Newter easily, the orange mutant quite visible. Spitfire is next, thanks to a bullet rupturing her fireproof suit… and body. The resulting fire allow for light, as well as hiding the two dead capes.

What I didn't take fully into account was that it would bring the heroes too. With so little to do with their time, they are ready to jump headfirst into the fray, just to get a bit of action.

It helps me, too, because Faultline believes that they are here for her, and the heroes believe she's the source of the arson.

The first heroes on site are Glory Girl and Gallant, the former flying and carrying the latter. Collateral Damage Barbie deposits her boyfriend and, perhaps in order to impress him, she flies through the opposition, showing off her Alexandria package. Gregor the Snail offers no resistance, nor does the frail and not-really-there Labyrinth, when the corpse of her caretaker is thrown at her, crushing her against the wall.

I give it to Faultline: despite Gallant's beams of emotional manipulation, she's steadfastly waiting for the blonde missile to approach in order to deliver her attack. I remember that she's a Striker whose power allows for critical hits. How will that work against the girl's invulnerability, I don't know, but I'm ready to take advantage of it. And when I see Glory Girl being held out of arms' reach by a sword pressed against her throat, I pull the trigger.

Faultline is quite surprised at seeing the neck of Glory Girl exploding in gore, so much so that she looks at her sword in wonder.

Seeing his girlfriend dying pushes Gallant into stupid mode, and he tries to rush the melee specialist, sending beams of apathy and suicidal depression at the same time. Faultline tries to do the same to him that she did Glory Girl, but her heart isn't in it, and she "only" strikes his midsection. Through. I smile: perhaps he will think less with his little head, now that it has been decapitated.

The next hero on site is Miss Militia, in a van full of PRT personel, and she only spends a second evaluating the clusterfuck before ordering Faultline covered in containment foam while she calls the medics. I'm discreet enough to look inside the van while everyone is occupied, and grab a containment foam dispenser for my own use. As well as another liquid-sprayer.

The result of all this? New Wave is quite upset, of course. Carol Dallon wails at losing her only daughter, not acknowledging that she had another, even though Amy is adopted. And she also seeks reparation from the party closest to Victoria when she died: Gallant – given that Faultline ended up committing Hara-Kiri in prison, he's the last surviving party, and thus the one she attacks. Lawyer logic.

They also split from under the Protectorate's thumb and start doing whatever they want against what they perceive as crime. Often violently. Brandish has to be taken away by the police, heavily sedated after wounding several gang members and their innocent family members. Left to his own devices, Flashbang takes his medication without anyone's control, and ends up dead when he repeatedly forgets he has already got them. Unless it is a particularly slow form of suicide.

Not even following what happens with her parents, Panacea creates a facsimile of Vicky from her corpse and drives off with her, intent on marrying the zombie. Her car is bombarded from afar, the threat of her power creating self-replicating life like Nilbog not one the USA wants.

The remains of New Wave, the Pelhams, choose to relocate to their children's university.

Without Panacea, Gallant's problem becomes permanent, although he tries his best to hide it. He pretends to be even more masculine than before, in order to try to fool others into not thinking about his emasculation. Most people don't care, but Piggot starts sending him regularly into sensitivity training, pushing him even further due to his belated teenage rebellion.

Vista doesn't care. Or, rather, she cares very much. Especially when the two of them patrol together on the Boardwalk. She even holds his hand as if the two of them were on a date.

I shouldn't have gone there. I shouldn't have gone anywhere around Gallant. But I couldn't schedule my life around his patrols, especially as I have no idea of their timetable.

Why?

Because Gallant is an emotion reader, on top of his manipulation. And his power is always on. It means that once he has seen someone's mental state, he's able to see it again even if that person is in a crowd.

Like now.

Like the "invasion of the body snatchers" movie (not that I like it, but I just remember the end scene), he points an accusing finger and opens his mouth as if to ululate like an alien… or just shout "you're under arrest". Or something equally asinine.

Without much thought, a gun materialize in my hand, a silencer already affixed, and my preferred combination of ammo already loaded – a mix of armor-piercing and explosives. Two sharp reports later, his armour shows additional holes, and pureed flesh pour from every opening. Vista is drenched red, and vomits on the spot.

People scream, and I take advantage of the confusion to flee towards the Docks, using every shortcut and hidden passage I know – of which there are many.

I didn't want to kill Vista. Initially. She's like the mascot, the PR darling, the youngest. You often forget that she's been a Ward the longest, and accumulated more hours than any other Wards in the history of the Wards. Triggering young, and then choosing to live on site rather than at home, that would do it to you.

That's why, after getting over her initial shock in record time (she would do fine in therapy), Vista chooses to indulge in some vengeful stalking. She's still crying over the loss of her "loved one", one-sided as it was, and not seeing or even thinking straight. Unprepared and alone, she tries to follow me, heading further and further into the worst parts of the city. She's killed by angry mobsters – her power is powerful, but can't redirect weapon fire she doesn't know about, especially from behind. Sure, that mob ends up mostly dead from "friendly fire", but it doesn't change the fact that she's dead.

At this, the remaining heroes are quite shocked, and the everyday life becomes quite morose. Even Assault stops joking all the time. Clockblocker doesn't stop though. But, in reaction to his altered mental state, his jokes become even more tasteless, and outright cruel at times, especially after he learned that, due to her sister's death, Panacea wouldn't heal anyone again (that was before she tried to flee, and was ordered killed). And to say he had just psyched himself to push his dying father into it!

Since it's under Piggot's orders that he didn't ask for it as soon as he was recruited, his dislike for her morphs into hate, and he plunges into villainy after clock-blocking her body while she's in dialysis. The machine keeps pushing the medication into her immobile body, and the sudden overdose when she's freed kills her.

That descent in crime is quite sordid, as he uses his power on anything he touches, in town. Let's be said that when a car is suddenly immobilized, the people inside are rushed forwards much like when hitting a wall at full speed.

Several heroes being in therapy, the only one available to bring the wayward Ward into the fold is Miss Militia. She hurries out of the Rig, her motorcycle allowing her to quickly scan the town. She doesn't find him, though. Instead, she finds… me, aiming at him.

We fight for a while, she and I. Each of us of normal constitution, we know that each hit could be fatal, so we practise dodge-the-bullet for a while. She's quite surprised when I manifest another weapon, and does the same. Except that when I use a shotgun, she gets the rubber bullet launcher. When I start using the electric guns, she pulls out the containment foam. As if she has been brainwashed into using nonlethal ordinance.

As it happens, I have adopted some ideas from Über and Leet, and got myself a flying drone with a camera, slaved to a cell phone in my pocket: always flying far enough to be innocuous, it would always stay within range and keep its target in its view. The last target being unset, it was me by default, and I could see myself thanks to a see-through screen in front of my eye.

Well… I could see myself if I wasn't in the process of being surrounded by quickly-solidifying foam.

Thinking about it makes my escape evident: Inventorying the foam as ammunition for the dispenser I already have, I find myself in front of Miss Militia again, except this time, she has brought out the big guns: a missile launcher, whose barrel is wider than my head.

Thinking of her use of nonlethal options, I wonder briefly if the missile launcher pointed at my face is here for its sheer intimidation value only (which I grant it, of course).

Of course, in my "kill or be killed" mindset, I decide to make my case quickly by sending some explosives straight down its barrel. You know the kind? Those which adhere magnetically to almost anything?

When she notices that my projectile sticks inside her cannon, she starts to panic and tries to shake it, and then transform it back into smaller weapons. The foreign element stays, though, breaking her weaponry and ending up showering her with pieces of her own armament as well as grenade shrapnel.

One of the melee weapons I Inventoried, before today, was a door. One made of thick metal, the taking of which helped me enter (and loot) yet another apartment. Now, it can act as a shield: manifesting the door in front of me before the explosion goes off is the least I can do to stay alive.

After this, I head downtown. For some reason, our fight didn't attract anyone's attention, and I can already hear the sound of fighting around.

Apparently, while I was dancing with Miss Militia, Clockblocker blocked Armsmaster, only to find that the man was still moving inside his immobilized armour. He also had a few implants that don't rely on the armour to work, allowing him to direct his motorcycle around. He almost got the young man, too… but for the appearance of the Teeth – who were already displaying a very much dead Velocity at the front of their vehicles. The speedster had run head first into a cloud of invisible but very sharp forcefields, courtesy of Vex.

Before the face-off could be resolved, Assault and Battery arrived, with Kid Win and Dauntless. Facing them were Clockblocker, independent villain, and the Teeth… including Quarrel, their leader, and the current Butcher – the one title heroes don't want, except it's automatically transferred to the person killing its last holder.

Clockblocker has an interesting power, but he's no Brute. When facing the human army coming from Spree, he can only freeze a few of them at a time, and several clones hit him from behind – an interesting aspect of Spree is that any weapon he has is duplicated, much like his clothing, and it's an army of hammer-wielding clones that smash through the ex-Ward, before heading towards the other heroes.

Hidden among that army are Reaver and Hemorrhagia, ready to slam through the heroes. And behind them are Vex and Quarrel, the first filling the air around them with forcefields designed to hinder Brutes, and the second peppering the "good guys" with arrows. Well, if you can call "peppering" when every one of her shots strikes true. Soon, Battery resembles a porcupine more than she does a human – needing to be stationary to recharge is quite stupid, when in the open. And Assault, wanting to avenge her, charges straight through Vex's forcefields, his power continuing to push him well after he dies from being transformed into a hero puree.

With Clockblocker dead, Armsmaster is freed. However, he can't act immediately, because his suit needs to reinitialize. It means that he's fighting the suit's inertia for each move, making him too slow to fight, and an easy prey for the two close-quarter specialists from the chaotic gang. Thankfully, there is a last command he can utter, feeling his strength leaving him with his blood. It creates quite an explosion, wiping out the two villain capes in a brilliant flash of light. And him, too.

Kid Win got the better of Spree, thanks to a simple thing: with Piggot dead, her orders could be ignored for a while, and he brought his untested Alternator Cannon onto the field. Sure, it created quite a large crater when exploding, taking all the clones with it as well as the original. Too bad that its operator had to die, too.

All this leaves Dauntless facing Quarrel. You'd think that they would make a good duel, using flashy powers for those onlookers with phones to have something to tell (and to upload). You'd be wrong: without the constant reminder that he had to pull back his attacks, Dauntless let loose quite the lightning bolt from his lance. The bolt is instantaneous and covers the whole roof where the Butcher is, before continuing down the building, shocking everyone inside. Quarrel couldn't escape, and is instantly fried. The civilians of the top floors, too.

The other problem, for Dauntless, is that Quarrel let loose a bolt of her own, too, before she died. Bypassing the local hero's armour plates, it pierced his heart. He doesn't die, though. And, in my sights (because I just arrived), I see him stand up and pull the shaft from his torso, leaving a wound that closes quickly. This is not an ability Dauntless showed before. This is one the Butcher did. Seeing him laugh madly, face turned to the sky, I realize that the Butcher has jumped to quite an impressive hero.

A double-tap later, much like I did with Gallant, the man has his skull pierced with high-penetration bullets and then an explosive one. Try to get out of that, now.

And then I throw my rifle away (a useless gesture since it disappears, only to return as an icon in my palm) and place myself on the edge of the roof. At the slightest sign that my mentality changes, I throw myself off – I'm not a cape, I'm their executioner, trying to better the world with one less cape at a time. If, because I killed the Butcher, I become one, I'll bring it down with me.

But I don't change, and nothing happens, and I slowly imagine the possible reasons. Such as the fact that the Butcher mostly latched onto the capes who killed him. It is very possible that the rare case where the murderous power jumped ship to an unpowered person, it was people with a Corona Pollentia – as in potential capes.

Because of the massive death toll in parahumans, capes start avoiding the Bay, and we find the city suddenly much calmer than before. Of course, there are always people who want to do bad things to others. Those who think that the capes were the only peacekeepers try to re-create unpowered gangs like before Scion, but they quickly realize that despite the absence of super-powered cops, the regular ones picked up the slack. Real heroes as they are, jumping into difficult situation with no power, the police is well and truly there again.

Me too.

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Like Lambs to the Slaughter

I should perhaps revise a common saying, about the Endbringers: no, they don't necessarily come to places with an already large number of capes. In another universe, it would have been my conclusion too, given that Brockton Bay hosted no less than fifty parahumans, right before I started culling them. In this one, there is no one to defend when Leviathan comes a-calling. Not only that, but we have no advanced warning, the PRT being in quite a disarray, and Dragon offline, especially from the Bay (according to the grapevine, she's mourning Armsmaster).

I'm also re-evaluating the wisdom (or lack thereof) of my actions, when I see the beast approaching the city. I'm not one normally prone to burst of emotions, but I feel a few of them, right now. Fear for my city. Anger that Leviathan had chosen it to land. Sadness for the upcoming destruction. And surprise at seeing the colossal being approach slowly, not even calling forth its most damaging wave attacks.

It's as if it's waiting for the opposition to show up. Oh, sure, he walks through whole city blocks, creating much destruction on its way. And given that the population hasn't received an advanced warning, they aren't hidden in the Endbringer shelters. The death toll is already mounting quickly, but Leviathan only advances ponderously.

I frown as I reach a startling conclusion: these "creatures" were not really creatures. They more resembled the toughest armour suits Dragon sometimes sends against them, rather than any sentient being. They could coordinate, without visible communication, so as to appear with a very specific schedule, one at a time, leaving only just enough for the capes to breathe… and then they attack again. They are not creatures: they are machines, whose program is to kill the capes, adjusting their power according to the opposition. The civilian deaths are mere bait for them. And when Scion's boredom lifts a little, he comes and dispatch them. Is Scion a real player, then, or a machine, like them?

Machine or not, sentient or not, it threatens me and mine, so I pull my sturdiest weapon atop one of my sniping nests: a sniping turret, with camera add-ons and self-stabilizing tripod. I don't want to be caught next to it when it will start spitting hot lead – or depleted uranium.

As I walk away, after setting the turret, I watch through the screen overlaying my right eye and almost fumble my next step. Apparently, Leviathan is growing impatient, waiting for the parahuman opposition. I kind of understand their unwillingness to come defend what is perceived as a cursed town, for capes. In addition, Panacea is not there anymore, and most wounds will be definitive. And to alleviate the boredom, the gigantic machine of destruction starts killing… its own pet cape. Remember Alabaster? Apparently, he's still alive! And for Leviathan, he's like a stress-relieving ball that he can punch, crunch, and destroy at will. I wince as I envision the white cape's fate: after a small eternity crushed at the bottom of the sea, he's now killed every few seconds in the most painful manners possible – or close to: I'm not a specialist in pain. My specialty is death.

Once far enough from the turret, I start sniping, aiming at his eyes first. It's as much sniping as it is a deluge of fire, because given that his skin is much tougher than the regular Brutes', I let the turret deliver not three taps or ten, but dozens per second.

The turret is the last acquisition I made, when exploring the armoury belonging to the collapsing PRT. Putting one of their troopers' uniforms, I was glad that it completely hid my body, and stole several weapons and all their ammunition (for me, it has no weight, just a number that keeps changing). Given that the turret became another weapon in my portable arsenal, only the uniforms were of actual weight when I left.

But back with Leviathan, who is suffering some damage. However, like the T-1000 in the old Terminator franchise (and confirming its status as a constructed being), the craters on his body don't show organs or any biology, only a crystalline mass that is harder the deeper you go. Good for me, as I can continue hammering him with denser-than-normal ammunition, as well as explosive ones.

The very few heroes there, busy with evacuating the civilians, notice that the starting point from all the bullets is an automated turret, right before a wave slams into it… and them, too. I run around the city again, choose another vantage point, and drop another instance of the turret. And I then jump down towards a hiding place in another one among my overheated apartments – a precaution against the beast's perceptions.

And I continue aiming for the eyes, chipping away at the Endbringer's flesh.

I don't see him dying, or fleeing, or anything else, because I fall unconscious in the middle of one of my hasty relocations.

And I don't wake up in paradise, let me tell you. Despite the fact that the first person I see bears a passing resemblance to Alice in Wonderland, I'm not in the heaven for drug addicts, either. The fact that the girl has blood on her hands, up her elbows, tickles my brain. Something else tickles my brain, too, but I can't move to investigate. And then I understand better why or how she can have so much blood on herself when she doesn't hesitate to stick them into my body. Through the open ribcage. I'm in quite a bit of pain, understandably, but I also don't react much, used to it.

"I say, you take this better than most." I hear from the side. It's a middle-aged man with a goatee. And a razor. The tickling in my brain intensifies, and I look around to confirm that, yes, I have been kidnapped by the Slaughterhouse Nine.

"She is not normal, Mister Jack." the girl, Bonesaw, say, pouting. "She isn't a cape."

Jack Slash frowns before dismissing me entirely. "Then you can play all you want, we'll find other contestants."

"Yay!" the girl enthuses, which is a sight to behold, let me tell you: with her hands bloodied and her manic smile, I fear for myself – not my life, but the fact that she can, and probably will, make me a mockery of humanity.

And she does, yes. But, at the same time, she "improves" me: partly because she has already improved her companions and does it automatically, and partly because she wants to push her skills further along that road. I end up with a thick and self-healing skin, protected organs, and a brain that works faster. For some reason, Leet's invention eludes her, and takes refuge further and further into my arm, even as she cuts it. She ends up creating another arm entirely.

Jack still prowls around, speaking his mind to anyone who would listen. Strangely enough, his little group of misfits stays coherent enough to listen to him. And obey. Mostly. Crawler already ate my legs twice, and I don't count the number of times he spat acid on me. Burnscar wanted to help, and put me on fire.

Despite my survival, I'm still not a cape, and Jack's power doesn't impede my thought processes. As soon as I can, I manifest enough explosives to kill a small moon, and detonate them. I wasn't expecting to survive this, and I was expecting them to survive. As it happens, Bonesaw was in the process of enhancing some of the others, who all had their defences down for the night.

Crawler rolls around, the force from the explosion barely a push on his reinforced body. Seeing me there, the massive monster tries to eat me again, starting with the arm that's still moving in the air – my other limbs are broken from the explosions and the subsequent fall.

As I manifest a missile launcher, I realize that it now changes the biology of my arm: instead of creating a weapon in my hand, it's my whole arm which becomes the weapon. At least for the high-calibre cannon I'm currently holding, its business end in Crawler's mouth. Using muscles that didn't exist a second before, I pull the trigger.

Boom.

Seeing the parts and pieces of Crawler flying around, I realize that he was perhaps invulnerable from the outside, but his insides were as soft as anyone's – if you could ignore the acid, of course.

The shrapnel from the explosive ordnance pepper my improved body, doing some damage, but it heals already. They also pierce through Shatterbird's body, killing her. In another angle, I notice Mannequin's head being damaged enough to leak some fluid. It is clearly not a deadly wound, though, given how he flies at me, weapons already rotating quickly. I withdraw my arm from Crawler's jaw (the only remaining part of him) by manifesting a smaller gun. It's still massive enough to fire the big bullets, which I do in bursts. Alternating between piercing and explosive, I create holes for the explosions to occur inside, killing him.

I know, from my previous readings on PHO, that there is a bounty offered for the heads of the Slaughterhouse Nine. The problem is that, given my way of dealing with them, there is not much to bring home to brag about.

There is also the problem of outing myself, in a way: doing so would paint a target on my back, especially when people realize that I'm still not a parahuman.

I will just continue doing my job, travelling around, meeting interesting people… and kill them.

Knock knock.

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To be continued… lethally

Author's Notes: Inspiration came before reading Huntress (by Silver719, on SV) but the two share the same basic idea, so I cite it here. The subtitle "Awaken, Sleeper" is a brief and vague nod to Dune, and I only mention that because having written it caused my muse much unrest. See you soon.