a new beg

by thejarl7166

beg new a

5. Shoggoth

Shoggoth

After getting his powers, Jacob Hebert has decided to use them to help his city in a more...roundabout way than just fighting crime.

Unfortunately, a power vacuum looms over the city. After a gang war over the summer which left most of the established gangs in Brockton Bay broken or otherwise bleeding, new gangs and individuals look to stake their claim in the city.

And, whether Jacob likes it or not, no one - old or new - seems willing to just ignore him or his actions...

Notes:

So, I've had the first arc of this posted over on Spacebattles since 2019, since the Worm fandom never really made a transition to AO3. However, I've decided that /not/ crossposting over here just helps make it harder for Worm fans to get established over here; thus, I'll be crossposting going forward.

If you *do* want to see the commentary from people on Spacebattles, look no further:

threads/shoggoth-worm-au.787699/

Chapter 1: Overture - 0.x

Chapter Text

The jacket-wearing figure grimaced at the sprawl of corroded boats in front of him.

From the Boardwalk, or other places that could see the Boat Graveyard from downtown, the line of half-sunken boats was depressing. However, from up close, it was even worse in some ways; it was the proof that Brockton Bay's once-large shipping industry had died because of this.

Jobs lost, an economy disrupted, and a section of the city lost to the down-spiral of recession and crime as their main source of jobs died the moment the ships had been sunk. Seeing the boats up close, the corrosion and graffitti streaked across their lengths – gang symbols, ranging in age from days to decades – made it sting just a bit more.

In some ways, he saw the Boat Graveyard as the single-biggest issue in the Bay. Beyond the gangs, beyond the crime, beyond anything else, the Boat Graveyard had been left to poison its surroundings, figuratively if not literally. It was an indicator: if this was left untreated, the thing which strangled the Bay's once-biggest industry, why would anything else every be properly dealt with?

"Sometimes, you've got to just do it yourself," he muttered to himself. Then, kneeling down, he stuck his hand into the water and watched the surrounding liquid darken, as though his hand was expelling ink. For around ten seconds, he kept his hand submerged and watched the darkness spread outwards from his hand, before withdrawing his hand and taking deep breaths. He watched the darkness coalesce in the water, and moments later saw it rise, revealing itself to be an amorphous blob, with eye-like bulbs forming and moving across its body before vanishing. With a wave of his hand, the blob started bouncing across the top of the water towards the nearest ship, where it immediately started climbing upwards.

The jacket-wearing figure watched the blob climb to the top and begin ripping a section of the uppermost hull off with tendrils it extruded from its body, then he smiled and stuck his hand back into the water, watching darkness ripple out from his hand once more.

[– – –]

William Nader had worked for the Brockton Bay Scrapyard for most of his life, and in that time he had seen some weird things. Sculptures formed from junk, likely by kids who jumped the wall; the disappearance of two partially-intact cars during the span of his lunch break; and even a Tinker in the middle of trying to salvage electronics when he'd stumbled upon her. Joyride ended up buying parts under the table for a few months and he'd struck up an odd sort of friendship with the Tinker; hell, he even helped her hide in the Scrapyard once, running scared, after she ended up on the wrong side of Allfather's Empire and had her then-current safehouse raided.

However, the blob-like creature that he found waiting for him outside the garage, right after he finished one of his rounds, was a new one. The tentacle-extended phone the creature waved at him was a nice touch.

Gingerly reaching towards the phone, William plucked it from the tentacle – to the blob's apparently happy burbling – and saw that there was a call in progress. Eyeing the blob warily, he took a step back before raising the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello there; would I be speaking to a representative for the Brockton Bay Scrapyard?"

William blinked. "Uh...yes, you would?"

"Excellent." He could hear the smile in their voice. "Apologies for the roundabout way of reaching out. I'm pretty sure the PRT, and likely some of the gangs, keep an eye on the scrapyard looking for any new Tinkers, so I'd prefer not to come in person. Now, between your scrapyard and the ones you're affiliated with, how many tons of scrap would you be able to handle?"

[– – –]

Annette sighed as her car turned onto her street, smiling slightly as she saw Danny's truck parked outside their house.

Pulling into the driveway, she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and clambered out of the car, locking it behind her as she walked towards the house and up the steps.

Checking the knob, she found it unlocked and opened the door to walk in, causing Danny – in sight, standing at the stove – to turn towards her. Giving her a slight smile, he waved jokingly with the hand holding the spatula before turning back to the pot he was tending, calling "How was work?" over his shoulder.

Annette groaned, walking into the living room and flopping onto the couch.

She heard a clack of metal touching metal, then heard Danny walk into the living room and poke her head in. "That good, huh?"

She peeked out of her hair at him, seeing him smiling sympathetically down at her. "Something like that. Piggot is dead-set that the current peace is going to dissolve the moment the next Endbringer attack occurs. The Bay's gangs have been too badly hit, there's too many openings; the only reason everyone and their mother isn't taking advantage of the situation is because they don't want to get caught halfway through an operation by the Truce."

"But the moment the attack comes and goes, and the Truce passes…" Danny continued, sighing as he rubbed his face.

"Yep," Annette said glumly. "And multiple Thinkers have corroborated Piggot's estimate, so the PRT is trying to get ahead of it as much as they can. Prep, prep, and more prep, and it's not likely to be enough. And then Armsmaster mentioned that Selkie noticed that chunks of one of the Graveyard's boats is missing, like something ripped or cut them out, so that's causing some upheaval too."

Danny paused, as she knew mention of the Boat Graveyard would. The eyesore had plagued the city for years, and not only had it impacted the Dockworkers Association, but both of the Heberts were sure that the down-spiral in the Docks was a large part of why the Mayor's Office kept refusing to work on getting the Ferry started again. 'Best not to have the rabble and criminals of the Docks using the Ferry to get into Downtown' and all, regardless of what jobs the Ferry restarting would bring.

Annette frowned. Speaking of the Ferry…

"Is Jacob back yet?"

Danny shook his head, a frown widening on both of their faces. Ever since what had happened with Revive the Bay and Jacob, their son's attempts at getting the Ferry operational had gone nowhere, and both knew the impact it was having on him.

He'd been staying out late to try and fix it up himself with whatever mechanical skills he had picked up from working with Revive the Bay and the friends he'd had in the group, and that was just one of the many changes in attitude. Jacob still being out late was just another of the changes that had crept in over the summer. Annette was sure that Taylor having gone to camp right before everything started, and thus leaving Jacob sibling-less during the entire affair, hadn't helped either, even if Emma was still around to hang out with. At least Taylor would be home from camp in two days, and would hopefully snap her brother from his funk.

Just as that flew through her mind, Annette heard the familiar sounds of a bike coming to a halt on the sidewalk outside, and turned her head to the door just as familiar footsteps were heard from the front porch. A moment later, the door opened, and both elder Heberts saw their oldest child wander into the entrance space, carrying his bike and muttering under his breath with a far-off look on his face. Turning, he jolted and swore at seeing both Anette and Danny looking at him.

"What?" Jacob said, a confused look on his face.

Annette thought about saying something about him cursing, but decided not to.

"...Nothing," she said, standing up and walking towards him. "Just glad you're home."

"Love you too, mom," Jacob said as mother and son hugged.

Chapter 2: Cadenza - 1.1

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Chapter Text

"I can't believe you were gone the entire summer!"

"It wasn't the entire summer–"

"Leaving a week after classes end, and getting back a few days before they start again, is essentially the entire summer."

Jacob grimaced. His sister had gotten back into town yesterday, and immediately she and Emma had organized a get-together – or already had one planned – to catch up. Of course, she had badgered him into joining, which…

A few months prior would've seen him happy to join, if somewhat wary of Emma's infrequent attempts to flirt. However, the events of the summer left their marks on his mood, and with his luck Taylor was going to use this opportunity to try and dig into why he wasn't working with Revive the Bay anymore.

Yet, his sister won (because you can't deny her anything, a part of his brain snidely whispered before he told it to shut up) and now he was crammed into a booth at Fugly Bob's, watching Emma harangue his sister about being at camp for so long.

At least Taylor hadn't been around for the summer's unrest.

Taylor looked down and blushed slightly. "It wasn't my fault," she complained. However, when she looked back up, it was with a warier look in her eyes. "I'm just glad neither of you got caught in the violence while I was gone."

Jacob twitched, and he noticed Emma grimace too.

The semi-stable balance between Brockton Bay's gangs had been kicked over around a week after Taylor had left for camp, near the end of May. Some people tried to claim a few different things caused it, such as the Teeth harassing the border between the March and the Empire, but most people knew that it had truly started when Allfather had gone to the front as a show of power. During the inevitable spat between Allfather's retinue and the March, Allfather ended up dead, from injuries that no one had seen land and bearing marks that didn't match anyone's powers or weapons.

Some said it was the Teeth furthering their attempt to push the March and Empire into war with one another; some blamed it on Golden Dragon trickery; some claimed it was a power-play from someone in the Empire; and even more took Occam's Razor and said that it was the March.

Regardless of the fingers pointed, no one could definitively prove who had killed Allfather – which Jacob personally, as well as a good section of PHO, took as a sign that a Stranger was involved – and so Iron Rain decided that avenging her father mean annihilating all the possible culprits. Between Allfather's death meaning Iron Rain was ruling the Empire alone, and the March blaming the Teeth for Allfather's death and making 'drive out the Teeth' their second priority beyond holding the line with the Empire, the entire city had erupted into chaos. The Empire went to war with everyone, the March did what they could to burn the Teeth out at the roots, the Teeth took the violence as a sign to truly start making things chaotic, and the Dragons were caught in the middle and forced to make sure the Teeth and Empire didn't wipe them out as byproduct.

The Protectorate had done everything they could to keep the city from burning to the ground, and the Brigade came back in from Boston to help keep their hometown in one piece, but it took capes from throughout the PRT's Northeast Regional Coalition flooding into Brockton Bay to stabilize matters.

In the end, the damages were extensive, no one had been confirmably identified as Allfather's killer or otherwise confessed to the action, and all the Bay's groups were damaged to some extent or another; Jacob knew that Brightfame's death at Teeth hands had been public and had driven the Empire into even more of a rage, and that the Teeth had been utterly driven out of the Bay for now.

Jacob was very glad his sweet and rather innocent sister had missed it, and from the look in Emma's eyes, she was feeling the same.

"Well," the redhead said, "we didn't, so let's move on." Jacob paused as she then turned a flinty gaze on him. "Such as topics like what Arcadia is going to be like."

Jacob grimaced further. He should've stayed home.

[– – –]

In what felt like no time at all, the final days of summer swept past. In its wake?

A return to high school.

"I hope both of you have a good day," his mother said as Jacob and Taylor clambered out of her van.

"Thanks, mom," Jacob said as Taylor shouted a cheery farewell over her shoulder, too busy staring at the view in front of her to turn around. Looking at the mingled awe and worry on her face, Jacob snorted.

Arcadia High was Brockton Bay's signature 'good school', and his sister was about to enter its esteemed halls as a freshman, whether she wanted to or not. Emma and Taylor had wrung all they could out of him regarding the teachers (which he knew a bit about, and passed along in the universal drive to keep friends and family from encountering the worse teachers without any preparation) and the social strata (which he cheerfully told them both that he knew almost nothing about – to Emma's distress). However, Jacob knew his sister, despite her worry, would end up stumbling into multiple people to befriend within the day, and Emma was likely to take over half their class by the week's end.

That was, once his sister stopped staring at the building and actually entered it.

Giving his mom a thumbs-up as she told him to look after Taylor, and closing the passenger door behind him, Jacob slung his schoolbag over his shoulder and bopped his sister lightly on the head, dodging her flailing 'squawk' with long experience. "Come on Owl-Eyes, you can gawk at the inside too."

[– – –]

"Look who survived the summer," Jacob heard as he stood in line for food, letting the sounds of the cafeteria wash over him. Snorting, he turned his head slightly to see the figure who'd crept up on his left without his notice.

"You saw me three weeks ago, Dennis," Jacob shot back at the redheaded boy, who not-so-subtly shifted himself to be part of the line right next to Jacob, to the grumbling (but nothing more) of the person standing right behind Jacob. "Of course I survived the summer."

"Well, not only had I not seen you in three weeks – that's twenty-one days without seeing you, and I thought we were buds, bud – but considering this summer…"

Dennis cut himself off, likely thinking about the general havoc that had occurred over the past few months, and Jacob decided to be nice and give him a sort-of save. "I was...dealing with stuff for the last few weeks," he said awkwardly shrugging a shoulder and shuffling forward as the line moved. "Not a death or anything," Jacob said, seeing the look forming on Dennis' face. "Just...other stuff."

"Well, hope that stuff has settled," Dennis said, before he got an odd look on his face as he gazed past Jacob. "Hey, they for you?"

Following the hand Dennis raised, Jacob rolled his eyes as he saw Taylor waving at him with a giant grin on her face, Emma dragging her towards the end of the line.

"My sister," Jacob said, deciding to give her a half-hearted wave back to get Taylor to stop, "and a childhood friend."

"A 'childhood friend', huh?" Dennis said slyly, insinuations laced into his voice. Jacob sighed. "Haven't seen them before."

"First off," Jacob said with exasperation, "both are freshmen, that's why you haven't seen them before. Second, my parents and Emma's have been friends since before either of us were born; Emma's older sister is named after my mother, and Anne is three years older than me. I mean it when I say childhood friends."

Dennis snorted, but Jacob could see that the redhead had accepted his retort. After a moment…

"Sorry for implying anything."

Jacob let out a low hum as he shuffled forward, grabbing a tray and waiting to pile food on. "A lot of people have made the insinuations before, including our parents a few times, and it's just...aggravating."

"Ah– ahh," Dennis said sagely, nodding his head. "So, I'm guessing you're the one who doesn't feel the same then?"

Jacob bit down on saying something nasty, knowing it was Dennis' nature to prod rather than him purposefully digging into the matter. "I don't, and I'd appreciate it if you kept that to yourself."

"Chill," Dennis said, giving an exaggerated wink as he piled food on his own tray. "I know how to keep a secret."

Two seconds later, "Does that mean she's single, then?"

Jacob shot him a withering look for not letting the conversation die, then snorted. "Good luck."

"I don't need luck, or my name isn't Dennis Danger Dynamite."

Jacob paused to look at him flatly, then sighed yet again. "Your entire existence is a joke, and mine a curse for having to deal with you."

"You know it."

[– – –]

"Enchanté, mademoiselle," Dennis said the moment Taylor and Emma joined their table, making Jacob slap a hand over his own face.

He didn't want to deal with the coming trainwreck.

"Ex...cuse me?" Emma said, blinking rapidly. Taylor already seemed to know what was happening, and was staring wide-eyed at what was occurring.

"It's a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a beauty," Dennis continued, despite Jacob attempting to use sheer willpower to make the redhead suffer an aneurysm. "My name is Dennis; and what might yours be?"

Jacob had to admit, Emma was rarely if ever flustered, so on the one hand Dennis' actions were good for making that happen.

On the other hand, now he was stuck dealing with this situation.

" 'Ello boys, and mystery girls," a familiar voice cut in just as Emma seemed to be getting her footing, a girl sliding into the seat on the other side of Jacob. "What be happening?"

"Jessie," Jacob said with obvious relief in his voice for the interruption. "Good to see you. How was your summer?"

Jessie smiled, the redheaded girl – Wait, why are there now three redheads and gingers at this table? Part of Jacob's mind asked, before the rest of his brain told it to shut up – shrugging at his question.

"As good as it could be with all the mayhem and destruction, I guess," she said, cracking her lunchbag open and pulling out a sandwich, before turning to Emma and Taylor and holding out a hand. "Jessie, friend of these dorks."

Jacob smiled to himself as he saw Jessie's abrupt arrival throw Emma and Taylor off even further. He'd originally met Jessie through Dennis, the two gingers having an odd friendship that Jacob could never truly understand the origins of, but over time the three had become companions of a sort.

Jessie and Dennis were honestly close enough in shit-stirring personality that Jacob semi-frequently wanted to kill one or both of them, and he routinely called them the Terror Twins due to the similar complexions and personalities, but they had become good friends over the last school year, even if he barely saw them both over the summer.

"Um," Taylor said, rallying quicker than Emma for once and gingerly shaking Jessie's hand. "Taylor. I'm Jacob's bro– uh, Jacob's my sis–"

As Taylor broke down stuttering, face reddening, Jacob spoke up. "Taylor's my younger sister, and is a freshman."

"Emma," the redhead in question said, nodding briskly at Jessie. "Childhood friend of both Heberts."

"Ohhh," Jessie drew out, grin widening. "Nice to meetcha both. So, beyond the chaos and mayhem we all faced, what else were people's summers like?"

As Jessie derailed Dennis' impending trainwreck through sheer force of will, dragging a new topic into conversation without pausing, Jacob smiled to himself.

While Dennis started rambling about something or another from the summer, Emma and Taylor's eyes glued to him – despite the different expressions, Taylor's being wide-eyed awe and Emma's showing bemusement – Jacob leaned over slightly and murmured to Jessie, "Thank you for arriving when you did."

She huffed, giving him a small smile as she tapped his foot with her's. "No problem," she murmured back, watching the girls across from her. "Dennis being Dennis?"

Jacob merely gave a confirming hum back, with Jessie's snort drawing Emma's eyes – and getting her to narrow them when looking at Jessie – before Taylor dragged her back into Dennis' story.

Jessie tapped his foot one more time with hers before turning back to her sandwich, and he smiled.

Chapter 3: Cadenza - 1.2

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Chapter Text

Another day, another section cleared away.

Jacob sighed as he looked at the listing, sinking, and sunk boats that had caused so much trouble for Brockton Bay from the dock he was standing on. It was anyone's call whether it was the Graveyard's creation or the Slaughtering which had caused more trouble, but Jacob firmly believed that the Graveyard was the worse of the two.

The Slaughtering had caused untold devastation to the Bay, but aid and investment money had flooded into the city in the aftermath, even if the Slaughtering's resulting power vacuum had led to enough gang warfare to keep that aid from truly 'benefitting' the city beyond restoring a form of homeostasis.

But the Boat Graveyard...even before the Slaughtering, the Graveyard's effect on shipping and the economy was being felt. Leviathan hadn't appeared yet, and so the drop the Bay's maritime industries had felt had entirely been due to the Graveyard, regardless of what blame the Mayor's office tried to push onto the Endbringers. Even with some of the aid that had gone towards fixing the Graveyard, even with the renewed boom of shipping following Leviathan's death, the Boat Graveyard was still a poison. Not only the literal poison the boats leeched into the water, but it had also poisoned the city itself, with jobs lost and industries shriveled as the Docks lost their main purpose.

When Jacob got his powers, he knew that using them to clear out the Boat Graveyard was going to be his first priority, and once he knew exactly what his power's capabilities - and limits – were, he set out on clearing the Graveyard boat by boat. He'd started with the ones which had fully submerged underwater, and how now turned to the ones which were still above-water, starting with the most damaged and going from there.

He had a touch of hope that the less-damaged boats would instead be repaired, the Dockworker Association or the Mayor's Office or even Revive the Bay pushing enough for outside progress once people started noticing that Lord's Port was actually starting to look like a port again, but he wouldn't put money on it.

Within twenty-one days, he'd done more to clean out the boats than the city or anyone else in it had accomplished in over fifteen years.

Digging himself out of his head, Jacob sighed and looked down from the boat he'd been mindlessly staring at – a vessel named the Green Dream, now being carved apart by a swarm of his Oozes – and stuck his hand back into the water, watching the black cloud explode outwards from his hand into the water. He knew from tests that despite looking like his hand was exelling something similar to oil or ink, it seemed to merely be a visual trick of his power – nothing would be in the water until the Ooze he was making appeared nearly-instantly – but it always seemed so odd. After a few moments, when it started to feel tiring, Jacob withdrew his hand from the water and watched the dark cloud coalesce, then rise to the surface as a new Ooze.

Jacob smiled, despite himself, as he looked at the sheen covering the beachball-sized blob, a number of 'eyes' and 'mouths' appearing on its surface before smoothing back out. A moment later, a feeling of understanding washed across the odd connection he had with his minions as the Ooze started bouncing across the water towards its brethren stripping apart the Green Dream, absorbing and expelling water in some pseudo-propulsion method to move with some degree of speed.

"So, you're the one who's been taking the ships apart."

Jacob flinched, whirling around to see who'd snuck up on him. He'd gotten complacent and let his guard down, and–

Saw the current leader of the Wards raise her hands, a slight smile on her face as she dripped water.

"Easy," Selkie said, smile still in place. "I come in peace."

Jacob paused, looking at the scaled figure. Selkie had taken over the Wards a few months ago when Redoubt transferred out of town, just a week or two before Allfather was killed and things went to shit. From there, she'd had to immediately lead the Wards through the shit-fest that was the summer, nearly losing Nova at one point from what he knew. And now she was here, talking to him.

Luckily, he'd taken to wearing a black masquerade mask he'd bought at the Market when he was younger and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, somewhat finished-out with a bulky camo coat he'd picked up to help be a rudimentary costume. It wasn't nearly as much as he'd like, especially not when encountering proper heroes (or villains, for that matter), but it served his purposes for now. After all, it wasn't like he planned on being a proper cape.

Reaching across the mental connection he held with his Oozes, Jacob had some of the ones he'd had filtering the bottom of the Bay give their 'treasure' to some of the other Oozes before drifting over to be underneath the dock he was standing on.

Just in case.

"Is this one of those friendly 'welcome to the community, leave it in one piece or I kick your ass' speeches, or a 'why don't you come down to the station and talk about what you're up to' speech," Jacob heard himself say, inwardly swearing at running his mouth off at the Wards leader.

An eyebrow rose on her face, even as her smile widened slightly into a smirk. "More of the former," Selkie admitted, walking a step or two to the left to sit down on one of the logs usually used to tie up smaller boats.

Carefully noting that 'more of the former' also meant 'a bit of the latter', Jacob gave her a closer look now that he could slightly relax, seeing as she wasn't immediately moving to attack. He'd seen her before on PHO and at the annual school visits, but the opportunity to see one of the Wards from a few feet away wasn't to be passed up.

Her arms and legs were bare, but that was likely because both were covered in greyish-blue scales on the outwards sides, with both hands and feet ending in webbed appendages, and said appendages having a clawed shape to them. Not enough to make walking or handling objects difficult, but enough that a kick or swipe would likely hurt. Her costume looked like a wetsuit – dark blue, trimmed in silver that matched her hair – but notably had what looked like ceramic plating attached. The helmet she wore also looked like a hybrid between a tactical helmet and a full-face scuba mask, with an opening in the back for her hair to flow free.

(Part of him was curious how that worked if she was going to swim; how did the mask not fill with water while allowing her hair to flow free?)

Jacob knew some people thought she was one of the 'monstrous capes', but he was mostly sure that she was a Changer in addition to her hydrokinetic powers, who used the changes to help disguise her identity. After all, even with a moratorium on discussing cape identities – especially those of Wards – someone would've started a rumor about a silver-haired classmate looking remarkably similar in build to the leader of the Wards, especially if the rumors were true about the Wards attending Arcadia.

Jacob's gaze locked for a moment on her hair. Even with a moratorium on discussing cape identities – especially those of Wards – a silver-haired girl of Selkie's build would circulate through the Bay eventually, especially if rumors were true about the Wards attending Arcadia. Yet, the few classmates who had silver hair – all dyed, likely in support for Selkie – all had different haircuts or notably different builds, so either she had Tinkertech hair dye, or her power helped change her coloring. After a few moments of observation, Jacob decided his guess was 'power-induced' rather than tinker-dye.

Flicking his eyes back towards her face, he caught the amused look in her eyes, as well as the slight roll she did with her shoulders, as though preening. Fighting down a blush and resisting the urge to give an explanation of comparing what she looked like in person to PHO-hosted media which would just be ignored, he looked in her eyes – glowing blue irises surrounded by black sclera, the eyes themselves surrounded by a ring of more prominent scaling – and gave a low cough before voicing his earlier thought. "'More of the former' usually implies at least some of the latter."

"Eh," Selkie said, shrugging slightly while still staring at him with lidded eyes. "It's like they say, right? If you don't have anything to hide, you don't need to worry about the surveillance?"

Jacob blinked. "That's...both ignoring that everyone has something to hide of some sort or another, Ms. 'Secret Identity', and I feel like you're still circling the point."

Selkie tipped her head at the point regarding secret identities. "Fair enough," she said, shrugging again. "I'll put it like this, then. I like to do night-swims – stress relief after days like today - and what do I see but one of those blobby minions of yours leaving this dock. So, I take a swim over to see what's going on, just in time to see another of your blobby minions rise out of the water and join its buddies eating that boat," she waved her arm at the Green Dream, "and so I decided to take the initiative in saying hi. Seeing what you're up to, why you filtered into the Bay; that type of stuff. Capiche?"

Jacob paused and furrowed his brow – glad for the scarf and mask keeping that covered up – as he noted her wording.

"'Filtered in?'" Jacob repeated slowly, deciding to not address the implications of the Ward leader deciding to investigate an unknown, alone, considering he was pretty sure it was supposed to be the Protectorate who interacted with unknown or hostile parahumans.

Selkie's smile stayed intact and her body remained loose, but he could see the frost in her eyes as the conversation finally stopped beating around the bush. "Oh, you know," she said, faux-musing in her voice. "Right after the biggest knock-up to hit the Bay in the last fifteen years and all the local gangs got wounded or wiped out, and most of the independents were killed or otherwise vanished, you're one of the people who came to fill the power vacuum that's about to drop out, right? This is just you trying to get a lead on the others, getting resources for a Tinker friend or something?"

"...I think there's...been a misconception," Jacob said slowly, mind racing and not-at-all blind to the stillness which had crept into Selkie's body. "I'm from the Bay–"

"Oh," she interrupted, cocking her head slightly and she rose to her feet, Jacob taking a step back in response. "That explains why I've seen you around before. Oh, wait," her eyes narrowed, even as the faux-sweetness in her tone soured. "I haven't."

"If you'd let me finish," Jacob bit out, "I'd have told you I got my power just a few weeks ago, and I don't do shit like patrol. And, before you accuse me further, I'm not carving up that boat – or any of the others – for any gang or criminal figure. Sorry, no crime in progress here." He paused. "Well, maybe a crime if any of the boats' owners want to try and press charges, but since they haven't cleaned up their own mess in the last decade I say fuck them."

Selkie paused. "Then...why are you doing it, then?"

Jacob exhaled slowly, suddenly feeling rather disgusted. "Oh, I don't know," he said with a forced cheery note. "I just figured that, unlike everyone who's decided to dress up in tights and try to punch their problems away, I'd deal with the issue that actually caused a lot of the economic issues which caused people to join the gangs in the first place. No Graveyard means one less issue with restarting the Bay's shipping industry, means more money and jobs, means less people relying on gang allegiance to keep their families fed. Sorry if that's not exciting enough for you."

Ignoring the look of shock on Selkie's face, which was starting to turn into an emotion he couldn't place, Jacob continued. "So, now that this interaction has ruined my mood for the night, tell your bosses I'm not interested in joining up. Good night, and fuck you too."

And with that, Jacob stepped backwards off the dock, falling into the large Ooze waiting right below him. The Ooze quickly pulled him into an internal cavity before – with a rush he could feel around him from the Ooze's water propulsion 'system', reshaped to leave him room – it dropped to the bottom of the Bay like a rock.

Quickly meeting up with another Ooze already waiting, the Oozes melded together before splitting back apart and shooting in different directions. While Selkie could try to track or chase him, she wouldn't know which Ooze to go after, and she definitely wouldn't after the two Oozes split again.

"Well," he muttered out loud, pulling down his hood and taking the mask off to rub his face roughly, "I just ripped into a Ward before telling her to fuck off. That definitely won't be me in the ass at all."

Chapter 4: Cadenza - 1.3

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Chapter Text

Jacob biked towards home with a storm brewing in his mind.

It had taken some time to play Three Ooze Monty to make sure Selkie wasn't following him; to getting back to shore and having the Ooze who was holding onto his bike bringing it to him; to strip off his rudimentary costume and have an Ooze sink back into the water with them; to finally pedal away. In all that time, one thought was stuck in his mind.

He'd ripped into a Ward.

In fact, he'd ripped into the Wards leader, and cursed her out before dropping right out of sight. In fact, considering her hydrokinesis, disappearing into the Bay might be even more of a slap in the face, depending on how she took it all.

"Can't fucking…" Jacob mumbled to himself as he sped along, turning when he hit Springer Street to avoid the Empire grunts who usually harassed people a block or two farther down.

She deserved it, one part of his mind incessantly repeated. She'd shown up out of nowhere, as much as accused him of being a villain or a henchman, and then couldn't comprehend the idea of him doing something good just to do good. That was all a shitty thing in and of itself, but…

Jacob shook his head roughly, cursing as the motion wobbled the bike.

That implication. Not only that one couldn't do something good just to do good, that there needed to be an ulterior reason, but also that something like cleaning up the Graveyard had to be for a group rather than a task taken alone…

No, Jacob knew what it was. It was that he'd heard her statement, and taken from it that people could do good things...as long as they benefited someone distinctly in the process, rather than just being for the city itself. Having a parahuman do something that would help everyone, and helped in ways that weren't just punching gangster in the face, was too weird.

It was too much like Revive the Bay for him, what they'd become and what they had left behind.

And honestly, that was part of why he'd told Selkie that he wouldn't be associated with the Wards or the Protectorate, if in a rougher tone than he'd planned on. On his own, as a single person, he didn't have any protection or allies to call on, but he didn't have to conform to a group's expectations or guidelines or strategies seen as 'more beneficial for the whole'. No, he would clear the Graveyard without the resources of the PRT, or the March, or any other gang in the Bay, but he would do it knowing that focus on the Graveyard wouldn't be shoved away for another priority.

There would always be bigger issues, bigger and more immediate messes to deal with; but at the same time, all that type of thinking did was ensure the 'smaller' issues, the ones able to be shoved aside, were never actually dealt with.

Grunting, Jacob pulled himself back out of his head, curving his bike around a parked van before turning onto his street.

Enough thinking about Revive the Bay; that wouldn't do anything but keep himself mired in frustration. Better to think about how his blow-up might come back to bite him in the ass.

Just as fun of a topic, but something which could still fuck him over and might need to be planned for, as compared to Revive the Bay which was in the past.

Skidding to a halt at the start of their house's walkway, Jacob slung himself off his bike and wheeled it up to the porch, lifting it up and propping it next to the door as he tried the handle and found it locked. Cursing lowly, he dug the key around his neck out from under his shirt and bent down slightly to get it in the lock, slipping it back out and under his shirt and he raised back up and opened the door. Budging it open with his heel, he carried the bike into the entryway, carefully leaning it against the wall where it usually went.

"Glad you're home."

"Fuck–"

Jacob whirled around, heart pounding, to see his mother sitting on the couch, computer on her lap, teapot on the coffee table, and a cup on the side-table next to her. She had an impassive look on her face as she gazed at him, and Jacob's heart – slowly returning to its normal pace after the second scare in the last hour or two – did a twist.

"The writing bug bite?" Jacob said after a moment, locking the door behind him before walking into the living room and grabbing the empty cup sitting next to the teapot, filling it halfway up with the tea – ohh, Peppermint Delight – before sinking into the recliner facing the couch.

Jacob knew well enough that this encounter wasn't going to be as nice and simple as he'd like.

"I tried," his mother said, tone even as her gaze flicked over him. "But I was a bit too worried about how late it was to get much done."

Fuck.

"I know," she continued slowly, as though picking over every word before choosing to say it, "that you truly cared for Revive's focus on restoring Lord's Port and bringing the Ferry back into service. You were, outside of the core founders, one of the longest-running people they'd had."

Jacob twitched, but as he opened his mouth, his mother raised her hand. His teeth clicked shut.

"And I know how hard it was for you to see how the group turned away from those goals," she said, eyes focusing on him and into his soul. "How hard it was to have the mayor support them in reconstruction after the summer's violence, so long as they laid off focus on the Ferry and the Graveyard. But just because you're dealing with that does not mean that I, nor your father, are happy with you being out later and later into the night."

Jacob opened his mouth to say something – anything – but nothing came out. His mother's frown tightened.

"I know you," she said, sliding her computer onto the couch next to her before standing up and walking over to him. Kneeling down, she slipped her arms around him. "I know you're not the type to get dragged into drugs or gangs. But, I want you to be safe, and I want to not be worried that you're not safe."

She pulled back to stare at him, and Jacob twitched at the intense look in her eyes.

"I think you understand what I mean, right?"

Jacob nodded shakily.

His mother stayed there a moment longer, gazing into his eyes as though making sure her statement had sunk in, then nodded and kissed him on the forehead. Leaning back, she stood up and walked over to her computer, closing it and tucking it under one arm.

"I'm going to bed," she said, gazing back at him. "Can I ask you to clean the pot and cups, please?"

Jacob nodded silently. His mother smiled.

"Goodnight," she said, walking up the stairs.

Jacob heard the stairs creak as his mother walked walked upstairs, followed seconds later by the sounds of a door opening and closing.

He slumped down.

"Fuck," Jacob mumbled to himself, rubbing a hand over his face.

Either his night trips were going to need to be ending a lot earlier now, which would complicate when he'd be able to get out to the Graveyard to keep taking it apart, or he'd have to try and risk sneaking in and out at night. Considering his mother seemed to have a sixth sense about when him or Taylor got into any sort of trouble – or even opened or closed the windows – while she was home, he doubted the second option would work very well.

And that was all ignoring the potential consequences of his 'encounter' with Selkie.

That...complicated things.

– – – – –

"It's commonly said that the Golden Age of Parahumans ended in 1989, when Vikare was killed. However, this is an American ideal; for the United Kingdom, their Golden Age is commonly said to have ended in 1987, with the Good Friday Massacre.

Can anyone remember what Glóir made their name from? Anyone?"

Jacob blinked lazily at Mr. Smith, the teacher raising an eyebrow at the classroom. A moment or two of silence later, someone to Jacob's left raised their hand, and when Mr. Smith pointed to them, they spoke up, "The Brighton Bombing?"

"Correct," Mr. Smith said, bouncing on his heels slightly. "In 1984, the group known as Glóir claimed responsibility for the Brighton Bombing, which killed dozens and devastated a conference of Britain's Conservative Party, killing Prime Minister Thatcher, most of her cabinet, and seven Members of Parliament. The Brighton Bombing shocked the Western World, and re-ignited the ongoing Troubles on both sides, especially as Glóir credited themselves as a faction of the IRA. This bombing led to the controversial 'Brighton Doctrine', but at this point in time Glóir did not have parahumans in its ranks, so far as the world knew. That changed in 1987, when two members of Glóir confronted the loyalist paramilitary group known as the Ulster Defense Association. By the time the British Armed Forces and local police were able to respond, two blocks had been leveled and dozens of lives lost, the UDA forces present having been massacred by Glóir's members before Glóir started killing the local Protestant civilians. The British Armed Forces arrived, and immediately found themselves facing something they had no preparation for: parahumans."

Jacob kept his gaze from flickering down at the picture in the book; he knew exactly what it looked like. A red sky, covered in heavy enough smoke to blot out the sun, an angry light raging at the center like a star; throughout the smoke, burning and slagged buildings and cars, with scattered bodies and bones showing that not everyone had escaped whatever had happened. A scene from hell itself.

"That," Mr. Smith said slowly, glancing over the room, "was the first time Balor and Gentle Annie made their appearances. The fires and deaths of the Good Friday Massacre shaped parahuman laws in the United Kingdom, as well as the entire Western world, and itself laid the groundwork for the Kings' Men. Yet–"

The bell rang, cutting Mr. Smith off, causing the man to sigh.

Jacob, knowing the teacher's rules, kept to his seat so that the man could give the work for tomorrow.

"It seems I need to keep a better eye on the clock," Mr. Smith said with a self-deprecating smile. "Read pages 131 through 147 in Rejali, pages 255 through 262 in Blackburn, and come to class tomorrow ready to talk about how Glóir and Camelot shaped the Kings' Men's development. Dismissed."

The room came alive with noise as everyone rose from their chairs, shoving supplies into their backpacks and getting out the door as quickly as they could, all trying to get to the cafeteria before anyone else.

"Jacob," Mr. Smith said, as Jacob packed up his notebook and textbook, "a moment?"

Jacob paused, then reluctantly nodded. He'd rather not be late getting to the cafeteria, but there was no protesting.

Finishing putting items in his bag, he walked over to Mr. Smith. "Yes, sir?"

The man raised a grey eyebrow, looking at him intently. "Usually," the man started, "you're one of the more talkative students in the class, always with an opinion or comment. Today, you didn't speak once."

Jacob shrugged, blinking slowly.

Normally, he truly enjoyed learning of the socio-political impact of capes – it was why he'd picked Post-Scion World Events as one of his electives – but after last night he was having an issue properly focusing on anything.

"Just…a weird day," he said. "Didn't sleep right."

Mr. Smith looked at him, then sighed and nodded. "You're a good student, Jacob. Hell, you're one of my favorites in the current students. If you want to talk at some point, just let me know."

"Thanks," Jacob said noncommittally, taking the statement for the out it implied and left the classroom.

Walking towards the cafeteria, he joined the long line and sighed at the time it would take to get his food. He was usually good about packing a lunch, but he just hadn't had the energy this morning to do so, and now it was biting him in the ass.

Seeing the motion in the corner of his eye, he lazily looked over and saw Taylor. Lowly sighing, Jacob gave a short wave back, noting her and Emma walking towards the now-usual table, where…

Jacob raised an eyebrow.

Jessie and Dennis were already at the table, and Stansfield was whispering something to them both.

Dean Stansfield was an enigma to Jacob, partially because he seemed to have some sort of friendship or acquaintanceship with both Dennis and Jessie, but Jacob wasn't sure how it had occurred. Regardless, he only saw them interacting at school a handful of times, and whatever they were talking about seemed to have raised tensions between the three. Jessie shot Stansfield a sharp look, getting the boy to lift his hands and back away, glancing…

Glancing straight at Jacob.

Twitching at seeing Jacob looking directly at him, Stansfield turned around and walked away from Dennis and Jessie.

Jacob's gaze then swapped back to Dennis and Jessie, just in time to see them both shoot him a glance. He turned away from them, thoughts roiling as he started shuffling forward with the line on autopilot.

Jacob didn't really get along with Stansfield; he found the other boy to be the sort who tried to live up to high standards and always seemed disappointed when others didn't do the same. However, he doubted Stansfield was one who'd bad-talk him, so Jacob couldn't place what he had been talking about with Jessie and Dennis regarding him – and what got Jessie to snarl at Stansfield.

"Got a moment?"

Jacob twitched and turned to look at Jessie, who'd come up on him without him noticing. He saw the slight worry in her eyes, the way she was biting her lip, and kept himself still.

"What's up?" Jacob said, tone level.

"Oh, don't do that," Jessie said, scowling at him. "I'm not here to say anything bad, so don't act like you're preparing for me to tell you you're a horrible person or anything."

Jacob twitched, but Jessie went on. "Dean saw you moping a bit earlier and, being the pushy idiot he is who can't keep his nose to himself, decided to come tell us so that we could hopefully drag you out of your funk."

Jacob cocked his head. "He did, huh? And what do you think?"

Jessie squinted at him. "I think that you're not this monotone and not-snarky in normal cases, so something's up at least."

"I had a bad night," Jacob repeated his previous excuse, sighing heavily. "Does that work? I slept like crap and going through eight hours of school and people isn't helping in the least, and I'm getting through the day in a way that won't leave me storming out of the building to keep from saying or doing something stupid. That good enough?"

Twitching as he noticed how pointed that had been and how taken-aback Jessie was, he sighed again, softer.

"Sorry," Jacob said, seeing the look on her face. "It's...I had a rough night," he repeated, softer. "Just don't poke at me for a bit, please?"

"Sure," Jessie said, softly. "I'll tell Dennis, make sure he knows to lay off."

She turned away, paused, then turned back and opened her arms.

Jacob's lip twitched upwards, and he stepped forward to take the hug.

"Thanks," he whispered, before letting go.

She just gave a smile and a wink back before walking back to the table. Sighing, Jacob turned back to the food-line, slowly creeping closer to the counter.

Chapter 5: Interlude - 1.a

Summary:

(Interlude - Piece of instrumental music played between scenes in a play or opera.)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"What do you think the Director called us here for?"

Verdant turned to look at Bellwether.

"No clue," he said, shrugging. "It's probably not a cape fight since we'd have been sent out to deal with that, and political stuff likely would've been talked about on the news before we heard anything, the way things travel. If you aren't aware, then I'm guessing the calm isn't breaking–" At this, Bellwether shook her head; her powers hadn't told her of any changes. "–So either it's bad politics, or someone new's popped up on the scene. Either way, it won't be good, I know that much."

"That's...auspicious," Bellwether frowned.

Verdant snorted. "Welcome to Brockton Bay."

They both walked into the meeting room the Director usually used to meet with the Protectorate, and found themselves to have been the last arrivals, minus the Director herself.

Miss Militia and Armsmaster, two of the longest-running Brockton Bay Protectorate Members, were in a discussion regarding something on a screen Armsmaster was holding, while Archivist – also an experienced member of Brockton Bay's team – had managed to drag Challenger into conversation. The transfer from New York had been having a bit of roughness settling in, Verdant knew, and Archivist always did what she could to ensure new members managed to find comfort in their new settings.

After all, she did the same when Verdant joined the Protectorate.

Lastly, Verdant spotted Mu reading what looked like a computer science textbook. Verdant snorted to himself; the Case-53 had apparently decided to get a bit more esoteric in what counted as 'language-learning'.

The other four members all gave their own form of acknowledgments. Verdant walked over to Mu and held out a fist, Mu fist-bumping him without looking up from his textbook, before Verdant dropped into the chair beside him; Bellwether grabbed the open spot between Archivist and Armsmaster a moment later.

"So, anyone know what's going on?" Verdant asked, tossing his gaze over the assembled capes. "Did one of the Wards accidentally set their common room on fire, again?"

"You really should stop getting on Nova's case for that," Miss Militia said, laughter in her voice.

"Redshift also set the common room on fire, when you were out of town," Armsmaster said, a tone of long-suffering in his voice.

Archivist coughed in a way that might've been suppressing a laugh as Miss Militia turned her head to face Armsmaster, eyebrows raised.

"Really–"

Before she could continue her sentence any further, the doors to the conference room opened one more time, causing everyone to go quiet.

In the doorway, Director Piggot raised an eyebrow at the group of capes – straightening up as though they were a group of teenagers who just had the teacher walk in the classroom – with Selkie at her side.

Verdant blinked. No, his eyes weren't tricking him; Selkie was still standing next to the Director.

He shot a quick glance at at Armsmaster and Miss Militia; the former was head of the team while the latter usually took point dealing with the Wards – alongside Archivist, who had experience raising two kids whereas the rest of the team had a combined total of zero – and either of them would've been aware of the Ward leader being included in whatever this was.

From the looks on their faces, neither of them – any of them, considering Archivist's expression – had any clue what was going on.

That...probably wasn't good.

Glancing them over, Director Piggot headed to her seat and sat down, and waved Selkie to sit in the open seat next to her, the girl doing so with almost-uncharacteristic demureness.

"Last night," Director Piggot started, "Selkie made contact with an unidentified parahuman down at Lord's Port."

The room broke out in murmurs, and Verdant's eyes fixed themselves to Selkie. The girl seemed intact; hopefully the bashfulness was just due to whatever Piggot had said to her, or what punishments she feared getting stuck with, rather than anything due to the encounter itself.

"The unidentified parahuman," Piggot continued without pausing, talking over the muttering, "tentatively classified as 'Mitotic' displayed the ability to generate amorphous minions, apparently though or with the aid of water. Selkie?"

Selkie twitched, then spoke up haltingly. "I...sometimes do swims at night, to calm down. When I was swimming past the Boat Graveyard, I saw a blobby shape bouncing across the top of the water, towards one of the ships. When I poked my head up to get a better look, I saw that there were nearly a dozen of the shapes, already on the ship. They seemed to be...taking it apart."

Verdant's eyebrows went up, and he heard a hiss escape from Armsmaster's lips. That...had a few different potential outcomes, and few of them were good.

However, Selkie kept going. "I…decided to investigate, to try and determine the intent of the person responsible–"

"And broke numerous regulations, including going against the fact that Wards are not supposed to initiate contact with unknown parahumans," Piggot said.

Selkie's teeth clicked shut, a look of anger flashing across her face in the blink of an eye before vanishing. After waiting a moment or two, likely for further comments, she continued.

"I initiated contact with...Mitotic," she said, almost stumbling over the cape's name. "And due to...pre-existing suppositions–"

"Selkie decided that accusing the new, unidentified parahuman of criminal leanings would be a good idea, needling him until he verbally tore into her and retreated," Piggot cut in again, eyes raking over them all as though waiting to see someone say she'd been in the right.

"How did he respond?" Mu spoke up, head cocked and oriented towards Selkie. "Beyond the 'verbal tearing', that is."

"He…" Selkie looked confused, and flustered. "He said that he wasn't taking apart the boats for a gang, or to use the materials for himself. He said that he was doing it because the Graveyard had done more damage to the Bay than anything else, and that getting rid of the Graveyard and making Lord's Port operational again would do more to damage the gangs than…" Selkie's face wrinkled up. "Than 'dressing up in tights and trying to punch his problems away.'"

Without meaning to, Verdant let out a low whistle as his eyebrows climbed, flinching when this drew Piggot's gaze.

That...was unexpected. And ballsy, to be honest. And, from the look on everyone else's face, this 'Mitotic' essentially insulting the very nature of superheroes wasn't received swimmingly.

"After Selkie reported this encounter," Piggot continued, not stating what punishments Selkie had gotten herself saddled with for her actions, "I had the surveillance tapes around the Boat Graveyard checked. This was from two weeks ago."

Piggot clicked a button on the console in front of her, and the television off to the side flickered on, showing night-vision footage from a camera aimed at the Boat Graveyard. Verdant grimaced at seeing the rusting vessels, but didn't see anything new.

"And this," Piggot said, clicking a button to change the footage, with the new footage getting inhales and muffled gasps from the room, "was five days ago."

A part of Verdant's mind noted that some of the more rusted vessels were missing; smaller ones, but enough that it couldn't have just been one or even two slipping under the water in the week between the tapes.

The rest of his mind, however, was caught on the footage of over a dozen darkened shapes crawling across one of the boats, notable chunks missing. Just barely in sight of the camera was a disguised figure, seemingly watching the shapes.

A few seconds later, the figure crouched down, seemingly sticking his hand in the water. Around half a minute later, the figure stands back up, moments before a shape rises out of the water.

Archivist inhaled, and Bellwether squeaked. Verdant couldn't blame either of them. The shape was a dark formless blob, and also happened to be – as far as Verdant could tell – around the size of a small car.

The minion started slowly bobbing across the water towards the boat, and the figure watched it go. Around ten seconds later, the figure knelt back down, sticking his hand back in the water.

"Two and a half weeks ago," Piggot said softly, "One of the officers assigned to watch new parahuman hotspots – scrapyards, the Graveyard, Archer Bridge itself – got a hit with the Brockton Bay Scrapyard. A blob-like construct, around the size of a beachball, was observed entering the yard and dispensing a cellphone to William Nader, the yard's owner. After a short period, the call ended, and the construct departed.

"According to Mr. Nader, he told officers that the construct's generator was looking to determine how much scrap the yard, as well as all affiliated yards, would be able to accept. Mr. Nader also said that the figure asked in terms of tons."

The room was silent.

Piggot looked grim. "Unless we learn otherwise, I'm declaring that these events are the same person in question. 'Mitotic' has been classified as a Master 5, as well as a Mover 4 due to Selkie's accounts of getting away from her in water."

Selkie shrunk down in her chair slightly.

"Hopefully," Piggot stressed, though her face showed that she herself doubted her next words, "This 'Mitotic' is actually as chivalrous as he has declared, and that his only concern is dealing with the Boat Graveyard. That still ignores the fact of how the Boat Graveyard's removal would itself provide further destabilization in an already uncertain period. What is more likely, however, is that they're acting both to further themselves in the public's eye, and accumulating both raw materials and a monetary base through his association with the scrapyard."

"Why would the Graveyard's removal cause further destabilization?"

Verdant looked at Selkie in surprise. Considering that she had already likely been through the wringer, and would be going through it again with the senior Protectorate members, he figured she'd be doing her best to stay out of sight, not potentially talking back to Piggot.

The Director, meanwhile, paused before looking at Selkie, an intense look in her eyes but – surprisingly – no actual condemnation in her expression.

"Mitotic might believe his actions will help the city, and to a degree he's not wrong. However, the removal of the Boat Graveyard and the potential for Lord's Port reopening would bring with it a great deal of economic potential, and such potential would be jumped on by every gang and criminal organization in the region, all looking to embed themselves in the revitalization and profit from it. With every gang attempting to do so, that would be a mess of its own, and that's without taking into account the fact that Brockton Bay is itself facing a power vacuum as it is."

Verdant winced, but he knew she was right. The only reason the summer's violence had as much of an 'ending' as it did was because an Endbringer was due in the next week or two, and crime always ramped down so no one got caught by the Truce halfway through an operation or crime.

But the second the Endbringer fight was done, and the Truce with it…

"If Mitotic keeps on his current course," Piggot continued, steadily, "even if he actually is genuinely trying to do good, the results will bring enough turmoil to cancel out any good that comes to the city as a result of his actions."

Her head turned back towards the table. "If any of you encounter Mitotic, do your best to convince him that the Wards are the best option for him. Make sure to remind him of the danger independents face, especially in times of crisis."

Verdant hissed lowly. A massive chunk of the Bay's independents had died or otherwise vanished over the course of the summer, be they heroes – Dreamlight or Cadence – or villains – Grue, Lamplighter, Shadow Stalker – or even rogues like Transterraform or The Delegate. The Teeth were believed to be behind some of the disappearances, but no one could definitively prove that the Harvesters hadn't been able to sneak in during the chaos and make off with anyone. Some others had joined the pre-existing groups – if the powers of the March's new cape Courtier were anything to go off of, the thief Circus had finally joined a team, likely to avoid joining the missing and the dead – but the summer's violence had truly left a mark on the Bay's independent capes.

And if and when the vacuum imploded and the Bay dropped right back into chaos as every criminal and their mother tried to establish themselves in the new status quo, whatever independents were in the Bay would be facing the same threshing.

"What is the likelihood that our organizations receive aid during the coming turmoil?" Mu said, dragging Verdant's attention back to the room, partially from how uncommon it was for Mu to speak up unprompted, let alone multiple times.

Blinking, he looked over at the Case-53, seeing the man sitting there and gazing at the director calmly.

Piggot's lip curled, though Verdant could tell it was more at the situation in general. "The Brigade–" Verdant saw a look of disgust flash across Archivist's face at the mention of the former Brockton Bay group, but she said nothing. "–left town as soon as the fighting had ended, and will be unlikely to be willing to return so soon. Meanwhile, the Northeast Coalition is not going to be helpful either. Boston is being ever-more obstinate, and New York keeps claiming they need to stay impartial and not demonstrating favoritism. Newark has been starting to sway towards joining the Coalition, but they're a new enough department that they're leery of leaving themselves partially unprotected by lending us any of their resources. Meanwhile, Philadelphia is currently ground-zero for the Teeth's crusade, and an attempt on the Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum – the main guess is the Harvesters, but the Teeth haven't been ruled out – led to a running firefight between numerous groups, and caused a breakout."

"Fuck," Challenger said, blushing and scooting down into his chair at both the Director and Selkie looked his way. Verdant couldn't blame him, though. Thought of the Asylum losing multiple capes was a terrifying thought, especially considering who might've gotten loose.

As though reading his thoughts, Piggot continued. "A large number of inmates are no longer contained, with a large fraction of them just as likely having been captured or kidnapped as they were to have fled on their own. And to give you a scale for how bad it was: loose inmates include Burnscar, Sphere, and Pygmalion."

Mutters broke out through the room. As Verdant had heard it, it was only luck that Sphere had surrendered himself to custody rather than doing something rash after Ziz had killed his family, and the tinker had apparently become rather…mercurial in the intervening time.

And that was ignoring the pyrokinetic pyromaniac and the psychotic 'dollmaker' also god-knew-where doing god-knew-what.

Bellwether raised a hand slightly. "And Pittsburg?" she asked timidly.

Piggot looked like she was sucking a lemon.

"Winnow's resurfaced."

Everyone except Armsmaster and Miss Militia flinched – Selkie looked green – and even they both looked a mixture of haunted and resigned.

A few moments later, Armsmaster spoke up. "I reached out to Wyvern. Ladon is unable to send any of her Claws out here, but depending on how the Guild's coming mission with the WunderNetwork to deal with Omerta goes, as well as the retrieval of the asylum's renegade inmates, we may be able to secure one or two of the Spartoi."

Verdant understood the grimace that crossed Piggot's face. The Spartoi were remarkably capable, as befit the younger siblings of the greatest Tinker in the world and expert parahumans in their own rights, but they were also rather busy helping the Guild keep various worldwide issues from exploding. Thus, while the sentiment of aid was good, the actual odds were much less solid.

"Until I have one of them in this city," Piggot said, in a way Verdant thought of as rather diplomatic for her, "it's best to assume that Brockton Bay will be weathering whatever comes, alone."

Notes:

PROTECTORATE

- Armsmaster: Canon powers

- Miss Militia: Canon powers

- Archivist: Other long-running ENE Protectorate member

- Verdant: Protectorate member, moderate time as ENE member

- Mu: Case-53

- Bellwether: Semi-recent transfer

- Challenger: Longer-than-Bellwether-but-recent transfer

WARDS

- Selkie: Team Leader

- Nova: Name-dropped, has set the Wards common room on fire

- Redshift: Name-dropped, has also set the Wards common room on fire

- Unnamed Wards Member #1

- Unnamed Wards Member #2

- Unnamed Wards Member #3

You still haven't met/heard of some of the Wards, but you've seen all the Protectorate members, so congrats!

Chapter 6: Cadenza - 1.4

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Chapter Text

The next week passed, almost seeming to blur and crawl past at the same time.

Jacob would wake, get ready for school, eat with his family, and then be driven to school with Taylor. He'd then go through his day, attending classes and interacting with classmates as needed, and afterwards he'd return home with Taylor and…

Well, he floated from focus to focus until he went to sleep, and then it would all restart.

He knew this was not going unobserved; Taylor was starting to shoot him worried looks and had – potentially – conscripted Emma into helping knock him from his mood, while both Dennis and Jessie had also seemed to have noticed his attitude.

Jacob wasn't sure. What it was, that is; just why he felt so disconnected from the daily events, as though his body was on auto-pilot and his mind was in the passenger seat.

A small part of his mind growled that it was his mother's fault: with her close supervision, he wasn't able to keep cleaning up the Graveyard, or at least not without putting himself at a much greater risk of detection and further punishment. Without that, he was getting restless with his inability to continue helping the city. Another part put the blame on his encounter with Selkie, and the mess that had turned into; not only was there a non-zero probability that the Graveyard was under closer supervision after that encounter, which also left him at risk of problems if he tried to clean up the Graveyard, but the way she'd suspected him, and the way he'd reacted...it dug at stuff he didn't want dug at.

But, he knew that wasn't it. Not fully, anyways.

At least part of it, a part he wanted to deny but knew was true, rested on the fact he'd been doing what he could to stay in motion since his final break from Revive the Bay, doing what he could to keep moving and not have to think about it. Now that he was 'staying in place' for too long, not having something to work on and keep him distracted, it was finally catching up.

Considering that he really didn't want to deal with whatever feelings he had regarding being betrayed by a group he had truly cared about, and the people who he thought had been friends, his issues with repressing that without any work to properly distract him were starting to wear on his mind.

Fuck that.

"I'm going out," Jacob said suddenly, standing up. Taylor and Emma both twitched at his sudden action, turning from the television – playing some unremarkable comedy-mystery movie he'd tuned out of five minutes in – to look at him.

"What do you mean?" Taylor said, looking at him with confusion and mild worry. "The movie isn't done."

Jacob shook his head like a dog shedding water. "I need to get some fresh air, reset my brain. Go to a coffee shop for a bit and take in things that aren't just the inside of my head. Sorry, keep watching the movie; I just need to get out of this week's rut."

Tuning them both out, Jacob grabbed his phone and keys, made sure he still had his wallet in his pockets, and grabbed his bike from the entranceway. Knocking the door open, he dragged the bike out and swung the door shut behind him, flinging himself onto the bike before peddling down the walkway and then the sidewalk as fast as he could, aimed southwards.

Pedalling furiously, Jacob headed towards a coffee shop he had some familiarity with, one of the ones he frequented more often than others. It was a hole-in-the-wall place just inside March territory, and not only did it have wonderful drinks and comfortable seats, but they tended to usually just be not-busy enough for him to be able to grab a table or chair for an hour or two and loiter without taking up space other potential customers might want. Plus, there was a bookstore next store that had an actual interior doorway connecting the two businesses and tended to have some sort of discount for customers who purchased something on both sides.

A rigorous ride, a place to sit and listen to peace without having to interact with them and could allow him to turn his brain off for a bit, a hot drink, and the ability to glance through interesting-looking books. That was what he needed.

Skidding to a stop after some time riding (which he ignored the implications of not remembering anything that happened between starting and stopping the ride), Jacob swung himself off the bike and dug the chain off the frame, attaching it to the bike-rack right outside. The March might be an esoteric combination of old-time chivalry values and increasingly-labyrinthe customs, to the point where memes about them being proof that Fae were real had been persisting on PHO for years now, but they were essentially the best gang in the Bay in terms of enforcing stability in their territory, and that even covered the small things like cracking down on bike thieves.

Pausing for a moment, his feet first dragged him into the coffee-shop half of the conjoined businesses first. Glancing over the Down to the Ground(s) decal on the door and fighting down an unwilling smile at the stupid pun (and the (s) being a stylized coffee cup), Jacob pulled open the door and walked in, blinking slightly as his eyes adjusted. Glancing over the shop's interior, he saw a few people sitting around sipping on a drink or hunching over a book or computer, but found the place suitably empty.

Glancing up to the counter, he gave a small smile at the raised eyebrow directed his way.

"Haven't seen you in a bit," Jacob heard as he walked up to the counter, the girl standing there shooting him a Look. His lips twitched.

"I've been...a bit busy," Jacob said in response, fighting down the memories of last being here with B- people from Revive the Bay. Dragging his mind off that, he raised an eyebrow of his own. "Kinda surprised to still see you here, considering how your dad wasn't happy with you working. You finally win him over?"

She shrugged, a wry smile crossing her lips. "Oh, he's still not happy, but saying that it's good to 'work as a regular person, to experience what they do and make sure I don't lose touch with normal people' had managed to silence his protests for now, at least."

Jacob let out a snort, failing to fight down a smile at the exaggerated accent she'd put on when listing off the reason. "Congrats, Ames."

Ames had been working for Down to the Ground(s) since he'd started coming in a year ago, then something like an apprentice. Jacob wasn't sure what her father did exactly, but he knew Ames' family was rather wealthy and, if she wanted, could get through life without ever touching a service job (or, possibly, any job).

Instead, she'd decided that it was only far to interact with people and see them as people rather than remaining cloistered away from the world (in her own words), and took the job at Down to the Ground(s) to try and do so, doing so only around a month before Jacob had started coming in. Her father had been fighting her on it, on and off, for nearly the entire time, and Jacob was glad Ames was hopefully done with that; he'd struck up a rapport with her, and having her life be less stressful made him happy.

Ames gave a sharp smile at his congratulations before leaning down on the counter slightly, curly brown hair shifting as she did so. After a moment, her smile faded, and Jacob instinctively twitched. "So," she said, the dragged-out word making his skin itch, "How've you been?"

Jacob opened his mouth, then clicked it shut. He and Ames weren't really the best of friends, partially due to her going to Immaculata and thus unable to interact with him during school hours, but they'd shared enough things over the year of knowing one another, things they hadn't really talked about with others, that just telling her he was 'fine' would be going a bit in the face of that. However, he really had no desire to go into anything regarding that mess when he'd come to the shop to get his mind off of that.

Ames seemed to read this from his expression because a look of commiseration appeared on her face. "Fair enough," she said, standing back up before stretching towards the ceiling, Jacob looking away as her shirt rode up slightly. "You know where to find me if you wanna vent," she said as she stopped her stretch, Jacob looking back over. "Now, what're you having this fine day?"

Jacob felt a wave of relief go through him at her being willing to drop the matter with no issue and tipped his head to her in thanks, but as he opened his mouth to give his order, a siren sound cut through the air.

"Fuck," Ames bit out, eyes wide and face paling, and Jacob felt his heart kick.

The sound cut off after a few moments, but Jacob knew exactly what it was.

Endbringer attack.

Chapter 7: Cadenza - 1.5

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Chapter Text

After a few moments, Jacob heard the signal drop off, followed by two brief blares of the siren's higher-pitched wail.

Shuddering slightly, Jacob felt his heart drop back out of his throat. If the siren had kept going non-stop, it would've meant it was Brockton Bay in the crosshairs; but the siren going shortly, followed by two wails, meant that an attack was starting somewhere else in the world. An update and warning and call to arms, all in one.

A...call to arms…

"Actually," Jacob said slowly to Ames, startling her back into the present and drawing her eyes to him, "I think I'm good without."

"Heading home?" Ames said, moving to turn some of the shop's instruments off. A lot of places generally closed during Endbringer attacks, whether from curtesy or ill-feelings of living life while somewhere else would be facing annihilation. From the look in her eyes, Jacob knew that she was having the same torn feeling of knowing a place was going to be devastated and not being able to help.

But...he was able to help.

"That's the plan," Jacob heard himself say, all while tugging on the mental bond he had to the few Oozes he'd left active in the Graveyard, telling them to make their way towards him.

"Seeya later then," Ames said as he headed out, Jacob giving a distracted nod in return. Three feet outside the door, however, and his phone rang. Grunting at the distraction, Jacob kept heading towards the PRT's headquarters – where he assumed the assembly for those willing to assist would be – as he pulled out and flipped open his phone.

"Hello?"

"Jacob!" His father said, making Jacob twitch. "Where are you? I called the house, Taylor and Emma said you were gone!"

"I'd gone out to get some fresh air, ended up running into a friend," Jacob said, bending the truth, before outright breaking it by saying, "We're close enough to their home that we're both just heading there; the roads are looking too bad to head home so we're just holing up at their place until things cool down."

Hearing a sharp whistle from behind him, Jacob whipped his head around to see Ames standing by the shop's front door, pointing to his bike still chained to the rack. Internally swearing, he dug his keys out and pulled the bike's key off the keychain before tossing it overhand her way, Ames rolling her eyes but catching it and moving towards the rack.

Satisfied his bike would be safely stored in the coffee shop for him to retrieve later, Jacob tuned back into the call as his father spoke back up.

"That's," his father trailed off, letting out a grunt which made Jacob feel bad for his deception. Not enough to stop his current course of action, but...he still felt bad. "Just...be safe, alright?"

"I will," Jaob said, hoping it wouldn't be a lie. "Love you, dad."

"I love you too, Jacob."

And with that, the line went dead, and Jacob let out a quiet sigh. He'd decided to do something utterly stupid with zero forewarning, but he was sticking with his plan.

As he ducked into a nearby alley, feeling his Oozes about to reach him – costume tucked away in one of the Oozes – he breathed out slowly.

"Guess I'm actually doing this, then."

– – – – –

Jacob reached the PRT's headquarters minutes later to find a frenzy of activity occurring. As he arrived, he saw Tyrfing's signature metal disc appear from the direction of Downtown, dropping rapidly in height to reveal Tyrfing himself, Iron Rain, and Effigy all riding the disc.

Jacob frowned. Piece-of-shit Nazis, and yet those Nazis were also Brockton Bay's most consistent Endbringer fight attendees, outside of the Protectorate itself.

God, what did that say about their city?

Yanking himself back out of his head, Jacob saw the PRT agents keeping guard at the gateway into the headquarters turn towards him as his Ozes rolled out of the nearby street and head towards the agents, Jacob 'riding' in a divot on top of the largest Ooze. He had the Oozes come to a slow halt ten feet away from the agents, one of whom had been conferring with the Empire's delegation; all had turned towards him by the time his Ooze stopped.

"I'm here to fight," Jacob said, barely keeping himself from twitching under the scrutiny.

"You're the cape that's been taking apart the Boat Graveyard," Iron Rain cut in, her rough voice making Jacob think of a smoker.

He gave her a wary glance.

"What makes you think that?" He said, getting a snort in return. "And, even if you're right, is now really the time to be discussing that?"

Jacob saw her head tilt slightly as if in recognition, and heard a wheeze from Effigy, but before Iron Rain could respond, one of the agents stepped forward; Jacob saw the name 'JOHANSSON' on the vest.

"Capes are gathering in the deployment zone to await pickup," the agent said. "We'll be escorting the four of you there now, unless you are waiting for others."

"We're the only ones from the Empire," Iron Rain said, crossing her arms.

"I'm alone," Jacob said, a moment later.

The agent nodded once, then headed through the archway separating the Bay from the PRT's headquarters, walking away at a brisk pace, Empire capes on their heels. After a moment, Jacob urged his Oozes onwards, following the procession.

"So," Tyrfing said, dropping back a step or two and cocking his head at Jacob. "You're a new cape, huh?"

"What gave it away?" Jacob said, uncomfortable both at the slight against his homemade costume and the fact a Nazi cape was attempting to make small-talk.

Tyrfing gave a hum. "Brave, to decide to fight an Endbringer while being comparatively new to the game. You can engage from a distance unlike others, or just join search and rescue, but it's brave all the same. Your name, brave one?"

"...Proteus," Jacob said after a moment.

At one point, he'd fancied 'Shoggoth' in an odd whim, but eventually decided that had far too many negative connotations.

Tyrfing hummed again, tilting their head further. "Grecian sea god, associated with the changing seas, and with versatility and adaptation."

Jacob twitched at Tyrfing's quick recitation of name's meaning, causing Tyrfing to give a small chuckle. "I enjoy mythology, as you might have guessed from my own title. Proteus...fitting, in regards to your minions, and where your efforts have been focused so far; I approve."

Jacob...was not sure how he felt about that, but figured that rebuffing the son of the Empire's leader would not be a smart move, especially before fighting alongside them against an Endbringer. Trying to get his mind onto something else, Jacob asked, "Do you know who's attacking?"

"Who? Not Behemoth, at least; mom doesn't let me engage against the Eldest. Where, however, is Cardiff."

The UK, huh…

"Tyrfing," Iron Rain called.

"Yes, mother," Tyrfing replied in a sing-song tone. Turning to look at Jacob – no; he was Proteus right now – one last time, he nodded. "Good luck, brave one."

With that, Tyrfing increased his pace to catch up to Iron Rain and Effigy, the latter giving a half-hearted swat at Tyrfing's head.

Feeling remarkably uncomfortable but deciding to deal with all of...that later, Jac- Proteus looked ahead of the Empire capes and their PRT escort at the mass of costumed figures, all milling around a red-painted square just to the side of the PRT building, enclosed in the large plaza by the walls which separated the PRT headquarters from the outside city.

Proteus saw Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Verdant, and Archivist, the Protectorate capes native to Brockton Bay, milling with the Wards Trickshot and Nova. He saw Trickshot checking over the projectile weapons on his body while Nova messed with one of her armored gauntlets. Further to the side was the black-clad form of Oni Lee, the Golden Dragon member sporting two semi-automatics in holsters as well as a bandolier of knives; he was flipping a knife in his hand over and over, staring straight at the red square in front of him.

As the Empire capes and Proteus approached the massed figures, all except Oni Lee turned to watch them.

"Empire," Armsmaster said flatly. Proteus noted he seemed especially annoyed about something.

"Armsie," Iron Rain said with what, disturbingly, almost sounded like a sharp purr in her voice. She glanced over the arrayed figures. "Looks like almost all the usual folks are here, and god knows Morrigan may be an arrogant bitch, but even she's not stupid enough to go to Britain with a name like that. So, should we get this show on the road?"

Armsmaster gazed straight at Proteus for a few moments, making him feel uncomfortable, before the man nodded once. Raising a gauntlet, Armsmaster typed in a short sequence and turned towards the red square. A few moments later, and–

Proteus twitched as the air split open, a strong pull of wind ruffling the assorted figures before stopping. A moment later, and the split solidified into a circle of shimmering space, like air in the hot summer raised by a magnitude; the edges glowed a soft white, and the circle showed what appeared to be a gathering of hundreds in a field. Proteus couldn't be too sure, though; the shimmering distorted the other side enough to remind him of an impressionist painting.

The assorted capes started filing through, Oni Lee barely waiting until the circle had solidified before walking through. The Protectorate, aside from Armsmaster, followed, then the Wards and finally the Empire's capes, with Proteus just behind them and Armsmaster trailing behind him.

As he emerged from the other side, Proteus saw a pedestal waiting right to the side of the portal holding a bracer on it, which Tyrfing snagged as he walked past. Moments later, a new bracer appeared on the pedastal with a fizt sound.

"Iron Rain likely told you how this works–" Armsmaster gruffly said from behind him, before Proteus cut him off.

"I showed up when they did, but I'm not a Nazi cape," he cut Armsmaster off, wanting to make sure that he didn't get stuck with a mistaken E88 affiliation.

"Ah," Armsmaster said, then nodded once. Turning to the figure standing by the horseshoe-shaped device framing the portal and nodding once, the man nodded back and hit something which shut down the portal, before reopening it a second later to show a different impressionist image. Armsmaster grabbed a bracer off the pedestal and gestured Proteus over to the side.

"What you'll do is put the armband on, and it'll tighten as needed to properly fit," Armsmaster said, apparently deciding to give no further thought to his misapprehension. "Once you do, hold the middle button and give your name when it asks so that it is properly registered. The screen will display a list of groups before deployment; select your focus and it will tell you where to group up. Press the left button and say someone's name to send them a message, and hold it to be told where the nearest downed cape is; press the middle button once the fight starts to be told where the Endbringer is in relation to yourself; and hold the right button to get a connection to the Spartoi. Such a thing is only relevant in matters where you're reporting matters such as Anansi or his minions shifting locations, or if you're alerting them to pertinent information. Abuse that and you lose access to that function, and might face charges. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Proteus said, taking the armband from Armsmaster before the man nodded once at him and walked down the steps from the platform the portal was on. Slipping the armband on his wrist, Proteus did as Armsmaster had told him, confirming 'PROTEUS' was correct when it asked. Then, the screen showed him a list, ranging from 'Healing' to 'Analyst' to 'Long-Range attackers ( 5 Blocks)'. Farther down, he saw and selected 'Search and Rescue', seeing the screen change to a minimap directing him to a specific location in the crowd.

Afterwards, Proteus looked up to see where he was, having been distracted by the mistaken E88 affiliation, then by Armsmaster's comments on how the armbands worked.

He inhaled sharply.

Wherever they were was a field, sprawling as far as he could see. The portal they had come through was on some sort of raised platform, just one platform in a series of them, arranged in a crescent shape; on the opposite side of the crescent ringing the field was a solitary platform, one that did not have one of the horseshoe-shaped portals. The field – from the platforms ringing the field to the mass of figures within – were all contained within a forcefield that seemed to be projected from an orb floating overhead. As Proteus watched, portals on the other platforms lit up and disgorged a series of figures, all leaving their platforms and heading towards the concentration of figures in the crescent's inside.

And the concentration of capes…

There were what had to be hundreds of capes, all waiting in the center of the ring of platforms. As he slowly walked down the stairs, joining the mass of figures, Proteus gazed at them all.

To the side was the recognizable form of Narwhal, clothed entirely in forcefield-scales, and conversing with her was a serpentine power-suit, likely one of the Spartoi; he could see similarly-sized and shaped power suits throughout the crowd. Just past Narwhal was a giant figure, likely near ten feet, smoking a massive cigar and absently twirling a machete in and around the knuckles of a disproportionately oversized hand; close to the smoker's side was a slouching figure wrapped entirely in bandages. Proteus saw the Boston Brigade – formerly the Brockton Bay Brigade, before they had departed for Boston nearly five years prior – mingling with who he thought was one of Boston's Protectorate members, before noting a frail child-sized figure sitting atop a floating platform, seemingly in an argument with a woman wearing a green long-coat, a massive gun strapped to her back.

On and on, a variety of astounding people filled the crowd.

And on the solitary platform, apparently a stage, Proteus saw the Founders of the Protectorate.

From left to right: Eidolon, green clad form seemingly gazing over the crowd. Alexandria and Hero, calmly talking to one another. And Legend, the head of the Protectorate, gazing at the gathered figures below.

Proteus felt a jolt as Legend's gaze slid to him for a moment before continuing on. Shuddering, Proteus noticed three more figures on the stage, somewhat overshadowed by the Founders. The first was an older-looking man, who Proteus placed somewhere in the nebulous range of 'someone who had aged gracefully and was anywhere from mid-fifties to mid-seventies', wearing what looked like a high-quality black suit and holding a cane. They weren't wearing a mask. The second person was a shorter woman, with long brown hair tied into a braid dangling down to her waist, wearing a brown long-coat which seemed to sag under the weight of whatever was in its pockets. She had goggles of some form covering her eyes and much of her forehead, which did nothing to hide the maniacal grin on her face, and was in the middle of talking at the third person on state. This was another suited man, though one who looked to be somewhere in his thirties to forties, and his concession to being a cape was a black domino mask covering his eyes and the skin around them; he seemed to mostly be ignoring the woman.

As Proteus looked toward the stage and its inhabitants, Legend floated a few feet into the air, everyone quickly becoming quiet and turning towards him as though a power had caused the event.

"Thanks to Lord Walston–" At this, the unmasked man nodded his head once, "–we were able to get advanced warning of an Endbringer attack, allowing us to prepare instead of just jumping immediately into battle. Hopefully, that will make today one of the better days."

Legend glanced over the gathered capes, and Proteus felt a shiver go down his spine at the solemn gaze.

"If we were against Behemoth, a good day would mean fatalities would likely only be a third of this group. Against Ziz, it could be anywhere from an eighth, to half."

And if it wasn't them, then it had to be…

"And against Anansi," Legend continued, "Good days mean as little as bad days. Behemoth is an overwhelming force; Leviathan was slippery, prone to devastating formations before they could solidify; and Ziz is a master of disrupting her environment with her telekinesis, ensuring that approaching her is just as much work as actively fighting her. Yet, in some ways, Anansi is worse.

"Anansi is, above all else, an ambush predator. Between his willingness to retreat and reappear in places most suited to causing trouble, and the ever-constant threat of his minions, engaging Anansi requires keeping your head about you to ensure you're not going to be cut down from behind. Each place he appears and disappears, Anansi leaves a portal to his Dungeon, free to release minions; the longer the fight continues, the more bodies he can bring to bear.

"Above all else, do not let yourself get captured."

Proteus saw people nervously shifting around him, and he felt the same. He knew what happened if you were captured, if you were lost to the Dungeon: you became one of Anansi's.

The Webweaver spent most of his time expanding the Dungeon, but there were times he'd make off-schedule appearances, striking smaller towns and vanishing before reinforcements could arrive; Proteus had seen video footage of one attack before – when Anansi had appeared outside a small Kentucky town – and saw the humanoid figures that followed in the spider's wake, almost like dessicated mummies.

"If you are captured by Anansi or his minions," Legend confirmed, "They will transform you into another of Anansi's minions. And worse, any parahumans transformed keep their powers. Thus, getting captured not only depletes our forces, but makes further engagements even harder. Above all, ensuring no one living is captured is one of the higher priorities whenever Anansi appears.

"Lastly, the portals Anansi leaves."

Legend's frown grew, and Proteus tried to suppress a shiver.

"Most of Anansi's 'openings' seal themselves after a period of time, but some remain open, permanently connecting our world to Anansi's Dungeon."

Proteus knew that; everyone knew that. Las Vegas made sure they'd never forget.

Legend continued. "Make sure that, even if an opening has stopped releasing minions, that you do not leave it unguarded or leave without reporting its location, as it may need to be one we need to establish a guard around. And, whatever you do, do not enter the Dungeon."

"Anansi was named after a trickster god for a reason. Sometimes some of his stolen 'treasures' have been retrieved; sometimes, people have left the Dungeon without transformation. Yet, it is precisely because he knows that people will be drawn into exploring the Dungeon that he lets this happen. If you enter, you're not fighting him in our world; you're in a labyrinth of his construction, with his minions – or even Anansi himself – possibly right behind the corner. There's a reason he never runs out of minions, and part of that is the foolhardy who venture into the Dungeon seeking to retrieve what has been stolen away."

Lord Walston interrupted, his voice somehow carrying. "It's started."

Legend paused, then nodded. "Remember: keep your head on you, and make sure you or others are never alone. And, good luck."

Apparently a signal, a few figures floated into the air, Alexandria one of them.

"Those who can engage Anansi directly, here!" The Founder shouted, flying a short distance from the stage and hovering in place. Proteus saw a mass of capes heading her way, some flying and some not.

Jolting Proteus looked down at his armband, seeing where the map was directing him. He hurried in the direction it was pointing, running past the child-sized figure in the floating chair who was calling for medical capes to group around him. Running past, he tuned out the cries for 'Minion Disruption!' and 'Strategists and Analysts, get over here!'

"Search and Rescue, right here!" Proteus heard ahead, seeing a figure clad in scaled armor, riding what appeared to be a flying manatee. Slowing down as he got to the manatee-riding figure, Proteus looked around and saw some of the others who'd joined S&R included Archivist. Looking at the floating figure, made entirely of paper in the shape of a winged human, Proteus remembered just why there were so many PHO comments believing her to be a monster cape. Apparently sensing his look, she turned and gave him a nod.

"Attempting to hole up is never a good move with Anansi," she said, making him twitch at the odd, almost wind-chime-like sound of her voice, "but Search and Rescue generally attempts to defend and evacuate civilians and the wounded to ensure they aren't captured. When you retrieve someone, request a Mover to evacuate them, if you don't already have the capability."

"Sounds good," Proteus said, purposely deepening his voice. (Who knew if he'd ever run into a parahuman he knew in real life; better to try and be safe than not.) From the cock of her head, Proteus was sure she had caught on, but better to try than not at all. "Will there be a place near the water for me to create more minions? And is this all of Search and Rescue?"

"No," Archivist said, shaking her head. "Just one S&R team. It's good not to have everyone grouped up. As for water...Privateer," Archivist said, turning her head to look at the manatee rider, "you're heading towards the waterfront, right?"

"Indeed, ma'am!" The rider poked his head over the manatee-creature, shooting Proteus a wild grin. "Don't you worry, you'll have all the water you need, just stick around me."

Proteus hesitantly nodded, but before he could say something, Archivist spoke back up.

"Here we go."

Turning to look at her, Proteus saw her looking towards Legend, who was nodding to the two unidentified parahumans on the stage. Shooting him a thumbs-up, the woman then pulled a device from her jacket and fiddled with it.

A moment later, Proteus buckled as his surroundings changed, finding himself in a downtown city area in the blink of an eye, surrounded by screams.

Chapter 8: Cadenza - 1.6

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Choking down a swear at the unexpected shift, Ja- Proteus shook his head once, then surveyed what he was looking at.

("Duchess down, C-5," their armbands said.)

Including himself, there were twenty-three capes, six of whom immediately took to the skies and flew towards the lightshow to Proteus' right. One other teleported down the street to grab a screaming woman moments before being grabbed by a desiccated mummy-like figure, only to snap back among the group with the woman in tow moments later.

As Proteus took that in – and the way that a figure in flowing blue robes touched the hysterical woman and she suddenly compressed into a glowing orb which zoomed into his hands and disappeared – Archivist rose into the air, dozens of sheets of paper flying free of her form and flying at the mummy. It snapped its head towards the projectiles and tried to leap out of the way, but was impaled and cut apart regardless.

Proteus fought down nausea at the sight.

("Duchess MIA, Gate 2. Rattling Bones active, C-5," their armbands said.)

"If you can't defend yourself against Anansi's minions, break into groups of three or four," Privateer said, tone suddenly serious. "If you think you can defend yourself, partner yourself with at least one other, just to be safe. One person guards the defenseless, the others find and bring people back. Make sure you stay in shouting distance; Anansi the Ambusher got his name for a reason."

As though they had been listening, everyone's armband suddenly spoke up. "Anansi spotted, zone B-5; location designated Gate 3."

Privateer twitched, then pressed the middle button on his armband. "Current zone, B-1. Anansi active, B-5," the armband droned.

"There you go," Privateer said, nodding once. "Check that constantly, and if it tells you Anansi's AWOL, keep your head swivelling."

("Rattling Bones down, C-5. Magic Conch deceased, A-3," their armbands said.)

"We're going to split into two groups," Privateer said. "First group stays in this vicinity, starts sweeping towards the waterfront for stragglers; second group heads towards Anansi's new location, makes sure that people in the crossfire don't get cut down."

The crowd slowly coalesced into two groups; Proteus saw Archivist in the group heading towards Anansi, the group heading out quickly. Afterwards, they had eight people left: Proteus, Privateer, the robed figure and the teleporter from earlier, a large figure wearing a giant hooded robe which didn't show anything inside the robe, someone Proteus' age wearing what looked like spray-painted motocross equipment, a short and chubby man wearing a nearly-skintight outfit, and an androgynous figure with what looked like light-blue skin.

("Rattling Bones active, C-5. Concordance MIA, Gate 2. Doodlebob deceased, B-5," their armbands said.)

"They're going to sweep closer to the fight," Privateer said. "Meanwhile, we clear out anyone left in this area. Group up, evacuate people as you can, call for mover assistance if you can't get the rescued out on your own. Abyssal, Moonfolk, Haunch, head out; New-guy, me and the rest will get you to the waterfront so you can bolster up."

Proteus saw the dark-depths robed figure, the chubby man, and the blue-skinned figure all vanish in a sweep of the robed one's robes, leaving them with five total.

("Heartstone deceased, C-5. Babydoll down, C-5," Proteus heard.)

In what felt like moments, Proteus was racing down one of the streets with the other capes on the back of one of his Oozes, seeing the glowing-orb robed figure snap up civilians as the group raced by. In what felt like a few minutes, As the waterfront came into sight, Proteus took a deep breath of the salty and vaguely-fishy air and raced ahead to drop to his knees, hand plunging into the water.

As Proteus watched the 'ink' billow out from his hand, he twitched as the armbands let out a chime, followed by "Heavy casualties in E-2: please wait."

"Fuck," Privateer said, twitching atop his minion. "Shit, alright...new guy, me and the other fast-responders need to head over there, now. Mr. Motocross here will stay with you as leaving people alone is really not recommended, and he can help. Thinker, right? You can find people for the new guy, his minions can help protect them."

A cape clad in what looked like motocross-gear startled. "But–"

"No buts," Privateer cut off. "Fast-responders need to head out there now, and we can't leave new guy–"

"Proteus," he said, leaning back and letting his newest Ooze surface.

"–Proteus holy shit is that a minion," Privateer said, momentarily distracted by the sight of the Ooze rising from the water. He then shook his head. "Doesn't matter: we can't leave people alone. You two sweep the nearby area, make sure we didn't miss anyone.

At that point, the armbands started reading off names: Proteus did his best to tune the list out.

"–Darksteel, Demonkin, Didgeridoo, Elder Gruff, Eldest, Embolism–"

Privateer swore again. "Alright, we gotta leave, now: Paracosm, Flicker, you're with me. Proteus and Motocross, I wish you both luck."

With that, Privateer's manatee drifted down to let the teleporter and the glowing-orb robed figure jump on, then darted down the street.

"Well, fuck," the motocross-wearing cape said, watching the rapidly-fading manatee. Before Proteus could say anything, the figure sighed raggedly, then walked over. "So, I've got a perception power, meaning I can find people, and you've got the ability to gather them up and protect them with your minions. Teammates, then?"

"Proteus," he said, introducing himself, "And if Privateer was right you can tell if there's anyone nearby that the others missed?"

"Kingfisher," the motocross-gear-wearing cape said, cocking his head.

("Stone Cold Steve deceased, B-5. Twotone deceased, B-5. Rattling Bones down, C-5," Proteus heard.)

"So," Kingfisher said a moment later, head cocked like a bird in Proteus' direction, watching him stick his hand back into the water. "Didn't have enough time to make more minions before coming out?"

"Something like that," Proteus said, seeing a new Ooze slowly come into being. "Wasn't sure how long the other capes would wait before leaving, hurried over as fast as I could."

("Rattling Bones MIA, Gate 1.")

"And more slimeballs means more bodies to save people, and less chance of us getting mummified," Kingfisher said, nodding. "I dig it."

Proteus bit down on responding to the 'slimeball' comment, recognizing that the other cape was rambling from nerves as much as anything else.

("Three of Clubs MIA, Gate 2. Mephistopheles down, B-5. Black Shuck down, B-2.")

Twenty seconds later, he let out a deep exhale as he withdrew his hand from the water. Hearing the cut-off curse from Kingfisher as the shape bobbed to the top of the water, Proteus smiled.

Seeing a blackish, amorphous blob the size of a mail truck emerge from the water would do that.

("Mephistopheles active, B-5. Black Shuck MIA, Gate 2.")

Backing away from the water to let the Ooze get onto land, Proteus approached the water once more and stuck his hand back in, emerging another twenty seconds later with a similarly-sized Ooze, both about as big as a compact car.

With a thought, the new Oozes absorbed with the pre-existing Oozes before splitting apart. Ten seconds later, and Proteus had twenty Oozes all around five feet in diameter – as compared to the six or so beachball-sized ones that had followed them to the waterfront and the two mail-truck sized ones – as well as two which were just under the compact-car size.

They'd be weaker than the large ones, and slower than the beachball-sized ones had been, but they now had better numbers and better speed-strength ratio. Hopefully, it would be enough.

("Caliban deceased, B-2.")

"Well, that was...something," Kingfisher said, an odd tone in his voice. "And you can just keep making them?"

"No," Proteus said, shaking his head. "After a certain point I have issues with headaches and concentration issues. But, I have more flexibility in that area than you might expect. And now that I'm ready–"

"Alert: Gate 2 undefended," their armbands blurted out, cutting Proteus off. "Interception needed to prevent foothold."

Kingfisher swore and Proteus grimaced. Looking at each other, Kingfisher asked, "Location of Gate 2?" After a few moments of silence, Kingfisher snarled and held the center button and repeated his question.

After a moment, the armband responded. "Current location, B-1. Gate 2, B-2. Adjust course ninety-degrees to left, course should intercept the foothold."

Proteus saw the screen go blank before revealing a mini-map confirming what the voice had said, showing a red circular symbol – the Gate – and his and Kingfisher's current location and orientation.

Grimacing, Proteus urged his Oozes to turn and then to head out, jolting them both as the Oozes shot forward. Seeing the smaller ones surging ahead, Proteus mentally urged the mounts to shed a bit of mass, both Oozes dropping in size slightly – and speeding up enough that the rest of the 'pack' wasn't at risk of leaving them behind – as the resulting baby Oozes merged together and shot ahead to join the rest of the Oozes.

"What do you think happened?" Proteus said to Kingfisher, shouting to be heard at the speed they were going.

"My guess, whoever was holding the gate got cut down, and eventually no one was left," Kingfisher shouted back.

Proteus grimaced, saying nothing back. That was what he'd thought too, and was not in the least a comforting thought to have in mind as they raced to try and hold that monster-vomiting portal themselves.

What felt like minutes later, Kingfisher jolted in his seat, and pointed his arm a bit right of their current course, Proteus adjusting course accordingly. A moment later, Kingfisher cursed. "Duck!"

"Wha–"

It was only due to the heightened adrenaline making him react immediately, even as he questioned the warning, that saved his life. As the Ooze 'split' under Proteus to drop him into its center, just like the protective 'cocoon' he'd used to escape from Selkie not long ago, he saw a shining line – thin as string, bright enough to leave stars in his eyes – lance from the sky and pass through where his head had just been.

Yelping both at the near-miss and the sudden blindness, Proteus heard Kingfisher yell "Cover, building on right!" and urged his Oozes to follow that command, all while ordering Kingfisher's Ooze to cocoon him too, and merge when they were both behind cover.

A few minutes later, Proteus felt his Ooze merge with Kingfisher's, followed by the sounds of Kingfisher's virulent curses filling the 'chamber' they were both in. "What's–"

"Wasn't sure you weren't next," Proteus said hurriedly, still blinking his eyes to try and clear the spots from them.

Kingfisher grunted, then moved on. "Fucker appeared at the edge of my range moments before firing. Shouldn't be as big a problem this time, I know where he is and he doesn't look to be leaving his holed-up spot, but that was my fault."

Proteus shook his head (and then regretted it). "Without your warning, I'd be dead," he said, ignoring the chill that went through him at saying that. "Now, I'm guessing our sniper is one of Anansi's?"

"Yea," Kingfisher said.

"So," Proteus said, finally starting to make out tangible shapes again. "What do we do about it?"

Kingfisher remained silent for a few moments before speaking up. "It's a long-range blaster. Takes a few seconds to charge, then shoots out some laser or beam; actual energy, not hard-light. It's trying to just drill a hole through the buildings between us and it; considering its aimed directly where we are, I'm guessing it has some way to 'see' us or lock onto us. It's progress is slow, but if it wises up or gets impatient, it might just try to topple a neighboring building on us. The bigger issue is that it's three blocks out and four blocks up, in a rather good sniper-post, so flanking it with your Oozes and having them climb the building would probably take too long."

Proteus let out a grunt. After a few moments, thinking the situation over, a grimace crawled onto his face. "Is there anything metal or technological nearby which could be scavenged? Vehicles would work, but aren't preferred."

Kingfisher turned to him with an odd look. (Hey, he could see expressions again!) "Would the electronics store on the other side of this wall work? And why?"

"It would definitely work," Proteus said, all while he commanded his Oozes to batter the nearby back-entrance door open, "And the timing may be close, but I may be able to deal with the issue of the sniper. Any issue with us going into the store?"

Kingfisher paused for a few moments, then tilted his head side to side. "We need to stay near the back to stay out of sight, and in a bit there's going to be a hole in the buildings between the sniper and the store that'll let him see us, but it's not in sight of their nest for now at least."

"Good," Proteus said, having the Ooze holding them open up to let him out, Kingfisher a step behind him. He felt the now-familiar surge of Happiness-Pleasure-Focus from the Oozes in the store, and told them to get started on something that would help. The feelings increased.

As he walked through the battered-open door and into the store's back section, watching the carnage the Oozes were causing, he heard Kingfisher step up behind him swearing. "The fucking…"

Proteus felt a streak of pleasure at the surprise and incomprehension, Kingfisher somehow having put together what he was seeing despite the Oozes just having started.

Well, they could work quickly.

"They're…" Kingfisher trailed off.

"Tinkering?" Proteus finished.

"Yea, they do that. And right now, they're putting together stuff that should help us deal with that sniper, and any other minions we need to deal with."

Notes:

As it has caused a touch of confusion when I originally posted this on Spacebattles: Duchess is not Ames or any other canon-character, and neither is Rattling Bones.

I'd change Duchess' name to avoid that misconception, but the comments/jokes on SB made it funny enough to keep around, and I don't want to change their name here but keep them the same over there.

But yes: no canon characters died (or went MIA) in the making of this chapter.

Chapter 9: Cadenza - 1.7

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Chapter Text

"That's…" Kingfisher trailed off, watching the dozen-plus basketball-sized Oozes rip apart all manner of devices and gadgets, feeding the resulting pieces into a few larger Oozes who themselves seemed to be hurriedly manipulating pieces of gadgets with their tentacles.

"I don't think I've ever heard of a minion-making power where the minions can tinker," Kingfisher finished, staring at the mess the Oozes were making.

"I haven't either," Proteus said, shrugging. And he'd looked it up too, trawling PHO and WorldofWonders and CapeWatch. None of the sites had anything confirmable about capes whose minions could Tinker. Tinkers who made minions, definitely. Cerberus and eqUIpo were (in)famous examples of that; hell, Verdant would count if rumors were right about him being a Tinker. But, none of the sites had anything regarding capes whose minions could themselves Tinker.

Kingfisher spoke up again.

"They help you then, or…"

Proteus paused, then grunted negatively. Kingfisher was nice enough to drop that topic.

A few moments later, Proteus decided to drag things back to logistics for surviving. "When they're done, one Ooze will have a long-range weapon able to take out the sniper, and two others will have their own toys for helping secure the Dungeon entrance."

Specifically, something that could mess with and damage any enemy minions near the Ooze wielding it, and a defensive tool of some sort to keep Proteus and Kingfisher safe.

A few minutes passed of Proteus and Kingfisher watching the Oozes wreak havoc with pieces of hardware, Kingfisher intermittently pacing as he seemed to observe the progress the sniper was making on drilling a hole to their location. Just as a sense of satisfaction-anticipation slid up Proteus' bond from the Oozes, Kingfisher stopped and turned towards him.

"Next few blasts will get through the last building. We've got to do this now."

Proteus paused, then nodded. "Here we go," he murmured to himself, then sighed.

"Alright, here's what we'll do. The portal is not far beyond the sniper, right?"

"Believe so," Kingfisher said, eyes watching the Oozes not currently containing any Tinkertech recompile themselves into a few larger Oozes. "I've seen a few of Anansi's other mummies wandering near the base of the sniper's chosen building, on the opposite side of here."

"So, what we'll do is start flanking around the building with most of the Oozes, and the one who'll deal with our sniper will do so when we get far enough," Proteus said slowly. "That should grab the attention of the...mummies, and when they go to kill whatever fired the shot, we come in on the side and carve them up. Then together we go for the portal."

"That…" Kingfisher grimaced. "Yeah, sure. Better than anything I've got."

– – – – –

"So, how the hell is your Ooze gonna deal with that fuCKER!"

Kingfisher yelped as he slid behind cover, a brilliant strand of light flashing through his location moments after he'd vacated it. Proteus, who'd taken the yelp for what it meant, had covered his eyes in time for the flash to be annoying, but not debilitating.

Fool him twice, shame on him.

So far, the two of them and Proteus' small fleet of unarmed Oozes – as well as the two Tinkertech-bearing Oozes, who he'd been mentally referring to as the Shaker-Ooze and the Protection-Ooze – had made it around three blocks left and one block forward from their former location, the sniper harrying them at every turn. Kingfisher's power – whatever it was; Proteus wished he had asked earlier, but he'd forgotten and there wasn't any time currently – had given them enough notice to dodge each time, but that didn't mean it was fun to be dodging lasers of doom by the skin of their teeth.

"I don't know," Proteus said a moment later. "The Oozes build what they think fits my request, but 'kill a specific figure from a few blocks out, without enough collateral damage to bring the building down' has a few different possible solutions, and they like to surprise me."

Their devices seemed to go from 'rather weak' to 'ridiculously overpowered' with little in-between, even if he wasn't sure why, but Proteus was pretty sure they'd get the job done.

"You don't know," Kingfisher angrily squawked, turning towards him surprised anger in his expression as they stopped heading down the block.

"No, I don't," Proteus snapped back. "My power apparently decided that if it was going to be nice enough to let me both have minions and Tinkertech, I had to get some sort of downside. The Oozes are the only ones who can tinker, and they make stuff that meets vague criteria. Anything too specific will upset them and mean nothing gets made, and even what they produce requires them to be the ones to use it. So no, I don't know how they're going to kill the sniper. I just have to hope they actually do it properly."

Kingfisher made a face, but apparently bit his tongue. A few moments later, he sighed. "It's about time to have your…"

"Sniper-Ooze?" Proteus said dryly.

Kingfisher grimaced. "Yeah, the...Sniper Ooze, have it do its job."

Proteus nodded. "It hasn't moved?"

After a second or two, Kingfisher shook his head. "The sniper? No, same spot."

Proteus nodded again, passing the sensation down the line, and felt Excitement-Anticipation in response. A moment later…

Proteus twitched.

"It just...ripped off a fire hydrant," he said to Kingfisher, "and is securing itself over the water."

Normally Proteus couldn't get nearly as much detail from the Oozes – only impressions of their emotions – but this Ooze was so delighted that its experiences were rushing down the line to him as well. It had ruptured the fire hydrant and secured itself on top of the gushing water, having consumed most of the brethren Oozes Proteus had left to give itself enough weight to not be flung off, and immediately constructed a set of 'piping' in its body, the tech in its body woven into the piping at odd spots.

"It's…" Proteus trailed off, eyes widening. He turned and edged his head past the side of the building as much as felt safe; he had to see this.

"The fuck is it – are you – doing?" Kingfisher said, but Proteus noticed Kingfisher stick his head out too.

Just in time to see the massive jet of water which slammed into the window where Anansi's sniper had been holed up, impacting with enough force to shatter the surrounding windows.

His Ooze had kit-bashed a goddamn water jet cutter using random parts from a tech store and exploiting the pressure from a blown hydrant, making something strong and precise enough to hit a target multiple blocks out and up.

Jesus Christ.

Proteus silently looked at Kingfisher, seeing blank incomprehension on his face. "Did it…"

"...Yeah," Kingfisher said, confusion soaking his words. "It...worked? The sniper's in pieces?"

He phrased it as a question, and Proteus definitely knew why. He had a hard time believing it himself.

Satisfaction the Ooze pulsed, almost smugly.

Kingfisher turned towards him, incredulity visible in his face even through his mask, but Proteus remembered they were on a time limit.

"We should get moving," Proteus said, causing Kingfisher to pause, then grunt in reluctant agreement.

"Yeah, all right," he said as the two clambered back onto the two mounts. After a moment, Kingfisher pointed in a direction. "That's where we'd intercept the mummies."

"Got it," Proteus said, mentally prodding the Oozes. Moments later, the horde of amorphous blobs surged down the street, heading in the direction Kingfisher kept pointing towards, acting like a human compass.

"Seven minions, three blocks ahead and on the right," Kingfisher called out shortly after. "Heading towards your sniper, as expected."

"Got it!" Proteus shouted, pressing himself lower into his mount, watching the smaller Oozes creep ahead and 'feeling' the Tinkertech-wielding Oozes slightly behind them.

What felt like moments later, the smaller Oozes hit the intersection and tore right, Proteus and Kingfisher's Oozes coming around the corner – in a sharp enough curve that Proteus almost felt like he'd be tossed off, even though he was partially sunk into the Ooze – in time to see the smallest and fastest Oozes slam into the closest mummy.

Proteus flinched.

He'd seen pictures of Anansi's minions before, those stolen away by Anansi or his mummies, taken into the Dungeon and...transformed. The desiccated bodies, partially wrapped in silk-like bindings that reminded him of straitjackets, and various mutations that people generally agreed hadn't been on the victim – in the rare cases some of Anansi's mummies were identified – before being transformed. The minion that was closest, already starting to fall by the time Proteus and Kingfisher had come into sight, had a second arm sprouting just beneath the regular one on its right side, while Proteus could see one of the mummies a bit farther back had what looked like longer-than-normal legs featuring reversed knees.

Those stolen away during attacks, or who had tried to delve into the Dungeon and were captured, or the poor souls who had been in Las Vegas...all transformed into something that helped Anansi capture even more people the next time he surfaced. People like Proteus and Kingfisher, trying to help and instead being corrupted and hollowed out.

Proteus felt sick seeing the forms, but he shoved it down. He didn't have time for that.

The two closest mummies had already been knocked over by his Oozes, who were restraining the snarling and writhing forms. Two more were in the process of being jumped at by his remaining non-mount Oozes. That left three.

Proteus commanded his mount to drop him – which it did by splitting down the middle to dump him on his feet as it kept surging forward – and take down the leftmost mummy, which dropped what it was holding – a toaster? – to growl at him. Seeing the mummy yelp as it was tacked by his mount, Proteus dismissed it from his mind.

Two left.

Kingfisher jumped off his mount and quickly closed the distance to the nearest unoccupied mummy, pulling what looked like a trench knife from a back-sheathe as he ducked past a wild swing from one of the Ooze-grappled mummies, proceeding to slide into his target's guard underneath a flailing strike and stab his dagger into the mummy's neck in one fluid strike.

Proteus paused at that, but quickly shook his surprise – and nausea – off. One mummy unoccupied.

And, currently, charging right at him with a howl beginning in its throat.

Proteus directed Kingfisher's former mount to intercept, which it did gleefully. Less gleeful was how the mummy kept moving regardless, slowly pushing against the Ooze and making notable headway.

Of course it would be a Brute.

As Proteus saw Kingfisher pull his knife from his original target's body and move towards the next-closest Ooze-restrained mummy, he felt the Tinkertech-wielding Oozes finally catch up. Moving away from the Brute mummy and closer to the Tech-carrying Oozes, Proteus had the Ooze holding the weapon – the Shaker-Ooze – flank around him towards the Brute, all while backing up towards the Protection-Ooze.

As Proteus got within a few feet of the Protection-Ooze, he felt the air take on a syrupy feeling, almost becoming viscous. To slow down attacks maybe? He would've panicked if not for the sensation starting right after the Ooze had signaled it was activating its Tinkertech. As he caught his breath, Proteus watched the Shaker-Ooze start to glow from the tech inside of it.

Moments later, Proteus flinched – as best as he could, being stuck in air the consistency of syrup – as the Brute mummy shrieked immediately before it and the Ooze grappling it both visibly 'imploded' slightly, as though an invisible vise had suddenly tightened around them both. The Ooze quivered violently before re-solidifying its hold, while the mummy's howl climbed into a hair-raising shriek, limbs bent oddly. A moment later, coinciding with the Shaker-Ooze's glow brightening, and the invisible vise tightened again, the grappling Ooze 'splattering' slightly as the Brute crumpled inwards with a disgusting series of snapping noises.

Proteus' nausea spiked.

Shivering slightly, he glanced back over the fight – the 'splattered' Ooze pulling itself back together from the puddle it had been turned into, the Brute mummy unmoving with a spider-esque look to its curled limbs, four of the other mummies lying still from where Kingfisher had stabbed them, the sight of Kingfisher approached the next-nearest mummy, and the other surviving mummies both firmly restrained by Oozes – before telling the Protection-Ooze to turn off its tinkertech so he could move properly.

Then, Proteus walked over to the next building, bent over, and tugged his scarf down just in time to throw up.

He kept himself from falling over with a hand on the building, and otherwise tried to not think about the crumpled forms– limbs curled in like a spider's in death– where were all the civilians?–

Tried not to think about anything, even as the vomiting stopped and the tears started.

Feeling a hand drop onto his shoulder, Proteus whipped around to punch the mummy, heart spiking–

And Kingfisher caught it, face solemn.

Quietly, he let go of Proteus' outstretched fist to pull an unmarked flask from a side pocket on his outfit, and held it out.

Proteus stared at it incomprehensibly.

"It's water," Kingfisher said, voice quiet. To wash your mouth out, he didn't say.

Without making a sound, Proteus took the flask and poured some into his mouth, swishing the water around and spitting it out on the wall, then did so a second time. Still silent, he handed the flask back, and Kingfisher screwed it shut and put it away.

"I'm not going to ask if you're alright," Kingfisher said, tone controlled, "Because you'd probably punch me for it. But I will ask if you're good to go on, because I don't think they'll send anyone our way to evacuate you."

"I'm," Proteus croaked, then paused, shaking his head violently.

–limbs curled like a spider's–

He'd never seen anyone die. Especially not like...that.

"I…can go on," he said a moment later, tone flat.

Kingfisher looked at him silently for a moment, then nodded. Proteus suddenly realized that Kingfisher seemed to be a year or three older, but the murders hadn't fazed him. He wondered, if he kept attending Endbringer and Anansi fights, if he'd be the same way by the time he was Kingfisher's age.

(Proteus suddenly understood why Anansi was called, among other things, 'Hopekiller'.)

Kingfisher nodded again, more firmly. "Let's get that portal locked down, then," he said. "We've taken too long to get out here, between the travel-time and the delay that fucking sniper caused, and who knows how many minions have gotten out. And once things are wrapped up, we can go pillage a pub and blame it on the minions."

Proteus laughed, and if it sounded like it almost became a cry, neither of them mentioned it.

– – – – –

One time, when he and Taylor were younger, Uncle Kurt and Aunt Lacey had managed to convince their family to go camping with them. Among the other things that happened over the course of that trip, Uncle Kurt somehow also managed to convince his parents to let Kurt teach both Jacob and Taylor how to shoot a gun.

Taylor had surprising talent for a beginner, if Jacob remembered correctly, but didn't care to do it all that often. Meanwhile, Jacob's skills were slower, and he had no desire to ever hunt or anything like that, but something about shooting had been...perhaps not calming, but the methodical nature had called to him. And so, every now and then, Jacob would tag along with Uncle Kurt to a shooting range, sometimes with Dad, or Taylor feigning reluctance, or even Mom (which surprised him, especially as she went more than Dad did), keeping his skills somewhat polished.

Bang–

As J- Proteus shot yet another shrieking mummy, the body which had been running right towards him dropping bonelessly to the ground, he reminded himself to thank Uncle Kurt for doing so.

Proteus and Kingfisher had taken a moment to regroup, waiting for his Sniper-Ooze to catch up, and while doing so Kingfisher had fished a gun out of one of the mummy's clothes, offering it to him as well as a knife grabbed from another mummy. Knowing what they'd likely be dealing with, Proteus had taken both, slipping the knife into a makeshift sheathe and the gun into a pocket (after checking the magazine, chamber, and the safety; he'd rather not survive Anansi and die to a self-inflicted gunshot wound like an idiot). Then, when the Ooze had arrived with what was left of its non-Tinkertech Ooze companions, they had headed towards the Dungeon portal.

Partway to the portal, Kingfisher confirmed that a crowd of minions were surrounding the portal – which stood in the middle of a war-torn plaza, likely from the earlier fighting there – and looting the surrounding area of everything not nailed down, with more bodies slowly trudging through the hole in space.

With Kingfisher's knowledge of the terrain and numbers surrounding the portal, they quickly hashed out a plan.

Proteus would use another hydrant located at that spot – already merrily spilling water – to make more Oozes and guide his other minions in attacking the horde of mummies, while Kingfisher would operate just outside the bottleneck, using what he described as 'battle precognition' to pick off mummies which made it past the swarm of grappling and impeding Oozes.

Having given the pre-existing Oozes an order to pick up and use any sharp or dense objects as makeshift weapons, so they could do more than just grapple and constrict, Kingfisher and Proteus had moved in. The Sniper-Ooze repeated its trick from last time with a hydrant not too far from the plaza, mowing down a line of mummies as their opening move. As the mummies responded to that – the crowd turning at once towards the Ooze, immediately shambling in its direction like something from an old zombie movie – Proteus and Kingfisher waited until enough attention was directed towards the Sniper-Ooze, then Proteus, Kingfisher, and the other Oozes moved in, routing the mummies still near their planned encampment location. Buttressed with piled-up cars, it was perfect for a makeshift bottleneck and kill-corridor, Proteus and the Protection-Ooze planning to hole up in the back while Kingfisher defended the space between Proteus and the horde of Oozes.

Unfortunately, while that went well enough and they were able to further inflict harm onto the horde of mummies for a bit, Proteus and Kingfisher learned two humans and a dozen or so amorphous blobs did not fare too well against dozens of humanoid minions, especially when some of said minions had powers.

The Sniper-Ooze dying to take a blaster-mummy with it proved that much.

Thus, Proteus was firing a gun with one hand while raising new Oozes with the other, trying not to let either the adrenaline or the Ooze-creation-fatigue get to him, all while watching the techless-Oozes harry the encroaching horde with a storm of whipping tendrils. All the while, Kingfisher raced from spot to spot between the Ooze 'wall' and Proteus, picking off the minions which got through and continued heading for Proteus.

Bang– one more down, falling and being crushed by its uncaring brethren. He heard a noise, but it wasn't Kingfisher and it wasn't a mummy flanking him, so he ignored it.

Bang– one which fell back slightly, only to keep moving forward until– Bang. Then it fell, one enterprising Ooze grabbing the corpse and whipping it towards another mummy and bowling its target over.

Bang, Bang– and two more dropped, as the Ooze he was making finished forming and immediately rushed to join its brethren.

Proteus' headache, slowly growing, spiked as he re-dipped his hand into the water. He ignored it to pull the trigger again, getting another Bang and another dropping corpse.

Bang, Bang, click–

And with two more bodies dropping to the ground, the third pull of the trigger failed to produce anything more than the sound of an empty chamber. Proteus stared at the gun for a moment, then snarled and threw it at the wall of Oozes, pausing momentarily as a tendril whipped out from the writhing barrier to grab the airborne gun and snap it around into one mummy's head, then into another's.

Both dropped, and Proteus felt a moment of dark amusement at his Ooze's willingness to turn anything into an improvised weapon, then felt Surprise-Unrest-Worry and turned to see the Shaker-Ooze – curled limbs – being partially buried under a wave of mummies, seemingly trying to reach into the Ooze. A pulse from the Ooze saw most of the grappling mummies compress with a wave of cracking sounds – spider limbs curling up – but the mummies immediately behind them kept pressing forward, seeming to push the dead mummies into the Ooze with their press forward.

Worry-Worry-Fear darted across the connection as Proteus blanched. Not only was the Shaker-Ooze nearly holding that section of their defense by itself – and thus likely dooming them with its demise – but even he knew what would happen if the mummies were able to mess up the Tinkertech inside of the Ooze.

Compromised Tinkertech usually exploded, and Tinkertech that seemed to mess with matter or space – or whatever principle the Ooze's 'crushing objects' Tech operated on – would likely make it explode in even worse ways.

They'd fucked up, big-time.

Perhaps it was the time it took them to get to the portal, or just the fact that two capes who decided their powers best fit Search and Rescue rather than something more combat-intensive decided to try and secure a portal themselves, but they'd fucked up, and were going to be overrun soon. He couldn't create more Oozes at a fast enough pace to keep the line, Kingfisher was starting to noticeably flag too, and now their biggest weapon was about to explode when the Tinkertech inside it was inevitably compromised by the mummies.

So, best to make a gamble and try and take most of the minions out while it was still potentially possible.

And so, ignoring Kingfisher's sudden yelling before stopping – he could see his comrade, the man was still moving, so he'd figured out what was about to happen rather than being in danger; not a concern – Proteus decided on the best of the bad outcomes, and commanded the Ooze he'd just created to join the Shaker-Ooze to bolster its size, before telling the Shaker-Ooze to charge as far as it could into the bulk of the mummies.

And when it couldn't get any further, swarmed by the innumerable mummies whose limbs were starting to push into the Ooze's bulk, Proteus told it to crush as big an area as it could, so long as it didn't crush him or Kingfisher in the process.

Delight-Schadenfreude the Ooze sent back, and just as Proteus' brow furrowed, he hissed as a large 'pulling' motion came from the Ooze's direction, as though it had gained its own gravitational pull. Proteus could see the mummies on the edge of the effect get yanked off their feet towards the Shaker-Ooze, and saw the mummies plastered right around the Ooze implode into a cloud of meat and blood vapor.

Then, the mass exploded outwards with a wave of force, Proteus only being kept from being knocked over as the Protection-Ooze had activated its syrup-field the moment the other Ooze had imploded. Proteus was rather grateful for that, considering the viscera, bone fragments, and other debris he saw hitting the 'bubble' that encased him slowing to a crawl.

(Annoyance the Protection-Ooze said.)

Kingfisher, who seemed to have realized what was coming as the implosion was happening, had dove into the writhing Ooze-wall, which had pulled him into its bulk with a tendril and compressed around him. When the shockwave went out, the Oozes were splattered outwards, Kingfisher launched from their slimey embrace, but as a roll as compared to the mummies Proteus could see flying through the air.

After a few seconds, the syrup-field around Proteus dropped away, and the wall of debris in the air in front of him dropped to the ground. The moment he could move, Proteus raced over to Kingfisher, flipping him over just in time for the other cape to start wheezing. A moment later, Proteus realized this was laughter.

"That's...one way to do it," Kingfisher wheezed out, still laughing.

"I wasn't...really expecting the explosion," was all Proteus could think to say, before hearing a noise and looking up. He paled.

The spot where the Shaker-Ooze had done its suicide implosion was crushed and splattered with viscera and other stuff which turned Proteus' stomach, encasing an area around fifteen feet in diameter from an even more crushed area that Proteus knew the Ooze to have been when it 'died'. Where there had once been around thirty mummies was now nothing.

However, there were still twenty-something mummies rising back to their feet or otherwise already shambling their way.

"Fuck," Kingfisher groaned from the ground, standing up before almost immediately falling right back over, his descent only stopped with Proteus' support.

Proteus immediately started pulling him towards the Protection-Ooze, urging it to come their way too, but stopped as annoyance-inability-finality washed across their link. A moment later, Proteus paled. "Shit."

The Ooze hadn't dropped the protection field. It had failed, the tinkertech burnt out from the force of the explosion and the stopped projectiles, or just from a short lifespan finally giving way.

"Shit," Proteus repeated. Kingfisher turned towards him, seeming to read what had happened from him with a glance. Both looked each other in the eyes, then turned back towards the approaching wave of doom. They'd either be killed here, or dragged through the gate and...well, hopefully killed.

Silently, Proteus pulled out the knife he'd been given earlier, and Kingfisher dug free a different one than what he'd been using earlier. However, before they could exchange any words on their last stand, Kingfisher gave a wheeze of surprise.

A moment later, a wave of objects came out of the sky to their right, plowing into the oncoming mummies and shredding them apart. As the objects – paper – turned the area in front of them into a gory blender, Proteus and Kingfisher turned to see the figure drift out of the sky with a body made entirely of paper, two paper 'wings' fluttering behind them.

"Are you both alright?" Archivist asked, glancing at them both. Behind her, other capes floated into view, flying or being carried along; as both watched, the other capes joined the impromptu massacre, mowing down mummies.

Kingfisher looked at her, then at the quickly-dropping number of mummies, then dropped to sit on the ground and started to laugh hysterically.

After a moment, Proteus decided to join him.

Chapter 10: Cadenza - 1.8

Summary:

(Cadenza - Initially an improvised cadence by a soloist; later becoming an elaborate and written out passage in an aria or concerto, featuring the skills of an instrumentalist or vocalist.)

Chapter Text

Apparently, both Proteus and Kingfisher had been busy enough fighting the minions that they had missed the alert that the Endbringer fight had ended.

As Crosstown – a chattering cape dressed like an old-time train conductor, with a blank full-face mask – told them while ferrying the two to the healers with some Mover power, Anansi tended to retreat and re-appear every so often throughout the fight. Thus, no one counted the fight over just because the spider had vanished for five or so minutes, as he might just be waiting to re-emerge, or had already done so elsewhere. However, ten or so minutes of no registering of Anansi or new portals was generally taken as a sign the spider had had enough and way staying gone, and a notification had gone over the armbands accordingly.

A notification that had apparently happened while Proteus and Kingfisher were fighting for their lives against the horde of mummies, and so hadn't been noticed due to the more immediate concern.

And so, Archivist and other capes had come their way after not receiving an update – she had said something about Ladon noting that they had responded to an automated warning signal of a gate going undefended and hadn't heard from them since – to make sure the gate was actually secured, and had arrived just in time to make sure they hadn't become some of the last fatalities of the battle.

"It's good you did what you did," Crosstown said to them as the surface of the opaque 'bubble' they were in continued to shift colors, before shimmering and vanishing to reveal the three now right outside what looked like a police building, swarming with costumed individuals and numerous people in blue uniforms. And right next to the building was a large white tent, with a Red Cross hanging above the door, and surrounded by an even more frantic crowd than the police building.

"If you hadn't," Crosstown continued, speaking louder to be heard over the sudden wave of noise, "It's likely that Anansi's kids would've continued to spread out and wreak havoc. They tend to do that when Anansi's driven off; it's actually one of the ways we've found of detecting when the Spider has actually left."

Proteus was too drained to do anything but nod, and he could see Kingfisher was about in the same state. After the last few hours, they didn't have the energy for anything further.

"Well," Crosstown said, apparently still going, "Medical is the tent, you can't miss it–"

"Where are the analysts?" Kingfisher cut in.

Proteus turned his head in confusion, and he could see Crosstown thrown off too.

"Ah, sorry?" Crosstown was apparently not used to being cut off, and it showed.

"The analysts," Kingfisher repeated, tone flat. "The ones who watch the fight from a distance and figure out strategy matters. My sister's one of them. Where are they?"

Proteus blinked in surprise. He hadn't been aware Kingfisher had a sister.

–Oh god, Taylor.

"And when are we going home," Proteus said, cutting Crosstown off right before he was going to speak. "My family doesn't…me coming was a spontaneous choice."

Kingfisher's head turned towards Proteus with blatant surprise in his posture, like 'You came to an Endbringer fight without your family knowing you have powers' blindsided him.

To be honest, that's because it was as stupid and insane as Crosstown's reaction would suggest; Proteus just didn't feel like dealing with that right then.

"Erm…" Crosstown hemmed, visibly unsure where to start, before being cut off once more.

"I can take care of them, Crosstown. Go pick up whoever else needs to be brought back."

Proteus turned to see a woman clad in a green long-coat patterned in hexagons, her other clothes being the same sky-blue that delineated the coat's hexagons. The mask which covered her face was also hexagonal in its general shape, sky-blue lenses set into a frame the same green as her coat. What really drew Proteus' eyes, though, was the massive rifle she was carrying around. The gun was nearly as tall as she was, and she was carrying it around with seemingly no cares at all.

Proteus blinked; she seemed familiar...

"You got it, boss-lady," Crosstown said with obvious relief in his voice, throwing a sloppy salute her way as he took a few steps away from them all before an iridescent dome – like a massive soap bubble – formed around him, fading away moments later to reveal Crosstown to have vanished. What that, the woman turned to the two of them.

"In reverse order," she said, giving Proteus and Kingfisher a grin, "We'll be out of here in an hour, if not sooner. A lot of people will be staying behind to help with clean-up – further search and rescue, containing the remaining minions and securing the portals, and so on – but that's handled by locals and people with prior clearance and approval and all that jazz. Everyone else will have availability to start leaving in around an hour, after high-priority figures get where they need to go and the portals are free to handle people. As for the Geek Corner, I was about to head there myself to talk to my boss, so I can walk you there."

She gave a hum before either of them could speak. "Oh, and before I forget; I'm Neige, nice to meet you. And you both are?"

"Kingfisher," his partner said as Proteus gave his own name. Neige's smile brightened.

"Glad to meet you both. Now, if you're looking to come with while we dig up the mega-nerds, follow me. Otherwise, if you just want to wait for a portal out, it'll be a bit but one portal back to the rendezvous area will be opening right around here, and would be hard to miss."

She started walking off, and as she did Proteus saw the symbol on the back of her jacket – a gear with six spokes, surrounded by the words 'Euro-Powered WunderNetwork'.

Proteus sucked in a breath.

If she was with Euro-PWN, and her boss was one of the 'mega-nerds' working with Analysis for an Endbringer battle…

The odds were low, but…

If it's going to be a bit before I can go home, might as well…

Proteus fell into step with Kingfisher, the latter merely giving him a raised eyebrow before nodding his way.

– – – – –

Their journey ended up taking them through a distortion in space – the person guarding it had called it a 'stable Einstein-Rosen bridge', while Neige just called it 'space fuckery' – and deposited them at the elevators of what looked like an office building, multiple floors up. Down the hall, a large conference room was emitting a lot of noise; and between the elevators and the conference room were three sets of two guards, all clad in the same blue uniforms worn by the non-costumed people back at the gathering spot, of slightly more armored.

Neige walked towards the conference room and paused, frowning, when the closer pair of guards stepped in front of her.

"Really?" Neige said, an unimpressed tone in her voice.

"You do not have clearance, ma'am," the one on the left said, stoic, before his eyes flicked over Kingfisher and Proteus. "And neither do they."

Kingfisher opened his mouth – likely to try and convince the guards to let him through because his sister was (likely) in the conference room – but before he could say anything, Neige let out a deep sigh and lifted her wrist and pressed a button on her bracer. "Yo, boss? Mind telling the mooks outside the doors to let me and two others in?"

"...Others?" The bracers responded.

"I vouch for them," Neige said simply.

"...Fair enough," the voice said, right before the doors to the conference room opened. "Gentle-guards, move aside please."

This time, the voice came both from the bracer and the figure standing in the doorway. As the guards at the doorway reluctantly shifted out of the way, Proteus caught sight of the figure behind them and reflexively gulped.

On first glance, the man's outfit looked like a three-piece suit, but Proteus could see that the 'suit' was seemingly composed of something thicker than normal cloth. The suit was predominantly dark-red, with golden threads running through it and making a pattern that shifted as the man moved. Meanwhile, the man was wearing a helmet of sorts that started at his cheekbones and curled down to cover his nose, the helmet the same shade of gold as the threads in the suit. Set into the middle of the helmet, a symbolized eye, vertically-long and surrounded by 'rays' radiating outwards on the left and right.

Synthete. The man who had dismantled Réseau, his appearance being their demise. Who had founded the Euro-Powered WunderNetwork, the transnational European superhero organization. Who had faced ridicule for the task and the achievement, many national teams seeing the international group as a joke, especially with the relaxed tone the group took in terms of formalities.

Who stopped all the laughter cold when the WunderNetwork exposed members of the Meisters, the Kings' Mens, Les Défenseurs, and other smaller groups as being Gesellschaft collaborators, as well as eliminating Gesellschaft, in the course of hours.

Beyond CRADLE, Euro-PWN – as PHO had taken to calling them, with notably positive responses from all the team-members that had accounts – was the biggest group in Europe, and Synthete had built it nearly single-handedly.

And he was standing mere feet from Proteus.

Proteus was never more happy for his costume's face-coverage as he realized just what a 'celebrity crush' truly meant (by coming face-to-face with his own).

Synthete waved their group closer with a smile, and the three capes walked down the hall towards him, passing reluctantly-parting guards as they went.

"You survived!"

Proteus snapped back to reality as he saw a shape dart out of the conference room behind Synthete, taking a sharp turn down the hall towards Kingfisher, and Proteus' mind went blank as he realized Kingfisher was ahead of him and Proteus wouldn't be able to stop it in time–

And jolted back to reality as Neige slammed a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine," she said. "They're friendly. Just take a deep breath, it's fine."

Proteus realized his heart was pumping remarkably fast as he realized he was having issues taking a breath. The next thing he knew, Synthete was crouching right in front of him, hands on his shoulders. Proteus would likely have done something embarrassing about that, if not for the fact he was realizing that his body was not wanting to respond.

"Hey," Synthete said, "Where'd you end up coming here from?"

"Wh– what?" Proteus wheezed out.

"Where'd you come here from?" Synthete asked again, tone curious. "Me and Neige here, we ended up coming from Strasbourg. Have you ever been there? It's this city in France, near the border of Germany, and it's in a region called Alsace. If your history classes have ever been good enough, they might have taught you that Alcase-Lorraine is a region which France and Germany have fought over before, both controlling at different times in history. Because of this, it has a deep intertwining of German and French history, in a way that I truly love. One of my favorite areas to visit is called Grande Île, meaning 'Large Island'. It's this island which is seen as the town's historic center, and is home to quite a few ancient churches, which I love to visit; something about ancient buildings always draws me in."

Synthete kept talking about the wonders of the city, about the various restaurants he'd found and the sights he'd seen in his voyages to the city, and before he realized, Proteus realized his heart and breathing had returned to normal. As he did so, Synthete shot him a sly smile.

"It's a talent," the man said without explaining further, but Proteus knew what he meant.

"Thanks," Proteus said after a moment. "That's...that's never happened before."

"Your first Endbringer?" Synthete said, curious.

"My first fight," Proteus corrected him, seeing the surprise leak into the man's body.

"What," Neige said, surprise and possibly horror in her tone, reminding Proteus that she and Kingfisher – and the unidentified 'friendly' – were there. Proteus shoved that away for later, and focused on the now.

"Yeah," Proteus said, laughing shakily. "The sirens went off, and I realized that, well, I had the ability to...to help. What more was there? I didn't…" He paused, smile fading slightly. "I didn't really think through the full implications of that until recently."

"Well," Synthete said, giving him a look Proteus couldn't interpret. "That's definitely one hell of a learning curve you just survived, that's for sure. Now," he said, raising himself back to his feet, "I'm guessing Neige came to see me for a reason, so I should probably hear what she has to say. "If you want to talk further, we can do so after that. And if not...what are you calling yourself? Please tell me you at least have a Nom de Guerre chosen," Synthete said, almost groaning.

"Proteus, sir," he said. "An–"

"Proteus! I like it," Synthete interrupted cheerfully. "I'll have you marked in our registries; if you want to talk after a later fight – should you decide to join – or even want to see about joining our ranks, I'll make sure you get heard. Now, I do need to hear what Neige has to say, so if you aren't hear when we get back, I hope your trips home go well, and…"

Here Synthete suddenly looked solemn. "I hope your time as a cape doesn't take you down any dark roads."

And with that unexpectedly dark ending, Synthete waved to Proteus as he and Neige went back into the conference room, doors swinging shut behind them and the guards stepping back in front of the door, eyeing the three of them blankly.

"...Did I just get offered an open position with Euro-PWN?" Proteus said faintly after a few moments, then shook his head. Shoving that away to deal with later, Proteus turned to Kingfisher and the 'friendly', suddenly embarrassed at what happened. However, before he could open his mouth, Kingfisher raised a hand.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "Having a panic attack because of an Endbringer fight isn't exactly uncommon from what I've heard, especially if you have almost no prior combat experience. Hell," Kingfisher snorted, "You didn't free or anything in battle despite having never dealt with such stuff before, so having that all shake out afterwards is far better than during the fight."

"And, sorry for causing said panic attack," the figure by Kingfisher's side said, drawing Proteus' attention to the 'friendly'.

"You didn't–"

"Yes, I did," she said, cutting him off. "You're fresh from battle and saw something moving quickly towards someone you were fighting alongside – thanks for doing that by the way, I'd rather he not die – and it made you think of Anansi's mummies. Neige snapped you out of the instinct to attack – which I should thank her for," the girl muttered to herself, "but telling the mind that doesn't mean the body immediately catches up. So, my fault."

"Alright, you win," Proteus said, shake almost hidden from his voice, just wanting to put the experience behind him. Taking a moment to remember why they'd come to the 'Geek Corner' in the first place…

"I'm guessing you're Kingfisher's sister?"

"Correct," the girl said, giving him a crooked grin. "Asterism, nice to properly meet you."

Proteus quickly took in her appearance – wearing what looked like the same type of camouflage pants as her brother, a coat patterned with constellations, and a domino mask with opaque lenses – before glancing again at her outstretched hand, slowly extending his own to shake it. "Proteus; and likewise."

Asterism's grin widened.

"So," she said as her hand slipped from his own, "You helped keep my moron brother alive, then?"

"Hey," Kingfisher protested, drawing a snort from Proteus.

"Ignoring the overdone look of betrayal he was getting from his battlefield companion, Proteus nodded his head in faux-seriousness. "I did my best."

"I'm glad," Asterism replied, also trying to keep on a mask of seriousness, but failing to suppress the hint of a grin. "I've gone through a bit of work keeping him intact myself, and having him run right into trouble wouldn't be helpful."

"Yeah, enough of that," Kingfisher said curtly. Proteus looked at him in surprise, thrown by the sudden shift in mood.

"Hey," Asterism said, stepping towards her brother with a frown on her lips. "I didn't mean it like–"

"I know," Kingfisher said gruffly. "Doesn't mean I care for it."

He then looked at Proteus. "Sorry," he said in a softer, almost explanatory tone. "My sister accidentally poked at a scar she shouldn't have; didn't realize it would twinge as much as it did."

"It's fine," Proteus said, uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken.

Reminded of what else he had to do, Proteus glanced around for a clock and – ignoring the flip his heart did when he first saw the time listed – mentally did the math for what time it would be at home, grimacing at the results.

It was somewhere around two hours after originally hearing the siren. Somehow, it felt like it had been both longer and shorter than that. Regardless, he should probably start heading back to the front to wait for the–

"Hey," Asterism said, dragging his attention back. She pouted at him. "You running off and leaving us?"

"I should probably be on one of the sooner trips back home," Proteus tried to explain. "I...don't really have people 'in the know', and I came to the battle on short notice…"

"Where'd you come from, anyway?" Asterism said, cocking her head and ignoring Kingfisher's lamenting 'Stop being a pest, please', continuing on regardless. "Your accent is American, and it's not too twangy or southern…"

"Proteus snorted. Asterism's digging for information should feel intrusive, a Thinker digging around and all, but it just reminded him of Taylor and Emma; the 'little sister' energies. "Brockton Bay, Connecticut. Southwest of Boston, Northeast of New York."

Kingfisher twitched, and Asterism's eyes widened. "You're...kidding, right?"

Proteus snorted. "Nope. Birthplace of the Teeth, and the place where the Slaughterhouse Nine imploded. Main exports are meth and Nazis. It's a...wonderful place, truly."

"Yeah, that's not why I was surprised," Asterism said slowly. Proteus gave her a suspicious look.

"Then why…"

"Our aunt lives in Brockton Bay, and she was wounded in the recent violence," Kingfisher cut in, Asterism's head whipping around to look at him. "We were actually en-route to come take care of her when the sirens went off. Figured we'd help with the battle, get back to our journey tomorrow."

Proteus stared blankly at the two.

After a minute, he nodded – to himself, to them, to the room; one of the options – and headed towards the space-fuckery thing that would take him out of the building.

"Hey, wait," Asterism called from behind him. Proteus ignored her and kept walking. A moment later, he felt a tug on his arm–

–and Kingfisher caught Proteus' fist moments before it crashed into his face.

Letting it go immediately, Kingfisher hurriedly started speaking. "It's not like that."

"Like what?" Proteus said, a slick anger starting to bubble in his chest. "Oh, the two people I interact with during the Endbringer battle just so happen to be planning to come to my town? To the place where there's been major battles recently, and is about to be a major power vacuum ripe for enterprising villains to get a seat at the new table? That's entirely just a coincidence?"

"Then you explain it," Kingfisher said with the tone of 'figure it out, moron.' "Unless my power is so strong that I managed to figure out where you were from just off a glance–"

"You identified Archivist, knew she was a Brockton Bay Protectorate member, and took a gamble after seeing me talking with her," Proteus cut in flatly. He snorted when Kingfisher's mouth dropped slightly.

"I…" Kingfisher said slowly, visibly thrown. "Ok, that's a lot more probable reason than I expected. Bullshit-insane regardless, but still more probable than expected."

"Hey," Asterism said, shifting back into view, and weathering Proteus' glare. "I know me saying it probably doesn't do much to convince you, but we aren't planning on screwing you over or anything, or even trying to get involved with whatever drama starts up. That's not something we're trying to get involved with, at all. We just…" Asterism glanced at Kingfisher. "We're just trying to take care of family. That's all."

Proteus looked at them both – Kingfisher with a pained expression, Asterism with a sad one – and let out a ragged sigh, rubbing his face roughly with his hand.

"You know what," he mumbled through his hand, almost to himself. "Fuck it. If you two start later fucking things up in the Bay, or try to screw over my family, I'll deal with you then."

"You don't even know if we're heroes or villains," Asterism said, sounding almost amused.

Proteus ragged his hand down and off his face, giving her a gimlet eye.

"It's Brockton Bay," he said, an almost-haunted tone to his voice. "Nothing good ever comes to the Bay."

Asterism snorted, and Kingfisher started wheezing in laughter, the dark moment seemingly broken. Staring flatly at the two, Proteus turned around and continued heading for the portal.

He'd known them both for less than two hours, and already he knew he wouldn't be free of them any time soon.

– – – – –

By the time Proteus and his new hangers-on got to the rendezvous point, a temporary barrier had been constructed off to the side of the building, tape covering the ground in a square with cement blocks on the corners.

As Proteus got to the impromptu square, he heard a whistling noise on his right. Turning his head, Proteus raised his eyebrows at seeing Tyrfing and Iron Rain approaching, Tyrfing lazily waving.

"...Huh," Proteus said, without meaning to.

"A friend?" Asterism said dryly.

"Not...really," was all Proteus could really think to say.

"You survived, then," Tyrfing said as he and his mother got close enough, then gave Asterism and Kingfisher a glance-over. "And made friends?"

"You know how it is," Asterism said without missing a beat. "What friendships are better than those forged while fighting for your lives?"

Iron Rain snorted. "You're a quick one."

"Same rules as last time?" Proteus asked before the situation continued, the conversation already too surreal for his liking. "Portal home opens in the square?"

"Correct," Iron Rain said with a nod. "That's where they'll open the portal to get back to the place we rallied at. Too many people coming here from too many different places, so instead of trying to coordinate portals back in the middle of this chaos, they'll have everyone gather in the fields and open portals back from over there. Bit less chaos in the middle of the warzone, bureaucrats probably figured."

"There's a time-board and everything," Tyrfing said. "If you've ever seen the arrival and departure boards in an airport or subway? It's like those: 'Brockton Bay: Seven minutes' then 'San Francisco: Twelve minutes.'"

"The portal from here to the fields doesn't stay open the entire time because of the energy it drains," Iron Rain said, absently swiping at her son for interrupting. "Mostly because of those who stay to help clean up and the like; Effigy's doing that now, actually, and god-knows when he'll be done. The portal will probably open in a minute or two for us."

"Do you know if we can go through portals to places that aren't where we came from?" Asterism said, drawing glares from both Kingfisher and Proteus. Ignoring them both, she continued. "We were actually headed to Brockton Bay to visit family injured in the recent fighting, and–"

"Spare your excuses," Iron Rain said with a snort. "More people thinking they can fight for a spot in the city means more fighting to be had, and I have no issue with that. No, people using the portals to end up in different cities is actually a bit of a time-honored tradition, for various reasons. There's enough precedent for the matter, at the least. Villains don't generally use it because they don't generally attend in large enough forces for it to matter, but both sides have done so before. Hell, the Fairy Queen's done it before, the times she attends. More because no one has the balls to tell her no," Iron Rain muttered under her breath, before raising it back up to say, "but it's an allowed practice."

"Glad to hear," Asterism said with satisfaction in her voice. Proteus noticed that she didn't bother trying to dispute Iron Rain's assumption.

At that point, the air in the center of the square shivered, splitting open seconds later. The portal looked different than the one from Brockton Bay to the meeting spot, but it revealed the familiar sights of the field where they had all gathered so long ago, regardless.

"And now we can leave," Iron Rain said, marching over the tape and through the portal without a second glance, Tyrfing following her with a wave lazily aimed back towards them.

Looking at one another, Proteus, Kingfisher, and Asterism each followed behind her through the portal. Kingfisher shivered slightly as he crossed, and Asterism hissed under her breath as she went through.

"My power doesn't care for the portal," she said before Proteus could ask. He gave an acknowledging grunt.

As he looked around on the other side, Proteus saw an old man sitting in a lawn chair with a cooler at his side right beside the portal, wearing shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a domino mask. The man raised the can in his hands towards Proteus in acknowledgment.

"Anyone else crossing over?" the man called out.

Proteus silently shook his head in response. The man shrugged at that, snapping his fingers – the portal slamming shut as he did – before pressing a button on the stopwatch hanging around his neck. Then, with that done, he tapped the cooler at his side with a foot.

"Encountered-an-Endbringer drink?" he asked.

"…No thanks," Proteus said, even as Iron Rain walked over to open the chest and pulled a can out.

"A pleasure as always, Rambler," she said, tapping her can against his before walking towards the stage holding the other portal set-up. Tyrfing loitered a moment, glancing at the cooler with obvious temptation, before following his mother with a grumble.

Decidedly done with the day and all its weirdness, Proteus followed the Nazis.

He was going back to the Bay. He was going home. He was sleeping, and pretending this entire day was a fever dream, or perhaps the byproduct of a carbon monoxide leak. Those were his plans, and he was sticking to them.

As he got to the stage, Asterism and Kingfisher having silently followed him over, he saw that there was indeed an electronic board displaying city names and 'arrival times'. Glancing down the list, he saw 'Brockton Bay, CT, USA - Eleven Minutes', and grumbled under his breath before deciding to just plop down onto the ground and onto his back, ignoring the muffled laughter from others that followed.

He was tired, and the day was too long. Fuck propriety.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he felt shade fall over his face, and opened his eyes to find Asterism leaning over him, a lazy grin on her face. She shifted back slightly as he twitched from the unexpected sight, her smile never fading. "Wakey-wakey. Hartford's portal just closed, which means Brockton Bay is next."

Groaning, Proteus slowly dragged himself to his feet and brushed himself off, following in the wake of the other four Brockton Bay-intended people. Wandering through the portal behind them, Proteus raised his hand to cover a large yawn as he found himself back in Brockton Bay.

"Adrenaline crash," Tyrfing said knowingly. "You're gonna drop soon," he said as he beckoned the iron disk from before – left leaning against the side of the nearby wall surrounding the PRT complex – and lowered it to the ground for him and Iron Rain to step onto. "Seeya on the streets sometime."

"Why were the Nazis so friendly?" Proteus muttered to himself almost plaintively, squinting after them.

"I'd explain, but I think you're tired enough you wouldn't remember," Asterism said over Kingfisher's 'They were Nazis?'

Grunting, Proteus wandered towards the gateway out of the PRT complex, beckoning the Oozes he'd left a block or two away with his stuff to bring it to him. As he got to the entranceway between 'PRT' and 'city', he saw the Ooze bounding down the street, his bag slightly visible inside its gelatinous body.

Lazily waving down the stirring troopers, Proteus met the Ooze a few feet from the gateway to compound, grabbing the bad from the Ooze at it 'pushed' his bag out of its body. Pulling his phone out, he grimaced as he saw the number of missing calls, as well as who they were from.

"Fuck," Proteus grumbled. Then the phone rang again, and he repeated it even louder. "Fuck!"

"Worried family?" Asterism said from behind him, making Proteus twitch.

He turned to give her a tired glare. "No."

She walked a step or two closer and eyed the phone, and the glowing 'DAD' it displayed, then raised her eyes to his.

"Fuck off."

She sighed.

Ignoring her, Proteus lifted the phone and thumbed the 'accept' button. "Hey, dad."

"Jacob!" His dad yelled, making Ja– Prot– Jacob wince from the noise. "Where have you been?"

"I told you earlier," he said, feeling guilty. "I went to a friend's house to escape the panic. We were...staying away from electronics so we wouldn't get distracted by reports about the attack. Sorry, I didn't mean to miss your messages."

"For two hours?" His dad said, tone aggrieved.

A hand snaked by, snagging the phone from his hands. Whipping around, Proteus saw Asterism holding it to her face. "That was partially my fault, sorry," she said, raising a finger to her lips at Proteus' expression.

A moment later, as Proteus was frozen from the sheer gall of her actions, Asterism spoke again. "Lisa, sir. I dragged him and my brother into watching The Long Empire with me; I'd been trying to get my brother to watch for a while, and figured using it to keep our minds off what was going on was the best opportunity."

Asterism raised an eyebrow at Proteus. "Yes, sir. He was actually about to head out as you called, I think. That's when he'd seen your messages. I'll pass it on, Nice talking with you too, sir."

She passed his phone back, and Proteus took it numbly. "Dad."

"I wish you'd kept a closer eye on your phone, but with what's going on, I can...I can get wanting to not see what's going on," his dad said. "And I'm glad you're making new friends."

"Yeah, they're...really good people," Proteus said, staring into Asterism's amused face.

"I'm glad. You'll be home soon?"

"Yes, dad."

"See you then. Love you."

"Love you too, Proteus said instinctively, slowly flipping the phone shut as he heard the dial-tone.

"Glad I could help," Asterism chirped, a vulpine grin on her face.

Proteus felt his eye twitch as he bit down the urge to scream in incoherent rage.

Chapter 11: Interlude - 1.b

Summary:

(Interlude - Piece of instrumental music played between scenes in a play or opera.)

Chapter Text

Dennis knew that Endbringers attacking was never good, but a small part of him really despised whatever one decided to attack not only on a Saturday, but the Saturday right before a Monday statistics test.

Who knows; Mr. DeJohn might cancel or push back the test after today. Wouldn't be the first time a teacher did something similar.

Telling that part of his brain to shut up, Dennis dodged around troopers rushing down the hallway and paused in front of a door, lifting a keycard to swipe into the room.

Ostensibly an interns' breakroom, Dennis knew that the room – while actually a breakroom, if one rarely used due to things such as humming overhead lights and temperamental appliances – also held a secret passage into the 'back halls', with access to the Wards' room and the other Protectorate-only rooms.

It wasn't the best, but when the PRT base was a kicked-over anthill because of the attack, it worked well enough for letting him become Clockblocker without having to deal with anyone seeing him slip somewhere a civilian shouldn't be.

Slipping into the back halls, running through the building for Protectorate and Wards to use to get around without being seen, Dennis hurried down the hall and paused at a section of wall with a handprint- and eye-scanner sticking out. Putting his hand on the hand-scanner and his face over the eye-scanner, Dennis heard a chime, followed by a muffled bell sound on the other side of the wall.

A few seconds later, the wall opened up like a door, letting Dennis slip into the room which housed the Wards. Seeing the figure sitting on the couch, he paused.

"Got here before me?" Dennis asked, knowing the answer.

"Was already here," Jessie said with a disgruntled tone in her voice, rhythmically squeezing on a stress-ball.

He paused, giving his fellow redhead a once-over.

Usually exuberant and mischievous to some degree or another, to the point the 'Terror Twin' nickname John had spawned – Dennis gave a moment to grimace at the thought of their former leader – had stuck fast, Jessie instead seemed to be stuck somewhere between angry and bitter and self-loathing.

"You're usually doing Search and Rescue," Dennis said, knowing her mood was likely due to and deciding to lance the matter now.

As expected, Jessie's face soured. "For some reason, Piggot decided that anyone not able to engage from a distance was to be benched, so Derek and Abigail–" Jessie's lip curled slightly, "–are shooting at Anansi and his puppets from a distance, while I'm benched from Search and Rescue. Hell, Abigail's a Tinker, and she was allowed to go out, and everyone knows how much Endbringers like Tinkers. Explain that to me."

Dennis sighed and walked over, dropping into the couch next to her and pulling her into a sideways hug. Jessie smacked at him once or twice half-heartedly, then collapsed into the hug.

After a few minutes, Jessie pulled back. "So, did you see the prince and princess on the way in, or are they AWOL?"

Dennis snorted without meaning to, then shot her a mild glare. "Hey, Dean and Rachel might be a bit–"

"–Disgustingly couple-y? Stereotypically preppy? Stuffy and hypocritically rules-advocating and poking their noses where–"

"–officious–"

"Wow," Jessie said, exaggeratedly wide-eyed, "I guess Jacob's English skills are wearing off on you."

Dennis shot her a middle finger and continued talking, used to how talking through interruptions due to her and Jacob both turning into snippy assholes when agitated. "–but they still try to do their best for us, so lay off the prince and princess stuff."

Jessie's face twitched, then she let out a sighing grumble Dennis took as acceptance.

"And," Dennis said, a moment later. "I didn't see them. They in the building?"

Jessie shrugged irritably. "After the chewing-out Miss Obey-The-Rules got for ambushing that cape clearing up the Graveyard, she's been lurking around the building nonstop. I'm honestly surprised she wasn't here within a minute of the siren going off."

Dennis decided to let that one pass, knowing his friend vented by being bitchy, but before he could respond, the chime for the secret passage-door went off, opening moments later for both Dean and Rachel to scramble into the room.

Rachel paused for a moment upon seeing them but Dean wasn't phased, likely due to his empathy giving forewarning. His eyes flickered over the room – pausing for a moment on Jessie but moving on a moment's later, to Dennis' relief – before a grimace crawled onto his face.

"Derek was cleared to engage?" He asked in a tone that said he already knew the answer.

"And Abigail," Dennis confirmed. Dean's eyebrows went up while Rachel inhaled.

"They let her go against an Endbringer?" Rachel asked, agast. "Why?" Her face screwed up, somewhere between the before stages of crying and if she had bitten into a lemon. "And I wasn't notified," she said out loud to herself, seeming to take that both as a slight and a personal failure.

Dennis couldn't suppress a snort, Rachel shooting him a Look in response. "When do they ever tell Wards anything we don't need to know?" He groused. "Or, hell, tell us what we do need to know? Are you really surprised you weren't told?"

Rachel scowled. "I'm their leader–"

"–And then you decided to poke at a mystery cape without backup or warning anyone," Jessie cut in, seemingly deciding to vent some more stress at Rachel's expense.

Dennis slapped a hand to his face while Rachel looked stricken and Dean pursed his lips.

Before anyone could say anything further, the mask-up alarm for the main door went off, causing everyone to scramble for masks.

Well, Dennis noted, Rachel just slipped into her Selkie appearance, blonde hair slipping into silver as scales grew around her eyes, the shape of her face slightly extending.

After a few seconds, the doors opened to let Bellwether into the room.

She paused at seeing them all staring at her, before a tentative smile came up her lips. "I'm not able to go either," she said, answering their unasked question, "so I figured I would come and join you all, if willing?"

Dennis knew the new Protectorate member just recently graduated from the Wards herself before being transferred to the Bay, but for some reason her shyness always surprised him. Despite that, he paused as he watched her fidget, seemingly realizing that comparing a Thinker power unable to help in an Endbringer battle to powers that could make a mark but whose holders were deliberately kept from battle…really wasn't the best comparison.

"Sure," Jessie spoke up before anyone else could speak, a twist of a smile on her face. "The more, the merrier."

The next hour passed in a nonstop haze of awkwardness. The five of them were able to get some conversations going every now and then but they eventually stumbled to a halt, and no one seemed up for Dennis' suggestion of using the gaming system.

After a while, Bellwether eventually excused herself from the room with as much grace as someone seeming to flee from the interaction could, followed by Jessie going to her room almost immediately-after. Dean and Rachel, seeming to take it all as a sign, each then departed to their own rooms, leaving Dennis alone in the common room.

Dennis sighed, pulling a textbook off the table and flopping back onto the couch.

An Endbringer was tormenting a city, two of his teammates risking their lives trying to limit the death-toll, and here he was, trying to learn statistics.

What a fucking joke.

A few hours later, Dennis' head swung up as the secret door's alarm went off, opening moments later to reveal one of his missing teammates.

"Derek got a broken arm," Nova said as she walked into the room, shedding her gear the moment the door swung shut behind her. First came the gauntlets and her goggles, then the greeves, and then she was undoing the latches that closed her armored coat with practices motions. "He got benched at Medical, will be along in a bit."

With that, the top half of her outfit was off, and Nova - well, Abbie now - flopped down onto the nearby couch face-first; moments later, Dennis heard a muffled moan coming from the cushion.

"Was that a sound of enjoyment of no longer being standing, or pain and exhaustion?" Dennis joked.

Abbie shot him the bird without lifting her head, swapping it to a hand tilting back and forth.

"Even split, huh," he chuckled. "So, you and Derek were the only Wards allowed to go, and Derek isn't here; your time to spill the news. How'd it go?"

Just as Abbie finally rolled over and opened her mouth, Dean emerged from his room.

"Abbie," Dean smiled, though Dennis could see a thinness in the expression. Guess Gallant the gallant hadn't been immune to worry about their teammates either. "I'm glad to see...you…"

As Dean trailed off, face slowly falling, Abbie spoke up. "Derek's just in medical back in Cardiff for breaking his arm; the big boss sent me back with Miss Militia since we were both uninjured and he didn't want me to be unattended coming back. Big Boss, Archivist, and Verdant all stayed behind to help in clean-up; he's coming back with them."

Dennis kept from snorting at Abigail's nickname for Armsmaster. The two had an odd student-mentor dynamic going on, the two Tinkers often in the labs together, and Abbie had apparently decided that Armsmaster was someone to both worship and mock in even measures.

"I'm glad you both survived," Dean said diplomatically. "Let me get Rachel and Jessie so they can hear any news too."

Abbie's face twitched at the mention of them both, but she didn't say anything.

He and Abbie waited in silence as Dean went and knocked on the others' doors, the three joining them in the common room shortly. Dean had apparently already alerted Rachel to Derek's location, as she didn't pause or pale at not seeing Derek in the common room.

Dennis mentally thanked Dean for that; he liked Rachel, but she had been remarkably high-strung the entire summer. For good reasons, admittedly, but it still wasn't pleasant to deal with her oscillating between overbearingness and self-recrimination for everything that went wrong.

Once everyone was gathered, Abbie started speaking.

"Anansi hit Cardiff," she told the room. "Apparently we managed to get up to an hour or two's warning this time, which let everyone gather into groups ahead of time and get warned of what Anansi was like. Then, we got teleported into Cardiff; me and Trickshot were in one of the long-range minion control groups, so we dealt with the minions at old portals once Anansi moved on. No clue on fatalities, but I think today was a better day, at least for responders."

"Anything interesting?" Dennis asked.

Abbie hummed. "Well, that new parahuman, the one you met ripping apart ships?" Abbie said to Rachel. "He attended too; showed up trailing the Nazi contingent."

Dennis sighed raggedly as Rachel twitched violently; meanwhile, Jessie just let out a low "Goddamn it."

"Don't actually know if he was with them or not," Abbie said, getting a wide-eyed look from Dennis. Considering Abbie was both African-American and usually one of the more volatile Wards, hearing her give a reserved take on a potential Empire recruit was astounding. "He showed up with them and was talking with Tyrfing, but his outfit was new; he wasn't flying the Empire's colors or anything. Plus, he spoke with Big Boss about something after going through the portal, and boss walked away looking kinda happy. So," Abbie shrugged, "I dunno. I'll wait to see if he tries to attack us or a civvie for their skin color before blasting him, at least."

"Wow, you're expressing tact and not leading fireball-first," Jessie said cheerfully. "Guess the world is ending."

Abbie flinched, and both Dean and Rachel shot Jessie a look. Meanwhile, Dennis decided to stay out of it; Jessie and Abbie's problem was their problem. He'd tried dealing with that mess before and had it blow up in his face; so long as it stayed to passive-aggressive comments and otherwise didn't mess up field dynamics, he was just going to stay out of it.

"Apparently," Abbie said after a moment, seemingly trying to put that conversational line to rest, "Ship-guy–"

"The Protectorate is currently calling him Mitotic," Rachel cut in.

"–had to be rescued by Archivist and some other responders once the battle was over," Abbie continued, ignoring Rachel. "Apparently, he and someone else ended up holding one of the portals by themselves after the original people got killed; they were about to fall, but apparently managed to keep the mummies from just running free."

"I haven't heard of him in any cape fights," Jessie said, apparently deciding to remain civil.

"He told me he was a recent trigger," Rachel said, frowning slightly.

"Well, either he lied, managed to rack up some experience without us knowing, or he just popped his battle-cherry in the greatest way he could," Dennis shrugged, ignoring Rachel's groan.

Dennis paused. "He lived, right?"

"Ship-dude?" Abbie asked to make sure. "Yeah, Archivist got there in time; he and his pal both made it out. No clue whether he's already back in the Bay or not, though."

"Well, one way or another, I have a feeling we'll be seeing him in the weeks to come," Jessie groused. "Here's to hoping he'll be helping to try and keep things from being set on fire, rather than setting any fires himself."

– – – – –

The moment the door shut behind them, the genial look slid off Synthete's face, leaving only worry and foreboding behind.

Neige opened her mouth to speak, but Synthete held up a hand, walking towards one of the small 'offices' that led off from the conference room.

He never understood what had been motivating the GCHQ's architects to make the design choices they had, but there were times it truly was helpful.

Admittedly, that meant he was in Britain which meant there were a bunch of other issues to deal with, but best to look for silver linings…

Closing the door behind them, Synthete turned to face Neige. From the look on her face, he already knew the answer.

"They got away," she said, confirming his thoughts. "Mover, potentially a Breaker or Shaker; they 'burrowed' into structures and could move at high speeds along the structure, and could shift from structure to structure with only a pause in speed. They started on the streets, and last I was able to track them they were climbing up the side of a skyscraper. Yet, somehow they vanished; Holistic and Gyges both confirmed to see no sign of them, despite the trigger's power seeming to use a structure to anchor to."

"...The air, perhaps," Synthete said, eyes moving furiously behind closed lids.

–Anansi the Webweaver–Dungeon as an extradimensional structure–Spider webs anchoring structures–

–Endbringer triggers–Anansi and the Byers clan–Ziz and the Silverwings–Behemoth and Golden Dynamo–

–Byers–Every known member was unstable–

–Silverwings–Triggered at young age–Power gave permanent wings–

–Golden Dynamo–Dynakinetic–Appeared in 1994 as an independent–Age younger than Synthete's–

–Movers–Triggering in situations where the person wants to get away–

–Law of Contagion–

–"And if you gaze long enough into an abyss"–

"They're young," Synthete said, opening his eyes. "If they've reached puberty, I'd be surprised. Power tethers them to objects, at least as they see objects; allows them to move their body to an in-between place or state, likely another dimension. From roads to buildings is an easily-understandable transition; from buildings to sky means they can do it from anything touching, so long as they can do whatever mental gymnastics are needed to make tethering to air work for their power. Unlikely they can tether to organic material, unsure if they could to small enough objects. The bulge is an indicator of where they're tethered to this world; unsure if breaking that would leave them stranded, let them move wherever, force them back into this world, or something else."

Synthete paused, then shook his head. "We won't be able to find them. Between their power's versatility and the amount of time between now and then, they could be anywhere; and if they can maneuver into objects, such as submerging the 'bulge' into a road or structure so it cannot be detected…"

Neige frowned. "Shit."

"Not your fault," Synthete said, before Neige cut him off.

"I know, I know," she said, lips twisted into an ugly smile. "Doesn't mean it doesn't suck; not only did someone trigger during the fight, but they got away…"

Synthete knew where she was going with that thought. Those who triggered in Endbringer fights were predisposed not only to being more powerful or versatile with whatever powers they received, but also tended towards mental disorders of some kind. Synthete couldn't be sure, but he had a suspicion that the patrons of the newly-triggered were actively pinging off the nearby Endbringers, both helping shape the resulting power and messing with the new parahuman's mind. After all, Endbringers and whatever mentalities they had was too alien for human minds to comprehend, not while staying totally 'human' at least.

Of the handful of Endbringer triggers that Synthete knew of that both survived the battle that 'birthed' them and were not immediately secreted away by some organization or another – the Byers clan in America, Lavalanche, Ewigkeit – they all started down the road to mental instability remarkably soon if not otherwise kept stable by strong external influences. Silverwings showed a rather alien sense of morality but otherwise had learned that normal society did not function that way and was willing to play along; Golden Dynamo was something of a lunatic but CRADLE managed to keep him pointed towards acceptable targets; and Crosstown was markedly sane, if seemingly unable to ever stop talking.

The mystery parahuman, whoever they were, getting away and thus not being kept tethered to normal morals and ways of thinking? It was likely that if and when they next turned up, it would be as one of the more...unstable villains.

And as much as the Fairy Queen seemed to enjoy cleaning up such messes, it didn't make Synthete feel any better to know the new trigger had a high likelihood of being reaped.

"Was your side any better?" Neige asked, seeming to try and clear her mind from the same thoughts.

Luckily, Neige had been read-in and bound by Grand Arbiter before to keeping the matters of Endbringer analyst meetings a secret – or, as Neige had said before, "what happened in the Geek Corner stayed in the Geek Corner" – and so he could actually respond.

"Well, I had a delightful time keeping an eye on one Thinker to make sure the battle didn't end with a new world order, so that was interesting," Synthete commently dryly.

Synthete could see her eyebrows raising, and suppressed a smile.

"Huh," she said, momentarily stumped. "That usually a concern?"

"Admittedly, it's always a concern when you put this many Thinkers into a room together," Synthete said with a dry tone, ignoring her snort, "but no, this time was a bigger concern just because of the person's power. You met them, actually."

Neige paused, brow furrowed, before an eyebrow raised. "The girl who came out behind you; sister to the kid I escorted up?"

"That one, yes," Synthete nodded. "Her power is almost like mine, only more focused on people than concepts."

Neige cringed. "And so her playing the room like a fiddle…"

"Not at her current level of experience; she's far too new," Synthete said, shaking his head. "But if she had any desire to, she likely could have caused a great deal of damage; she had a strong reading of the room's dynamics within moments. Luckily, she seemed willing to back down when I responded."

"The Thinker, a wily breed, still recognizes the danger it can find itself in when approaching the territory of an older, stronger Thinker," Neige said in a put-on nature documentary narrator's voice.

Synthete snorted. "Close enough. She focused on me, and whatever her power told her caused her to back down; she was remarkably...snarky before that, but was rather quiet afterwards."

Neige twitched. "You don't think she learned something she shouldn't…"

"No," Synthete said, shaking his head. "I don't think her power works in that way. I think the submissiveness was more due to knowing the pull I had over others in the room, and thus if I called for her to be dealt with, enough people would respect my authority to not interfere."

Or, a close enough approximation of the situation, at the least. Synthete had attempted to explain the interactions between high-level general Thinkers and their powers before, but it was like attempting to explain the contents of a painting to someone blind since birth.

"Well, good to know you've helped save the world yet again," Neige said, sticking her tongue out at him. Synthete bit down a laugh. "Now, anything else, or can we leave before my husband hears of you locking yourself in a room with me and gets jealous?"

"No, that should be all…" Synthete said, opening the door and pausing as he saw who was waiting in the conference room.

"Ah, Synthete, and madame Neige too," an older man wearing a suit said, shooting them a genial smile. "I wished to speak to Synthete about a matter, if you had the time. Alone, of course."

Synthete took a deep breath mentally, letting only a small bodily exhale stand to note his feelings on the matter. With that, he pulled a smile onto his face, conscious of the remaining Thinkers in the room keeping an 'eye' on the situation (literally, in the case of a few whose intellect was apparently just from their power alone).

"Of course, Lord Walston," Synthete said.

The leader of the Kings' Men gave him a cheerful smile; Synthete idly noted that it was about as real as his own.

"The office I was just using, perhaps?" Synthete asked, the thread of a joking tone in his voice as he motioned towards the small room.

Walston's smile remained genial and empty, the man himself flickering slightly as though he were a disrupted image.

His cane was slightly different. Synthete carefully kept still.

"That would do nicely, my boy," Walston said a second later, walking towards the office.

"I'll wait for you out here, boss," Neige said. "So we can finish that discussion."

Synthete made an acknowledging noise, stepping into the office after Walston and shutting the door behind them.

"What prior discussion would that have been, I wonder?" Walston asked, some of the placidity falling from his face without a room full of people to keep appearances going.

"Oh, just a matter of logistics for Euro-PWN's upcoming operation with the Spartoi; nothing pertinent to right now," Synthete lied smoothly. "Now, a better question is why you ambushed me."

"I just wanted to talk," Walston said, the soft tone at odds with the steel in his eyes. "After all, we have had our differences before; I just wanted to make sure that such conflicts would not cause you to do anything...rash with close access to this nation's intelligence apparati."

Synthete snorted roughly. "Grand Arbiter's bindings cover such matters, and you know it. Get to the real point."

Lord Walston's smile dropped off completely, the man flickering minutely four times in as many seconds. Synthete held himself steady; Walston wouldn't attack him, couldn't explain Synthete's disappearance or properly fake any fight as being started by Synthete (at least without still leaving Walston at a grievous political position), but that didn't mean the man wouldn't get his vengeance for Synthete's mouthiness.

Fuck him; Synthete knew of what he'd done, and had no care to be nice to the monster who called himself a hero.

"I just wanted to touch base," Walston said a few moments later, his face having transitioned from 'unsettlingly blank' to 'smug asshole'. "Make sure you wouldn't decide to...interfere in anything; would not decide closer access to British concerns wouldn't tempt you into interfering with them. You demonstrated sympathies for the insurrectionist parties before–"

"Don't get me that shit," Synthete snarled, Walston gazing at him steadily. "I've never given Glóir a drop of my sympathies; if they wanted to be liked, they would stop murdering civilians for having the decency of trying to eke out a life."

"And the Fianna?" Walston asked, eyebrows slightly raised. "We have records of you speaking sympathetically of the organization before."

Synthete snorted. "At the beginning of their existence, when they spoke out against the violence both Glóir and British forces were using on each other and civilians. They lost my sympathy when Scathach took over and made the UK's civil war into a three-way shitfest. And don't bother trying to hold that above my head; you might be the head of the Kings' Men and have a grip on this nation's government, but I'm not British. You can't arrest me for sympathies; best you could do is try to get me banned from entering the British Isles, and considering what that would do to relations between Britain and the WunderNetwork, I doubt the king will be willing to acquiesce. The queen, especially, wouldn't be happy with you for that."

Walston pursed his lips, and Synthete suppressed a smile. King Charles might be willing to go along with Walston's attempts to single-handedly revive authoritarianism, but Queen Diana had a history of opposing Walston's actions as much as she could.

"So, is there anything else you'd like to talk about, or is that it?" Synthete asked, head cocked.

"Nothing else," Walston said, face empty.

"Well then, see you the next time something turns to shit," Synthete said, turning around and opening the door.

Neige turned towards him, falling into step behind him as Synthete marched out of the conference room, towards the room set aside for Euro-PWN concerns.

"All good?" Neige asked lowly, using the subvocal microphones they both had.

Synthete's gaze passed over the blue-clad guards littering the halls. Kings' Men's non-parahuman security contingent, officially; but they were Walston's men through and through.

"Either that interaction was just to distract me or see how I'd react, or he's starting to become more paranoid," Synthete murmured back. "Either way, I don't like it, and I don't trust it."

Just then, Synthete realized that he'd still need to alert relevant parties of the social Thinker's existence, for safety's sake.

Goddamn reports.

– – – – –

Alone in the office, Lord Walston smiled slightly.

It was surprising, what information he could glean from playing the role of a paranoid old man, even if – especially if – the other party knew him to be more competent than that.

Then again, Synthete was only aware of one iteration of that interaction, whereas Walston saw them all. There was hardly any way the foreigner could be aware of just how much information he was giving up; it was almost sad seeing the man try and match wits with him.

Now, time to get something of actual importance done...

And with one last flicker, the room was empty.

– – – – –

After-action report AN-12, 04/09/2012, addendum TH-3

Further comment from the analyst division of the anti-Endbringer effort on the indicated date.

Submitted on 07/09/2012 by Synthete, with editorial feedback and further threat analysis by Thinkers 89CAD4, A808A8, 76B05B, 16EA82, and 7EA15D, for the consideration of members of Euro-PWN, Protectorate, King's Men, Guild, above clearance levels 1336, A-3, Marquess, Maple 2; other organizations with or above clearance level X13; and to independent heroes on the priority 1-C, 1-B, and 1-A contact lists for S-class threat response.

Although further analysis of the behavior of Anansi and its minions will undoubtedly emerge as national and international Think Tanks interpret and extrapolate from the data recorded and from after-action reports and interviews with various volunteers and non-cape survivors of the most recent incursion, there are as in most Endbringer events certain considerations which have emerged not as a result of the Endbringer itself but as a consequence of newly encountered capes, powers, and/or power interactions. Chief among these, although not the highest in urgency, is the emergence of powers which may reasonably be expected to grow in utility and scope until, with appropriate resources, they may become important on the same scale as A-class threats or greater, either as a potential avenue to remediate those threats or as individuals or groups who have the potential to become such threats themselves. In light of this, the emergence of social Thinkers must always be treated with some degree of caution, as they act as force multipliers and, given access to certain pivotal individuals, can potentially guide or even coordinate the flow of events long after their encounters. The thinker hub coordination at AN-12 was unusually smooth, and it does credit to all capes involved that the stress and extreme concentration of Thinker power use did not lead to fractious interactions or an event such as AN-03, LV-04 (the direct attack on support capes which prompted total breakdown of communications with at least four but no more than seven individuals pivotally involved) or ZI-01 (before it was recognized that, in addition to the noted focus by Endbringers on disrupting and killing Tinkers, Ziz appears to additionally disrupt Thinkers and specifically target their allies). However, personal interactions with one thinker in attendance suggest that they may have had a significant hand in maintaining the social equilibrium of capes in their proximity.

The terms of the Endbringer truce have been interpreted by Thinkers and parahuman legal scholars to preclude any specific dissemination of information relevant to their persons, identities, or powers gleaned as a result of their involvement in an Endbringer or other S-class event, but to allow the distribution of sufficiently general or generic information prompted by their involvement. Later acquisition of, and enforcement by, 24O-79C2DF, has helped disseminate and enforce these terms. For instance, it was determined in the aftermath of BH-04 that the release of information leading to the eventual capture of Mindmaster was inappropriate and would lead to a reduction in future participation in Endbringer battles unless binding commitments with significant sanctions were agreed upon by all present and future Thinker participants in S-class threat responses.

(Mindmaster, briefly Birdcaged, now deceased, Thinker 8/Master 1, now believed to be able to determine the priorities/wants/goals of anybody with approximately standard human biology within earshot and thereby convince them to follow his plans seemingly of their own volition, not to be confused with Mastermind, the Tinker 3 (Master 5) who controlled as many as 7 individuals concurrently through the implantation of subneural input/output regulators that would alter their perceptions of their surroundings until they would follow her commands despite any efforts to the contrary, deceased after resisting arrest when confronted by a CRADLE team.)

However, it has been agreed that the discussion of potential threat profiles without personally identifying information (in either civilian or cape identity) is not only permissible but in some cases necessary, as when Teacher's plot to alter the European power balance - see file E/S-F129ED for reference- was prevented after a similar release of information about a third party led global leadership to perform a surprise round of anti-Master/Stranger screenings and detected his and other actors' agents in place prior to the planned disruptions to various governments.

In that vein, it is important to note that while this addendum may constitute a warning it should not be taken as describing an imminent threat, but rather as an explication of the potential for an individual with a particular type of power to take actions that, left unchecked, would leave them holding the reins of power or at a minimum wielding extreme influence on various powerful individuals. It is incumbent on us to recognize that a threat need not come as an antagonist but may in fact emerge as a potent ally whose subtle redirections allow them to co-opt the efforts of parahumans, leaders, and governments other than their own by ensuring that their preferred actions or outcomes are the most expedient or least unsavory choice obviously available. In short, our anti-M/S/T measures may need another overhaul to reflect the fact that high-level Thinkers, Masters, and Strangers may just as easily infiltrate and preempt the agencies, individuals, and branches of government most concerned with preventing their influence by means of pro-social actions and manipulations of group dynamics as by more conventional insertions of moles, theft or duplications of files, and other standard espionage techniques. The anti-blackmail policies in particular may need additional revisions to reflect the possibility of insertion-style attacks by "friendly" acquaintances who, by providing insights and casual advice to key persons, may shift the direction of policy by providing incisive ideas to be plagiarized by those individuals and thereby seamlessly integrate their external influences with the normal course of policymaking, legislation, and electioneering.

Chapter 12: Cadence - 1.x

Summary:

(Cadence - A sequence of chords that brings an end to a phrase, either in the middle or the end of a composition.)

Chapter Text

"Final note: the subject has passed away, demonstrating the same symptoms as the other three subjects who had been administered Agent 45B. An autopsy will determine if the subject demonstrated different physiological reactions, but a 100% fatality rate leaves 45B as a failure."

Prometheus slowly blinked as a chiming noise rang through the lab.

"Further notes for subject 136-P will be located in record A-136-P. End recording."

With that, the recorder turned off as Prometheus finished wiping off his hands, dumping the rag into the waste-bin sitting next to the dissection table. Gazing over the lifeless body on the table, he let out a sigh.

136-P had held so much potential, and yet it had given him no viable results so far. Disappointing.

Stepping away from the slab and the cooling body lying atop it, he walked to the door. The door slid open with the twitch of an eye to reveal a small furnished room, as well as its single occupant.

At the sound of the door, the woman waiting in the room looked up from her phone – Prometheus heard the noise of what sounded like an app game before the phone was slid into a pocket – and gave him a toothy grin, seemingly uncaring of the dried blood-streaks covering her face and clothes.

"Hiya, boss," she crowed, rocking back and forth on her heels. "How's it been?"

"It has been...alright," Prometheus said after a moment. Normally his subordinates were more proper regarding formalities, but Princess Sledgehammer had been with the Teeth long enough to be allowed her eccentricities, not to mention being one of their most savagely cunning and savagely effective members.

In fact, it was due to that history and prestige that he had called for her.

"Ohhh, the expansion's been going well then?" Sledgehammer asked, cocking her head and giving him a smile.

For anyone else, Prometheus would have taken that as mockery, but he knew Sledgehammer was just curious enough – and as blunt as her namesake – to ask about potentially-sensitive matters with no concern.

"It has," Prometheus said, deciding such small talk would be acceptable for preceding the main topic. "The Protectorate has been fighting our advancement, but have been unable to stop our entrenchment in the city as a whole." Chevalier especially had fought him as much as possible whenever Prometheus took to the field, seeming to see the Teeth's presence in Philadelphia as a personal insult. "Beyond them, only Heartland and the Venture Society have been a concern, and both will soon be dealt with."

Heartland's interference would wan. As long as the local chapter was dealt with properly, all members to be given the opportunity to flee the city if they so decided, the wider organization would not mobilize more resources for Philadelphia; they would prefer to reinforce nearby chapters instead, losing the battle in an attempt to win the war. The Venture Society itself might be a bigger problem, but the organization's focus on Philadelphia was limited, merely sponsoring a local team. The Society was protective yet understanding of what parahumans faced, something Prometheus understood considering the Society's focus on sponsoring Dungeoneering teams; their local affiliate would continue stalling the Teeth's larger operations, but they were not important enough to gain access to the Society's larger resources and so would not be able to stop their ground-level permeation. So long as they were not too injured or otherwise vanished, the Society would not bother wasting further resources on fighting the Teeth, at least not in Philadelphia.

With the major oppositions distracted with the Harvester's presence in the city – hiring their services in such a way was costly, and agitated the Bill, but it was effective; even if their raid had not captured all of its intended targets – the Teeth would be able to become properly entrenched as a major figure in the city's underworld within two months, just in time for the Pilgrimage.

"Glad to hear!" Princess Sledgehammer bounced on her heels at this, her cheery expression at odds with the blood splattered across her form. "So, what're you wanting me to do, boss-man? You usually just give me my tasks by phone so I don't need to waste time meeting with you after every job."

Prometheus nodded in agreement. "You were close enough after your last mission, and it has been some time since I have seen you in person."

He ignored the glowing smile that crept onto her face. It was always good to check on his important subordinates in person every so often, to make sure they weren't having any doubts or...undue ambitions.

"But yes," Prometheus continued, "Your next mission will be more important than your usual tasks, and I say this with full knowledge of how important your role as a troubleshooter is."

Sledgehammer's grin grew wider and wider, a look of feverish delight in her eyes.

"You know that our chapter in Brockton Bay was recently driven from the city during their recent turmoil, correct?" And what turmoil it was, Allfather's death toppling the city into chaos for most of the summer.

Prometheus mentally congratulated whoever was responsible; he had faced the old man before and, while a savage bigot getting on in his years, Prometheus could also respect the strength and the skill the Empire Eighty-Eight's leader had possessed. Allfather had been one of the nation's longest-running capes and had the corresponding survival instincts; even if the killer was a Stranger, as the theories tended to drift towards, it still would have taken great talent to slip in and out of the battle without harm.

Sledgehammer started bouncing on her heels more and more, delight sparkling in her eyes. "You want me to help lead the incursion back into the Bay?"

"Yes," Prometheus said, ignoring the muddled squeal she let out, "And for more reasons than you seem to realize."

Sledgehammer went from bubbly to serious in the twitch of an eye, staring at him in silence, and he smiled.

"You know of the turmoil we have recently faced from within," Prometheus said. She would, considering her role in quashing such instability.

Following the devastation Jack had wreaked on the Teeth, Butchers Nine and Ten had done their best to reform the group into something better than it had been before the Slaughterhouse's fateful visit to Brockton Bay, and they had succeeded; the 'Bloody Reformation' had taken the Teeth from a city-level gang to a regional syndicate covering numerous states. However, at the same time, the Teeth had also grown large enough to start learning the hard way about the correlations between large groups and fracturing ideologies. Butcher Nine and Ten inducting whatever figures or groups whose goals and methods aligned with the Teeth's new pluralistic structure during their voyages to find the fragments of the Teeth-of-old had played a major role in the Teeth's resurgence, but also left room for the group's growth to further exacerbate the differing mindsets and practices in their ranks.

In the years before he had died, such schisms had only grown worse under Butcher Eleven's sloppy leadership and hands-off administration. Even Prometheus arming the Teeth to the point where they could wage a true war if they wanted with his tinkertech was not enough to mend all bridges, many seeing the time Prometheus spent in the lab as a reason to decry him and his leadership. Instead, many called for someone who reflected the older and more savage days of the Teeth, regardless of the fact that the 'older days' had restricted the Teeth to only being strong enough to hold territory in a single city, while they were currently one of the biggest groups in the region under his reign.

Prometheus had those he trusted cycling between chapters to mend ruffled feathers and re-align members or chapters with their overarching ideology as necessary, but those who refused to honor his leadership, or who had decided that they preferred to disavow the few roles the Teeth actually held…

Well, that's where Princess Sledgehammer and some of her associates came in as troubleshooters. And, where the blood covering her likely came from.

"Wait," Princess Sledgehammer said slowly, a rather mad glint starting to creep into her eyes. He watched them flicker back and forth, concealing a smile at how she had figured out the issue from a single sentence. There was a reason she was one of his favorite subordinates, and the fact she could think without needing to be spoon-fed information was just one of the reasons.

"Hold on. You think some of the traitors would try to disrupt the Pilgrimage?" Sledgehammer said, voice dropping into a rasp.

"I do," Prometheus said bluntly, watching her twitch at his agreement. "Brockton Bay is an important symbol to many in the Teeth, and thus it can be manipulated to itself manipulate those people and their perceptions. October is nearing, and Brockton Bay currently does not hold a suitable chater. In the power vacuum that is on their doorsteps, many groups will be trying to fill the gaps, and such an opportunity gives room for...troublesome individuals to become the Bay's chapter – or claim themselves to be, at the very least – and use their position to manipulate the Pilgrimage."

If they did it properly, they could purposefully disrupt the Pilgrimage enough that many would lose faith in Prometheus for not properly honoring the Pilgrimage, which could be used as a way of undermining his supporters.

He would likely survive a proper civil war in the Teeth, but would rather not risk it if he didn't have to. If nothing else, the damage the Teeth would take during the power struggle – from within and by their enemies, who would gleefully take advantage of their weakness to strike – would put them back years, and he had no desire to see that happen.

"I need someone to help loyal members re-secure a place in Brockton Bay for the true Teeth. Someone who can ensure that unwelcome strains of thought don't take hold in the members who secure a place in the new order. And, just as Brockton Bay is a symbol for the Teeth, so are you, my dear. One of the oldest members of our organization, who has proven themselves in battle time and time again, and even beyond that…"

"Legacy," Princess Sledgehammer rasped out, a look of holy realization on her face.

Prometheus smiled, like a loving father recognizing his daughter's brilliance, and put a hand on her head.

"You are correct again," he said warmly. "You survived Brockton Bay before, and after doing so you helped the Teeth back up from the dirt and become more than we had ever been.

"Of the Slaughterhouse members who survived Jack's recklessness, you are the only one who saw the power of the Teeth. Psychosoma–" A low snarl dragged itself from Sledgehammer's throat, but she didn't say anything, "–saw himself as fit to take up Jack's legacy and lead a new Slaughterhouse...and the Protectorate made sure he paid for his arrogance. Crimson and Winter have worked alongside us more than they have against, are on friendly enough terms with us, but their goals are not our own, as known simply by the price it takes to hire their services. But you...you joined with the remnants of the Teeth who fled Brockton Bay and Jack's insanity. You met Butcher Nine when he started reforming the Teeth, and found him worthy enough to support. Just as you supported Ten, and denounced Eleven for the mess that he was. Now, you will be helping prepare Brockton Bay for the Pilgrimage, under my direct orders; and just as that will that be a symbol to the other members of the Teeth that you do so as herald, it will also be a message to Brockton Bay.

"The last time you were in Brockton Bay, you were a member of Jack's Slaughterhouse. Now, I want you to return to the city which thinks they broke the Slaughterhouse, and I want you to do so wearing the banners of what broke Jack."

Prometheus stared into her eyes, seeing the reverence growing as his words made their mark.

"You once saw Jack as worthy of respect for what he was able to do. You saw him come to Brockton Bay to stir chaos; you saw him try to wear the mantle of Butcher Seven; and you saw him break under the weight of it. You saw that his power, and that of the Slaughterhouse's, was less than that of the Teeth's, and that of the Butcher's. And now, Butcher Twelve sends you to the city as harbinger for our pilgrimage, to prepare the city for our celebration of the Teeth's rebirth. You are my message. Do you understand?"

"Yes, boss," Princess Sledgehammer breathed, staring at him with fervent worship.

Butcher Twelve gave her a warm smile.

Chapter 13: Accelerando - 2.1

Summary:

(Accelerando - A symbol used in musical notation indicating to gradually quicken tempo.)

Chapter Text

Jacob rolled over and stared blankly at the ceiling, sheets wrapped around him like a malformed cocoon.

"What the fuck," he croaked to everything and nothing.

"Jacob," Taylor shouted from somewhere down the hall, "Wake up!"

A guttural groan tore free from Jacob's throat. A few moments later, Taylor shouted again. "Mom! Dad! I think Jacob's become a zombie!" A few moments later a quieter sound came up the stairs. "He groaned like he was going to eat my brains!"

Jacob let out a smaller groan and rolled right out of bed, landing on the floor with a thud, swearing this time as the impact exacerbated the bruising and scrapes dotted across his body. He crawled out of the blankets and staggered to his feet with a drawn-out whine, all while ignoring Taylor's continued manic proclamations outside. After he found the nearest clothes that didn't smell and pulled them on, Jacob swung open the door to meet Taylor's wide-eyed gaze, the girl standing right outside his room; without losing a beat, he took a large step forward and grabbed her around her middle to plop her over his shoulder, ignoring the resulting shrieks.

"I think they might be killing each other," Jacob heard dad say idly as he slowly walked down the stairs, off-balance from Taylor's writhing weight on his shoulder and the fact his brain was only about 20% awake.

"Oh, shame," Mom said in response with a sigh, getting a squawk from Taylor.

"Mom!"

"Sorry, hun," Mom said, walking into sight and raising her eyebrows as Jacob staggered off the last stairs, sister still on his shoulder. As she watched, Jacob walked over to the couch, grabbed Taylor off his shoulder and dropped her onto the cushions to bounce, before turning away to stagger into the kitchen.

His mom shifted, getting his attention. "Rough night?"

Jacob looked at her blankly, thoughts not really functioning yet. "...Yeah. Rough night."

His mom pursed her lips, nodding slightly. "Endbringers can do that."

Jacob winced before realizing she was just talking about the attack in general, not…

Well, not about knowing her son had secretly gotten powers and snuck off to an Endbringer battle, only to lie about where he'd been after he got home.

After getting home, he'd dealt with Taylor and Dad's fussing – until Mom got home and Taylor became a limpet for her instead – all while having to lie about what he'd gotten up to at his nonexistent friend's house, and why he'd walked back when he'd originally left the Hebert residence on his bike.

(Which reminded him he needed to go back to the cafe to get it. And to thank Ames too.)

He hadn't slept well, to say the least. At least he'd have another day to hopefully get past the sleep-deprivation from the battle still playing out in his head.

– spider limbs curling up –

Jacob shook his head slightly to clear away the thoughts, then saw the struck look in his mom's eye and gave her a half-hearted smile.

"Nightmare," he said. "Not Anansi, just...one of those nights."

It wasn't too coherent of a sentence, but she seemed to know what he meant and wrapped him in a brief hug. Exhaling slightly, he hugged her back before they broke apart. A second later, an impact hit him from behind, nearly knocking him right back into mom. Jacob nearly drove an elbow back before he realized the arms wrapped around him – so many shambling shapes – were Taylor's.

"Love you too, brat," Jacob rasped.

"Never said I loved you," Taylor mumbled into his back. Before Jacob could do more than snort, he squawked as he felt the arms around his torso tighten and his feet start to lift off the floor. With a grunting shout, Taylor leaned down then extended up, leaning back at the same time; for Jacob, this meant he was left kicking the air as his little sister picked him up in revenge. Mom laughed at the look of his face and Jacob let out a low growl.

"Alright brat, good for you. Now what?"

Without saying a word, Taylor took a stumbling step forward, nearly unbalancing and making Jacob swing more than he was comfortable with as she shifted in place. "Fuck, alright, put me down before you drop me!" Jacob yelped, ignoring the dual calls of 'Language' from his parents in favor of the bigger issue.

"I won't drop you," Taylor said, taking another lopsided step forward into the kitchen, Jacob swinging in her arms. "I know what I'm do-ohshit– "

"Taylo– "

[– – –]

"So," Dennis said ponderingly, looking intently at Jacob's face and making him scowl, "What happened to you?"

"It wasn't there on Saturday," Emma said, biting her lip.

It was a bruise on his cheekbone. A small corner of his mind found it hysterical that he seemed to have taken more damage from Taylor losing her balance and dropping him – and falling on him – than during an Endbringer battle, but that sentiment was going to stay locked in his head. Funny enough, he hadn't even hit his head on the way down; the bruise came when Taylor was trying to get off him, accidentally smacking him as she'd scrambled to get up.

Instead of explaining it all, he merely said, "Blame Taylor."

Dennis blinked but Emma merely nodded, face clearing up. "Yeah, alright, that tracks. Taylor-Grace strikes again." Seeing the unspoken question on Dennis' face, Emma continued. "It's not often-often, but every now and then Taylor demonstrates something of a...catastrophic lack of grace. My sister once joked that Taylor's middle name should've been Grace to try and counteract how much of a mess she is sometimes, and it stuck."

"Are you talking about me?" Taylor said as she drew near, tray in her own hands, before collapsing into the seat by Dennis. The boy exaggeratedly flinched away from her, causing her to scowl and punch him in the arm.

"You decided to help give Jacob a makeover?" Emma said, eyebrow arched.

Taylor blushed. "He started it," she mumbled.

"Pure lies," Jacob said instinctively, making Emma snort.

"Ah, that's how it was," Emma said, an air of understanding in her voice.

Jacob jumped as he heard a cracking sound to his left, whirling in his seat to see Jessie flinching back, tray having made a heavy landing on the table.

Exhaling shakily and trying to slow his heart back down from its rabbit pace, Jacob nodded to her. "Hey."

Jessie raised an eyebrow at him, slowly sliding into her seat. "Hey yourself. You good?"

Ignoring Taylor's groan, Jacob snorted. "Tired," he said, ignoring the worried glances Dennis, Emma, and Taylor all shot him. "Leaving me a bit…twitchy, that's all."

"Alright," Jesse said slowly. "Well, where were things at before I showed up?"

Without missing a beat, Dennis spoke. "Taylor apparently has a habit of accidentally damaging things, such as Jacob."

As Taylor made faces at Dennis, Jesse raised an eyebrow, looked again at the bruise on Jacob's face, and raised the eyebrow higher. "Huh."

"The weekend went far too quick," Jacob said glumly.

He'd mostly been referencing the fact he still somewhat felt like processed shit from the lack of sleep over the past few days – plus the aches he was feeling – and wanted to take a nap, but as everyone at the table reacted, he realized they probably thought he meant the Endbringer attack.

Squeezing his eyes shut at that, Jacob huffed and rubbed his face. "What I'd give for another day or two off."

"Amen," Dennis said, Jesse raising three fingers to mark her agreement.

"So," Jacob said, words feeling dragged out of him, "Anyone know yet whether any of Anansi's portals are staying open or not, or is that still being kept under wraps?"

"Oh," Taylor said, perking up slightly at the topic changing to cape matters, "Um, some people on PHO are saying that there's one in the middle of some plaza that hadn't shut after a few hours, but that was yesterday. There's been portals that've shut after a day – I think? – so it's probably still too early to tell; but no one's given confirmation it's gone yet, or at least it hasn't hit PHO or trended on BBC News. They'd be the first to report on it outside of parahuman groups, wouldn't they?

As Taylor paused to suck in a breath, Jessie leaned over and murmured, "She's probably better at gathering info than PRT analysts."

Jacob bit down a snort, purposefully not wondering if that plaza-located portal was the one he and Kingfisher had fought at. Instead, as he kept one ear cocked on Taylor and the table at large, Jacob started thinking about where things were going for Brockton Bay in the coming days.

It had been over a week since he'd last gone to the Boat Graveyard – since mom had intercepted him coming home that night – and if things were about to heat back up...

Going out could be dangerous. It would be putting him on the streets when gangs new and old were more agitated about random capes possibly trying to steal a piece of their pie, and around the Graveyard was probably going to be a battleground more than the Boardwalk or other upper-class areas. On the other hand, if Selkie's prophesied storm lasted a few more months instead of running hot and fast and quickly reaching a new equilibrium...

Well, he'd probably go insane.

But going out at night would be difficult if his parents were being more vigilant while things were heating up, whereas going during the day was a lot more visible...

Realizing he was tapping a steady beat on the table with his hand, Jacob stopped and mentally tuned back into the discussion: by now, it had moved on to something about a notable Heartland team apparently having not been seen in the last few weeks. If his introspection had been noticed, no one seemed visibly worried about it.

Rolling the whole conundrum around in his head, Jacob decided that soon – if not his next course of action – was testing his range to see how far the Oozes could operate from him, and seeing just what the Ooze's tinkertech was capable of.

Before Cardiff, Jacob hadn't really experimented too much with his power and what the Oozes could do. It had been a consideration of course, but he'd been so focused on trying to break down the Boat Graveyard that he hadn't really wanted to waste time messing around with things that might help. Sure, experimenting could give him a more efficient way to dismantle the boats, but he hadn't wanted to get lost in experimenting and forget his original goal entirely. This was not helped by the fact he needed to play charades with the Oozes to see what they could Tinker, instead of being able to explore the Tinkering capabilities himself. But.

But, but, but.

Cardiff had been an eye-opener in a few different ways: the types of things his Oozes could cobble together was a lot more versatile and more powerful than he had realized – spider limbs curling up – and could potentially be a lot more useful in disassembling the boats than he originally imagined.

Visions danced through Jacob's mind of a fleet of Oozes carving apart whole ships in seconds with water cutters, and he shivered slightly.

Maybe...maybe a bit less than...that.

Beyond the potentially game-changing tinker capabilities he'd been stupidly blind to before Cardiff, Jacob had questions that needed to be answered regarding the range of his power.

He hadn't thought about it until after the fact, but the Ooze he'd left with his stuff in Brockton Bay when he'd gone to Cardiff had been intact when he made it back. From what he'd looked up after the fact, intercontinental minion control was...

Well, not really a thing. Sure, Master effects without a range restriction existed – Heartbreaker sprung to mind – but that was taking control of someone or something that already existed. A closer example to his own power seemed to be Tinkers that made minions, be they mechanical, like eqUIpo down in Mexico or Cerberus' drone army, or biological, like The Delegate's vat-grown minions. In either case, unrestricted range seemed to be a purview of Masters who took control of others or Tinkers that grew or constructed their minions, not ones just formed out of nothing like the Oozes.

So, Jacob had to ask himself: where did he fit in things? Was his power a ridiculous outlier in terms of range? Did his minions merely go into hibernation when he was out of range until he returned? Did the fact his power technically counted as a Tinker power include him into the category of Tinkers without range restrictions on whatever minions they had? Or was something else entirely going on?

So, power-testing was needed.

If the range he could actively interact with or guide his minions was large enough, it meant Jacob might be able to have them continue clearing the Graveyard while he was miles away instead of right at the Graveyard itself. If that was true, it would give him the flexibility to try and continue clearing the Graveyard while being at school or at home.

After all, what did it matter if people could see his Oozes if he was nowhere near them?

The matter fell into the back of his mind as lunch ended and the school-day continued; Jacob wasn't entirely tuned into his classes but at least it was more due to the weird sleep he'd gotten over the last two nights than deliberately thinking about stuff that wasn't classes.

This changed when school ended for the day.

As the wave of students flooded from Arcadia's doors, Jacob could hear a wave of pings and sounds from people's phones, notifications and messages finally being received as people passed the bounds of the school's jamming field.

"Ah, the sound of modern society," Emma said airily to Taylor, who snorted and giggled while the redhead pulled her own phone out. Meanwhile, Jacob paused for a moment as he saw the sweeping whispers running through the crowd from those farthest out from the doors, coming back towards those closer to the building.

(Like a shockwave.)

"Emma," Jacob said flatly, her head popping up at his voice. "News, now."

It only took her a moment to notice the sound and make the connection he had. Muffling a curse, her fingers flew over the phone, swiping between screens with blistering speed.

"What happened?" Taylor said, befuddled.

Jacob grimaced. Yet again, he remembered that she hadn't had to deal with the summer's violence. While overall a good thing, it also meant his sister didn't have some of the instincts most of the city had picked up from living through the mess.

For example: if a group of people turn agitated after getting notifications, check the news to see what had happened, and to make sure it wasn't still happening in close vicinity.

"Cape fight," Emma's voice cut in, making Jacob and Taylor look over. Emma continued. "Golden Dragon territory, three hours ago."

Jacob bit down a swear. Stupid jamming field.

"Three unknowns versus Oni Lee," Emma continued. "They were shaking down businesses, Oni Lee beat them bloody and left them for the PRT." Her brow furrowed. "Plus a murder in Empire territory; few details but it's described as 'under unusual circumstances', which is definitely code for being power-related."

Taylor blinked. "Wouldn't it just mean that they don't want to possibly give incorrect news before examining everything?"

Emma started lecturing his sister on how the press and PRT labeled parahuman murders in the preliminary stages, but Jacob was barely paying attention due to the lead ball in his stomach.

Compared to the summer itself, 'three new capes smacked around and chucked into cells' was a lot calmer than it could've been. Hell, even a parahuman murder was better than a massacre in the streets or something with massive collateral...well, at least if the property damage and collateral to people was as low as Emma was making it sound like. All the same, having things warm back up after the last few weeks – and with Taylor back in town for it – was making Jacob uneasy.

Selkie had talked about how the Bay was in a precarious position, and how ambitious capes were just waiting for the next Endbringer battle to occur before swarming in. Now, two days after the battle, new capes were trying to root around in the Bay.

Jacob had the looming worry that the storm Selkie had talked about was on their doorstop.

(Of course everything would start turning to shit on a Monday.)

[– – –]

"Apparently the capes Oni Lee fought were from New York," Taylor exclaimed as they wandered into the kitchen. "They got shoved out in one of the Teeth's recent pushes."

'Better than PRT analysts' indeed, Jacob thought as he glanced at her. Taylor was better at ferreting out info than anyone he knew, and had been digging through PHO intermittently since they departed from Arcadia. From the look on their mother's face, her daughter's skill in digging up such info was somewhat unnerving.

Mom took the moment of silence between Taylor's sentences to speak up, a frown on her face. "I don't know if I want you two wandering around so much out there right now," she said as she took a stack of plates from the cabinet.

"What!" Taylor yelped, confused, while Jacob bit down a frown.

On one hand, he could definitely understand their mother's response. With whatever she overheard at work, he knew full well she would be aware things were probably going to return to shit, and that she wouldn't want either him or Taylor – especially Taylor, who hadn't been in Brockton Bay for the summer violence – out wandering around during the renewed violence. Hell, this time might even be worse than the summer was, if the capes who flooded in from outside the Bay didn't have the same standards as the Bay's capes did.

(Well, whatever standards organized crime groups hold to, a part of his mind noted.)

On the other hand, tightening restrictions would make slipping out to start experimenting with his power more difficult, especially if she decided to immediately restrict their movements. It wasn't like he could ask her for an exemption either, considering he couldn't really bring up his powers as an excuse considering he was specifically trying to hide them.

'Oh, can I go out to play around with the powers you didn't know I have? I promise I'm not making Oozes body-check people or wrap around people's heads. Wait, what do you mean I'm now in the Wards?'

No, telling her wasn't an option.

Taylor didn't seem any happier with their mother's proclamation and made no bones of hiding it. Jacob wouldn't say she was steaming, but she definitely seemed to be intentionally trying to act affronted; probably at the slight against her maturity for not thinking she'd be able to get around on her own safely. Unfortunately for her, Jacob associated her 'affront' with pouts so the expression didn't mean much to him, and from their mother's expression she felt the same.

"Emma's going to want to go shopping!" Taylor cried out, horror in her voice.

Ah, I should have guessed, Jacob thought, biting down a snort. Of course it was how it would impact her plans with Emma and not just her own ability to wander Brockton Bay.

For a half second, Jacob met eyes with Mom in a moment of commiseration. His sister was so smart, and yet so willing to support Emma's every action without a second thought.

It was going to end one or both of them in trouble eventually, Emma's shenanigans and Taylor's airheaded tendency to disproportionately escalate matters.

The moment broke, and Jacob's gaze broke from Mom's to flicker back to Taylor. Meanwhile, Mom tiredly stated, "I'm sorry, I think I prefer you not getting caught in the middle of a cape fight to Emma's distress on you two not getting into mischief on the Boardwalk or at the mall."

Jacob snorted at that, unapologetic under his sister's glare. Nevertheless, she didn't try arguing it further right then, instead sitting there with a mingled look of scheming and pouting on her face.

Jacob didn't feel too worried at whatever she was plotting; he gave it even-odds that Emma would reign in her usual shopaholic behavior due to worries of things heating up again. She'd lived through the same mess, and hard experience showed that it was better to hold off being a mall-rat to times where the mall wasn't possibly going to turn into a battlefield. So, even if Taylor decided to start manifesting teenage rebellion by sneaking out, he knew it would almost-certainly be to see Emma, and she would be smart enough to keep herself and Taylor from wandering right into a gang-fight.

Dad walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen, pausing in the doorway as he looked around.

"...Did I miss something?" he said, confused.

[– – –]

After Taylor – who apparently saw their father's appearance as a last-ditch bid to escape from their mother's proclamation – filled him in on what he had missed, Dad slowly sunk into his chair, rubbing at his chin with a pensive look on his face.

Idly, Jacob kept an eye on him, meanwhile noting Taylor looking away from the dour look their mother was shooting her. Running to the second parent to circumvent something the first parent said might be a time-honored practice, but usually it wasn't executed right in front of the other parent.

Jacob wasn't sure whether that said something for Taylor's bravery or her bullheadedness.

"Let's eat," Dad said, causing everyone to jump slightly at the break in silence. Looking them all over with a wry look, Dad snorted. "What? We're gathered here for food anyways, and it gives me time to think– "

"Danny," Mom said with a peculiar tone, but he merely shot her a tired smile.

" –and time for tensions to settle down," he completed, chuckling. With that, he rose from his chair and walked over to the stove, grabbing the pot-handle with one hand and a coaster with the other, before bringing both back to the table.

"Well?" He tossed over his shoulder, jolting Jacob and Taylor into action as they both rose to help set the table.

After everyone sat back down and set into the food – baked ziti and mashed potatoes; Emma always called them barbarians for the combination, but it was a dinner-pair Jacob remembered going all the way back to childhood and one that would reappear at many dinners in the future – the silence set back in.

At least it was less awkward than before Dad had come down.

That changed when the meal ended; Taylor opened her mouth to begin making her case but Dad cut her off with a raised hand. "Clean-up first, then contract negotiation," he joked, ignoring Taylor's exaggerated groans at the familiar joke.

By the time they all headed to the living room, the tension was slightly noticeable: Taylor's annoyance at the situation, their mother's annoyance at the fact their father seemed open to hearing the matter out might contravene her wishes, and Jacob's own unhappiness about yet another obstacle to getting back to work on the Graveyard.

Though, Jacob thought again, I should probably be working on a different excuse for being out than 'using powers you don't know about to try and single-handedly clean up the city's biggest problem', because that probably won't go over well.

His dad's voice jolted Jacob from his thoughts. "So, do we start with the prosecutor, the defendant, or the third party?"

Mom sighed again, though her expression bore a bit of exasperation tempered with amusement. Dad had managed to instill this into whatever family meetings happened because of some conflict or another: there was the one bringing up a complaint, the one who would be or otherwise was impacted, and – if it happened – whoever was neutral to the matter or otherwise not involved in the argument so far. In lighter matters, Tayor or Jacob might be the 'judge' hearing out what happened if they hadn't been involved in the matter.

Dad had claimed it was a way to keep matters from getting too tense, and also to sometimes help his children get used to hearing out people's problems with one another. Jacob thought it was the part of his dad that let him be the head of hiring blurring into his personal life, but there were worse eccentricities to grow up with.

"Mom wants to keep us locked inside wrapped in bubble wrap!" Taylor said, staring at their father with wide eyes. Jacob couldn't stop the snort that came out, then yelped as Taylor rammed one of her bony elbows into his side.

"Alright," Dad said slowly, eyebrow raised, "Defendant located. Madame prosecutor?"

Rolling her eyes, Mom spoke up. "I brought up my worry about Taylor and Jacob being out and about if things are going to be heating up. Taylor reacted with overdramatic worry – mostly about how Emma would feel about that impacting any shopping trips – and I expressed my...doubts. Then you came down."

Making a humming noise, face inscrutable, Dad looked Jacob's way. "Anything to add?"

Jacob paused, then shrugged. "I...have my opinions on Mom's proposal, but they both covered what happened before you came down."

Dad made another humming noise, then looked to his wife. "Guessing you laid out the idea, and little owl interrupted you before you could voice specifics?" he asked, ignoring Taylor's squawk.

"Thereabouts," Mom said tiredly, massaging the brow of her nose, before looking back at Dad. "You remember how things were over the summer. You remember the Brawl; the old Brawl." His dad's face twitched at that one, but she kept going. "I don't want them to be out there in that."

"So then what do those restrictions look like?" Jacob asked, seeing Mom startle slightly at the interruption. "Is it straight to school and back? Only being out and about while chaperoned? Is the buddy system acceptable; free to be about so long as you aren't alone?"

"Jacob– "

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not trying to give you shit or mouth off, I'm being serious: how are you thinking of defining the restriction? Because I can already tell you that full-on, grounding-level 'only to school or back' will have Taylor and I climbing the walls within a week, even if friends can come over; and both you and dad are going to be busy at work if things heat up so a chaperone system isn't viable. The only thing I can see somewhat working would be a buddy-system, but honestly that mostly just impacts me since Taylor doesn't really go out alone anyways. Otherwise?" Jacob shrugged, feeling..unsure how he felt about it all. "Otherwise, I can't promise I won't eventually get cabin-fever and break out, let alone what Taylor will do."

He shrugged again at the look on his parents' faces. "You called it contract negotiation," Jacob reminded his dad, "And contracts..."

"Require compromise," his mother said tiredly, completing another of his dad's oft-used lines.

The room was silent for a few moments before Taylor, fidgeting, spoke up again. "So..."

"Can I make a suggestion?" Dad said, starting to look tired himself. Jacob could understand; the matter probably wasn't one his dad had thought in-depth about until now.

Waiting for everyone to look at him, Dad continued. "Let's table this for the night. Even if...even if the city is going to get a bit less safe, I don't see the city becoming a warzone by tomorrow." Dad paused and rapped his knuckles on the wooden table by his chair. Jacob huffed slightly, but knocked on the wooden side of his own chair. Dad continued, "We can come back to this tomorrow, or in a few days. By that time, we'll have seen how things start to develop in the city, and everyone will have had time to develop their arguments. Acceptable?"

"Well," Mom said slowly, "I'm not perfectly happy with it, but..." She snorted. "It is a compromise."

"Sure," Taylor groused, though Jacob was sure it was more for appearance's sake than being as worked up as she'd been before dinner. He knew she knew the matter being postponed was better than their mom having simply dug her feet in; if nothing else, it bought her time to scheme.

Jacob simply nodded. His head was full of enough thoughts that it was actually leaving him unable to think. Postponing the matter was perfect in his mind, especially as it bought him time to build up arguments for being able to be out and about.

If nothing else, it also bought him a few days to start experimenting on his power's range. Restrictions would be less of a concern if he could direct the Oozes at the Graveyard from the couch.

"Well, the matter's tabled," Dad said, clapping his hands together. "Now, anyone want to watch a movie?"

Chapter 14: Accelerando - 2.2

Summary:

(Accelerando - A symbol used in musical notation indicating to gradually quicken tempo.)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

So," Jessie said, plopping down next to Jacob with her tray, "What's got mini-Hebert all in a mood?"

Jacob glanced over to the lunch-line, where Taylor was gesturing dramatically as she ranted to an attentive Emma.

"Well," Jacob said slowly, wincing slightly as Taylor's flailing gestures nearly hit the boy standing behind her, "It's not impossible it's about some argument on PHO or something someone said in English– " Taylor took after their mother in many ways, and her Opinions on literature were one of them. " –but if I have to guess it's the helicopter methods our parents are considering."

Jessie raised an eyebrow in silent questioning, and Jacob indulged her.

"Our parents – well, Mom more than Dad; he sees her point but isn't exactly backing her play quite yet – are worried that, with the cape fights yesterday, the summer's violence is going to be kicking back to life. After all, things always die down before Endbringer attacks, and as of a few days ago..." Jacob trailed off, nodding at Jessie's look of realization. "Yeah. So, Mom's big solution is considering wrapping us up in bubble-wrap and keeping us home."

"Is that what she said," Jessie said slowly, "Or what you're worried she'll say?"

Jacob opened his mouth, stopped, then started grumbling. As Dennis sat down with his own lunch and glanced between the two of them with a raised eyebrow, Jacob finally got his words together enough to say, "It's what her plan would essentially be. I get that she's worried for us, but..." Jacob trailed off, trying to get his words together. "I don't mean this in a pithy way, but it's Brockton Bay. If she wanted to keep us safe, we wouldn't live here. Beyond that, it's not like she kept me locked up over the summer while shit was happening, so for her to decide to do so now feels a bit late, especially as we have no idea how long it might take for things to settle down. Like, I get doing it for Taylor since she wasn't around for the summer itself, and extending it to me to keep it even, but still. Can she expect to keep us under house-arrest for our own safety for months? Until the school year ends? And further– "

"Okay, what did I miss?" Dennis said, confused.

Before Jacob could say anything, Jessie said, "Mrs. Hebert is worried about how things might be heating back up soon, so she's considering restricting their movements to keep them safe." Jessie shrugged at Jacob's squinted gaze. "What? That summed up what you told me."

Dennis had a weird look on his face. "...Huh."

"Yep," Jessie said.

Jacob paused and glanced between the two of them, seeing the small expressions they were shooting each other. "...Why do I feel I'm missing something from my own conversation?"

Without missing a beat, Dennis said, "That's part of being a teenager."

As Jacob swiped at Dennis' head, Emma and Taylor finally joined the table. "You need to help Jacob and I argue down our mother if you ever want to see us outside of school again!"

Jacob shot Jessie a raised eyebrow, and she gave a huffing laugh.

[– – –]

Once school was over, Jacob waved off Taylor and Emma. "Sorry, not coming right home; need to go get my bike."

"Oh yeah!" Taylor said, eyes widening in remembrance, before narrowing. "Yeah, why did you come back without it?"

Not because I impulsively ran off from the cafe I'd gone to for escapism reasons to fight an Endbringer, Jacob thought but didn't say. Oh, and I couldn't get it after getting back from the fight, and I was too dead-tired to do it Sunday. And it slipped my mind again yesterday, considering I got distracted thinking about that cape-fight.

Good times.

Instead, Jacob decided to solve this problem the way he'd been solving a lot of other problems recently: by lying judiciously. "When I left my friend's place Saturday, I just wanted to walk back to clear my head."

Taylor's eyes narrowed further, and Emma joined her. "You left us to go hang out with other people?"

Inwardly, Jacob swore. Thinking quick, he responded. "Like I told dad when he called me Saturday: I ran into a friend when out. Then, when the sirens went off, their home was closer than ours, so we went there to make sure distracted drivers didn't run us over or something. Then," Jacob shrugged sheepishly. "Well, when I left their house I wasn't feeling up to biking home; I just wanted to walk, clear my head a bit that way."

He wasn't sure if either of them bought it, but before they could try to press the assault he continued, "So, now I'm going to finally go get my bike. Mom or Dad asks, I'll be home in a bit."

Spinning around, Jacob didn't run only because he didn't want to be blatantly suspicious. However, as he walked toward the bus he'd need to get closer to Down to the Ground(s), a frown crept across his face. Already the lies were starting to be hard to juggle. What would things look like as the secret-keeping continued?

That thought stuck with Jacob as he got on the bus; what would things look like as the secrets continued?

Honestly, he didn't want to try and juggle secrets. In a perfect world, he could tell his parents and Taylor everything, and he'd not only have family support but also whatever industrial or infrastructural support he could maybe tap into from the Union. Having their resources – and their manpower – would help quite a bit, and could maybe help channel some work their way too.

But no. No, telling Mom would end up with him pushed into the Wards for his safety, or her needing to try and do her job while also permitting him to 'run wild' and however that conflict of interest turned out. Meanwhile, telling Dad would either mean the man having to keep a secret from his wife or Dad telling Mom and then Jacob being pushed into the Wards. As for telling Taylor...

Well, he loved his sister, but he wasn't going to test her ability to keep secrets on this, especially with how she glamorized capes. That way led to her accidentally blurting something to their parents, or trying to get him to take her – and probably Emma – as sidekicks, all while wondering why he wasn't wearing tights and punching criminals.

Jacob's jaw clenched slightly.

No, he could cut a good chunk of secrets if he told his family what he was doing, but that way led to the Wards or being pushed to be a 'heroic vigilante', and neither paths did a damn thing to actually fix the city. No, for now he was going to be going at it alone.

The announcement that the bus had arrived at Beecher Street dragged Jacob out of his thoughts and he got off the bus, heading to the coffee-shop. Yet, even as his feet carried him onward, his mind was still lost in thoughts of secrets and lies, only properly tuning back into the world around him when he reached his destination and pushed up the door to Down to the Ground(s).

As he walked inside, Ames' gaze locked on him immediately.

"Well, well," she snarked, "look what the cat dragged in."

Jacob gave a mocking smile to Ames, before seeing that her acerbic tone belayed the blatant relief in her expression. Unsure how to take that, Jacob merely said, "Thanks for dragging in my bike Saturday; figured it was better to try and get home on the sidewalks than to chance being on the roads."

"Uh-huh," Ames said, vocally unconvinced. Giving a once-over of the cafe – there was a customer sitting with his laptop at a window seat, but otherwise the place was deserted for the moment – she flipped up the divider and waved him in. "Your bike's back here."

Pausing, Jacob slowly followed her through the door into the back-room. Looking around the room as Ames opened another door near the back and wrestled his bike out of the space, he was somewhat surprised at seeing a small break room and not just a cluttered space full of boxes.

Shaking his head slightly, Jacob started to speak. "Thank you ag– "

"Thank me by not dying letting an Endbringer kill you," Ames interrupted as she pushed his bike over to him, his hands automatically grabbing it before it could slam into him or fall over. "Or like, letting anything kill you if possible. No death is good."

Jacob's mind went blank, the somewhat-steely look on Ames' face – undercut by worried tension; tension for him or because of him? – not helping him catch his footing in the least.

Moving under its own power, his mouth said, "What battle?"

Ames' gaze went from steely to flat-out annoyed. "When the sirens went off, you reacted odd. Not like a civilian who panics then calms down when they realize the Bay is safe for a few more months; not that resigned-relieved look of 'wish I could do something, but thank fuck its some other bastard and not me'. No, you had a look of realization: that you could do something. Then you ran off." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot."

Jacob wanted to slap himself. All the work to keep his family from finding out, and he accidentally outed himself to the acquaintance he'd made at his preferred coffee-shop. Just great.

"Don't worry," she continued, seemingly reading his mind. "I'm not going to tell anyone. Just..." Ames exhaled roughly. "Stay safe and don't involve me or the shop. Please."

"I– I'm not– " Jacob started, stopping when she held up a hand. Taking a second look, Jacob could see the tired resignation in her expression.

"I don't care," Ames said flatly. "I don't have the liberty to care; not if you're a hero or villain or whatever you've got going on. Just...I've gotten to know you, a bit. If you're going to get yourself killed, please don't have me being the last person to see you. And please don't have anything spill onto me, because I don't need that on top of the shit I have going on."

"I..." Jacob said, unsure what to say.

He'd just come to pick up his bike, and instead was...what? Hearing a somewhat-acquaintance essentially say she was expecting him to die and didn't want to be forced to mourn for him?

Instead, what Jacob said was, "How did you figure it out? Really?" Because he could see the connections in what she'd said – the way he'd just ran off when the sirens started blaring and how that could be suspicious – but it still seemed like a bit of a leap.

Jacob half-expected her to just repeat that any moron could have figured it out with how obvious he had been, but instead Ames just gave a bitter smile. "We all have our secrets. I could tell you more, but then you probably wouldn't be allowed to live."

It wasn't said like a joke.

Unsure what to say to that – or about anything else that had happened since he'd followed her into the back and into an interaction that had gone far differently than he'd expected – Jacob just blinked owlishly at her, mouth parted.

Ames snorted. "Let's get back up front before that guy starts thinking we're fucking back here."

Making a noise like a dog stepped on, Jacob backed up, nearly tripping in the process, and opened the door. Fighting down a blush, Jacob wheeled his bike out and past the divider into the customer's section of the shop. Starting to head towards the door, Jacob paused as Ames called behind him, "Hold on."

Turning to see what else she was about to drop on him, Jacob saw her messing with the coffee machine. Waiting blankly a moment, eventually he realized she was making a drink.

His drink, he realized as she held the cup his way; the one he always ordered. "Stay safe," Ames said softly.

Jacob paused, then let out a breathy laugh. "I'll...I'll do my best."

[– – –]

Halfway down the block, some of the thoughts he'd been pondering on right before entering the coffee-shop finally clicked into place in his mind, and Jacob coasted to a stop, shifting out of the way of passerby as a thought percolated in his mind.

More specifically: he had his bike back so he could get around a lot quicker, and he hadn't exactly told Taylor – and Emma, if she'd gone home with Taylor – just when he'd be back. If he moved quick, he could set up an experiment to test out some of his earlier thoughts on just what his powers could do...

Luckily for his current thoughts, the Boat Graveyard – and the rest of the coastline – weren't the only major sources of water around. Plus, no need to worry about if he needed to be masked up in case someone stumbled upon him, especially where he had in mind. With that in mind, Jacob started pedaling again, hooking westwards at the next intersection and aiming deeper into Marche territory.

Benefiting their status as one of the central powers of Brockton Bay, the Marche's influence sprawled across a good chunk of the city. Their territory stretched from Captain's Hill and further outside of the Bay itself to the East, to the fringes of central downtown in the West; within blocks of Little Japan in the North, and a good chunk of the Towers District to the South. Within that wide chunk of Brockton Bay – containing more than a bit of the city's more affluent areas – the Marche had dedicated a bit of their focus to cultivating and providing upkeep on the green spaces. PHO was torn on if it was a personal interest of Marquis or if it was just to keep the rich folk happy by keeping the area looking good, but regardless: the parks, the city gardens, and the trailheads reaching into the deeper wilderness that dotted the west side of Brockton Bay might not be entirely supported by the Marche, but almost all of the green spaces had felt at least a bit of their support.

It was that latter category that Jacob had in mind: thought it had been quite a few years, Jacob still vividly remembered a summer or two spent at the Halier trailhead, a day-camp putting the trailhead's playground equipment and neighboring lodge to good use. While his parents had been at work, he and Taylor had ran wild in the woods, often coming home with enough dirt and leaves on them to make them look like little monsters.

As ancient, half-remembered memories of Capture the Flag guided Jacob through the trailhead and deeper into the forest, eventually he ended up hearing the bubbling sound of a creek. Walking along it for a little bit, Jacob finally found the spot preserved in his memories: a bend in the water partially tucked under a cliff five or six feet high, making him nigh-impossible to see from anyone that direction unless they literally looked down on him from above. A wonderful spot for hiding a flag away from those who'd be looking for it.

Jacob slowly dropped to his knees and lowered his hand into the water, closing his eyes as the now-familiar feeling of his power's activation washed over him. Like the full-body soreness after exercise, or the lethargy of a lazy day, the feeling always made him wonder if his power wanted to put him to sleep after use. He opened his eyes to see the water darkening and writhing around his hand, the cloud expanding outwards like ink; and once it hit a certain point, he withdrew his hand and watched the cloud shiver, collapse, and rise to the surface. As big as a soccer-ball, the Ooze bobbed on top of the water and tried to come to shore.

Tried being the operative word, as the stream's current seemed to be hindering the Ooze slightly.

Confusion-Annoyance the Ooze sent him, followed by another burst of Annoyance as Jacob started laughing at the sight of the Ooze fighting against the current. After a few moments it seemed to realize going directly against the current wasn't ideal and went perpendicular, shifting towards the stream's edge and finally making it to land a few feet further down. Bouncing towards him, the Ooze stopped two feet away, and Jacob had the impression it was looking up at him.

Query-Determination the Ooze sent.

"Glad to have you, little buddy," Jacob said, still chuckling slightly. "Let's call you...Voyager."

Getting a flash of Delight-Determination from the newly-named Voyager – Voyager or Voyager-Ooze? Eh, he'd figure out naming conventions later – Jacob nodded to himself. "Alright, so the task here is distance. I need you to go that way," he said, pointing westwards, in the general direction of where the woods continued past the edge of Brockton city limits. Every five or so minutes..." Jacob trailed off, blinking. "Do you know what minutes are?"

Voyager 'gazed' up at him. Pride-Happiness-Determination.

Jacob hummed. "I'll take that as a yes?" With another burst of Pride-Happiness-Determination, Jacob nodded. "Good. I need you to go that way. Not too quick, doesn't need to be a rush, but I need you to keep going that way and send a pulse my way every five minutes or so. Try to keep out of sight of people as you go. That doesn't mean kill anything that sees you," Jacob said quickly. "Just try to make being stealthy a priority."

He didn't think 'Oozes accidentally murdering people based off bad orders' would a concern, but better to cover his bases now than finding out down the road that badly-worded orders had left him with a mess. He'd read enough Asimov growing up to know to be careful.

"Oh, and if you run into anything that's blocking your way, go around; don't try to just punch or dig through."

Cover all the bases.

Jacob continued. "If you haven't dissolved by tomorrow – if you're still around after it gets dark then gets bright again – then find a place to wait and see if you can feel any further instructions from me. If you don't feel any by midday – when the sun is right overhead – return here and wait for me. It might take a day or two for me to come get you, but I won't just leave you. Got that?"

Jacob knew his range was big enough – he'd left Oozes at the Graveyard overnight before, and he'd managed to call those Oozes from him from Down to the Ground(s) when the Endbringer alarm had gone off – but he had no clue just how distance impacted the Oozes' lifespan, their ability to communicate with him, or his ability to communicate back. He couldn't remember any Oozes just fading naturally, either being absorbed by other oozes or outright destruction – partially buried under a wave of mummies – so it would be good to test just what range he had.

Plus, for all that he'd been halfway around the world from the one Ooze, that had been two or three hours until he'd came back; this would be a shorter distance but a longer time apart. At the same time, might as well see if they could do some 'communication at a distance' tests: "kill three boats with one Ooze" and all.

Jacob thought that one over and inwardly grimaced. Nope, wordplay definitely wasn't his thing.

Delight-Determination Voyager pulsed at its task. Watching it seem to jiggle in place, Jacob was reminded of a dog twitching from excitement, just waiting for its owner to throw a stick. Chuckling again, Jacob said, "Alright, off with you; godspeed and good luck," and waved his hand.

Voyager shot off like a bullet, bouncing onto a large rock and seeming to use it as a springboard to throw itself over the creek.

Delight-Determination!

[– – –]

Jacob sighed as he opened the door and wheeled his bike into the house. After the ride to and from the woods, his drink had cooled enough he could start drinking it properly.

Thank god for bikes having cup-holders.

He paused as he saw Taylor and Emma sitting in the living room, in direct sight of the door. Taylor's head snapped over and she opened her mouth, paused, then turned red.

"You abandoned us for coffee?!"

Emma rolled with Taylor's accusation, immediately following it up with, "Yeah, and you didn't ask us if we wanted anything?"

Blinking rapidly, Jacob glanced at his cup then back at them.

Oh fuck me–

Notes:

Not entirely happy with how Jacob's interaction with Ames in the back-room plays out, but can't put my finger on how to explain what bugs me or how to fix it. Hopefully you all enjoy it better than me.

Beyond that, Arc One was setting up the base premise of the story and showing off how widespread the divergences are. Now, Arc Two is collapsing the focus back down onto Jacob's efforts for the Bay. As part of that, our boy needs to start figuring out what he can do, and how to best go about it.

Let's see how it works out for him.

Chapter 15: Accelerando - 2.3

Summary:

(Accelerando - A symbol used in musical notation indicating to gradually quicken tempo.)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Jacob had decided to set up a live test of how he might be able to work on the Boat Graveyard from a distance - a possible precursor to being able to guide them while going about life, if he could communicate with them properly from such distances - it led to the question of where.

Where would he be able to set up shop in a place that was distanced and out-of-sight, yet gave him sight on the Boat Graveyard to help him understand a situation better than what the Oozes could convey? After some thinking and a bit of careful wandering through the Docks, eventually he'd settled on the old Thompson Street church.

Jacob vaguely remembered learning about the church from his Dad and the Union guys: one of the barbecues when he was younger had led to the older men talking about all the places that had closed when the Docks started withering. The church on Thompson street had featured heavily in a lot of tales, directly or indirectly. Apparently it had held on a lot longer than many of the other businesses around – its parishioners had been rather dedicated, even as the events around them tested their faith – but eventually the slow drain of people from the Docks shuttered even the church's doors, and it had been left abandoned ever since. Luckily for Jacob, no one had taken up nest in the building.

Even luckier, it had a bell tower.

Having taken the lock off the back door with some bolt cutters, Jacob had been happy to learn he could get to the tower easily enough, and that the belfry had a stable floor and a mostly-intact assortment of shutters to make him not immediately visible if anyone happened to look his way. The belfry was towered over enough of the surrounding area to give him a good amount of the Boat Graveyard. Thus, that was where he'd made his observation post. A blanket and a battery-powered kettle – both from a camping store; no point losing sentimental objects that might get found when he was gone when he could just buy cheap tools – helped keep the space habitable. Meanwhile, whatever he was working on for class - or whatever book he was devouring - accompanied him whenever he went to fill the time between directing.

After all, he couldn't micromanage the Oozes forever, especially if he wanted to work from a distance. If they needed him they could get his attention, and otherwise it was a test to see how autonomous and creative they could be.

Thus, with a proper nest established, Jacob could see the Oozes working and direct them as needed while not worrying about being ambushed by Selkie again or, god forbid, any of the Nazi capes finding him and trying to be buddy-buddy.

Again.

Attention-Determination!

Jacob perked up at the feeling from one of his Oozes. With the distance from his Oozes, they had shortly worked out a system for getting his notice – a peculiar blend of emotions that was only describable as a teacher noticing a student's raised hand crossed with a guard poking back to active attention. The fact communicating with the Oozes through their bond in proper sentences didn't seem possible hindered things a bit, but they were making it work.

So far there hadn't really been too many reasons for the Oozes to get his attention. One case of an Ooze being hassled by what looked like a drunk – he'd told the Ooze to retreat underwater until the drunk left, after which he had the Ooze resurface and get back to work – and one case of an Ooze that had found a dead body.

(After being a bit green around the gills, Jacob had called it in and ended the day early. He tried not to think about the matter further when he went back the next day to find the body gone.)

(When the Graveyard was cleared, things would be better...)

Grumbling, Jacob put his book down and picked up the binoculars to see what if the newest 'interesting thing' was something he could see from where he was. His jaw tensed.

A familiar figure clad in Motocross gear stood on one of the docks, a few feet from the Ooze bobbing in the water that had gotten Jacob's attention.

Hissing out an exhale, Jacob seriously considered just telling the Oozes to go back into the water and mentally writing off the day as a wash. It was only the fact that seeing what Kingfisher wanted might give him a better idea what nonsense the boy and his sister planned on causing – and how best to stay out of the way – that confirmed his decision.

Focusing on a particular Ooze resting down near the bottom of the Bay, Jacob prodded it to surface and then make its way to Kingfisher, still standing there. Jacob noted Kingfisher twitched as the Ooze rose towards the surface – did his power let him know it was approaching? Did he sense it? What was the range? – but beyond that Kingfisher didn't seem to react. The Ooze surfaced and approached the dock, propelling itself out of the water and up onto the dock with a bobbing motion Jacob had seen the Oozes do before.

(Perhaps another aspect of their power, a part of his brain murmured, but Jacob ignored the thought. He had other things to think about currently.)

Rolling closer to Kingfisher, the Ooze shifted as a cavity within it rose, breaching the surface of its 'skin', to reveal...

A cell-phone, which it offered to Kingfisher.

Jacob could feel Kingfisher's bemusement, even with the distance and the feature-hiding apparel, but he still gingerly grabbed the phone right as it started ringing and put it to his ear. "Proteus?"

"Were you expecting someone else to use my Oozes to drop off a burner phone?" Jacob asked snarkily.

Kingfisher laughed. "No, I just...well, this is a bit more old-school spycraft than I was expecting."

"Dunno if I'd call it spycraft, but whatever works," Jacob said, before a hint of acid put a sharp edge to his tone, "Plus, this way I can make sure no one ambushes me."

Despite hearing the cringe in Kingfisher's voice, the other boy still somehow managed to say "You really think I'd do that?"

"You aren't the only party in the Bay," Jacob said, evading the question. He had no clue if Kingfisher would actually do that – if his once-partner in battle would be willing to backstab him or not – and didn't really feel like thinking about it. Plus, he didn't react well to surprises like this, and prodding the other boy helped a bit. "Now, better question: what do you want?"

"...Well," Kingfisher sighed, "After the way we parted I shouldn't be surprised at the curtness. Honestly, Asterism and I were wanting to touch base with you a bit; learn what areas we should stay out of if we want to live, what hole-in-the-walls have the best food, and so on. If we're going to be in the city for a while, we want to know what toes to not step on, and that includes the toes that we don't know are in danger of being stepped on because we aren't locals who've learned this shit over time."

Jacob paused. "You want...me to help you in your endeavors?"

Before Jacob's temper could flare further, Kingfisher shook his head. "No, I want a friend; an acquaintance if you're wanting to take things slow."

"My," Jacob's mouth said without input from his brain, "How forward."

Kingfisher snorted. "I try. Look, whether you believe it or not, we aren't planning on getting involved with the coming mess. I might try to vigilante a bit, deal with obvious assaults or shit like that, but we aren't really looking for trouble. I meant it when I said we're here for family. I just want to have us aware of areas we really should be careful in, if we have to act as capes. Plus…well, you were willing to jump right into a fucking Endbringer fight as your first-ever cape fight.

Kingfisher sounded wistful and slightly awed, like the memories were still unbelievable. "You helped keep me from dying more than once: that laser-wielding fucker, and the giant mess at the dungeon gate."

Jacob's mouth felt dry. Slowly, "You wouldn't have been in that scenario if Privateer hadn't left you with me. If I hadn't been there, you'd have gone with one of the others."

Kingfisher chuckled mirthlessly. "Bud, we both somehow fucked up there; that group was mostly composed of veteran capes who knew how to maneuver together. I don't know if they don't have groups for new capes and you just get tossed in the deep end hoping your general caping experience will save you or if we just somehow fucked up choosing that group, but no. No, I might've been pulled with one of the others, but doesn't mean that would have done me any better. Plus, I count what happened with the gate no matter what; its defenders would've fallen no matter what, and who knows what issue that would've had if no one had been there to bottle it up."

Through the binoculars, Jacob could see Kingfisher shake his head. "You want to say 'fuck you, get off my lawn', I'll listen; but if we can be friends – or even just willing to tolerate each other – I'll be happy. I mean it as someone looking for a local contact, and as a person who likes what they've seen so far and wants to know you better."

Swallowing, Jacob kept gazing at Kingfisher through the binoculars.

He could be lying. Probably was lying, in some form or another. But...

But it didn't sound like he was lying.

"Give me a few days to think things over," Jacob said slowly.

Kingfisher paused, then chuckled. "Yeah, fair enough. Do I...does the burner go with me, or do I give it back to your friend?"

"Leave it," Jacob said, happy to shift the topic forward. "I only have so many at the moment."

'So many' meaning the one he was using and the one Kingfisher currently had. Jacob had some money to dip into – it turned out an odd amount of jewelry and coins were at the bottom of the Bay; Jacob had an Ooze or two dredging down there since he realized and had made a good nest egg so far fencing these to pawn shops throughout the city – but burner phones didn't exactly grow on trees, so he'd rather not let one wander off if he didn't have to.

"Mn, fair. Well...guess I'll be back in a few days? Or..."

"No, a few days works," Jacob said, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure what to say, and just wanting the call to end.

Luckily, it seemed Kingfisher didn't feel intent to drag things out. "See you then," he said, ending the call and giving the phone back to the Ooze before he slowly walked off the pier into the Docks proper. Meanwhile, the Ooze hopped off the dock and sank back to the bottom.

Jacob exhaled roughly, rubbing his face. "Well...that happened."

[– – –]

A few days later and Jacob was arguably more on edge than he'd been when Kingfisher had first appeared.

It had been three days since Kingfisher had first shown up on the docks, and Jacob was slowly getting more and more worked up with each day that he didn't return. Jacob had no clue what his family or friends thought about his mood; god knew the distraction was probably visible, but it turned out that also made it hard to notice what others noticed. Ah well, at least no one had called him on it yet, and it was Friday so he had a brief respite from classes...

But no, it had been three days since Kingfisher had shown up and asked for...a parlay – was parlay the right word given the circumstances? Close enough, Jacob figured – and he still wasn't sure what his answer was to Kingfisher's outreached hand.

Well, that wasn't exactly true: Jacob was pretty sure he'd help, at least to the extent of what Kingfisher had originally asked for. He'd tell them the local restaurants, what areas to not fuck around with if they didn't want to draw far more attention than they could probably handle, and how to recognize the local capes. He could give them that courtesy at least.

But beyond that, if there even was anything beyond that? If he decided to try and shut the door properly afterwards, or if he was open to tolerating Kingfisher – and his sister, Jacob guessed – was…

Well, he didn't know. At this point, Jacob was pretty sure he'd just finally make up his mind when Kingfisher finally arrived.

Jacob paused as he felt a pulse from one of the Oozes currently working on the Graveyard. For a brief second he thought Kingfisher had finally deigned to show up, then he realized the pulse wasn't Attention-Determination! but Confusion-Annoyance. As Jacob processed this, the same Ooze sent Confusion-Worry; by the time he turned towards the Graveyard, this went to Worry-Fear and–

The connection went dark.

"What the fuck," Jacob said dumbly.

His mind briefly flirted with the idea of the Ooze having just somehow gotten itself killed with something falling on it. It was unlikely but not impossible; one Ooze had perished earlier by having a large chunk of rusted ship break off farther up and impale the Ooze on the way down to the water. Yet, as another Ooze started broadcasting Worry-Anger-Determination, he knew that wasn't the case.

For a moment Jacob wondered if it was Kingfisher, but he immediately dismissed that possibility. Not only had Kingfisher put in the time to try and open a rapport, but he should know that attacking the Oozes wouldn't do anything more than annoy Jacob. The idea of Kingfisher attacking the Oozes to blame it on someone else – get his help against a 'common enemy' he and his sister had somehow already made in the week they'd been in the Bay – was also dismissed. Despite Cardiff, Kingfisher had no way to be sure Jacob couldn't see from the Oozes or otherwise get detailed information from them, so saying he'd witnessed someone else destroy the Ooze wasn't viable.

No, it wasn't him; any good explanation was still too brash for what he'd seen of the other boy, and for all that his sister seemed to be more of a schemer he figured she wasn't that brash either. Even if that was the case, that still meant someone was after him. Someone other than Kingfisher trying to get his attention by attacking his minions, someone trying to stop his progress...

"Guess it was too much to hope people would leave me alone," Jacob muttered bitterly as the second Ooze vanished from his senses.

Jacob broadcast to the rest of the Oozes to stop what they were doing and retreat; to hide in the water if the threat wasn't aquatic, and to flee into the Docks themselves if the threat was in the water. Meanwhile, Jacob did what he should've been doing right from the start, and started digging for his binoculars.

A few minutes later – cursing under his breath at the time it took to find them; goddamn had his little nest accumulated some odds and ends in the past few days – Jacob continued scanning over the shoreline near the Boat Graveyard to see what stood out.

Nothing. Not a goddamned thing.

No big disasters or rising smoke from explosions – with the church's proximity he figured anything like that would've been loud enough to notice, but always smart to double-check – so the odds his Oozes were targeted was rising.

Humming, Jacob tried to prod the Oozes still near the Graveyard: Soundoff-Query?

A few moments later and a burst of Delight-Query came through, making him somewhat sigh in relief. Direct orders was one thing, but he wasn't sure how something like 'everyone report in' would translate. (Another thing to experiment with, perhaps, a stray thought murmured before he shoved it aside.) Knowing he could have them respond to him was good to know.

Going over the results, however, showed the earlier broadcasts were right: where there had been six Oozes working on the Graveyard while Jacob sat at a distance, now they were down to four. With the overhead view he had from the belfry he even had a vague idea of where the Oozes were situated under the water based on where he could feel them from the bond.

Pursing his lips and gazing at the spot where the closest of the four Oozes was lurking, Jacob decided to take the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: investigation, and speech attempts. Ooze-Closest Me.

After a few seconds, he grinned when the Ooze in question responded with Delight-Query.

Concentrating, Jacob broadcast Ooze-Closest Me-Rise; Threat-Soundoff. A second later, Jacob scrunched his face as he tried to send the next statement. Act Natural-Return to Task; Counter-Ambush

Jacob wasn't sure how much he was understood or what might've been lost in translation, but the Ooze sent a burst of Determination so he assumed enough was understood. Watching the area in question through the binoculars, Jacob saw the amorphous blob bob to the surface in a splash, before starting to bounce across the surface of the water to the nearest ship.

As the Ooze started to crawl up the hull, Jacob slowly shifted the binoculars to a lower magnification, to see more of the surrounding area. "Come on, let's see what's going on..." He murmured.

For the next few minutes, the Ooze just worked at carving out a new piece of metal from the upper deck, Jacob watching impatiently. Just as he was about to assume whoever had killed two of his Oozes had moved on, he saw what looked like smoke slowly bubbling forth from the doorway of the deck.

"What the fuck," Jacob muttered, simultaneously sending Ooze-Closest Me-Ambush.

As the smoke started to shift closer to the Ooze in question, which kept merrily cutting up the deck, Jacob swore slightly. Then, as a figure appeared in the doorway, the Ooze squished itself down and flung itself at the figure. Determination!

Then the Ooze seemed to go right through the figure – Confusion-Anger! – and the figure vanished back into the ship after the Ooze. A few seconds later, Jacob felt Anger-Determination, then Anger-Fear, then his connection with the Ooze faded entirely.

"Fuck," Jacob hissed, keeping the binoculars aimed right at the doorway and magnifying as far as they would go. "What fucking..."

Jacob wouldn't go as far as to say he was a proper Cape Geek – Taylor had a better claim there than he did – but between the vigilance one needed to remain safe over the summer and his plans to work on the Graveyard despite whatever trouble might be coming, Jacob had been keeping up with Brockton Bay's active capes as best he could for the last few months.

The smoke vaguely reminded him of Grue, but the way his Ooze seemed to go right through the figure made him think of Shadow Stalker. Grue hadn't been seen since halfway into the summer, and Shadow Stalker was near-certainly dead: the E88 had credited Sublime with her death, while PHO stated Morrigan's crowmen had very visibly killed the shadowy villain in a failed assault on the March's territory. The video that had appeared later didn't clarify the matter at all, as the distortions Shadow Stalker was seen fighting were a known feature of both Sublime's power and Morrigan's crowmen. Regardless, Shadow Stalker hadn't been seen since and no other Bay-native capes had intangibility powers like that.

"But that doesn't explain the smoke," Jacob muttered out loud.

For a moment he considered his next move – and the hit to his wallet if it didn't work out – but relented after a few moments. The money he'd gained from what his Oozes had found – he could somewhat understand the coins, but where had all that jewelry come from? – was enough that the the cost of a new burner would be annoying but not an actual problem.

Plus, it felt karmic that funds made from dredging the Bay might be used to help support the rest of his efforts.

Thus, binoculars pressed to his face, Jacob watched the phone-holding Ooze – Hm. He'd named Voyager; should he name this Ooze too, considering it had a job and was sticking around? No, think about this later. – rise out of the Bay's depths and bounce towards the boat the mystery cape was on. After climbing the deck and plopping itself down in the middle of the deck, the phone rose out of the Ooze, held up by a tendril.

The Ooze sat there waiting; and blocks away, gaze fixed on the boat's deck, Jacob waited too.

It took longer than he would have expected – though, in hindsight, such a situation would appear to be a trap to many, so he could understand the cape not going for the phone all while the wait annoyed him – but after a few minutes, the figure reappeared in the doorway, wisps of black smoke starting to seep out onto the deck.

"Showtime," Jacob muttered, pulling the second burner phone from his pocket and dialing the one number that was saved. He saw the Ooze set the phone down and roll backwards from the doorway, as he'd told it to do when the phone started ringing.

And ringing. And ringing.

"Come on," Jacob muttered, watching the figure just stand there. As the phone in his hand tried to go to voicemail, the figure just kept standing there. "Fucking pick up the phone."

As the figure just kept standing there, Jacob dialed again. The figure just stood in the doorway.

The phone went to voicemail again, and Jacob nearly snarled as the figure just kept standing there.

"Alright, third time's the charm," he bit out, calling again.

The figure vanished.

Jacob's head snapped up, before pressing the binoculars back to his face and gazing at the doorway and then sweeping across the boat, then the wider area around the boat. Nothing.

"What. The actual. Fuck."

Groaning, Jacob slumped back down and rubbed his face, absently remembering to prod the Ooze and tell it to grab the phone and return to its original location.

Was the cape attacking what they thought to be mindless minions, and then his Ooze bearing a phone showed there was a mind directing the Oozes so the cape went 'oh, shit' and stopped? Were they trying to get his attention? But if it was that, then wouldn't they want to answer the phone? He made sure to have the Ooze move back so anyone who answered wouldn't think it was a trick to get them in grappling range...

"Gah! What did they want?" Jacob growled, gazing blankly across the belfry.

"You."

Jacob's head snapped down at the sound – rasping and echoing, like a pack-a-day smoker's voice with added bass and reverb – towards the trapdoor on the floor to see...

Black smoke, bubbling from the trapdoor. A looming shape, rising into the belfry.

"I wanted you."

Notes:

Not too much to say at the moment; this chapter has always felt a bit weird to me but I can't put a finger on why. Might just be this whole arc that's doing that to me, though, so who knows. Little curious on if anyone can guess who our looming figure is...

Also, let me know what you think on the semi-sentence commands Jacob is sending to the Oozes; it could work but I can't tell if I actually like it or not, so hearing if people like it or think I should swap to him just thinking whole sentences at the Oozes might help me figure out if that part stays or not.

Hope you enjoy~

Chapter 16: Accelerando - 2.4

Summary:

(Accelerando - A symbol used in musical notation indicating to gradually quicken tempo.)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Jacob swore, scrambling back slightly as the shape rose up into the belfry with him.

The figure wasn't wearing a costume; instead, they simply had a heavy jacket with a hood over a faded shirt, jeans, and heavy boots. Despite this, their features weren't visible in the least, as every part of them – especially places where flesh would be visible, such as hands and the space under the hood – were shrouded in a foul-smelling smoke. Jacob nearly gagged at the smell; it was like rotting eggs and burning flesh.

Then Jacob paled further as he realized that, like the other figure, he wasn't costumed up.

His face was fully uncovered.

Before he could decide if diving for his scarf and mask was a smart choice with the figure looming into the space – and as he was pulling all the nearby Oozes to get to him ASAP – the figure spoke again.

"How arrogant," the smoking figure growled with a horrendously-deep voice, climbing into the space and pressing closer, making Jacob gag with the smell and shiver as a shock of unsteadiness hit him. Was the smoke poisonous?

"You are all the same," the figure went on, approaching slowly. "Thinking you can do as you wish."

"What?" Jacob stammered. "Wait, who...what..." He shook his head jerkily. "What did I do? Is it because I'm breaking down the boats?"

Was this cape really here because they were offended Jacob was trying to fix the Bay? And how did they find him? Did they see his fucking binoculars?

The cape snarled. "You KNOW WHAT YOU DID!" Then he reached forward to grab Jacob, scooping him up by the front of his jacket, and Jacob started writhing in panic.

Not only did some strange pissed-off cape have him right in their fucking grasp, the second they made contact he felt the unsteadiness from earlier ratchet right up into an active drain.

"No, I don't!" Jacob yelped. "I don't know what you're fucking talking about!"

"LIAR!" The cape flung Jacob across the space to crash into the wall. Falling to the ground with a groan, Jacob felt like shit but – silver linings – was somewhat sure he hadn't broken anything from the impact or when he fit the floor again.

All the same, it knocked the breath right out of him, and as the cape slowly approached, Jacob wheezed out, "Not...lying...what...did..."

God, his chest under where the cape had held him was burning; like a blazing sunburn and the tingling feeling one got from icy-hot medical rubs and the pins-and-needles of a limb falling asleep all combined. He tried to push down the fear of whatever had happened being permanent or leaving visible marks.

(God, please don't have it be some touch-contact poison bullshit–)

Hysterically, part of him was relieved; at least he hadn't been picked up by the neck so any permanent marks would be easier to hide on his chest than around his neck if he got out.

If. If he got out.

"Please," Jacob wheezed, seeing the figure approach. "What...why?"

The cape stopped, trembling in place slightly. Then, like a sword being drawn from a scabbard, the cape's voice rasped. "Why?" Then again, a proper boom this time, undercut by the shriek of tortured metal. "WHY?"

God, fucking hurry, Jacob thought wildly, and felt a wave of Anger-Determination hit him from the Oozes.

Meanwhile, he seemed to have been lucky – for certain definitions – to have said something that would make the cape stop approaching in favor of simply ranting. Not good for when that stopped and they started hurting him again, but it bought time for the Oozes to do...to do...

Something. Anything.

"Because," the cape said, getting Jacob's full attention. Not paying attention could mean higher odds the cape would get pissed and start hurting him again. "I know what you want to do, what you want to make. Your pure and clean beacon on the hill, scrubbed free of the impurities," the cape spat the last word out like it was a slur.

A spark went off in Jacob's head. Growing up in Brockton Bay, certain colors and markings were recognizable as gang markings, and so were their dogwhistles if you knew how to pay further attention.

Purities and impurities. Beacon on the hill.

"Wa..." He coughed, then spit some acrid-tasting saliva to clear his throat. (Oh joy, no blood in it at least. Silver linings, silver linings.) "Wait...you think...I'm Empire?"

And...what?

But, despite all logic, this seemed to be the answer; "YES," the cape snarled.

"No," Jacob said, aghast. "What...the fuck? Why?"

But even as he said it, the thoughts connected: Cardiff.

He'd shown up at the PRT complex right as the Empire had shown up, and even Armsmaster had seemingly thought he was with them until Proteus told him otherwise. Then, when he'd come home, he'd done so the same time as Kingfisher and Asterism, but also with Iron Rain and Tyrfing.

Empire going, and Empire coming back.

But...who the fuck was this cape? Even if somehow he'd been tarred off bad timing alone, how did they know? Proteus didn't fully remember everyone who'd shown up from Brockton Bay – he'd been caught up in worry and panic and anticipation to pay attention to that – but he was pretty sure a cape wreathed in bad-smelling smoke hadn't been in attendance.

So...even if he was right – that they'd seen him coming or going and decided to attack him for the misunderstanding – how the fuck did they know that had happened? Had they been spying on the PRT, to see who left and who returned? Did someone tell them?

Confirming Proteus' suspicions, the cape growled, "You showed up with them. You left with them. And you say you aren't together?"

"Yes!" Jacob shouted, coughing after but still so affronted by the accusation – so pissed at being attacked for the cape's fuck up, on such thin evidence – that he didn't bite his tongue. "I showed up at the same time! Not with them! And I returned to the Bay on the first trip home; not my choice they came back at the same time!" Coughing at the feeling of saying so much after getting the wind knocked out of him by the wall he'd been thrown into, Jacob pressed on. "Empire...displays new capes. Flying...the flag. But I don't wear...colors...don't work with..."

Jacob broke down wheezing, unable to keep talking.

The cape was still. Then, slowly, "Deniable assets. Operating for them, not under their name."

"No," Jacob said, seeing a glimmer of light. "If...there's, then...why show up...together? Better to do...apart; keep distance. Not an Imp...or secret Imp."

Something in what he said was wrong; that was obvious enough with how the cape went statue-still, then exploded forward, "LIES!" shrieked in an utter rage.

Exploded forward right into the Ooze-tendril that punched up through the open trapdoor like the jester erupting from a jack-in-the-box, the collision – catching the smoking cape right at the top of their leap – smashing the cape into the roof.

As the cape tumbled down to the floor with a thud that seemed to rock the building, the Ooze hurriedly grabbed Jacob with a burst of Determination-Success! – then Shock-Sorrow-Determination as Jacob groaned in pain – and pulled him inside of it before retracting back down to the floor below. Once down, the Ooze – a mammoth shape taking up half of the hallway; what had grabbed him had been part of a larger whole – burst apart into a new swarm of smaller Oozes.

Go, Jacob thought. Go!

The Ooze he was in raced right towards one of the walls and proceeded to smash right through it; Jacob swearing as he realized just how high they were and how far they were about to fall–

And the impact on the ground was like falling into pillows, or what he imagined jumping onto a water bed felt like: weird, but not with the force of falling multiple stories.

Jacob paused, then started laughing hysterically. The gelatinous nature of his Oozes made it so the impact bled off all the force to the Ooze, keeping it from bursting apart and from him going splat.

Then the Oozes still in the building sent bursts of Determination-Fear and Jacob froze. "Shit," he wheezed. "Go, gogogog– "

The Ooze bolted as fast as it could towards the shoreline. If he got to the water, they could sink down into the depths; he could make more Oozes and hide himself in the swarm; he could–

It was hard to see through the Ooze's semi-translucent shape, but he could feel it from the Oozes: small wave of shadow burst from the building, waterfalling down into the street.

"KILL YOU, YOU NAZI FUCK!"

"Shit!" Jacob yelped, seeing the darkness rocket towards them.

Then a burst of light came out of a cross-street, just behind the Ooze, and slammed right through the darkness, provoking a shriek.

Jerking his head over and thinning the Ooze's bulk to see, Jacob saw–

Kingfisher, standing in a loose shooter's stance. The flare gun in his hands was still smoking.

"Sorry," Kingfisher said nonchalantly. "Am I interrupting?"

Jacob chuckled, wincing when it aggravated the bruises on his back. "Perfect timing," he muttered, then blinked as he realized there was no way Kingfisher would've been able to hear him.

Yet, all the same it seemed Kingfisher could hear him: the other boy shrugged. "It's a gift," he called out. "Who's the friend?"

Said 'friend' was seeming to just be watching them, the smoke growing denser around him. Hurriedly, Jacob spoke. "Thinks I'm with Empire, isn't willing to hear otherwise. Power hurts and drains – smoke maybe, touch definitely – and I'm hurt. Recommend retreat."

Kingfisher whistled low. "Hell, that sounds fun. What, you think– "

Whatever it was Kingfisher was curious about was left open-ended, as the smoking cape finally lashed back out. Kingfisher dove out of the way with a swear as smoke rocketed through where he'd been standing, scrambling to his feet and sprinting towards the intersection at an angle that would take him towards the water. "Alright, retreat good! How?"

Without saying a word Jacob kicked his own Ooze back into motion, having a second Ooze dart past the smoking cape and slam into Kingfisher, absorbing the other boy into the Ooze. Jacob ignored the yelp Kingfisher let out, instead pushing the two Oozes to get to the waterline as quick as possible.

"Get ba-ARGH!"

The smoking cape's attempt to regroup was cut off as another Ooze struck him from behind, wrapping itself around the cape's head. As he stumbled, yet another slammed into his legs, knocking him over fully.

Jacob chuckled painfully. While Kingfisher had brought the smoking cape's assault to a momentary halt, he'd still been pulling all the nearby Oozes back towards him, including the ones still alive back at the church. The quickest had scooped up Kingfisher to evacuate him too, and the rest...

Well, Jacob could feel the bursts of Fear-Determination! racing from the Oozes trying to restrain the smoking cape just as he could hear the man's otherworldly howling. They weren't going to buy much time before the cape drained them dry.

But 'much' was a relative concept, and in this case it was still enough to give him and Kingfisher a head-start to the water.

As he experienced the Ooze falling off the dock and landing in the Bay, only to start sinking like a rock, Jacob sighed and leaned his head back. It was a bit too early to say they were home free – with his luck, the cape could cut through water just as well as the Oozes – but if nothing else the darkness of the water and the vastness of the Bay would help make it hard to find them to begin with.

Jacob had his Ooze – and the one holding Kingfisher, which had hit the water moments behind his own, Delight-Schadenfreude! in its heart – move at a downwards angle towards the middle of the Bay as they descended, then dropped down to the bottom. Once they arrived, he had the two Oozes come together and merge, creating a larger cavity in the middle of the resulting Ooze for himself and Kingfisher to share.

"Goddamn," Kingfisher swore, his first words to Jacob since the Ooze scooped him up. "That was remarkably unpleasant. Like, thanks for the rescue," he said belatedly, "But a little warning would've been nice."

"With what time," Jacob said impatiently, all while sticking his hand up to and then through the side of the Ooze. Twitching as the Ooze shifted itself so his hand would be directly touching the water – god it felt weird to have his arm surrounded by Ooze; and considering everything that had sunk down to the bottom of the Bay, he was definitely going to need to wash his hands after this – Jacob immediately started making a new Ooze.

As many as he could, in fact; defense and distractions, in case the smoking cape tried to follow them down somehow or otherwise was waiting up above, somehow able to track them.

(Well shit, Selkie might've helped me when she confronted me; it gave me experience at evading possible pursuit, Jacob thought offhand, then bit down before it made him laugh.)

"Well," Kingfisher continued, then trailed off. "Fair, I guess. Thanks for not leaving me behind. So, what did you do to piss them off? And what was that about Nazi stuff?"

"Not a fucking Nazi," Jacob snarled before breaking down coughing, Kingfisher leaning back slightly, hands raised. Waiting for his breathing to stabilize – goddamn his chest hurt, but at least it was more of a burning ache than sharp pains, so he tentatively didn't worry about anything being broken – Jacob continued. "Think he saw me coming or going at the same time as the Empire capes for the Endbringer attack – I showed up to the rally point same time they did – and he jumped to conclusions."

Then, lamely, "He...didn't seem too stable."

"Yeah, I got a similar vibe," Kingfisher said without missing a beat. "So...uh, I just need to check...did he remove your mask, or where you attacked while unmasked?"

Jacob paused, face paling.

Then he started swearing vigorously.

"That's not really an answer," Kingfisher said, looking away, "But I guess it's also kinda an answer."

Jacob groaned. "I was directing the Oozes from a distance," he said flatly. "Testing my precision at guiding them from a distance. And, like an idiot, I hadn't been masked up because...because I'm a fucking moron, I guess. Thought because I was at a distance and out of sight – mostly out of sight, I guess – I didn't need it. Then that...that fucker burst in like..."

"Like a bogeyman?" Kingfisher suggested.

"Like a fucking bogeyman," Jacob agreed, starting to go into a proper rant. "And did he ask questions? No! He was convinced I was a goddamn Nazi and didn't listen when I tried to tell him otherwise! Only fucking reason I got out of there was because my Oozes came up from below and ambushed him."

He paused at that hit him: that was probably the only reason he'd escaped. Otherwise...

Kingfisher spoke up again, dragging Jacob out of that thought before it could consume him fully. "Well...shit."

It wasn't much, but it was something.

(Something more than remembering what Emma had mentioned on Monday about a weird body found in Empire territory, a few more popping up in the days since.)

(How many bodies had the smoking cape – the Bogeyman – already dropped?)

Sighing, Jacob leaned back against the wall of the Ooze, hand still sticking through the side and making Oozes. Unseen from within, their Ooze was drifting around the bottom of the Bay as the new Oozes darted away from the 'mothership', to help throw off the Bogeyman, if he was somehow able to follow them.

"...So," Kingfisher said after a bit of awkward silence, "When's it safe to pop up, you think?"

Jacob snorted. "When? No clue. But that would be if we actually popped up in the Bay itself."

Kingfisher sat up slightly, looking at him as best they could through the Ooze. (Idly, Proteus noted that the Ooze wasn't entirely bioluminescent, but it did generate just enough light to make out the shape of the other boy. Interesting, and something he might have to experiment with at some point.) "Okay, then where are we popping up?"

"Anywhere on the shoreline," Jacob said, shrugging slightly before wincing at how it pulled on his back. Hopefully the bruises weren't going to be too obvious.

Continuing, he said, "I don't know how long the Bogeyman– "

Kingfisher cackled. "You kept the name!"

"Better than what I had," Jacob snorted. "I don't know how long he'll lurk, but even if he wanted to I doubt he can comb the whole coastline. Not quickly, anyways. Going north would probably be a bit untenable, that's going out of the city and public transit is...lacking, but south gets us anywhere from the north ferry station to the downtown shoreline to near the southern beach-strip, depending on how far down we want to go. Hell, the north ferry station is probably safe enough on its own; he'd need to haul ass to make it there and he has no reason to think we'd show up there unless he can somehow track us."

And if that was the case...

Jacob shoved the idea of going closer to the Rig into the back of his mind. If it was that or 'surface near the shore and immediately be Bogeyman'd to death' then he'd cut his losses and throw himself on the mercy of the government heroes, but showing up at the Protectorate base – unmasked – was otherwise at the bottom of his list.

Kingfisher snorted, a weird sound through the helmet and in the Ooze's cavity. "Yeah, I don't think he can. If nothing else, hold off before surfacing when we get close and I can check to see if anyone's nearby to see your Ooze spit us out. You especially, considering..."

Jacob clenched his jaw. "Yeah," he said flatly.

The next few minutes passed in awkward silence as the Ooze scuttled across the bottom of the seafloor, tracing the coast towards the ferry station. Jacob knew they could go quicker than they were but that would have greater odds of making noticeable ripples on the surface or otherwise somehow giving them away.

After his day, he wanted to play it smart: he probably wouldn't get lucky a second time.

Conferring with Kingfisher once they got close that the only people in range weren't able to see them – Jacob really wanted to know what the other boy's power was; something with ranged perception, but also combat capabilities? Or was that just skill? – the Ooze bobbed to the surface near the base of the ferry station. Crawling onto the sand near the base of the building, the Ooze split open to let the two emerge into the late-afternoon sun.

"So..." Kingfisher started, fidgeting.

"Yeah, thanks for the save," Jacob said, rubbing his head with a sigh as he started to walk away. Time to head home, try to make up excuses for his injuries, and try to forget two separate capes had found out what he looked like within an hour.

"Wait!" Kingfisher called, making Jacob pause.

He sighed, not bothering to turn around. The Ooze would warn him if Kingfisher tried to attack him from behind, still lounging where it was on the sand.

"What."

"Just making things equal," Kingfisher said, voice sounding different than it had been.

Pausing, Jacob turned around to see–

Motocross helmet in his hands, a boy with dark blonde hair gave him a sheepish smile. "I saw your face, so only fair I even it up." He chuckled, holding out a hand. "Plus, I'd like if we could still be friends? Or acquaintances at least."

Jacob paused, sighing again. "You know what," he groused, seeing Kingfisher's face twitch, fall slightly. Then Jacob stuck his hand out and watched Kingfisher's face light back up. "Fuck it. Pulling my ass out of that mess gets you a meal and that 'do and do-not' talk you asked about, if nothing else."

Kingfisher grinned. "Glad to hear. When are you wanting to do that?"

Jacob paused, considering the day. Then, he sighed. "Hell, wanna go get dinner now? Talk over food?"

After the mess the day had turned into: why not?

Kingfisher's eyebrows went up. "Interesting place to talk about this stuff. What if we're overheard?"

Despite the day, Kingfisher's comment brought a knowing smile to Jacob's lips. "First thing to know about Brockton Bay, then: which restaurants you won't be overheard in."

Notes:

God, I need to have the ability to italicize for emphasis taken away from me lol.

The part in the belfry has kept feeling weird to me since I first starting writing this chapter a month or two ago, so I'm hoping its just my nerves instead of actual issues, considering its been revised and tuned close to a dozen times. All the same, feel free to mention what you liked or didn't so I have a better idea how to write similar bits.

Also, rip to anyone who thought the Bogeyman's sudden appearance was that of a friend, but, listen: its Worm. Sure, its a heavily-modified version of Worm, but its still Worm, and Jacob's still a Hebert.

Chapter 17: Interlude - 2.a

Summary:

(Interlude - Piece of instrumental music played between scenes in a play or opera.)

Notes:

And now for something else. Curious about the reactions to this chapter...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Jessie, think about this," Dennis said behind her and Jessie came to a halt in the hallway. As Dennis cursed under his breath, having nearly ran into her, Jessie tipped her head back and breathed deeply, eyes squeezed shut so tight she could see starbursts behind her eyelids. Then, after taking a second to bite down the first few things that wanted to spill out, she turned to look at her fellow redhead. At the guarded look on Dennis' face, she hissed out a sigh, shoulders slumping as she bit down the other thing she'd been considering saying.

"Dennis, I have thought about it," she told him instead. "Over and over and over, and if I don't bring this up it's going to live in my head rent-free until I walk into enough walls to concuss it out of my head."

"Uh– "

"Being distracted, not purposefully," she clarified. "But no: I've been thinking about this, trust me."

Hell, the fact she was still thinking about it was part of what was making up her mind. If the matter wasn't resting easy now, why would it if she kept tossing and turning on it for another few days?

"But what if confronting her causes more problems?" Dennis said. As Jessie raised an eyebrow about Dennis being the one to bring up risk of trouble and gave a glance down at the floor as though she could see if Hell and Behemoth had just frozen over, he continued. "Sure, we could be put on shit-duty, but what if she responds by actually putting them on house arrest?"

Jessie paused, taking in the direction of Dennis' worry. "If..." She trailed off before rallying. "If so, then hopefully they'll be safe at least, when things truly kick off."

And they both knew things would: Oni Lee's thrashing of three capes tentatively confirmed as once being a New York gang, and the weird murders happening in Empire territory, were just the beginning. The Empire, the Dragons, and the Marche were all bleeding, and the Teeth's local presence had gotten smashed again; and with the instability in the surrounding region with the Teeth's unending crusade it was inevitable that people ousted from other cities would try to force their way into Brockton Bay.

"They'll be safe," Jessie said, to Dennis and to herself, "But hopefully we'll have answers. Jacob doesn't have answers, we don't have answers, and I really doubt Taylor's got any answers either. This way, we have some idea of why. Sure, it might have consequences, but having answers gives us more room to debate her down later. More info's always better."

"And why should we be sticking our necks into their mess, anyways?" Dennis said with a flat look on his face, a noticeable difference to his usual joviality. Jessie wasn't fooled, and she made sure to tell him so. "It's not like they're in danger if we don't."

Jessie stopped herself from saying something rather rude; she knew Dennis was just trying to make sure she knew what she was doing before charging into the dragon's den.

"Because he's our friend," Jessie said. "Hell, he was your friend before I met him. And he's our friend because of who he is, not because of who his mom is. And regardless of whatever she thinks are ways to keep them safe if shit goes to hell again, the fact she's never told them is something I don't get and can't agree with. So yeah, I'm going to help him out if I can, and part of that entails figuring out why there's still this...secrecy. So, I'm going one way or another; feel free to try and freeze me if you want to call a quarantine for me while I'm frozen, stall me for a few hours, but I– "

"Stop, stop," Dennis said, holding up his hands. He sighed and shrugged, a rare frown on his face. "Jesus, I'm not going to get you M/S quarantined to stop you from confronting her. I just wanted to make sure you know how this could play out before you go further," He said, confirming Jessie's suspicions.

It was good to have him explicitly confirm that, but it still confirmed her suspicions.

Dennis continued. "I just...want to make sure you know how this might go – for Jacob and mini-Hebert, and for us – before you stick your nose into their family business."

"Yeah," Jessie said softly, "Yeah I've thought about it."

Without saying anything more, Jessie turned and kept walking down the hallways of the Protectorate building, hearing Dennis' footsteps fall into place behind her a moment later. A few minutes later, having traversed through the back-corridors where PRT troopers wouldn't encounter them, they came upon a specific door. Jessie knocked before doubt over her plan could really sink in.

"Into the belly of the beast," she heard Dennis whisper behind her, and bit down a snort before the absurdity caused her to just break down into ill-timed laughter.

The door opened.

"Can I help you both?" Mrs. Hebert asked with a lilt of curiosity, gaze flickering over them both.

"That's...what we're here to find out," Jessie said, biting down her nerves. "Can we come in?"

After a moment Mrs. Hebert shifted back and gestured them both in. As she walked in, Dennis' footsteps behind her, Jessie gave a glance around.

Though it wasn't her first time in the office, yet again her impression was that it was obvious Mrs. Hebert used to be a professor. The desk was covered in papers, half of the walls covered by bookshelves filled with an array of books and binders, and the rest of the edges of the room was taken up with smaller piles of binders and file-boxes. In some places the boxes were piled two or three high; the window facing out had a makeshift ledge next to it from the boxes stacked against that part of the wall.

Part of her wondered how Mrs. Hebert could find anything in the mess, but she already knew the answer to that one. A different part of her wondered if the fact it also meant the room was akin to an armory was part of the plan, or just a happy side-effect.

"So, what is this about?" Mrs. Hebert said, sitting back down at her desk. "There's a few ideas that can spring to mind with both of you here, but I'd rather not assume."

"Save the pregnancy-scare talks for our fearless leaders," Dennis cracked, then yelped as Jessie smacked him.

Trying to shove that image out of her mind, Jessie shot a quick glance at Dennis and – once he realized she wasn't scowling at him for the joke – sent her back a look that boiled down to I came to help, and I will, but you wanted this so you get to lead. Sighing, Jessie turned back to Mrs. Hebert and, ignoring the amused smile on the woman's face, said, "Ma'am, apologies for sticking my nose in, but why haven't you told Jacob and Taylor?"

The smile fell of Mrs. Hebert's face in the blink of an eye.

"It's just," Dennis said, starting to ramble, "Jacob mentioned that you'd brought up the idea of him and Taylor staying inside if things are going to start ramping up, and..."

"Something about the way he said it," Jessie said, taking back over and seeing Mrs. Hebert's gaze swivel back to her, "Really made me think that he doesn't know. And I've kept my nose out of it before, but...ma'am, why haven't you told your kids you're Archivist?"

[– – –]

...The anti-blackmail policies in particular may need additional revisions to reflect the possibility of insertion-style attacks by "friendly" acquaintances who, by providing insights and casual advice to key persons, may shift the direction of policy by providing incisive ideas to be plagiarized by those individuals and thereby seamlessly integrate their external influences with the normal course of policymaking, legislation, and electioneering. A more advanced threat model may also include the potential to prompt, but not insert wholesale, such an idea, although it is unknown whether any Thinkers are capable of imitating Rutherford's inadvertent self-falsifying prophecy regarding the development of nuclear power, let alone avoiding immediate attribution in order to incept such ideas repeatedly and without consequence.

Emily put the report down and let out a deep sigh, massaging the brow of her nose.

Mentally debating with herself, she decided to give in and slid open one of the drawers in her desk, then pulled out a bottle and a shot glass. Pouring a finger of the amber liquid into the glass, she raised it up to look at the light shimmering through the liquid, then smoothly shot it back before tucking both bottle and glass away.

It was bad drinking on the job, and her lowered body mass due to her injuries made it easier to get drunk – as it turned out, losing a leg and a half meant a drink had to do a lot less for the same effect – but she felt that indulging once was acceptable.

According to the officers who had been guarding the portal to K1 during the Cardiff attack, the independent Mitotic had come back with company that no one recognized.

Mitotic was a headache in multiple ways – while the guards at the gate and Armsmaster independently expressed doubt that Mitotic arriving at the rendezvous with Iron Rain's contingent was anything more than coincidence, that uncertainty was still a concern – but his mysterious companions were a different type of worry.

According to Archivist, one of the two capes identified returning to Brockton Bay with Mitotic had joined him in making a last stand at one of Anansi's gates when Archivist and allies arrived to save them; however, no one identified the female cape, and they didn't match anyone in the system.

And now with Synthete's analysis, and the warning – roundabout as it was – of a high-level social Thinker…

Emily knew it was a reach, but Brockton Bay was unlucky enough that one of the mystery capes who accompanied Mitotic could easily be the mysterious Thinker in question. Unfortunately, that then led to the question of how Mitotic knew them and if he was an advance guard for their arrival, but without any further data she considered that a level of paranoia beyond what was desired in her job.

Being ready for unseen dangers and sudden upsets was one thing, but that level of distrust was a type that would see threats in every shadow. Whether the outcome was a mental breakdown or trying to pre-emptively deal with said threats – which, in such paranoia, would be everything and everyone – neither option was allowable.

Hissing, she picked up the phone and jabbed in a number she had memorized.

Within a ring, the phone was answered.

"Yes?"

"My office; non-emergency, but ASAP," Director Piggot said.

"Understood."

Ten minutes – and a perfunctory knock on the door – later, Armsmaster walked into her office and closed the door behind him, assuming parade rest.

"Ma'am," he nodded at her.

Piggot snorted, then typed a quick sequence into her keyboard, then pressed on a specific section of the floor with her foot.

A loud hum filled the room and the windows tinted until opaque.

"Sit down, Colin," Emily waved at the chair across from her, sized for Brutes and those who wore power-armor.

Armsmaster paused for a second before walking around and sitting in the chair, removing his helmet as he sat.

"Emily," Colin nodded back, face impassive.

"We've got a problem," Emily said to her fellow department head, handing him the report. "Well, another one, at least. Read this."

She watched him go through the document, feeling a drop of ill-mirth at the annoyed expression on his face. The document was quite possibly the driest brief she had ever seen as a director, and wading through it did more for her headache than the content it bore.

She wouldn't put it past its writer for that to have been a deliberate choice, but that led to its own questions.

It was obvious when Colin realized exactly what the document was conveying, as he stopped and looked up at her. Emily merely nodded once and he gave a heavy sigh, then went back to the top of the paper to go through it in its entirety. As he did so, she picked up the next thing in her inbox waiting for her attention.

It would take him some time to go through it, and she had little time to waste.

[– – –]

"I don't see how that concerns you," Mrs. Hebert said, tone brittle.

And there we go, Jessie thought to herself sadly. Not confusion or deflection, just immediate confrontation.

Well then.

Leaning forward slightly, feeling Mrs. Hebert's gaze fixed to her like a missile-lock, Jessie said, "It concerns us not only because we're Jacob's friends, but also because it doesn't make sense. Keeping your identity from them means having to juggle secrets, means they don't know the danger you're in as a cape, and means that when you try and wrap them up for their own safety, they don't know its because of shit you've seen on the front-lines instead of what you've learned as an analyst."

Seeing Mrs. Hebert's eyes narrow a bit, Jessie gave a wry smile. "We're friends with Jacob; dunno if he's mentioned it before or if either of us have and have forgotten, but yeah, we're friends with your son. He and Taylor have been bitching a bit over the past few days about their worries of essentially going on house-arrest, and...well, they could just be not wanting to mention the fact their mom's Protectorate – for obvious reasons – but...it doesn't seem like that's something they even realize. They don't know. And, for whatever reason, that really pisses me off."

"Jesus, Jessie," she heard Dennis mumble.

"The way I keep my family safe– " Mrs. Hebert started, tone clipped.

"Is your prerogative," Jessie said smoothly. "Whether I agree with the methods or not, if you want to put them on house arrest or whatever to keep them from being out and about while the city is a mess, go for it. I lived through this summer as much as you, so I know just how dangerous it might get out there.

"Though," Dennis said abruptly, cutting both Jessie and Mrs. Hebert off, "I am curious: Jacob said something that made it sound like he hadn't dealt with similar restrictions over the summer...?"

Somewhat visibly thrown by the abrupt shift, Jessie could see Mrs. Hebert's answer came out on autopilot, "The summer was a gang war no one was expecting, but was still predominantly a gang war. Worse than usual, perhaps, but still mostly falling within the war-rules Marquis and Towairaito try to maintain, for all that Iron Rain was out for blood. But we know something is coming instead of it blind-siding us, and outside capes won't hold to the Bay's rules, so who knows how much danger civilians will be in." She paused and blinked once or twice, then focused back on the two Wards with a look of minor annoyance in her expression.

Jessie blinked. "Well...I don't know if I totally agree with...no, I guess I can understand that much at least," she said slowly. "But despite that, I'm not here for your methods. I'm here because of the secrets."

"And those secrets are how I keep them safe," Mrs. Hebert said. No. No, Archivist said.

Jessie breathed out slightly as she took in the woman in front of her; though she hadn't started transforming into her paper-state – her skin wasn't showing the craquelure-marks of her power being drawn on – it wasn't a mother of two in front of her, or even a PRT special analyst.

It was a Protectorate member who'd been around for longer than half the local branch, and she was aiming her mama-bear might right back at Jessie.

Now, the only question was why? Why dig her feet in on keeping her kids in the dark?

Jessie remembered that time after she got powers and joined the Wards, when Archivist helped her adjust and helped her find a form of stability in her new normal. (In general and around Abbie, a part of Jessie's mind thought wryly.) Mrs. Militia was more of a den mother to the Wards than Armsmaster – the official head of the Wards – was, but Archivist was just behind Mrs. Militia for how she looked out for the Wards. Hell, Jessie knew Archivist had also helped Verdant and Challenger settle into the Protectorate after being transferred in, so she wasn't just looking after the kids.

Something about her being so caring for the Wards and Protectorate, and then keeping her kids in the dark, just...Jessie couldn't understand.

She couldn't understand.

"Why?" Jessie said plaintively, putting her thoughts to voice. "Why and how? How does keeping them in the dark help at all? Or, I could see it if they were real young to keep them from possibly mentioning something on the elementary-school playground, but they aren't loose-lipped toddlers." She paused, brow furrowing. "Well, Taylor's a chatterbox, but she seems like the type to take secrets seriously." Her gaze flicked back to Archivist's, whose gaze was arctic. "But no, they're teens, not little kids who don't know how to keep quiet, so it couldn't be that. So how does keeping it secret help them?"

"I don't see how that's your business," Archivist said, still not saying a damn thing that mattered.

Jessie saw red.

"Because they're my friends!" Jessie shouted, rising from her seat and slamming her hands on the desk. The look Mrs. Hebert shot her was enough to make her quail, but not enough to make her slink back into her seat. "They're my friends, and if the fact the friends of your kids are calling you on your bullshit isn't enough– "

"Jess– "

" –then take this into account," Jessie snapped. "I'm a Ward, and protecting civilians is part of the job. Jacob and Taylor not knowing means that, if for some damn reason someone decides to go after any of our families, they won't have a clue its coming."

And Archivist flinched.

Jessie rattled to a halt, seeing the crack in Archivist's mask; seeing how something in those last few sentences had slid right through the older woman's armor and dug deep. "What is it," she said flatly, numbly, mind starting to race. As the woman's gaze locked onto Jessie's face again, eyes widening, Jessie continued, "Some part of that struck; is there something coming, something they don't know is co– "

"No," Archivist snapped, then sighed and rested her face in her hands. Jessie opened her mouth but halted when a hand rested on her arm; looking over, Dennis gave a small shake of his head.

'See where this goes,' he mouthed.

"No...no, it's..." Archivist said slowly, shaking her head. Biting her lip severely, she opened her mouth and – with words sounding as though they were being pulled out of her, like teeth ripped out with pliers – slowly whispered, "I think Jacob might have powers."

"Fuck," Dennis hissed, but Jessie barely heard it over the ringing in her ears. She stared at Archivist – at Mrs. Hebert – and saw a complicated look on the woman's face.

"Neither of you knew," Mrs. Hebert said, tone a mix of bitter and relieved. "I wish that confirmed I was just going crazy, but...but unfortunately that doesn't help much, now does it?"

Jessie sank back slightly, mind racing.

Lurking at the back of the chaos in her mind with the thought about how second-generation triggers were supposedly easier, less traumatic than usual triggers. Yet, for all the literature on the matter, she knew 'less traumatic' was a low bar considering the usual hell someone needed to be in to trigger.

And her friend had supposedly, apparently, potentially triggered and she'd had no clue.

"That's part of what's getting to me, too," Mrs. Hebert said, dragging Jessie out of her thoughts. Focusing back on her, Jessie saw a look of commiseration aimed right at her. "I can read it right off your face: the idea that something could have happened and I didn't know until..."

"Until what?" Dennis said, voice shaking but holding, saying what Jessie couldn't get the words together for. "When did you start...what happened?"

"There was a cape at the Endbringer rally-point," Mrs. Hebert said flatly, and the words hit like a punch. Not stopping to let Jessie catch her breath, the woman continued laying out the evidence. "They...they tried to disguise their voice, but it was...so familiar. It didn't click at the time, but...but it stuck in the corner of my mind: they sounded like Jacob." Mrs. Hebert's eyes were getting shiny, but the woman didn't stop. "I saved them, after Anansi was driven off. Them and another cape, they'd held one of Anansi's portals; the minions were starting to overrun them at the end. If I'd been later..." A muscle twitched in her jaw, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. She didn't say anything else.

"Wait," Dennis said, horror and realization and disbelief in his voice. "Mitotic? That cape that sh– that's been taking apart the Boat Graveyard?"

Jessie knew what he'd dodged around; the fact he'd shown up to the Endbringer fight with Empire capes, had supposedly gone back to Brockton Bay with some too. Even without the...the new information part of her hoped it was just bad timing, but odds rarely worked as one wanted them to in Brockton Bay.

"The very same," Mrs. Hebert said, a small and bitter smile on her face. "You said you're friends with Jacob, so think about that: beyond the Endbringer fight what Mitotic been seen doing– "

"Is taking apart the Boat Graveyard," Jessie said, hysteric laughter wanting to bubble up. "That fucking wreck."

"Jacob had been a part of Revive the Bay until over the summer," Mrs. Hebert said. "Dealing with the Graveyard and reviving the ferry were two points they were pursuing, two points they shifted focus from. Jacob...didn't take it well."

"So he triggered, seeing the hope of fixing the Graveyard vanish," Jessie heard herself say, tone flat, "And now he's doing it himself when he's not volunteering for Endbringer fights?"

"Maybe," Mrs. Hebert laughed harshly. "Maybe. He's been...been so distant, this last week, ever since the battle. Since he nearly died, if it's him."

Jessie's mind darted, thinking of how Jacob had acted the last week; how she and Dennis and Taylor and Emma had all agreed, through singular conversations in the halls and through facial expressions, to give him space at least for a week. To see if his distant mood would clear up, or if he'd talk with any of them.

Mrs. Hebert continued. "Hell, I've had to talk to him once about coming home late. At first I thought he was..." She drifted off, then shook her head. "I thought a lot. I ignored the possibility he had powers, was out caping." Ignored the possibility something had happened and she hadn't noticed, Jessie thought, not daring to say the words. (Not when she was in the same situation, if things were true.) "But the evidence seems to keep growing, but I can't be sure."

"And you can't ask him because..." Dennis said.

"Jacob knows I work with the PRT," Mrs. Hebert said, and as Jessie was reminded of what had originally brought her and Dennis here – before the bomb Mrs. Hebert had dropped on them – the older woman continued. "He hasn't told me anyways. He hasn't told either of you, if your reactions were right. What does that mean?"

In a flash, Jessie could see the shape of what she meant. Not only had Jacob kept it from his family – she really doubted Taylor knew, and she didn't see Jacob trying to entrust the knowledge to his father and make him withhold it from his wife – but she hadn't even trusted friends with it.

It might be elevating them higher than she should, but Jessie was pretty sure she and Dennis were Jacob's best friends; the other boy had some acquaintances at Arcadia but otherwise didn't seem close to anyone. If he had closer friends she could maybe see them not being told, but if they – his closest friends – also weren't told...

Did he know? Know that they were Wards?

Or had he not told anyone?

Mrs. Hebert continued, jolting Jessie back out of her head. "Beyond that, how can I confront him? I can't tell him I think I recognized his voice, because I've never interacted with Mitotic as far as he knows."

"And you still don't want to tell him for whatever bullshit reason you have," Jessie said flatly, continuing before she could be interrupted. "So the analyst can't prod at Jacob without revealing knowledge she shouldn't have, and Archivist can't prod at Mitotic without revealing herself either."

Archivist's mask of intense serenity wavered, broke again, and left a tired and bitterly amused Mrs. Hebert in her place. "Correct. A proper Catch-22: Archivist can't broach it without revealing why she'd recognize Jacob Hebert's voice, and his mom can't broach it without revealing why she'd have heard his voice at an Endbringer rally."

"So," Dennis spoke up once more. "Keeping Jacob and Taylor inside. Is it because you fear a power vacuum more than a gang war, or because you want to try and keep Mitotic from having the freedom to throw himself into cape-fights?"

Jessie's head whipped over to stare at Dennis, before she silently shifted back to staring at Mrs. Hebert.

"I'm protecting my children," Mrs. Hebert said in a non-answer, before clarifying slightly with, "I truly am more worried about a power vacuum than I was the gang war, especially since I know the vacuum is coming; and further with the fact that Taylor loves capes too much for me to feel comfortable with her out while things are escalating. She wasn't here over the summer, doesn't have the instincts everyone else picked up; even though she would almost-certainly be with Emma or Jacob, I don't want to risk it."

"But, for all you can't be sure Jacob truly is Mitotic, keeping him on a shorter leash helps keep him from getting too involved," Jessie said, putting the pieces together. Putting the puzzle together, and trying to not think about how this puzzle involved her friend. "And if he's not Mitotic...well, keeping him on a shorter leash means you don't have to worry about Taylor throwing a fit that Jacob has more freedom than her, even if he's got better survival instincts than rubbernecking a cape-fight."

Mrs. Hebert merely looked at Jessie then looked away, but Jessie knew she'd hit bullseye. Jessie laughed, and after forcing it down right before it truly turned hysterical, she said, "God, what a fucking mess. Alright, fuck, now what?"

Seeing Mrs. Hebert and Dennis just silently look at her, Jessie continued. "Well, there's the possibility your son– " She pointed at Mrs. Hebert. " –and our friend– " The finger swiveled to Dennis. " –is running around as a cape without telling any of us. There's enough evidence to make it scarily compelling, but there's also enough uncertainty that it's not impossible we're barking up the wrong tree. So, now what?"

[– – –]

"He's not wrong," was the first thing Colin said when he put the report down.

"Explain," Emily said, capping her pen and looking back up at him. She knew her thoughts, but there was a reason she'd gone to him for a second opinion.

"We've already known of such Thinkers before. Teacher's Academy. Hormiguero. The Covenant, arguably; if not now than perhaps in the future. None of them need to Master a president or government official. They already know which reporter to bump into to make them spill their coffee, leaving them angry enough to lead with more-barbed questions in an interview."

"Step on a butterfly, start a riot," Emily murmured. Whether or not the Vito-Chavez Incident truly was a result of Hormiguero's manipulations – as some in Watchdog still claimed – or if it was just a series of bad coincidences, it had still hamstrung the presidential candidate in Mexico's election who had been taking a hardline stance against the Tinker's expansion. No, after the incidents and the following riots ruined the once-leading candidate and lead to the runner-up's victory – a man noted to have a much friendlier stance towards Hormiguero – no one was truly sure how much had been pure dumb luck and what had been engineered.

Knowing what she did of Hormiguero, Emily figured he'd deny whatever narrative was put forward, just for the hell of it.

Colin paused, then nodded slowly. "Exactly." From the tone, she could tell he'd made the same connection she had. "By the nature of their interference – utilizing dominoes to achieve a goal rather than directly manipulating it – it would be harder to properly detect such manipulations, but what Synthete proposes are measures that could help curtail such influence."

Emily hummed.

Not what she had directly been seeking from the conversation, but useful nevertheless to know she'd have an ally when she pushed on the Chief Director for organization-wide policy changes.

"However," Colin said, making Emily's jaw twitch, instinctively knowing he was about to say something to further complicate the situation. He didn't disappoint. "One thing that needs to be noted is this: Synthete warns of the potential dangers of high-level social Thinkers, especially in cases of seemingly-helpful advice being used to shift the course of policy…"

Emily paused as she thought through what he was implying, thinking it through again just to make sure the alcohol hadn't hit her harder than she'd expected. "You're noting that we're being warned of social Thinkers influencing policy...by a social Thinker, whose warning would be used to shape policy."

"It's seemingly nonsensical," Colin noted, "And I'm not going to bother delving into the matters of reverse psychology and reverse-reverse psychology; that matter is infinitely regressive and can be headache-inducing even before getting into such conundrums with a social Thinker."

"It already has," Emily said lowly, massaging the brow of her nose.

Colin gave a neutral hum and she shot him a look, then bit back a curse.

"There's more," Emily said. It wasn't a question.

He nodded. "We're not going to be the only ones to recognize the seeming absurdity of the situation, especially as this might make Synthete's own statements and advice distrusted down the road. That begs the question…"

"What made him decide that putting such suspicion on himself and his actions would be worth it?" Emily completed, mind racing.

"Exactly," Colin said, nodding gravely. "What was it he possibly detected, or encountered, that made him decide such a warning was necessary, especially when it would cause him just as much trouble?"

"You think it wasn't just the Thinker he encountered at Cardiff?"

"I doubt that would be the only cause for his actions," Colin said slowly, rubbing his chin. "It's...possible that his report was due to detecting one-such figure, one that he cannot remove through normal means. His report, though potentially harmful to himself, seems to indicate that impeding this hidden foe to be worth the trouble. It's also possible there has been a different threat on his radar for a while that he could not act against, and the Thinker at Cardiff gave him the excuse he needed. In fact, for all we know the Thinker he warns against is just a smokescreen. Look how wide in range his warnings cover: his section on the ability to prompt ideas or indirectly shape policy certainly can't be fully guarded against."

"Then why mention it at all?" Emily said.

"Perhaps an attempt to shift the Overton Window?" Colin suggested. "The threats Synthete names are too nebulous to be properly defended against without vetting each and every person we all interact with or living on a constant M/S footing. However, by bringing this up and generating discussion about the capabilities of high-level social Thinkers, this might inevitably lead to more comprehensive policies than we currently have."

"He's starting the bidding with an outrageous offer so that people will walk away feeling accomplished they haggled him down to the policies he actually wanted," Emily said flatly.

"...Something like that."

"Fucking Thinkers," Emily swore, Colin staying silent.

She knew he agreed with her, no matter his silence. Forget the parahumans who got the power to spit fire or juggle cars and decided that meant they could do anything; it was the ones who got the ability to learn things they had no business knowing, backed by the parahuman drive to cause conflict, that were the biggest problem.

She exhaled slowly, rubbing at her face.

"Alright, let's table talk of that for the moment, though we will come back to it," Emily said.

"The other issue?" Colin said, never far behind her thinking.

"Our mystery parahuman, Mitotic," Emily said, seeing Colin's brow furrow.

"Despite his ill timing–" Colin started, before she waved him off.

"None of that," Emily said. "There's no way of knowing at the moment where his affiliations or sympathies lie until we see him fighting with or against the Empire; all we can do is plan for the worst case. No, my concern at the moment are the two capes he was noted accompanying at the end of the battle."

"Ah," Colin said, nodding. "My hypothesis is that they used the pre-post battle rendezvous portals to get to the city to participate in the power vacuum. Changing cities is something of a time-honored tradition with the portal system; the Elite has been known to have teams do so before or during campaigns in one of the cities to quickly move their troops, and Heartland has done the same on rarer occasions–"

"I have the same data you do, Colin," Emily cut in again. "I don't need the entire rundown on why my men weren't allowed to stop them. My concern is more regarding what they might get up to in the turmoil, and what powers they might have."

She could see it the moment Colin connected the dots.

"You think that the girl is the social Thinker Synthete spoke of?" Colin said, somewhat incredulous. "Even if it may be good to begin planning for defense against such manipulation, the odds are remarkably low that the one person in question Synthete warned of happened to come here."

"Colin," Emily said flatly, making sure she stared him right in the eyes. "It's Brockton Bay. When have the odds ever gone in our favor?"

Colin paused, then slumped slightly. "Shit."

Emily decided to be nice, and pulled the bottle back out of the drawer, holding it up silently. Taking his non-reaction as acceptance, she pulled out a second shot glass and poured him a shot, then passed it over.

"On a related note," she said as Colin downed the shot and slid the glass back her way, "Why do you think it's the girl specifically? Two unknown parahumans returned with Mitotic."

"From Archivist's report cross-referenced with the agents on duty at the gate, the other parahuman was in the field with Mitotic," Colin said. "They held one of Anansi's gates after the original defenders fell; Archivist had to save them but they held the gate to and through the end of Anansi's attack. By process of elimination– "

"It would be the girl then," Emily nodded, tucking the shot glass and the bottle back away. Hopefully she wouldn't be needing to pull them out again today.

"If it is her," Colin prodded. Emily waved him off impatiently.

They both knew that with Brockton Bay's luck, it was her. Hell, Emily gave the girl even-odds of trying to rise the coming chaos right to the top of her own team, if not the whole city. Goddamn Thinkers, and goddamn Synthete for giving her something new to stress about.

As Emily paused to consider if her earlier shot was hitting her harder than expected, Colin spoke up. "What do we tell the others?"

"At the moment? Nothing. For one, it's just our luck for one of Mitotic's tag-alongs to be the Thinker in question – shut up, Colin, you know what I mean – but if we try to jump the gun then that's when it won't be her. We'd be charging forward right into a wood-chipper."

"Schrodinger's Thinker," Colin said, tone dry. "Results uncertain until we act. Or maybe it's Heisenberg's Thinker..."

Emily sighed, ignoring his digression. "Until we have more data, we aren't acting in any way that might be playing into the hands of one such Thinker or accidentally causing the witch-hunt of someone who might not deserve it. And yes, not acting might also be playing into a Thinker's hands, but…"

"Infinite regression," Colin said, repeating his earlier point.

"Something like that," she snorted, then sobered her expression. "Until we can be sure we're not jumping right down the rabbit hole of speculation, we're sitting on this. Feel free to write up possible responses, but until we know more – anything more – we aren't going to act and potentially show our hand."

"Understood," Colin said, even if he didn't look happy to be saying so. "Anything else?"

"Nothing else, thank god," Emily said, waiting for the man across from her to slip his helmet back on before typing a sequence into her keyboard and pressing on the floor.

As the hum faded from the air and the room brightened from the windows changing, Armsmaster rose from his chair.

"Director," he nodded, turning to leave the room.

Once he was gone, Piggot rubbed her face once more and sighed. "Out of the frying pan, back into the fire," she mumbled to herself, before shoving her feelings away and turning back to the computer.

She had work to do.

Notes:

Thanks to my beta for helping iron out earlier versions of this and for providing half of the excerpted text for the M/S/T document Piggot and Armsmaster are reading, and to Segev over on Spacebattles for helping me revise the 'Jessie and Dennis confront Annette' strand of this interlude.

God, that section fought me every step of the way for some reason. I've had the scene with Piggot and Armsmaster written out since what I think was late 2019, and aside from a few minor shifts over time the most issues it gave me was fixing sentence structures. But the scene with Annette and the Wards? No, I came up with that idea in the first week of April and have been revising that scene ever since because it fought me every step of the way.

Part of the issue is I have the vague broad-strokes of the plot nailed down - what happens to this gang, these capes teaming up with those capes, this specific major event is looming on the horizon and will either end out Shoggoth or Shoggoth will wrap once that event starts and Shoggoth's sequel will deal with said event...very big broad-strokes. I have the big broad-strokes, and I've done a shit-ton of worldbuilding for off-screen groups and past events, so I have a large cast of already-generated characters to implement as needed.

The tradeoff is that my writing style is very partial to spontaneously coming up with plot-points that reshape the smaller-scale of the plot. The scene with Annette and the Wards came when I reread 2.2 and saw that 'Jessie and Dennis exchange looks when Jacob brings up his mom wanting to keep the kids safe' bit; I'd originally just added that as a nod-to the fact that they're Wards and Annette == Archivist and was setting that up to continue the gag about everyone knowing A=A but not having yet admitted it...then I realized that having Jacob's friends confront her over the secrecy was actually an idea that could be done. It helps show Jacob hasn't been doing identity-separation stuff nearly as well as he should (for all that we already knew that), and helps keep my side characters active in their own subplot.

Of course, then I needed to figure out how it played out - I might post the first take as a 'what could have been' teaser some point in the next week - and I need to figure out how this will effect the outcome of things in Arc Three and onwards, and how much cat-and-mousing I can get away with regarding identity shenanigans, so that's fun.

Yeah: I have a large cast to draw from and a small world-bible of worldbuilding, and some degree of the themes and ideas that are threaded through Shoggoth - curious if anyone's got an idea of those themes yet, but I'd be surprised if they're obvious yet - but the trade-off is that I'm essentially coming up with what each Arc is going to be composed of halfway through the prior Arc. The fact I've got about 3-4 chapters written out ahead of this means I can 'retroactively edit' the earlier unpublished chapters to work with what's coming down the road...but I'm still flying a bit by the seat of my pants on the small-scale plot, for all that I've got the Big Beats planned out.

(Case in point: I wasn't sure how long it was going to be until I finally just explicitly confirmed A=A but figured I probably needed to do it soon, then realized that actually writing out the 'Wards confront her' scene would knock that out too. Two birds, one stone!)

Ah, well: I think people are enjoying the story so far, so that's what matters.