September 3, 2010

Colin stayed in his lab until the last possible second. There was no point leaving earlier only to end up waiting around, wasting precious minutes he could have spent Tinkering. The lie detector was tantalizingly close to completion, perhaps only two days' work away. It was a wrench to leave, but if things panned out today's mission might prove even more seismic.

He had the routine down to a science by now. It took half a minute to assemble the necessary supplies, two to clean up and lock his lab, one-and-a-half to make it out to the parking lot. At precisely 12:45 PM, he was driving down the force field bridge that linked Protectorate HQ to the mainland.

Had he been on his bike, a throng of curious cape-watchers would have flocked to watch him ride along the Boardwalk. However, in an unmarked white van with tinted windows, no one gave him a second look. The van rolled down Lord Street through the lunchtime traffic. On the left was the beach, lined with wooden walkways and tony shops bustling with tourists. Yet on the right, behind that thin layer of makeup, you could see the city's true face. The Docks, that nest of crumbling buildings where a dragon made his lair, stretched off into the distance.

Colin looked neither left nor right. He only had eyes for the road. Four-and-a-half miles along the Brockton Bay coast, and then he was pulling into PRT HQ's parking garage. It was 12:59. One minute slower than projected thanks to a couple unfortunately timed red lights, though his standard one-minute buffer prevented him from being truly late. Inside, a brunette girl in street clothes and a gray-costumed boy with a mirror hiding his face were already waiting. Excellent. No time wasted. Colin rolled down the window. "Get in the van." he ordered. "Blank, sit in the back right."

The Ward nodded and clambered in, closely followed by Panacea. Colin grit his teeth as the null field momentarily washed over him. The displays in his helmet all blinked out and left him sitting foolishly in the dark garage. His armor, usually so nimble, felt like a lead coffin smothering him alive. His head was so horribly empty, lacking the little sparks of insight he didn't notice until they weren't there anymore. Then Blank settled into his seat—a safe 3 meters away—and he relaxed. He didn't think he would ever get used to that.

If Colin envied how Panacea could sit right in front of the nullifier without recoiling, he would never admit it.

They headed back up north on Lord Street, towards the ramp for Interstate 95. It was finally happening, thank God. Now Colin was a Protectorate man through and through, and he firmly believed that the willingness to accept restrictions was what separated heroes from villains, but sometimes the bureaucratic machinery frustrated even him. Given the amount of suffering it could alleviate, he'd expected his proposal to be swiftly rubber-stamped. Yet the PRT brass had insisted on exhaustively scrutinizing it for any potential risks or PR backlash. It had even been kicked up to Watchdog for a Thinker-backed second opinion, which had led to several additional rounds of negotiations and mitigations and counter-proposals.

All that didn't even cover the matter of securing Panacea's involvement. In theory this required approval from Lady Photon, New Wave's leader; in practice, Brandish's opinion was what mattered. That woman was—well, Colin couldn't fault her for being meticulous and slow to trust. He was sure those qualities served Carol Dallon well as both lawyer and hero, but they also made interacting with her rather painful.

In the end, a process that would've taken a day for a group of independents had taken almost a full week. At least getting Blank on board had been easy. Although explicit parental sign-off wasn't needed for a non-combat mission, Colin been prepared for a much harder conversation with the Ward himself. Their newest member was polite and professional and went about his assigned duties without complaint, but Colin couldn't shake the impression that Blank suffered from a deficit of actual heroism. Most Wards joined with at least some vague desire to protect people; even Shadow Stalker had turned to vigilantism to hurt those who hurt others. Yet what had Zhou Zhiqiang said at their first meeting? That, now that he had powers, he hoped the PRT would protect him.

The Director probably didn't care. To her, whether he was motivated by altruism or cold cost/benefit analysis, it was one more hero and one fewer potential villain. Colin was not so sure. What was to stop a cape like that from switching sides, if he decided he was safer that way?

Despite those misgivings, Blank had accepted. He'd still asked questions about the dangers involved and how they would be ameliorated, many of them the same ones the Director had. And at the end, he'd nodded his head and said "okay". Literally the single word "okay". Colin didn't know how to interpret it. A developing conscience? Natural inclination to obey his superiors? Or was it the old adage about powers wanting to be used?

All those thoughts flashed through his brain, but only a single sentence made it to his lips. "So how are you finding the Wards?"

"Fine, thanks for asking."

Damn it. Colin disliked trying to read people to begin with, and Blank was exasperatingly difficult to read. Even Gallant couldn't get anything off him, and compared to that, what hope did the rest of them have? He almost preferred tantrums and complaints to this neutrality, because at least you knew what the Ward was thinking that way. Still, he decided to make another effort. "Well, if you have any questions, ask them. No better time."

Their first stop was an hour away, after all, and the inside of a van was a poor environment for Tinkering. Particularly poor when he was the one driving. One of Dragon's flying craft would have been faster, but Blank's power would probably crash it. "Actually, I just might." the boy spoke up after a moment's consideration. "Why don't capes use guns?"

In the rearview mirror, Colin saw Panacea turn about with a startled look. "Do you want to shoot people?"

"No, but maybe I want the option to. I'm getting trained on all the other PRT equipment, so I just find it weird."

"It's one of the lesser-known unwritten rules." Colin explained. Admittedly, the firearms taboo was stronger in some parts of the world than others. He still remembered the culture shock he'd felt upon some of the Dallas Protectorate. Pecos Bill was an interesting character, to say the least. "Carrying a gun is stigmatized. A gun comes across as a sign you're willing to use lethal force. It puts people on edge and increases the odds they'll escalate accordingly."

"Miss Militia uses guns." Blank objected. "I've seen Kid Win working on a laser pistol. And cutting someone in half with your halberd would be pretty lethal, no?"

"It's not the same. All those are related to our powers, so they're acceptable."

Blank was quiet for another moment. "That sounds irrational."

"People are irrational." Colin retorted.

That elicited a faint chuckle from the Ward. It was the first sign of amusement Colin could recall hearing from him. "True." It was good they agreed on that, at least.

"If it makes you feel better," Panacea said. "guns wouldn't work on most of our villains anyways."

"They'd work on me."

"Then don't tempt people to shoot you."

That argument seemed to take the wind out of his sails. "I mean, would it be so bad to keep one just in case? For emergencies." he rallied. "I could hide it on my costume. No one would know."

Panacea sighed. "You're being paranoid. I've been a cape for a year, and it's not like I get jumped by random gangsters all the time."

"Don't you mostly work in hospitals?"

"...yeah." she admitted. "Okay, fine, it'd be legal for you to have a gun, I guess. There's no age limit for concealed carry in New Hampshire, and you don't need a permit either. My mom's a lawyer; I know this stuff."

Live free or die, indeed. "It's not unprecedented for a Ward to receive firearms training." Colin allowed. "After they've proven capable of sound judgement under pressure." The Director would not be pleased to have a trigger-happy Ward blast some hapless villain who'd only been reaching for his wallet.

"Okay." said Blank. The flat tone made it hard to tell if he was in fact okay with this or merely saying so.

The rest of the journey down I-95 was spent in silence.

By the time they pulled into Boston, Blank had taken out some school assignment or another to work on, while Panacea had fallen asleep. Since her services were as yet unnecessary at this juncture, they left her to nap while they visited with the local PRT. Boston's HQ had been designed with aesthetics in mind, compared to Brockton Bay's more utilitarian structure. The exterior was all red brick and white moulding, mimicking the architecture of the city's older buildings. The top floors boasted a view of the waterfront, including the very spot where the Sons of Liberty had thrown tea into Boston Harbor.

Colin and Blank saw barely any of that, because they went in through the side entrance. The receptionist stared at them when they badged in, as did many of the staff they passed in the halls. No doubt they were wondering why the leader of Brockton Bay's Protectorate had ventured onto their turf. As well as who the unfamiliar cape with him was, and why he was following at such an oddly long distance. Just as well. This appointment wasn't publicly advertised, but neither was it top secret. Outside of its scientific value it might also provide useful cover, in case rumors about Armsmaster chaperoning a new cape around Boston spread on PHO.

Director Kamil Armstrong was there to greet them at the elevators. "Armsmaster! It's good to see you again." The Boston PRT chief was noticeably pudgy at the waist, like Piggot. He was also a black man, unlike Piggot. "And you must be Blank. Pleasure to meet you. Have you been to Boston before?"

"No sir."

He hadn't even been an hour's drive from home? Then again, many of Brockton Bay's Asians lived rather...underprivileged lifestyles. "Ah, then you should do some sightseeing if you have time. It's a beautiful city." Armstrong said without missing a beat. They wouldn't, and everyone present knew it. A shame, because in comparison to their home city it certainly was pleasant, so long as you avoided the Teeth. "Well, let's get cracking with the tests. Then you can be on your way. Sound like a plan?"

As in Brockton Bay, Boston's testing grounds were located in the basement. The white-tiled rooms were absolutely identical, the only difference being there were more of them here. Following Armstrong's instructions, Blank went to stand in the middle of a room and had a 2-meter circle projected around him. All very familiar, so far.

The test subject for today? Not so familiar.

"Setup complete." Armstrong said into his earpiece. "Come in, Weld."

Weld. A combination of proximity and the fact he was nearly impossible to permanently hurt had made him the ideal guinea pig. Colin had never met the boy, but he certainly knew about the Case 53 in the next city over. From humble beginnings—he'd found in a literal junkyard last year—his rise had been meteoric. He was a TV star, a poster boy for acceptance of Case 53s, and the soon-to-be leader of the Boston Wards. He heard Weld coming before he saw him, the heavy footfalls of his metal body difficult to miss. Even knowing what to expect, though, Colin couldn't help but stare for a second when he turned the corner. Down in the test chamber, Blank's helmet likewise turned up to look at the newcomer. Weld was like a Renaissance statue come to life. His classically handsome features were sculpted in solid steel, filigreed here and there with silvery lines. The texture of the metal was so fine that one could make out the detailed contours of his muscles and every hair on his head.

Next to that, his outfit of gym shorts and a Boston Celtics jersey was deeply incongruous.

"Weld." Armstrong greeted him warmly. "Are you ready?"

Weld's metal lips curved into a smile with impossible flexibility. "Yes sir. I'm nervous, but excited too. Oh, and uh, Armsmaster! Good to meet you."

Colin grunted in reply.

Armstrong put his hands on Weld's shoulders. A pointless gesture, Colin thought. As far as he knew, Weld had no sensation in his metallic skin. "Good luck, my boy."

Both adults positioned themselves at the viewing window as Weld made his way down. The boys exchanged pleasantries—Weld cheerfully with a friendly wave, and Blank more reserved with a small nod. "Let's start simple." Weld's voice came over the speakers. "I'm going to try putting my hand in."

Step by step, he drew nearer to the 2-meter boundary. Armstrong pressed up against the glass in anticipation, and Colin found himself doing the same. The Case 53 stopped on the edge of the circle before, with a single decisive motion, he thrust his right hand over the line.

The hand vanished. Weld cried out in shock and stumbled backwards.

"WELD!" Armstrong shouted in concern.

Weld turned on a dime and practically fled the testing chamber, taking the stairs two at a time with wide-eyed panic on his face. He burst through the door so hard it was nearly torn off its hinges. Armstrong immediately ran forward to envelop him in a hug. "It's all right. You're all right." he said soothingly. Weld's breath was coming out in short, fast bursts, even though his file said he didn't need to breathe. His powerful body trembled like a leaf. Colin saw that his right wrist appeared to have been cleanly severed, a core of silver bone visible in the stump.

No wonder he was so terrified. Normally nothing could truly threaten him, yet today he was suddenly a couple steps from being dead. Erased from existence. Blank remained standing in the center of his circle, impassive and immobile, and for a fleeting instant Colin couldn't tell which Ward was made of flesh and which of metal. "...sorry about that." he finally muttered.

Weld exhaled sharply. The brief burst of primal terror had passed, to be replaced by a deeply crestfallen expression. "It wasn't your fault." he said sullenly.

"If you need—" Armstrong began.

Weld shook his head. "I'll be fine, sir. I'd just like to be alone for a bit, if that's all right."

Armstrong let go reluctantly. "...all right." The Ward trudged off, metal footsteps fading into the distance. The Director slumped into a chair with a sigh, burying his face in his hands.

Once Weld was safely out of the area, Blank came back up as well. Whatever sadness or guilt he might feel over what had transpired, the helmet hid it all. "That was disappointing." he said simply.

"I know." Armstrong looked up, weariness plain on his face. "We were so hoping this could help his quality of life, or at least give him some answers. Weld's benefited from the Manton limit so many times that I thought...but it seems like your power doesn't have one."

"It could be because his body's been completely transmuted to metal." Blank suggested. "Things might go better with a Case 53 who's less, um, altered."

Armstrong held up a hand. "I hear you, but honestly? After that, there's pretty no chance of getting another test approved. You'll probably be barred from even serving in the same city as one of them."

"I suppose that's understandable."

"Thanks for trying, anyways." Armstrong rose from the chair. "Well. This was faster than expected, huh? Still, your vehicle should be prepped by now. And I'll let Golf Squad know you're ready to head out." He offered them both a wan smile. "I hope that goes better than this did. I really do."

"I don't doubt it." Colin replied. He really didn't.

When they got back to the van, he noted with satisfaction that the New Hampshire license plates had been switched for Massachusetts ones. Panacea appeared to have somehow slept through the entire process. Colin had heard the reports of her visiting hospitals in the dead of night; just how hard was New Wave working that girl? Brandish might sniff that the PRT didn't have the Wards' best interests at heart, but if they drove one to such exhaustion there would a Youth Guard inquiry coming. Settling back into the driver's seat, he tuned his in-helmet communicator to the agreed-upon channel. "Armsmaster here, heading out. Passcode electric-horse-staple, do you copy?"

"Copy. PRT twenty-four, Golf squad here. Passcode copper-cheese-tax. We'll be right behind you." Colin nodded. Armstrong had been as good as his word. It was not one, but two unmarked vans with blacked-out windows that drove onto the Boston streets. In the trailing vehicle was a squad of PRT agents, armed to the teeth.

All this caution seemed faintly ridiculous when they weren't even expecting a fight. Then again—even if he'd been dead almost twenty years—people still got very anxious at the mention of Gray Boy.

They were twenty minutes out of Boston when a familiar voice sounded in his ear. "Colin? Is now a good time to join?"

Outside his window, the suburban build-up was giving way to leafy New England countryside. They were almost there, though he'd be surprised if his interlocutor didn't know that. Tracking the van's location was well within her capabilities. Presumably she had asked only to be polite. "Go ahead, Dragon." he replied aloud.

Panacea, still half-asleep, jolted upright at this. "Dragon's here?!"

"Only remotely." Dragon's voice came out of his armor. Normally, Colin would cut off his foot before letting anyone else control his suit's systems, but the world's greatest Tinker was an exception. When the situation called for it, he could activate a miniature chip that allowed Dragon to see and hear what he did, plus talk using the external speakers. "Tinkers have been trying and failing to break the Gray Boy loops for years. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"You're Dragon!" Blank sounded genuinely excited for the first time today. "The one who maintains the Birdcage?"

"Yes, among other things."

Blank bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you for keeping us safe."

Was it unusual that out of all Dragon's works, the one he admired most was a prison? "You're welcome." From her flat tone, Dragon thought so too. She quickly pivoted subjects. "Blank, Panacea, I've heard good things about you both as well. A pleasure to work together." That was stretching the truth—given the amount of work on her plate, Colin doubted she spent much time thinking about either of them—but he elected not to call her on it. He'd learned from experience that Dragon was better at diplomacy than him.

...considering she was a shut-in who never interacted with anyone in person, wasn't that kind of sad? Colin cleared his throat to dispel those stray thoughts. "Let's get to the mission. Dragon, is the site clear?"

"I did another sweep this morning. Still no sign of monitoring devices." Dragon reported. They'd expected as much, but it was good to err on the side of caution. Even if Gray Boy was long dead, there was no telling how the current Nine would react to someone messing with their previous 'glories'. The particular loop they were headed to had been created around Christmas 1990. The Nine been slaughtering their merry way across New England during that time, before they'd hit Brockton Bay the following year for their infamous confrontation with the Teeth. It had the benefit of being close enough for a day trip, and far enough that people wouldn't immediately link its disappearance to PRT ENE. "I have to ask—did Armsmaster tell you what to expect?"

"We've seen the pictures." said Panacea. "It's not pretty, but I've seen worse as a healer."

"I grew up in ABB territory. I've seen stabbings before." Blank added.

"That's, well, not good exactly, but it helps." said Dragon. "Still. I've never visited a Gray Boy loop in person myself, but it's said to be uniquely horrific. I think the key is to not let it overwhelm you. Remember that no matter how bad, it's within your power to stop it." There was something to be said for that. Gray Boy's true cruelty lay not in the intensity of the pain—humans inflicted worse tortures on each other every day—but in the fact that the it would never end, not even in the sweet release of death. Without that, he supposed it would be a far more banal form of suffering. "Remember that Andrew Mather was a normal man once, and after today he can try to be one again."

Panacea blinked. "Is that his name?"

"Armsmaster." Dragon said reproachfully. "You didn't even tell them that?"

"It wasn't relevant." Colin defended himself. Would it have helped the young heroes at all to know the victim's name? That he was chronologically fifty-eight, and biologically forever thirty-seven? That he had been a church minister, and it had likely amused the Nine to subject a man of God to hell on Earth? Information overload was what it was. "Anyways. Prepare yourselves. We're entering the town."

The road was falling into a state of increasing disrepair, and Colin found himself having to swerve around especially large potholes from time to time. A faded road sign passed by on the right hand side. Welcome to Dover, Massachusetts. Once upon a time this had been a well-heeled exurb home to five thousand souls. Now it was a haunted ruin, as too many towns had become since the rise of capes. Abandoned houses lined the main street like silent sentinels, with ivy growing through the walls. What townsfolk survived the Nine's assault had left and never returned, unwilling to live where so many of their friends and family and neighbors had died screaming.

They stopped in front of the decrepit building that had once been the Congregationalist church. The white steeple still stood defiantly after all these years. The windows were boarded up with thick planks and the doors chained shut, separating one man's personal hell from the outside world. Colin didn't recall whether Andrew Mather had had a family when he was looped; if so, did they ever visit? Would it even be a comfort to either party, or only cause them greater pain?

"Disguises on." he ordered. He retrieved a loose-fitting, hooded robe from his bag and draped it over his armor. This way, even if someone were spying undetected they'd have a hard time telling which capes were involved. Blank pulled on a jacket to cover his costume's emblem, then replaced his mirrored helmet with a standard PRT model. Panacea slipped a balaclava over her face—operating like a regular hero, for once.

"This feels weird." she muttered.

Colin hopped out of the van. In the corner of his eye, he could see the PRT agents' van slowing down as well. Good. His halberd was distinctive enough that bringing it out would have defeated the point of all this secrecy, so he had to make do with a simple Tinkertech knife. It was one of his older creations, but still more than sharp enough to get the job done. A single stroke of the blade carved through the chains like hot butter. He shouldered the door ajar, and that was when they heard the screams.

It was a sound of sheer agony, rising sharply in pitch and volume before abruptly glitching back, then rising again. The man inside had been screaming like this for twenty years. His throat would never grow raw, nor would his body ever adapt to the pain. "Jesus." Panacea whispered in horrified awe. Even Blank took a single step backward. Colin couldn't fault either of them. If any teenager could listen to that noise unperturbed, he would seriously question if they were human at all.

As it was, even he needed a second to grit his teeth and psych himself up. "Inside, quick." He kicked the door fully open. His helmet-mounted lamp illuminated the church's dark interior, and they beheld Gray Boy's handiwork in all its awful majesty. The church was furnished in the simple Puritan style, with rows of wooden pews covered in a thick coating of dust. At the front, behind the pulpit, a decorative crucifix had been carved into the wall.

There was a man nailed to it.

Andrew Mather was clad in a plain clergyman's robe, and wore his hair and beard long. What color any of it had been to begin, Colin couldn't tell, because he and his immediate surroundings were cast in various shades of gray. A knife was jammed through each of his wrists to keep him pinned in place. As they watched, a third knife buried itself in his ribs, sending out a spray of dark-gray blood and causing his screams to redouble. Then it teleported back to the edge of the loop, the wound vanished, and the cycle repeated itself ad infinitum.

The crucifixion and the Spear of Longinus. Colin hadn't expected Jack Slash to pay much attention to religious matters, but apparently he did.

"The knife! Unloop the knife first!" Dragon had to shout to make herself heard above the screaming. Blank nodded jerkily. Detouring around the spot where Colin stood, he cautiously picked his way forward between the pews. Here was the moment of truth. Within the span of a second, Colin would know if all this bureaucratic wrangling had been worth the effort or if this would join the long list of failures. He almost forgot to breathe as he waited, his body wound tightly as a spring and his heart pounding.

Blank paused to watch the knife loop two more times, judging the distance and timing, then lunged.

The knife fell. Mather's screams quieted, and his eyes snapped open. His head turned down to look at his uninjured chest, before looping back to its starting position. When Blank stepped back he left a visible wound in the gray, shaped in a perfect curve as if made by some reality-breaking ice cream scoop.

"Holy fuck." Panacea swore again.

"Wow." Dragon said almost reverently. "Okay, great! We can heal him in place! Now get him out of there, all at once if you can!"

Blank gave a thumbs-up and moved into a crouch. He rocked on his heels once, twice, and then he leapt, landing by the preacher's side. Colin knew it had worked right away. At long last, Andrew Mather flickered into living color again. His robe was black, his skin pale, his hair and beard light brown flecked with gray. Red blood dripped from the silvery knives impaled through his wrists. He seemed shocked at his sudden liberation, so much that he stopped screaming before his eyes rolled up—

Colin was somewhere else.

Huge creatures filled his perception. They resembled no living thing he had ever seen, but they were alive, and there were two of them. He should not have known this, but he did. Their matter/energy crystal-flesh existed in 4/27/108/10^80 dimensions at once, constantly shifting and writhing in impossible ways. He should not, could not have been able to perceive that, but he did. The beings entwined around either in a double helix. Millions of shards of matter/energy crystal-flesh floated off into the void of space but trillions of trillions remained behind. They spoke to each other, and their equivalent of a word could shatter worlds and atomize lesser minds.

He couldn't have survived hearing it, but he did. He shouldn't have understood it, but he did. Destination. Agreement. Trajectory—

Then he was back in the church. He lay on his back, his armor dark and heavy around him and his thoughts spinning. What was that? What were those creatures? He had the oddest feeling of familiarity, but surely he would remember something so striking. "Armsmaster! What's happening?" Blank shook him by the shoulder, more animated than Colin had ever heard him.

That was a metaphorical bucket of cold water to the face. Colin hauled himself back to his feet. Panacea lay on the floor beside him, shivering and babbling nonsense. Mather was slumped behind the pulpit; he'd somehow wrenched himself down off the cross, and a growing puddle of blood pooled around his mangled wrists. "Shit!" he swore, putting the pieces together. "He's triggering!"

"T-the worms." Panacea murmured. "God, the worms—"

"Orders?" Blank demanded. "Should I nullify him?"

"No. Stay back!" Now wasn't the time to experiment with interrupting a trigger event half-way. Grunting with effort, Colin staggered forward, fighting his armor's dead weight. "Panacea, come on! He's dying!" They hadn't rescued Andrew Mather from eternal damnation just to have him bleed out on the church floor. Thankfully, the healer managed to pull it together and started stumbling unsteadily up the aisle.

A moment later Colin exited the null field's shadow. His armor came back online, and the vision didn't return. He sighed in relief. "—lin? Colin, are you all right?" Dragon was saying in his ear. "Do you copy?"

"I'm here. Unharmed. The victim's triggered. Blank's power didn't stop that, it seems." On recollection, Blank had clearly been standing next to the victim when it started. Damn it, of all the times to discover the exception to the rule. Panacea had knelt down by Mather's crumpled form, clasping his bloodied hands. "How is he?"

"All his carpal bones on both sides are shattered. Severe ligament and blood vessel damage. He's fine otherwise, physically anyways. I think he's finished triggering—his Corona and Gemma look healthy." The healer's voice was still a bit shaky, but she seemed lucid enough. "Um, I can still see brains, even if I can't touch them."

Colin ignored that last bit. "Will he wake soon?"

"In two minutes, I'd say. Should I do something about that?"

That was a difficult question. On one hand, this was a cape with utterly unknown powers. New triggers tended to be in a volatile mental state, to say nothing of ones who'd just endured twenty years of unimaginable torment. On the other hand, it would defeat the point to keep him in a permanent coma, and having the whole Triumvirate here wouldn't be much safer than having the world's best healer and nullifier. Also, Colin couldn't deny he was curious to hear what the man would have to say. "Do you have a way to calm him?"

"No problem. Just a matter of tweaking his blood hormones. More serotonin, less adrenaline..." Panacea worked silently for another minute. "Okay, done."

"Great job. Now get back." said Dragon. Panacea retreated while Blank moved closer to the front, ready to intervene. "Armsmaster, you should get back too."

Colin remained stubbornly in place. "You'd lose connection." he pointed out. No part of his suit worked under the null field, and Dragon deserved to be here for this. He judged he'd be fast enough if Mather's power showed signs of going out of control.

Plus, the thought of willingly subjecting himself to that effect again made his skin crawl.

The Gray Boy victim groaned softly, and his hand twitched into motion. "Even still—" Dragon began.

"No." he said firmly. Andrew Mather was definitely conscious now, feeling gingerly at each of his wrists in turn. Colin cleared his throat. "Sir. Can you hear me?"

"Is it...Judgement Day...come at last?" Mather rasped. He might have had Boston accent once upon a time, but decades of disuse had warped it into something scarcely recognizable. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, taking in the surroundings. "No...my church, still. How long..." Then his eyes fell upon Colin. He frowned, and despite the amount of calming hormones he'd been dosed with, his next word carried the hard edge of displeasure. "Witch."

Colin blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know what you are. I can see it. The witch's mark is branded upon your very soul, sorcerer." Although he spoke unadulterated lunacy, his gaze was serene and his voice clear. It made for a surreal combination. "Though not upon you two, as of yet." He pointed at the teen heroes in the background, both shrouded by the null field. A parahuman-detecting Thinker power? "Still. You walk the edge of damnation, consorting with this heretic. I beseech you repent your evil ways before it is too late."

Anger bubbled up in Colin's guts, sudden and fierce. They had saved this man! They'd saved him from one of the worst fates imaginable in human history, and their reward was accusations instead of gratitude. "Now listen here—!"

"Let me handle this." Dragon cut him off. "Andrew? I know capes have hurt you, badly, and I don't blame you for being suspicious of us all. I'm sorry for what you went through. Sorry that it took us so long. But Gray Boy is long dead, and these people aren't like him. They knew you were suffering, came here just to set you free. They're heroes."

But it was no use. Mather was resolutely shaking his head. "Nay. Though thy magics be a balm for my flesh, the fruit of this tree is deadly poison to the soul." His diction seemed to grow more antiquated with every sentence, somehow. "Heroes and villains you call yourselves, but mine ancestors had the right of it. I thought them benighted fools once, the more fool I. Then I had time to think. Much time. They remembered what we forgot." he intoned with the unshakeable conviction of the fanatic. "Witches, every last one. Slaves of the Devil."

Colin had heard enough. They had better things to do than stand here and listen to a madman's ravings. He opened a channel to the PRT squad outside. "Armsmaster to Golf Squad." he whispered, his helmet mike sufficient to pick it up. "Operation succeeded. Be advised, subject has triggered, Thinker power. Not violent, but likely mentally deranged."

"For I have seen it." Mather continued. "Seen the source from where all unnatural sorcery arises. The twin serpents. The dual incarnation of Satan. The very fount of evil, the tainted spring whose foul waters consign all they touch to perdition."

"Um." Panacea spoke up, incredibly awkwardly. "Uh, you know you're a 'witch' too now, right?"

Mather sighed. "Aye, I had been afeard of that. Long was I subsumed in this devilry. But all is predestined, and God's will be done. I shall surrender myself to these officers of the law forthwith."

What? How had he—a second later, the church door burst open. A squad of armored troopers funneled in, foam sprayers aimed and ready. "PRT!" their leader announced. "Sir, I'll have to ask you to come with us."

"P-R-T? I know you not." He actually wouldn't. The PRT had been founded three years after he was looped. "But, hm, I see thou art not a witch. Very well. I yield myself unto thy judgement, goodman."

With that he stood and shuffled forward, hands obediently held out. The squad leader forgot to take out the handcuffs for a second, such was his bemusement. "Okay...then allow me to put thee in these, uh, hand-stocks. Then we takest thou to the, uh, local magistrate."

An uneasy atmosphere hung over the ride back home.

"Look on the bright side, everyone." Dragon said optimistically. "This is the first time anyone's ever broken a Gray Boy loop. Blank, Panacea, you both did great. I'll look over the data—with luck, maybe we can even reverse-engineer that with Tinkertech."

True, on paper this mission had been an unqualified success. They had done something thought impossible for twenty years, and yet Colin couldn't help but feel robbed. In the end, the process had lasted mere seconds, during which he had been a mere spectator. Of course that had been the plan, but it was still oddly unsatisfying. Plus, he had imagined—with gross naivety in hindsight—that freeing a Gray Boy victim would be a more joyous occasion, that Andrew Mather would simply pop out of a time capsule and resume his normal life with tearful gratitude.

Instead, all they had to show was a broken lunatic and a few knives that had belonged to Jack Slash. He was the Boston PRT's problem now, having entered a holding cell without complaint. It was hard to predict his ultimate fate; the Philadelphia Asylum seemed likely. Obvious instability aside, that Thinker power was a walking violation of the unwritten rules.

On top of all that, there was the elephant—or multidimensional space-worm, as it were—in the room. "Can you blame me for being concerned?" Colin ground out. "I thought I was losing my mind when I saw...that." Only the fact that Panacea and (by the sound of it) Mather had seen it too assuaged his doubts about his own sanity. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

Blank shook his head. Incredibly, the boy had taken his homework back out to work on; Colin had to respect that display of single-mindedness. "I still can't visualize it. Kind of wish I'd seen for myself."

Panacea giggled, a tad manically. "Trust me, you don't."

Dragon sounded perplexed, as much as her voice ever got. "In all my research, I've never heard of entities, for lack of a better word, such as those. Not that I doubt you. If you all saw it there must be something there. Maybe a side effect of Mather's power?"

"Maybe." Colin said noncommittally. "But I doubt it." Her explanation sounded neat enough, but in his bones he knew it wasn't true. Dragon hadn't been there. If she had, she would've found it impossible to dismiss it as the product of one man's fevered mind. It was too vast. Too real, more real than anything he had seen in waking life. He couldn't shake the sense he'd seen this before, either. Perhaps at his own trigger event so many years ago? It seemed the only possibility. But then why couldn't he remember? Had he forgotten—been made to forget? Would it have happened again, if Blank hadn't been there to disrupt the effect upon him?

There were still so many unanswered questions about the moment you acquired powers. He didn't enjoy some of the answers this implied.

"So." Based on her next words, Panacea had been thinking along the same lines.. "Do—do you think it's true? What he said about powers?"

Colin scoffed. "He was clearly stark raving mad."

"Armsmaster—"

"I've got this." he pushed back, perhaps a bit snappishly. He could be trusted to talk for once, couldn't he? "Yes, no one really knows where powers come from. Yes, it's hard to argue that capes haven't made the world worse, on the balance." Colin was too young to remember Earth Bet before powers, but he had read about it. Things had improved in a couple ways—the neutralization of nuclear weapons, the technological advances—and deteriorated in many, many others. Large swathes of Latin America, Africa, the Middle East and the former Soviet Union, reduced to parahuman warfare of all against all. China, maintaining order only through mass killing and brainwashing of capes. The old Western bloc, barely hanging on as Endbringers and villains picked off cities one by one. "Yes, the villains outnumber us two to one, and for all we know, maybe there is something corrupting about having powers, beyond human nature alone."

"I thought you said he was crazy." said Blank.

"Because he is!" Colin burst out. "What would he have us do? Burn ourselves as witches, and pray that God saves the world from becoming the villains' playground? As I said, madness!" It brought to mind the saying about evil prevailing when good men did nothing. Personally, Colin thought that was overly optimistic. He had seen too many cases where good men tried their hardest and evil prevailed nonetheless. But at least they had tried.

Panacea stared out the window. "Still. That makes things sound sort of hopeless..."

Colin frowned. Could he honestly say, after so long as a hero, that he still fought out of hope? "It's not really about hope." he finally said. "If you're only a hero because you think heroes always win in the end, you won't stay one for long. No. It's more about..." He cast about for the right word for a few seconds. "Choice. Whatever influences exist, we're sentient beings. Endowed with free will." This, Colin believed with every fiber of his being. Damn all that talk about predestination and a deterministic universe. Heroes, villains, rogues; they were what they were because, on some level, they chose to be.

...unless they were Mastered, but that was different. "Look at Alexandria. Legend. Eidolon. A quarter century, and heroes still. They are proof. Proof, that we can stand defiant against the worst of our impulses." That was a good turn of phrase. He was quite proud of it, in fact. "How about that, Dragon?" he added quietly.

"It was your truth, Colin." she whispered to him. "I can respect that." He'd take it.

He had no clue what Blank was thinking behind that helmet, as ever, but at least Panacea seemed somewhat impressed. "Huh." she mumbled, still looking out the window. "That's...something to think about, I guess."

[Back home?] Mom said as I entered the apartment. [Just in time. Dinner's almost ready.]

At the kitchen table, Dad looked up from the circuit diagram he was poring over. [How was the trip?]

I set my bag down and took a seat at the table. It was a rickety old thing perched on four collapsible metal legs, its surface stained by years of use. In these shiny new surroundings it seemed hopelessly out of place, yet here it still was. [Government business. Can't say too much.] That was no exaggeration. I'd had to sign a NDA and everything.

Dad snorted. [Have to follow the rules, huh? No problem. Did it go smoothly at least?]

[...it was okay.] I said with a shrug. [It was okay.]

Colin's head was an interesting place to try and get into, especially for that 'motivational' speech at the end. Why does Armsmaster do what he does? He definitely doesn't have much emotional attachment to the people he's helping. Glory to an extent, but he doesn't leverage that for...anything, really, besides more work stuff. And what makes a man who seems the embodiment of stern authority rename himself 'Defiant'? In a world going to hell, where it seems rational to grab all the advantages you can for yourself, maybe real rebellion means insisting on sticking with law and order.

And I wonder what Amy made of all that?

Poor Weld didn't deserve this. But Blank's shard doesn't care that he's a sentient being and overall decent guy. His whole body is an [ABNORMAL] construct of his power and thus, [DELETE]. Now if he'd somehow survived going all the way in and gotten a certain mental effect removed, things might have really escalated.

Speaking of Blank's shard, it's still part of the grand experiment, so it's hardly going to prevent new data points from being created. If it prevents some of the usual side effects from working properly, well that's another thing. In general the rules are fuzzier when it's a shard acting on its own (read: it's an excuse for me to do whatever the hell I like).

Andrew Mather has nothing to do with the Fallen—he's a descendant of Increase and Cotton, the famous Puritans. Props to anyone who recognizes what I based his personality on. It's sort of interesting, how a Puritan view of witchcraft is surprisingly close to the truth about parahumans. Also, safe to say he has more powers than what we saw, considering the likely double trigger + ping off 3 pretty strong shards. Now, will we see him again? No idea.