When Luna exited her workshop it was to find Alastor and Cynthia waiting for her. Alastor sat in an unfolding chair, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips; Cynthia leaned against the wall nearby, her eyes fixed on the doorway.
"Did it work?" Alastor asked, looking up from the laptop in his lap. Luna smiled broad and sharp and crooked a hand, a tiny sun forming in the palm of her hand, burning with pitch-black flame. Alastor leaned in close, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, and stubbed it out against his palm – Luna noticed that he'd tapped the wall before, so that the cigarette was stubbed against a palm turned to concrete.
"It worked." Cynthia said. Luna beamed at her.
"It worked," she confirmed. And, now that she'd done it to herself, she thought, she might just be able to replicate it in normal humans. It wouldn't be quick or easy, she'd have to do some tinkering with DNA before anything else, but she'd made a start. The world was her oyster, so to speak.
"How do you feel?" Alastor asked, standing and tucking his laptop under his arm. Luna studied her outstretched hand, letting the tiny orb of flame go out as she considered his question.
"How do I feel?" she repeated, her smile sharpening into a grin, "Never better."
"Well," he continued, "Since you've made your day, how do you feel about ruining someone else's?"
"You say the sweetest things," Luna murmured, falling into step with them. Cynthia fell in to her left, scoffing faintly.
"He's made contact with some other Fallen," she said by way of explanation, "He thinks we can get them under control, so long as we're fast."
"I'm guessing that it's not just a matter of turning up and having a nice chat with them?"
Alastor shook his head.
"Got it in one, boss. So, the McVeays. Yeah, the real leaders were the True Sons, like me and my brothers, but there weren't quite enough of us for a whole family of cells. This cell's lead by the kid of one of the first guys Stephen got together with to build the Family, some skinhead called Jensen."
"Sounds like a charmer. What do you suggest?"
Alastor pushed open a door in front of them with his free hand, setting his laptop down on a table.
"Jensen's not the most charismatic type – his first name's Mark or something, something biblical – so he mostly keeps his cell together through being the toughest guy there and making sure he doesn't recruit anyone he can't deal with. He was one of the contacts I tapped for the gun sales, but now that I've moved on he's, uh, surplus to requirements."
"So, what?" Cynthia said, "We kill him and the cell joins us?"
Alastor grinned at them.
"Yeah, that's about what I'm thinking."
"I do like killing people," Luna mused, "What about the rest of the cell? They'll really just fall into line?"
Alastor shrugged.
"Might have to kill another one, since he's got a second, but for the most part they're new recruits. Stephen used to send fresh meat through them to get toughened up, which means they'll be glad to get away from Jensen. And I thought you might want to test your new powers properly, boss."
Well, that was very thoughtful. Luna had a better use for two Fallen than killing them, though, something she'd thought of as they walked into the room. Something that, if it worked, would help nip any future Fallen problems in the bud.
"Can you set up a meeting, then?" she asked. Alastor nodded, grinning sharply.
"I'll get right on it," he promised, splitting away from them and striding quickly away. Luna watched him go, thoughtfully.
"Sometimes I wonder," Cynthia said, "If he's realised."
"Realised?" Luna asked, absently tracking Alastor's mind as he walked away from them. Cynthia nodded.
"He gave you that whole thing, that spiel about wanting power, money, whatever. Right? But he's not in this for the money and the power, not anymore."
Cynthia hesitated, frowning.
"Or, not entirely. It's like he's…found a new lease of life. Like he's doing something worth it, at last."
"Like," Luna said, "He's found something to live for."
"Yeah," Cynthia agreed, "That could be it. I saw him, once, when I was part of the Mather's. He looked…not quite lifeless, but I got the feeling that he just didn't really care. And I guess it makes sense, because the McVeay's were falling apart even before you turned up. They just weren't ready to admit it."
Luna frowned herself, not quite sure. Cynthia, apparently taking her silence as a cue, continued speaking.
"Thing is, the founders of the Fallen weren't really that serious about the whole thing. Oh, Stephen McVeay was pretty religious, but he was never going to join in an Endbringer attack. He was just going to sit around, slurring bastardised Bible verses at people and beating his kids until he died and went up to Heaven…at least, seems like that's what he believed. Terrible person, but he wasn't going to be important enough that the PRT would come in and take him out. But his successors…"
"The True Sons," Luna mused, "Alastor mentioned that they were a little more into the whole apocalypse thing. Or some of them were, at least."
"Right. And the Mathers, they're getting bolder and bolder every year. The Crowleys too. So here's Alastor, a true believer in all of nothing, doing his best to stop his idiot family from starting a fight they can't win. You want my guess, boss? I think he wanted to move away from the cult thing, make the Family into an actual crime family. Take out Mama Mathers, get out of what was quickly becoming a suicide pact. But he couldn't manage it, because he didn't have any help that was competent or loyal enough. And then, along you came."
"Along I came," Luna mused, "And I gave him that way out."
Alastor had been working tirelessly for her, she thought, as though he really believed what she'd said, when she'd mentioned that Taylor could save them all. Maybe it wasn't that hard to believe, not once Taylor had gotten the better of Leviathan, but still. He'd made the leap, and by all appearances he was committed to making this work. Luna almost felt guilty for bringing him into yet another cult.
Luna glanced, almost unconsciously, in the direction she knew Taylor was. She could feel Taylor, burning bright, a star in the dark. Times like this, looking at that silver nova that was Taylor, Luna could understand why people would worship the Emperor. Why she'd begun to make this, this…this religion.
Luna hid a shudder, blinking, her mind feeling clearer than it had done in weeks. Maybe in all of her life. Religion? Taylor would butcher her if she felt even remotely as the Emperor did about religion, and Luna wouldn't blame her. Maybe she should give that particular some more thought. After all, did she really need a religion to place Taylor at the head of a unified humanity? Strength, intelligence, life so much longer than any human could hope to achieve…Taylor had qualities beyond being a messiah.
Well, that was for the future.
"So you think he's with us until the bitter end, so to speak?" she asked, rather than voicing any of her other thoughts. Cynthia nodded.
"You can rely on him," she agreed, "And me too, for what it's worth. So. You've gotten rid of your old powers for these new ones, you've stopped your increasing insanity, where do we go from here?"
Luna could have argued about going insane, but really Cynthia was right. She'd have gone mad if she'd waited too long. Instead she tapped a finger against her chin, thinking. How did it go? What you wanted, what you had, what you needed. Nice and simple. What did she want? Well, she wanted what Taylor wanted, more or less: she wanted the Parasite dead, gone, destroyed and forgotten. She wanted Humanity triumphant, standing astride the universe, feared and respected by all in its way.
She wanted to see it happen, but not getting that wasn't a dealbreaker. But that was for the future. The question was, what did she want right now? What did she want, that would solidify her position? Well, that was fairly obvious.
"I want to take over Wichita," she said, "Or the underground, at least. We settle here, make sure we're rooted in deep, and then we can expand from there. Which means we need to deal with the rest of the Fallen cells in the city, and we need to prevent the other Fallen Families from moving against us."
"You mean we need to take out Mama Mathers," Cynthia said, a rare note of caution in her voice. Luna nodded.
"Probably, yeah. That's not going to be as easy as Father, is it?"
"If we're being honest, no. Mathers is a lot more powerful than Father, and she's a lot smarter. I don't even know the region where her compound is except in the most vague sense, and I don't know how we'd start looking."
Luna let her hand fall to her side, drumming her fingers against her thigh as she thought.
"Maybe," she said, "It'll be a risk, but the PRT might now more. They've got a base here, too. I can probably get inside easily enough, and their records should know more about Mather's powers."
"That'll be dangerous, you're right," Cynthia said, "But if we're serious about taking over the underground, it'll help a lot. The PRT'll have a lot of information, and if we can get it…but how? Attacking the PRT HQ in the city would be suicide."
"Oh," Luna said, "That one's easy. It's like this…"
She focused for a moment, weaving power around herself. It had been a while even from Taylor's memories, but Taylor had gotten familiar with her Notice-Me-Not field and the power of the Warp trickled through familiar pathways, retracing old steps. Luna smiled as Cynthia stopped walking, looking around herself.
"What – boss? Luna? What the hell?"
Luna gave it a couple of seconds as Cynthia looked around before releasing her power. From her perspective, she hadn't moved at all: from Cynthia's she simply faded into existence.
"Jesus," Cynthia said, "What was that?"
"An example," Luna murmured before she spoke up, "My powers, inherited from Taylor, are fairly wide ranging. You saw the fireball, but more importantly there's also a…I suppose you'd call it a Master-Stranger component. What I just did was something like an illusion, or…specifically, I used my powers to make you unable to see me. So long as I held it up, you wouldn't even know I was there."
"I…"
Cynthia paused, blanching.
"Okay. Setting aside how absolutely terrifying that is, you were bad enough with those insect swarms letting you scout without being seen, does it work on everyone? What about cameras, motion sensors?"
"Cameras," Luna said, "Those are fine. There's a person behind them, after all, and the actual effect is part illusion, anyone who looks at where I am won't see me. Motion sensors, not as easy since I can still set them off. Depends on how good the infiltration controls are. If we're looking at something like, I don't know, carbon dioxide sensors, that might be difficult."
That said, even if they could pin down her location in the building the response team would still need to locate her in the room, find a way to tell she was present when their minds refused to latch on to her and then actually capture her. The first and second were possible – the field became harder to hold when someone knew you were there, if she remembered Taylor's memories correctly – but the third? Even if Luna couldn't brute force her way out, she had the option of, like Taylor, simply stepping into the Warp. The increased risk of alerting Taylor, however, made that a last resort. Luna would like to have everything in line before she risked confronting her progenitor, even if she hoped to bring Taylor into her plan to evolve humanity.
"Okay," Cynthia said, "So we infiltrate the PRT HQ to get more information on the local scene, we use that to take over the underworld in the city, maybe more. We take out the Fallen, let's say. What then? Where do we go from there?"
"The million dollar question," Luna mused, "This world is dying, you know. Well, not the world – but the people on it."
"That's ominous."
"It's meant to be. Taylor heard something, once, that someone had predicted. Given thirty years of Endbringer attacks at their current intensity and human society will be completely broken down, maybe irreparably. Imagine it. Tens of thousands of years spent climbing to this point, to be sent tumbling down by some monsters from the dark."
"I'm living it," Cynthia said dourly, "I don't have to imagine. So we're doomed, as a species. I take it you want to do something about it, when all the Protectorate can't?"
"Not so impossible. Taylor faced Leviathan in Brockton, didn't she?"
"The beast lost an arm to Armsmaster, but from what I hear her attack crippled it. You think that, what, she can do it again? She can stop the Endbringers?"
"I know she can. But she needs time, more time to grow stronger. There might be a way we can give her that time."
The two of them rounded a corner into a room that Luna had claimed as a secondary workshop, somewhere to place her armour builders. It was empty and Luna took a seat on a table, Cynthia folding her arms and planting herself in the doorway.
"How?" she demanded, blunt and uncompromising. Luna lifted her hand, crooked her fingers, called that ball of fire into existence again.
"This power," she said, "Is not unique to Mother."
"Obviously," Cynthia said, "You've-"
"Not me," Luna interrupted, "I'm a clone, remember? Even if there was something unique about Taylor that gave her this power, I'd have it too. I mean, this isn't unique to Taylor's bloodline."
She sighed.
"Completely ruined the mystical aspect that I was going for," she grumbled, "But I mean it. This power, it's not something unreachable: there's a gene, buried in the human genome, that allows it to, well, to work. And if there isn't, I have the gene. And let me tell you, I'm a dab hand at genetics."
Cynthia stared at her.
"Are you serious?" she asked. Her voice cracked slightly in the middle of her sentence, her expression turning strangely vulnerable. Luna nodded.
"Not usually, but in this case? Oh, yes. And more. Taylor is stronger than anyone else who has this power – any other Psyker, call them – but that doesn't mean we can't be strong as well. Think of it…a million strong, two million, who knows, working together, stronger than all but the strongest of Parahumans. That's my goal, Cynthia, the ascension of humanity. Are you with me?"
Cynthia looked down, at her feet. She tapped a foot on the ground, a flickering translucent flame forming around her heel.
"You know," she started, obliquely, "A couple of people said that I was blessed to get this power. I could be a hero now, they said. I should be grateful. I should be thrilled. But look at it."
Cynthia's fingers flexed, frustration chasing across her face.
"It's just…it's nothing. Oh, I can kick a little harder, because it increases kinetic impacts. Wonderful, just great. I had to learn a whole new fighting style, I had to work and work on it and what did I get? Nothing! Not a fucking thing. The only thing this power got me was kidnapped along with all the others, strong enough to make me worth taking as breeding stock, not strong enough for the Protectorate to care!"
Cynthia's eyes blazed with fury, unshed tears glittering in them. Luna sat in silence and let her vent.
"They told us we mattered," Cynthia continued in a croaky whisper, "The Protectorate. And then the Fallen did, too. I never believed them, not when they treated us like livestock to be traded away, but some of us did. Some of us turned and never looked back, because it was better than being a prisoner. Better than hoping that something would change, that someone would come flying to our rescue. And most of them are dead now."
Cynthia looked back up, meeting Luna's gaze.
"I don't believe in gods, Luna. I don't believe in messiahs. But if you keep this promise – if you can take this poisoned power from me and give me something that matters, something that I can actually use – then I'm with you. I'm with you until the end."
Luna cocked her head to the side, considering, before nodding.
"I can't do it right now," she said, "I'll need test subjects, to make sure that it works. Lucky, then, that Alastor is providing us with the location of Fallen cells who'd fight us, isn't it?"
"Lucky," Cynthia echoed, "Yeah. Convenient, that."
Luna just smiled.
"Good things come to those who wait."
It was nearly time. Alastor had organised their meeting with the Fallen cell, and Luna would take him along with Cynthia to the house they had arranged. She wasn't wearing armour yet, possibly the last time she would be out in the field without it given that the construction machines were finished. It made her melancholy, in a way. Speed-running Taylor's armour alterations, she thought, from unarmoured to flak to, if she had her way, power armour. And speaking of Taylor and her armour designs, Luna was going to have to decide what she wanted her armour to look like, whether she wanted to closely mimic Taylor or try to take her own appearance. She was still thinking on it now, standing in her secondary workshop and staring blankly at the wall.
Whether or not she wanted to mimic Taylor led to a whole number of fresh and interesting questions. Well, interesting for her at least. The most important question, really, was if she wanted to look like Taylor or not, and it was a question Luna wasn't certain of. It wasn't as though Taylor's style was all that unique, she thought. Maybe take away parts and add something else? She had the armour, that was going in, but the coat? Taylor had initially added the coat for a couple of reasons: primarily, because it tended to be cold and wet in Brockton Bay and the coat would provide cover from the weather. That the added bulk had made her more intimidating had been just a bonus, although Luna suspected that Taylor had found something funny about taking the general appearance of an Imperium Commissar and making it the symbol of a hero, a symbol of hope. And it had been: maybe not now that Taylor had wings, but previously it had been the most noticeable part of her outfit.
"Maybe take away the coat," Luna said, although she didn't really want to. Taylor had taken the coat for the aesthetics and the comfort, but somewhere between her terrible first costume and her first set of actual armour it had grown on her. It was these little things that reminded Luna that she was a clone, that so much of her was just a remix of Taylor. Well, there were worse anvils for your soul to be forged on.
A tap. A hum. A tap, Luna thinking. Maybe she should just stick with it, she thought. It wasn't as though taking off the coat would hide her, because anyone who knew Taylor enough to recognise the armour would see through her in a moment. And, all that said, her sense of aesthetics was close enough to Taylor's that she did want the coat. Or maybe a cloak? A cape? A nice hooded cape, she thought, more wizard than Taylor's soldier? It would be harder to get a cape, but she could probably make one, and it would reference Taylor's style without mimicking it. That would do perfectly. And after that, small changes. A couple of alterations to the gauntlets, making them sharper for combat. A change to the helmet, altering the visor, that would distinguish her. A weapon other than a staff, maybe a sword or something, and she would clearly be different. She toyed with the idea of a name, a title, but in the end she left it alone. It would keep, for the moment.
And not just that. Her current design was bereft of sigils or symbols. Taylor's armour, of course, featured the Imperial Aquila across the chest, proud two-headed eagle emblazoned in gold, but Luna wasn't sure if she wanted that. She was surprised that Taylor hadn't changed it, herself: the Emperor had his own personal variation on the Aquila, one that very few members of the Imperium were given the right to wear, but Taylor had been content with the Imperium's own. Part of Luna wanted to take her own personal design, make a statement, but another part of her wondered if it would be better to do the same as Taylor, present a unified front to the world. Assuming they were a unified front: it would keep until she had made contact with Taylor. The door behind her creaked and Luna turned, Alastor poking his head into the room.
"It's time," he said, "You ready?"
Luna looked down at her hands, seeing the threads of power drifting invisibly along them, and nodded.
"Yes," she said, "Are you?"
A sly grin was her only answer before Alastor strolled away, Luna half-jogging to catch up before she fell into step with him. It was drizzling again, a rain-dark dusk falling around them, and Luna lifted a hand and conjured a thin shield to keep the water away as they ducked into the car Alastor had bought with some funds from the advance payment of his weapons deals, a non-descript thing that he could drive around unnoticed. Cynthia was already in her seat, arms folded.
"Alright," Alastor said, setting off, "I made contact with Jensen, like I told you. His whole cell will be waiting and eager to learn what's happened to Father: one of the advantages of being Heir Apparent, I guess. He'll probably make some sort of blustering challenge once we announce we're there, so take down him and his second and the rest of the cell should join us. I assume you'll be doing that, Luna?"
"So long as you aren't desperate to get a few shots in," Luna said. Alastor shook his head.
"I'm a peaceful man at heart," he said, "They're all yours."
"I'll stay in the car, watch the front," Cynthia volunteered. Luna clapped her on the shoulder.
"Don't even need to announce ourselves," she said, "I can go in stealthy alongside you. You go in, you tell them the Fallen are over or whatever and then I reveal myself. Shock and awe, nice and easy."
"I'll take your word for it," Alastor said, "We're here."
Luna climbed out of the car, following Alastor's lead, while Cynthia switched to the drivers seat. Alastor brushed some imaginary dirt from his sleeves, looking around.
"Any last questions?" he asked. Luna lifted a hand.
"Yeah, actually. This guy Jensen and his second in command, whatever he's called. Do they have any powers? I'd assumed yes, but…"
"Powers," Alastor muttered, "Right. The second – his name's Jackson – doesn't. Jensen does. Any physical impact to him gets stored and he can add it to his punches – it doesn't stack very far. Think his maximum is three times human normal from a punch? Not much to be worried about."
"Doesn't sound like it," Luna murmured, "Alright. Lead on, then."
She pulled the Warp in around her, letting it enshroud her in a thick and concealing blanket. Alastor grimaced, staring blankly at where she stood.
"Creepy," he muttered before shrugging to himself and walking over to the door. She noticed, as he rested his hand on the wall next to it, the texture of the brick leeched onto his fingers. A nervous habit of his, she thought, but he only waited long enough to take a deep breath before he opened the door and walked into the house. Luna followed, footsteps impossible to hear for anyone but her.
"Nice place," she said aloud, although nobody would acknowledge her, "Homey. Comfortable."
She splayed her hand over a hole in the plaster of one wall, measuring the size of it.
"Huh," she said, "Big dude. And angry."
She didn't really need to see the hole punched in the wall to know that there was someone in here who had anger issues. Nice to have confirmation, technically, but she could taste the lingering rage in the air. It was spicy-sweet, somehow. Appetising.
"Not the way to make loyal troops, though," she murmured, "What's that joke Taylor remembered? The tough drill sergeant, made their lives hell, but when they finally graduated, all in their uniforms and seeing what they'd become, when they saw him in the bar…they waited for him in the alley and beat the shit out of him."
She grinned, wolf-sharp.
"Shame I'm going to beat everyone to it."
They didn't have far to go: just a short way away there was an open room, two rooms with the walls knocked down if Luna had to guess, large enough to fit the entire cell in it. Most of them were sat against the walls, looking nervous, while a tall, broad shouldered man stood in the centre of the room, his small eyes fixed on the doorway Alastor walked through. Jensen, Luna guessed: he was heavy with muscle, tattoos marking the edges of his neck and hands under his shirtsleeves, bald and heavily moustached. A stereotypical biker, she thought with amusement. Alastor looked completely unphased by the size of the towering man, strolling through the doorway.
"Jensen," he said, "Nice to see you."
Jensen grinned, teeth yellowed from tobacco. One of his incisors was missing, Luna noted.
"I'm sure it is," he drawled, "We've been waiting to see you, Alastor. Since all of your brothers and Father went missing, well…those guns are nice and all, but we need to know what's gonna happen now. Where the family's gonna go."
Alastor glanced over his shoulder, towards another doorway. The room beyond that was dark, but Luna could see the shape of a man just inside. That man was small compared to Jensen's bulk, narrow shouldered and lean, and she could make out the shape of a gun in his hands. A rifle, maybe. The first of Luna's lasweapons hadn't gone out yet, so it was almost certainly a normal ballistic weapon: that must be Jackson, Jensen's second in command. A coup? How very novel.
"I don't see that there's much to talk about," Alastor said, "Father and the rest of the True Sons managed to get themselves caught by the Cult Imperial, they'll be swinging in the wind by now. There's no question of who takes over the family, because it's me. I've been running it for years now, don't see why making it official needs much hullabaloo."
"Hullabaloo," Jensen said, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco into a tin resting on a table near his elbow, "That what you want to call it, boy? Oh, I heard plenty, and those fancy guns of yours didn't come from nowhere. Always said you were no good, and you've proved it. Killin' your own father? That's some low, dirty shit."
Alastor went still and Luna could almost see his mind ticking over, thinking, dissecting. She saw a looseness come into his stance, a disingenuous relaxation that presaged violence, before he spoke again.
"Oh, I didn't kill Stephen," he said, "Much as I regret it, he was already spoken for. But I can't say I regret his death."
Alastor looked around, Luna doing the same, and she recognised him come to the conclusion she'd reached: this was a set-up. Alastor's powers relied on having something to absorb, something he could touch with his bare fingers: there was nothing in reach except maybe the carpeted floor. They'd planned this. Luna focused her powers onto Alastor, letting her voice reach only him.
"I've got your back," she told him, "I'll keep you safe."
She wasn't sure how reassuring that should really be, given her history, but it seemed to work for Alastor. He gave a scornful glance towards Jackson and then swept his cold gaze around the room.
"I always wondered, you know," he said, "Why Father kept you around. Why he kept feeding these bright eyed, naïve recruits to you, when you just turned out sloppy, racist, stupid sons of bitches. Hell, when the Mathers were kidnapping Wards and had Valefor around, how did we end up with you? At least most of the True Sons knew their way around a fight. And then I had an epiphany."
"You gonna talk me to death, boy?" Jensen growled. Alastor shrugged.
"I'm gonna try, yeah. But as I was saying…you know, I thought of Father as impressive. But looking back he was a coward, wasn't he? Oh, when I was young it was the belt, or his fists, or a bottle if one was nearby – no wonder Jeb lost his mind, when a half-full whiskey bottle cracked his skull like it did – but once we'd grown up the beatings all but stopped. Always reckoned it was because we'd finally met his standards. But that wasn't it. It was because he didn't have the balls to fight someone his own size. And that's why he kept you around, Jensen. Because you're just like him."
"I am not a coward!" Jensen snarled. Alastor shrugged, broad and lazy.
"No? I mean, look around. You didn't call all these kids here and have Jackson lurking in the shadows so you can kill me and take over in front of them. You did it 'cause you're scared you couldn't kill me alone. Big man, yeah? Only not where it counts."
Alastor looked around.
"If any of you are true believers in the Fallen cause," he said, "Time to get over it, kids. It's over. Yeah, I've gone over to the Cult Imperial, just like Johnny went to the Mather's and then ran off with Valefor. Father wasn't worth spit and neither are the rest of the McVeays. If you want to see a good future, a future worth fighting for – it's time to do the smart thing, and follow me."
"Big words from a man about to die," Jensen sneered, beckoning. Jackson stepped out of the shadows, levelling the rifle, and Alastor looked at him without a flicker of fear on his face. Luna shifted her position, until she was at Alastor's shoulder, waiting for her moment.
"Think that's my line," Alastor said, "The two of you really are dumb motherfuckers."
Jackson's finger curled around the trigger of his rifle and Alastor shook his head.
"Why would you think I came alone?"
The gun fired and Luna dropped her shield, a hand curling in the air. The bullet slapped harmlessly into her palm, the gun wrenching itself away from Jackson, and Luna smiled.
"Hello, darlings," she said.
The spicy-sweet taste of anger was undercut by the pleasing sourness of fear, Jensen and Jackson both scrambling back, away from her. The rest of the cell pressed themselves against the walls, terror stark in their souls. Luna grinned, intentionally showing every fang in her mouth.
"Ah," she said, "That's what I like to see. Real, soul-clenching terror."
The cringing didn't reduce and Luna held a hand out to Jensen, still grinning.
"Mark Jensen," she said, calling on the Warp so that a hundred whispers echoed her words, "I have come for you."
Jensen turned to run and Luna shook her head.
"Oh, no," she said, reaching out and clenching a fist, "I'm afraid not."
A thousand unseeable tendrils lashed out and wrapped around Jensen, wrenching him from his feet and spilling him on the ground, yelling. Luna looked around, her gaze raking over the rest of the cell.
"Sorry for ruining your fun, Alastor," she said, "But it seemed like the right time."
"No complaints here," Alastor said pleasantly, folding his arms and watching. Luna gestured to the side and a whip of power knocked Jackson off his feet, sending him sprawling. She looked down at Jensen.
"Come on, Jensen," she said, "Don't go out like this."
Jensen scrabbled on the ground, one hand surreptitiously reaching for his belt, and Luna smiled slightly. Not a complete coward then.
Being a complete coward would have been smarter, she reflected as Jensen lurched to his feet and lunged with a hoarse yell, thrusting the knife in his hand at her belly. An instant of thought, flesh hardening beyond steel and the knife broke against her skin. Jensen staggered, his eyes locking onto hers for just a second before Luna caught him by the collar and rammed her forehead against his. Hardened the same as her stomach it sent him reeling, and a backhand to his jaw disguised the spark of power that knocked him down and out. Useful, Taylor's little invention: it required an enemy to be completely unaware or already woozy, but that was a benefit in some ways. After all, Taylor liked a fight.
A scuffling noise drew her attention back to Jackson as he struggled to his feet, clawing for a handgun shoved through his belt. Luna reached out and closed her fist, telekinetic fingers closing around his throat. She squeezed, holding it until he stopped clawing at the invisible grip and went limp.
"And that," she said, "Is that."
The rest of the cell stared at her, silent. Luna guessed that they were all late teens, maybe early twenties at the most, but they were crushed down by what Jensen probably called discipline. Several of them had black eyes or broken noses and Luna wondered how long Jensen would last if she left him here, unconscious. It would buy her some loyalty, perhaps, but she had other plans for him.
"Rejoice," she said instead, embracing her inner drama queen, "For you are saved. No longer will you labour under the prophets of false gods."
"We'll labour under your false god, instead?" one of them asked. He was a young man, a bruise dark along his jawline, pale eyes defiant. Luna liked him immediately.
"My false god?" she asked, smiling, "Oh, no. Quite unlikely, Mr…"
"My names Josh," the boy said, lifting his chin and climbing to his feet, "And it's not that I'm not grateful, but I'm not leaving one cult that forces me to bow and scrape just to join another."
A girl hissed something at him, something Luna didn't pay attention to, but he snarled back and she went quiet. Luna, from the corner of her eye, saw Alastor watching. Judging.
"You'll find," she said, "There's very little bowing and scraping in the Cult Imperial. And, despite the name, there's no prayer. How do you pray to something that doesn't exist, after all? But if you don't believe me, that's fine. I've people enough to do what I need to, and there's no point in forcing people. You want to join, you know where to find me. Otherwise? Just stay out of my way."
Josh gave her a narrow-eyed look of disbelief and Luna shrugged. A suspicious boy – a suspicious group in general. But you caught more flies with honey than vinegar, and time wasn't something she was too badly pressed for at the moment. A gesture drew Jensen and Jackson into the air, their unconscious bodies floating around her, and she nodded to Alastor.
"No time to waste, Alastor," she said, "We'll leave them to enjoy their freedom."
Alastor fell in with her as they left, pausing only when Josh called out to them.
"Wait," he called, "You – you're really giving us the choice?"
Luna glanced over her shoulder, seeing the confusion that replaced defiance in his gaze. She paused before replying, finding the right words.
"Someone has to," she eventually said, walking out of the door and leaving them to their choices.
It was a quick and quiet trip back to their hospital base and Luna was content to let the silence continue as she carried Jensen and Jackson to the old surgery room that she'd claimed as her own, cleaning and sterilising it after her ascension, re-carving the runes. She dropped Jackson onto a bed, putting Jensen onto the surgery table. Alastor and Cynthia followed her, not yet voicing their questions as Luna leaned down, peeling back Jensen's shirtsleeve to get a better look at the tattoo on his arm. Simple curiosity.
"Huh," she said. Alastor leaned around her, making the same noise.
"An avenging angel with a swastika as the sword hilt. That's a new one," Luna said, "He didn't really strike me as religious."
"Bit of a tendency for the Fallen," Alastor observed, "There's a lot who've folded the Endbringers into their brands of Christianity. Apocalypse and everything. And speaking of religion, boss…"
"Ah," Luna murmured, "What I said to Josh, back there."
"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Cynthia said, "Can't help but notice that the cell didn't come with you."
Luna stepped back from Jensen, scratching her chin.
"Call it a moment of mercy," she eventually admitted. Cynthia looked sceptical and Luna shrugged.
"Our little group, you know, it's never been about forcing people to join. All of you – well, all of you chose freely to join, right? And it's worked out, because you fight for it."
"Volunteers try harder than conscripts, right," Cynthia agreed, "So you let them go. And now they'll be wandering around, thinking about your offer."
"Telling tales of how easily you defeated Jensen and Jackson," Alastor added. Luna grinned, unseen.
"Free publicity," she said, "And it makes me look reasonable, which means people are more likely to join, which makes us stronger in the long run. Go too far on forcibly recruiting people and you start reminding people of the Branch Davidians or the People's Temple, which I'd like to avoid. Wouldn't want the FBI kicking down the door before we're done."
"If you wanted to avoid that you probably should have chosen a different name," Alastor remarked wryly, "It's got connotations."
Luna snorted.
"Oh please, we're hardly a religion," she observed, "Apart from the name. I've never asked you to worship, have I?"
"Coyness doesn't suit you, boss," Alastor said, "You're more than smart enough to let us come to it naturally. I'll admit it's weird to think that you might be trying to set up a religion based around a fifteen-year-old, but no weirder than Islam must have been when Muhammed was still alive."
Luna rubbed her chin, thinking about that. Alright. That was a fair point.
"That's true," she acknowledged, "That's true. Alright. Time to be honest."
She turned away from Alastor, stretching and eyeing Jensen before turning back. Alastor raised a single eyebrow, waiting, and Luna gave him a brief grin. Cynthia had relaxed against the wall, watching with glittering eyes.
"It's pretty fair to say," she began, "That I didn't have the best start in life. There are little problems associated with it, not least that I was born and then immediately went on a sadistic rampage. Now I don't want to sound like I'm singing my own praises, but there's been a lack of sadistic rampages ever since I left Brockton. And why is that?"
She didn't wait for an answer to her rhetorical question, instead continuing.
"Well, honestly, I don't know. But I do have my suspicions. See, every single clone Noelle created was crazy. And I mean bug-fuck nuts. A brick short of a pyramid. A grape short of a bunch. A sandwich short of a picnic. We, because I include myself in that, had a particularly toxic combination of very poor impulse control and an unchecked appetite for sadism that meant we weren't good at the long term. And yet…"
"And yet, you seem relatively sane?"
"Something like that," Luna agreed, "Why? Not sure. Suspect I never will be. But it's been getting…better."
"Better?" Alastor cautiously asked. Luna nodded.
"I've been getting saner, for want of a better term. At first, I wanted to make Taylor suffer. Make her realise that she should do things as I would. Kill her, maybe, I was crazed and just better at hiding it than the others. Turned out, not the best idea since I ended up dead in the dirt with half of Taylor's staff through my chest."
"You regenerate," Alastor said. Luna nodded, agreeing.
"So I did that and I woke up, still crazy. Off I headed, intent on avenging Taylor's Trigger, because…because, I don't know, I was a fucking lunatic. Please don't ask me to justify how I simultaneously wanted to kill Taylor and take her place, protect Taylor and convince her that she should be more ruthless all at the same time. So I toddled off and took out my sadism on Emma and then I came to my senses, realised that if Taylor found me I'd end up at the bottom of the Bay in a pair of concrete shoes and skedaddled."
"Which brings you here," Alastor said, putting things together, "Slowly regaining your sanity if not your conscience. You think it over, sort your mind out, and conclude that…what? You support what Circaetus is doing?"
"Basically, yes," Luna said, "I'm a clone born without a conscience, thanks to whatever Noelle does, but I'm still Taylor in a lot of ways. Saving humanity from the current clusterfuck is still my primary motivation, but I don't – didn't – have Taylor's power. So I play it the other way, building a power base."
"Through a mirror darkly," Cynthia observed, "You reflect her. I take it that your original plan of fighting her to the death, winner takes all, has changed then?"
"I think that rather depends on her," Luna muttered, "But there's a chance. Taylor is stronger than I am, and she grows stronger every day. When she first fought Lung it was essentially a draw: when she faced Leviathan she was holding it off, and that grows more and more distant. She wants to stop the Endbringers, just as I do."
"Then why is she working for the Protectorate?" Cynthia demanded, "Why not do what you're doing, start her own group?"
Luna smiled, a little sadly.
"She's fifteen," she said, "She doesn't want humanity to rely on her. She doesn't want to rule – and who can blame her? We regenerate, if we're right then we'll live for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Who wants to spend all that time beholden to the demands of your people? Her plan was to remain relatively low-key, let her powers grow until she could destroy the Endbringers and then vanish. Maybe it would have worked, maybe it would have taken too long. But I'm not willing to take that chance."
Cynthia and Alastor remained quiet, listening, and Luna shrugged.
"I'm taking a shortcut," she said, "Hopefully it'll work. Taylor is the First Psyker, strongest, but if I can awaken the latent power of humanity then there will be tens of thousands, maybe millions more. Even if each is individually weak, together they will be immensely powerful. But I can't control who it goes to. I need structure, to channel those powers, to make sure that the new Psykers can be properly trained. When so many people begin to manifest powers, possibly strong ones, there will be fear. There will be confusion. There will be a need for answers. And I, we, will be here."
And more importantly, Luna thought, they would be able to see Taylor. It might not last long – once Taylor realised she would veil her strength, hide that shining star away – but it would be there. And if it wasn't, Luna herself might be able to make a good impression of it.
"Once it happens," she said, "They'll be able to…it's hard to explain, to someone who can't see it. When you have powers like mine, you can see others. And Taylor, Mother, she's…she shines so brightly. It's magnificent. Awe-inspiring."
"I'll take your word for it," Alastor murmured, "You do realise it's saying things like that that make you sound religious? You make her sound like a God."
Luna closed her eyes for a heartbeat, her face turning almost without choice to look in Taylor's direction. When she opened her eyes again Alastor had a knowing look.
"And that," he said, "I believe you about her, because you keep looking in that direction. As though you're looking into the sun. Just hard to accept that you don't believe in Gods when you do it, though."
Luna sighed.
"It's…God is a philosophical term," she said, "I mean, what makes a god? Is it immortality, living forever? Is the Crawler then a god, he's risen from the grave before. Well, of course not. Invincibility, does that make one a god? Is the Siberian then a god? What if someone finds a weakness in her armour, does she fall from grace? Well, of course not. Is it power? Does the power to destroy a city make one a god? Are the Endbringers gods, are the Triumvirate gods, is the Ash Beast a god?"
"Some people would argue the Endbringers are gods," Alastor dryly commented. Luna chuckled and pointed at him.
"A fair point. Godhood is...ineffable. A source of argument. If people want to call Taylor a god, then...very well. Their worship will buy their obedience, and I know which one I value more. Myself, I know she's not a god. But she's a being of immense power. What difference does the term used make?"
And, Luna thought, there was no harm in it. Even if all five billion people on the planet turned to her worship, all of them as strong as an Eldar, how long had it taken the Eldar Empire, exponentially larger, to spawn the Dark Prince in a Warp far more receptive to the birth of gods? Tens of thousands of years. More than enough time for Taylor to find a solution. For the moment, it would suffice.
"I guess that makes sense," Alastor allowed, "So your plan is to make as many people as you can into…Psykers, you called them? What If it doesn't work? What if you and Circaetus are the only ones who can use those powers?"
"It won't be," Luna said, quiet but confident, "But if it is then…I've still got technology. And we have Taylor's plan. But I can only try, which means experimenting."
She patted Jensen on his bald head, smiling. Alastor followed the line of her fingers, a faint grimace twisting his lips.
"I see," he said, "You'll have to forgive me for not being eager to watch, given that it'll doubtless be bloody."
"It might be," Luna said, shrugging, "Probably just the first part, though. See, the Corona Pollentia – the bit of the brain that's linked to Parahuman powers – interferes with Psyker abilities, so that's gotta go first. And brain surgery, well, it has its moments."
"Wait," Cynthia said, "Brain surgery? How are you going to – all you've got is a scalpel."
Ah," Luna said, smiling, "Forgot to tell you. There's a lot of variety in Psyker powers. You've mostly seen the ones Taylor regularly uses, telekinesis, pyromancy, that sort of thing. What she doesn't advertise is the Biomancy."
Luna rolled her sleeve up, flexing her arm and concentrating for a second. Her flesh rippled, turning to a steely sheen that ran from fingers to elbow.
"Not just this, though," she continued, "My fused ribcage, my improved nerves, my enhanced muscles, all of those come from Biomantic alterations that Taylor made. Done properly, you can shape flesh like clay…like this."
Luna rolled her arm over, so the back of her hand was upright, and ran a lazy finger down her forearm. The flesh parted painlessly, blood kept in place by a slight effort of will, revealed muscle shining wetly in the light. Alastor and Cynthia stared, repelled but fascinated, until Luna closed her skin with another flex of her arm and strolled over to Jensen.
"And just like that," she said, resting her fingertips on the crown of his head, "It's easy."
She looked up, making eye contact with Alastor. He'd been less enthusiastic than Cynthia about exchanging his powers for Psyker strength, but there was a thoughtfulness in his eyes now.
"And you think anyone with these…psyker powers could do that?" he asked. Luna shrugged.
"I'd expect it to change with the person," she replied, remaining practical, "But the source of power is the same, it's just a matter of shaping it. Theoretically, any Psyker should be able to do anything Taylor and I can do, if at a smaller scale."
Alastor nodded slowly.
"I'll think about it," he said, turning and walking from the room. Cynthia stirred herself from the wall.
"I'll leave you to your fun, keep things going," she said, "Don't take too long, hmm?"
"I'll do my best," Luna cheerfully told her, waiting until she had left to look back down at Jensen and pat him on the head.
"You should be glad," she said, although the unconscious Jensen didn't reply, "Someone else would be putting a saw and a scalpel to your skull. It'd be very messy. But I don't have that problem. Even if you were awake, it wouldn't hurt."
Her fingers dragged gently over his scalp, skin parting under her touch and rolling back to reveal pale bone. Luna narrowed her eyes, probing inside his skull with a careful application of power. Yes, there it was…close enough. Her fingers twitched and bone shifted, melting aside and piling up to open a gap in the cranium, allowing her direct access to his brain. Blood pulsed, kept inside the skull by an application of will and Luna wormed her fingers into the gap, brain matter distending around her fingers to reveal the knot of tissue that was the centre of Jensen's Parahuman abilities. She held out a hand, a scalpel drifting into it, and made the cut with precision. Slicing, cutting and the meat came into her fingers.
The work of a moment to drop the cut of meat into a jar and gesture, the brain reforming, bone slithering together as though it had never been sundered, skin sealing smoothly over. Brain surgery in minutes, Luna thought. And in theory, laws of contagion and such, that little scrap of organ could be key to stopping the Parasite. But it wasn't something to play around with: the Parasite was too powerful for that. No, she would preserve and keep it, and study it for weaknesses before anything else. She woke Jensen with a pulse of power, letting him flail in his restraints before she stepped into his line of sight.
"Hello, Mark," she said cordially. He struggled and spat, futile gestures that she ignored until he finally made a demand.
"You," he snarled, although the rumble of it was undercut by the cracking of fear, "What are you doing to me? What have you done to me, you bitch?"
Luna lifted a languid eyebrow.
"Well that's not very nice," she mused, "And yes, Mark, it's 'what have I done to you'. Why don't I demonstrate?"
She lifted a hand, curling her fingers into a fist, before she swung her arm down and crunched her fist into his ribs. He yelled out, spittle flying from pain but desperately triumphant. Luna waited as he heaved at his restraints, his yell becoming hoarse with panic.
"What – what have you done," he shrieked, "My power! My power!"
Luna, demonstrating immense patience, let him scream for a couple of moments before punching him in the ribs again, tired of his wailing.
"Quiet!" she snarled as he wheezed and gagged, taking a long breath through her nose and bringing her smile back onto her face with only a little effort. She clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling any further noise while she reached out and picked up the jar with his bit of brain in it, holding it in front of him.
"Know what this is, Mark?" she asked conversationally. Jensen stared up at her, eyes bulging with fear and outrage. She shrugged.
"No, I guess not. Well, this is very special. This is a little bit of brain that exists in ever Parahuman, called the Corona Pollentia, and it allows Parahumans to use their powers."
Luna waggled it at him as horrified realisation settled into his eyes.
"This is yours, in fact."
She ignored his terrified ramblings, lifting a hand and calling a syringe to her with a thread of power. It landed gently in her hand and she sighed.
"I'll confess," she said, "This isn't the cleanest way to get my DNA into you. But I don't have the time to come up with some sort of retro-virus, I can feel it. So we'll do it the old fashioned way…a dose of Psyker-active blood and a lot of brute force."
She pinned him in place to stop him wriggling, a psychic weight that held him flat as she sank the needle into an arm and watched crimson liquid fill it.
"Be proud," she said to him, ignoring his muffled sounds of terror, "Your sacrifice will save humanity."
Five days later, Luna finally made her breakthrough. Five days – five days without sleep, barely eating or drinking, bending her powers to the task. It was no easy feat to knead her DNA into Jensens', giving him the potential, but it was trivial compared to activating it. Natural Psykers came about slowly, over generations. Luna didn't have that time, and her hurry wasn't kind to her subject: Jensen had gone silent and blank by the second day. A gruesome task and yet…and yet, when she reached out to his soul and pulled it in just the right way, found that musical beat that made him shudder and convulse as the Warp opened before him, it was all worth it. She saw the Warp rush into him, saw his closed eyes open, felt the flare of his soul, dull ember though it was. His ravaged mind came flickering back to life, lips stretching open, and a whisper emerged.
"Light," he hoarsely whispered, his eyes staring in Taylor's direction. Savage triumph flooded through Luna, a victory hard won even as Jensen began to shudder and shake, his soul fracturing under the pressure of the Warp. She released his telekinetic restraints and he rolled over, sliding heavily to the ground as his knees gave way, hand stretching out towards Taylor as he fell, the guttering light of his broken soul evaporating into the Warp.
"If there is an afterlife, and your soul is strong enough to reach it," Luna said, crouching over his body and gently closing his eyelids, "May you find easy passage there. For with your death, you have opened the gates for humanity.
She rose, staggering slightly from tiredness. Sleep, she thought. Sleep first, and then make sure on Jackson before offering power to Cynthia and Alastor. But she had done it, cracked the code, the first hurdle was passed. She was so close.
Jackson, in many ways, was easier than Jensen. He wasn't a Parahuman, to begin with, so no operation was needed: this time, properly altering his DNA was the longest part. Luna kept him sedated on the table, Cynthia and Alastor watching, before she plucked the strings of his soul and opened him to the Warp. He came awake screaming, insubstantial flame vomiting from his mouth, a violent awakening. A wave of force knocked Alastor off his feet, the man cursing as he went down, and the fire spilled ineffectually around Luna as she lunged, clamping a hand around Jackson's face. She wasn't subtle, dominating his will with a crushing effort that sent him falling limply to the ground, but she was effective.
"Well," she said, "Guess that's something to be careful of. Maybe keeping him awake would have been better."
She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the gleam of desire in Cynthia's eyes. Alastor hauled himself to his feet, still muttering curses, but once he'd dragged himself upright they faded and he looked down at Jackson with interest.
"So that's it," he said, "It's real. You really can give out powers."
Luna smiled, spreading her hands wide.
"And Jackson is weak willed," she said, "The two of you will be stronger, I've no doubt."
Cynthia looked at her, stepping forwards.
"I'm ready," she said. Luna set a hand on her shoulder, looking deeply into her eyes. Judging, assessing.
"Are you sure?" she asked, "It may be dangerous. Neither Jensen nor Jackson have come out of it well. I can test on more people-"
"I'll take the risk!" Cynthia interrupted, "Just – take this poison chalice from me, and grant me power."
Alastor stepped forwards.
"Yes," he said "I'll take that chance too. If I wasn't going to trust you, it would have been long ago."
Luna glanced up at the ceiling, seeing from the corner of her eyes the blazing corona that was her progenitor. How would they react, she wondered, when they saw? What would they think of Taylor, when they could see her strength burning in the Warp? Well, she would find out soon enough.
"Alright," she said, "If you're certain."
She was gentler, with her two Lieutenants. She sedated them as she had Jensen, carefully performing the surgery that would remove their Parahuman abilities before performing the DNA alteration. Once that was done she brought them around slowly. It gave her time to think, to plan. There was something driving her on, some unconscious urgency that demanded Cynthia and Alastor be ready in time. A vision, she thought, dancing on the edge of her awareness: she forced it back, unwilling to succumb to it now: it would have to wait until she was done. She glanced over at Jackson – he hadn't awoken since she put him under and she could feel the damage she'd done, his mind fracturing under her attack. That was fine: she had a plan for him and his mindlessness would only improve on it. A faint groan interrupted her line of thought and Luna rose to her feet as Alastor sat up, rubbing at his head. His fingers grazed the metal of the surgery table and she saw the pang of loss that crossed his face, an unexpected claw of remorse scraping her insides.
"I'm sorry, Alastor," she said, "That you had to give up your powers for this. Cynthia hated hers, but you've never said anything about yours."
Alastor rubbed at his face, shaking his head, and Luna was abruptly reminded of her brief vision of him, fierce in black and gold and boiling orange flame. Had that affected her decision? Had she, even unknowingly, drawn on the supernatural charisma that the Emperor had used so effectively to convince Alastor to take that step?
Did it matter?
"I've never really thought too much about it," Alastor said tiredly, "I mean, you know what powers are like. They come at dark moments. It never really leaves you, realising that you're going to see your whole family die and boom, suddenly you have powers that only protect you. This is…better. A better memory."
He paused, a flash of vulnerability crossing his face.
"Will it…hurt?" he asked, hesitantly. Luna ran a thumb over her lips, thinking.
"Mine hurt," she said, "Like almost nothing else. But the power…the power is worth it. The feeling…indescribable. And I don't know how much of the pain was the backlash from my Parahuman powers and my physical condition."
Luna raised her chin, meeting his gaze squarely.
"I believe in you," she told him, unflinching, "No matter what it is, you will survive and you will come out stronger. I did not choose the two of you as my lieutenants for no reason."
Luna rose to her feet, holding out her hand. Alastor gazed at her extended limb before nodding sharply, rising and reaching out.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," he said, closing his fingers around hers, and Luna grinned.
"Well said," she murmured, "Now brace yourself."
And with that, she pulled at the fabric of his soul.
Alastor fell to his knees, jaw locked to hold back a scream, his fingers tightening crushingly on hers. She saw the muscles on the side of his neck stand out with the sudden pain, saw his eyes widen with knowledge and understanding, saw the moment he beheld the majesty of the Warp.
She felt it, when power flooded through Alastor, when he saw. His breath came in a harsh gasp, dragged into his lungs, his eyes widening as he stared sightlessly at something just over her shoulder. His grasp on her hand remained crushing but Luna paid it no mind, too interested in watching the emotions that flickered through his eyes, the reflection of a light that couldn't be seen in the physical world. He saw, she thought, but seeing too much was dangerous as seeing too little.
"It's beautiful," he said hoarsely, eyes still fixed on that distant point, "And terrifying. But so beautiful."
"Careful," Luna cautioned, "Look too closely and…well. Have you ever looked into the sun?"
Abaddon, she remembered, had gained his golden eyes from staring too long into the Astronomicon. Taylor didn't blaze as brightly, but Alastor didn't have Abaddon's strength or his blessings. Alastor blinked hard, pulling his sight away from Taylor, although his eyeline remained fixed, looking now into the real world. His death-grip on her hand loosened and he lifted the hand, watching flesh turn to steel.
"It's…strong," he said, slow and considering. Luna smiled, glittering with satisfaction at how swiftly begun to find his feet. Yes, she'd chosen well.
"You're strong," she corrected and Alastor looked at her, eyes sharp.
"So," he said, although there was a shakiness in his tone – he'd seen Taylor's presence in the Warp, he'd never be quite the same again – "What now? You want to spread this to the whole world?"
"Oh," Luna said, "Oh, yes. I just need an infection vector for the gene editing. Which means, probably, a Bio-Tinker. Once Cynthia joins you."
Alastor was still looking at his fingertips, but he spoke confidently.
"The most well known is probably Blasto, in Boston," he said, "Unless you want to try Bonesaw and risk the Slaughterhouse Nine?"
The Nine? No. Luna didn't think so. But Boston? A flicker of power allowed through her, a taste of the future and Luna staggered abruptly, a hand shooting out to steady herself. Alastor outright crumbled to the ground, his knees turning to jelly from the backlash of the abrupt vision, brief but powerful. Luna pulled in a breath, remembering – fixing Taylor's helmeted glare in her head, the sense that the future balanced on a coin – and closed her eyes for a long moment.
"Boston," she said, softly.
Hundreds of miles away Taylor looked up from her forge, the hammer going still in her hand as the echoes of a vision washed over her, the disorienting memory of seeing herself, and a flicker of horror kindled in her breast.
"Luna," she said softly, "What have you done?"
Next update will be Taylor again as the two storylines converge: the deadline is set for early October, as these usually are. Technically this should be the early September update, but I like to get things done slightly early.
Other than that, not much to say other that the usual. As ever, reviews are appreciated and I'll see you all in the next chapter.