One of the most interesting things about Tinkers, Taylor thought, was the way they worked. She hadn't seen Armsmaster actually work on anything, he was far too private, but she'd seen Kid Win tinkering with his pistols. It was nothing like how she worked: he'd seemed to sink into a trance, bits and pieces fitting together, functioning in ways they shouldn't. Taylor had replicated one of the pistols Kid Win had made, in secret: it had been a poor quality laser pointer in a fancy casing. And yet, Kid's pistol was probably as good as her own laspistol, if with different functionality. Luckily for her curiosity she had a Tinker on hand.
"So you can replicate Tinker-tech, right?" Taylor said, looking directly at Dragon's screen. The woman nodded.
"Yes, it's an unusual ability. It might not even be a Tinker power, technically: I suppose you could call it a Thinker power. Not dissimilar to your own, in fact?"
"Oh?"
"Yes, you…I don't want to sound prying, but your technology is not Tinker-tech, no matter how advanced it is. The plans come to you, but differently. As though you make intuitive leaps past technological roadblocks, a Thinker power."
Thunder rumbled, far away, and Taylor glanced through the tall glass window of the lab, watching rain patter against the hardened glass.
"Ominous," she remarked, "Although the storm'll pass us."
"You sound very confident."
Taylor shrugged.
"I flew over it before," she explained, "It's over the sea, but it'll pass by the city. Leviathan's not hiding inside for round two, don't worry."
"I wasn't until you said that."
"Sure. You're probably right, by the way: I don't Tinker like other people do. I do it the old fashioned way: I don't need to look closely at Armsmaster's power armour to know that whatever fuels it isn't regular tech. Don't even mention the shit Leet does: I heard that those video game Stimpak things he makes have a base material of water and toothpaste."
"That might not be true," Dragon allowed, "But yes, a lot of Tinker tech only works in the hand of the Tinker because there are secondary effects, I suppose, that make the parts more than the sum of their whole, to steal a phrase. It makes it impossible to mass-produce, in most cases. But not yours."
And wasn't that the entire point? Most of Taylor's technology, the stuff the PRT was really eager to get their hands on, wasn't that advanced. A set of her power armour probably wasn't more advanced than Armsmasters, and it was bulkier. But Armsmaster could build and maintain maybe four or five suits maximum. Taylor, given a factory and competent workers, could build hundreds if not thousands of suits and have them all work just fine. Economy of scale: quantity with a quality all its own. She wondered how long it would be before they really wanted the good stuff. The key to that, of course, was to stay one step ahead of the curve: give them the old gen equipment, keep the good stuff for yourself, keep them hungry for more. Maybe another day.
"I know the PRT is mostly interested in your defensive technologies," Dragon said, "But I confess, I find the rest fascinating. The essential building blocks of terraforming. These have existed before, though."
"Sphere, right? Or Mannequin, as he is now."
"Correct. He was driven insane by the Simurgh: there's speculation that he was specifically targeted, and I think it's probably true."
'We might get that clash of angels faster than expected, if the Simurgh's targeting people who could make the world better. Maybe she's just doing it to people who could allow humanity to leave the planet?'
"The Parasite wants us trapped on one planet. I wonder why?"
Who knew. Taylor tucked the thought away for later consideration and went back to her conversation with Dragon.
"So I'll have to watch out for Endbringers. Nothing ever changes, right?"
"Unfortunately not. So, you're building something in exchange for access to Protectorate resources: what is it?"
"Something that makes the deal very enticing for the PRT. I'm building them an advanced solar reactor: put it on the roof of the HQ and it'll power the whole thing. And in exchange, they give me enough resources that I can build myself a micro fusion reactor."
"That seems a little unequal," Dragon observed, "I'm surprised Director Piggot didn't attempt to bargain for reactors of her own."
Taylor shrugged, waving a hand. A thousand tendrils of power reached out, beginning the assembly.
"She tried, but she understands the reality of the situation: after all, you don't give your best equipment away, even to your allies."
Taylor was watching Dragon when she said that, and so caught the flicker of the screen, like interference. Dragon – or more likely her electronic avatar – frowned.
"I suppose."
"Besides," Taylor continued, "I may have hinted that once I have the reactor and upgraded to a new and improved set of power armour my old designs would be on the table. It's a lot better than the current PRT Heavy Armour, after all."
"That's true. You're going to upgrade your power armour, then? I wouldn't mind offering suggestions, if you're open."
"You aren't subtle," Taylor said without rancour. Dragon merely smiled. Taylor sighed.
"Alright. I'm sure you understand the basic structure of my armour, right? The frame, and then the synthetic muscles to move it, and then the armour plates on top. The solar cells can fuel all of that for a while, but that's it. A micro-fusion reactor, however, will solve all the power issues. Which means upgrades, people, upgrades. Stronger. Faster. Actual functioning HUD, the sky is the limit."
Even more esoteric technologies, too. Taylor had some vague plans for an emergency refraction field, although she wasn't sure she'd be able to get it to work with the current level of available technology. That was high level stuff.
"Overall enhancements, then," Dragon said, "It's practical. A lot of Tinkers tend to get over-excited and build something that goes wrong: I know I did. When I constructed my first power armour I added a plasma cannon as the main weapon without proper testing. The first time I fired it while testing it overloaded the generator. It was a good thing that I wasn't too far off the ground."
"Yeah, I can see how that could be a problem," Taylor said. She looked over her shoulder at her wings and, when she looked back, she saw Dragon nodding with a smile.
"Not a problem you're likely to have," the Tinker graciously allowed, "But there could be others."
"Overloading is always a danger," Taylor agreed, "Plus the more strain you put on the systems, more can go wrong. The last thing you want is your power source shorting out in the middle of battle."
Most Astartes heavy weapons used a separate power source for this very reason. Even ones that could theoretically be powered from the suit, like a Power Gauntlet, were cut away. A result, Taylor was sure, of the rebellion by the Men of Iron. Isolate everything, make sure that if something was compromised it could be cut out of circuit and moved on. Weaponised paranoia.
"Not that that's likely to happen here, with the solar generator. I'm mostly torn on the transmission method. Wireless energy transmission is possible and means there's less wires to go wrong, but it's inefficient. The material science just isn't there yet. I might have to put some research into that…unlimited energy, practically. Theoretically."
"Through wireless energy transmission?"
"Sure," Taylor said, straightening, "You just take a bunch of these solar collectors and throw them up into orbit, ringing them around the planet. They transmit between each other, maintaining a steady level of inflow from the Sun, and broadcast it to the ground. Wouldn't work now since, you know, there be monsters. But in a safe orbit, it's completely free power. Wasted otherwise."
"And once you have truly mastered fusion," the Emperor commented, "All you have to do is…"
He broadcast an image to Taylor: a miniature Sun, caught in a cage of mirrored steel and glass, burning eternally. A caged star powering a factory the size of a planet, a shipyard of monstrous proportions, feeding on the solar system around it to produce a fleet of terrifying size.
'The power of the Sun, in the palm of your hand,' Taylor said, doing her best not to be entranced by the memory of the Golden Age of Man.
"You could…get a Tinker to do it, maybe," she said aloud, pausing to shake off the majesty of a memory not technically hers, "But given that the whole idea of me doing this is to create something that doesn't need a Tinker to maintain, that seems counter-productive."
"Hmm. You know, not all Tinker-tech requires the same level of maintenance. Armsmaster's does, but the Tinker weapons that Coil provided his men worked without a Tinker on staff."
"Maybe," Taylor dubiously said, "But it's a quality assurance thing, you know? I'd like to do it all, that way there's no wiggle room in the contract. I need some high-quality components, and this is the easiest way to get them."
"The Guild has resources for aspiring Tinkers," Dragon said, her tone studiously neutral, "Apropos of nothing."
"I do hear Canada is nice this time of year," Taylor said, "Glory is up there, actually. She texted me about it."
"Really? I heard they were on holiday after Brandish's passing, but I didn't expect them to go to Canada."
Taylor shrugged, diverting slightly more attention to her work just long enough to fit together some awkward pieces.
"Yeah, Glory was pretty much the one in control and she thought somewhere quiet would be better. A little town, apparently, decent skiing. Somewhere they can think and grieve in peace."
A screwdriver drifted into Taylor's hand as she spoke, fastening the parts together.
"It might have been sensible," Taylor added, "Going somewhere unusual. Somewhere where everything doesn't remind you of your loss. For whatever good it'll do."
"Oh," Dragon said, sympathetic, "You lost your mother, didn't you?"
Taylor paused, her hand going still. She drew a breath in through her nose, the familiar old ache dull and muted by now.
"Yeah. Car crash, couple of years ago."
"I'm sorry," Dragon said, sounding genuine, "It's never easy to lose someone you love."
Taylor wondered who Dragon had lost, but didn't pry.
"Yeah," she agreed softly. She worked in silence for a minute or two, continuing her construction, before Dragon spoke again.
"I did mean what I said. I'd be happy to extend an invitation to the Guild headquarters, if you are interested."
"Well," Taylor said, "It couldn't hurt. I mean, I'd be happy to get my hands on some really quality stuff, and my contract with the PRT isn't exclusive. It's just finding time, at this point."
"I can imagine," Dragon replied, and Taylor knew that she wasn't imagining the faint twang of sarcasm in her voice, "It must be very hard work, preparing to hunt down various threats."
"I was under the impression that you did that as well. There's value in proactivity."
Taylor looked around at the screen and saw Dragon incline her head, seeming to accept Taylor's mild rebuke. The Tinker looked away from the screen, apparently lost in thought, before replying.
"I don't hunt down major threats. It's too dangerous, even for me. You're right about proactivity, but it's never ended well. A lot of Capes have decided to go after the Nine or the Three Blasphemies or whoever else. It always ends badly."
"Good thing I'm not going after the Nine or the Three Blasphemies."
'Not yet, anyway. I still think a bombardment from orbit is the best answer to the Nine, even if it's a little boring.'
"I think I can live with boring, so long as it works."
'Sad as it is, I think you've got a point. Some people really are too dangerous to play around with, no matter how fun it might be.'
"I see that Luna hasn't quite corrupted you yet."
Not yet, Taylor reflected, although she felt a twinge of scepticism from the Emperor.
"You aren't going after them yet," Dragon corrected, "But you are researching Nilbog, and Heartbreaker, and whoever else takes your fancy. If there's any advice I can give you it's this: don't go after Heartbreaker. He delights in taking over female heroes, and you wouldn't be an exception."
"Assuming it'll work," Taylor said, "Valefor's didn't."
"Valefor's ability is a deep hypnosis," Dragon said, "Heartbreaker has emotional control, and we don't know what his victims would do if he was captured. The brainwashing could make them do anything."
Taylor didn't reply and didn't meet Dragon's eyes, even if it made her feel like a bitch. She went back to her work instead, avoiding the plea, and Dragon said nothing, recognising that it would be useless to try and argue.
Taylor leaned across the table, grimacing as the edges of her breastplate dug into her skin: she was outgrowing the armour. She'd designed it to fit a lot of people, but she'd need to replace it and soon. She was thinking of a nice silver-grey, or maybe copper: the Emperor grumbled good-naturedly about gold being a better choice.
'I just don't have the figure to carry off pure gold. I'll keep the Aquila gold.'
"I'm glad you show sense in something, at least. Build the armour first and then decide, the colour is only a top coat."
'You're just trying to buy time to convince me that gold is a better choice,' Taylor accused, but she knew he spoke sense. Having the better armour now, even if it would be the matte grey of unpainted ceramite, was more important than indulging her vanity.
"I'm kinda curious, you know," she said, "How does a Tinker know what they specialise in? Is there some sort of feeling, or is it just trial and error?"
"It's trial and error," Dragon said, the reply so brisk that it sounded practiced, "Take the two Tinkers you know. Armsmaster knows his specialisation because everything he does relates to it."
"Miniaturisation, right? He can make everything smaller than it should be."
"Right. It was reasonably obvious once he had a lot of gear put together – there's some shared things, like power sources better than we have in the world right now, powered armour is very common, but Armsmaster's is all smaller. Kid Win, on the other hand, still doesn't know his specialisation. It could be lasers, but he's built a, well, a lightning gun. It could be advanced firearms, but he's built that hoverboard. I might have an idea, but it's better if he works it out."
"And Squealer, the Merchant Tinker, only worked on vehicles," Taylor said, "At least, I never saw her work on anything that wasn't a vehicle. And that guy who was secretly working for Coil, uh, Chariot? Didn't he become a Ward?"
"He did, yes. He transferred out after Leviathan, which might explain why you don't remember him."
Dragon sounded a little judgemental, but Taylor just shrugged. Chariot meant nothing to her and never had: why would she remember him?
"I assume there's some ulterior motive in your asking. Do you think you've worked out your Tinker specialisation, if you have one?"
Oh, Taylor already knew her specialisation quite well, inasmuch as it could be called a specialisation. She considered it and then gave a mental shrug.
"If I am a Tinker, I'm pretty sure it's a more esoteric specialisation," she started, still working. She tapped a finger against a glass panel, eliciting a soft ringing, and sighed.
"The first thing I ever made was my laser pistol – you could maybe include my staff, but I don't think so. After that, I made my armour – this armour, in fact. And then the power armour. And then, the suggestion I made to Armsmaster about regrowing limbs, organs, that sort of thing – where are people going to be losing limbs and organs, that comes to mind? And it can all be mass produced."
Taylor knew that Dragon would see the link and wasn't disappointed when Dragon drew in a breath.
"War," Dragon said quietly, "Most of the things you build could equip an army."
"So they could," Taylor said, smiling wryly, "Of course, maybe I'm not a Tinker. Maybe it's just me, and that's what I think of first. Which do you think is more frightening?"
"I'm sure you're as frightening as you want to be, Circaetus."
Taylor wrinkled her nose at the rather milquetoast reply, shaking her head.
"Sure, sure. It could be completely innocent too, of course. A laser weapon is just a small laser drill. The power armour? Well, mining is a dangerous task: being able to wear something essentially the size of a man which has far more strength, an in-built oxygen supply and the ability to survive a cave-in would be invaluable, not to mention the possibility of taking the mining to space. And even then, accidents happen: who doesn't want to repair injuries like that?"
Taylor paused.
"Come to think of it, I might have accidentally increased human lifespan by a good chunk by giving Armsmaster access to the whole organ cloning thing. Plenty of people have their brains fail, but even more die because their organs can't last: who knows what lifespans will be like when that's not a problem, so long as some greedy bastards don't get their hands on it and restrict access."
"That's a very cynical viewpoint. I prefer to think of the world as a fundamentally good place, where fundamentally good people exist: I like to hope that given the option people will make things better."
Taylor tilted her head, but the Emperor spoke before she said anything.
"You know, I used to dream of a world where the Golden Age never ended. Where Humanity had the time to overcome the millions of years head-start that the Eldar enjoyed. A world where the Orks remained a fringe nuisance, where the Eldar were content to wither away. A world where Humanity rose to their rightful place as masters of the galaxy, where the Tyranids were destroyed by a force greater than their own and the Necrons could see another race as equal. A world where enough was right, and good, and just. And then I would wake and taste the infection in the Immaterium, hear the desperation of my people, feel the long, slow death that I had condemned Humanity to, and I would remember despair."
"Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment," Taylor said, the doggerel acid against her tongue, "But I'd like to think you're right, Dragon."
Taylor was just leaving, an hour or two later, when the PRT Deputy Director intercepted her. She'd been banned from putting up the solar collector, due to the weather: Taylor had insisted that it was just the fringe of the passing storm and that she could manage easily, but she'd been refused.
"Circaetus," the man said, stepping out in front of her. Taylor offered him a smile, her helmet tucked under her arm, and desperately wracked her mind for his name. Nothing. Zip, nada, zilch. Curses.
"Deputy Director," she said pleasantly. Renfield, maybe? No, that was Dracula and definitely insulting. Better to just keep her mouth shut. What was the quote – better to keep your mouth shut and be thought an idiot than to open it and remove all doubt?
"His name is Renick."
'How do you know that?'
"I pay attention. But mostly I have a lot more practice in remembering the names of ultimately unimportant people."
'Catty.'
"You don't look as tired as I remember," Taylor cheerfully said. Renick smiled.
"Things have been a little slower recently, I have to admit. The Protectorate is even thinking of moving resources away from Brockton: it's been quite the change."
"I imagine it would be. I take it you're not here to gossip, though?"
"No, sadly. There's someone here to see you – they're waiting in the Director's office. I was asked to take you there."
Someone important enough to take over the Director's office? Well, now Taylor was intrigued. She weighed her helmet in her hand, nodding.
"Lead on, then."
Taylor followed Renick up the stairs, continuing to make polite small talk the whole way. Renick really was inoffensively nice, she thought: it was a dramatic difference to Piggot, who was confrontational at the best of times. Not that Taylor was going to be too hard on her: she liked to keep her hypocrisy at least a little reined in. It didn't take long to arrive at the office and Renick walked in without so much as knocking. Taylor hesitated on the threshold, briefly wondering about the threat of an ambush, and then followed. Director Piggot was behind her desk, a figure standing to the side, and there was no-one else in the room. That reduced the chances of an ambush, but as Taylor sized up the second figure she concluded that she shouldn't rule it out entirely.
Just a little shorter than Taylor, slightly slimmer, black uniform and helmet with a long cape, Alexandria cut an imposing figure. She made Taylor feel slightly out of place in her battered armour and ragged coat and Taylor decided then and there that she would replace her equipment as soon as possible. Wishing she'd kept her helmet on Taylor maintained a neutral expression, pasting a smile onto her face.
"Director," she said, nodding in acknowledgement, "And Alexandria."
Piggot nodded, but Alexandria spoke.
"Circaetus," she said, her voice level and calm. Imposing, in fact. Taylor wandered into the room, settling her free hand on her hip and smiling at the both of them. Neither of them smiled back – well, Piggot didn't. Alexandria was, of course, wearing a helmet.
"What brings one of the Triumvirate here, to talk to little old me?" Taylor asked. She didn't scan the room with her eyes, but she considered escape routes all the same: they all mostly came down to the same thing. Push everything outwards and jump into the Warp, don't come back. There was a pleasing simplicity to the tactic, at least.
"You asked about S-Ranked threats," Alexandria said, "Particularly Nilbog. When Miss Militia requested the information she was clear that she was asking on your behalf."
Taylor bit back her first instinct, which was to retort that there was nothing wrong with wanting to know more. There were probably ways to look more like you had a guilty conscience, but she couldn't think of any. Alexandria brought her hands from behind her back, a sheaf of papers in a plastic binder held in one of them, and tapped them against her palm.
"We keep track of that sort of request, since it usually comes from newer capes who are far too confident in themselves."
'Everyone's feeling catty today, apparently.'
"Not that I want to imply that you'd overreach," Alexandria added, "Your reasoning that you want to know about the most dangerous threats that you might come across is sound. But when you've seen as many promising heroes die as I have, you start seeing patterns everywhere."
"How very passive aggressive she is. I'm almost impressed."
'She isn't stupid, not that I expected her to be. She knows what we're planning, but she doesn't have any proof so she can't say too much. Interesting that they've bothered to send Alexandria herself, though: I would have thought the Protectorate would be willing to let young upstarts have their chance.'
"Remember, every young Hero killed in a useless battle against Nilbog or the Nine or whoever else is a young Hero no longer available to hurl against the Endbringers."
How very true.
"I'll bear that in mind," Taylor said, "With my luck, I might need to. Nilbog isn't too far away, after all."
Alexandria held out the sheaf of paper without a word. Taylor took it, feeling Piggot's and Renick's eyes on her. She thumbed through the file, noting that it contained information on most threats, organised in order of threat. She glanced at the table of contents, flipping through to Nilbog.
"Name, date of birth, original appearance, theorised Trigger…a lot of information. And you're just giving it to me?"
"For the most part, the Protectorate considers you trustworthy. You're unlikely to hand over the information to anyone who can do anything dangerous with it. Not that there's much in there that could be called classified: what would anyone do with the knowledge that Nilbog was once a lonely man called Jamie Rinke, who likely Triggered because he lost his job?"
"That's true," Taylor admitted. There were probably ways, but not that many. She read a little more, a frown wrinkling her brow.
"Thinker threat assessment in case of napalm attack: purple. Stratos. Poisoned well. Assessment in case of no attack: Yellow. Cumulus. Stagnant lake. Is it always this esoteric?"
The noise Alexandria made could, very charitably, be called a laugh.
"Very few Thinkers have the luxury of direct understanding, especially pre-cognitives," Director Piggot said, "Your friend Tattletale is a long way from the norm."
"Really?" Taylor murmured. Fascinating. She was beginning to think that it might be worth trying to take a look into the future before making a move against Nilbog, but she'd need to prepare for that. Having Luna join her wouldn't hurt, either: seeing the future in the Warp was a risky business.
"Most of Watchdog, the Protectorate Thinker organisation, is actually dedicated to unravelling what their comrades mean," Alexandria said, "It's quite a limit, though I'm hopeful that Miss Alcott can change that. Rescuing her might be one of the most important things you've done."
"You're flattering me," Taylor observed. Alexandria nodded.
"I am, and I'm not being very subtle about it. You seem to be the sort of person who appreciates straightforwardness."
Well, that was true. Taylor tapped the binder of information against her palm, thinking.
"Everyone likes to be flattered," she said, "So, what do you want?"
Alexandria folded her arms in front of her, maybe to make her look like she wasn't planning anything. Taylor doubted it would make much of a difference if a fight broke out: maybe it was just a nervous tic or a habit.
"Just a few minutes of your time," Alexandria said, "In private, I'm afraid."
Silence. Director Piggot and Deputy Renick appeared to chew over the words: Taylor considered Alexandria herself.
Alexandria. That was an unusual name: Taylor recognised the symbol Alexandria wore on her chest as the Pharos Lighthouse. So maybe something about being a light into the future, something like that? No stranger to tortured metaphor, Taylor still found the reference cryptic. Alexandria, the city created by Alexander, home of the famous Library.
The Emperor had known him, the greatest conqueror of his age: a man of wit and charm and astonishing skill and, at his very heart, a consuming desire to conquer all. A man who had read the Iliad as a child and considered the desires of its Kings to be remembered forever insufficient. A man broken when he realised his entire life wouldn't be long enough to conquer all he saw. A hero, in an age when being a hero meant wading knee deep in blood. A more savage age, theoretically. Taylor thought of the thirtieth millennium.
"History doesn't repeat, but it does rhyme," the Emperor said glibly. Taylor sighed mentally.
'I wonder if it's a double bluff, her name,' she said, 'The lighthouse implies hope and a guiding light, of course, but the most famous association with the city is the library. Knowledge and wisdom.'
"Does it matter?"
'Not really, but it's an interesting thought. Getting into people's heads, seeing how they see themselves, that sort of thing.'
"If you really want you can do that literally."
'Sure, but it's not a good way to make friends. And for the moment, I'd like to make friends.'
"If you're going to accept her proposal, control the location. You haven't been kidnapped yet, but…"
'Following strange women to secondary locations, right. Right. Well, there's one place I can be sure of neutrality.'
"Alright," Taylor said, "I have somewhere we can talk. Somewhere private. Just one question, though, before I suggest it."
Alexandria tilted her head and Taylor pointed skywards.
"How high can you fly?"
Alexandria's chin came down as she realised what Taylor meant, her helmet turning towards the dark grey clouds. Rain pattered gently against the window and she dipped her chin, challenging.
"High enough."
"Above the clouds, then. I doubt anyone will spy on us up there – I'll see you there."
Taylor nodded to Piggot and Renick and stepped into the Warp, opening the portal with a lazy flick of her hand. Two steps and she emerged into reality again just outside the window, giving them all a casual salute as she put her helmet on. She watched, amused, as the window swung open and Alexandria emerged into the drizzle. Interesting that they'd have that – emergency escape route, probably.
'Not as fast as we can go, but fast enough to remind them who I am,' Taylor said, and beat her wings. Once, twice, making a show of gathering herself before she called out to Alexandria.
"Keep up!" she called, and flew.
The wind pulled at her coat, her wings, the rain skipping from her armour as she ascended. Alexandria kept up, flying in a workmanlike fashion with her arms by her side and her posture ramrod straight. She was more aerodynamic than Taylor, given Taylor's wings, and not putting her all into it. Still, Taylor thought she might be able to beat Alexandria in a straight line: she could feel the focus Alexandria was putting into her movement. They were neck and neck when they went into the clouds and broke through to the empty night at the same time, Taylor whirling as she gained height, shedding the collected dew in a cloud that sparkled beautifully in the setting sun. Alexandria brushed her armour off, coming to a halt and folding her arms as Taylor drifted back down to hover level with her.
"Private, true," Alexandria called, "But not too quiet."
Taylor laughed, waving a hand in a negligent fashion. A porous orb of force expanded around them, blocking the worst of the wind and plunging them into sudden silence, the wind noise gone.
"Better?" she asked. Alexandria nodded, but Taylor could feel her interest in the display.
"What is your power, again?" Alexandria asked, "Out of interest."
'Oh, I bet you're interested.'
"Lots of little things," Taylor said, "Jack of all trades, that's me. You wanted a word in private, didn't you?"
"I did, indeed," Alexandria said slowly. She was silent for a moment and Taylor risked a little, extending psychic tendrils to get an impression of what Alexandria was thinking. It was a choppy impression, scattered, faint in order to avoid being detected, but she caught the word foremost in Alexandria's thoughts: Cauldron. Taylor made a snap decision.
"You know, Traveller or whatever his name was told me that he and his group came from an alternate Earth. They landed here, found some vials, drank them and suddenly they all had superpowers. Setting aside the stupidity of drinking something you found on the ground, don't you think that's strange? A group that can bottle powers…smells like a conspiracy."
Taylor wished she could see Alexandria's expression, rather than the blank black mask her helmet presented, but her emotions were enough – irritation, worry, resignation. Alexandria shrugged and when she spoke her voice was calm, belying her emotions.
"A conspiracy that must have the best interests of humanity at heart. How many villains are created by their Triggers? How many heroes are unsuitable – just look at your very own Shadow Stalker. Isn't it better to make the process artificial, and make sure that the people with powers are good people?"
There was a lie in there, although Taylor wasn't entirely certain where. The flaw in the reasoning, however, was a lot more obvious.
"Make sure they're good people, or make sure they're obedient?" Taylor asked, curious to see how Alexandria would react. Alexandria shrugged.
"Does it matter? When you're talking about the survival of the human race, morality becomes minor at best."
And wasn't that a familiar refrain?
"Not that I don't agree, but that's not a very heroic way of looking at things. Aren't you supposed to be the pinnacle of heroism?"
Alexandria drifted closer. There was no threat in her mind, so Taylor held her position, although she couldn't help the way the Warp writhed within her, an atavistic reaction to someone so dangerous so close.
"Remember, Leviathan nearly drowned her. Tear the air from her lungs and let her die."
'I remember.'
"We were supposed to be," Alexandria said, "Until Hero died. A lot of things died that day."
Unfortunately not including the Siberian, who continued to be perhaps the most terrifying member of the Slaughterhouse Nine even years later. So much for vengeance.
"I can guess what you're thinking," Alexandria said, "You're thinking why, when I recognise that the Siberian has broken me, is she still alive? Why are the Nine still loose? Why haven't I used my influence to direct all of the strength of the Protectorate into destroying them?"
Taylor hadn't been about to ask, but far be it from her to redirect what seemed like a good motive rant. She inclined her head.
"I had wondered."
She felt Alexandria's amusement, wintry, like plunging your hand into a bucket of iced-over water.
"Because of the lesson they taught us that day. That day, when Hero died and I barely escaped, I learned a hard truth: there is no room in what we do for honour, or vengeance, or even justice. When it comes to saving the human race, all of that is naivety. Killing the Nine would be satisfying. It could even be justified: the Nine roam from city to town to city, killing civilians. Killing Capes. Converting Capes. They're a blight on this world. But they are always driven off, in the end, the losses acceptable. Comparatively, the Endbringers attack every three months. Every three months. They attack. We fight. Sometimes they are driven off, sometimes they aren't: even when we win, dozens if not hundreds of Capes are killed. And when we don't, when Leviathan sinks a city or Behemoth contaminates some natural resource or the Simurgh drives a whole city mad, the doomsday clock takes one click closer to midnight."
Taylor tilted her head and waited. Alexandria, as she had expected, continued.
"The Nine are a plague, but they won't destroy humanity. The Endbringers are the apocalypse made incarnate, and given time they will ruin our species. Thirty years, that's the prediction: thirty years before irreversible societal collapse, and that's the best case scenario. When I was young I would have recoiled at the thought but now, when I hear of someone dying uselessly against the Nine? I only wish they would have died uselessly against the Endbringers, because maybe that would have made a difference. The Siberian made me into a monster, Circaetus, but this monster is needed to save the world."
Taylor wasn't so sure it was the Siberian who made Alexandria, but that wasn't an argument worth having. Alexandria, for all that Taylor hated to admit it, was right: the Endbringers were a greater threat than the Nine. What Alexandria might not know, however, was that Taylor was only hunting the Nine because she couldn't yet hunt the Endbringers. But perhaps she had a theory. Alexandria's attention had drifted away, her head tilting up towards the rising moon, and Taylor cleared her throat. Alexandria looked back down.
"Your engagement with Leviathan drew a lot of eyes, I'm sure you're aware," Alexandria said, "A lot of people are already thinking of you as their next great hope. It's happened to a lot of people over the years, and they've all proven false. So, Circaetus, I have to ask: are you another false messiah?"
"I've never thought of myself as a messiah," Taylor lied, "Seems like a lot of pressure."
Alexandria nodded slowly.
"It is, you're right. I'm glad to see that you're thinking clearly about it, rather than buying into your own hype. I've seen a lot of people who've thought too highly of themselves. Even then, though, you don't have to do it all alone."
'And here it comes, the recruitment offer. What're the odds of it being an 'or else' offer?'
"Low, actually. I don't think Alexandria shares your enthusiasm for burning bridges."
Taylor felt oddly slighted by that. Luckily Alexandria couldn't hear the slander currently going on in her head, and so she continued unfazed.
"I understand that you don't want to join the Protectorate. I wouldn't want to go back to the Wards when I've gotten used to doing what I want, when I want. I'm sure you've recognised, however, that you can't go on alone forever."
Taylor, for a moment, thought about Luna. She wasn't going on alone, but she couldn't say that. And she especially couldn't talk about her plan with Luna: who knew how the local Illuminati, because Taylor was absolutely convinced that that Alexandria was part of the local Illuminati, would react to that. Instead she folded her arms.
"So am I right in thinking that this is a recruitment?" Taylor asked, "And, I'm guessing, one that you don't want anyone else to know about."
Alexandria lifted her chin: Taylor guessed that if they weren't wearing helmets they would have locked eyes.
"More like an invitation," Alexandria said, "I'm choosing to extend a lot of trust towards you, Circaetus, because I believe that you have the best interests of humanity at heart. I think you could do a lot of good, working alongside us."
And if Taylor chose to tell people, well, who would believe her? Her word against Alexandria's, no proof to offer either way, and Taylor would be discredited before she could say conspiracy. She smiled, admiring the ploy.
"I don't expect an answer immediately," Alexandria said, "And we have time, for the moment. But you should think about it – there are many allies that could be useful to you, if you're willing to make the compromises needed. I'll give you the time to think on it, but I need an answer, preferably before the next Endbringer attack."
"I'll make sure to think it over," Taylor said. Alexandria inclined her head.
"That's all I can ask. Until next time, then. And please, think carefully on my offer."
Alexandria tilted in her air like she was on strings, dropping back into the clouds and vanishing from sight. Taylor watched her go, first with her eyes and then with her senses, and sighed.
'She was pretty cagey with the details. Not that I expected her to come out and tell me everything, but I'd have like a little more than just knowing that Alexandria's up to something.'
"The rest of the Triumvirate seem like an obvious choice. And they're recruiting people by handing out powers, those people must know something."
'Sure. But how do you tell when someone's bought their power instead of gaining it the old fashioned way? It might be worth taking the offer though, or at least pretending to.'
At the very least Cauldron, which Taylor assumed to be the name of the group, might know more about the Parasite. If Taylor was going to kill the thing, she'd like to know at least a little bit about it. Such as if it had friends.
"Ah, happy nostalgia," the Emperor said. Luckily, before he could begin reminiscing on the early days of the Great Crusade, Taylor's phone rang. She blinked down at her chest pocket for a moment before her brain came back online.
"Yello?"
Circaetus," Tattletale said, "I have something for you. And before you ask if I'm serious, I really am: serious as a heart attack."
The pun was obvious: Taylor perked up immediately.
"I'm on my way," she said. With one last glance towards the path Alexandria had taken Taylor folded her wings and dropped like a stone, the wind whipping at her coat as she plunged through the clouds. The moment before she would have emerged into the drizzle she focused, a kaleidoscope portal opening in front of her, and vanished into the Warp.
Heartbreaker, Taylor thought, wasn't as subtle as he thought he was. Well, no – that was unfair. Heartbreaker had remained uncontained for a long time for a reason: he was smart enough, sneaky enough and powerful enough that he was hard to find. But Taylor had Tattletale on her side, and Tattletale was more than capable of pin-pointing Heartbreaker's location using the trail of kidnapped women he left behind him.
Taylor was going to enjoy what came next.
"Heartbreaker has a pattern," Tattletale had told her – Taylor guessed that she'd learned some of it from Regent at some point before Luna had killed him and found the rest since then – "And he sticks to it. It's always the same when he moves to a new place. He finds somewhere to live, usually by mind controlling some poor woman if I have to guess, and then he stays in the house with his 'favourites' while sending out the women he's gotten bored of and his children to scout, run errands, that sort of thing. He's a hedonist, that's why he's not rated as a massive threat: he's too lazy for that."
Heartbreaker had a lot of children, many of them Triggered. Tattletale had only been able to identify two of them Taylor wouldn't potentially have to face: Jean-Paul Vasil - aka Regent - was dead, and Cherie Vasil was in the wind. That left a lot still serving Heartbreaker: Guillame, Florence, Samuel, Chastity, Nathan, Juliette and whoever the fuck else Tattletale hadn't gotten around to finding. It was part of Heartbreaker's strength, having so many Capes under his control. Taylor intended, in the fashion of Sun-Tzu, to turn that strength into a weakness. The Heartbroken, as Taylor had heard them called, allegedly had strong powers, many of them based around mind control: Taylor wondered if they were as powerful as Valefor had been.
She had her doubts.
Taylor stood on the rooftop with her wings curled behind her, looking down into the crowd. There was a young man moving through them, tapping people as he passed: this, Taylor was certain, was Guillame Vasil. He didn't have as many pictures hanging around as his father – the jury was out on whether it was Heartbreaker's ego or Guillame being smart enough to remain low profile – but there were enough, and he looked a lot like his father. Same narrow build, almost lanky. Same cheekbones, same dark hair, even an attempt at mimicking Heartbreaker's beard.
Guillame was wearing a shirt, though, which wasn't the case in most of Heartbreaker's pictures. Taylor didn't see why Heartbreaker was so intent on showing himself off: he really wasn't that impressive a specimen. He wasn't quite noodle armed, no, but he was scrawny for a Cape: maybe Taylor was biased, considering the bulk of most of the Capes she was regularly around. Then again, Heartbreaker was a serial rapist: she wasn't inclined to be fair to him. Taylor drifted from rooftop to rooftop, wrapped in her disguising shroud of power, watching Guillame and waiting. Waiting for her chance.
The Protectorate file – no. Taylor suspected it was actually a Cauldron file, with information a normal Protectorate Cape couldn't access – the bait on the hook – had been explicit that the reason Heartbreaker didn't have a Kill Order on him was to discourage lone wolf attempts like the one Taylor was currently carrying out. Large operations were out of the question, because Heartbreaker was never there when they arrived: the file had spelled out quite clearly that Heartbreaker had brainwashed agents in the PRT and maybe even the Protectorate, and every large operation against him was greeted by zealous members of his group, brainwashed into fanaticism and convinced that they were protecting him while Heartbreaker himself fled with the most important members of his entourage. Several smaller operations had been attempted, but they had all ended the same way: the small group delayed by Heartbreaker's victims until Heartbreaker himself could bring his power to bear and just like that another Cape joined his band.
Taylor didn't intend to be included in that number. She was certain that she could throw off any attempt Heartbreaker made to control her emotions, but she wasn't going to even give him a chance anyway: ambush would be her approach of choice. The second reason the PRT was reluctant to have Heartbreaker killed was more pertinent to her. Simply put, they didn't know what Heartbreaker's victims would do if he was killed. Perhaps they would break out of the brainwashing, perhaps they would kill themselves, perhaps they would choose a series of suicide attacks on any target they could find, perhaps they would simply shut down and never function again. The PRT was afraid of the repercussions, too afraid to explore other options. It was a reasonable point, but…well. The Emperor had argued, persuasively, that putting off the question wasn't a solution. Heartbreaker was going to die someday, the question would come up, and until that time his thralls would only grow in number and power. If his death provoked retaliation, better to do it when he was as weak as possible. As Alexandria had said, morality became minor in the face of human survival: Heartbreaker wasn't that big a threat, but it was better not to let him become any larger.
If his death resulted in the deaths of innocents, then Taylor would grieve for them. But innocents died every day. Everyone who Heartbreaker would go on to rape, torture, murder and brainwash if he wasn't stopped was more than a balance to that risk. Taylor continued to shadow Guillame, observing him, taking stock of his routine.
'So he's the scout. The file and Tattletale agree on that: he's got some sort of ability to see through the senses of other people, though they don't know how. You see how he's touching everyone he passes?'
"Yes, it suggests that he needs to. Maybe that's how his power works, it requires touch?"
'Either that or he just really, really likes touching people. Not that I'd put that past one of Heartbreaker's kids, but either way he's our in. He's gotta have a way to contact his father. That's our chance.'
"Then what are you waiting for?"
Taylor shrugged.
'A properly dramatic moment, I suppose.'
But, bereft of the correct timing, Taylor could still manage: she extruded a thousand tendrils of thought towards Guillame, drifting against the edges of his mind, just below the point where he could notice the intrusion: many of them were looking for cracks in the armour, but she spared enough for a single call, directing him towards a dark alleyway, a single word: come. And Guillame, so obliging, turned towards the alley as though he'd heard something in the shadows. Taylor took a slow breath through her nose, bracing herself. Fast and brutal, that was the way to do this. Guillame walked into the alleyway, head turning from side to side. He even looked up, but his eyes passed unseeing over Taylor and she took another breath, waiting for him to take those last few steps.
Now.
Taylor dropped from roof to ground, behind Guillame, and wrapped both her hands around his skull from behind. He jerked in shock, the contact breaking her disguise, but it was too late: all of those thousand tendrils of thought became spears, plunging into his mind, carrying a single order with them.
Do not use your power. Obey your Empress.
If Taylor was to use an analogy, it would be to modelling clay. Guillame's brain, his soul, were shaped in the soft and claggy material and her power allowed her to close a fist around it, reshape it to her liking. And, should she press too hard, it would act like modelling clay in a clenched fist: a spray of grey mud and a shapeless mess left behind, with no purpose or use save reconstruction to her desire. It wasn't perfect: someone whose very being had been remade in that fashion rarely lived long, the damage to their soul too much. But Taylor wasn't particularly concerned about that side-effect: Guillame was not long for this world in any case. He fought as best he could, trying to throw off her attack, but his years with Heartbreaker had weakened him, the submission beaten into his nature a weak spot in his psyche that Taylor exploited without mercy. Even without it she was too strong for him, and with it his defeat was simply hastened. Mere seconds after her order had been given he fell to his knees in front of her, only her quick shift of her hands from face to shoulders preventing him from crashing to the damp ground below.
"My mistress," he whispered, hoarse with the desperation to carry out her every command, "What would you have of me?"
'A little more obsequious than I'd have liked.'
"He is used to obeying orders. Command him and he will obey, no matter how he would like otherwise: can you feel the last lingering echoes of defiance, raging within?"
There was indeed a fraction of Guillame that remained free of her control, some tiny portion of his soul that remained his own. Taylor could feel it screaming, howling, struggling against her control: it didn't matter. It wasn't strong enough to even loosen her control over him, and it never would be. For that little part of his mind, Guillame's body was just a puppet for her to control. Taylor considered it a little like karmic justice. With a wave she re-established her Notice-Me-Not, expanding it to cover the entire alleyway so that anyone looking in wouldn't notice the two of them, and lifted a hand to cup Guillame's chin.
"Now, Guillame," she said, "You and I are going to do the entire world a favour and rid it of your parasitic pig of a father. But before that, tell me everything that could be useful to know about your family. Everything, Guillame, that I might need to know."
And Guillame, hopelessly enthralled by her power, opened his mouth and told her everything.
Taylor's guess had been on the money, in the end. Heartbreaker liked to collect women in various ways: usually because his children ran into them and reported to him, sometimes because he'd seen them on the internet or on the tv and taken a fancy to them. It had been the disastrous aftermath of such a failed kidnapping attempt, some starlet, that had allowed Cherie Vasil to escape – the Protectorate file suggested that she was probably likely to try and join the Slaughterhouse Nine, which put her on Taylor's list anyway. But that was besides the point.
The point, getting back to it, was that not every woman Heartbreaker collected went unwillingly. They were all brainwashed, in the end, but all serial killers had groupies and all cult leaders had followers: there were always some who wanted the thrill, who thought they felt a special connection. There were always some who came to Heartbreaker. What better way to lure him out? Taylor, shrouded in darkness and power, watched as Guillame led his father towards the park she'd selected for this little rendezvous: night was falling, and the light was fading. Perfect, if she did say so herself. Heartbreaker, following Guillame, moved with confidence: slacks and white shirt and jacket, hair long and artistically ragged beard. It was very stylish, Taylor had to admit, and the man had confidence: he would probably have been reasonably attractive if she hadn't known anything about him. She shadowed the two of them as they walked towards their destination, a small rotunda where an illusion of her was waiting. Heartbreaker's power was theorised to only work on people within his line of sight: that was good enough for Taylor.
Her illusion, the one Heartbreaker was smiling at, looked a lot like her. Taylor Hebert, goth phase: black lipstick and carefully applied eyeliner. The most noticeable difference was height: Taylor was as tall as Heartbreaker, if not a fraction taller: her illusion was a more average height, and Heartbreaker's gaze at its face would have been staring at Taylor's collarbone. Taylor stepped out of the shadows, a twist of thought plastering an excited look on her illusion's face. It took a lot of effort and she couldn't quite manage adoring, but she reckoned it should be good enough. The fact that Heartbreaker's killer smile remained as he approached indicated that she'd done a good enough job, although she could feel his immediate slackening of interest. Personally Taylor thought he was a little full of himself: she wasn't a stunner, sure, but neither was he. He was handsome enough, but it had a slimy, sleazy edge that should put anyone with sense off.
"Hello, mon cher," Heartbreaker said, smooth drawl clearly practised, "Guillame said you were desperate to meet me?"
He hadn't noticed a thing was off. All he saw was her face, her figure. Taylor dipped into his thoughts for an instant and saw what he saw, the tight jeans and the boots and the close-fitting jacket. He was completely taken in by the illusion as Taylor herself walked behind him and Taylor relished Guillame's despair as his father walked into her trap.
"Mr Vasil," she wittered, "I've wanted to meet you for so, so long."
Laying it on a little thick? Probably. But Heartbreaker was definitely the type of guy who liked his women dumb and flattering. It seemed to be working. Heartbreaker leaned down and towards her illusion, a hand caressing its chin: to anyone not in the illusion it would have probably looked extremely funny. Taylor, channelling her inner Jason Vorhees, strolled towards Heartbreaker's exposed and vulnerable back, smiling all the way.
"I've just always wanted a man who's, who's, dominant," her illusion babbled, leaning into Heartbreaker's hand. Taylor was behind him now, but she could feel the smug satisfaction in him and imagine his smile. She prodded a little deeper, sensing the thought – use and discard, she's not that pretty – and rolled her eyes.
'Maybe it's me, but I've never seen the appeal of a harem. Especially when you're just dropping them after.'
"It's a lot of work. If you're so intent on sleeping through an entire city, better to do it one at a time."
'Spoken with the voice of dubious wisdom, as always. I suppose that whole barbarian hero aesthetic must be good for something.'
"Naturally. Compelling someone's loyalty is one thing: compelling someone to provide you with sexual gratification is a step too far."
'They do say that consent is sexy.'
"I've never had a chance to compare, but I believe it."
Everyone had lines they wouldn't cross. Taylor wondered where Heartbreaker's line was: not that it would ever matter. He was leaning closer to her illusion, possibly for a kiss, when Taylor stepped up behind him and clamped both hands against his temples.
"Do not use your power. Obey your Empress."
Subtle it was not: Taylor put even more power in that she had with Guillame, estimating Heartbreaker to have a stronger will than his son. She was right, but it was still overkill: Heartbreaker wasn't nearly strong enough. He slumped back against her, subjugated, and Guillame seized his chance, hurling himself at her control with all his strength. He must have expected Taylor's control to weaken now that she had two of them at her command, thinking he could use the distraction to escape. He was, unfortunately for him, utterly wrong.
"A good effort," Taylor said, shoving Heartbreaker back to his feet and turning to wag a finger at Guillame, "But not nearly good enough. I'm no conjurer of cheap tricks: I'm more than capable of multitasking."
Guillame glared at her but she dismissed him, turning back to Heartbreaker. He'd turned to her and fallen to his knees while she was looking at Guillame, awaiting her orders: she could feel him struggling against her will.
"Nikos Vasil, aka Heartbreaker. It's a pleasure to meet you, especially like this – but where are my manners? I'm Taylor, but you can call me Circaetus."
Taylor tapped a finger against her thigh-plate, thinking, before easing her control just enough that Heartbreaker could speak. Her control over his power, however, remained stronger than steel: the first order she'd given, engraved onto his bones. Unless she specifically revoked it, it would remain.
"Fuck you!" Heartbreaker spat, his French accent coming through in his fury. His body remained still but his eyes bulged as he struggled.
"Sorry, you aren't my type," Taylor said, glib, "Out of interest, have you ever had consensual sex? I just have to wonder, because you seem like the kind of guy who, you know. Can't find anyone, refuses to admit it's his personality, gets really mad about it. A loser, you know?"
He replied with a torrent of French that Taylor listened to, fascinated. The Emperor translated for her, but even he hadn't heard some of those insults. Delightful.
"Why," Heartbreaker rasped once he was done, "Why – my powers – why?"
"You aren't very bright, are you?" Taylor asked, pressing a finger against his forehead. Heartbreaker's eyes went crossed as he tried to look up at it and Taylor, for a moment, thought of how easy it would be to force her gauntleted finger through bone and into the soft brain beneath. Not yet. Not yet.
"My first order to you, Heartbreaker, the first expression of my power against you: what was it?"
Those eyes bulged further, his jaw trembling, sweat streaking down his face as he remembered the order bound into his bones.
"No. No, y – you can't. You can't!"
"Oh, you'll find I can," Taylor said, smiling like the cat that had gotten the cream, "I most certainly can. How does it feel, to be the helpless one for a change?"
Heartbreaker stared at her, completely silent and stunned. Taylor spread her hands.
"Consider this a gift, Nikos," she said, "You're getting a preview of what I can do before anyone else. Think of yourself as special, like you have done all your life, and maybe it'll dull the pain of being as pathetic as you are."
Heartbreaker blinked hard and opened his mouth and Taylor brought a finger up to her lips, tightening her control again.
"Shh-shh-shh. No talking now, I'm the one doing that. Okay, honeybunch?"
Heartbreaker glared but couldn't do anything else. Taylor nodded, satisfied.
"Now, Nikos," she said, "What I want from you is very simple. I want you to go home, to all of your victims, and release them. And if you can't do that, I want you to send the most dangerous ones to one safehouse and tell the others to turn themselves in to the PRT."
Heartbreaker fought her order with everything in him. It was almost impressive, his defiance: it was strong enough that he was even able to regain control of his mouth.
"No," he groaned. Taylor tilted her head.
"No?" she repeated, half laughing on the word, "No? You see, Guillame, this is what actual resistance looks like. Actually fighting against my command. I know you wouldn't recognise it otherwise."
Guillame smouldered with anger, but it was entirely too little to break her hold on him. Especially because, now that Taylor considered it more closely, much of it was directed at Heartbreaker.
'Hmm, not very fond of his papa.'
"They say carrot and stick for a reason. If you gave Guillame a gun and set him free, I'm not sure if he'd shoot you or Heartbreaker first."
'If he was smart he'd start with Heartbreaker and then try me. How spiteful he is. Can't imagine he had a good upbringing, though.'
"No."
Taylor stepped forwards and brought a little more power to bear on Heartbreaker, wrapping around his soul.
"Nikos," she repeated, "You're going to go home, to your victims, and set them free. And if you can't do that, you're going to tell them to turn themselves in without fighting, and send the most dangerous ones to a single safehouse. Aren't you?"
"N…." Heartbreaker strained out, teeth gritted, hands clawing at the dirt as he fought. It was laughably insufficient and Taylor just shook her head, pressing the order onto him until it sank into his very psyche. Heartbreaker slumped, his hands digging into the ground, and Taylor reached out to lift his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"And once you've done all of that, Nikos, I want you to take a gun, go to somewhere very public, and kill yourself."
If Heartbreaker had fought her earlier order he raged against this one: he struggled, he screamed in silence, he heaved and pushed against her will, alternately defiant and begging. He fought and fought and Taylor watched with detached interest as a capillary in his right eye burst, crimson spreading slowly across the white.
It was, in the end, futile.
"What are you going to do, Nikos?" Taylor gently asked. Heartbreaker met her eyes, white and red meeting her green.
"I'm…going to go home…and tell my victims to turn themselves in," he whispered hoarsely, a broken man, "And then I'm going to take a gun…and kill myself."
"In a public place, Nikos. Very public. Make a show of it."
"Yes…my mistress."
Taylor wrinkled her nose in distaste at the title, but it was good enough and she watched as Heartbreaker stumbled to his feet, brushing the dirt from his jeans. Taylor looked him over.
"Remember," she chirped, "Act natural!"
Heartbreaker didn't reply, but as he walked away his gait smoothened out into something more like the confident swagger he'd approached her with. Taylor nodded in satisfaction, feeling her control over him remaining unwavering, and turned to Guillame.
"And that's that, as they say," she said, "A happy ending, more or less. Which just leaves you. You have a gun, don't you? Give it to me."
Guillame tried not to, but his resistance was weak compared to Heartbreaker's and he took the six shooter from inside his jacket, handing it over. Taylor inspected it before letting it hang in her hand, loose at her side. She looked at Guillame, sizing him up, and shook her head.
"You know, the way you are…It's not really your fault, Guillame," Taylor said, "With a Dad like that you never really had a chance."
The revolver was heavy in her hand and Taylor imagined the roughness of the grip against her fingers, the cold of the metal. She let out a lingering breath, water vapour clouding in front of her. It was getting colder: she could smell snow on the air.
She could taste Guillame's desperate hope, strawberry sweet overlaying the stinging acid of despair.
"Your whole life's been a tragedy, with you never given a chance."
"But."
Taylor continued as though the Emperor hadn't spoken, the word only for her ears.
"But rabid dogs get put down. I'm sorry, Guillame."
His eyes had only begun to widen in realisation when she brought the gun up. The echo of the shot rang out and Taylor pulled her power around her again, fading into the background.
"No loose ends."
So, here's a question for all of you. During my downtime between finishing a chapter of Legacy and starting one for Empress - and vice-versa - I've been working on a pair of one-shots, and I wanted to see which people might prefer. I know that the fandoms probably don't cross over at all, but I thought the question might be worthwhile. So. Warhammer Fantasy - or, more accurately, Total Warhammer 3 - crossed with Dragon Age, with portions of Warhammer races being transported to Thedas in the wake of the End Times, just for the start of the Fifth Blight that forms the story of Dragon Age Origins. Or, Battletech/Mass Effect, with the Quarians making contact with the Taurian Concordat at the eve of the Second Succession War. Which do you think sounds more interesting?
Other than that not much to say, just the usual: as ever I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you again in the next one - should be in July. See you then.