Outsiders 1.4: Vials

⸻1⸻

It was quiet in the bus station, save for the paddering of small feet and sound of shifting trash. A patchwork mosaic of orange-tinted sunlight—filtered by dusty and cracked windows—casted stubby shadows on a greyhound mural painted on the stone wall. The owners of the umbra were diminutive, naked men—the curious creatures Whitney had taken to calling 'Gnomes'.

It wasn't a name that they themselves claimed, though it was an apt enough descriptor.

The gnomes, numbering about ten on this occasion, scoured the upheaved bus station. Their long beards left snake trails in the powdered debris as they searched in the small cubed lockers that were half crushed under rubble.

The stiff corpse of a woman laid upon the mess. She appeared to have been thrown through a solid stone wall and crashed into the lockers. Although the body must have been around two months old, the cold weather had left it surprisingly intact. With one notable exception; the body was missing a head.

The dead woman had a dark complexion and wore a tethered gray coat that stretched down to her knees. The coat had white fur outlining the hood, collar, and down the zipper. Interestingly, the garment had metal plates festooned under the surface like modern chainmail. On her wrist was a smooth black bracelet.

Lumbering over the pile of rock and crumpled metal, a gnome examined the bracelet thoroughly. It seemed to be some kind of communication device, albeit one far more advanced than they had come across in the desolated city. Pudgy, malleable fingers digging into the grooves, the gnome managed to get the bracelet to release.

An alarm rang out from the bracelet, and a synthesized woman's voice spoke in a haze of static. "Warning! Unauthorized removal of bracelet. Cape designated, 'Novocaine', please evacuate immediately. Repeat: Cape designated, 'Novocaine', please evacuate immediately. Failure to do so may result in harsh repercussions up to and including Quarantine Containment."

The bracelet reiterated the same information on a loop until the gnome figured out how to disconnect the automated warning system. It was a curious piece of machinery. Several of the other gnomes had gathered around, studying it with their bulging eyes. It must have been 'Tinkertech'. What a rare find!

The woman, presumably Novocaine, must have been a participant in the Endbringer fight that destroyed the city. It was the first and only parahuman body that the gnomes had come across from that particular battle. All the other fallen capes had their corpses collected and shipped out in the early days of the Quarantine, but for whatever reason this one was missed. Their loss was the gnomes' gain.

A gnome at the base of the rubble bleated loudly. Squashed under the mutilated lockers and collapsed wall was another corpse, this one a well-dressed man clutching a brief case. Emblazoned on the outside was the symbol for omega, the brand of the oppressors!

Memories of clawing futilely at sterile white walls, strung up and tortured by faceless doctors and scientists were fresh in their minds. The horseshoe-esque mark was a miasma on the soul, a harbinger of bad tidings, but what was it doing here?

Although the symbol conjured fear in their polymorphic hearts, they had to know the answer. In the paraphrased words of Sun Tzu: Know yourself and your enemy, and you will never fear the results of a hundred battles. Unfortunately, the gnomes knew neither. In this upside down city, information was worth more than gold.

The latch on the briefcase was undone, forced open by the weight of the toppled lockers pressed down on it. Inside the case, resting on cushy black foam, were several vials. Most of them were shattered, their liquid contents soaked into the squishy interior lining. Only one was still intact. The label read 'Unary: X-0-0-1-3'.

The gnome fished the vial out from the briefcase and held it in its plump hands, when it was struck hard by something from behind. Falling down, the vial rolled out of the gnome's reach. Pouncing on it was a large rat. It hissed, baring its long yellow front teeth.

The gnome bleated in response and the nine others converged on the rodent, moving with the grace of two year old toddlers. The rat grasped the glass vial in its teeth and deftly outmaneuvered the klutzy mob, jumping off several gnome faces, and scampered up the hill of rubble towards the gaping hole in the bus station wall.

Squishing together, the gnomes melded into a grotesque ball of skin and hair that rolled after the rat, tearing up terrain with an endless rotation of arms and legs which jutted out randomly. One of the many arms snatched the small animal as it leapt out the building, and they spilled into the adjacent alley.

A scurrying sound like the chattering of insect wings swarmed the alley as a horde of rats surrounded the gnome-conglomerate, popping out of trash piles and gutters. With its many hands, the blob fought off the rodents; the vermin biting chunks of putty-like flesh and ranking claws down the flabby hide. The rat with the vial ran out towards main street.

The gnome blob scooped a handful of itself and lobbed it over the rat pack. The ball splattered on the ground and began to roll. Reshaping into a full-fledged gnome, it sprinted on stubby legs into the middle of the road. The gnome lunged for the rat and was obliterated by a speeding truck, reduced to a smear on the pavement in an instant.

The rat clutching the vial disappeared down a storm drain.

⸻2⸻

The quantum truck glided down main street. The otherworldly engine purred its theremin song, serenading the early evening. Strapped to the hitch, and gouging a huge trench in the roadway, was the large containment pod that served as Oppenheimer's jail cell for the better part of a decade. Having fished it from the bottom of Lake Mendota, the machine had taken on a greenish hue as algae grew in the cracks and hinges.

"I think you just killed a gnome," Whitney commented, sticking his head out the window. He only saw it for a second ahead of being drawn under the rubbery Goodyears.

Oppenheimer gave him a sidelong glance from the driver's seat. "Uh… a gnome? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, like it's any more outlandish than anything else we've seen so far. We are literally driving a nuclear-powered truck built out of a Toyota Prius and, like, eighty toasters. Anyway, you seriously haven't seen them? They are pretty much everywhere. I've even seen them snooping around our apartment."

Addressing the woman squished and shivering in the middle seat, Oppenheimer said, "Matryoshka?"

"Y-Yes I-I've seen t-t-them too," Maddie answered through chattering teeth. She pressed herself against Oppenheimer, using the woman as a space heater. "I've taken to calling them gremlins, however, since they have such a fascination with ripping apart and collecting electronics. If we are thinking of the same creatures, that is. More importantly, why did I—the only person not immune to the cold—have to get into the freezing lake?"

"Because you're the only one with superhuman strength," Oppenheimer stated, "Did you think that we could lift that containment pod out of the water ourselves?"

"Yeah, how does that work? I thought you were some kind of zebra shapeshifter," Whitney asked.

"Zebra shapeshift—No! Looks like I'll have to go over this again. My power allows me to capture and assimilate living things, converting them into 'assets'. When channeling these assets, I have access to all their memories and abilities, including parahuman ones. But there's a catch, each new asset I acquire dilutes my own psyche, and using one for too long can temporarily cause me to lose control of my body and personality."

"Like what happened when you shifted into that blonde girl and killed Grendel," Oppenheimer chimed in.

Maddie nodded. "I had been posing as Abby Anderson almost constantly for two weeks leading up to that incident. That allowed her piece of my psyche to swell until I couldn't hold her back."

"So if you and I were to assimilate, we'd be able to harness your brute strength and my intangibility. That combination would be unstoppable," Whitney said.

"That's… no, I don't think that would work. I only have my super strength when I'm channeling all my assets at once, and for whatever reason, I cannot access any absorbed parahuman abilities as I'm doing so. It's like there's this built in blockage that I cannot circumvent."

"Damn, that sucks. I thought it'd be fun tossing cars around and stomping through the city like a roided out monster. Oh, a guy can dream…" Whitney sighed and rested his head against the window. "So why did we need to fish out the containment thingy anyway?"

"Achtung! You know how I am always half-naked?" Oppenheimer swished a hand in front of her shapely breasts, the pair restrained by a bikini top. "It's not just a personal choice, although I do rather like it. My body actually relies on solar energy to survive. The containment pod has specialized equipment that will allow me to perfect my Solar Suit—power armor that will not only keep me fully energized, but increase my latent abilities."

"Yawn. Spare me your life story. I'm bored enough already."

"Arschloch! You are the one that asked!"

The repulsors on the hood of the quantum truck fired, and they were thrust forward in their seats as the truck rocketed backwards. Pushed into the containment pod, the repulsor on the bumper triggered too and caused the vehicle to spin to a stop against an invisible wall. The outline was made barely visible by the small cloud of dust kicked up from the accident.

Maddie lifted her head, unsure what just happened. Thankful for the advanced safety features that Oppenheimer had the hindsight to implement—all while the tinker grumbled about teen drivers and crashing into supermarkets—Maddie was uninjured; though a bit shaken mentally. To her left, Oppenheimer slammed a fist repeatedly on the steering wheel and muttered about the truck, 'it's always the truck!' And to her right, the seat was empty. Whitney was missing.

A group of pick-up trucks, engines roaring and spewing black smoke, ripped around the corner and pulled up just on the other side of the invisible wall. Barbed wire was spiraled across the grills and twisted around metal spikes and daggers. A caricature of a smiling face with its eyes X-ed out was painted in red on the rusted black frames. Men poured out of the vehicles, chuckling and gripping an armory of assault weapons.

They looked back as another man hopped down from the bed of a truck. His face was obscured by a black surgical mask and sunglasses. The hair on his head was gelled into a hundred inch long spikes. The rest of the ensemble was stolen from a SWAT team, the words 'police' crossed out on the bulletproof vest. In fact, the entire squad of thugs were decked out in pilfered special ops equipment.

"Looks like our net caught a big fish today, huh boys?" said the man with spiked hair to a chorus of his minions' laughter, "Nobody ever sees it coming. A pair of Case-53s, they should sell for a pretty penny to those DVARG douchebags. The Dregs might be interested too."

"Ugh, how annoying." Sighing, Oppenheimer exited the vehicle. Tucked in the waistband of her denim shorts was her silver laser pistol, the gauges set to maximum lethality. She approached the invisible barrier and placed a hand on it. It felt like a pane of glass, smooth and cold. Oppenheimer addressed the spiky haired cape. "Can we speed this along, please? I've got shit I want to get done today, edgelord."

The cape huffed and folded his arms. Without warning, invisible spikes jutted out from the barrier and stabbed Oppenheimer in the hand, shoulder, and thigh; nearly clipping her femoral artery. The woman dropped to the ground and moaned in pain. Maddie bolted out of the truck and raced over to her fallen comrade.

"Such disrespect. It's clear to me that you fucks don't know exactly who you're dealing with. We are the Burnout Bandits, and with the Horsemen on the verge of collapsing, we are ready to stake our claim on the city. Soon, the name Urchin will be feared by every man, woman, and child in Madison. I'll be bigger than Black Death, or Novocaine, or any of those other fucking villains."

"Mein Gott, I can't believe I allowed myself to be injured by a cringey little punk wannabe," Oppenheimer grumbled, sitting up with Maddie's help. She pressed her hand to the wound on her shoulder as gold-tinged dripped down her abdomen. "It's just… so embarrassing."

"Shut the hell up, Spike. Nobody cares." Whitney grabbed Urchin by the back of the head and slammed him face-first into the barrier. The villain hissed in pain and crouched down, scuffling away from the invisible wall. Whitney ignored him and looked over at the injured Oppenheimer. "After your truck vomited me out, I came back to this? Jeez, what a sorry sight. Huh, I guess your blood really is red. I have to say, I'm kinda disappointed. I was hoping for lime green, like an alien."

"Dummkopf! Can't you at least pretend to be concerned? I'm sitting here bleeding all over the place and you're telling jokes. What a rotten child you are. Just kick that guy's ass so we can leave already."

Whitney smiled. "If you're that spirited, you can't be hurt that badly. I'm glad you're alright."

"Uh, hello? What part of 'bleeding all over the place' is 'alright' to you? Do you ever think before you sprichst?"

This guy… who is he, Urchin thought, and massaged his nose. His ability had a Thinker sub-rating that allowed him to sense everything within a certain radius around his body—vital for detecting and keeping track of his own invisible constructs—but Whitney managed to sneak up on him. The teenager had no presence at all, like he was a ghost.

Urchin stood up straight and eyed Whitney warily. He was clearly a parahuman, and one without a mask to boot. That didn't bode very well. There were only a few reasons that he could think of why a cape would forgo a mask: 1) They are strong enough to handle any threat. 2) They have nothing to lose. 3) They are making a political statement. 4) They are narcissistic glory hounds that want everyone to know their names. 5) Their civilian identity has been compromised.

Of course, the most troublesome reason would be that the cape in question isn't playing by the 'Unwritten Rules'. As their name implied, the Unwritten Rules weren't sanctioned guidelines, but rather a gentleman's code of conduct. It boiled down to no unmasking capes, no going after capes in their civilian identities or their families, and to avoid killing. And anyone that breaks these rules was liable to have every cape in the vicinity, hero and villain, collectively beat their ass.

"I saw it, Urchin." One of his men spoke, the rifle in his arms shaking, "When the truck struck your barrier, that guy flew right through it, like it was nothing."

"Impossible. Nothing goes through without my say-so," Urchin replied, though that did confirm his theory. Just fucking great. He was a gang leader for only a week and he's already come across a parahuman that can completely no sale his powers. Why did he think starting his own crime syndicate would be a good idea?

Sure, his time as a grunt member of the Horsemen was truly horrendous, but at least he didn't have to pretend to be some grandiose villain. He'd put in a few hours kicking rocks to the toothless sad sacks under the bridge, collect his pay, and spend the rest of the night playing PS2. No raiding police stations or setting up intricate roadside ambushes.

That all changed when the Simurgh made her wicked descent. The Angel of Death set the domino in motion for Urchin's chaotic Rube-Goldberg machine of fucked up destiny. During the attack, he had tried to run and hide and avoid the fighting. In the end, he witnessed great atrocities that he had since buried in the deep wrinkles of his mind.

His experience, traumatic as it was, gifted him powers. For the first time in his life, he didn't have to be generic grunt #47. He was a parahuman. He was special. People saw his power and they thought it was strong—they thought he was strong.

Their admiration was addicting. Like a vicious cycle, the more they admired him, the bigger and badder the crime Urchin had to pull to meet their ever growing expectations. How exhausting. All this power and he was longer for the days where he played video games in his underwear for hours every night?

It was too late for that now. He had no choice but to keep up appearances. After all, he was the leader of the Burnout Bandits.

"Damn it! I'm not gonna lose! With my powers, I am invincible!" Urchin screamed, wiping blood from under his crooked nose. The four walls and roof of a barrier formed around Whitney, boxing him in and plunging him into complete blackness. "I can control what enters and exits my barriers at will, including light and air. Suffocate in darkness, you piece of shit."

"Sorry, but I come and go where I please." Whitney stepped out the barrier and charged at Urchin. The villain backpedaled, never picking his feet off the ground, and created wave after wave of spiked and jagged walls. None of them could stop his advance. Clenching his fist, Whitney punched Urchin in the jaw with all his might, knocking the man to the ground. "You have superpowers, but don't get it twisted—You're not super at all."

Urchin laid there in a heap, groaning and clutching his cheek. Whitney didn't have to say anything, deep inside, he already knew that. He really sucked at this whole supervillain thing.

"You bastard!" The rest of the Burnout Bandits readied their guns.

"Okay, I think this has gone on long enough." A woman standing on top of a streetlight clapped her hands once, loud and crisp, drawing all eyes to her. The costume immediately called to mind the fable 'Little Red Riding Hood.' She wore a knee-length dress and corset that looked like they were from the 18th century, red with black frills sown on. Draped over her body was a crimson cloak that fluttered in the wind. Covering the top half of her face was a black wolf mask, the ears of which stood up like a doberman pinscher and poked up through the cloak's hood.

"Wolfgang," Urchin mumbled, pulling his surgical mask away from his face briefly to spit out a loose tooth and a helping of blood.

"Guilty," she said, and then whistled. Somehow, a pack of mechanical wolves leapt out of the reflective surface of an office building's windows, like they were portals from some other dimension, and accosted the armed criminals. The wolves were mostly covered in fur, but springs, sprockets, and gears could be seen at the joints, and their eyes glowed an inorganic red.

The Burnout Bandits open fired, bullets bouncing off their mechanical frames as the wolves started to tackle their members one by one and shake them in their jaws.

At the tail end of the robotic wolfpack was another woman, dropping out of the reflection and landing on her feet like a cat. Her hair was stark white, despite being a teenager, and she wore a mask that covered her face below the eyes. It and the rest of her costume were encrusted with well polished crystals that glittered blindingly in the daylight, practically turning her into a human disco ball.

In an extremely deadpanned voice, and with a half-assed little twirl and pose, the sparkling cape announced, "Glittering like the stars of Hollywood to grant your greatest wishes, Miracle-Mirror is here. Yip-py. Like an organ grinder monkey or a birthday clown, allow me to dance for your amusement."

Her mask shimmered every time she spoke.

"Save the snark, Mira-Mira, we have criminals to apprehend," Wolfgang commanded.

Miracle-Mirror, or 'Mira-Mira' for short, gave a salute. "Yes, Master. Right away, Master. I only lead your pet projects through several miles of Mirror World, but no, you're right; I don't need a thank you or anything. No, Ma'am, the crack of your whip is the only thanks I need. Yes-Sir-Ree! Wha-pessh! Get back to work."

Wolfgang glanced down at her young ward, the chill of death in her voice. "...Huh? What was that?"

"Okay, I'm going. Sheesh. No need to bite my head off." She grabbed off chunks of her costume and tossed them in the air. The crystals elongated into hovering flat disks that she directed out onto the battlefield. Dragging her finger across her mouthpiece, it split open and revealed her glacier blue painted lips.

"I don't know what you're doing, but I'm not just gonna stand here and wait!" One of the Burnout Bandits sprinted towards Mira-Mira, dropping his ammo-less rifle on the ground. Those robotic wolves were great bullet sponges. He grabbed a knife from his belt, intending to end things grizzly if needed. "Surrender or I'll gut you!"

Mira-Mira's lips curled almost into a smile and she opened her mouth. The instant she did, a blinding laser of white light flew out. The Bandit fell to the ground, cupping his eyes and screaming in agony. The beam continued, striking one of the floating disks, and then reflecting off before hitting the next one. Eventually, her mouth laser criss-crossed the whole battlefield, taking out swathes of armed assailants.

"Let's fall back to the truck," Maddie said, taking hold of Oppenheimer's good hand, and hauled the woman to their vehicle. Some of the men noticed their retreat, but a few blasts from Oppenheimer's silver gun made them scatter. The two crouched on the other side of the quantum truck to watch how the battle would unfold.

Whitney, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the carnage, scratching his head as he tried to keep track of what all was going on. So there were, like, cyborg wolves that jumped out of a reflection, a woman who breathes lasers, and Little Red Riding Hood; and they were fighting the poser that could make invisible barriers plus his army of criminals. He wasn't sure whether to even get involved anymore. It had escalated way beyond his expectations.

"Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Fuck, why did it have to be them?" Urchin got to his feet and waved his arm. An unseen force collided with Mira-Mira's mouth laser and bulldozed toward the young cape. Closing her mouth, she hopped into one of the disks and popped out of a different one, avoiding the attack.

"Welp, I suppose I ought to join in as well. No point in giving Mira more to complain about," Wolfgang said to herself, and stepped off the street light, landing directly on a bandit. The man crumpled to the dirt.

Another man spun around and pointed his gun at her.

Wolfgang grabbed the barrel of the assault rifle and forced the stock into the bandit's stomach, yanked it free from his grip, and used it like a bat to bash his skull. Another man tried to stab her in the back with a hunting knife, but she twisted and took hold of his wrist, breaking it in one motion. She then kneed his elbow, breaking his arm, kicked out his legs, and threw him through a window.

"What the fuck? I thought you were supposed to be a hero," a bandit commented, just before Wolfgang raked her steel-alloy claws down his face. The force of the blow took him off his feet and left deep gashes that gushed blood.

"You all have no qualms about preying on the weak—killing them with the casualness of stepping on an ant," Wolfgang said, putting her steel-toed boot on the injured man's head and slowly pressed down, "But when the situation is reversed, how quickly you pivot and start begging for mercy. I think you are confused. The rules of 'the Game' have changed. For everyone that has ever been hurt, or lost a loved one to gang violence… This is justice!"

"You're fucking insane!" Urchin exclaimed, horrified as he watched one of his own men have their skull crushed under the deranged woman's heel. "If they knew what you were doing, the Protectorate would never approve. They'd remove you from your position in a heartbeat. Justice my ass! This is unsanctioned murder!"

"Even if they knew, I doubt they would care. They gave up on this city, calling it a lost cause. I'm sure they put on a sad face for the press, 'We did all we could, but sadly it wasn't enough. Boo hoo!' and then they went back home to their families and didn't give us a second thought. Walled up and ignored, like some dirty secret.

"But that's fine with me. 'Cause even if the world gives up on this city, I never will. As leader of the Madison Protectorate, I'll do anything to save the innocent people trapped in this hellhole. The Protectorate and the PRT have been too soft on criminals for far too long. We've allowed you to grow complacent with committing crimes. I think it's about time I beat the consequences into your body!"

"Shit! Are you sure you're not the villain?" Urchin created a wall of spikes to keep the woman away from him, making a solemn vow that if he somehow made it out of this fight alive that he was going to give up all crime forever. No amount of street cred or adrenaline rush was worth this!

The asphalt beneath his feet cracked. He looked down in time to see one of Wolfgang's wolves bust out of the road and latch onto his crotch. The robot bit down and flooded his body with thick throbbing pain that sent jets of nausea vibrating up his spine. Yes, if he survived he was definitely giving up on being a supervillain.

"Oh shit! Totally not cool," Whitney commented, observing Urchin thrash and howl with morbid fascination, "originally, I was pissed because he scuffed up Hoss, but now I just kinda feel bad. This dude is, like, the unluckiest guy ever."

Wolfgang—as if noticing Whitney for the first time—narrowed her eyes. A pair of wolves flanked her on either side. The rest of the wolfpack had all the other members of the Burnout Bandits either killed or subdued, with Mira-Mira zip tying their limbs and capturing them in her mirror-esque flying disks.

"So… Who the hell are you, boy? Hero or villain?"

⸻3⸻

Echoing footsteps in the dark stairwell made her feel paranoid. It sounded like someone was following her. She stopped a couple of times to make sure she was actually alone. Resting in the crook of her arm was a bowl of salad. Taken from the hotel's freezer, the lettuce was somewhat wilted and topped with stripes of baked chicken breast. In her other hand was a floating marble of fire, a miniature sun to light her way.

The hotel had a generator, and although it had become increasingly unreliable the past few days, it was working today. There was a reason why she wanted to keep the lights off in the stairwell. She didn't want to be noticed. Besides, Mars Newland was a parahuman now. She'd always have a light in the dark.

Snuffing out the mini-sun, Mars drowned in shadows as she blindly reached for the handle to the hotel basement. The door creaked open and, like being caressed by a ghost, she felt a rush of cold air surge passed. Shivering, Mars created another sun to warm her bones and illuminate the hall.

It was kind of creepy down here. Pale linens left abandoned on clotheslines drifted lazily in the icy draft, waiting for cleaners that would never come. Carts loaded with multi-colored spray bottles and paper towels were parked along the concrete wall. Water dripped from a copper pipe overhead, plopping maddening somewhere in the darkness. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Mars walked quickly down the hall, her echoing footsteps sounding almost sinister in the eerie atmosphere. Ahead of her, a sliver of light peered out from under a door like a lighthouse beacon on a moonless night; informing her that she had reached her destination.

"Noelle, it's me," Mars said, rasping her knuckles on the door, "I brought you something to eat. Can I come in?"

She could hear a noisy shuffling on the other side, like something large was moving around. A shadow blotted out the light at the foot of the door. A mink voice replied, "Mars? Where's Krouse? He is the one that brings my meals. Just go away! I don't want you here!"

The response was expected, but it still hurt. Noelle was her best friend, and it stung that she was cast aside for Krouse, a man that they had known for less than a year. After the two started dating, Mars sensed a wedge forming between her and Noelle. However, being in this hellhole had only hastened the process.

But that didn't matter. Even if Mars was scorned or yelled at or attacked, she would never give up on a friend in need. To her, that's what a friend was. Someone who was only around when things were going good was nothing more than a passing acquaintance.

Turning the doorknob, Mars was surprised to find it unlocked. Krouse must have forgotten to lock it after he left last. Supposedly, the room was meant to be locked at all times for 'their own safety', but she didn't subscribe to that. Keeping a friend locked away in the basement like a rabid dog was deplorable. Nevertheless, she cautiously opened the door.

The room, which used to be the sleeping quarters for hotel staff, had been trashed. Claw marks were gouged into the wall, metal bed frames were crushed and mangled, and cotton from shredded cots littered the ground like great puffs of snow.

Noelle was huddled in the eye of the storm, knees pulled up to her chest and a blanket across her shoulders. Her face was haggard and sleep deprived. Hearing the door open, she looked up and saw Mars. Accompanied by a sharp intake of breath and wide eyes, Noelle scooted backwards to the far wall.

Mars caught a glimpse of pale skin as Noelle's leg briefly slipped out from under the blanket. The limb was strangely elongated and split like a fleshy cloven hoof. Little tentacles randomly sprouted and wiggled, curiously grabbing at the blanket and then sinking back below the skin.

Oh, Noelle.

"Get out of here, Mars! I told you to go away!" Noelle shouted.

"Stop it. You can't just lock yourself away from us. You're our friend—my best friend. I know you're struggling right now, but you can't honestly think that this," Mars gestured around the room with her free hand, "is a healthy way to deal with it. Please, let us help you. Don't push us away."

She calmly walked over to her friend and knelt down beside her. Holding up the salad, Mars added, "You need to eat. I made this for you."

"You don't get it at all! You all got wonderful powers, why am I the only one that got stuck looking like a… a freak! And you think what, a bowl of salad will make it all okay!?" Noelle smacked the bowl out of the other girl's hand and it spilled out all over the linoleum. She gripped her head, clawing at her scalp. "It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair! The beautiful Marissa Newland comes to save the homely little Noelle once again? A bit of charity work to make you feel better about yourself?"

"Noelle, you know it isn't like that. I—"

"Look. At. Me." Noelle spoke slowly, putting weight on each word. She stood up and ripped away the blanket, showing off her disgusting misshapen legs. While the one leg ended in a hoof, the other one was spiraled like a corkscrew and narrowed into a hard point reminiscent of a crab leg rather than a human foot. Her skin bubbled and rippled, simmering just below the surface. "How can you possibly help? You know, maybe you don't understand, but I can create a version of you that does."

Objections died on her lips as Mars watched Noelle rear back her spiraled leg and kick. The limb untwisted and whipped at her head, the sharp crab foot turning into a deadly weapon. The speed was too much for her and all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut tight. Mars felt the room shift below her feet and she collapsed into a pair of burly arms.

Opening her eyes, she met the concerned gaze of Luke. The jock held her gently as though afraid she might break. Looking around, Mars noticed that she had been teleported to the end of the hall. Back in Noelle's room, a janitorial cart had been smashed against the wall and obliterated. There was only one person she knew that could have switched her and the cart.

"Now do you see why I told you to give Noelle some space? If not for me, you'd be dead."

The smell of cigarette smoke hit her nostrils first, and she cranked her neck around Luke's muscular frame to see Krouse casually exiting the stairwell and sauntering into the basement. He fixed a piercing glare on her, like all this was somehow her fault. Oliver sheepishly followed him; along with a strange creature that looked like a mix between a dolphin, snake, and dog, padding towards her on all fours.

"Are you okay?" the creature asked in a gruff, alien voice.

"I'm fine, Jess," Mars replied, and Luke helped her to her feet. The threat of imminent death tended to make one weak in the knees. Clicking his tongue, Krouse pushed past her and vanished—a broken cart appearing in his place.

"Noelle, it's okay. I'm here," Krouse said tenderly, and the rage slowly left the girl. Noelle sank to her knees and hugged herself, eyes brimming with tears. "I kept you from hurting anyone, just like I promised. So, calm down. Okay? Just breathe."

She inched forward and reached out for her boyfriend, but Krouse leaned out of her arm span. Picking up the discarded blanket, he draped it across her shoulders and rubbed her back soothingly.

Sniffing, Noelle asked, "Why am I like this? Why can't I be normal? M-Mars, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!," her tone lowered to a velvety murmur, marred by voice cracks, "So, please… don't abandon me."

Fighting back her own tears, Mars sidestepped Luke and ran down the hall to her friend. "I know you didn't mean it! I'll always be here for you. I swear, I'll find a way to help you. So don't worry."

Before she could make it back to Noelle's room, Mars found herself standing next to Luke again; further up the hall was a confused looking Oliver.

Damn it, Krouse!

"That's enough excitement for today," Krouse said sharply, and moved to the bedroom door, "Noelle needs to rest."

He slammed the door shut and they could hear the lock click.

Mars sprinted to the door and banged on it. "Krouse! Krouse! Open this door!"

"Hey, hey! Easy, girl." Luke grabbed her arm and pulled her away. "I get that you're worried for her, and I know you're pissed at Krouse, but he's not wrong. Noelle does need some time to gather herself. And this isn't helping anyone."

"Why don't we all head back up to the lobby? I'll make us all some dinner," Oliver suggested.

Mars huffed and straightened out her ruffled clothes, acquiescing with a muttered, "Fine."

Accepting that she wasn't going to flipout again, Luke and Oliver went up the stairs. Jess's otherworldly projection brushed against her, and Mars petted it like it was a real dog and not a five foot tall lizard dachshund with a dolphin snout. The creature spoke, "Don't forget. You can rely on us too. You don't have to fight alone."

"Thanks, Jess."

"Ugh, do you even listen to yourselves talk? This isn't a game or an anime. Give me a break," said a teen hidden in the shadows under the first flight of stairs. Sitting on the floor, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, was Cody. One of his eyes was swollen and purple; a yellowish imprint of a fading bruise decorated his cheek. He looked up at them, beanie askew on his head. "'You're not alone, you'll always have me!' What's next, the power of friendship will save the day? Hypocritical bullshit; doesn't impress me."

"Stuff it, Cody. Now's not the time for this," Jess replied, "You should be grateful that we even allowed you to stay with us."

"Oh, yes! Thank you, my goddesses, for allowing a lowly worm such as myself to live here in squalor, eating pillow mints and shit scrapped off the bottom of the freezer. I just love being everyone's punching bag. You're all basically saints," he spat.

"What do you want?" Mars sighed out a question. Perspicaciously exasperated, she stood with a hand on her hip. Not in the mood for games, she might just end up torching him if this proved to be a waste of time.

Sensing this from her grim veneer, Cody climbed to his feet using the wall for support and showed her his hands. "Relax, I'm not trying to pick a fight right now. One black eye is enough."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe," Jess commented.

"Yeah, well, believe it or not—it's true. You want to find a way to cure Noelle from her power aids or whatever, and I think I might have an idea on where to start." Cody reached into his hoodie and pulled out an empty vial. The label read 'Vestige: M-0-0-4-2' and had a crooked horseshoe logo. "We gained our powers from drinking these, but have you given much thought about who made them?"

"Wait, have you been carrying that in your pocket this whole time? That was, like, two months ago, dude."

Mars studied the vial, rubbing a finger across her lips in deep thought. "No, I get what you're saying. If there is someone, or more likely an organization, that is capable of manufacturing bottled superpowers. Then it would stand to reason that could know how to undo the effects and take powers away."

Cody nodded. "Exactly."

"But what I don't get is why bring this up now? And why talk to us about it—not Krouse?"

"Is that a serious question? Obviously, I'm not gonna tell that bastard anything. Who do you think did this to my eye," Cody grumbled and pointed at his face, "And the reason you were able to speak with Noelle alone was because he was on a smoke break. Do you really want a flaky leader like him? I sure as fuck don't. The sooner we get Noelle back to normal, the sooner we can ditch that douchebag."

"So, you came to us because out of everyone, besides yourself, we like Krouse the least. Is that it?"

"Not just that. Listen, I've got a lead on a guy downtown that's been collecting vials, but rumor has it that the dude is a total freak show. Since I don't want to die, I figured some back-up would be nice."

"And by back-up, you mean us?" Jess asked.

"Uh, yeah? No duh." Cody shrugged.

Mars sighed. "Fine. It's not like we have a better idea. Where is this guy located?"

"Where else? St. Mary Hospital, where this whole nightmare began."

⸻4⸻

The muffled screams of humans was a sonnet of poetic justice to the ears. It pleased Rat King almost as much as the classic rock blaring through the hospital's PA system. The tinny sound of six-string guitars and wailing vocals choked by the outdated speakers made him nostalgic for a time he doesn't remember. If there was a single saving grace for all of humanity, it would be their music.

And even then—a lot of it was shit.

Rat King sat in the top row of seating of the Operating Theater, a monarch on his throne. His thick, pink tail fit perfectly in the gap between the hard plastic seat and the backrest, curling around where the base was bolted to the tile floor. Unlike human kings, Rat King's crown was organically grown, blooming from his head as a pair of antlers.

Thankfully, he didn't look human at all. In many ways, he looked more like a rat that learned to speak English and stand on two legs. It was better that way.

Humans disgusted him, and none disgusted him more than these 'Doctors' and 'Nurses'. They propagate themselves as palisades of Humankind, vallum keeping atrocious diseases at bay, but all Rat King could recall was the years of torture and abuse suffered at their hands. All in the name of science. All in the name of progress.

Where was their progress now?

Shrieking into leather gags, and with their arms strapped to their sides, a herd of doctors and nurses bumbled around the Operating Room. Fruitlessly, they kicked at the locked door and looked up at him with wide eyes. A few had sparks of outrage in their glares, but most just tumultuously gazed in terror.

Shifting in the chairs next to him were Rat King's dear compatriots—loyal subjects that appeared as every bit the inhuman monster as he himself, naturally. They watched the humans scramble and cry in desperation with expressions of attentive jubilation.

The Age of Humankind was over. No longer did they have to suffer as lab rats. Now it was their turn; the Age of the Dregs.

A rat filtered into the room, popping up from a drain in the floor. Squeaking, it scaled the wall. Clamped in its mouth was a vial of liquid. Holding out his palm, the rodent dropped it into Rat King's awaiting hand.

Excellent timing.

Caressing it with a smile, warped and strange on his rat-like face, Rat King leaped out of his seat and onto the railing separating the observer's balcony from the lower Operating Room. Perched in a squat with perfect balance on the thin rail, tail swishing, he held up the vial. "Humans! It's time for a Rat Race! And your grand prize—instant superpowers. Shake off your shackles of humanity and stride into the realm of monsters…

"…Any takers?"

Pushing and shoving each other, the medical professionals jumped at the wall below Rat King, prostrating teary-eyed and muzzled. He tilted his head back and laughed, a harsh cackling titter that burst into a guffaw. An armada of rats flooded the room from the smallest nooks and crannies, jumping onto the railing beside their master. Their incessant chittering sounded like canned applause, mocking the desperate humans.

The cameras fastened to the edge of the ceiling cranked into position. The red light vicinal to the lens blinked on as the device focused on the trapped people. Rat King glanced at it, then back down at his captive audience.

"It sounds like you all are ready to play. Just be sure to put on a good show for all those nice folks watching at home," Rat King proclaimed, and lowered his voice to a suave whisper like he was telling them a secret, "People love a good bloodbath…"

End of Chapter

⸻Author's Note⸻

With this exceedingly long chapter, all major groups have been introduced (sorta, if not vaguely) and most of the basic groundwork has been laid; we can now move into the actual plot of the Arc. The outline in my notes is pretty chaotic, and confusing at times, but ironically I think that suits the vibe of this story.

To help keep track, here is a brief overview of all the factions in the Quarantine Zone:

Chaotic Neutrals:

-Main Trio: Whitney Geist (Ghost), Oppenheimer (Leader, sorta), Maddie (Matryoshka).

-The Travelers: Noelle (no cape name; Leader), Krouse (Trickster; de facto Leader), Marissa 'Mars' (Sundancer), Luke (Ballistic), Jess (Genesis), Oliver (no cape name), Cody (Perdition)

-The 'Gnomes': …They're gnomes. Do they have a leader? Hmm, I wonder…

Chaotic Heroes:

-Madison Protectorate: Wolfgang (Leader)

-Madison Wards: Miracle-Mirror 'Mira-Mira' (on loan from Los Angeles)

Chaotic Villains:

-Burnout Bandits: Urchin (Leader)

-The Horsemen: Black Death (Leader), Novocaine (deceased), Sasha (powerless normie)

-DVARG: Chimera (Leader), Grendel (deceased), Pressgang

-The Dregs: Rat King (Leader)

These factions have more members than what are listed here, obviously. I only added the capes/hench-people that have been mentioned by name or already debuted in the story, and have some—no matter how benign—relevance to the overarching plot.

P.S. I'm not 100% sure how Noelle's power worked in canon, but for the sake of this story just know that she'll look fairly human and progressively mutate worse over time. It's kinda an important plot point, especially later in the story.

Jerkwaterly Yours,

A Horseshoe Crab

Chapter Word Count: 7,325

Arc Word Count: 25,701

Story Word Count: 25,701