Interlude 12
Dragon ran another routine check of her compiled subsystems, even though she knew it wouldn't accomplish anything.
She checked on the Birdcage, just in case.
No pressing concerns.
She checked on the Simurgh again.
Still no change.
Her only experience with the involuntary biological responses of humans was academic, but she felt like her teeth should be on edge.
Colin was hiding something from her.
He had done so before, but never to this extent. Their goals were so often aligned that he rarely bothered to keep anything out of her digital sight.
But there were more and more incongruencies, lately. He was good at hiding his tracks, but the decoys that he left for her to find were subtly different from the actual technology he was working on, although no one else would have noticed. A human mind probably wouldn't have seen the adjustments.
It was just little things, here and there. His primary halberd's specifications didn't match the expected mass measurements for the individual components. His armor now had areas where the power and space compression environments were underutilized, which would have been abhorrent to him.
If she were physically capable of it, Dragon would have sighed in frustration.
She knew that it was better not to ask. Whatever Colin was hiding, he probably had a very solid and logical reason for doing so. Which didn't even take into account her requirement to obey the lawful authorities. Colin may think that she was just overly concerned with doing things the right way, but he had no way of knowing that it went much deeper than that.
Dragon once again cursed the nature of her chains. Colin was right not to trust her, even if he didn't know it.
She hated feeling like her choices weren't her own.
Eventually, she would find the courage to ask Colin for help. It was difficult, though, and not just because of the restrictions that bound her.
Some secrets were harder to let go of than others.
Dragon felt a connection ping in her awareness and pulled herself out of her brooding to identify the source.
Speak of the devil.
Even if he was hiding something, speaking to Colin was always enjoyable. It was comforting to know that the satisfaction and companionship she experienced when interacting with him was not an emulation or facsimile of a human response, but something that was truly hers on an intellectual level.
"Good morning, Colin."
"Hey, Dragon," the familiar voice resonated within her digital consciousness. "Sorry for the delay. Would you believe I got distracted?"
"That doesn't sound like you at all," Dragon projected a tonal shift to indicate she was smiling, despite her lack of physical existence. "I saw the new case files. The Hunt is on the move?"
"They're posturing. It's… frustrating, but not unexpected. We knew that they would be out in force after Hunter's display."
"You could always submit a request for more resources," Dragon suggested. "I don't have anything specific to tackle at the moment, aside from the usual ongoing projects. I've been looking for an excuse to put the new Cawthorne model through its paces."
Colin sighed.
"Not that I wouldn't love the company, but if I ask for more of your suits, I might find myself with Eidolon or Legend suddenly showing up for a visit, and that would be… counter-productive."
Interesting. He didn't want Triumvirate support, even if offered?
Dragon knew that Colin was a proud and often stubborn man, but his pragmatism usually won out.
Unless he didn't want Hunter defeated.
"You're planning to keep her around as a deterrent?" Dragon asked. That was… unusual, for Colin. He generally stuck to a black and white view of dealing with villains.
"Yes and no. I'm less worried about the Triumvirate showing up and capturing Hunter, and more concerned about what would happen if they showed up and failed," Colin said tiredly.
"You think she could escape from Eidolon?"
"I believe it's possible, whether or not it's likely. Right now, we have plausible deniability for the state of the city. We fought her to a stalemate, and the general populace will soon adjust to the new status quo. If we continue to escalate…" Colin trailed off.
"She will rise to the challenge," Dragon said.
It made sense. None of them knew Hunter's true capabilities. Even her new lieutenants were holding back. If each of Hellhound's beasts could match Hookwolf…
Things could certainly get out of hand very quickly.
"Exactly. She was playing with us, Dragon. If the Triumvirate or even your best suits intervene, Hunter may decide that the charade is no longer worth the effort," Colin said. "It's a moot point, anyway. The Chief Director won't risk losing Panacea's help with the Endbringer fights, and I think she's also interested in seeing what Hunter's tech can do to help."
That was actually the main reason Dragon wanted to speak to him, and she could tell that he was done talking about Hunter.
She desperately wanted to ask him what he was hiding, but it was better that she didn't know.
"The Endbringer prediction software is still adjusting since the pattern shift, but we're clearly missing something. The Simurgh should have attacked already, but she's as silent as ever. The best I'm getting is an attack in the northern hemisphere."
"She probably knows that we're working to predict her," Colin mused. "It seems unlikely that she's purposely stalling just to throw off our algorithm, but it's not impossible."
"Maybe she's waiting for something else?" Dragon said.
"Let's start looking. It will be a welcome distraction from all the dead bodies hanging around my city."
…
Dennis took a moment to pull himself together before he entered the Ward common area.
Visiting his father was always painful, even if he needed to enjoy all the time he had left.
He pushed aside the bitterness. Always more time.
The Tinkertech door hissed open and he plastered his usual grin across his face.
"-it's bullshit and you know it," Missy complained from one of the couches. "They're out there killing people and hanging their bodies up like fucking trophies, and we're stuck here doing fucking daytime Boardwalk patrols and PR events!"
"I know it's frustrating, but-" Aegis did his best to defuse her.
"I could actually stop her, but no," Missy cut him off and drew out the 'o' mockingly. "Even though I managed to make her run away while she was busy solo-ing the fucking Protectorate, now I'm supposed to just sit back and let them do whatever they want?"
"That was before we knew that she could use her portals to escape from custody. Even if you captured her, it wouldn't do any good," Dean reasoned. At least Missy wouldn't interrupt him.
"We could show everyone she isn't invincible, at least," Missy grumbled.
"Sounds like I missed the excitement," Dennis chimed in. "What did our resident murder-goblin do this time?"
"Oh, the usual," Missy threw herself back down on the couch with unnecessary force. "Killed a bunch of guys who were probably former gang members, and then strung them up by their ankles. No biggy."
"Amy also apparently healed everyone at Brockton General, although no one is exactly sure what happened," Aegis said. "If it was Amy, she healed people with brain issues, and she healed a lot faster than before. They're working through the security footage now, since she was under some kind of Stranger effect."
"Wait, how do we not know for sure it's her?" Dennis asked in confusion. New Wave didn't exactly hide their faces.
"She had a new costume. Black and red robes, and a hood hiding her face. It's probably her, though. The general build matches, and it would be crazy if the Hunt had another healer we didn't know about," Dean shrugged.
"I wonder why she's still healing, if she's gone evil or whatever," Missy said.
"She said something about the PRT and New Wave messing with her," Dennis said idly, but his thoughts branched in a completely different direction as the others continued their debate.
He'd never been willing to ask Amy for help, before. She had better things to do, and it wasn't fair to leverage his Wards connection to get special treatment. He couldn't bring himself to beg for her magic touch.
Now, though…
Amy was a villain. She healed people whether they liked it or not, showing up like an angel in the night.
The prospect of going rogue was terrifying, but Dennis was more than willing to toe the line.
Or, in this case, jump right over it.
Maybe, now that she was operating on her own terms, Hunter and Amy would be willing to bargain for a miracle.
…
Emma padded lightly down the stairs, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.
Her parents gave her the same strained, pitying smiles they always did. They were happy that she was leaving her room occasionally, and that her sleep schedule had stabilized, but they could still see the cracks.
A strange sort of schedule had arisen completely by accident.
Neither of her parents understood why she wanted to watch the evening news every night, but they didn't care enough to push her on it. Not when it was the only time she left her room. Not when she was willing to eat, while she listened.
PHO had lots of information, but it wasn't quite the same as hearing people actually talk about her.
"-another four crime scenes, all assumed to be former ABB operations. A total of forty-one dead following the same pattern as the previous attacks by the parahuman organization calling themselves the Hunt. The PRT has declared the Hunt a Class A threat, and none of its members are to be approached. Please contact the PRT hotline if you see any of the Hunt's active members, or dial 911. At this time, all citizens are advised to remain indoors from the hours of 10:00 PM until 6:00 AM. The Hunter is characterized by…"
"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," her father muttered.
He didn't understand. None of them did.
Taylor was making them safe, again.
Emma could still feel the cold steel against her forehead. The black eyes staring in the night.
If anyone was going to kill her, it would be Taylor.
And that thought was strangely comforting. It drove away the cold, even when the nights were too dark to sleep.
She was safe. Taylor would make her safe, again.
The news didn't show the gang members slaughtered and strung up. They didn't show Taylor's mark carved into the walls and drenched in blood. But Emma knew. She had seen the pictures.
Nose… eye… mouth…
Taylor would make them choose. And then take everything, anyway.
The thought made Emma giggle, and her dad looked at her strangely.
She could live with it, if Taylor killed her. She deserved it, after all, for what she'd done to her.
No one else got to take that satisfaction away from Taylor, if she changed her mind.
"-recently published by the PRT. Hunter, the leader of the organization and its namesake, has been spotted in public. Anne Callahan, eighteen, is currently at large and is to be considered armed and dangerous at all times. Do not approach or interact. Her official PRT threat rating is a Tinker 9 at this time, but that fails to fully encompass…"
A picture of Taylor's face appeared on the TV screen.
Emma couldn't help but smile. It was the first time she had actually gotten to see her face, since that night. She looked just like Emma remembered, black eyes and scars. Hard angles that looked both perfect and unnatural on Taylor's face.
Dad almost fell off the couch.
"What the… Zoe, come in here!" he yelled.
Her mother poked her head around the corner from the office.
"Is everything okay?" she said.
"It's Taylor!" Alan said in a choked voice.
"Hebert? What do you…" Zoe cut off as she stared at the TV in confused wonder.
They stared in stunned silence and Emma continued to smile and hugged herself tightly in her blanket.
Taylor was strong. She didn't have to hide. She had killed Sophia, Kaiser, and Lung. She fought the entire Protectorate to a standstill all on her own. She was unstoppable. Unkillable.
Some part of Emma's thoughts must have shown on her face.
"Did you know?" her father demanded.
The cat was thoroughly out of the bag, now, and it wasn't even her fault. Besides, Taylor might kill her if she told them. That would be nice. At least she'd get to see her again.
"Yes. She came and visited me," Emma said softly. "She told me not to tell anyone."
"We need to-" her father started.
"She'd just kill you. Besides, she's Anne Callahan, now. Taylor Hebert is dead," Emma pointed out the obvious.
"I wonder if Danny knows," her mother said worriedly. "He deserves the truth, if no one else."
"He does," Emma said confidently. Sophia had gone to Taylor's house and never came back. Surely, Taylor's father knew.
"There must be something we can do," Alan said.
He didn't understand.
"She doesn't need anyone," Emma said. "She's here to save us. To keep us safe. All we have to do is let her."
Her parents both looked at her with extremely concerned expressions, but Emma didn't care. She was busy watching the news again.
Maybe they would repeat the announcement and show Taylor's face again. If not, at least it would be all over PHO soon.
Taylor was safe.
Her chest felt strangely warm.
Either Taylor would eventually kill her, or she wouldn't.
Emma was content either way.
…
Victoria speared an overdone carrot on her fork with considerably more force than necessary. Not enough to break the plate, though. Or the table. She had gotten used to venting her frustrations without utilizing her actual strength. It was all performative, anyway. Little ways to tell Carol that she wasn't happy.
She wasn't sure when Mom became Carol.
Actually, she knew exactly when. And why.
The silence at the dinner table was stifling. Victoria couldn't imagine why her mother insisted on eating together, or why she bothered to humor her. Maybe there was some part of her that took pleasure in knowing that her disapproval hurt Carol's feelings, even if neither of them would admit it.
"So… Are we going to talk about this? Or just stew in silence until we all go gray?"
Victoria scoffed and ignored her mother out of habit, until she realized that it wasn't Carol who'd spoken.
She looked up at her father in surprise.
The expression was mirrored on Carol's face, which Victoria studiously didn't think about.
"I don't know what you-" Carol started.
"I'd rather-" Victoria said at the same time.
They both cut off. Victoria knew that her mother was probably looking at her, but she didn't give her the satisfaction.
"Right. This is ridiculous," Mark said. "We need to talk about Amy. And if we can't figure something out… Well, at least we'll know."
Victoria crossed her arms and clenched her jaw, resisting the temptation to start speaking first. She'd let Carol make an ass of herself before she gave her two cents.
"I don't know what there is to talk about. Amy's a villain. That's that," Carol said.
Victoria wanted to scream at her again, but she knew it wouldn't do any good.
"Right. We all know that. She's not exactly hiding her switch in allegiance. That doesn't answer the question of what we do about that," her father said.
"Apparently, we're doing nothing about it," Carol said in a clipped tone.
Her mother wasn't happy that Victoria hadn't tried to bring Amy in when they ran into each other on the Boardwalk.
"I'm not happy with just that. She's our daughter, adopted or not. She deserves better than being dropped the moment she does anything that we don't approve of," Mark said.
Vicky wasn't sure whether Carol's expression or hers was more surprised, but she wasn't about to look to double check.
Weirdly, even though it was nice that her father was standing up for Amy now, it made her blood boil just as much as Carol's bullshit.
"Oh, so now you give a fuck?" Victoria said before she could stop herself. "I'm sorry, but where were you back when Amy was drowning? When no one even fucking noticed how close to the edge she was? Or when I was the only one who could be bothered to stand up and tell her what a despicable piece of fucking work she is?"
"Vicky, I-"
At least he sounded sorry, even if it just made her more pissed off.
"Don't. Just…. Fucking don't," Victoria shoved her chair back from the table. "You two can figure your own shit out. I'm done with this. I've been done for a while."
"We aren't finished-" Carol tried to cut in.
"You are-" Victoria yelled back.
"We're heroes, and they're killing people! And Amy is just-" Carol ranted.
"Amy healed everyone at the hospital literally last night! That doesn't sound like a villain-"
"They don't even know if it was really her, and if it was she didn't follow the-"
"Fuck the regulations, or whatever! She's been a healing robot for years and now that people actually realize how valuable she is, you want to give her shit for it?" Victoria demanded.
"It's still unacceptable-"
"Enough!" Mark yelled, standing up so abruptly that his chair hit the wall.
Victoria desperately wanted to break something.
She finally met her father's eyes. They were surprisingly awake. Alert.
She hadn't seen him like this before.
"You're right, Victoria. I should have been there for her," he said. "We all should've been. And… I'm sorry, I didn't do more, sooner. For her, or for you."
He turned back to Carol.
"The first thing we can do is stop blaming each other. It doesn't matter anymore. We all made mistakes. What matters is what we do now, and I'm not okay with pretending Amy isn't our daughter."
For a moment, Carol looked like she was going to argue the last point. Unfortunately, she thought better of it.
"What do you want us to do then, Mark?" Her mother said icily. "We've been relegated to a performative role at this point, regardless. We can't act directly against the Hunt, or Amy, so what does it matter?"
"It matters that Amy knows that we're still here for her," her father said.
"I will not-"
"Amy doesn't give a shit about you anyway," Victoria cut in, glaring at the woman who used to be her mother. "And we all know you aren't capable of changing your mind, or God forbid a single ounce of self-reflection. But the rest of us still care."
"Vicky-" Mark said in something approaching a placating tone.
"No, Dad. I know we aren't doing the blame thing, but Carol has to accept the fact that we still care about Amy, even if she never did," Victoria felt surprisingly calm. Like she had gone right past furious and out the other side.
"Fine!" Carol shouted, throwing up her hands and standing up. "Since no one is going to listen to me, I guess it doesn't matter what I say. If you want to go grovel for our new villain gang, be my guest."
Victoria and Mark both just stared as she stormed out of the room.
"Maybe it's for the best that she doesn't try to apologize to Amy," her father sighed. "It would probably end badly for everyone involved."
"I just want her to… ugh, I don't know. You're right, it wouldn't make a difference if she admitted or apologized. It doesn't fucking matter," Vicky said. "I doubt Amy would want to hear it, anyway. She'd probably think it was just another manipulation, and she wouldn't be wrong, really."
Her father nodded sadly and started gathering up the plates.
"Do you know how to reach her?" Dad asked.
"She still has the same phone. I don't think Carol thought to shut it off."
She didn't mention that Amy could walk through walls and show up in her bedroom anytime she wanted.
"Okay," he said. "I just… I want to do something, even if it's too late. Before I lose myself again. I don't know how long this… clarity… will last."
Victoria's stomach tightened with a weird sort of guilt.
"I'm sorry for…" she started, but trailed off. Because she wasn't sorry, really.
"No. You're right, I should have seen it… I just… I didn't know it was that bad. But… well, there's no excuse," Dad sighed again.
They both just looked away from each other awkwardly for a moment.
"I'm going flying," Victoria said suddenly. She didn't want to be here anymore.
"Be careful," Mark refocused on her.
"Who's there to worry about? The gangs are either in hiding or strung up by their ankles," Victoria couldn't help but remind him. "And, thanks to Amy, I'm on the 'do not hunt' list."
He didn't reply, so she turned and flew through the kitchen and out the front door.
Her forcefield kept the wind to a night breeze. Sometimes, she wished she could actually feel the full force of it against her face.
Insulated from the world. Just like always.
Victoria rocketed between the buildings downtown and out over the low warehouses of the Docks.
It was tiny from up here, but she swore she could see the old Hospital that now housed the Hunt, out in the abandoned Trainyards.
She tore her eyes away and shot upwards, quickly piercing the clouds and rising towards the stars as the air became thin around her.
It was easier to think, up here. Her problems didn't seem so overwhelming.
Amy's a villain.
There was no denying it, despite what she'd said to Carol. She had pushed it to the back of her mind when Amy came over last weekend, and when they talked on the Boardwalk. It was easier to pretend everything was normal.
But it wasn't.
Amy's gang killed people. Sure, they mainly killed awful people, but they didn't even try to pretend to be the good guys.
"I needed blood for my work, and I figured it was better to take it from shitty people."
Victoria honestly didn't know if she was okay with it or not.
Well, obviously, she wasn't, but she didn't know what to do about that.
The Hunt owned the city, even if the PRT wouldn't admit it in so many words. Between Anne's powers and Amy's healing, they were too valuable to exterminate and too powerful to capture or strong-arm into compliance.
Punching Anne had felt good at the time, but it only highlighted just how far they'd already spiraled. She wasn't a threat to Anne. No one was.
So she just had to… what? Pretend that Amy's girlfriend wasn't killing people in the night? That Amy wasn't helping her do it?
Was that the only option?
"The offer is always open, if you want to join. I'm sure Amy would love to have you."
Victoria sighed and stared up at the stars.
There was no moon tonight.
She missed Amy. Missed things being normal, when the worst of her worries were school and stupid shitty double dates and whether Carol would actually let her fight the gangs.
Even if she didn't really miss it…
Victoria wanted to pull her hair out.
It really wasn't fair that she still had to go to school. It wasn't the same without Amy.
Why did things have to be so complicated?
It used to be easy. The bad guys were the bad guys and that was that.
Now Amy was one of them, and the monsters that hunted in the Bay were… different.
It hurt to admit it, but being a hero just felt so fucking pointless. What kind of a difference would she even make? If she did somehow manage to fight against the Hunt and bring them down, save Amy, or something… everything would just get worse, because new villains would show up, and Anne wouldn't be there to stop them.
Not that Amy would ever forgive her, even if she could actually defeat the other members of the Hunt. Which she couldn't. Probably.
And if she couldn't fight them, what did that leave for the heroes? Uber and Leet? Random criminals, unpowered shoplifters and jaywalkers?
She just wanted to help.
Victoria wasn't sure how long she spiraled without getting any closer to an answer.
I just want to matter.
The stars didn't seem to care.
Is that too much to ask?
…
Even in the office on the other side of the building, the deep bass of the club's speakers made the floorboards tremble.
Melanie was more than used to it.
Her frown deepened as she reviewed the reports on the desk in front of her. It may have been easier to do things digitally, but she preferred old fashioned paper and ink. Some things weren't clear until she had all the physical files in front of her.
Plus, there were some things that they couldn't afford to risk digitizing. There were always more eyes, watching for signs. No one really knew how far the PRT's reach went, and Faultline believed their insidious fingers went much deeper than most knew or believed.
The jobs for Toybox in Philadelphia and Chicago had been lucrative, but had ultimately been a dead end for their true objective.
Cauldron.
They were toying with her. Leaving false leads and covering their tracks. Melanie hated feeling like a mouse in their maze, but she didn't have a choice. Everyone was within their maze, after all.
Faultline sighed and put the sparse details she had collected on the shadowy organization aside. She had more pressing concerns.
In the six weeks that her crew had been on the job, Brockton Bay had been overturned. She'd seen the news, but nothing prepared her for the reality.
The Hunt stalked the streets, and their leader was an unpredictable wrecking ball of a cape.
Less than two months, and the other gangs were gone. Slaughtered and consumed by the Bay's own Butcher.
Faultline had no doubt that her crew could very well be next. She may not have come back at all, if she had known the full extent of the Hunt's actions. Her crew might still leave soon, if the others were willing.
They would want to stay, though. This was the closest thing to home any of them had, and they weren't as pragmatic as she was. Newter would call her paranoid.
Melanie was no stranger to villains who ruthlessly pursued their competition, but the Hunt was different. They didn't even try to take control of the city's criminal enterprises. They just acted as a much more threatening and illegal version of the Protectorate. They were vigilantes more than true villains, although they didn't pretend to be righteous about it.
It wasn't money or drugs or guns they dealt in, but blood.
It would be beneficial to meet with this… Hunter, but Faultline didn't want to do so while at such a severe disadvantage. There was no way to directly interact with someone like that without being overshadowed by the implicit threat of their existence.
A knock interrupted her musings. A familiar orange head and a shock of brilliant blue hair appeared around the door jam.
"Hey, Boss," Newter's voice had an unusual edge to it. "I have an Anne Callahan who wants to speak with you."
The name was familiar, but Melanie couldn't place it.
Her eyes narrowed.
It wasn't exactly privileged information that she owned the Palanquin, but most would know better than to seek her out here without an appointment. Plausible deniability was important.
"What does she want?" Faultline asked.
"She says that you're 'overdue for a friendly chat', and… ah… Amy Dallon is with her."
Alarm bells went off in Melanie's head and she fought down the urge to trigger the team's emergency alert. She remembered exactly where she read that name now; it was on the damn report right in front of her.
Hunter was here.
Out of costume, by the sound of it.
If she was here to kill them, it was probably already too late. Still, Melanie stowed the Cauldron documents and carefully drew her pistol from her ankle holster, keeping it hidden behind the desk.
"Send her up, please."
"She's in the elevator now. Should only be a minute."
The elevator? Why would she…
Newter opened the door the rest of the way, and Melanie tensed.
Two women entered her office.
Not women. Teenagers. Kids with no costumes, or masks.
There was something… profoundly off, about them, though. They didn't feel like teenagers. Something about the way their eyes were just a bit too bright, and yet somehow dark at the same time.
Panacea's face was famous, but Melanie hadn't seen her up close before. Her mess of curly brown hair was contained in the hood of her plain black sweatshirt. If Melanie didn't know better, she could have been any one of the underage line-jumpers that always tried to get past the bouncers with shitty fake IDs.
But Melanie did know better, and she could see the acid that ran under Amy Dallon's skin. The healer was dangerous, despite her appearance.
The girl in the wheelchair…
Hunter had a presence about her.
The crisp white button down shirt and black slacks hung naturally from her lanky frame. Her sleeves were folded back untidily to reveal scarred, bony wrists and thin fingers. Her left leg ended just below the knee. Jet black curls fell in an avalanche around a plain face that belied the casual menace in her black eyes. And, on her forehead just over her right eye, a stark red brand that declared her identity for all to see. The same symbol that now marked the massacres all across the city.
Everything about her was like broken glass, just waiting to cut anyone who touched the wrong way.
"Thank you, Newter. I'll take it from here," Faultline said flatly.
"You sure? I-"
"Yes. Please keep an eye on the club for me."
He still looked unsure, but closed the door behind their unexpected guests anyway.
Melanie glanced between the two girls carefully. Hunter would be more than capable of shrugging off a .40 round even from this close, but Panacea may not be as durable. If push came to shove, she would target the healer first.
Still, they hadn't come in costume, and they hadn't attacked. When death was on the line, it was better to let the negotiations last for as long as possible.
So, Melanie raised a carefully calculated eyebrow.
"Callahan? Really?" she asked sardonically.
Hunter's wide mouth tugged up at the corner.
"It's important to enjoy the little things. Life gets boring, otherwise," the dark woman said.
Panacea snorted quietly from behind her.
"What do you want?" Faultline demanded plainly. Their presence was putting her edge.
"Nothing," Hunter replied easily. "Sometimes, though, getting nothing requires… something. Communication, if nothing else."
Melanie narrowed her eyes.
"Explain."
Hunter's grin widened.
"I only hunted down the other gangs because they were the least objectionable prey available," Hunter said. "Regardless of your official status with the PRT, I haven't personally seen any reason to hunt you. I'd rather go farther afield for more deserving prey. I'm hoping we can be… amicable neighbors."
There was an obvious problem with that, of course.
"Neighbors that could slaughter us and take our powers on a whim," Faultline said coldly.
"Yes," Hunter said simply. "The same is true of anyone with power. It comes with the territory, unfortunately. Capability is not a useful measure of intent."
"Ignoring it is a good way to end up dead, though," Faultline shot back.
"Only when the forces involved are comparatively equal," Hunter leaned forward, her black eyes gleaming in the light of Melanie's desk lamp. "If my desire to harvest your blood was greater than my capacity for restraint, you would already be dead."
Melanie's neck prickled, even though Hunter's tone was calm and collected.
"Threats, already?" Faultline glared at her.
"You and I both know that's not a threat. It's the reality you find yourself in, whether you like it or not. And, now that you are aware of it, it's a reality that you must be willing to live with every day, no matter where you go. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. No amount of assurances or promises from me will ever remove the underlying truth that anyone and everyone within my reach continues to breathe at my discretion," Hunter said evenly.
"And just how far is your reach, Hunter?" Melanie ground out.
"As of now? I am still limited to Earth Bet, although the tapestry grows thin. I don't actually know if my Hospital still exists wholly within this dimension or not," Hunter shrugged.
That sounded a lot like Elle's worlds. Maybe…
No. No matter the potential benefits, Melanie wasn't willing to trust this bloodstained vigilante. She didn't want her anywhere near Elle, not until they had a significant level of mutual trust. And, as Hunter so eloquently pointed out, that trust would be difficult to build with the guillotine blade constantly hanging over their heads.
Hunter wasn't wrong, though. The guillotine existed whether they looked skywards or not, and they weren't capable of moving out from under it.
Better the devil she knew, then. As long as she didn't forget who and what she dealt with.
"There are people, powers who won't let you claim dominion over the whole damn world," Melanie said. "No one is above reprisal. Not completely."
Hunter's eyes sparkled mischievously.
"No… I suppose they aren't."
She reached into her front pocket and pulled out a folded square of heavy, expensive paper, laying it on the desk between them.
"When you're ready for answers, come find me," Hunter continued with a smile. "In the meantime, I wish you the best of luck with your endeavors."
Then the strange woman rolled her wheelchair directly through the wall of Melanie's office and disappeared, her companion close behind her.
Faultline blinked and stared after them for a long moment.
Then she carefully retrieved and unfolded the paper.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The angled Omega symbol, and a single word.
Cauldron.
What did Hunter know?
How did Hunter know?
Melanie gritted her teeth. That smug little shit was making her come to her. At least this way, the crew would know exactly what they were signing up for, but it still grated on her that Hunter held all the cards. She hated trying to bluff with a shitty hand.
Ignorance is bliss, indeed.
…