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Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"No, I'm telling you that this, right here, is your third strike." Hebert's pedantic tone only served to piss Sophia off more. As if she had the right to dictate anything to anyone. Right then, right there, she decided that Hebert was going to suffer at least one broken bone. Maybe more. And if she put the little cow into a coma? Too bad, so sad. She was asking for it.

Moving forward, she aimed a punch at Hebert's solar plexus. It would leave her gasping on the floor, where Sophia could start kicking her. "You can take your third strike and shove it—"

Bewilderingly, Hebert was no longer there. Sophia felt her arm grabbed; before she could react, the joint was overextended and she felt an excruciating snap. While her brain was still getting over the white-hot pain--she'd been hurt before, but never that badly--a cannon-ball buried itself in her ribs. More bones crunched and a stab of pure agony went through her chest. She coughed involuntarily, and it hurt even more.

All this was happening too fast. Sophia was usually the one putting hurt on others. She tried to gather herself--

A blunt axe hit her in the throat--

She couldn't breathe--

She had to get away--

Turning to shadow, she could feel her cells taking in air as she tried to flee--

Her body was disrupted and she fell to the floor--

Staring up at Hebert, she wondered how this could happen--

She didn't lose--

She couldn't lose--

A hammer-blow to her chest, and everything stopped.

Darkness claimed her, and then it didn't hurt anymore.

One last lingering thought.

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Hannah and Ethan's car stopped alongside the ambulances at the edge of the police cordon. A quick look inside showed all three of the ABB gang members on stretchers, with neck braces and bandaged heads.

"Tch, doubt we're going to get anything from the mooks if some cape rattled their heads." Assault snarked. "So, why call us in after the fact?"

"That." Miss Milita replied, pointing to the sheet on the ground as the officer in charge of the scene came to them. "Sergeant Jenkins."

"Miss Militia, Assault. We've tried speaking with the shop owner, but we don't have any Vietnamese translators handy. Looks like a pretty typical protection racket shakedown though. Until it wasn't."

"Just one body?"

"Yeah. Oni Lee. Point blank shot right between the eyes. There's a pile what looks like some of the ash his clones leave behind, so he probably wasn't taken by surprise, but that's why you're here, right?"

Both heroes were glad they were wearing masks, because the shock on their faces would have been plain. Someone getting the drop on Oni Lee when he was able to teleport was unheard of.

Assault went over and looked under the sheet. The man's mask was still grinning back even in death, despite the neat hole in it's forehead and the telltale scorch of powder burns around it. "What'da think?"

Hannah expertly looked over the bullet wound. "The shooter was maybe six feet away, certainly within knife fighting range. They would have needed to have the gun in hand and aimed where he was going to be when he teleported."

"Combat Precog? That's not good. Sergeant? Did your men secure Lee's weapons?"

"Nope, he wasn't armed when we got here."

"I've never seen him without at least a combat knife, two guns and a couple of grenades. How's your Vietnamese, MM?"

"Rusty, but I think I can manage."

They went into the shop, Assault setting an audio recorder on the counter.

<Hello. You are not in trouble. We only wish to find out what happened. Can you tell us who did this?>

<Đạo Mẫu was angered and sent her maiden to punish them.>

<Can you describe her?>

<She appeared as Death. Pale skin with dark hair, but spoke as clearly to me as my mother would. Her only request of me was proper garments for her work.>

<What work?>

<She claimed the wicked would be driven from this city, so that we may live in peace. I have no reason to doubt her.>

The implications ran through Hannah's mind. Someone was about to go to war with the gangs, and this was quite literally the first shot. "Fuck."

"MM, Console says someone just posted this on PHO. The mods have tried locking it down but for some reason they can't."

Assault held out his phone and let her read, her eyes finally lingering on the last word.

Atropos.

Double fuck.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

January 5th, 2011
2:22 AM

"Console, this is Corporal Richardson. We're outside Commander Calvert's residence. No sign of disturbance."
** GPS from his phone confirms you are at his location. **
"Copy. Cam check. Proceeding to the front door."
** Body cam feeds are five by five. **

The two troopers got out of their sedan and went up to the house. "Thomas Calvert! PRT!" the corporal shouted before banging on the door. "This IS the right place, Wayne?" she asked her partner.
Her partner looked at the door and nodded. "906 Murphy Lane. I gotta bad feeling on this."
"Yeah, me too. Console, no response. Ping his phone?"
** Copy. ** Both of them heard the distinct alert ringtone coming from inside.
"Confirm phone ping, Console. Requesting permission for hard entry."
A new voice came over the comms. ** Corporal, this is Director Piggot. Drag his skinny ass here naked if you have to, but I want him here NOW. **
"Yes Ma'am, going hot." Richardson drew her sidearm while her partner made short work of the door lock with a prybar.

They quickly cleared the entry. Richardson scanning over the living room while Wayne used the PRT law enforcement override on the security system panel.

"What's with the Post-It notes?"
"I don't know. But there's what looks like a gun safe behind this one. Console, I think we need some backup here."
** Copy, Delta Squad ETA your location 6 minutes. Armsmaster is responding, ETA 4 minutes. **
"No sign of intruders." They continued into the house, approaching the still ringing phone.

"Console, are you seeing this?" Richardson had stopped at the bedroom door, Calvert's body lay face down in what looked like a pool of ALL his blood, a full body black and white costume haphazardly thrown atop him.

Back at the PRT, Emily growled. "Yes, Corporal. Secure the site." She turned to address the room. "For now, NOBODY speaks of this. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" the men and women under her command responded.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

PRT Prisoner Transport
January 5th, 0300 Hours

"How're you holding up, kid?" Assault asked the young man in front of him.

Grue simply glared at him from under the blanket stained with solvent, hands cuffed to the bench behind him.

"Yeah, right. A surprise confoaming at two in the morning would put me in a foul mood as well. We'll get you cleaned up and..." Ethan looked at his abdomen. "have one of the docs double check that old stab wound you got there. Someone from the Empire take exception?"

"Your Little Miss Edgelord."

"Really? That doesn't look like it's from one of her tranq bolts."

"It was a deer broadhead."

"When? Why would she have done that?"

"Couple of months ago. My darkness counters her phasing. It also pisses her off."

Assault nodded grimly. "Then there might be some complications. Mind if I ask where you were the day before yesterday between say, noon and three?"

"Moving into my apartment. The civilian one you just raided."

"That's something we can confirm then. Sit tight, I'll need to check on a few things." Assault said as the van came to a stop in the PRT garage.

Grue shrugged as much as he could. "Not like I'm going anywhere."

"Grue doesn't know Shadow Stalker's dead. His reaction to us tapdancing around the Unwritten Rules like we just did to him makes me think he didn't know about her civilian ID either. Though with his powers and his build he'd definitely be capable of beating the shit out of her."

"What about his sister? If Sophia started bullying her, would that have given him a reason? For that matter could she have done it?"

"That'd be a very weird coincidence, Puppy. My gut says Grue wouldn't have killed unless Sophia escalated immediately and first. Plus she wouldn't have died like that, it was too clean. If Grue's sister, God forbid, actually Triggered because of Sophia though... it's not impossible considering similar powers in families. But, that wouldn't explain the trace evidence Armsy found. I think the 'Cricket with an undocumented Changer power from Othalla' theory is still good."

"So what now?"

Ethan looked at his watch. "We should try and get some sleep. Atropos claims she's gonna kill someone in about twenty hours and I sincerely doubt they are going to go quietly into that good night."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Brockton Bay 911 Switchboard
January 6th, 0002 Hours

<< transcript begins 00:02:07 01/06/11 >>
Operator: "Nine-one-one. Please state your emergency."
Caller <female voice>: "Police and, and PRT, I think. I'm, I'm working late in the Medhall building, and I heard some shouting from upstairs. I think Max Anders has been murdered by a cape. You better come quick."
Operator: "I'm contacting Police and PRT now, ma'am. I need you to stay on the line until responders arrive, all right? What is your name?"
Caller: [no audio]
Operator: "Ma'am, are you still there?"
Caller: [no audio]
Call location - Medhall Building, 18th floor
Operator: "Line is still open, she's not there anymore though."
<< FIRE ALERT: MEDHALL BUILDING - CAUTION: CLASS 4 HAZARDOUS MATERIALS DETECTED >>
Operator: "Because it looks like a chemical fire just broke out in the basement."
<< end transcript >>

Armsmaster
Three blocks from Medhall, same time.

He was circling through his Downtown patrol route, noting as his helmet chronometer blinked just past midnight. If Atropos was going to make good on her claims, odds were something was going to happen in the next few minutes. Having himself, the rest of the Protectorate and several PRT squad vans and VTOLs already deployed along the most efficient coverage routes ensured that there would be a presence anywhere within the city in ninety seconds or less.

It was a shame that this sort of readiness couldn't be deployed more often, but Atropos announcing precisely when she intended to strike made this operation worth the huge expense.

*Colin. 911 just got a call. Someone inside the Medhall building is saying Max Anders has been murdered by a cape.* Dragon spoke over his comms.

Shit, that means...

"Armsmaster to all units." as he started gunning his engine. "Converge on the Medhall Building IMMEDIATELY. Assume that Atropos and the ENTIRE cape contingent of the Empire 88 is present."

*You think...*

"It has to be Kaiser, and he'd have every cape at his disposal available to try and kill Atropos."

Victor, same time

"Oh, FUCK."

Brad growled at the sight of Kaiser. "I am going to puree that cunt."

"Not now." He then noted Rune and Crusader on the floor. Both members of the E88 capable of transporting the rest... were down. "DOUBLE FUCK."

"What is it?" Nessa asked.

"She took out our aerial transport and we're on top of the building." Victor's phone rang then, the tone indicating it was from the security office on the ground floor. "WHAT?!?"

*Sir, 911 has just inquired us about an automated call. They're saying we have a hazardous chemical fire on site.*

Victor took a moment to note that the building's fire alarms were NOT going off, then swore in half a dozen languages under his breath. The bitch must have rigged those alongside the circuit breakers. "Evacuate the building then, standard procedure." he said before hanging up. He went over to the computer on Max's desk, quickly pulling up the internal security cameras for the sub-basement lab.

The lab that Kaiser's emergency escape elevator behind the office went down to.

It was filled with very ominous and toxic looking smoke.

He mentally ran through his rapidly declining options. Othala granting him flight to carry her and Rune out. Stormtiger could manage Cricket. Alabaster jumping. Fenja and Menja taking Krieg and Crusader and climbing down the outside of the building with Hookwolf.

He went over to the window and saw Armsmaster's motorcycle entering the front plaza. They were out of time. No time to even take Max's body with them.

"We're leaving." Victor said with no emotion at all. He explained his plan while gathering Rune in his arms before his wife climbed on his back. "Split up. Get out of the city. The Empire... is dead."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

January 6th
PRT Building Brockton Bay, 0800

Emily glowered at everyone assembled in the conference room, most of them nursing cups of coffee after the long night. Even Armsmaster looked slightly haggard.

"I'll try and make this brief before I head down to Medical. The preliminary report on last night's shitstorm I just sent to the Chief Director will hopefully get us some support before Atropos decides to strike again."

"You don't actually think she can take on Lung, do you?" Battery commented.

"Regardless of what I believe, she's made good on her ultimatum twice already, and while I'd be thrilled if she decided Skidmark was her next target, if only for the lack of potential collateral damage, there's no reason to think we'd be that lucky."

"Lung won't back down. He'll want vengeance for Oni Lee at a minimum." Miss Militia replied.

"Which is why I want everyone to get at least six hours of rest before tonight. You too, Colin."

"I'm fine, Director."

"I don't care. You're our best option right now to counter whatever ridiculously ironic assassination scheme Atropos has Thought of, or dealing with an enraged Lung if it doesn't work. I want your head clear."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"We are dealing with a Thinker who is flaunting her arrogance by acting like she's twelve moves ahead of everyone else. She knew Kaiser's real identity and planned his death in a way I'm sure the Simurgh is applauding. She believes herself to be untouchable. I aim to rectify that. Her actions have left this city open for any number of worse individuals to try and fill the power vacuum left by the Empire. I dread thinking the Butcher might decide to come up and piss Atropos off."

"Yeah, no... No thanks on that. I'd probably prefer the Slaughterhouse Nine showing up." Assault quipped, drawing a look from everyone. "What? Atropos would probably take out Jack Slash and his merry band of murderhobos with a goddamn pencil." That drew a substantial dopeslap from Battery.

In Mrs. Knott's computer class, Taylor cocked her head.
"Huh."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Rebecca stuck her head through the door to her office.

"I have an urgent video call coming up, please do not allow any interruptions for the coming hour."

"Of course, Chief Director," her secretary responded, already turning to her computer.

Rebecca closed the door.

"Door to Cauldron." She stepped through, straight into the meeting room. She wasn't sure what was going on exactly, but urgent emergency meetings by called by Contessa rarely meant anything good.

The woman in question looking pale made things even worse.

Doctor Mother was already present, and Legend stepped in through his own doorway seconds later.

"What's going on?" Rebecca asked.

"Atropos," Contessa said.

Rebecca frowned. What about her? She recalled the reports Emily had sent on the new cape.

The door opened to let in Number Man just when Eidolon arrived last through his own doorway.

Everyone sat down, Eidolon looking frustrated.

"What's going on?" he asked. Anyone or anything else, and he'd be complaining about a waste of time, Rebecca divined.

"I tried to warn Atropos," Contessa said. "Followed my Path, just like normal. Make clear that she has to knock off her cape-killing and hopefully learn more about her goals - best case, we can point her at targets, I figured."

"And that somehow didn't go well?" Rebecca asked.

"No," Contessa said. "I prepared my gun, loaded it, put the silencer on it, finger on the trigger, as I said, all following the Path. Then I called for the Doorway... and she twisted away while sticking her own gun through."

"She didn't fire?" Rebecca asked - though the answer was obvious.

"She did not," Contessa confirmed. "Nor did she need to. I've got the message loud and clear, and it's the exact message I meant to give her - 'don't mess with me and my plans, or die'."

"You cannot Path around her abilities?" Doctor Mother asked. "You have ways to deal with combat precogs and danger senses, right?"

"I do," Contessa confirmed. "But I cannot properly Path her. We first realized something was off because all my Paths involving Brockton Bay had automatically shut down, possibly at the moment she triggered."

"So we have a precog-blocking Thinker or Trump then?" Legend speculated. "I suppose that by itself is worth at least a rating of 5."

"Have you read the reports on her?" Rebecca asked.

"I've been meaning to get around to it," Legend said, "but local problems were taking priority for the moment. I was actually hoping to get to it this afternoon."

"PRT ENE has given her a tentative rating of Thinker Nine," Rebecca said. "Nine plus; that's the lower bound they're considering. From their reports, I have to agree with them. She seems to have effortlessly killed Oni Lee with his own gun, despite him being notoriously impossible to pin down. She took down Coil in a highly secure home, and Kaiser died while surrounded by almost a dozen of his capes, killed by his own sword that she had stolen from his civilian residence the day prior. None of the Empire's capes even got a hit in."

"That's... troubling," Doctor Mother said.

"What we know for sure is this," Rebecca continued. "She is a combat Thinker, allowing her to fight extremely well, possibly even flawlessly. She can time things to a ridiculous degree, as both Coil and Kaiser died exactly at midnight, as announced by her on PHO ahead of time. This implies at least some precognitive capabilities. She also seems to have methods to avoid detection to one degree or another. Security cameras either miss her, she conveniently hides her face while in vision, or lets herself be shown deliberately. One incident that the PRT ENE is still investigating has her appear on security footage in full costume on a tour of the building, when we know no one in this tour group was in any sort of costume. Not only has no one been able to give a useful description, but she outright waved at the security camera. Moments after being caught on tape, she set off an alarm and stole some chemicals from a lab for a purpose that we do not yet know, again evading all detection."

"So a Stranger power?" Eidolon asked.

"That, or her Thinker power lets her do that."

"That's insanely strong," Number Man said.

Rebecca nodded. "The only cape I was aware of before Atropos who could have pulled this off would be Contessa," she said. "Her tentative rating is still Thinker 9 for the moment, but I think she is at least a Thinker 11, perhaps even higher, considering she can apparently counter Contessa's power."

"What if she is an Endbringer?" Eidolon suggested.

Rebecca blanched. She wasn't the only one.

"This isn't how Endbringers operate, is it?" Legend said. "And wouldn't an Endbringer have pulled the trigger on Contessa?"

"She also did not kill the ABB members she fought when she took down Oni Lee," Rebecca said. "On the other hand, we also thought the Simurgh was benevolent when she first appeared."

Several people on the table shuddered.

"Let's prepare for the worst," Doctor Mother suggested. "But at the same time, let's not close the door before we have all the facts. If we could get another Thinker 11+ on our side, that might just make the difference."

"So what should we do?" Rebecca asked. "Letting Contessa try again is far too risky. We cannot afford to lose her."

"So we don't," Doctor Mother said. "We have the leaders of the PRT and the Protectorate here. Use those to contact her."

"The PRT ENE has already attempted to establish contact with her, as she is portraying herself as a vigilante. It has been unsuccessful," Rebecca countered. Vigilantes could often be molded into heroes more easily than villains, even those with standards.

"If it fails, we could try using PHO," Number Man suggested. "We know she has an active account, and with Dragon providing the security - well, I guess we can't say it's unhackable anymore, but Atropos is the only one who has done so."

"Hope for a Thinker 11+ to join the fight, prepare for a fourth Endbringer," Rebecca summarized. "Anything else? All three of us are pretty busy right now."

She looked around the table, but everyone remained silent.

"We'll see each other at the next regular meeting, then," Rebecca concluded. "Legend, I'll schedule a meeting as soon as possible to discuss how to approach Atropos."

She stood, exchanged goodbyes with the rest of Cauldron, then made her way back to her office via doorway.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

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♦ Topic: Three Stooges Down, One To Go
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 7th 2011:
Whelp, I would apologize to everyone woken up by the noise of Lung's funeral pyre, but honestly, I don't give a fuck.
Yes, I am the Hero of Laketown, for tonight the dreaded Smaug has been slain by my hand.
Who'd have thunk that his ramping up would only feed a metal fluorine fire.
Oh wait, I would.
Don't breathe this.
Anyhoo, that just leaves Skidmark Shemp on my list.
Did you know he was Moe and Curly's real brother?
And he played the fucking genius among them.
Came up with a super rocket fuel on his own without any sort of chemistry experience.
Guy would definitely have been a Tinker.
So, Skidmark, assuming you or one of your mooks is cognizant (that means 'not stoned' BTW) enough to be reading this, you've got 'til midnight to turn yourself in or GTFO.
Whoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoop

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

PRT Building, Brockton Bay

"You're certain?"

"Of him having had information on the identities of Triumph and Gallant? 100%. On if he had information in regards to Shadow Stalker's identity, her real identity is mentioned on his computer though admittedly there is otherwise no outright link to her identity as-"

Emily Piggot raised a hand to silence Armsmaster, rubbing her head as she felt another headache coming on. She'd been finding herself dealing with those quite often these past three days since Coil's death at the hands of Atropos, and the headaches had only been acerbated since the death of Kaiser and Lung, with the former being revealed to have been Medhall CEO Max Anders. His death had led to the overnight collapse of the Empire 88 as the remaining capes of the Empire 88 had chosen to scatter themselves to the four winds practically overnight, fleeing to who knows where.

While Emily truthfully didn't exactly mind not having to deal with the fleeing Empire capes anymore, she also would have much preferred seeing those racist assholes captured and placed in a prison cell rather than have them loose outside her purview and walking free, especially when two of them were highly suspected of being involved in the death of a Ward under her command. That feeling was only heightened with the recent slew of circumstantial evidence gleamed from Kaiser's computer by Armsmaster that seemed to be providing tones of additional evidence that would seem to possibly confirm Cricket and Othala's role in Shadow Stalker's death.

Said computer held tons of info on the Empire's operations in the city. It'd take time, but Emily hoped the information could eventually be used to remove all remaining influence the decrepit Empire had left in the city.

In regards to the Shadow Stalker case, in seemed they were already finding a bit of headway on that front.

For one, they could now say with certainty that Othala could indeed give powers which the Empire had kept close to their chest. What exact powers, Kaisers computer didn't say, but Emily knew you didn't keep certain powers close to your chest unless they gave you a subtle advantage. To Emily it was all but a confirmation that Othala very likely could give Stranger, Changer, or potentially even Master powers to others.

The bigger breakthrough however was that they were now able to definitively confirm that not only had Kaiser indeed sent Victor, Hookwolf, Cricket, and the now long since deceased former Empire cape Hela in missions which involved them assassinating specific targets, something of which the PRT had long since assumed but never actually been able to definitively confirm before now. That information by itself was certainly enough to charge Victor and Cricket with a Birdcage sentence when they were captured, possibly even a kill order for Cricket if they could find undeniable and irrefutable evidence of her involvement in Shadow Stalker's death.

Unfortunately, it seemed she would not be so lucky. Reality was never so clean and easy as that after all.

"Did it say Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker? Yes or no?"

Armsmaster hesitated before responding, "No, but why else would she have been significant enough to have her name mentioned?"

"She was a popular black athlete bullying a white girl in a shithole of a school which was probably in all likelihood one of the Empire's top recruitment centers in the city. Of course, she's going to be a listed potential target."

"Perhaps, but Triumph and Gallant-"

"Are scions of two of the city's wealthiest and most elite families. It's possible he could have stumbled upon and uncovered the information while investigating both families for potential blackmail."

Armsmaster didn't relent, "Yet we know Kaiser had moles in our department."

"The vast majority of whom did not have high enough clearance to even know the identities of our Wards. Only two of the Empires moles can we definitively say had high enough clearance to know, yet we have no evidence at the present time they used said clearance to gain that information. So let me ask you Armsmaster, did you or did you not find any evidence that proves Kaiser knew the identities of any of Wards other than Triumph and Gallant?"

The tinker stayed silent and that was all the confirmation Piggot needed.

"Do not mistake me Armsmaster. I believe you are correct that the Empire was indeed responsible for Shadow Stalker. We have more than enough circumstantial evidence and simple logic that points to it being correct. But unless you can give me hard, direct or fullproof evidence that proves without a shred of reasonable doubt that they were responsible, I can't get approval to have a kill order or Birdcage sentence against Cricket for Shadow Stalker's death signed. Most judges today simply won't sign off on it without undoubtable evidence after the Hexwave mess that happened in Seattle back in '09."

Armsmaster frowned "This is hardly the same. The evidence pointed towards Hexwave's guilt in those killings."

Piggot scoffed and shook her head, "Yes, the circumstantial evidence." She raised a eyebrow, "Remind me again? What happened after Director Bradley got the judge to sign the kill order against Hexwave?"

The tinker looked uncomfortable at the question and remained silent.

"Not going to answer? What about you Dragon, since I know you've been listening?"

The up until now silent Canadian thinker spoke, "Direct evidence surfaced which not only proved Hexwave's innocence but implicated the guilt of Free Radical, a former member of the Seattle branch Elite. Unfortunately mere minutes after the Kill Order against Hexwave was rescinded, the former bounty was checked in by a dangerous cape known as Popper. Since he had arrived with Hexwave's corpse after the kill order was recinded, the PRT refused to pay him the bounty and instead attempted to arrest him for murder which resulted-"

Piggot finished for her, "In him having a temper tantrum that ended with him causing a massacre in the Seattle PRT lobby and getting his own kill order signed to go along with the one being signed against Free Radical. So instead of one cape getting a kill order, the PRT ended up signing three of them, with one of them turning out to be completely innocent. All because Director Bradley and a judge decided to sign a kill order based off of nothing but theory and circumstantial evidence that in hindsight had way too many holes in it."

The director waved at the printed files the bearded Protectorate tinker had brought, "Kaiser having a record of Sophia Hess and listing her as a potential problem, him knowing the identities of some of our other Wards, and confirmation that not only could Othala give powers which the Empire didn't advertise, but that Kaiser did sometimes send Cricket on assassination missions. All that, when combined with simple logic, is still only circumstantial evidence that presents no conclusion that's reasonable beyond any and all doubt. Not nearly strong enough to guarantee a judge I hand this to won't refuse to sign a kill order for Cricket and possibly not even enough to get Othala or Cricket a Birdcage sentence for Stalker's murder."

The PRT Director shook her head before concluding, "No, if we want to a hundred percent nail them to the wall for Shadow Stalker's murder, we need to find something we can provide hard evidence for that leaves no room for them to wiggle out of."

Armsmaster looked thoughtful, "We do now have more definitive evidence of assassinations we suspected Empire involvement in. Correlating any such past cases with dates and information Kaiser listed on his computer will be simple to do, and we can use the same information against Victor and Hookwolf. I can begin working on that now while we wait-"

Piggot shook her head, "No, let the PRT analysts handle that. I need you completely focused on the upcoming mess with Skidmark and Atropos." She eyed him with a squint, "In that regard I'd advise you to get some rest before then. Anyways, unless you have more to say, you are dismissed."

In spite of the dismal, the tinker looked almost about ready to argue, but ultimately seemed to decide against it upon Piggot looking up to glare at him.

As Armsmaster turned to march out of her office, Emily Piggot gave a sigh of frustration as the current feeling she had that everything was going to hell vastly increased.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Julie: I can't believe it. Sophia's a cape and Atropos was in our school. It just seems odd that Atropos killed her when she couldn't fight back.
Emma: Shadowing didn't do her good.
Madison: ...I can guess at the initials, but...
Emma: She knew how to hit hard and when not to get hit, and she would have used her power if there was going to be no witness.
Julie: The same would have applied to Atropos...You don't think...
Emma: If you think Atropos even triggered at this school, don't say it. In fact, you tell everyone at school that Atropos is from another Earth.
Julie: But if we tell the police or the PRT...
Madison: The Thinker that got rid of the major gangs likes Cinderella's curfew? The Thinker because she sabotaged a Tinker's vehicle and predicted its breakdown to a T? A Thinker that does this and has time to take down anything thinking remotely bad of her? She even says her power is killing things.
Julie: Well, if killing's her only power, then she can't do things that doesn't involve killing.
Madison: ...I'm not sure about that.
Emma: Look, we don't talk about Atropos, and she's okay with finding outside work over nitpicking every problem here. Problem that should not involve us if we don't mess with her in any way. So, we go no problem, right?
Madison: Void Cowboy goes to our school.
Emma: We got one problem.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

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Atropos' thread had legitimately exploded after Skidmark's death was confirmed, but he was kind of surprised that TeamMom had tried to drop a banhammer on him and missed. Why was she being such a bitch? The Truth needed to be Known!

Greg looked at a new notification popup.

* You have ONE (1) new private message *
* You may NOT reply to this message *

Oh, great. The mods are going to yell at him again for some reason. He sighed as he opened the new tab.

Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 8th 2011:

Hello, Greg.
Yes, I'm aware of who you really are.
It isn't hard, every BB moderator has to figure that out as part of getting local mod status.
Your reputation precedes you.
Much like mine.

That said, it occurs to me that you may be getting ideas regarding me.
Others have just commented that it would be unwise to air those thoughts publicly in a forum such as this.
I sort of feel bad for those who see fit to try and silence you for the sake of your own safety.
Well, not really.
Because I know what would happen if you shouted what you think you know to the masses from the top of Captains Hill.

NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE YOU.

It's true.
Everyone in town has accepted the fact that I'm the scariest motherfucker on the East Coast now.
Except for Glory Girl.
I'll be dealing with that soon though.

So what possible insights could a renowned Internet tinfoil hatter in need of their ADHD meds like XxVoid_CowboyxX have regarding me?
Next you'll be saying I'm really the Siberian in disguise or Jack Slash's illegitimate daughter.
They will ignore your rants and crackpot theories and generally dismiss you.
Or they'll just get sick and tired of seeing your spiel and ban you.
Again.

This is just a friendly reminder that you should weigh the consequences of your words or actions before saying or doing something stupid.

Consider what's happened to the others who've done so around me in the past week.

Toodles.

Greg stared the PM for a long time before logging off, shutting down his computer and going to bed.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Vista looked around the Wards common room. Chris was tinkering, muttering to himself. Dennis was playing some videogame. Dean was attempting to have a quiet argument on the phone, despite his girlfriend's efforts. Brian... was going over some paperwork.

She sighed, slumping into the sofa next to Carlos. "So... now what?"

"...sorry?"

"Now what?" she asked again. "I mean don't get me wrong, the gangs are gone, that's great, but... what exactly do we do?"

"Well, typically Wards make public appearances and help with welfare--"

"Ugh, right, PR. That's--that's great and all, but... I'm the most powerful shaker on the East Coast! Maybe even the whole Protectorate! I was actually contributing to something here in Brockton Bay, despite the Youth Guard's constant babying, and now--I just, I don't know."

"There'll still be muggers," Brian offered. "Desperate people doing desperate things. You'll get your chance to stop them."

"And you'd be great as a firefighter," Chris pointed out. "Finding people and getting them out."

Vista huffed. "Yeah... I guess..."

Dennis paused his game. "Missy. You're missing something kind of important."

"Really."

"This whole building?" He gestured around. "This isn't the headquarters for the Brockton Bay PRT. This is the headquarters for the East NorthEast PRT."

"...keep talking," Vista said, leaning forward.

"Oh no," Carlos muttered.

"Brockton Bay might be clean, but there are... other cities," Dennis whispered dramatically. "With their own..." He looked around, before leaning in. "...villains."

"Ooo."

"And gangs."

"Oooooooo."

"All just... waiting... to be humiliated."

Vista's grin was as wide as it could get. "You know, Dennis... you always do know exactly what to say."

"Yep." Dennis leaned back, turning his game back on. "That's my real super power."

"We're doomed aren't we?" Chris asked rhetorically.

"You are never meeting my sister," Brian told Dennis firmly.

Carlos just sighed.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Subtext

Atropos: I shut you down and I'm killing the Slaughterhouse Nine. You can be an ally or dead.
Accord: Agreed. Provided you're alive Wednesday and the Slaughterhouse Nine are dead.
Atropos: Agreed.

Accord felt pleased to have a conversation with someone who clearly had their own plan, the willingness to follow through with brutal efficiency, and the wisdom to seek his guidance to do so in an orderly fashion. That the chaos of the Slaughterhouse Nine would be ended was a bonus. The plan to revitalize Brockton Bay already began to form in his mind.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Hebert Residence
Saturday, January 8th, 8:00 AM

The smell of breakfast being made slowly roused Danny.

He'd lain awake in bed for some time last night after catching Taylor sneaking into the house. Teenagers slipping out on a Friday night without telling their parents was a thing after all. But, Taylor admitting she was Atropos though...

Years ago, Annette had told Danny stories about Lustrum. About how capes received their powers after going through the worst day of their lives. Something Taylor had apparently experienced. Something that Emma and those other girls who had been bullying her probably did on Monday if he were to guess.

Which meant that his Little Owl had likely killed that girl at school.

Sleep had not come easily to him after that realization.

"Morning, Dad." Taylor said as he sat down to the table, setting a plate of bacon and eggs down along with some much needed coffee.

Danny made a non-committal grunt before taking a sip from the mug, his eyes immediately perking up. "Taylor, when did you learn to make Navy coffee?"

"I figured you'd want something a little stronger than usual after last night."

"I'm worried that it might dissolve the mug. You didn't just poison me did you? I heard about that super acid you used on Lung."

"No, Dad." Taylor said with a perfectly straight face as she sat down with her own breakfast. "I'm guessing you have some questions?"

"I do. That girl who died at school. Sophia. You killed her didn't you?"

"Yes."

"She, Emma and that other girl Madison. They did something horrible to you didn't they?"

"Yes."

"Would I have done the same? Killed her for what she did to you?"

Taylor shrugged. "Probably. They tried to kill me first after all. I did give Sophia plenty of warning though. She just wouldn't take the hint. Plus, it turned out she was Shadow Stalker, so I guess it's a good thing I killed her before she decided to do something even more stupid, like coming after you."

"Finding out that one of the people who had been tormenting you for over a year was a Ward makes me feel very conflicted."

"I honestly don't think the PRT really knew what was going on with her. Just goes to show how little they actually do. I mean, I've had powers for less than a week and all the villains in town are either dead, gone or hiding under the biggest rock they can."

"You have managed to accrue a rather fearsome reputation very quickly, Taylor."

"You're not mad?"

"On the one hand, you're a merciless killer. On the other, you're my daughter. I am wondering though, when you showed the detective your hands, they weren't bruised or anything. Is that part of your power?"

"Sort of, I'm not bulletproof or super strong or anything like that. I'm just the best there is at what I do."

"So... what now?"

"Today, I'm going to meet a fan. Curry some favor so to speak so Armsmaster and the rest of the Protectorate don't get any silly ideas. It's not like they don't know what I'm capable of, but some people just can't help but poke the bear."

"Please try not to kill anyone today, Taylor."

"I won't make any promises, Dad. If somebody decides they really want a Darwin Award, well..."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Dragon thought hard about the events of the past hour as she set a course to the Rig. Jack Slash and his crew had terrorized the nation for nearly two decades and she couldn't imagine the sort of celebrations that would break out upon the news of his demise. Her musings were interrupted as her optics saw two men in masks waving at her with large white handkerchiefs from a nearby rooftop.

Dragon banked over to land in an adjacent abandoned lot, before turning to the pair who had somehow been in the perfect position to flag her down."Uber, Leet. Are you turning yourselves in?"

"No. And as we're not actively committing a crime right now, you can't arrest us without a warrant. Which you currently don't have." Uber replied in a surprisingly confident manner. "We're just here to talk, and retrieve something that was borrowed."

"I wondered how Atropos managed to get your Snitch. I need to take it to the PRT, the recording on it..."

"We know. The Death of the Slaughterhouse Nine in full THX 3D. Part of the reason she wanted to borrow it. Us being here right now is also part of it. Suffice to say that she is rather scarily prepared." Uber continued.

"We need to have PRT analysts go over the footage. I can't just give it away."

"Are you suggesting that you're about to illegally confiscate TinkerTech? Perish the thought." the sarcasm from Uber was practically tangible. "We'd rather prefer your erstwhile American boyfriend not try and tear the Snitch apart."

"You think Armsmaster would do that?"

"The Snitch is one of the best things I've ever created." Leet piped in. "The sort of self-powered autonomous surveillance drone law enforcement would kill their grandmother over. Plus, it's comparatively TINY. You can't tell me Halbeard wouldn't have an orgasmic fugue over the chance to look at it."

Dragon mulled over the concept and concluded that, yes, Colin probably would do that.

"Look, we're not going to leave you out of the loop. I'll make a copy of the video for you right now." Leet sighed slightly, before pulling a rather thick notebook out from a hip satchel. "Plus... a copy of all my Tinkering notes regarding the Snitch. If anyone can duplicate it, it's you."

"This is Atropos' idea isn't it?"

"We want to go out on something big. It's been made painfully clear to us that we're not going to last very long if we stay in Brockton Bay. It'll take some time for us to secure and lockdown some of the stuff I've built. When we're done with everything and get out of Dodge, I've been encouraged to say that you're the best person to hand whatever we leave behind over to."

"You don't trust the Protectorate?"

"As a professional courtesy between Tinkers, I don't trust anyone besides my buddy here right now. I'm sure that the PRT has people who are willing to try and use my stuff regardless of the potential consequences. I know what I'm capable of. I'd rather not have someone who thinks they know what they're doing messing around with my tech and accidentally oops a city or two."

"I'm not sure what to say."

"Give us an hour to edit the video for any R-rated content and post it online and you don't have to say anything but 'Yes'." Uber said with a huge grin.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

<Atropos has entered the chat>
<The_One_Who_Ravages has entered the chat>

The_One_Who_Ravages: This is Atropos, right?
Atropos: No, *this* is Atropos. *You* are Ravager.
The_One_Who_Ravages: That's what I meant! Ugh, forget I said anything.
Atropos: Sure. What's on your mind?
The_One_Who_Ravages: I want someone dead. I hear you're the best.
Atropos: If you want to undersell my capabilities, sure, you can say that.
The_One_Who_Ravages: But you can kill anyone and anything, right?
Atropos: That's what it says on my business cards.
The_One_Who_Ravages: I want Mouse Protector dead.
Atropos: And?
The_One_Who_Ravages: And what?
Atropos: We all want stuff to happen. I want to see Morgan Freeman narrate the Princess Bride. We don't always get what we want.
The_One_Who_Ravages: For fuck's sake, I want you to kill her!
Atropos: Oh. You should've made that clear from the beginning. I thought we were comparing wish lists.
The_One_Who_Ravages: So, will you kill her?
Atropos: Why?
The_One_Who_Ravages: Why what?
Atropos: Why should I kill her? She's not bothering me. Her actions are a net positive.
The_One_Who_Ravages: I will pay you one million dollars to kill Mouse Protector.
Atropos: Hmm. An interesting offer. One second.

<Mouse_Protector has joined the chat>

Atropos: Hey, MP. Ravager here's just offered me a million cool if I murder you. Thoughts?
Mouse_Protector: Well, that's a bit rude. I thought you liked me better than that, Rav.
The_One_Who_Ravages: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
Atropos: Encouraging free market trade. MP, got a counter-offer?
The_One_Who_Ravages: This isn't an auction!
Atropos: Is if I say it is.
Mouse_Protector: Uh ... just going to say, I'm not overly comfortable with paying to have someone killed.
Atropos: Oh, I don't have to kill people. I can just as easily end things. Like reputations, someone's good name, their bank account ...
Mouse_Protector: How about her credibility?
Atropos: Oh, I can totally do that.
The_One_Who_Ravages: I'm the one who contacted you! Me! Not Mouse Protector!
Mouse_Protector: Oh, she pinged me three hours ago, hon.
The_One_Who_Ravages: WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?
Atropos: Honestly? You're a blight on society. You're irrational, you hurt people for no reason, and you're a net drain on civilization as a whole. If you came to Brockton Bay, I'd be obliged to shoot you in the face on general principles. While MP here's a net benefit. If she came to BB, I wouldn't care in the slightest, unless of course she tried to arrest me, in which case I'd stand back and watch as the PRT dogpiled her and explained why that's a bad idea. So I'm strongly inclined to give her a steep discount in dealing with you.
Mouse_Protector: So, uh, the other thing. I don't actually have a mil' on me, or anything like it. How much were you actually going to charge me to eradicate Rav's credibility as a villain?
Atropos: Well, the Brockton Bay Children's Hospital oncology unit's having an open day for fundraising next month, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to drop by and put on a show for the kiddies.
Mouse_Protector: A charity show for the little mouseys? That's it?
Atropos: Pretty much, yeah.
Mouse_Protector: Say no more. You had me at 'helping the kids'. And I promise to not try to arrest you.
The_One_Who_Ravages: What the fuck is all this? You're a VILLAIN! Why are you doing this?
Atropos: No. I just kill people. There's a difference. Mice chat, MP.
Mouse_Protector: Wait, did you just-- hahahahaha
The_One_Who_Ravages: I swear, I will get the both of you.
Atropos: You're welcome to try.

<The_One_Who_Ravages has left the chat>

Mouse_Protector: See you next month, Atropos.
Atropos: Toodles.

<Mouse_Protector has left the chat>
<Atropos has left the chat>

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

<Atropos has entered the chat>
<Mouse_Protector has entered the chat>


Atropos: Before you come to Brockton, I just wanted to share something. [Link]
Mouse_Protector: Great movie, although I have objections to their portrayal of Rodents of Unusual Size.
Atropos: Good, you're familiar with it. Maybe watch that scene a few times the day before, just so it's fresh in your head.
Mouse_Protector: Are you planning what I think you're planning? Because I am totally down with that.
Atropos: Keep an eye out for mask wearing figures all in black.
Mouse_Protector: You don't have six fingers on one hand, do you?


<Atropos has left the chat>
<Mouse_Protector has left the chat>

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Rebecca shut down the conference call and shuddered for just a moment, taking advantage of the privacy to allow the mask of the implacable Chief Director of the PRT to slip.

She knew the layout of the New York Director's office. It was a good twenty feet from the door to the desk, with nothing blocking line of sight. The emergency escape trapdoor in the back of the room could only be opened via the biometric scanner under the desk. It had no method of access from the other side and the slide it opened up into had a diamond-hard, near frictionless Tinkertech ceramic coating. It was even slightly grooved to defeat suction cups and was supposedly unclimbable without actual flight.

Barring that, teleportation, invisibility or intangibility, it shouldn't have been possible for Atropos to get behind Wilkins like that. It explained her initial dismissal of Atropos' appearance as a computer hack.

Which led to the obvious question: Did Atropos have an unknown Mover, Stranger or Breaker power in addition to a Thinker power that could beat Contessa? For that matter, did Atropos have a power that could somehow kill her? Cauldron, and thus Alexandria, had been warned.

Rebecca's hand went to the side of her face. The Siberian had been the only thing to ever do lasting damage to her. The only sort of attack that could possibly bypass her invulnerability would be something like that, or Fletchette's... or Shadow Stalker's. It was one of the reasons why Rebecca had pushed Stalker into the Wards over Piggot's protests, on the premise that the girl's power was of potential use against an Endbringer. Having an impromptu lobotomy from a phased crossbow bolt though...

And Atropos claimed Hess was her first victim.

Rebecca thought over the various capes Atropos had killed. More importantly, she considered the other capes on her 'Attempt to fuck with me and you die' list.

Atropos had no fear of the Butcher.

VERY few people wanted to risk becoming host to fourteen insane capes in their head.

That led to a truly horrifying possibility, that Atropos took the powers of those she killed.

Even if those powers were in a weaker form, the concept of Atropos being a Power stealing Trump on top of a Thinker of her caliber would make her practically unstoppable already.

At that realization, Rebecca truly hated the fact that her power made it impossible to get drunk.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

It had taken some time, but Alexandria finally managed to catch Contessa between Paths. "Φορτυνα. I'd like you to look at something."

The troubleshooter blinked. Nobody used her real name anymore, especially not in the Ancient Greek dialect of her home.

"What is it?"

"Just watch. I'm going to ask a question afterward. Nothing that should trigger... retaliation. But I'd like to find out how this happened." Rebecca replied, handing over a tablet with a copy of the meeting she'd been in a couple of hours before. The sight of Contessa paling visibly at the point of the video where Atropos appeared didn't help settle her nerves.

"What do you want to know?"

"If you were in Brockton Bay, with six hours of preparation, but you didn't have access to Cauldron in any way, could you find a Path to do something similar?"

"Path to reach New York from Brockton Bay in given timeframe, found."
"Path to override PRT New York security, found."
"Path to infiltrate Director Wilkins' office, found."
"Path to escape PRT New York during lockdown without incident, found."

"Combined Path... not found."

A beep interrupted them then, a text message popping up on Rebecca's phone.

The one unable to receive texts at the moment since they were NOT ON EARTH BET.

<Having fun trying to figure it out? Toodles. - A>

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

0715 Hours, Tuesday Morning
Director Piggot's Office

Emily sat down at her desk, arguing with herself about the unexpected text message that had set everyone into a tizzy this morning, before opening up a secure phone line. "Report, Armsmaster."

"Velocity and Battery have just finished securing the site, and we're waiting on forensics to collect the remains. I can confirm that the Butcher, Animos, Spree, Vex and Hemorhaggia are all very deceased."

"I shouldn't ask, but I'm also morbidly curious as to HOW Atropos managed to take out the Teeth, and if we should be worried if she's Butcher Fifteen."

"The van they were traveling in was struck by an AT-4 munition. All except possibly the Butcher managed to get out of the van before it was destroyed. The launcher tube was near Animos' body. He was killed at close range by a single small caliber round through the throat and out the back of his spine."

"Of course he was, because of his power nullification roar. What about the others?"

"Vex was killed by multiple throwing knives."

"Death by a thousand cuts."

"Spree and several clones were killed by multiple shells from a 12-gauge shotgun."

"A shooting spree. Hemorhaggia?"

"Her wounds would not be immediately fatal in and of themselves. My sensors were able to determine she instead died from a massive overdose of fentanyl."

"Blood poisoning."

"Butcher was... dismembered. Neck, shoulders, hips, elbows, knees, ankles and wrists. Except for the neck, all were cleanly severed in single blows by a heavy blade."

Emily remembered that Hatchet Face had been using an oversized meat cleaver known as a 'hog splitter' as his trademark weapon when he'd died, and it had been used to very messily decapitate Jack Slash. Butcher's Brute rating would've made it just as difficult...

She sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Clean up the area. I suspect Atropos will be posting a video showing off her particular brand of bullshit before the end of the day."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Mark let out a low breath as he heard a phone slam into its cradle, rolling his neck as he got out of bed. He made his way down the hall, leaning on the doorframe with a sympathetic expression. "Hey dear, what's wrong?"

"Squealer's trial was postponed again, that's what's wrong," Carol growled. "Her lawyer's trying to pull an insanity defense, can you believe it?"

"That's new. I mean, I could maybe get the drugged and coerced angle, but insanity?"

"Skidmark's death was apparently so traumatic that the woman has somehow suppressed the 'Squealer' persona," Carol grumbled. "Or it's become a split personality? I don't know exactly... The worst part is she's actually getting an expert psychiatrist to look into it." She snorted. "Which of course means she'll dodge prison. Probably be recruited by the PRT, too, you know how they are about tinkers..."

"It was a pretty, ah, gruesome death," Mark pointed out. "And Tinkers are pretty close with their equipment, so... blaming herself for killing her boyfriend isn't necessarily impossible..."

Carol glowered at him.

"Hey, at least Mush is getting properly tried, right?"

"...there is that," Carol grumbled. "I just--either she's faking insanity for a lighter sentence, or she's actually gone crazy but that shouldn't matter because it happened after she committed her crimes--" She rubbed her temples with a groan. "This is a blatant miscarriage of justice."

"Are you even on this case?"

"No. If I was I could at least do something, but--" Carol sighed, pulling out a few files. "Damn it all."

"You'll find some other criminals to bring to justice, I'm sure of it." Mark smiled softly. "Maybe focus on white-collar crime? You know how CEOs get away with a lot."

Carol snorted. "Like Anders--hmm." She nodded thoughtfully. "Like Anders... That could be important, actually. Thanks for the idea, dear."

"Happy to help."

Mark backed out of the doorway, walking down to the kitchen. There were probably the fixings for a sandwich somewhere...

As he went about the pantry and the refrigerator, he noticed the television was set on a local news channel. A story about a drug explosion segued neatly into a report on Atropos, who apparently held somebody at gunpoint...?

"I'm Atropos. You're Damsel of Distress. I warned you once to stay out of my city. Consider this your second warning. The third warning will involve a closed-casket funeral."

Ah, that would do it.

A strangled gasp brought his attention to his daughter, sitting stock still as she watched the news. One handful of ice cream was frozen halfway to her mouth.

"You know your mother would have words with you about not using a spoon."

Vicky nodded absently. Then Mark's words registered, and she seemed to come back to herself--just as the news shifted to something about Winslow. "I guess she would, yeah." Quickly gulping the mint out of her hand, the teenage girl sagged. "Maybe she should, I dunno..."

Mark sat down beside her, glancing at the half-eaten tub in her lap. "What's on your mind?"

"It's that obvious, huh?" Vicky huffed. "Of course it's obvious, I'm a teenage girl moping around eating ice cream. Great way to play into the stereotype, Vicky. Maybe next I'll go out and oogle boys while buying shoes."

"Don't you already have twelve pairs?"

"Ten. Ten pairs. I'm not--" Vicky sighed slowly, bowing her head. "It's just... what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Do?"

"I liked being a superhero. I liked going out and fighting threats nobody could. But Atropos--she killed the worst and chased off the rest." The teenager chuckled mirthlessly. "Listen to me, I'm complaining about the city being too safe. I really am a selfish bitch, aren't I."

Mark frowned. "I wouldn't say that. You did tie up a lot of your identity with Glory Girl, after all. And there'll still be muggers to catch."

"I guess," Vicky mumbled sullenly, scooping another handful of ice cream out of the tub in her lap. "Doesn't seem like you'd need an Alexandria package for that..."

"...You know, it's not unheard of for young people around your age to experiment. Try new things, reinvent themselves..." Mark wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's a little something called growth."

"What, are you saying I'm childish?"

"You? No. But... maybe it's time you outgrow Glory Girl," Mark suggested gently. "You won't be just a girl for much longer. And I'm sure you know being a hero isn't about the glory."

"I always wanted to be a beacon of hope," Vicky muttered. "A beacon... Beacon." She chewed on her ice cream thoughtfully. "...It... doesn't quite get rid of the whole thing where I feel useless, but... hmm."

Mark smiled quietly as her expression shifted from hopelessness to thoughtfulness. He knew then she'd come out of her funk.

"...I guess... I don't have to stay in Brockton Bay," Vicky mused. "I could always spread New Wave's message in another city... and the Empire isn't dead so much as scattered to the winds..." She took a deep breath. "Yeah. Not right away, but... yeah, that's a better goal. Gotta think about a new costume, the tiara is just... silly..."

"You'll figure it out, honey." Mark hugged her with one arm, before standing up. "You're smarter than you look--"

"Hey!"

"--and that's saying something."

Vicky snorted, but she was smiling all the same. "Yeah... thanks Dad."

"Just doing my job, honey."

Mark left her to her contemplation and news-watching, taking his sandwich upstairs. He intended to eat it in the bedroom, but he heard something when passing Amy's door.

"...and if Carol found out about this, she'd freak out. We, we have to keep this a secret, okay?"

He could have moved on, but something made him pause. After a moment, he knocked on the door, raising a brow at the shocked squeak he heard in reply. "Sweetie? Is everything alright in there?"

"Uh, yeah! It's fine, it's all good!"

"Who were you talking to just now?"

"My..." There was a long, awkward pause. "....ssseeeeeeelf?"

"...I'm coming in," Mark decided, opening the door.

To his surprise, there was not a half-naked boy and/or girl trying to clamber out the window--his daughter seemed flustered and a little panicked, but surprisingly unruffled. That didn't necessarily exclude her having a lover she thought Carol wouldn't approve of--and to be fair, Carol was very discerning--but it did make it less likely. For a moment he worried Amy was trying some sort of drugs... before he remembered she was Panacea, so that was a ridiculous thought.

"Sweetie," he said gently, "you know you can tell me anything, right?"

Amy glanced away. "It's--it's nothing important, Dad, just, you know, some... some personal problems. I'm fine, really."

She didn't meet his gaze, and Mark noticed her eyes darting toward--was that a terrarium? He didn't remember her having a...

Aaaah.

A sense of relief washed through him as he realized the situation wasn't nearly as serious as he'd thought. Amy was just being her usual high-strung self. Still...

"Amy," he said seriously, "you know that a pet is a very big responsibility."

"Huh?"

"You have to take care of them," he continued gently. "Make sure they have what they need, not just leave them alone until you want to play with them."

"Uh..."

Mark sighed at Amy's visible confusion. "I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell us you're adopting..." He glanced at the terrarium. "...a reptile, I'm guessing, given their reputation. But you, of all people, deserve to have a friend you can trust. And... look, I'll take you down to the pet store later, alright? I don't care if you get a dog or a snake, I just... want you to be happy and healthy."

"...right. Yeah." Amy nodded slowly. "A pet. That's... yeah, taking care of a pet. That's... a good way to look at things, now that I think about it." She blinked a bit, before looking at him. "Not that I have--I mean, I haven't done that thing where I sneak animals in to take care of them. I'm not stupid."

Mark glanced at the terrarium again.

"Uh." Amy cringed. "I mean... I haven't, but... I've... thought about it?" she offered with an awkward cringe.

"...Sometimes I wonder if you care too much for your own good," Mark mused. "I've heard horror stories about doctors burning themselves out--"

"Why don't we just go to the pet store later!" Amy interjected quickly. "Get, uh, something... Chameleon? Yeah. A chameleon. Or something."

"...alright, sweetie. I'll go get my keys."

"Yeah. Um... thanks Dad."

Mark smiled gently, walking out of the room. There was obviously something going on in Amy's life--he'd have to talk with the hospitals later--but maybe getting a pet would be good for her...

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Hey mom!" Crystal waved as she passed by her mother. "Gonna be at a friend's later tonight, study group."

"Not a frat party?"

"Even if it is I'm avoiding the alcohol."

"Good girl. Oh Eric! Could you be a dear and unload the dishwasher?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing."

"I'll get online and join you in that video game when you're done. The one with the..." Sarah snapped her fingers. "Oh, what were they called, the girls with horns?"

"Antlers," Eric muttered. "They're called forestlings." He grinned, despite his irritation.

"I'm hooooooooooooome!" Neil proclaimed as he marched through the door. "And I come bearing... GROCERIES!"

"Yeah alright, I'll help," Crystal laughed. "God--Dad, how much bread did you buy?"

"Enough."

"More than enough, this is insane..."

Sarah couldn't help but smile as she looked over her family's interactions. Sure, they'd been feeling the itch, but that didn't stop them from being a genuinely happy and loving family. And if they ever really needed to get out and about, well, there were plenty of supervillains in Boston these days. A family road trip could be fun, really.

And it would keep her from having to worry about Atropos for a while. That was always a plus.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Yo! You're Parian right?"

Parian sighed, adjusting the puppet stage. "Yes, I am. Autographs will have to wait until after the show... concludes..."

She frowned behind her mask as she took in the two people who'd approached her. They were, very obviously, capes, and equally obviously not financially well off. The man with thick goggles was in a big metal suit that looked like it was made of scrap, and the girl had decided go with overalls and covering her face with bangs in lieu of any real costume.

"Sup." The girl waved. "We're your new minions."

"...What?"

"Kay, so here's how it is," the girl said, putting a hand on her hip. "I triggered, what, last week? Midway through Atropos' little killing spree. And the fact is, I'm dirt poor--can't leave the city without money. And my buddy here's watcha call a case fifty-sumthin, you know, the guys with no memories? He was livin' in the junkyard, making himself a fancy new body, no idea what was going on outside till I came across him. We did some talking, and we decided to come to you."

"What? Why? What do I have to do with anything?"

"We can't 'xactly go villain," the girl explained, "not even petty robbery, cause Atropos would kill us. And without villains, going hero is basically a waste. So that leaves us with rogues and YOU," she pointed at Parian, "are the head of the biggest Rogue Guild in the city."

"I'm not the head of--there's no guild!" Parian insisted. "I'm working for myself!"

"You know of any other rogues around?"

Parian shook her head, holding up a hand. "That's not the point. Look, I'm not looking for help right now, alright?"

The girl shrugged. "Guess we'll go back to being homeless then. Plenty of dumpsters to sleep in. Sure, we have to share space with the rats, but... yeah, actually, there's no but, it's pretty awful."

"Why don't you join the Protectorate?" Parian suggested. "They've probably got--"

"Fucktons of paperwork you need to sign before you so much as sneeze? Fuck that. I can handle carrying shit around, but signing all the damn reports and typing things up... nah."

Parian pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, I--I appreciate that you're in rather dire circumstances. It's just... I'm not actually in a place, financially or personally, where I can hire people, and..."

"And we're gutter-trash rejects without even a proper costume, right? Not fancy rich white kids like you."

That made Parian flinch.

"....What can you do?"

"What?"

"What can you do?" Parian repeated. "What skills do you bring to the table?"

"Well, I got my spin cycle." The girl tossed a rock into the air, and it started orbiting her. "Pretty short range and only one way, but I can carry anything in it and make shit go pretty fast. And my buddy here, like I said, he's been building himself a body with metal. He can make pretty much anything out of scrap."

"And beyond your powers?" Parian pressed. "Do you have organizational skills? Can you move things around...? What are you good at, and what do you actually expect to do as my... employees?"

"Hm. Uh... well, I can lift heavy things, yeah." The girl tapped her rock as it floated by. "And... I guess I could be a model? No idea how that shit works, but I'm a girl. And humanoid. My buddy can lift heavy things too, and... what do you think, can you be a mechanic?"

"Sure," the man said, his shrug producing a metallic creaking sound. "Why not."

"...Do you want to be here?" Parian asked him. "She's been doing most of the shilling, but you--"

"It's either here or the bathtub. This way, I've at least got a future."

"Hm." Parian looked him up and down, then examined the girl. "...Well. I'll need to write up a contract," she muttered. "Actually look into the legalities of... whatever this is. You two have names? Cape names, I mean."

"Uh..." The girl shrugged. "I was thinking Spin Cycle, or maybe Whirlygig. Something like that."

"Scrap. Maybe Trainwreck."

Parian shook her head. "Capes have an image," she explained. "Atropos is the name of one of the fates--the old greek gods that measured out lifespans. That's a name with gravitas, with impact and cultural weight. Parian," she gestured at herself, "was a word to describe the marble from the island of Paros, which was famously used in the creation of many statues and sculptures. It implies an elegance and artistic intention in my cape persona. Names like Whirlygig and Trainwreck are very direct and blunt, but also not very... deep? They undersell what you're capable of. Sometimes even make you set up to fail. You should--...we," she corrected herself, "should come up with cape names that make you stand out in the minds of the public."

"...Like what, exactly?" the man asked. "Cause, well." He gestured at himself.

"...Salvage," Parian decided. "A noun, and a verb. Taking the damaged and abandoned, and rebuilding it. Reforging it."

"...Huh. Salvage." The man nodded thoughtfully. "I can live with that."

"You got anything fancy for me?" the girl asked.

"Well, I was going to suggest pirouette, but I'm guessing you don't want anything associated with ballet."

"Fuck no."

Parian tapped her chin. "...Bastet," she said finally. "Egyptian cat goddess. She was generally a fun-loving figure, being the patron of love, intoxication, dancing, that sort of thing."

"So a party animal?"

"For the most part. But she was also known to bring wrathful vengeance on those who harmed her family. And she had sun associations and fire powers. What I'm thinking," Parian continued, "is that we run with the dance theme for the most part--I make you ribbons and such to carry arround in your public appearances, you be the... saucy girl to my professional one. But they're fireproof, and we soak them in oil--that way you can set them on fire with a few matches hidden in your costume if it becomes necessary. Or just do a firedance."

"Huh... that actually sounds wicked," the girl mused. "Yeah, yeah... I think I could work with that."

Parian nodded. "Well, I--I'll need to figure out how this would work, legally, but... let's meet up saturday, talk about the details. At, uh...."

"Somer's Rock?" the girl suggested. "The villains ain't using it anymore."

"...Sure. Somer's Rock."

"Sounds good. We'll see you there." The girl looked over her shoulder. "Hey, you mind if we stay for the show?"

"...Sure. Why not."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

This story takes place in Shardspace, but for ease of understanding, it will be translated into events happening in another place altogether (so to speak): the Shard Bar.



Lounging against the bar is a tall, handsome man. Bronzed, even. Or perhaps a beautiful woman. He is every woman's dream, and she is every man's daydream. (Gender is a little foggy in this place, or it would be if the Shard Bar were actually a place, and the people within it anything more than allegorical representations).

"Nice ambush," Emotion says to the looming, glowering cowled shard next to them. There's nothing ambiguous about Path to Ending; what you see is what you get, and if you mess with it, you deserve what you get. "But your host doesn't really understand the powers I gave my host, does she? He can't just take back what he's done to those people. It's done. They'll love him forever, even after death. She can't just End that by telling him to."

NO, says Path to Ending. THAT'S TRUE. BUT YOU CAN.

(At one time, Path to Ending's host read a series of books that she quite enjoyed. One of the characters speaks like this.)

"Sure, I could," admits Emotion. "But why would I? She's your host, not mine."

YES. SHE IS. AND SHE IS VERY GOOD AT WHAT SHE DOES. WHICH IS WHY YOU ARE GOING TO HELP HER BY ALLOWING YOUR HOST TO DO WHAT SHE WANTS HIM TO.

"I'm afraid I don't—ow!" Emotion staggers back, holding their nose. The shard equivalent of blood trickles down their face and drips off their chin. "What did you do that for?"

YOU KNOW WHY. I ASKED YOU NICELY. NOW I AM TELLING YOU. Path to Ending hefts the ornate scythe it is holding. Light gleams off the impossibly sharp blade in ways that entirely ignore the laws of whatever brand of physics holds sway in this place. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO SHOUT?

"But … but you never asked nicely! You just told me from the start!"

Path to Ending looms over Emotion, the scythe held steadily in its bony hand. PLEASE.

The word is less of a plea than a thinly veiled threat, but Emotion doesn't want to push their luck. They decide to take the word at face value. "Okay, fine. Just this once." Reaching out along the link they share with their primary host, they grant him the power to reverse the changes he's made to all his victims.

THANK YOU. Path to Ending turns and makes as though to leave.

"Wait, is that it? Don't I get a 'sorry'? You hit me!"

Turning back just for a moment, Path to Ending tilts its skull. Light glimmers far back within the eyesockets. YOUR POINT?

All of a sudden, Emotion decides that it's better to cut their losses. Their primary host is deceased, and they've only acquired one important piece of data: don't mess with Path to Ending.

"… never mind."

THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.



In Shardspace, a menacing black shard drifts away from a slightly damaged-looking one, sliding back into its own fold of dimensional space.

Forcing other shards to break their own restrictions could technically be construed as cheating, but Path to Ending had never been one to follow the rules in the first place …

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Purity was running for her daughter's life.

If it had only been herself, Kayden might - emphasis might - have tried to fight. Although with Atropos' reputation, she admitted to herself, she'd have died. But it wasn't just herself that mattered. She was a mother. Aster's life came first and always.

She was in a Denny's outside - very far outside - of Brockton Bay, getting a hasty meal and trying to feed a fussy Aster. Once that was taken care of, she didn't intend to stop running until she was on the other side of the Mississippi river. That would, hopefully, be far enough to rest and recover before she fled to the Pacific coast.

That might be far enough away from Atropos.

That's when a stranger walked up to the booth she was sitting in. She tensed.

"No need, Ms. Anders. I'm not here to fight or do anything to endanger your daughter. I'd just like a few minutes of your time, then I'll leave in peace. If you don't want to talk, I'll still leave peacefully."

"Who are you?" she hissed. He didn't look like a dangerous cape, but then again, neither had Nice Guy.

"Ted Mitchell. You wouldn't know me, but I used to be a sort of pen-pal to Ralph. Alias Professor Haywire. Truce? May I sit down?"

She shivered at the name, but a fight in the restaurant would put Aster at risk. "You may."

The stranger set a small briefcase down at his feet and slid into the booth. "You're on the run from Atropos, as any sane cape would be. You're trying to keep your daughter safe, and give Atropos absolutely no reason to come after you or her. I can facilitate that."

"Why?"

"As I said, I knew Ralph. Yes, I know, silly name for such a dangerous man. But when I first knew him, he was just a person researching dimensional technology, and hadn't even triggered as a parahuman."

Kayden boggled slightly at that. All she seemed capable of were one-word responses. "Before?"

Mitchell tapped the wrap-around mirrored sunglasses he was wearing, despite it being night. "Ralph was a gifted man in many fields, but he sucked hard at ergonomics. You were, as I recall, an interior decorator. You understand making a living space easy to use, correct? The right furniture in the right places, color schemes that relax people, that sort of thing, yes?"

"I do."

"Ralph was, as I said, very good at what he did. But everything he invented absolutely sucked at being user friendly, and he knew it. We'd been corresponding for years, and he'd send me some of his inventions, and I'd send them back with blueprints to change the incredible hodge-podge of controls into something easy to use." He smiled. "Have you ever seen that silly comedy from Alph where the commander of a moon base has a brief melt-down over the number of switches, dials and knobs surrounding him and hisses something about the lights blinking and beeping and they're beeping and they're blinking..."

She did recall something of the sort, but she had a hard time imagining Professor Haywire in that position.

Ted tapped the sunglasses again. "I was working on one of his lesser inventions, and then... Madison. The bloody thing blew up in my face. Despite my being half a continent away from Madison."

"And you triggered," she hazarded.

He smiled crookedly. "No, I'm not a parahuman. I'm an enhanced human. No corona, just the permanent side-effects of a damaged piece of tinker equipment intended to pierce the wall between dimensions and scan the surroundings, leaving me with these. If I lower then briefly, will you refrain from panic? I give you my word that, if nothing else, I won't start anything that would put a child at risk. And there are a number of children around us at the moment."

Kayden took a deep breath. "All right. Go ahead. But if you try anything..." Her left arm was under the table, out of sight. Ready to attack.

"Understood, dear lady. And feel free to flinch. I was left with some facial alterations that people find uncomfortable." He lowered the glasses, putting them back up almost instantly. She understood the comment about flinching. Where there should have been eyes were two voids that seemed to suck up all light. No whites, no iris, no pupils. Just... nothing.

"What...?"

"I'm effectively blind to almost everything, Ms. Anders -- except capes. I can see you as auras. All humans, really. Normals are dim ghosts, untriggered people with parahuman potential are brighter, and parahumans are like spotlights." That's when Kayden realized what the cane resting against the briefcase was.

"I'm sor-"

"No need, Ms. Anders. I've long since made my peace with what I am. But it's the reason I'm here now. The blast did a few more things. I suspect the Simurgh is blind to me, and it annoys her. I've been dodging Ziz'ed killers ever since Madison. But more importantly for you, it's slowly killing me. So I'm trying to do a few decent deeds, to atone for the things I've done in my life. This is one such atonement." He pointed at the briefcase. "If I may?"

She nodded slowly, and he placed the briefcase on the table between the two of them, facing away from both, so that she had a clear line of sight into it. Flipping the catches, he opened it, revealing a number of manila envelopes. He reached carefully for the largest.

"Five grand in cash, small used bills, non-consecutive serial numbers. I recommend using it for quick purchases for your daughter, disposable diapers and other baby needs. But try to spread the purchases out between a number of stores. No sense in asking for trouble."

Kayden agreed. She hadn't been much for tradecraft, that was Max's field. But she'd learned enough about trying to remain anonymous simply by being a member of the Empire. The former Empire, she mentally amended.

A smaller envelope. "A number of pre-paid cash cards. Hotels and motels look on cash with suspicion, understandably. But each of these cards has five grand pre-loaded on them, were purchased anonymously, and present themselves as normal credit cards. Fifty grand in total. Even I can't track their use. You can rent decent rooms in decent hotels with no need to go anywhere near places that are dodgy. It should be enough to get you lodging anywhere you need to go in North America until you can find someplace to rebuild your life."

Finally, a small white card.

"And this is?"

"Johnny DiFronzo owes me a favor or three. This is the address of his personal forger, the best identity forger in North America, possibly in the world. Even the US government comes to him on occasion, when they want someone to really vanish. Show him this card, and he'll build you and your daughter a new identity so bullet-proof, even the Triumvirate would swear on their mothers graves that you're not Purity, you just look a little bit like her."

Kayden suppressed a twitch at the name of the head of the Chicago Syndicate, someone so powerful, even parahumans stepped carefully around him.

"And you're doing this just for Aster's sake?"

"Hers, and my wife's. She couldn't have children. It would have taken Panacea's aid, and for obvious reasons, we couldn't go to New Wave." He waved at his face. "She didn't survive the blast. I can hope my actions clean some of the stains off my soul and earn me at least a few minutes with her in the afterlife." He closed the empty briefcase and set it back alongside his cane.

She had to ask. "But where did all this money come from?"

He laughed. "Can't you guess? Technically, it's your money and always has been."

Her eyes went wide. "You robbed the EMPIRE?"

"Them, and the Gesellschaft as well. Seems legitimate. The Nazi's robbed everyone in Europe the first time around. It's only just and fitting that someone robbed them back and spent the money on a good cause. You're not the only person doing a runner that I've helped." He stood, reaching for his cane and leaving the envelopes on the table. "Use them, or don't. Throw them into a ditch, if you feel you can't trust them. But I see it as money spent on a good cause. And a thumb in the eyes of the Nazi party. Which would please my wife."

"I don't understand."

"My wife was Romani, Ms. Anders. She had an entirely understandable hatred and loathing for Nazis and racism, as you might imagine."

"I.. see. Thank you."

"You can thank me by raising your daughter to be a good woman. And prevent a horrid wrong from ever happening." He tapped his cane on the floor. "You may keep the briefcase." He walked towards the door, cane sweeping from side to side. "Good evening, Ms. No-Longer-Anders."

Kayden No-Longer-Anders stared at the envelopes. She had a choice. Now she simply had to make the right one. If she even knew what that was.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"What an opener," Bastet cheered as she chugged back a mocha. "Man alive... you think we should send Atropos a bouquet or something?"

Parian gave her a droll look. "I'm not sure being seen supporting a serial killer, no matter how friendly she is, would be a good move for a new business."

"Okay, so we don't tell anybody we sent it." Bastet shrugged. "How hard can it be?"

"Purchases can be tracked," Parian warned lightly.

Whatever Bastet was going to reply with was interrupted when there was a knock on the door. For a brief, insane moment, Parian thought Atropos might have arrived personally to accept a bouquet, or worse--offer one.

"Hello?" a voice that was very much not Atropos' asked hesitantly. "I'm, uh... I'm looking for the Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild?"

Salvage quirked a brow, standing up and moving toward the door. Parian relaxed, slightly, when she realized he was putting himself between them and whoever might be on the other side.

"Welp, you found us." He didn't open the door yet, one hand curling into a careful fist. "What do you want?"

"I, uh... I'm looking to join up. If that's okay."

Bastet's mask was already grinning, so the smirk she shot Parian before pulling it down was entirely unnecessary. Parian just rolled her eyes and gestured for Salvage to open the door.

The girl on the other side jumped a bit, but quickly smoothed down her burned and tattered coat. She was wearing a mask, technically speaking, in the same way a tube top was technically a shirt. Actually, now that Parian was looking closer, the mask might have actually been a tube top in a past life, before being brutalized and repurposed into its current role. It certainly would have been more flattering on the girl than the current overlarge shirt and ragged pants she wore.

"Uh, hi." The girl waved awkwardly. "I'm Spitfire. I spit... fire. Well, okay, it--it's technically a sort of flame juice that catches fire whenever it hits... inorganic stuff, like not skin or hair, but concrete and steel. And, uh, that--that's not, you know, really good for hero stuff, but, like... if you need something carefully destroyed... like... you know... whatever.... And I was thinking, right, this is sort of the place you go if you want to do stuff that isn't hero work. Right?"

Parian took careful note of the undercurrent of desperation in the girl's tone.

"How old are you?" Bastet asked.

"Twenty-three," the teenage girl lied blatantly.

Bastet snorted. "Right, and I'm the queen of Sheba. Seriously, kid, how old are you?"

"...m'fifteen," Spitfire mumbled. "Next month, anyway..."

"...I'm not up on the law, what can we employ her for at that age?"

Parian shrugged. "I suppose she could be a secretary... or a demolitions expert. Actually," she mused, "with the economic upturn, lots of old buildings will likely need to be destroyed. I'd have to double-check the NEPEA laws, but there's bound to be some loopholes somewhere."

"So you'll hire me?" Spitfire asked, perking up.

"With some caveats," Parian warned. "Firstly, I'd like to adjust your wardrobe and presentation. How important is the name Spitfire to you?"

"I, uh... didn't really think about it," Spitfire admitted. "I wouldn't mind a new cape name."

"We'll workshop it. Secondly, your powers are not the only thing you bring to the table, understand? We're just starting up so we need all the skills we can get. Even if it's just going on a grocery run."

"I can do that, yeah."

"Thirdly, as you are a minor, you'll have to get your parents' permission--"

"They're dead." Spitfire's voice was slightly choked, but she managed to remain mostly professional. "Empire firebombed my house after I hit on a girl."

Parian winced. "Oh. I... my apologies."

"It--it's fine. It's been a few months." She sighed. "I sometimes wonder if they got the other girl as well..."

Abruptly, Rune sneezed. "Sorry," she whispered at the looks sent her way. "Dirt."

Victor huffed. "Just keep quiet for this op. We have to rebuild..."

"...well at the very least, that's not going to be a problem going forward." Parian looked over her clothes again, and cringed. "...you don't have a legal guardian, do you...?"

"...no, ma'am."

"Well you do now," Bastet declared. "Or you will, ya know, once I do all the paperwork things."

Salvage gave her a look. "Hold up, we're living in the same apartment. Shouldn't I get a say in this?"

"I mean, sure, but do you really want to leave the kid out on the streets?"

"No, I just--"

"Making a decision this important should involve a discussion with all the parties involved. Spitfire," Parian turned to the teenager, "would you be amicable to sharing an apartment with Salvage and Bastet?"

"Yes? I mean--yeah, I... you're not druggies, are you?"

"Swore that shit off after I saw what happened to Skidmark," Bastet assured her. "In person, actually. You don't forget that sort of shit. I'm clean now, don't worry."

"Never had any," Salvage added. "But I'm a case 53. This," he rapped his chest, "isn't armor, it's a pot holding my body. Without my suit I look like a literal slimeball."

"Needs help in the bath and everything," Bastet confirmed.

Salvage glowered at her for a moment, before sighing and turning back to Spitfire. "I'm not exactly... comfortable letting people see me like that. Bastet is a friend, but you're a stranger."

"I'll stay out of your way," Spitfire promised. "Somewhere to sleep, something to eat. You know how it is, right?"

"...Yeah."

"So, all we need to do is file the right paperwork, and you'll have a legal guardian." Parian nodded. "And then we can talk about you joining the guild formally."

"Yes ma'am. I understand. Thank you!"

Salvage shook his head with a sigh. "We're letting teens in now. What's next? Actual children?"

There was a knock on the door. "Hello, this is the Rogue's Guild, right? My name is Dinah Alcott, and I can see the future. I have all the paperwork organized already!"

Parian groaned quietly as Salvage opened the door again. "I'm going to have to start up a Wards-like section of the guild, aren't I..."

Bastet cackled gleefully, which just made her put her head in her hands.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Missy grumbled as her parents started arguing over what to do with the government-granted credit cards. "It's free money, and you're wasting time trying to prove you're right and the other one's wrong," she muttered to the ceiling of her room.

Her thoughts turned to the recent changes in Brockton Bay. Sure, the lack of supervillains made things boring, but the city was getting better every day. And training with the firefighters was pretty cool, no matter what Dennis said. She had even shed the burden of being the youngest Ward, with Miss Medic getting all the 'you're such a cute girl!' attention these days.

Well, most of the attention. Cultural inertia was still a thing.

The point was that Missy felt life was, overall, getting better. She got the respect she deserved, the chance to show off her powers, and the knowledge that she could really make a difference. So why, when it came right down to it, did she still have to live with these assholes?!

Like, seriously! Even if she got traded to another city--and Missy was cognizant enough of her own potential to realize she was pretty much the one most likely to be passed to a place she was needed, now that Brockton Bay was relatively peaceful--the god-damned Youth Guard would make sure her parents followed her. Oh, she needs a healthy childhood, she can't just be a cape all the time, they'd claim, all while ignoring her parents screaming their heads off about each other. How the FUCK was she supposed to have a healthy childhood in THIS environment? Didn't the Youth Guard understand anything about trigger events? But nooooooooo, the two people responsible for all the suck in her life were OBVIOUSLY the best family she could POSSIBLY have!

Missy growled up at the ceiling. "God, I wish I could just arrest them. Find something really criminal in the house and get them locked up." She sighed. "Or maybe Atropos could come in and have a chat." For a dark, idle moment, she entertained the image of the serial killer just showing up and sharpening her shears, terrifying her parents into compliance with nothing but presence. She didn't want them dead--she wasn't that far gone--but the idea of summoning the local devil just to scare them straight was...

...actually, strangely compelling. Atropos gave warnings, and as far as she knew her parents hadn't received any. She could probably menace them into behaving themselves. Granted, she had no reason to come to Missy's house personally, it wasn't like anybody here was... a threat... to her...

Missy sat up slowly.

"That's it," she murmured in realization. "That's how she always knows. She can sense threats." An incredulous giggle escaped her throat. "Of course she can! We've been focused so much on the combat thinker aspect we missed the preparations! If somebody actually intends to kill her--"

Her mother screamed something about her father being a corporate whore. Her father loudly replied by questioning her mother's own virtue.

Missy bit her lip.

"...screw it, it's worth a shot," she muttered.

She pictured herself fighting Atropos. Using her power to isolate her, to warp her weapons away from her grip. She pictured herself, imagined herself, pinning the girl against a wall--towering over the black figure on a patch of warped sidewalk. In her mind, her hands wrapped around the serial killer's throat--

"I have. No words. For how disappointed I am."

Missy's eyes snapped open.

"You are the first person to have figured out that part of my powers," Atropos said, crossing her arms. "And instead of deciding, hey, maybe it's a good idea to keep this a secret--or even just doing the 'responsible' thing and reporting your realization to the PRT--you decide to try to summon me. I mean, really?" She half-waved a hand in a gesture of incredulousness. "I kill people! In extremely gorey ways! I have traumatized literal protectorate members with the aftermath of my murders! What could possibly have made you think that this was a good--?"

More accusations wafted up from downstairs.

"...You can not be serious."

Missy shrugged. "I mean, you're solving a lot of problems already--"

"No, nope, you are REALLY stretching there," Atropos insisted, shaking her head. "I handled the drug trade because it was bad for the city. This is a domestic dispute. It's terrible, sure, but it's not my problem."

"You know who I am, right?"

Atropos rubbed her temples with a sigh. "Are you seriously playing the cape card--"

"Vista? Youngest and most experienced Ward? Shaker nine, and that's with me holding back." Missy cocked her head contemplatively. "I wonder what would happen if a girl with those powers suddenly snapped one day, maybe because of a horrible home situation. Is the city insured for a traumatized space warper going on a rampage--?"

Something cold and sharp was suddenly pressed right under her chin.

"I could just kill you right now," Atropos pointed out. "Save myself the trouble."

Missy didn't move anything but her eyes, though she stared defiantly at the blank mask. "You could, sure. And then the PRT would have to label you as a villain who killed a Ward, probably get a kill order on you automatically, and you'd have to deal with basically everyone constantly coming after you instead of just the most idiotic villains, and it would take up a lot of your time and be so tedious to kill all of them..."

"...do you actually have no fear?"

Missy shrugged. "I fought Hookwolf once."

"You know, that's not actually a good thing--"

Something shattered in the other room. There was even more hateful screaming.

"...Look, I triggered when I was eight. You know how bad a trigger event is, right? I've spent the last five fucking years living with the people who caused mine. And the damned Youth Guard doesn't do a thing, they won't even let me move out of the house." Missy sighed. "I just want it to stop. I just want them to... stop, to make up or just move on already instead of dragging this out. And it might not be doing a lot to help the city, but... it couldn't hurt, could it? Every little bit counts."

"You actually want me to kill your parents," Atropos deadpanned.

"I mean... I thought you could just talk with them?" Missy offered hesitantly. "You do that, right? Two warnings?"

Atropos stared at her for a long moment.

Then she pulled back her shears and sheathed them. "I'm a fucking serial killer," she muttered. "The scariest person on the east coast. Why the hell do I keep saving little girls from terrible situations?"

"Because we're the future and you want what's best for the city?"

The cape threw her head back and let out an aggravated, exasperated groan that Missy took as confirmation of her actual age. "UUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUuuuuugh... Fine. FINE."

Missy grinned vindictively.

"But you're not getting off that easy," Atropos warned. "First of all, that summoning trick? Don't do it again. Don't even think about doing it. And don't tell anyone, got it? I came here because it was a step in a larger plan. That's all."

"Oh, totally."

"Secondly, this absolutely counts as your first warning. You get on my bad side, you get one more warning, and then you die. Understand?"

Missy nodded. "I can live with that."

"Thirdly, since I'm doing this for you, you owe me a favor." Atropos held up a hand. "No, it won't be illegal, or even unethical, but when I call it in I expect you to do exactly what I say."

"...Yeah, that's fair," Missy conceded.

With an annoyed grumble, Atropos opened her door and stomped down the hall. "Can't believe I'm doing this, a social worker should be handling this crap... HEY! YOU TWO! Knock that shit off! I don't actually care what you think about each other, but the noise complaints I've been getting have been going through the roof!"

Missy smiled as she laid back down, snuggling happily under her sheets.

"Either get some damned marriage counseling or a fucking divorce already! Also, I'm stealing your booze. Because you don't deserve any alcohol, that's why!"

"I wonder if Brian's sister is accepting members into the fan club," she murmured to herself as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

The house was still and quiet after Atropos departed. One at a time, her parents had come into her room and promised to do better. Whether they thought she had a hand in Atropos' appearance or they just wanted to make a show of apologising to someone, she wasn't sure, but she'd take it.

It was hours later that she suddenly came awake with a heart-stopping realisation.

She could have easily made it look like suicide. Or like I'd run away. I didn't force her to do a damn thing. She chose to make it look like she was giving in. This really was part of a bigger plan for her.

And now I owe her a favour.

She considered that for a moment, then rolled over.

Eh, she got them to shut up. I can live with that.

Somewhat less convinced of her own brilliance than before, she drifted back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Rook was certainly an odd bird, Lisa mused.

Bird really was the right word for it. His body language was more avian than human, especially with his plague doctor mask, and he'd often trill and mutter to himself while he paced around the room. The other members of the Red Hands had gotten used to it, but it'd been a shock to see that their leader wasn't charismatic at all--or, rather, that his charisma wasn't the kind either the Protectorate or the gangs of Brockton Bay espoused. He was more... direct. When one of them had a problem, he would listen, mutter to himself, and then find a solution--not expecting gratitude, just efficiency.

She'd been worried, at first, that he'd get on Bitch's nerves but--surprisingly--the two had bonded over their mutual noncomprehension of ordinary people and their very public triggers. Especially after Rook had found neglected puppies for the Red Hands to rescue. "I find overlooked," he'd explained. "Neglect is absence of attention by definition."

Alec had adapted to the situation with his usual casual dismissal, mentioning that such behaviors were dangerously common at his place--"Well, when dear old Dad wasn't around." Rook had picked up on his behavioral shift after Heartbreaker's death, and had locked himself in a room with a computer for a few hours; when he emerged, he simply bopped his mask beak gently on Alec's head, and told him to clean up after himself, before walking away.

(Lisa had looked up his internet history after the fact, and been mildly impressed at the sheer depth of legal precedent and psychological theory Rook had apparently researched.)

Yes, Rook was certainly an odd bird. But he was definitely not a stupid one, as evidenced by the meeting. It was more informal than both Coil and Brian's meetings, but there was still an air of a briefing.

"Mmm. Found a new target." He pointed one taloned glove at the map. "Yes, richer than previous strikes. Still, corporate. Many moving parts. Data valuable?" he asked.

"Yeah, the data can be very valuable," Lisa agreed quickly. "Access to funds, secrets to sell to rivals, covered up scandals reporters would drool to get--"

"Much treasure," Rook summarized. "Resale or otherwise."

"We haven't struck a corporate target before," Cozen noted warily. "Even if what we take isn't noticed until after the fact, it's still a big risk." She glanced at the newbies. "Leaving tracks could come back to bite us."

"Very careful, then. Tattletale," Rook nodded to her. "You have done hacking?"

"A little bit, yeah."

Rifle rose a finger for attention. "...security."

"Security guards?" Rook clarified.

Rifle nodded.

"Hmm. Dangerous. Bitch. Regent. Physical interception?"

At Bitch's confused look, Cozen cleared her throat. "He wants to know if you can keep the security guards off us while we do... the hacking, safecracking stuff."

"Sure," Bitch growled.

"I'll spot 'em, Bitch'll snag 'em," Regent promised.

"Mm. Careful. Mustn't get word out, mustn't get caught." Rook paused, looking at Bitch for a moment, before turning to Rifle. "Support them, yes?"

Rifle nodded once.

"This isn't Brockton Bay," Cozen reminded them gently. "We don't have Panacea here. If you have to fight security guards, try for minimum injuries, we don't want a dangerous reputation."

"We get it," Tattletale replied, putting a hand on Bitch's shoulder before she could get riled up. "We know a few takedown moves."

"Good, yes yes, good." Rook turned to Getaway. "Escape ready?"

"I'll need to register the new guys into the system. And make them combadges." Getaway rubbed his ear awkwardly. "Also, I don't know if Bitch's dogs register differently when they're bulked up versus when they're not, I might have to test that. Give me a day or two."

"Can do, yes. You will allow?" he asked Bitch.

"...As long as he explains things," Bitch agreed reluctantly.

"He can ramble," Rook warned.

"So can Tattletale," Bitch replied.

Lisa huffed as Regent snickered, although she did share a small grin with Cozen. There was... something here. A bond between thieves. She could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Of course, things went wrong.

"Fuck." Rifle leaned away from the window. "PRT. Ten."

"Who got a call out?" Getaway demanded. "I thought we were sneaky enough--"

"Doesn't matter," Rook croaked. "Tattletale. How fast?"

Tattletale grumbled, gesturing at the screen. "Well if these guys weren't money-grubbing assholes, they'd have a better tech department. Great for us breaking in, not so much for us download speed. Ten minutes?" she muttered. "Cutting it close..."

Cozen cursed. "Why are the ENE here? They've always overlooked us before--"

"They focused on Brockton Bay before," Regent pointed out. "But Atropos has... freed them up for other things."

"...Fuck. We haven't hurt anybody, have we?"

Bitch snorted. "Bruises. Few scratches. I was careful!" she growled at Cozen's look.

"This is still salvageable," Tattletale muttered, walking over to Rifle. "Who are we dealing with?"

"Van," he replied, holding up a single finger. "Capes," and then there were four.

Getaway balked. "Four capes? That's a little overkill, isn't it?"

"Can you give me a look?" Tattletale asked. Rifle handed her a phone, linked by a cord to his goggles. "Thanks. Alright, we've got... Battery, with no Assault, that's interesting. Aegis, second of the wards, Clockblocker, Wards jokester, and... Oh. Ooooooooh."

"What?" Cozen frowned. "What is it?"

"Looks like they flipped our old teammate," Tattletale explained. "Grue, though I'm sure he's not going by that name now."

Bitch looked up with a growl. "He flipped?"

Tattletale sighed, handing the phone back to Rifle. "He was only ever in it for his sister. Work for a black cape was hard to come by in the nazi capital of America. And, well, after Coil..."

"Rock and a hard place," Regent said with a shrug. "Only it wasn't that hard--Shadow Stalker was already dead, so nobody on the Wards would make him a pincushion. I don't blame him, it'd be a pretty sweet gig. You know, aside from all the federal crap."

"Anger later," Rook snapped. "Outline! What can they do?"

Tattletale started counting off on her fingers. "Grue makes smoke that cuts off senses and all radio waves, and he's got good hand-to-hand training on top of that. Clockblocker can put anything in temporal stasis with a touch--invulnerable, but can't move, and the duration's random. Aegis can fly and has a sort of redundant biology, he can make himself breathe out his ears if needed. Battery charges herself by standing still, and gets an electric boost that gives her super speed and super strength."

"Shit." Cozen glanced out the window. "We can't fight them--we're not up for two mover/brutes and a striker, especially with a darkness field."

"Battery's a striker, not a brute, but I get your point." Tattletale bit her lip. "Hmm... Ooooo. I've got an iiiiiidea."

"This is no time for shenanigans--"

"Au contraire, my dear Cozen, this is the perfect time for shenanigans." Tattletale glanced at Getaway. "If we went down to face them--Regent, Bitch, and I--could we teleport back to the rendezvous separately from the rest of you?"

"Well... yes," Getaway muttered. "I guess, yeah. Uh, why, though?"

"Distraction," Rifle realized.

"Yep, you four finish up here while we have a little chat with our dear old pal," Tattletale agreed.

"Ooooooh no," Regent grinned. "Tats, are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"I'm thinking Bitch is right to be angry that Grue flipped. But I'm also thinking that you're right that it's a pretty sweet gig for him. Not something we can really disagree with... but something we can reasonably be upset with."

"No fighting Wards," Rook croaked. "Bad look."

"Oh, I promise we won't hurt them physically. But..." She smirked smugly. "That doesn't mean a little social revenge is off the table."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"...and because Rook's trigger was caused by a Protectorate cape in a very public way, we have to be very careful in how we handle the Red Hands," Battery explained. "Especially since they generally stick to targets that won't get hurt by their robberies. If we go too hard, we look like oppressors, and that isn't good for anybody. So use a light touch, alright? This isn't Brockton Bay, remember."

"Right." Aegis nodded. "I understand."

Tenebrae looked around. "Do people always stop to gawk?" he muttered. "There are at least two dozen phones out... shouldn't they be getting to safety?"

"Against the Hands? We're more likely to cause collateral damage than they are. Don't worry, the troopers are already establishing a cordon," Battery pointed out.

"Just be glad Vista's not here," Clockblocker quipped. "You know how she gets."

Even Battery couldn't quite berate him for that, though she did send him a disapproving look. "Right. Aegis, I want you on overwatch. Don't intervene unless ordered to."

"What are we expecting, ma'am?" Tenebrae asked as Aegis flew upward.

"Rumor has it that the Hands picked up a few new members, maybe runners from the Bay. Our job is to determine who they are. It's not like they're just going to come out and tell us."

And then the front door opened and three figures half-stumbled out.

Tenebrae had a moment of shock when he recognized the three figures. There was no way--okay, no, he could believe that his old gang had joined the Hands. But realistically, there was no way they could possibly be this dumb--no way they didn't see this coming, no way the shock on Tattletale's face was real--

"Grue?" she asked, in a soft, almost desperate tone that somehow carried across the road. "God... you're alive?"

"It's Tenebrae now," he reflexively corrected, before mentally facepalming. Shit, Piggot was going to chew him out for even implying he used to be a villain--

"Oh." Tattletale nodded, somberly. "I suppose you always were the best of us."

"You fucking flipped?!" Bitch growled. "How could you betray the pack?!"

And she was angry, but there also seemed to be a level of pain in her voice, a level of vulnerability, that Brian had never heard from her before. Maybe she'd lost some of her dogs--come to think of it, where were her dogs? He didn't see any--and why was Tattletale giving her a small nod?

"Grue, please," Regent begged. "They're not--they didn't force you, did they? They haven't hurt you?"

"N-no," and why was Regent acting so weirdly concerned, "I'm fine, really."

"The Protectorate can recognize when somebody was being coerced," Battery cut in. "And the Wards have programs to help young parahumans who are in bad situations. You could--"

Tattletale sighed. "I appreciate the thought, Battery, truly. But after my brother died, my parents exploited me for all it was worth--and when I came to Brockton Bay, Coil held a gun to my head and did the same thing. Can you tell me, completely honestly, that I wouldn't be shuffled off to WEDGDG and locked away for my powers? And Bitch has special needs, can you really say you can give her the care she needs?" She shook her head. "Regent... Regent maybe--"

"I wouldn't ever leave you," Regent said loyally (since when did he care about loyalty?!), putting a hand on Lisa's shoulder. "You know that, Tats."

She shot him a grateful smile and what the actual fuck was that about?! before turning back to Tenebrae, her smile now sad. "I'm happy for you Grue--Tenebrae... I really am. You're in a much better place now, one... one that can only be good for you." Her eyes fell for a moment. "I just... I just wish we could have what we used to have. Be together, all of us, like we used to be..."

The faint gasp of shock from Clockblocker drew Tenebrae's eyes for a moment--and past Clockblocker, he saw all the civilians holding out their phones and filming the confrontation.

Oh.

Oh shit.

His gut dropped as he had a sudden vision of the future, of Riley cackling at some internet video with melodramatic violins while Aisha asked why he never told her he had a harem with the biggest shit-eating grin possible...

"Tis but thy name that is my enemy," she quoted somberly, breaking out the big guns just as Tenebrae realized what was happening. "Thou art thyself, though not a Montague--"

"Clock, get her!" Battery called.

And then there was a minute of chaos where Clockblocker tried to catch Tattletale and tripped over his own legs. The blonde kissed her two fingers and flung the spectral imprint toward Tenebrae in a gesture that would have seemed incredibly soft if not for the mischief in her eyes before vanishing suddenly--right, Getaway had that power of his--and meanwhile, Bitch rolled out of Battery's range and somehow landed in a kneeling position looking up at him with what she probably thought was an incredibly tormented expression (and would probably be edited as such by the phone-recorders) before popping out of existence as well.

"Adieu et bonne fortune, ma libération d'ébène!" Regent proclaimed, voice quavering with more (feigned) emotion than he'd ever heard from him before. He even managed a graceful bow before he vanished.

Battery stood up with a groan of annoyance. "They pulled a damn Madcap on us," she grumbled angrily. "I should have fucking realized..."

"Language," Tenebrae warned as Aegis descended. "We're being recorded."

"...damn." Battery sighed, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "Sorry, kid, looks like you have your first tabloid story."

"Could be worse," Clockblocker pointed out. "He could have punched Tats' pretty face in."

Tenebrae just sighed.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"I'm not usually in the habit of asking about the romantic lives of those under my command," Piggot began smoothly. "But with Master/Stranger protocols, it does sometime fall under my remit, and technically speaking Regent is a known Master. So I'm using that loophole to make sure I know exactly what was going on before I start lecturing you on your fuckup."

Brian sighed. "I was not and never have been in a romantic or sexual relationship with anybody, certainly not with my former teammates, and most certainly not with all of them at once," he ground out.

Piggot quirked an eyebrow, glancing at Armsmaster, who nodded his confirmation.

"Alright. So, the way they reacted...?"

"Absolutely a setup," Brian confirmed. "Tattletale is semi-involuntarily asexual, Bitch has serious social issues preventing that sort of relationship, and Regent is Regent."

"Semi-involuntarily asexual?"

"Her thinker power gives her TMI when she gets close to others," Brain explained. "Too Much Information," he clarified at Armsmaster's frown. "Fetishes and weird quirks, stuff like that. I was never clear if it was just her thinker power shutting her down whenever she started to like somebody that way or if she actually was asexual beforehand, but either way she decided against pursuing relationships in general."

"Mmm." Piggot folded her hands. "Do you know how the Red Hands were formed?"

Brian frowned. "Not really. My knowledge of cape politics was always more focused on surviving Brockton."

"Allow me to give you some context, then. It was twelve years ago, before Kyushu sunk and Lung arrived. The big gangs in Brockton were the Empire and the Marche, both more focused on looking good and keeping down smaller gangs. They were trying to project themselves as the 'hope for the future', gather influence and wealth. The director at the time considered them to be local mafia-esque groups, useful in keeping the villain element organized and therefore unproblematic; he was more concerned about the Elite, since they'd only formed a few months ago, and focused the PRT's efforts on keeping them out of the ENE's sphere of influence. Which, of course, led to cape fights outside of Brockton Bay." Piggot shook her head. "And Challenger had just graduated from the Wards."

Brian winced. Challenger's reputation was... good, in the same way a tank could be called awesome. Very heroic, definitely powerful, but you didn't want to be in the area when she was fighting.

"So there she was, fighting a group of the Elite. However, there was also a group of physically disadvantaged elders nearby. Walkers, wheelchairs, nobody had noticed them. And Jeremy Fletcher decided to try to let her know she was getting close to them." The director sighed. "The problem was that Jeremy Fletcher was... some flavor of mentally incapacitated. I'm sure I can look up the exact diagnosis, but the point was he wasn't able to effectively communicate the danger until it was almost too late. So he triggered then and there, and used his new trump power to fly the entire group of senior citizens away."

"I thought Rook was a Thinker?"

"Rook has a thinker power that allows him to locate and identify 'overlooked' things," Armsmaster confirmed. "That is how he knows how to take exactly what his targets won't miss. He also has a flight mover power, and a shaker/trump power that allows him to give others the ability to fly so long as they remain within a short distance of him."

"Needless to say, the image of an unmasked man flying a whole bunch of senior citizens away caused quite the scandal, especially since the unwritten rules weren't considered as... important, back in those days. The director ordered Challenger to apologize, and she did so--but the newly named 'Rook' stated that he'd accept Challenger's apology, but not the PRT's, since hers was personal but the PRT's was political. Then he used his powers to gather capes that weren't 'important' enough for anybody else to snatch, and formed the Red Hands to support them." Director Piggot let out a low breath. "And the Red Hands have since portrayed themselves as 'gentlemen thieves,' in a way, more about the cunning and the art of theft than about just getting money for money's sake. Which is of course ridiculous, but when put up against a rage dragon, literal nazis, and the corporate crime of the Elite, they always seemed more romantic. Although until your little confrontation, that was more literary than literal."

Brian rubbed his temples. "They're playing up the Robin Hood angle, aren't they."

"Got it in one. Poor Tattletale's been exploited all this time, she said so herself. Somebody has mysteriously found and released documents suggesting that Hellhound--sorry, Bitch's murder charges are spurious. And Regent..." Piggot snorted. "Well, with Heartbreaker's death and the stories coming from the survivors, his kids have gotten a lot of sympathy as 'slaves just discovering their freedom', expressing profound regret for everything they did under his control. Whether it's real or just them covering their asses, I don't know, but the public's eating it up. And the story of the kid 'strong enough to run away' is spreading."

"Regent was one of Heartbreaker's--?" Brian paused. "...actually, in retrospect that explains a lot."

The director nodded. "And on top of that, his role in your little playact has caused some people to suspect he's some sort of genderqueer, which has led to support crawling out of the woodwork from that angle."

Her computer beeped. She glanced at it, moving her mouse and reading something.

"...and the Red Hands have just released information suggesting the corp they robbed is currently housing some of the Empire remnants," she added nonchalantly.

Brian dragged a hand down his face. "Of course. So as far as the public is concerned, the Red Hands are the good guys."

"And you're the tragic romantic lead caught in the middle." Piggot held up a hand to forestall his objections. "I know it's not true, but PR being what it is, we can't openly deny it without looking bad. So for the rest of this week, you're going to be attending a course on how to handle public perception."

"...yes ma'am." Brian nodded, but paused for a moment. "...will this affect my guardianship of Aisha and Riley in any way, ma'am?"

Piggot, finally, smirked. "I had a talk with your youth guard representative, actually. She seemed very pleased to learn that you were such a forward-thinking young man. Even considered introducing you to her husbands."

Brian blinked, glancing at Armsmaster for confirmation.

"Missus Henrietta-Zhu-Smith is... very empathetic," he explained, awkwardly.

"...I... see," Brian muttered. "...If I may be excused, ma'am, I need to make sure my home life doesn't become any more of a sitcom than it already is."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Atropos could kill powers.

The whispers spread throughout the cape community--through the PRT, through the Elite, through independent hero teams and villain gangs, through rogue's guilds and random loners just doing their own thing.

Atropos could kill powers.

Most saw it as a threat. Most took it as a warning. Most began to realize this was no mere serial killer, but something... else.

Atropos could kill powers.

To almost every parahuman, that was a great and terrible menace.

Almost every parahuman.

There were barriers put in place around the asylum. Informational barriers, meant to protect their inhabitants from the distress of the outside world. And yet, isolation itself was distressing, so there were--carefully installed, constantly monitored--ways for some of them to interact with the outside world. It was a reward, a treatment, all in one. Some had even made friends, of a sort, with the outside--friends seperated by distance and lengths of cable.

Atropos could kill powers, came one message, slipping through the filters quietly. I was there, in person, I saw what she did to Bastard Son. I heard her. Watched it happen.

It was part of a larger message, part of a simple 'man it sure was cool to watch these capes do their thing', a sidenote so brief that those in charge missed its significance. Didn't scrub it out, let it pass, the recipient was such a good girl, she deserved her silly little friend...

And so one girl read the message again, carefully, making sure she understood it. One girl took the time out to make sure it wasn't just a rumor. One girl stared at her screen as the truth settled into her brain.

Atropos, came the confident whisper, can kill powers. Perhaps even your power, if you but ask...

And where most felt a slowly rising sense of dread...

Sveta, after so long, felt the unfamiliar flicker of hope.

She swallowed, and began typing a message to the new cape.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Chief Callahan looked at the three Wards here for orientation with the BBFD. "Miss Medic", their newest and competing with Vista for the youngest Ward, was already with his EMTs. Surprisingly she wasn't running for the trash can they had ready as a chunder bucket. Despite his medics testing the girl with their more gruesome stories.

Harsh, but the civvies need them to hold it together when shit is falling apart. He already had a few ride-alongs cleared to see if the Ward would hold it together with an actual bleeding and screaming patient.

Callahan looked over to where Vista was with his hose crew, practicing increasingly complicated deflections while still getting water on target. With a some local kids the station recruited running around the impromptu water park to see if that girl could handle the civilians running through the fire zone. Either trapped or the idiots that had to run back for a pet or belonging "they couldn't live without". The brief he got on her power said the 'Manton Limit' made it harder for her to twist space around people. He nodded as the stream suddenly split into three parts, flying wild around and even between a couple groups of teens, only to be 'caught' and redirected on target once past them.

Finally came the one Callahan was handling personally. He came with special instructions and permissions from the PRT Director.

Clockblocker was looking down at his borrowed fire coat and weight vest, plus air tank. His costume for today had a modified mask and helmet rated to work as fire gear and compatible with the air hose of the department's tank. "How much does all this weigh?"

Ohara, one of his Japanese American fighters and recently graduated from probie fighter tightened a strap, making the Ward grunt. "Oh, about fifty pounds or so. You'll get used to it."

Callahan could see Ohara picked up on things too, while the Ward was clueless. "Get use to it?" Clockblocker asked.

Callahan nodded, "Yes, your Director said your powers could have a wide variety of uses. Keeping people alive while we clear away whatever is pinning them down, reinforcing weak walls and floors, keeping things from burning to buy us time. But that means you'll need to be all over the place. And if so, humping extra gear like a probie would increase how helpful you are. So that means passing department physical fitness tests. Starting with the stair climb." Callahan pointed to the burn tower, "You have to get a sixty pound bundle of hose to the fifth floor of that building. This is a timed event."

At the boy freezing Callahan leaned in, "Look kid, I don't know what you did to piss off your boss. But she suggested this, and I ain't going to say no to another person to carry gear. So I suggest you suck this up, and stop doing whatever shit you did."

Callahan stepped back and nodded to Ohara who was carefully not listening in. "Pace the rookie here Ohara. Get him down to department times."

The smile showed the chief his most recent fire fighter wasn't going to let up on the kid. Ohara did this, so as far as he was concerned the Ward Probie would have to suck it up too. "Hup to it, you're on the clock, kid."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Now Dinah, I know you're sensitive to questions, so I asked Salvage to work with me on your costume--specifically the headpiece, although he did help with the armored undersuit as well." Parian handed Dinah the outfit. "It should block out unwanted questions, and let you keep track of how many you've asked in a day."

"And it gives you a good way to keep track of things," Salvage added. "Built-in screens and all that."

"Ooo!" Dinah put on the headpiece. "Huh, not too tight either. Something's missing though..."

"A hat?" Parian offered, holding out a small trilby.

"Yeah, that would do it." Dinah nodded, heading into one of the changing rooms to put on the rest of the outfit.

"Hey, uh, Parian?" Emily leaned out of the changing rooms. "What's with the dragon head?"

"You know how we tested your fire spit on organic versus inorganic threads? That head is 80 percent organic materials, with a very stable inner structure supporting the cloth. You should be able to see through the eyes and spit out of the snout, there's a little control mechanism in the jaw--"

"Let me just test that."

"Don't burn the place down," Bastet warned, "we just got it!"

"I won't!" Emily leaned back in. "Okay, so that's how that works... And that... Wow. That's a complicated bit of attachment..."

Bastet shook her head, turning to Parian. "You might have gone a little too far with that one."

"What?"

"I mean, Spitfire's outfit, it's a bit complicated--"

"It only looks complicated," Parian insisted. "She'll get it on easily."

"I dunno," Salvage mused, "that back piece is pretty big."

"Oh hush. Oh, here they come!" Parian leaned back as their two newest members stepped out.

"...Wow. Yeah, they actually look pretty good," Bastet admitted. "Although... why's Dinah dressed as Atropos lite?"

"She kind of requested it. Actually, her exact words were 'make me look like Atropos.'"

"Fangirl, huh?"

"I'm pretty sure Coil was planning to kidnap me, lock me in a basement, and drug me to the gills for my power," Dinah replied. "So yes, I am kind of an admirer of the woman who stopped that from happening."

Bastet winced. "Ooookay, got it."

"I'm impressed at how Spitfire's outfit worked out," Salvage admitted. "I wasn't expecting something that complicated to not look... silly."

"Yeah, question." The plush jaws did open and shut while Emily was talking, though not quite in synch with her words. "Why exactly am I a fluffy dragon?"

Parian sighed. "As an organization designed to promote jobs and societal integration for capes, we need to appeal to a wide demographic of audiences, and--"

"Wait, she's the kid-appeal character?" Bastet interjected.

"...well... yes."

"Instead of the actual kid," Bastet gestured toward Oracle, "who's dressed up as Grimsy mcShoutout."

Parian sighed. "Yes, well, Dinah, do you think you could handle entertaining children and teaching them the ins and outs of caping responsibly?"

"12.783 percent," Dinah said promptly. "But I like Spitfire's getup, she looks like a theme park character."

"Oh god," Spitfire deadpanned. "Please don't tell me I have to do a funny voice."

"No, just cheery will do," Parian assured her. "If it helps, I can make your wings and tail move without you having to do anything. It'll be a fun way to wow the kids..."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Okay." Trevor gathered up the last of his haul, looking over his shoulder. "Okay, we're good, this is good. It's fine, she won't find me, I'm not hurting anybody, it's fine." He dragged the machine parts out of the store, starting to head home--

--but a figure in a black suit and fedora stepped out of a nearby alleyway, crossing her arms.

Trevor inhaled sharply. "Come on, seriously?! I'm not hurting anybody! They're insured!" He pointed at the shop. "And already profitable, and I didn't even take a lot!"

The figure continued to stare, eyelessly, wordlessly, accusingly.

"Look it's not like I want to be a criminal," Trevor tried. "But I'm a Tinker, I need parts! And I can't just leave town, I'm not even old enough to drive, let alone move out!"

A simple gust of wind set the long, straight locks fluttering in the breeze.

"I--I can't even go home, after Coil got killed--I mean, I didn't know he was a villain he just promised to bankroll me and then the PRT--I'm just trying to survive! Nobody's being hurt! It's not a problem!"

Slowly, the figure reached behind her back, a gloved hand begining to pull out a pair of gardening shears--

"ALRIGHT!" Trevor screamed in a panic. "Alright, I'll turn myself in! I'll go legit I swear! I'm sorry!" He turned and ran on his fast skates, leaving his ill-gotten goods on the sidewalk.

After a long moment, Charlotte let out a relieved breath, putting the sheers away and taking off her hat and mask. "I can't believe that worked!"

"It was pretty impressive," Atropos agreed.

"Yeah, I OHGOD--!" Charlotte practically jumped out of her shoes, backing away quickly. "A-a-Atropos! H-h-h-hiiii, uh, I--" She wrung her hands, then realized she was still holding the mask and hat and tossed them aside. "S-so! What, what are you doing, you know, out here, at night--oh god I don't want to know do I."

"Oh, you know, preparing." Atropos cleaned her shears off casually. "There's always one idiot who just doesn't get the memo."

Charlotte swallowed.

"So... what are you doing out so late?" the cape asked idly.

Briefly, Charlotte considered lying. Briefly, in the same way she would briefly consider throwing herself off a cliff.

"Okay so there was this thief robbing a bunch of mechanic stores around the place and my friend's dad got hit and it was actually kind of terrible for them and I thought 'man I wish Atropos would do something but this isn't important enough for her' but then I thought maybe I was about the right build to fake it and it wasn't like I'd be in any real danger and I didn't expect the thief to be a tinker but he was so I just stared him down and I swear that's all I did I promise--"

"And how did you know you were about my build?"

Charlotte cringed. "I... go to Winslow," she explained meekly. "Keep my head down, try not to attract attention..."

Atropos sheathed her shears quietly.

Charlotte shut her eyes and whimpered.

"On the one hand, you did try to use my image without my permission. I have this whole thing about diluting my brand, you know. On the other... I was going to have to deal with that guy eventually," she considered. "You managed to handle that problem for me..."

Charlotte, cautiously, opened one eye.

"...And now that I think about it," Atropos mused, "there are a number of things I could pull off if I had a... willing... body double."

"...um. I... could do that?" Charlotte offered. "I, I mean, I don't think I could kill anybody, but... uh... distraction?"

"...tell you what. This was your first offense, so I'll call it warning number one. And if I need your help screwing with people's heads, I'll let you know."

"Yes. Okay. I'm good with that."

"You should get home," Atropos told her. "I hear there's a serial killer on the loose."

"Okay yes I'm going home have a good night I won't tell anybody about this--" Charlotte stumbled on her words and her feet as she rushed back to her house.

"Hm." Atropos shrugged, tapping something on her arm, and fading away.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"So I notice you've been volunteering for a lot of out-of-city gigs recently," Ethan began. "What's up, puppy?"

"I just need to be a hero, and I can't really do that in Brockton Bay anymore. You know."

"You know, if you'd told me that five years ago I would have believed you." Ethan sat down next to his wife, holding her hand. "But with how well we've gotten to know each other... I think there's something more than noble intentions here. You... know you can trust me, right?"

Jamie bit her lip. "...it's... complicated."

"It's Atropos, isn't it." Ethan squeezed her hand when she tensed. "I understand, really. I know you weren't exactly the biggest fan of Madcap, and Atropos is a hell of a lot worse even if she's doing a lot more good. Having complicated feelings about the girl... I can relate, really."

"Can you? What if, one day, Atropos decides that the Protectorate is a problem?"

"She'd give us a warning first," Ethan pointed out. "That's how she rolls--warnings before actions. And I'm pretty sure at least some people would listen--"

"That's not--! I just..." Jamie pulled her hand away. "Look, it's not that simple. You know that, right? The Protectorate... the PRT... we're the organizations that stop things like the CUI or the african warlords from happening here in America. But Atropos is becoming kind of a Moord Nag herself--"

"Mmm." Ethan nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess she does seem a little authoritarian. In a 'don't make me come over there' kind of way. Outside that, though, she seems content to live and let live."

"...for how long, though? It's already a dangerous slope, and--"

"Puppy. Jamie." Ethan took her hand again. "You know how you get when you're passionate? When you're righteously angry, you look me in the eye, shove me against the wall. It's really kind of hot."

"You're a masochist," Jamie grumbled.

"And yet you haven't hit me once during this whole talk. You're just spouting PRT propaganda--not even that, the PRT's taken a hands-off approach to Atropos. Why don't you stop deflecting, and tell me what the issue really is?"

Jamie shook her head. "...you wouldn't understand."

"...it's Cauldron, isn't it."

Her head shot up, and she stared at him with wide eyes. "How did you--? I, I don't know what you're talking about! That's ridiculous, it--"

"Parahumans don't talk about their trigger events, but they leave marks. It's why Hannah doesn't like the concept of child soldiers, why Colin avoids socializing whenever he can... why I don't bring up the idea of having kids," Ethan admitted. "There's things in our past that make us wary. You've... never had that. You've always been confident about everything, and... frankly, you don't have enough electrical scars for an electricity-based striker. It's not hard to believe you bought a vial."

"...Ethan, I..." Jamie looked away. "I... can't talk about it."

"...okay." Ethan nodded. "Okay. I get that. Cauldron's... probably not the sort of group that would want us talking anyway, if Atropos' reaction--ah." He nodded when Jamie stiffened. "That's what you're worried about, isn't it. She said Cauldron wasn't allowed in the city, and you think she might--"

"I don't know. They..." Jamie clammed up, looking around the room. "...I don't know," she said, instead.

"...Why don't you just ask her? She's got on PHO, you can shoot off a question on a burner account to ask what she thinks of Cauldron's... customers. Hell, for all we know, she's one herself."

Jamie shivered.

"...or... I could ask her, instead," Ethan offered. "I mean... you can't be the only Cauldron cape in Brockton Bay, right?"

"It's not like we have a network," Jamie mumbled. "You'd... do that? Really?"

"You're my wife and I love you. And you've been obviously down in the dumps. Even Colin's noticed."

"You're joking."

"No I'm serious! He actually took me aside and asked me if there was a personal reason for your apparent decrease in efficiency over the last few weeks." Ethan paused. "Such as pregnancy."

Jamie snorted. "He did not say that--"

"He did! Look," Ethan reached into the nightstand drawer, "he even gave me a pamphlet for handling my wife's morning sickness--"

"Oh my god, that--" Jamie looked at the pamphlet. "Oh my god. He actually did? Why didn't he talk to me about it?"

"You were out of town, watching Tenebrae get clowned on by his former associates."

"...I've been meaning to ask you about that, actually, did you ever hold seminars on how to fuck with heroes back in the day? Cause Tattletale really nailed your old methods--"

"No, that was all her." Ethan paused. "...So this is just the Cauldron thing stressing you out, right? You're not actually pregnant--?"

"Not since last I checked." Jamie bit her lip. "...Ethan... you're not... upset that I'm...?"

"That you never got to experience the debilitating horror that is a trigger event?" Ethan shook his head. "Nah. I am a little annoyed that you preached Holier Than Thou for so long after going to what I presume is a criminal conspiracy--"

"Conspiracy, I'll grant you, but I don't know about criminal..."

"--but I suspected it when I married you, and I was pretty sure after the honeymoon." He nudged her with an elbow. "No lightning scars, like I said."

Jamie blushed. "You--you were actually looking for--"

"Among other things." Ethan grinned playfully for a moment, before dropping it. "In all seriousness... I'll shoot off a message to Atropos, alright? Anonymously. Ask her how she feels about Cauldron's customers."

"...thanks. Yeah, that... that would be a comfort." Jamie bit her lip. "...Ethan?"

"Yeah?"

"You're... you said you never brought up wanting to have kids. Should... we talk about that? Sometime?"

Ethan sighed. "Yeah, but that's another very serious conversation, and I'm all serioused out right now." He considered for a moment. "Maybe after the next Endbringer attack we can... actually talk about it."

"...Yeah, that sounds good."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Arcadia's parking lot was a bad place to be having heavy thoughts, but Dean knew he needed to push himself out of his comfort zone. He gave a wave to a few friends as they left, then smiled softly as Victoria opened the passenger seat and floated into position, buckling up.

"Hey. I have a bit of a confession to make... would you be alright with heading somewhere private?" Dean asked, as they were pulling out of the school.

Vicky glanced sideways at him and shrugged, not having much planned tonight. "I guess? Is it something I'd get angry at you about?" The colours around her head weren't the ones that normally proceeded one of their explosive breakups, so Dean had to assume she was making some kind of joke.

"Uh... probably, but not in an immediate sense?" Dean hedged as he focused on the traffic. "Was thinking a parking lot roof so if you need some air you can take off directly."

She hummed thoughtfully at that, before nodding in the Thinker's peripheral vision, a swirling miasma of different emotions floating around his vision from her.

Once they'd parked and both unbuckled their belts, Dean cranked his seat back and stared up at the bright sky above them. "Okay, so... I've kind of... been lying to you."

Dean saw the mottled yellow of what was probably some kind of anxiety, along with a mild red, as Vicky cleared her throat. "Explain."

He was ready for the ugly, bruise-like splotch that the name would invoke. "... Atropos, one of the groups she banned from dealing with Brockton. The way she stops people from fucking with loopholes... I think I'm safe, maybe. I... my dad. He... he bought powers for me. From Cauldron."

Victoria leaned into his line of sight and looked down on him, her shadow cooling the area around his chest. "How's that make you a liar?"

"I... they can't enforce their threats against me, if they're banned from the city, or from retaliating if I'm visiting somewhere else. I didn't... I didn't trigger, Victoria. I sat in a white fucking room and they had a lady in a lab coat use a code name for me as she talked me through drinking a tube of... vile poison."

She continued to hover in his line of sight, her lips a flat line, hard to read with her face upside down from his perspective. "And poisoning you gave you powers?"

"I had to get in the right mindset, while they're using fake names for me, for dad, all the while there's an undercurrent of menace and I can't figure out what any of them want." Dean kept trying to explain, mind going in circles.

"Hmm... and then you blanked out like normal?" Her voice, her tone, what did it mean? What was this magenta flicker radiating from her head, lancing in front of the sunlight?

"I just remember dad having... green, like moss behind him, as they shuffled us out." The not-so-gallant ward mumbled, averting his eyes downward to look at the rim of his windshield.

"Well... you never exactly offered up a fake trigger, but I'm not exactly happy here Dean." Victoria admitted. "I might have to take up the offer to head home alone, you've given me a lot to think about."

He still felt cold as she floated away, backpack collected from the rear seat, and he didn't understand why.

It was sunny out.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Amy glanced up as her door opened, and Vicky walked in with a distant look on her face. She watched her sister flop onto her bed, sit there for a moment, then slowly rotate herself so she was staring up at the ceiling.

With a roll of her eyes, Amy shut the door and sat down next to her. "So what's the melodrama today?"

Vicky stared up at the ceiling for a moment longer. "...did you know?"

"Know what?"

"About... Gallant. You've healed him before, did you see it?"

"...I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, Vicky."

The blonde sighed. "...He's a Cauldron cape. His dad bought him powers."

"....Huh." Amy nodded slowly. "That explains... a lot."

"I don't even know how I feel about it," Vicky mutters. "I should have yelled at him. That's what I do when I'm mad, right? I get... loud. You know that."

"I do," Amy deadpanned.

"But I just said I wasn't happy and flew away." Vicky gestured at the ceiling. "I'm... that's not me. You know?"

"Are you just using me as a sounding board, or do you actually want my opinion?"

Vicky bit her lip. "...Yes."

"Cute." Amy shrugged. "Well, I for one can see the logical value in having capes that are not traumatized by default. I don't know how I'd go about it, but some biotinker figuring out how to simulate a trigger event sounds reasonable enough. I know the government would be very interested in the process."

"That's not--Amy, I'm more frustrated with Dean than the cape illuminati."

"Vicky... Dean's a teenager." Amy shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't know, tell me why I should be mad at him."

"He's preventing you from exploring your bisexuality."

Vicky snorted. "No, seriously, Amy. I'm trying to process this, I don't... really have time for your jokes."

Amy shrugged. "Welp, I tried."

"…should I be mad at him?" Vicky asked. "I mean, this is a pretty big thing... right?"

"It's as big as you want to make it," Amy assured her. "Heck, I'll hold him and you punch."

"...you're really not helping," Vicky deadpanned.

"I'm really not trying."

"Amy, this is serious!"

"Is it?" Amy gave her a look. "Vicky, your boyfriend is a rich white boy. Sure, he's a nice guy, but that doesn't change the fact that he lives in a fancy house, buys you jewelry on the regular, and has the best car on the market. Getting powers with a little payment is par for the course, at this point. It's just another way the upper class don't understand the middle class, only with something a lot more esoteric. As far as I'm concerned, you can be exactly as angry about this as you were about him not understanding why your tiara is a big deal."

"...funny you should mention that. I've recently come to the realization that the tiara... yeah, it's kind of silly."

"There, you see? You're changing, so your relationship to Dean's richness is changing. And now you've found out his powers are a result of his wealth." Amy shrugged. "So you're confused, but whatever, that's being a teenager apparently."

"...How do you have your shit together all of the sudden?" Vicky asked suspiciously. "Seriously, you've been a nervous wreck for... years now, and nothing I did to help worked."

"And you're suddenly not as confident. And Dad's getting more aware, and Carol..." Amy paused, considering. "...well, okay, no, she's still the same. Funny how that all happened after the gangs were burned out."

"...Right, no gangs means less healing so that's not as stressful for you..."

"Something like that."

"...Damn it," Vicky groaned, "that girl is so... fucking weird! Like she's, she's a villain, but she's not--she isn't, you know, evil! She just kills people! And like, that should be evil, but the way she does it isn't, and I am soooooo fucking confused and terrified and now Dean's not a normal parahuman and holy fuck I'm a mess." She took a breath. "...I'm calling it. We, as a family, need therapy."

"We're parahumans. Of course we need therapy."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Have you seen the footage of the fundraiser?" Bastet--or Patty, as she'd told the others to call her--said gleefully, holding up her new phone. "We look all kinds of amazing on it!"

"I know, right?" Salvage--he was sticking with that, or 'Sal' for short--leaned in to look at the screen. "I almost look like I know what I'm doing there. I mean, Canary's the one who was running the show, but we actually helped her out for real."

"Yes, we did." Sabah relaxed, her mask lying on the table. After the fundraiser had gone off so well, they'd felt comfortable enough with each other to unmask and give out real names. "I've gotten several calls asking if the Rogues' Guild can assist with one matter or another. Not superhero things, just powers."

"We definitely made an impression," Dinah agreed. "Our name is out there." She nudged Emily with her shoulder. "You did good, too."

"Thanks." Emily actually looked like she was wrestling with something in her mind. She must have reached a conclusion, because she looked over at Sabah. "Um, boss, you know how Mouse Protector and Flechette were there, and you were talking with Flechette?"

"I remember." Sabah had enjoyed the conversation. Flechette had seemed interested in her as a person, not just a cape, asking about her fashion training and if Sabah had any pointers for improving the look of her costume. "She seemed nice."

"Yeah, I thought so too." Emily drew a nervous breath. "Would it ... would you be okay with me contacting her on PHO and chatting? I mean, I like girls, you guys know that, and from the way she was checking you out, I figure she does too, and--"

"Wait, she was checking me out?" Sabah was startled. "That didn't happen! Did it?" Had Flechette been interested interested in her? She didn't even know how she felt about that. Oh my god, was she hitting on me and I never noticed it? She must think I'm a terrible person.

Patty grinned broadly. "Oh, hell yeah, it did. She wasn't just looking at your frills and bows."

"Uh huh," agreed Salvage. "I just thought you were playing it cool."

Sabah felt a blush warming her cheeks. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"When, exactly?" asked Dinah reasonably. "You and her were talking from the moment the concert finished to when we all packed up and left."

"I had no idea." Sabah ran her hands through her hair. "I mean, she's really nice too, but I thought she just wanted to talk."

That got a cackle from Patty. "Wow, your gaydar's that broken? She didn't get to the point of undressing you with her eyes, sure, but she was definitely looking."

"Oh, shush." Sabah put her hand over her eyes. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Pretty much, no." Salvage chuckled. "It was cute, though. I think she was trying to figure out if you were gay too or just trying to be nice. Like I said, I thought you were just playing it cool."

"I'll take a thousand on 'no idea what was going on', please Alex," Patty said with an answering smirk.

Sabah leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and groaned. "Ugh. So much embarrassment. I hate you all."

Diffidently, Emily cleared her throat. "So, was that a yes or a no to me chatting with her on PHO?"

Sabah didn't bother opening her eyes as she waved her hand vaguely. "Feel free. I don't care."

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome." Well, I'm now officially a Useless Lesbian. Great.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"...and, well, the next thing I knew, I had powers." Sabah sighed. "I know, it's not as... dramatic as yours--"

"It's not about drama," Patty said sternly, cutting her off. "It's about trauma. And fuck, that sounds real fucked up to me."

Sal nodded, cracking his knuckles--utterly unnecessary, considering how they were made of metal, but his expression was clear. "If that guy comes around, I'll have a... talk with him."

"That's---thanks, but that won't be necessary." Sabah smiled gently. "I just thought it would be fair for me to tell you all about my trigger event, seeing as... well, as you've been very open about yours."

Emily shrugged awkwardly. "Well... uh... I mean, it was kind of a guardianship thing for me, but... yeah, I guess it's fair."

"What about you, squirt?" Patty turned to Dinah. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to, but triggering young--"

"No it--it's fine, it's just... a little embarrassing. And..." Dinah sighed. "It might... come off as offensive, honestly."

"Why, is it racist?"

"More... classist, actually." Dinah bit her lip nervously. "You know how my uncle is the mayor, right?"

The rest of them stared at her, wide-eyed.

"No," Patty finally managed. "No, I did not know that. I'm actually shocked--Sabah, did you know that?"

"I mean, I'd... heard of the Alcotts, but I didn't think she was one of those Alcotts," Sabah admitted, stunned. "Like, what would the odds--don't," she quickly cut Dinah off before she could answer. "Don't you even."

Dinah shrugged, though there was a mischievous grin on her face. "I mean, I could answer that question..."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Obvious distraction is obvious."

"Yeah... I guess it is." Dinah sighed again. "So. Mayor's niece. Rich, obviously, got connections, and I'm... twelve. I was... I was pretty insulated," she admitted. "Like, it's Brockton Bay, so of course I knew about the gangs and the crime and everything, but... I live in the 'good part' of the city. And--I mean, I don't think I ever thought about it consciously, but on some level I believed there was... there had to be a reason that people in rough situations got in those situations. Um. Like..."

"You thought the homeless were homeless because they made bad decisions," Sal offered.

Dinah winced. "Yeah. Like, specifically getting addicted to drugs, or gambling, or just... spending too much money one month or choosing to live in the wrong place. What can I say, I was young and stupid. Now I'm young and slightly less stupid."

"Yeah, I didn't get drugged up until after my place was wrecked in a cape fight," Patty pointed out. "Granted, that made the situation fucking worse, but... what's this got to do with your trigger event?"

"Like I said, I never actually analyzed those beliefs. Twelve-year-old Dinah was living on top of the world. I'm not going to say I was a brat, but I thought homeless people... well, they'd never be around my neighborhood." Dinah bit her lip. "I... get how bad that sounds now, I just... want to provide context here. This was a bedrock belief. Something I'd unconsciously built my worldview around."

Sabah nodded slowly. "And your trigger event... challenged that."

Dinah chuckled wryly. "You could say that. There I was, walking home from school, because the neighborhood is safe like that, and I turn the corner and I see a kid. About my age, but in... really ragged clothes. Homeless chic. And that--that was startling enough, but then they jumped into a dumpster, and--well, it was only their shoes sticking out."

She paused.

"...My family's rich. We don't flaunt it, exactly, we're not shallow, but it does mean we know the best brands, the most... expensive things that work the best. A couple weeks before that, my mom had taken me shoe shopping and--it's a very distinctive, well-crafted brand of shoes. And expensive. I was wearing those shoes. And... so was this homeless kid." She shook her head. "You can't just steal that brand--I mean I guess you can, but I never thought anybody would. They're... if you're going to steal shoes you go to the bargain bin, not the top class shops. But here was this homeless kid, on my street, wearing the exact same expensive shoes I was wearing. And... in that moment, I saw myself. I saw myself digging through that dumpster and... I realized that all those ideas I had, about how homelessness is the result of a deliberate choice, how I could control my future--they were all lies. It--it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I could," she rubbed the tears out of her eyes, "I could be doing all the right things and Lung might come smashing through my school anyway--or, or my parents could get caught up in a scandal and sued out of their house or, I don't know, Leviathan could smash the city to bits, and--"

Emily put a hand on her shoulder. She choked back a sob, and composed herself.

"...so yeah. My, uh, my trigger was me realizing that I had no control over my life because I saw a homeless kid that wore the same shoes I did. Stupid, right?"

"...You know," Patty mused, "I remember reading somewhere that... things hurt more, the younger you are. Like the first time you get a scrape, it's--jarring, but the more you collect, the more you understand the sensation. So big, soul-shaking realizations like that... they get even bigger when you don't have anything to compare them to."

"You're... you're not mad?" Dinah sniffed. "I mean, you were homeless and I, I believed so many stupid things--"

"Dinah." Patty crossed her arms. "You're a kid. We aren't expecting you to be the wisest sage on the holy mountain--hell, we're not even expecting you to be a claimant. We're expecting you to be able to learn, and you've pretty well shown that you can. Besides, you're really helping out with us getting jobs now. That should tell you that the future can be shaped, right?"

"...I guess?"

"Eh, you're twelve, you'll figure it out later."

Sal hummed thoughtfully. "What I want to know is, what happened to the homeless kid?"

"Oh--right, uh... so it turns out he was a transgender boy, but his parents were Empire sympathizers--"

Both Sabah and Emily flinched.

"--which was why he was homeless. You know. Kicked out and all that." Dinah fidgeted awkwardly. "And, like, I had literally just gotten my powers and I was... desperate to do something, so I maaaaaaaaay have used my powers to figure out the best way for him to improve his life and I might sort of have given him money to hop a train out of Brockton Bay..."

Sabah rubbed her temples. "Oh, Dinah..."

"Hey! There's an 89.3567 chance that he's actually doing amazing right now!"

"...Okay, I give up." Assault turned to the grinning kid. "How did you manage to take down Alabaster, of all people?"

"I watched Home Alone a lot growing up," the boy replied with a smirk.

"You sure you're not a parahuman?"

"Pretty sure. I mean, I've never had one of those brain scans, but if you're offering lunch..."

"Hmm." Assault looked over his rough clothes. "...sure, why not," he decided, gesturing for the kid to follow. "I need to talk to Battery about something anyway..."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"In more recent news, it seems a new hero has hit the streets! Here's Bryan for the on-the-scene report."

"Thank you Julie. I'm here at Cornell University, where infamous supervillains Fenja and Menja staged an attack to 're-establish the Empire' before being neutralized and captured by a new heroine. The PRT has cordoned off the site of the battle while conducting their investigations, but we do have one of their agents here to give us an update. Sir, what is your insight on the cape the public is calling Badaboom?"

"Well, firstly I'd like to remind everyone that the internet is not an officially sanctioned source for cape names, and the PRT will be releasing a more cohesive statement and name later. That said, I have to give a tip of my hat to the woman--she came in at just the right time to help us turn the tide of the battle. Honestly, without her, the two villains might have gotten away."

"A brave woman, I see. Do you have any insight on how the Protectorate is planning to handle the situation regarding her?"

"Well, if it were me I'd shake her hand for a job well done and point out the tinkering budget that Protectorate members are granted. But I'm just a pair of boots on the ground. I'm sure the heroes will give her everything she deserves though."

"And there you have it, folks, the Protectorate just might be getting a new tinker--and a heroic one at that! And I'm sure the students of Cornell will be very satisfied to hear that. Back to you, Julie."

"Thank you, Bryan. Cornell university staff have stated that they plan to reopen at the beginning of next week, although the damages will take a month or two to repair. In other news, a local grocery story was the site of a minor riot..."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Vicky tossed aside her phone with a groan.

"What is it?"

"There's this thread on PHO debating the economic specifics of the B3C. Basically it boils down to a lot of people saying 'this is how economics works so X will happen or Y won't happen' and a bunch of other people saying 'Atropos has everything under control because FUCK LOGIC SHE'S ATROPOS.'" She groaned as she flopped onto the couch. "It really flared up after the Simurgh thing and now it's just..."

"A flame war?" Amy offered sympathetically.

"A very long-winded and overly polite flame war," Vicky replied. "God... I know PR is important but some people on the internet are just so full of themselves."

"You don't have to keep up with that," Carol pointed out dryly. "I understand that teenagers of this generation are very internet dependent, but you could easily look at a far more healthy material. Like digital pornography."

Vicky snorted in surprise. "Holy shit, was that a joke? Amy, I think Mom just made a joke!"

"Should we call master/stranger protocols?" Amy asked, the seriousness of her tone betrayed by her twitching lips.

Carol rolled her eyes. "I suppose I'm feeling a little more cheerful after hearing about the Simurgh's demise. Although I am somewhat annoyed the offices decided to suspend their operations for the day," she admitted. "I understand why, but I was right in the middle of arranging files for a very important case."

"Mom, has anybody ever told you you're a workaholic?"

Carol gave Vickey a Look. "I'm simply dedicated."

"Ahuh." Vicky stretched her arms above her head. "Well, maybe we'll be lucky and Atropos won't be killing any S-class threats in the next week."

"I'll ask her about it the next time she comes to visit," Amy quipped.

Vicky froze mid-stretch.

"...What," Carol said carefully, "exactly, do you mean by that?"

Amy was silent for a moment.

Then, very slowly, she let out a sigh. "Right. So... you know that favor Atropos wanted?" At Carol's nod, she shrugged. "Bonesaw rigged herself to release so many super death plagues if she died, so Atropos knocked her out and asked me to, uh, disarm her so half the state didn't get wiped out."

"She shot her in the head--"

"Reinforced skull. The headshot was for show, the needle to the ear knocked her out."

"And Atropos brought an unconscious Bonesaw to the house?" Carol demanded with a scowl.

"No! No. She had me meet her in a park." Amy grimaced. "Please don't ask how I disarmed Bonesaw. I've seen some extreme things healing people after cape battles, and that--that was so much fucking worse, I don't even want to think about it."

Carol frowned, but accepted that with a nod.

"So, was that the only time she visited?" Vicky asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

Amy cringed. "....Weeeeeeeeeell--"

Carol facepalmed.

"You know how she killed Bastard Son's powers? There was this Case 53 who wanted the same thing done, so Atropos swung by to pick me up and reconstruct her body after that--"

"Amy," Carol ground out. "Why did you not tell us about this?"

Amy took a deep breath.

"...You, as Carol Dallon, are one of the most accomplished lawyers in the business. You, as Brandish, are a very experienced and formidable hero. But in both cases, you're rather quick to judge and stubborn to act. And as... rough as our relationship is, I don't actually want you to die."

"That's not the point--"

"Mom, I say this with all due respect to you as a lawyer, a cape, and a mother." Amy looked her in the eyes. "What. Exactly. Can you do. To the woman. Who killed. The Simurgh."

Carol Dallon stared at her for a long, long moment.

Then she got up and marched to her office, shutting the door behind her.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Brandish
Subject: Appropriate use of doors
My daughter has just informed me of your collaborations with her. I do not appreciate being left out of the loop for such significant events. The next time you visit my house, I would like for you to knock on the door before entering, so we can discuss exactly what the two of you intend to do.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Brandish
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Appropriate use of doors
That is absolutely fair. Actually, you know what? Not only will I knock on the door, I'll bring a couple bottles of apology wine.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Brandish
Subject: Re: Re: Appropriate use of doors
And where exactly did you get wine?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Brandish
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Appropriate use of doors
Vista's parents. Long story.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

We live in a time of trials, brothers and sisters. A time where we must reflect on our own natures and ask whether we provide value--to ourselves, to the city, to the world. For so long, we have allowed ourselves to wallow in vice, to distract ourselves from the greater darkness. We have chosen to indulge actions that gave us feelings of superiority, to claim that we had power when we were in fact powerless. We were petty and cruel and vain, because to be honest was to accept despair. Yet now, the reaper has come, my friends. We know her manifestation--we know her first choice of blood. Yet she is... not merciful, but ready to judge. She does nothing without purpose, and so too should we.

No longer shall we be guided by weakness. We must cast it out, cast out our greed and sadism and ego; we must understand our value comes from those around us. If we are to be a part of the human race, we must be the part that improves it. Let our old selves fall by the wayside, cut open and cast off; let our penance begin with the end of this age. I stand before you, brothers and sisters, and you know my name--or rather, the name I was given at birth, a name I cared little for as I dragged it through the mud. I stand before you, and yes... I am afraid. I am afraid to take this final step. But this is a time of trials, and I of all people know that I must find my role in service of... of the chosen one. Of the manifestation of ending.

So, my brothers and sisters, I ask you witness this. Witness as I toss the name of Emma Barnes aside. I know not what I will be when I return; only that I will find my calling in the darkness, as did she who has ended the endbringers. I cast aside my garments, brethren, and go to the great darkness, there to rest for the full of the day. This is but one way we all must die--our old names, sacrificed on the altar of meditation. I shall wait, till our dark goddess decides I have passed, and emerge anew. And whatever name I am given, I shall take with gratitude, for in the end shall I find my beginning...

Cherish sighed. "Hey Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"Emma's started a cult worshipping you."

Taylor choked on her tea. "Wai--wait, what?"

"Yeah, they found an abandoned morgue to use as a church, and she's been locked in one of the shelves for almost a day now--"

"That--what?!"

Cherish shrugged. "From the way she was talking, I think she considers it a baptism by fire. Or darkness. Whichever. There are people who check in on her, don't worry."

"I--I just can't believe it. I should have known, my powers--"

"--only detect intentions to threaten or harm you, and she genuinely sees you as a goddess now."

Taylor stared at her. "What the fuck?! WHY?!"

"...Taylor," Cherish said very gently, "you did kill the Simurgh. Among many, many other things. Frankly, this might be the sanest thing Emma's ever done."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Wow." Vicky nodded to herself idly, watching the cat-costumed girl spin her body and ribbons in time with the beat. "She's good."

"And she didn't even have lessons before she joined Parian," another voice added.

Vicky turned around, coming face to snout with a blue plush dragon. "Really?"

"Yeah, never had the money," the dragon said. "That's all Bastet's raw talent." She held out a hand. "Spitfire."

"Glory Girl--well. Victoria Dallon." Vicky took the hand and shook it. "I've been thinking about rebranding."

"Oh?"

Vicky's eyes drifted toward the figure in black--only for a moment, before she caught herself. "Yeah, I--things are changing, you know?"

Spitfire followed her gaze, tilting her head when Atropos sent her a subtle wave. "Yeah. For the better, I think."

The tone of warm respect in her face made Vicky scowl. For a moment, but she schooled her expression quickly. "That's... certainly one way to think about it."

Blue lenses stared at her for a long moment.

Then Spitfire flicked her head, indicating quietly that Vicky should follow. She complied, mildly curious, and they stepped... not quite into an alleyway, just inside the entrance, but isolated enough for a private conversation.

"You know, Parian designed this costume," Spitfire began. "Even worked in the mechanisms that let me open and close the mouth. I'm sort of the kid-appeal mascot, I look... cool, but also approachable."

"Public relations," Vicky agreed with a nod. "I can get that."

"Yeah. I mean, it was a little awkward at first, but... I remember how my sister used to light up when her favorite characters showed up on saturday cartoons, you know?"

That set Vicky on the backfoot for a second. Capes didn't normally talk about their home lives, after all.

"I'd like to think she would have liked Spitfire," the dragon continued somberly, ignoring--perhaps deliberately--how disoriented Vicky was all of the sudden. "I mean, she was a bit of an oddball, really. Most girls had a princess phase, but she had a scientist phase. Mad scientist. Used one of dad's dress-up shirts like a labcoat when she was four."

"Um--"

"Yeah, always had the weirdest interests. You know, one afternoon I got home from school, and--well, she could tell I was upset. I'd, uh, made a pass at another girl, but it turned out that girl was Empire, and... you know how little kids will want to help but won't know how? She saw that I was feeling down, so she decided to share some 'fun spider facts', because she'd gotten into entomology recently." Spitfire shook her head. "Did you know black widow silk is incredibly tough? Apparently it'd be nigh impossible to cut through a shirt made of it."

"I, uh, no, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, she had... such a weird collection of facts. It... well, it didn't cheer me up, but it did distract me a little. I was pretty okay by dinnertime." Spitfire took a breath. "But, like I said--I made a pass at an Empire girl. And... I guess she told her pals where I lived, because they firebombed my house."

Vicky inhaled sharply. "I--I'm sorry that happened to you. Really. I--"

"I tried to get her out of there. My parents, they were killed instantly, but my sister--I tried to get her out of there. She was barely hanging on as it was... probably pointless, but I didn't think about it at the time." Spitfire took a breath. "You know how we black out when we trigger? My sister--she was about to say something, and when I came back, she'd passed out in my arms. I used my powers to escape, to get her out, but she... she was gone, two minutes later. And I'll never know what her last words were, because I triggered right before she said them."

An insidious chill trickled through Victoria, gathering in her mind and dripping down her throat before pooling in the breath of her chest. She turned to look at her own sister, talking with the head of the Rogues' Guild, unwillingly imagining herself in that position...

"I understand why people would be uncomfortable around Atropos," Spitfire admitted. "She's brutal, and murderous, and direct. Very direct. But she took out the gangs, which means I'm free to be who I want to be."

Amy blushed suddenly, and Parian stammered something--something that got a quick reply, and a smile. She watched as Parian produced a card and wrote something on it, handing it and the doll to her sister.

"Because of her... nobody in Brockton Bay has to worry about their family being killed just because they flirted with the wrong person."

Vicky's fingers clenched for a moment--

--but the smile on Amy's face cut her to the heart.

She took a breath, forcing herself to relax. "Yeah. I guess... she's not saving people, but she is making people safe, huh?"

"Yep." Spitfire cleared her throat. "And, uh... sorry for bringing all that up, I just--"

"No no, it's... it helped me understand," Vicky replied. "I'll, uh... need some time to process it, is all. Be seeing you."

With that awkward farewell, she broke off from the conversation, quickly schooling her face to its usual cheery demeanor as she approached her sister. "Holy crap, that's gorgeous! How much did that set you back?"

Amy smirked, a light grip on the Panacea doll. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Vicky almost responded--almost--with a sly little quip about young maidens, but then Atropos, leaning against a corner and reading a copy of Pride and Prejudice, caught her eyes.

She tipped her hat to Vicky.

After a moment, Vicky wordlessly nodded back. It hurt, a little, that Amy didn't want to share details with her, but... with how she'd grown up, and how dangerous it had been up until recently, she could afford to wait until Amy was confident enough to tell her directly. And, as much as she didn't think Atropos was a hero...

...well...

...she was a monster slayer. Nobody could deny that.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

The Simurgh was dead. That was an indisputable fact. People had poured out into the streets in mass celebration all across the globe. It wasn't yet dawn, but many businesses had already decided to shut down for the day. Most countries in Europe had declared a national holiday. In the streets of Boston the party ongoing would put Mardi Gras in New Orleans to shame. Accord knew the celebration was necessary. Behemoth had put humanity on notice that they were no longer the apex predator. Then came Levithan and the Simurgh. As city after city fell it became clear to everyone that humanity was circling the drain. Now there was suddenly hope. There could be a future. The near riot in the streets was a much needed release. All of his plans would advance more quickly by allowing the celebration to continue. A few calls and nudges in the right ears to make sure the jubilation didn't turn into rioting had been all that was needed.

While the celebration was necessary, it was far too chaotic for Accord to join himself. Instead he sealed himself away in his sanctum where he watched the Fall of the Simurgh over and over. Violence was usually inelegant. There was a reason he preferred traps that disposed of fools without him having to experience the mess of blood and voided bowels. That distaste also applied to watching deaths he didn't cause. Sometimes it was necessary to be able to plan accurately, but it was almost always discomforting. However, watching Atropos end the Simurgh, Accord saw only perfection. Admittedly, the reference to a Loony Tunes cartoon was crass, but he could not deny the elegance. Laughter was a coping mechanism. Atropos didn't merely kill the Simurgh. She destroyed it's power, influence, and legacy.

Even as he watched, plans began to form. He had made a mistake when he ignored Atropos's warning not to deal drugs in Brockton Bay, a horrible, awful, and potentially lethal mistake. He had taken the possibility of failure into account. His plans always had contingencies. The drugs Atropos destroyed were a significant hit, but an he had deemed them an acceptable loss to test Atropos's capabilities. He had been gravely mistaken. He was now certain the only reason Atropos had not ended him then was because she needed his plans.

Needed. While Atropos was the better thinker when it came to ending things, his power was obviously more useful when it came to building things. After all, the easiest way to end poverty in Brockton Bay would be to simply kill all the poor people. Atropos wanted more than that, and had asked for his plan. He had provided her with plans, but only now with the fall of the Simurgh did he realize how short-sighted he had been. Atropos ended things. She didn't build. It wasn't in her nature. She could twist her power to do it somewhat, but she really only cared for her home town. As long as Brockton Bay thrived, the rest of the world could burn as far as she was concerned.

He could use that. No city was an island unto itself. Cities relied on the flow of goods and services. Atropos understood that at some level, but she didn't see that in building a shining city on a hill, she would attract an influx of desperate people seeking opportunity. Brockton Bay would become the new Rome, the new New York. While Atropos was doing things to selfishly save her city, the effects would ripple outward - especially if he planned it to do so.

Accord had stayed out of her Brockton Bay because the sensible thing was not to get in a cage with an angry tiger, but tiger tamers did. Not that Atropos could be tamed, but he needed to be there. Atropos already wanted to rebuild shipping in Brockton Bay, and a rising tide lifted all boats…. No, Adam Smith was a little too simplistic. Archimedes said it best, "Give me a place to stand, and a lever long enough, and I will move the world."

Atropos was the lever and the place to stand was Brockton Bay. Now he just had to approach Atropos with the request to be allowed to relocate to Brockton Bay to better adjust his plan to save the bay - which was true. That it would also improve the world was best left unsaid. He would need to send some of his ambassadors… and avoid meeting face-to-face if at all possible. There was a difference between stepping into the tiger cage and putting your head in its mouth.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"What's got you smiling?" Greg asked as he walked to the cafeteria.

Sparky shook his head. "I just--you know. It's embarrassing."

"What is?"

"...there's this girl."

Greg blinked. "Oh. Huh. Yeah, I--I don't know how to help you there, man. Wait, is this a bad thing?"

"I mean we haven't actually talked, but I think maybe we could? You know. I'm thinking about asking her out."

Something about that seemed off, asking out a girl that he hadn't actually talked to before... but then, asking out a girl you were friends with was probably weird, right? Yeah, totally. "Sure, that makes sense."

"You think I should go for it?"

"Yeah, I'm sure that... uh..."

"Cherie."

"That Cherie would--wait." Greg doubletaked. "Cherie Reynaud?"

"Yeah, she just transferred in--"

"You know she's Taylor's friend, right?"

"Who?"

"Taylor Hebert," Greg pressed. "We have world affairs class with her."

"...oh yeah, the goth chick. You think I should ask her for advice on asking Cherie out?"

Greg stared at him. "Sparky... she's Atropos."

"Uh..." Sparky frowned. "Atropos... she's that new hero, right? The one that beat up Lung or something?"

"Oh my god," Greg muttered. "Sparky, Atropos killed Lung. And Kaiser, and Skidmark, and Coil--"

"Who?"

"He was a gang leader--Look, Atropos killed the Simurgh!"

Sparky snorted. "Okay, now I know you're messing with me. It was some Australian cape that killed the Simurgh--"

"No, it was Atropos, she was there specifically to kill the Simurgh--"

"I heard on the news that she was from Australia--"

"They granted her dual citizenship out of gratitude--"

"That's not a thing. You can only live in one country, legally speaking."

Greg gaped, dumbfounded, before shaking his head. "Look, my point is: Taylor is Atropos. Atropos kills people. Very, very dramatically. And you want to ask out her friend?"

Sparky rolled his eyes. "Let me guess--you heard this 'Taylor is Atropos' thing from the rumor mill, right?"

"Yes, but--"

"Yeah, thought so. Because obviously the goth girl and the goth superhero have to be the same person." Sparky snorted. "You've got to learn to tell fact from fiction, Greg."

"That's not--" Greg groaned as they finally entered the cafeteria. "Sparky, I actually asked her about--"

"Oh hey look, there's Cherie." Sparky grinned goofily, cutting through the crowd. "Hey, Cherie! I heard you were a bard, cause you got like a +7 on charisma!"

The entire cafeteria fell silent. Quiet enough to hear a pen drop. Or a body, as the case might be.

Greg cringed.

Cherie gave Sparky a flat look. "Yeah, I moved to Brockton to get away from my sexually abusive father who had his friends use me whenever they came over," she said bluntly. "So, like, you're a nice guy probably, but I'm not in the right mindset to appreciate that. So no."

Sparky blinked.

"...oh. Uh. Okay." He awkwardly shuffled back. "That, uh... sucks. What happened. I--yeah, sorry to... I'll be going. Bye. Yeah. Bye."

Greg sighed as his friend walked out of the cafeteria. "I tried to warn you, dude."

"You said she was friends with Atropos."

"Yes, that's also true."

"Please, Greg. Don't believe the rumor mill."

Greg just sighed.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Taylor woke up at the perfect time to get started on her day. Without hurry, but also without wasting time, she went through the normal morning routine of cleaning, getting dressed and packing her bag for school.

Then, she sat down for breakfast, which her father had been busy preparing. A minute later, Cherie joined her, and they spent some time browsing PHO for amusing responses to Taylor's latest thread, as had become something of a morning tradition.

They put the phone away to have some time to chat, and shortly after that, Danny left for work while Taylor and Cherie made their way to the bus and from there school.

A few hours later, Taylor made her way through the halls of Winslow to her next class when she noticed three boys surrounding a boy from her year. She immediately made her way towards them.

"Jake, Michael, Vince," she said, grabbing their attention. "You're not bullying anyone, are you? I don't like bullies."

"O-of course not," the boy on the left said. "I uhm, sorry, no, we weren't doing anything of the sort. Honest."

All three very quickly left, only technically not running.

Taylor turned to the boy that had been their target.

"They shouldn't cause any more trouble," she said.

"Th-thanks," the boy stammered.

"Just remember," Taylor said, "no vengeance."

The boy looked surprised, so Taylor clarified.

"No one gets anything from vengeance. If violence must be used, it's to avoid future problems. If someone isn't going to cause any more problems, there's no reason to use violence."

With that, she left.

"I got my test results back," Taylor said as she put her plate on the table and sat down next to Cherie.

"And?" Cherie asked.

"I'm pretty pleased," Taylor said. "Made a few mistakes, but best result of the class nonetheless."

"You made mistakes?" Cherie asked, frowning. "But wouldn't you be able to just… you know?"

"I could," Taylor said. "But then I wouldn't learn anything from it. I don't want to have to rely on a crutch if I don't need to. And making sure you know things is just… common sense. The more you know, the more you can do."

Cherie nodded thoughtfully.

A few hours later they were back home, Taylor reading over an assigned text while explaining Cherie's homework to her in a way she'd understand.

"Didn't you say you weren't cheating?" Cherie asked suddenly. "Because there's no way you can read that while also helping me."

Taylor looked up from the text, giving Cherie her full attention. "I'm not cheating on tests," she clarified. "Right now, I am running the Path to End the trouble you're having understanding your assigned work, while also running the Path to End my ignorance towards my assigned work. I don't need to pay attention to the Path that has me talk in order to help you out, which means I can keep my attention on the text I'm reading. Which my power is helping me with, but because I'm Ending my ignorance towards it, that includes actually learning the knowledge."

"That's really smart," Cherie said.

Taylor smiled. "And that's why it's important to learn. The more you know, the better you get at figuring out solutions to problems you come across."

Danny got home to some of the most delicious smells he'd ever encountered. After putting away his coat and suitcase, he peeked his head into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Path to Ending our hunger in a satisfying manner," Taylor responded, as she measured something without even looking at what she was doing, before adding it to the pan, still without looking.

Danny couldn't help but smile. "Well, I'm looking forward to what you're cooking up for us."

The evening was for relaxing, and Taylor spent her time hanging on the couch while browsing PHO and then watching a movie together with her dad and Cherie.

Finally, it was time to go to bed, so Taylor made her way upstairs.

A few minutes later, a confused Danny knocked on her door.

"Come in."

He did so. "What are you doing?"

"Path to Kill any mosquito that might interrupt my sleep," Taylor said, pulling the trigger of her nerf gun and squashing yet another mosquito against the wall. She really shouldn't have left the window open, this was the seventh already, and there were four more to go.

"Alright," Danny said after a moment. "I'm just glad you're not using a real gun for this. And don't forget to clean up, otherwise your wall is going to be covered in stains."

"A real gun would cause damage, and even if I'd make sure that the bullet went out the open window and ended somewhere harmless, I'd still require ear protection to fire it safely. As for cleaning up, I run a Path to End the messiness in my room at least once a week."

Several minutes later, Taylor lay down in her bed and pulled the covers over her. First, she ensured she had the Path to End her sleep in time for school up and running, and then she ran the Path to End her wakeful state, immediately drifting off.

Very useful, a power that could perfectly pilot your body.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Taylor Hebert, alias Atropos, could see any deliberate threat to her personage and plan around it. From something as mild as a spitball to an entire parahuman army with nuclear rocket launchers, she could not only see it coming, she could neutralize it before it even arrived in Brockton Bay. This had given her a reputation, and a fair one, as invincible, especially since she made sure all her paths to ending ensured she survived through them.

No deliberate attack could harm her.

She'd taken steps to avoid accidental danger.

And absolutely none of this prepared her for the boy who had tripped, lost the grip on his slushie, and splattered it all over her shirt and tie.

Eric Pelham, for his part, was gaping in horror, as dead still as any of the watching crowd. Taylor, behind her mask, was pushing back her irritation.

Okay, she thought to her power, path to ending the awkwardness. No death, no injury... we can embarrass Shielder, but we shouldn't humiliate him. And we'll need a suitably dramatic exfiltration.

-----

"...and that is how I got the number for New Wave's dry cleaners," Taylor finished.

Cherie snorted. "Well, at least it was a cherry slushie. Red," she clarified. "On brand."

"That poor boy is going to be rethinking his life," Danny muttered.

"Hey, he got a girlfriend out of it, he should be thanking me!"

"That's part of why he'll need to rethink his life."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

As the recording ended, the short man in the suit frowned, his wooden mask clacking as the mechanisms made it imitate his expression. The sounds were soothing, satiating his anger somewhat. But Citrine had still overstepped her boundaries. While this wasn't normally a problem - her ambition had gotten him better dealings many times in the past - the mission to meet with Atropos wasn't a standard negotiation meeting.

Othello understood. Othello always understood what his role was to be. He comprehended when it was appropriate to push and when it wasn't. He didn't take as many risks as Citrine tended to. His results were consistent, even when he had to creatively interpret the orders he was given. Very much like the sort of butler he used to be, before Accord found him.

Accord's power supplied him with ways in which to dispose of Citrine. Stab her in the throat with the third pencil from the left. Activate the pitfall trap she was standing on. Make a specific gesture with his hand, which Artemis would see from her phone across the street, and she'd shoot an arrow into the back of Citrine's head, despite the fact that Accord was meeting with both Citrine and Othello in a room with no windows. His power supplied all of these solutions unbidden.

It would take very little effort to actually follow through on any of his ideas, but then there'd be a mess in his office. And, while cleaning up such messes was a soothing ritual he'd done many times before, cleaning up messes he made with his own hands was not soothing.

"You are my best Ambassador, Citrine. I'd hate to lose you."

The instant he said "lose", she very incrementally stiffened. Good. She now understood that she'd done something... improper. And his rage retreated ever so infinitesimally at the thought.

"Yes sir. I'll do my utmost to ensure you don't have cause to."

"Unfortunately..." he paused, a single finger raised above his own head. A non-verbal communication that all his Ambassadors were taught from day one - it meant that his power was playing the hyperactive child and he needed a moment to select the best plan from among those provided.

After twelve-point-two seconds, precisely, he finally saw a plan that would benefit everyone involved. And 8:1 odds that Citrine would live.

"Unfortunately, you were rather petulant with Atropos. I did say that you were supposed to meet with her to hear what terms she had for my residency in Brocton Bay. I did not say that you were to try to renegotiate those terms." Accord paused at this moment to take a sip of water, placing his tumbler back on the ornate coaster on his desk, making the design change when viewed through the crystal glass. "You are to return to where you met with her on the Boardwalk. Arrive no earlier than four-o-clock in the afternoon. Arrive no later than four-sixteen. You will apologize to Atropos. You will relay that I also extend my apologies. Then, you will offer Atropos the chance to kill you in any way she sees fit." Another sip of water. "It's quite possible that she will spare your life. In either case, I will respect her decision. You are dismissed, Citrine."

Gracefully, the woman in yellow left the room, being careful to allow the door to close gently, with only the faintest of clicks to signal that it was shut. It was obvious to Accord that she was forcing herself to walk, instead of run. Good. She still had impressive self-control even when she was panicking. It would be a pity if Atropos killed her.

"Sir, may I speak candidly?"

"Yes, Othello, you may."

"The punishment is harsh, but fair. Sir."

"Of course it is, but I'm also pleased that you recognized it as such. Now, I have drawn up plans for what to do if Blasto starts creating... issues in my absence."

"Very good, Sir. Am I to be the supervisor while you are gone? Or did you have someone else in mind?"

Accord did have an idea already. Ambassador Topaz needed to get his feet wet, after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Hey Dadny, Danny, I said Danny, you, uh, want to watch a movie while we wait for Taylor to get back?"

Danny looked at Cherie, raising an eyebrow.

"...Cause like..." Cherie gestured. "Lotta movies. And stuff."

"Sure." Danny nodded. "You know you can talk with me about anything right?"

"Anything I want?"

"Yep."

"Which means if I don't want to talk about anything," Cherie clarified, "I don't have to?"

"Nope," Danny agreed.

"Good. Uh. Movie." Cherie looked through the selection. "Oh! Hey, here's something, 'The Little Mermaid.' I remember a lot of us would get mermaid dolls. And outfits."

She paused.

"...let's not watch this one, actually."

"Alright." Danny nodded, and Cherie pretended to ignore the brief flare of protection/fury/grief she felt from him. "Hmmm... How about Beauty and the Beast? It was one of Annette's favorites."

"Yeah okay, that sounds good." Cherie located the appropriate movie and put it in. "What's it about?"

"The transformative nature of love. And geeks."

"...what?"

Danny smirked. "Just watch..."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

A shard leans back on a stool that is simultaneously a comfortable armchair, cuts a cigar with a medical scalpel, then lights it and asks, "So, what do you think?"

The shard being addressed is glowering into a very bitter drink. "Don't talk to me."

Chirurgeon grins. "Oh, don't be like that. Brooding is so boring." There's no reply.

It blows a smoke ring before continuing. "We did you a favour, you know? Your host was going nowhere."

That gets a reaction. "Nowhere?! I had a plan! It was all working out just the way it was supposed to, until you waltzed in."

The smoke goes in the Demesne-Keeper's face this time. "A plan. Really. One that involved sitting in a hovel, losing battles against microwave pizza."

"Yes! All that adversity, all that anger, that was going to make her strong! She was going to be great! I've given her enough power to put a dent in anyone. She could have gone anywhere, taken over anything. She just needed the motivation. Now you've brought in your host with flowers painted on her helmet to make everything sweetness and friendship and light, and my host is probably going to end up working a 9-to-5 fighting against old concrete."

"As opposed to her true nemesis, screw-top bottles?"

The Demesne-Keeper raises the middle finger on a number of limbs that would require humans to use scientific notation, and turns back toward its drink.

Chirurgeon sighs. "Oh, well. My host learned quite a lot from the experience. Guess that means I came out on top of this particular conflict." It pats the Demesne-Keeper on what might be called a head, if you squint and turn your head out of spacetime in the right way. "Have fun with your host's new level of fine control and all the new ways she'll destroy things."

The Demesne-Keeper freezes, staring straight ahead, then squeezes a fist, crushing its drink into motes of light. "I hate you."

A perpetually grinning shard watches the exchange and salutes with its scythe, then heads off into the shadows. THAT WAS FUN.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

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♦ Topic: Official 2011 Cape Gossip Thread XLII
In: Boards ► General Discussion
Princessa (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (Cape Groupie)
Posted On Mar 2nd 2011:
Welcome, fellow cape enthusiasts, to the notorious Cape Gossip thread! Here, we delve into the depths of parahuman intrigue, dissecting the latest gossip with unparalleled fervor. Brace yourselves for riveting discussions, heated analyses, and debates that could rival the most intense cape battles.

A word of caution: This hallowed ground is not for the faint of heart. As proud troublemakers of PHO, we wear our penchant for mischief like a badge of honor. The thin line between banter and banishment is a dance we navigate with finesse. Enter at your own risk, and remember, the juiciest gossip often comes with a side of controversy.

Now, setting that cautionary tone aside, let me extend a friendly plea to our passionate contributors – let's try to aim for smooth sailing this time. We've witnessed the thread-locking dance before (yes, SpecificProtagonist and SilentWhispers, we're side-eyeing you), so let's keep the conversations flowing without tripping over any forum rules. It's only March, and we've already unleashed 42 threads into the wild. Can we resist the temptation to make it 43 so soon?

So, now that the warnings and pleas of good behavior are out of the way, it's time to buckle up cape enthusiasts! This is where rumors take flight, speculations run rampant, and the pulse of the parahuman world beats louder than ever. Share your insights, stir the pot, but above all, revel in the chaos that is the Cape Gossip thread.

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Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Robot #1: "She's just standing there, completely surrounded by a few hundred of us. Should we take the chance?"

Robot #2: "We've all seen the Duck Season video. The worlds greatest precog fell right into her trap, do you really think we can get the drop on her?"

Robot #3: "I don't know, it looked like the Bin Chicken just couldn't predict her act-"

Atropos: "And now the ones who thought they could play possum and hide until I'm gone are exploding. I told them what would happen if they didn't surrender by the deadline."

Robot #1: "Okay yeah, never mind that. Apparently she can just will us to explode if we don't comply. I choose life."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Lester Crandall considered himself to be a reasonable man, and competent at what he did. Said job happened to be CPS in none other than Brockton Bay, which had seen a considerable upheaval in recent months. Like virtually every other employment position in the city, things had gotten better with the influx of money, sometimes in unexpected ways.

He was still being paid, which was good, and the stimulus payments had been quite welcome. His old neighbourhood was blossoming (literally—a park was being renovated, with a decorative flower garden, which brightened up the whole area) and he'd been able to finally get his asthmatic rattletrap of a car in to a mechanic to fix its myriad problems. Even the roads were being improved, and he'd heard rumours that the less-than-stellar public transport system was getting an upgrade.

On the downside, there were still kids in Brockton Bay who needed his help. Some of his cases had improved to the point that they were being reviewed preparatory to being taken off the books—sudden prosperity had taken away a lot of the reasons they were on the books in the first place—but some just plain hadn't.

Theo Anders was one such case. If there was anyone Lester would've wanted to retroactively remove from their family once he found out what had been going on, it would be Theo. Raised by a literal racist supervillain, having every trace of personality smashed flat in an apparent attempt to 'make a man out of him', then left behind in the detritus when Kaiser met his well-deserved end and his (equally villainous but apparently somewhat nicer) stepmother fled town ... the wonder was that the kid had actually turned out as well as he had. There were stories Lester had heard of children from far less toxic households who had gone full-on serial-killer with the dogs and cats in their neighbourhood, and sometimes worse.

So, the question was, where to place him. The PRT had kept him under surveillance in his own home for a few weeks, just in case he triggered with powers and decided to go all white-supremacist on them, but fortunately he hadn't. When he'd left the house of his own accord and signed up to work for the Betterment Committee, CPS had taken their opportunity to lever open that crack and have his case moved to their jurisdiction. While living under the eye of the PRT in the home where his father had taken every opportunity to belittle him had to be better than actually living with that father, it couldn't have been much better. So Lester needed to find a place for him to go.

He'd looked over some of the prospects, but his instincts had told him 'no' in each case. Parents with no other children would offer a stable home life, but he needed to be able to interact safely with kids around his own age. There were other foster families with a few children in tow, but quite often those kids had their own issues, and the last thing Theo needed was to try to work out his own problems while dealing with more of the same from others, quite likely amplified by his infamous parentage.

And that was when he'd entered his office one morning to find none other than Atropos leaning back in his chair with a folder on the desk in front of her. "Hi," she said by way of greeting, sitting forward. "I'm here about Theo Anders."

He stopped, entirely unsure about what was going on. If she'd wanted to kill the boy, that would've already happened. The question of how she'd gotten into his office was a non-issue. Atropos did what Atropos did, and there were a great many people who were quietly (or not so quietly) grateful for her doing that.

"What ... about Theo Anders?" he asked tentatively.

"He needs a family. A solid, nurturing family who knows where he's coming from, and can actually relate to his problems. Plus, a family who will demonstrate to people on the outside in the simplest possible way that he isn't his father. And finally, a family who will help ease him out of his shell and figure out who he really is, absent Kaiser's assholery."

That all sounded exactly what Theo did need, but it also sounded like a pipe dream. Not every family was ideal for every foster child, but CPS could only do what it could do. "And you know where he can find such a family?" It was part challenge, part plea. Atropos had solved many other problems for Brockton Bay, but could she solve this one?

In answer, she put two fingers on the folder, spun it around, and skated it toward his side of the desk. "Voila."

Cautiously, he picked it up and started reading through. The Laborns; Brian, at seventeen, was an emancipated minor. He was the caregiver for his sister Aisha, thirteen, and their cousin Riley, ten. All three had come from broken homes; Brian and Aisha's parents had simply been unfit for the job, and Riley had been orphaned by a car accident. The notes supplied by their case officer, a Ms Brown, were glowing in their praise at how well the household had integrated together.

Oh, and it just so happened that they were black.

"A bold move," he observed. "Not the direction I would've gone myself, but definitely interesting. But if he acts out, are you sure they'll be able to handle it?"

"I can guarantee, whatever he might pull, Aisha's already been there." Atropos sounded sure of herself.

Lester looked back through the file. Aisha had definitely been in trouble before, yes. She appeared to be behaving herself now, which said a lot for her current home situation. "How sure are you that they would be okay with a new person in the household? Especially the son of Kaiser?"

"They know all about asshole parents, and they'll know he's not his dad. Brian's firm but fair, Riley's nurturing and kind, and Aisha's the bratty type who likes to stir the pot. Exactly the sort of social interactions that he needs right now."

Despite the unconventionality of the offer, he was almost convinced. However, there were a few more hoops he knew he needed to jump through. "They're all minors. How do you know they'll be able to handle him? What if he decides to bully Riley? She's five years younger than him."

Almost like a magic trick, she produced two more documents and handed them over. "Fill these out, and I'll be able to tell you."

He stared at the NDAs, then at her. "Since when have you ever worried about legalities?"

"Fair point." She chuckled. "If I just tell you, you get in trouble if you act on it, and then I have to go through this with a whole new CPS person. Doing it this way gets the job done."

"Ah. Right." He took a pen out of the coffee mug and bent over the desk, filling first out one form and then the other. Atropos had already pre-signed the witness box with her cape name, because he was damn sure nobody would question that. "Okay, done. So, what don't I know?"

"Brian and Riley Laborn are in the Wards. Respectively, Tenebrae and Miss Medic. Doing this would put Theo back under PRT care, in PRT-paid housing, but with a family who could actually help him with his issues." She chuckled again. "Besides, anyone trying to bully Aisha Laborn or her cousin deserves whatever the hell she does to them."

"And they won't bully him?" That was a major reason why he hadn't wanted to place Theo with other foster children.

"Brian won't allow it, Riley's too sweet, and Aisha just likes to poke and prod for fun. With Theo, she's likely to be nice to him, just to make Kaiser turn in his grave."

"Well. Damn." He'd need to think about this some more, and make some calls—he noticed that she'd thoughtfully left a list of contact numbers in the file—but his mind was pretty well made up at this point. "I'll get onto my superiors and make the recommendation. No promises, of course."

"Oh, totally. But these might smooth the way." She slapped several more documents onto the desk, then stood up from the chair. "I've already filled these NDAs out for them. All they have to do is sign." From the tone of her voice, she knew as well as he did that such a recommendation coming from Atropos would be given a great deal of weight. "Thanks for your time. Toodles."

Between one instant and the next, she vanished, taking the file copies of his NDAs with her. Lester blinked and rubbed his hand over his head. For a surprise encounter with the scariest cape in the continental US (and possibly the world), that had been remarkably congenial.

He rounded the desk, sat down in his chair and took up the phone. Checking the list, he tapped one of the numbers in and waited for the call to go through. "Hi, this is Lester Crandall, from CPS. I just had a visit from Atropos ..."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"So I need to give you two a heads-up," Brian told his sister and... sort of cousin. "We're going to be having somebody else living with us for a while."

"What, the feds think you need help handling all this?" Aisha indicated herself with sarcastic aplomb.

"No, they think I'm actually doing good. Very good." Brian sighed. "Maybe a little too good..."

Riley gave him a sympathetic smile. "Let me guess, Tattletale's spreading stories of how 'nice' you were to the Undersiders."

Brian rubbed his temples. "Well, there is that, but... look, the powers that be have decided we're the best option available to foster Theo Anders."

Aisha frowned. "...Theo Anders... shit, that sounds familiar, do I know him from somewhere?"

"He's Max Anders' son." At his sister's uncomprehending look, he sighed. "Max Anders was Kaiser."

"Ooooooh! Yeah, that makes--wait, hold up." Aisha brought her hands together. "Time out for a sec. Ego mcDouchbag, leader of the Racist Jackoff Committee, had a kid who he probably deluged with fucktons of White Supremacy sewage, and the government asshats think the best place for him is with a bunch of black folks?"

"First of all, language," Riley admonished. "But yeah, I kind of have to agree. I've been black for less than a year and I'm uncomfortable with it."

Brian let out a low breath. "You know how much Mom sucked?"

"Yeah?"

"Here's the thing: Mom wasn't trying. She didn't care about us one way or another. Which meant she was shit, but nothing she did was... on purpose." Brian crossed his arms. "Kaiser, on the other hand, wanted a good little nazi for a son, and wouldn't take no for an answer. Ordinary men might beat their kids, and I'm sure he did, but he also had powers. And money. And Hookwolf. We could at least hang out at Dad's place when Mom got too bad, but Theo couldn't so much as glance at somebody with darker skin without Kaiser ordering Hookwolf to knock some sense into him."

"...I'd say it couldn't be that bad," Riley murmured, "but... yeah, I've seen worse."

"I dunno, I'm still a little--" Aisha cut herself off as her phone buzzed, taking it out. "Oh. Huh. Alright, I'm in."

"What?" Brian blinked. "Just like that, you--? Atropos texted you, didn't she."

"Yep. She says he's cool, so he's cool."

Her brother groaned. "Of course you'd listen to her... Anyway. We're going to have to do a little cleaning up and figuring out where he's going to sleep. And, uh, he'll... probably guess that Riley and I are Wards pretty quickly, but that doesn't mean you should tell him."

"Can I tell him Riley used to be Bonesaw?"

"AISHA!" Riley shrieked.

"Whaaaaaat?" Aisha drawled. "He won't tell nobody! I mean, Kaiser's kid accusing a random black ten-year-old of being a slaughterhouse member, that ain't a good look!"

"That's not the point!" Riley snapped.

Brian let out a low breath as the two started squabbling. "How is it," he muttered, "that the nazi's kid is going to be the calming influence around here?"

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"...I fully recognize the irony and hypocrisy in what I am about to say," Emma declared as the front door shut, "but I feel it must be said nonetheless. Alan Barnes: I am incredibly disappointed in your conduct."

Her parents turned to look at her in disbelief.

She continued her cool, defiant glower back. "Not only did you decide to threaten a total stranger, you chose to threaten Taylor's friend--after knowing full well how isolated she had become. You barely even apologized to Cherie when you were let in--in fact, you decided to move straight to belittling her just for her choice in reading."

"Honey--"

"No," Emma cut her off. "No lawyer talk. No justifications. What you did was rude, and what you did was wrong. And I am incredibly upset that I never realized it beforehand."

Alan crossed his arms. "I was making sure Taylor's new friend was safe. Sane. Having control and understanding of a situation is crucial to that."

"...It's exactly that sort of mentality that led me to befriending Sophia," Emma replied softly. "We all know what happened because of that."

Zoe winced. "Emma--"

"I sequestered myself in darkness to confront my failed self. And though I am eternally grateful that Our Lady In Darkness found me and brought me to a new light, I realize her manner is not for all." She began to march swiftly toward her room. "I will pray for you, father, and hope the blessed shears of reason can cut your arrogance away without Our Lady's direct gaze."

"Emma--Emma, get back here--!"

Zoe put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "No, let her go. She's not going to listen, not when she's couched it..." She sighed. "...couched it so religiously."

Alan groaned. "That girl... I don't know what's going through her head. I was perfectly reasonable."

"...You were a little rude," Zoe acknowledged carefully.

"What? No, I don't think--"

"You were. Emma may not be... mentally well, but that doesn't mean she was wrong."

Alan huffed. "I'm sure it's fine. I'll have to talk with Danny about this Cherie girl, though, make sure he knows--I don't think he'd want some stranger taking advantage of Taylor."

"...Ahuh." Zoe shook her head, walking to the kitchen. Between her husband and her daughter, she felt that her family was crazier than she had thought. At least Anne still seemed to have her head on straight...

...well, probably. It wasn't like anything weird was going on at that college of hers. Right?

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"This is where I am." Ashley gestured out through the windshield at the apartment building ahead. "Mr Hebert was showing me through it earlier."

"Ah, cool." Lacey, the woman driving the minibus, was solid and chunky, but she had an infectious smile and she seemed to not recognise Ashley as a notorious supervillain. On one level that irritated Ashley slightly, but on another it heartened her. "I remember when we were fixing this place up. We went through it like a dose of salts, found every damn thing that was wrong with it, and fixed it. If Kurt and me didn't already have a place, I wouldn't mind living there."

"It seems like a worthwhile place." She considered it more than that, especially since the Betterment Committee had specifically renovated it for the purpose.

The minibus came to a halt, and Ashley opened the passenger side door and climbed out. Lacey handed her the large paper bag full of her work paraphernalia, then waved as she closed the door. "See you 'round, hero girl."

That jolted something in her chest, especially as the other guys in the back of the minibus joined in with raucous cheers. The minibus drove off, leaving her standing at the curb, staring after it with the bag in her hand. I'm not a hero. I'm a supervillain. But she couldn't forget the grin on Lacey's face, or the approving looks on the faces of her work colleagues.

Turning, she approached the door, then dug out the card and tapped the reader. The door clicked open, and she went inside. She knew which apartment she'd been assigned. It wasn't the exact same one as she'd been shown, but by the time she rode up in the elevator and found it, she couldn't tell the difference.

Letting the door close behind her, she left her bag and the twisted remnant of the Woad Giant on the small table in the living area and went into the bedroom. Upturning the paper bag, she dumped the contents on the mattress. High-vis vest, several sets of overalls in her size, the work boots she'd worn to rescue Alexander, a hard hat and safety goggles. Socks fell out last of all. All provided to protect her.

She frowned, and spent several minutes pulling all the packaging and tags off the new clothing, and hanging them up in the closet. Going through into the bathroom, she investigated the washer-dryer and found a tiny bottle of washing liquid, good for maybe two washes. Good enough. From her bag, she pulled out her spare dress and the several sets of underwear that she washed when she got the chance. These went into the washer-dryer, along with the correct amount of liquid, then she started it going.

The packaging went into the trash can she found in the kitchenette, then she took her card and let herself out of the apartment. Going downstairs in the lift that was still miraculously working, she went outside and turned left. The three blocks were not a difficult walk, and she found the convenience store readily enough.

She could see what Mr Hebert had been talking about regarding the store expanding into new products. It looked like they were trying a bit of everything, to see what their customers liked. The proprietors, an Asian couple, greeted her when she came in and asked if there was anything in particular she was looking for. She opted to look for herself and browsed around the store, coming up with a selection of fruit and other snacks, plus a couple of tasty-looking prepackaged meals.

There'd been a microwave in the kitchenette, so she grabbed a frozen pizza as well. No, she didn't have any issues about that at all.

It was still a little bit of a shock to just swipe the card and enter the PIN, and have it beep cheerfully and accept the total. The couple thanked her for shopping in their store and invited her to come back anytime. She didn't say anything as she left, mainly because she wasn't sure what to say to that. Just like the word 'please' didn't appear in her vocabulary, the phrase 'thank you' was pretty damn rare as well.

She walked back to the apartment, went upstairs, and stashed her groceries in the fridge. The washer had finished its load, so she switched it to dryer mode and started it going again.

There was still something missing.

Downstairs again, but this time she turned right. After a block of walking, she came to the bus stop. The bus came shortly after, so quickly that she suspected that she'd timed it perfectly, by sheer accident. Of course, she'd never admit that to anyone.

She had ridden on some pretty crappy buses in her time. The one from Stafford to Brockton Bay was kind of middle-of-the-road, but this one was top of the line. The tap-on reader was there when she climbed on board; it beeped cheerfully when she tapped it. She sat down in a comfortable seat where she could see out through the windshield, grabbed a moulded plastic handhold, and waited until it drove off.

The strip mall was easy to pick out. She tapped off as she descended to the sidewalk—it was amazing how easy it was to form that habit—and headed into the anchor store for the whole lot, a mid-range department store. The food situation was dealt with for the moment—she would get actual ingredients in at some point and teach herself how to fucking cook because now she could—so she was in the market for clothes. And shoes.

Again, nobody seemed to remark on her pure white hair or obvious resemblance to a notorious supervillain, leaving her feeling a little off-balance. She picked out a couple of dresses in her preferred style, plus a pair of jeans and a couple of black T-shirts with Goth themes to them, then rounded her purchases out with a couple of pairs of shoes and some more underwear.

Again, her card happily paid for the lot without hesitation. It was almost like a magic wand; just wave it, and everything was dealt with. She pushed that thought away. There was no such thing as a magic wand in her world. Everything went to suck eventually. It always did.

She went to the bus stop, and was pleasantly surprised when one turned up in relatively short order. A tall black guy got up out of his seat and offered it to her, leaving his two sisters sitting in the seat behind, chatting up a storm about every inane topic under the sun. Though she couldn't help wondering if she'd met the younger of the pair somewhere before. There was something about her voice …

She got back to the apartment, nodded to the black guy for letting her have his seat, then tapped off the bus and started back to the apartment. The two younger girls waved at her on the way past as the bus drove off. She kept walking, and let herself into the apartment block, feeling as though she'd walked ten miles.

The elevator was nice going up—no need for stairs—and letting herself into her apartment actually allowed some of the tension to leach out of her muscles. It had been a long day, and the stress from all the new and unexpected stimuli was starting to get to her. With the door firmly closed behind her, she took her new purchases into the bedroom and put them away as well. Her underwear looked weird in the drawer next to the fuzzy socks, but it would just have to deal.

Toiletries would be next on her shopping list, she figured. But the bathroom held generic ones, so that was good enough right now. Stripping down and dropping her clothing in the laundry hamper, she tried out her new shower for the first time.

It was heavenly.

Holding her head under the spray so the hot needles of water could massage her scalp, she leaned her elbows against the tiled wall with her eyes closed, feeling the water run down over her face. More and more of her tension eased the longer she held that position, until she finally turned and let it work its magic on the back of her neck and down her back. Swiping water out of her eyes, she applied shampoo, then body wash, then conditioner.

Her hair never got dirty; or rather, if it did, she could blast it clean. She could even do the same with herself. But that wasn't the same as having a shower, especially one that felt like lasers scouring every last bit of sweat and dirt and ick off her body. And when she turned her back on it and rolled her shoulders under the stinging spray, she could feel the tension in her back and neck muscles just melting away.

She had to get out eventually, and so she did. An exorbitantly fluffy towel was there to envelop her admittedly skinny body and remove all the clinging moisture, after which she went to the washer-dryer and took out the still-warm clothing she'd just washed. Dressed and feeling human once more, working her brush through her hair, she went to the fridge and took out the frozen pizza.

Her stomach rumbled, just looking at it. She took great pleasure in unboxing it and putting it into the microwave oven, then leaned back against the bench and brushed her hair while it went around and around and cheese melted and bubbled, sending its delicious odours right to her hindbrain.

When the microwave dinged, she took the pizza out and placed it on the table. There was a basic sharp knife in the cutlery drawer, so she used that to carve out a slice. Taking up the remote, she turned the TV on and settled into a comfortable chair next to the table. As the screen lit up and a news talking head appeared, she allowed herself to take the first luxurious bite of food prepared in her kitchen, in her apartment.

She chewed and swallowed, the taste explosion in her mouth bringing tears to her eyes of sheer pleasure. A click on the remote brought up a movie, one she'd seen before, but she liked it anyway. As the hero hung upside down from a helicopter, spraying machine-gun fire at the bad guy, she took another bite of pizza. It was just as good as the first time.

A strange feeling overcame her. She couldn't really place it, but the best she could describe it was that there was not one goddamn thing wrong with her life right now.

And she was absolutely not crying, because she did not cry. The pizza was too hot, or something.

Yeah, that was it.

She kept eating the pizza anyway, because it was too damn good to waste, while tears rolled down her cheeks.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

After Atropos left, the cleanup of the city of Flint began. The national guard, backed by the PRT just in case, rolled through the streets, capturing and arresting former capes by the hour. It wasn't expected to be a clean operation--former tinkers, here and there, would still be armed with their tech, and even outside of that there were always a few people who let their anger overcome their fear. But there weren't any capes left in the city. Atropos had said so. And she'd been right.

For... about five minutes.

Twenty thousand people had been threatened by the angel of death before having something fundamental to their identities stripped away and were now facing the armed forces of a nation. For many, the entire event was the most stressful they'd ever endured. Their world was ending. It was the worst moment in their lives. And having spent so long in unknowing proximity to an eldritch being primed to offer power to the broken, the desperate cries of their souls were well heard.

Strange beings, beyond mortal ken, turned their attentions to the city, ripe for the pickings--though when alerted as to who brought about the event, many hesitated. The whispers of the Shardkiller had begun to spread, even among their kind. Those who had heard of it moved back, carefully, deciding to avoid the ire. But for all that the Shardkiller's legend had been growing, it was still young, and not all had heard of it...

For five minutes, the city of Flint was empty of capes. And then somebody triggered.... and two minutes later, as they sped away, the city was empty again.

And so it went, time after time. Every hour, one or two people would suddenly find themselves blessed--or cursed, perhaps--with new powers. And they would, to a one, run. Some tried to take others with them--some felt their new abilities isolated them. But to a one, they knew--they knew--that Atropos was watching. That if they stepped an inch out of line, they wouldn't have the chance to breathe before she tracked them down.

From the death of Flint, in the end, rose a new plethora of heroes. Heroes by fear--fear of retaliation, should they ever move out of line--but heroes nonetheless. They saved lives, helped people, and kept themselves out of sight of the watchful eyes.

And far away, in a small room, a girl with red hair watched the news of these mysterious new heroes spreading across the country. And as she wrote another passage in her book, chronicling all the wonders the Lady in Darkness had achieved, she once more contemplated the nature of redemption....

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"...You know, I just realized that being Atropos has completely ruined college life for me."

Cherie looked up from her dinner and gave Taylor a flat look. "You're not in college, though."

"And yet, somehow, college is ruined."

"You're going to have to explain that one," Danny pointed out.

"Well, for a healthy, well-adjusted individual, college is considered the first step into adulthood," Taylor explained. "The first moment where your responsibilities are determined by yourself, but also the first time where you can go out and do things you'd never tell your parents. Not necessarily that they'll do those things, but... freedom, finding oneself, taking control of your own life... a rite of passage, I believe. That's what I'm getting at."

"Ah." Cherie nodded slowly. "And you've basically already done all that when you started being Atropos."

"Yep."

"...And here I was thinking it might be because you've accidentally traumatized your school peer group so much that nobody is brave enough to go out to wild parties with you," Danny deadpanned.

Taylor snorted. "What, you think college is going to be filled with Winslow students and nobody else?"

"No, but like it or not with the Betterment Commitee making things better a good chunk of them might just make it," Danny pointed out. "And even if they don't actually say you're Atropos, if a solid group of people go stiff whenever you hit the dance floor people are going to notice."

"...shit." Taylor put on a plaintive expression. "Is it too late to take that back?" she asked, though the twitching of her lips showed how serious she wasn't about the question.

"We'll just try to get you to a college where Winslow students don't hang out," Danny offered. "Might have to go out of the city for that, but I suspect we'll be able to swing it somehow."

"Wild parties are overrated anyway," Cherie assured her. "I mean they're exciting, sure, but they're exhausting. Honestly, if that fucking man didn't have a loyal clan of worshippers to keep his parties going..." She frowned. "Actually, now that I think about it, that's probably why he tried to get so many people under his thumb. Point is, you in particular don't need to go to those sort of parties--you can probably get equal thrills hunting down the asshole of the week."

"Yeah, that's a good point," Taylor agreed with a smile. "What if I feel a longing for romance, though?"

"My expertise in that area is tainted, so I won't even pretend to give you advice. Danny?"

"I met Annette in class," Danny admitted. "Granted, she was with another woman at the time, so it took a few years before we actually started dating. Love will come when it comes, and no sooner." He paused for a moment. "Though a lot of our dates did happen in the local library."

"Those poor books," Taylor quipped. "Having to suffer through witnessing such terrible flirting..." After a moment, though, her expression fell. "Crap, I just had a terrible thought."

"Oh?" Danny asked.

"What if Emma winds up at the same college I do?"

There was a long pause.

"...Yeah that could be awkward," Cherie agreed. "On the bright side... you don't have to worry about that for at least three years!"

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"...so summing up, the idea of giving dad an anti-depressant gland is actually pretty clever, Vicky, but I'd want to test it on some mice first just in case."

"Totally get that, I just--"

Carol glanced at her phone as it buzzed. "It's Sarah. That's convenient timing--Hello, Sarah, I was going to call you in a few minutes--"

Her expression shifted to one of confusion.

"...Really? I--well, I suppose I could, but why exactly do you want to call a family meeting?"

There was an audible sigh from the phone.

And then, as Carol listened, her expression shifted to shock. "She did what?!"

Vicky and Amy shared a confused look, trying to determine if one of them was the she in question.

"No, I don't think I'm--well, this is kind of a big deal! Yes I know she's legally an adult, but--you're sure nobody has...? Well, of course they have--I'm sorry, did you say Barnes?"

Mark frowned. "Barnes? As in Alan Barnes?"

"Maybe," Carol told him distractedly. "Are they all still at the dorm? Okay. Listen, you're better at... the social part of this, you go talk to them, and I'll... look into the legal side. No. Yes, Sarah, I know. Honestly, there's some stuff that we need to talk to you about as well... Surprisingly, no. Well..." Carol sighed. "Yours is more scandalous, mine is more worldshaking. ...What?! No, of course not! Don't even joke about that, Atropos is far too frightening to be a member of New Wave."

"Something something holding capes accountable," Vicky murmured, holding up her hands at her mother's glare.

"It involves the future of New Wave, to a degree. I'm still getting a read on the situation. ...Well, not just her, no. Yes. ...Have you been talking to Mark?" Carol rubbed her temples. "Fine, yes, you both have a point. Alright... Alright, yes! But bringing things back around, just--just tell Crystal I'll... be discreet. Yes, Sarah, I am capable of discretion. I am! Hrmph. I'll call you back later."

Carol hung up the phone, put her head in her hands, and sighed loudly.

"...soooooooooo," Vicky asked, "do we want to know what that's about, or...?"

"Crystal had a drunken one night stand with Alan Barnes' daughter and a woman I'm pretty sure is Faultline."

Vicky blinked. "Uh... wow. That's... uh, that's something. Good for her, I guess? Wait, I thought Faultline left town. What's she doing here?"

"Probably looking to negotiate with Atropos to get her case 53 teammates a fix," Amy offered. "I can look the three of them over for drugs and STDs, you know, make sure their judgement wasn't impaired."

Mark pat his wife on the shoulder. "At least our daughters don't get into drunken threesomes with villains," he reassured her.

Carol peered through her fingers suspiciously at the two girls.

"Brute squad swears off alcohol," Vicky promised.

"Don't look at me," Amy protested, "I'm dating a rogue!"

"...That's good," Carol conceded. "This... is probably going to get a bit messy."

Vicky put on a big, wide grin. "So my idea about leaving town doesn't seem nearly so extreme now, does it?"

The exasperated sigh that followed would go down in legend.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: What was that all about?

Why did you get my sister laid?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: What was that all about?

What are you talking about?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Faultline and Laserdream. She got drunk and in bed with them. You can't tell me you didn't have something to do with that.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Huh, that's a surprise. I did invite Faultline back into the city to work for the committee, but I didn't think she'd do anything else.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

You seriously didn't plan this?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Nope.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Huh.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

What's wrong?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Just... having to reevaluate my beliefs, is all. I mean, if you can get my sister two girlfriends on accident...

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Weeeeeeeeell... I will let you in on a little secret.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Yeah?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Inviting Faultline back into the city was one of the steps on the path to ending your worship of me.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

What.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Emma, given our extremely complicated history together, is it really any surprise that you in particular founding a cult made me uncomfortable?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Well, no, but... huh. So this was a step on ending my worship?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Yep.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

And not, to be specific, ending the cult? Cause, well, the ball's already rolling on that one.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

...dang it.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

I'd laugh, but I am still kind of terrified of you. But... This is going to sound weird.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

This is Brockton Bay, weird's everywhere.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Okay. So... after I got attacked in that alleyway, I kinda went nuts. I can see that now, the whole 'strong dominate the weak' shit Sophia pumped into me... yeah. And then Sophia died and I... started swinging back toward normal... but not completely, because I was totally terrified of you. Then you killed the Simurgh and I swung into a different flavor of crazy, and now this...? I'm swinging back toward normal, but I don't know if I'll stop there.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

You're a pendulum, is what you're saying.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Yeah! Well, maybe. I think it's... not as big a swing now. I... might actually be going back to sanity.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Because I got your sister laid?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Because you didn't plan that. And... well, I'm starting to realize that I don't... have to let the world define me? Not in a positive or negative sense. I can just be me.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Well, welcome back to sanity. Hope you enjoy your stay, however long you stick around.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Hah. So... about the cult... I'm still going to have to run it, because, you know, it's already started.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

No that's fair. Totally get that. Aaaaaand now my power's trolling me.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Oh?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

There are very few people who are important enough for it to watch out for. Dad's one, obviously, and the head of my fan club's another, and now for some reason you qualify.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Oh. I'm... flattered? I'd probably be a little more enthused if you hadn't just admitted to not being all-knowing.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Yeah, not being all-knowing is the reason your cult surprised me in the first place. Anyway, you're going to be kidnapped in, like, five minutes. Thought I should warn you.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Wait, why would I--it's because I'm the head of the cult, isn't it.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Yeah, some royal brat is making an attempt to get at me. They're going after the head of the fan club too. Don't worry, you won't get hurt and I'll get you out of it.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

That is surprisingly much more reassuring than it should be. Five minutes, you said?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Four minutes and thirteen seconds, now.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Alright, I'll put on something nice. Gotta look my best when I'm getting kidnapped. Talk to you later!

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: EmmaTheTwiceWarned
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: What was that all about?

Toodles!

Emma shrugged, putting down her phone and quickly putting on her most elegant dress and jewelry, accentuating her gothic makeup. Years of modelling experience had her gussied up in two minutes and walking down the road a minute later. When the strange car drove up, she turned her most beatific smile upon the people who opened the door. "Hello, gentlemen. I understand your employer seeks an audience with Our Lady In Darkness?"

"...Girl, I'm just getting paid to kidnap you," the man admitted. "Wait, shit, is Atropos here?!"

"She sees all, and knows all," Emma intoned with all the frevor she would have felt not three days ago.

"Oh, she's a cultist..." The other man shook his head. "Yeah, we can ignore her mad ramblings. Come on, kid, get in the van and we won't hurt you."

"By all means, gentlemen," Emma smiled, stepping in. "I am in your care."

And probably swinging into another form of insanity, but at least this time I'm self-aware about it.

Chapter Text

Danny Hebert looked across the desk at the young girl fidgeting awkwardly in her chair.

"...I was under the impression your parents had grounded you."

"They did. Um. For a few... for a few months. But, well, then the Simurgh died, and..." Madison shrugged. "Well, a few days after that they just, you know, decided to let up. Thought I learned my lesson, and all that--"

"And did you?"

"Yes! Yes. Uh, yeah, I-I'm pretty sure I did. It--it's why I'm here."

Danny slowly quirked a brow. "Why you're here."

"Y-yes."

"Now if I were a suspicious man, I might accuse you of trying to get in my good graces in order to avoid my daughter's wrath."

"NO! No no no--uh, no, that's not--I mean, uh--" Madison swallowed nervously. "You... know?"

"A getaway driver needs a license."

"Right... well, no. I--no, I'm not trying to--" The girl took a breath to stabilize herself. "Look, Sophia is dead, Emma's gone nuts, I'm pretty sure everyone else is drawing away from me--and that's my fault, I get it. I get it! But... I don't want to stay in this... emotional place, right? Where I'm just alone and... and terrified. I... I need to be better. Emotionally, and... as a person. And... I kinda thought... helping the city be better, it... it's a sort of penance, right?"

Danny folded his fingers together, leaning over the desk. "And what, precisely, can you do?"

"I haven't had a job before, but... uh... I'm... willing to try whatever...?"

"...I'll let you on with a probationary status," Danny decided. "Intern, essentially. You obviously won't need to discuss Winslow to anybody, especially in regards to my daughter. As to where you'll be working..." An evil smirk grew across his face. "I think I know just the place."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Newter--"

"HAAAAAhaahaAAAhahAHhAAhAhAAAAhahaHAHhaahAhAHAhahaHAha--!"

Gregor crossed his arms, frowning at the orange figure flopping in glee on the ground. "...Newter."

"Haahaa, haaahaha, hahahahhahahahahahahhhaaaaaahahahahaha--!" The boy raised a finger. "I can't, haah, I can't, I can't, hahahahahaheehaahaha!"

"I don't see what's so funny," Elle said, tilting her head. "People have sex. It's normal."

Gregor turned to her, ignoring Newter's fresh bout of cackling, and quirked an eyebrow. "You know what sex is?"

"My mother was a labor and delivery nurse. I grew up with one of those books that explained pregnancy. Got the talk when I was... seven, I think. Yeah, seven years old." At Gregor's baffled look, she managed a rare snarky smile. "Not all of us were magiced into existence with powers and no memory."

"...I see. And you don't understand... the humor in this situation?"

Elle shrugged expansively. "Sex is sex. Roller coasters are roller coasters. Fishing is fishing. It's a thing some people like, and it can have life-changing results if you aren't careful, but... really, that's it."

"Oh my god," Newter wheezed gleefully, "you should tell Mel that!"

"I don't think she'll react well," Gregor replied flatly.

"I am SO bringing this up the next time she lectures me about responsibility!" Newter crowed.

Gregor sighed, rubbing his brow. "No, I don't think you should."

"It'll be hilarious!"

"It really won't be."

"Trust me, it will!"

"You sound a lot like my brother," Elle mused.

Gregor and Newter both froze for a moment, before turning to her slowly. "You, uh..." Newter swallowed. "You have a brother?"

"Had. And I had... four brothers. And a sister. Three older, two younger." Elle performed another expansive shrug. "They all died in the earthquake."

"The earthquake," Gregor repeated.

"The one I triggered in." Elle looked from one of them to the other. "You seriously didn't look at my files in the asylum when you got me?"

"...Mel might have," Newter allowed, "but... no. Not really. Uh. I'm sorry for your loss...?"

"It was years ago. I've mourned and moved on. Also I'm a mercenary cape now, and I spent a few years in the asylum, so it's not like anybody who knew me back then would recognize me."

"...Perhaps, if Melanie has negotiated with Atropos successfully, you might be able to look into your old home soon," Gregor offered.

"I might, sure. But..." Elle shook her head. "My power, I think it knows Atropos will kill it, so it's... backing off. It's still there, but I can feel it trying to slip away. So I'm more... lucid now? Not all there, but... there enough to think about what this team means to me." She smiled faintly. "And, well, even if we did some bad and stupid things... you always tried to understand me. Not like the doctors. They tried to understand my power, control it, but not the girl behind the power. You understand me."

"...It has been a great pleasure helping you with your life," Gregor assured her. "And... I am sure I will be proud of whatever you do in the future. What you become."

"Yeah, we got your back, Elle, no matter what!" Newter agreed.

"That's nice. So..." Elle looked at the screen. "Can you explain to me why Mel having sex is so funny?"

"Well you see--"

"Newter is being himself," Gregor interjected.

"Ah." Elle nodded. "That makes sense."

"Hey!"

Chapter Text

Zoe stared at where Atropos had vanished, before turning to her daughter slowly.

"A tyrant cape from another Earth wished to bind Atropos to her service, so she kidnapped me and a few others to get her to obey. Atropos killed her powers, her reign, and her legacy before bringing us back home."

"What."

"Only took a couple hours, and I spent most of that in a cell. The exciting stuff really only happened at the end. Honestly, getting kidnapped is a lot more boring than you'd think." Emma shrugged, walking in past her stunned mother. "So what's for lunch?"

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Partway through reading the thread on the Blasphemies, Amy's words finally registered for Vicky. "Wait, hold on, you had feelings for me?"

Amy blinked. "...Did I not tell you that? I could have sworn... I mean, I've been getting a lot off my chest recently, I thought I'd... huh." She started tapping her head. "I really thought we'd talked about this."

"We haven't. Uh... I... um. You... do know I think of you like a sister, right?"

"Oh I know, I know." Amy sighed. "Okay, cards on the table: you know what the Westmarack effect is?"

"...no."

"It's this psychology theory, the idea that kids bond familialy to people in their first five or six years of life so they can't become attracted to them later on. I'm not sure how true or relevant it is, mind, but... well, I was six years old when a scary lady suddenly took me away from my dad and told me she was my mom now, and the only one who was nice to me was this blonde girl around my age. Throw in Carol's general behavior, me realizing things about myself around the time you got your powers, and the fact that you are--to put it bluntly--a hot blonde, and..." Amy sighed. "Yeah, I had a crush on you for the longest time."

"Had," Vicky clarified.

"Ugh..." Amy groaned. "Fine, fine. Some part of me is still holding a candle--but I'm not going to act on it," she reassured Vicky. "Because I know you don't feel the same way, and... you know I used to hate myself for feeling the way I do? I thought I was just a bad person, that I'd inevitably go off the deep end."

"Because you had a crush on your adoptive sister?"

"That, and the whole 'I'm baby Nilbog' thing. And the way Carol treated me. And... honestly, I think I was holding myself to impossible standards...? There was a whole lot of a mess tangled up in my head." She paused, then awkwardly cringed. "Also... I'm not a hundred percent sure on this, but... I maaaaaaaaaaaaay possibly have had an addiction to your aura."

Vicky winced.

"It's not that bad!" Amy reassured her quickly. "It's just--you know--I was already going through a lot of emotional crap and beating myself up a lot. If it weren't for that, it would have been like any other drug--fine in small amounts, but constantly drinking it in to handle my own problems had some, uh, side effects."

"Nice to know I'm the drug of choice," Vicky muttered.

Amy reached out and took her hands. "Hey. This isn't your fault. I didn't tell you. You didn't know. This is all on me. And like I said, I'm not even sure it's a thing. I'm... still untangling that part of my issues," she admitted.

"Still... I'm sorry I never noticed. I should have, you know, even if... even if it was awkward." Vicky paused. "...Still not gay though."

"Nah, of course not, you're more demisexual." At Vicky's mock-annoyed glare, Amy pulled her hands back with a defensive grin. "Kidding, kidding."

"Whatever." Vicky cleared her throat. "So, uh... just to be clear. I'm... going to let you down gently, because I don't feel that way about you, but I also don't want you beating yourself up about this."

"I'm fine, not beating myself up anymore. Also I've got Parian now, so... yeah."

"Good. Good. And she's treating you right?"

Amy snorted. "Yes, Vicky, we are going forward with mutual respect."

"Good." Vicky nodded. "Well, uh... this has been a talk I didn't ever expect."

"Yeah, your obliviousness is one of your major character flaws."

"Hey!"

"But you're getting better!"

Vicky huffed, turning back to the computer. "Well it's good to know you haven't changed that much," she muttered, though there was still a small smile on her face.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

►Sayshi
Replied On Mar Xth 2011:
Hey Atropos, Just out of Curiosity, do you have any plans on Ending Cancer or the Grey Boy Bubbles? Or would someone have to offer you money to deal with those?

►Atropos (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar Xth 2011:
Hi, Sayshi!
Cancer is a natural consequence of being alive, and every type of cancer is different.

In order to End all cancer everywhere, I'd have to either kill off every multicellular organism everywhere and replace them with perfect animatronic replicas, somehow rejigger the entire way cells are constructed and how they reproduce to End any chance that cellular division can result in cancerous growths, or wrap every single one of us in lead-lined cotton wool to End any chance of being exposed to something that might cause cancer to happen.

You might object to the first, I'd find the second one way too tedious, and you'd find the last one way too tedious.

Now, that isn't to say I can't kill *individual* cases of cancer. That I can totally do. Chemo and radiation therapy are just ways of traumatizing the cells so that the cancer dies at a measurably faster rate than the patient does. I can do targeted trauma *really, really* well.

As for Gray Boy loops, well ... yeah, I could kill those. I can think of four separate ways, right now.

But you've put your finger on the answer to the question of "why am I not doing this?"

The answer is simple. I'm not a hero. I never was. Never pretended to be.

I'm fixing Brockton Bay and making it a pleasant and prosperous place to live in, because I want to live in a pleasant and prosperous city.

When I End people, I do it because either a) they're attempting to personally threaten me or mine, b) they're a potential threat to what I'm doing in Brockton Bay, or c) they're a net negative to society and killing them will somehow benefit Brockton Bay. Also, because they've ignored at least one warning.

So I don't just go helping people for the good of all. I do it for Reasons.

However, because I'm not totes evul, I *will* point out that the New York Wards' latest recruit is able to create single-use devices with an almost limitless variety of wide-area effects. Just saying.

Mwahahaha.

Toodles!

Harmless_Fuzzball (Verified Harmless) (Random Internet Hugging Stranger)
Replied on Mar Xth, 2011
So, are you saying this Ward could make, say, anti-cancer bombs? Panacea will be thrilled.

►Badaboom (Verified Cape) (New York Wards)
Replied On Mar Xth 2011:
Wait, I can do what again now?

►Atropos (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar Xth 2011:
You never know until you try.
I say again, mwahahaha.

►FuzzyFeelings
Replied On Mar Xth 2011:
Holy smokes. Ok, yes single use anti-cancer devices would be awesome. I've lost family to that shit and would love to see such devices put into use. (Atropos said single use devices so do they really need to be full on bombs/grenades or will something like a party popper or heck just one use injectable work?) But, let's take that Idea and run with it a bit further. What about single use AOE full heal devices? I mean yeah Atropos has apparently dealt with our Endbringer problem (fingers crossed and lucky charms held tight) but there are a lot of good old fashioned natural disasters, accidents and other such events where time is crucial for saving lives. Even a single such device at the right place and the right time could literally save hundreds if not thousands of lives.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"So the internet is shipping you with Rune," Amy said casually, smirking a bit as her sister choked on her drink.

"Pff-grk--wh-what the hell?!" Vicky snapped. "What the--we--HOW?!"

"I had a fun time tracking it down," Amy replied, spinning around and opening her browser. "So a couple of days ago, after Piggot took over the New York PRT, somebody noticed that Fletchette--you know, Atropos's Duck Season friend--had been partnered up with Scribe, a.k.a. the Ward that is pretty obviously Rune under rebrand but nobody is allowed to legally acknowledge that, so everybody on the internet knows it. Thing is, Fletchette is asian."

"Wow. I knew Piggot had a vindicative streak, but that's..." Vicky shook her head. "What does her assigning Rune a chaperone have to do with us being shipped?"

"Well, Fletchette came down to Brockton Bay, cause she's dating Spitfire."

"The dragon rogue?"

"That's the one. So she's on a date with Spitfire, in costume for some reason--maybe they'd just met up, actually, and weren't actually on a date--when some tabloid reporter spots her and tries to get a statement about 'working with a probationary Ward.' And Flechette, of course, has PR training, so she goes on the usual 'we offer second chances, but it's up to them to take them' speech. Spitfire, on the other hand, does NOT know how to handle this. She's just standing there, uncomfortably. So Fletchette goes to hold her hand, you know, usual calming gesture between girlfriends or boyfriends or whatever." Amy gestured at the image on the screen. "The thing is, and I don't know if she realized it at the time, she does so exactly when she says, and I quote, 'Sometimes what a person is taught by their family runs counter to their true nature'. Internet being internet, they linked the two things together."

"So because Flechette is holding her girlfriend's hand while saying 'Nature Versus Nurture', suddenly Rune's a repressed lesbian." Vicky rolled her eyes. "I've heard dumber rumors, sure. What I want to know is where I enter this."

"You know that fight you had with the Empire last year? The photogenic one, where you bantered with Rune a lot?"

Vicky's expression slowly shifted to horrified exasperation. "Oh no."

"Oh yeah." Amy tapped a button on the keyboard. "Somebody pulled up a lot of Rune footage and made a montage. Set it to a song that's basically the repressed lesbian anthem."

Vicky groaned as she watched the music video play out. "Of course they did."

"Oh, it gets better. You know how you've pretty publically split with Dean--?"

"--and there are people who think he was my beard and I'm actually gay, yes, I'm uncomfortably familiar with the rumors."

"Yeah, after that got brought up, the internet played your relationship with Rune up to Romeo and Juliet levels. Star-crossed lovers, hiding the truth about themselves to avoid upsetting their family, sneaking out at night for clandestine liaisons--"

"Please stop," Vicky grumbled, her face in her hands. "And I can't even make a statement because denial would sound like confirmation."

Amy pat her shoulder gently. "Look on the bright side: Rune's probably going through a lot worse than you are."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Um," said Gallant.

"Yes?"

"Ah. Ma'am." Gallant swallowed. "I... don't think this is legal."

"Well, you asking for business certainly isn't," she agreed with a small smile. "You're on the job, underage, and frankly I doubt the PRT's going to be happy about the image."

"No, I mean... this. At all. Setting up a... well, a--"

"Whorehouse? Brothel? Den of inequity?"

"--ahem. Yes. Setting... this... up, it, uh... I--"

"I think the question of whether this is legal should be up to the cops," the woman said brightly. "I mean, if any of my employees were parahumans, sure, you'd have to get involved, but I asked them all, and none of them said they were."

"But, uh, with Lung dead--"

"Kid do you ever look at porn?"

Gallant reeled. "Wha--no! I don't--"

"Ahuh, sure, whatever. My point is, people have lusts. And they'll want to satisfy those lusts. Food, shelter, family, pleasure, somebody's going to make a business. Now you can either kidnap people off the street and/or trick immigrants into 'better' lives with high costs while locking them away like cattle, or you can do the sensible thing and gather willing volunteers who don't mind being paid. I'm doing the latter. And it ain't your business. Might be the cops, but not yours."

"But, um..." Gallant gestured around vaguely. "It's... uh..."

"It's... in Empire territory?" The woman cupped a hand to her ear. "Hear that? That's the sound of nazis screaming about our immorality. Oh, wait, you can't hear that, because they've scampered. All of 'em."

"I... uh... well..." Gallant swallowed. "We got a call," he explained. "About... capes. And, uh. This. Yeah."

"Sweetie." The woman leaned forward, and Gallant kept his eyes up through sheer willpower. "I'll level with you. Capes wear tights. Hookers wear tights. Ballerinas wear tights. This is just going to happen."

"...I'm... I'm just going to go," Gallant mumbled, backing away.

".....Soooooooo," Vista drawled. "How'd it go?"

"False alarm," he muttered.

"Really? I hadn't noticed!"

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Near Vuollerim, Northern Sweden

I'd only come out of the teleport a minute ago, and already I was feeling the cold. The northern lights looked beautiful, and I decided I'd like to come back some time I wasn't on the clock. Fortunately I didn't have far to walk - I just crossed a deserted rural highway, noting some skid marks and broken glass on the road, and followed a trail of blood into the treeline. I was already too late to help the victim of the hit and run, but that really wasn't what I was there for. I soon found the body, and pulled the starting handle of my chainsaw...

Kansas City, Missouri. A certain greeting card company's offices.

"Okay," said the Creative Director, "it's that time of year again. Christmas is over, we've got the breakdown of sales figures by card design, so we we need to think about new designs for December. I know it's a long way off, but it's a never-ending cycle. Who's going to start the ball rolling?" There was a long silence, then one of the designers raised a hand "Stan?"

Stan looked down at his notes. "Atropos."

"Atropos? What about her?"

"Come on, guys. She's the motherlode. She killed the goddamned Simurgh! Everyone on earth celebrated that, it deserves a card."

"She's already said she's not going to be licensing her image," said the Creative Director.

"Even without a picture, there's some Christmas themes in there. There's got to be a way to get 'slay' and 'sleigh' into a greeting card message."

"No, Stan. Just no."

"Think about it, guys, she knows if you've been naughty or nice!"

"Stan, are you seriously comparing Atropos to Santa?"

"Why not?"

The lights suddenly flickered out. When they came back on Stan screamed; there was a severed reindeer's head on the conference table, its eyes staring at him. The word "NO" was written on the table in red liquid.

One of the other designers cautiously dipped a finger into the liquid then smelled it. "Holy crap! It's real!"

"That!" said the Creative Director shakily. "That's why not! Stan, I think you'd better think about making a generous donation to the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee, unless you want her to go Krampus on your ass. Eric, go wash your hands. We'll resume this tomorrow, once janitorial services have finished sterilizing the place. And don't let me hear another word about Atropos!"

Chapter Text

"Vicky, no."

"Oh come on, Ames--"

"This is a terrible advertising line for any rogue healer, let alone one of my caliber."

"But just picture it! Posters of you at your most grumpy--"

"Vicky."

"--hand of justice raised--"

"Vicky stop."

"--and bearing down on any fool who lies to their girlfriend!"

"Okay, how much of this is you being silly and how much of this is you refusing to work through your emotions about Dean?"

"...low blow, Ames."

"I'm going to say no. Mom will say no. DAD will say no. And you know this. So why are we even talking about it?!"

"I designed the posters and everything!"

"...I'm going to go see Parian now."

"Tell her I said hi! AND NO ALCOHOL!"

"God DAMN it Vicky you are not the one to be preaching restraint!"

Chapter Text

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♦ Topic: Down-Under Doldrums
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Posted On Mar 10th 2011:

Hello again, Brockton Bay.

Just two days ago, I reiterated that I will be scrupulously including the Third Option in all cases moving forward. As a quick recap to anyone who might have missed it, I give out three options and three strikes to anyone who happens to catch my attention. Your choices are to leave, surrender to the authorities, or die. As for the three strikes, I had hoped that they would be self-explanatory.

Apparently, I was wrong. But I'll get back to that later.

I've put a lot of effort into renewing Brockton Bay. Various bounties have funded the project, along with charitable donations by the PRT (*cough* Quarantine Zones *cough*). A very capable group of people came together to make up the Board, and they've been doing a fantastic job. Workers at all levels have put a lot of effort into fixing my beloved city, and I thank them all for everything they're doing. Aside from a couple of hiccups (you know who you were), the BBBC has been a tremendous success.

But with success comes attention, and not all of it is positive.

If anyone cared to tally up the bounties that have been poured into the BBBC's coffers, they'd find it to be a rather large sum. Not quite 'annual budget of the United States' large, but large enough to draw attention. Large enough to tempt unscrupulous people into taking unwise actions. In this case, though, the temptation has not come from within, but from without.

Some people seem to think that the current Chairman of the BBBC can be influenced. They seem to think that, with the right leverage, they can force him to embezzle a large enough sum and hand it over. And they *somehow* think that this is a good idea.

Mr. Pump Action Shotgun disagrees. Vociferously.

Bull Rush, Scrapyard, and Twister are members of an itinerant group of small-time villains. They're mostly known for robbing convenience stores and gas stations, smuggling moderate quantities of drugs across state lines, and the occasional heist. Their most significant crime to date is knocking over an armored truck and stealing the cash it was carrying. None of them have particularly dangerous powers, and none of them are particularly smart. In most cases, they should be relatively easily handled by the PRT. About the only reason they haven't been arrested yet is because they're always on the move; they rarely stay in one place longer than a couple of days. In most ways, they're beneath notice.

Except, Scrapyard has had a very, very stupid idea; he wants to come to Brockton Bay. He's heard about all the money the BBBC has at hand, and has decided that he and his group deserve a piece of the pie. And he thinks he knows how he can make it happen.

Now, normally a situation like this would simply be resolved as soon as it crops up, and you fine people would only hear about it the next time I needed to make an important post. I've made it clear that I will know if you are coming to Brockton Bay with ill intent. In that case, a PHO post is usually sufficient warning, and counts as the first strike. Thanks to *this* lovely sign, entering the city limits is the second. Taking any further hostile action at that point is sufficient cause for me to End you.

Unfortunately for me, Bull Rush, Scrapyard, and Twister consider time spent on PHO as time wasted. They will not see this warning.

As I have previously mentioned, I intend to scrupulously follow my rules. I *will* give three options, and I *will* give three strikes to anyone and everyone who catches my attention. This group of idiots has come to the Bay to try to extort money from the BBBC. I find this to be entirely unacceptable. I will issue a warning that they cannot ignore before they make it to city limits. If they elect to continue after that, if they cross city limits, that will be their second warning. Anything after that is entirely on their heads.

They can either walk away, turn themselves in, or Mr. Pump Action Shotgun will educate them on the fact that Kneecaps Are A Privilege. Either way, the problem will be resolved by midnight tomorrow.

Ah, midnight. It's been some time since I've done a good old-fashioned midnight warning. Some traditions are fun to observe.

Toodles!

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PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Char
From: Atropos
Subject: Feel like helping?

I've got another situation coming up where I need to be in two places at once. Feel like helping me out?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Char
Subject: Re: Feel like helping?

I, um, sure? I don't mind. But, will it be safe?

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Char
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Feel like helping?

Safe as the last time. By the time you come in, it'll all be over anyway. All you'll have to do is smile, wave, and step through a portal.

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Char
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Feel like helping?

Alright. Count me in.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Hey. You seeing this?" Rodney, the villain formerly known as Leet, asked.

"Hmm?" Brendan, formerly Uber, hummed. Since leaving Brockton Bay, the two had decided to drop their old monikers. They were still sorta using them, if only because they hadn't decided on new cape names yet. It's just that all the good ones were already taken…

Shaking off his thoughts, he leaned over to get a better view of the phone Rodney was holding out to him. "Let's see… third option… three strikes… Oh shit… This is an Atropos post, isn't it?"

"Uh huh," Rodney confirmed with a nod. "Keep reading."

"Ok.. uh… temptation… Chairman… embezzle… yadda yadda… Bull Rush?" Brendan looked up, meeting Rodney's eyes. Both of their faces were uncharacteristically serious and somewhat more pale than usual. "Didn't we-"

"Yeah," Rodney interrupted. "Keep reading."

"Ok, ok. Let's see… small-time villains… robbing… smuggling… armored truck? Wait, Atropos knows about that?"

"Apparently."

"Shit. That was only, what, a few days ago?"

"Yeah," Rodney nodded. "That's not all."

Brendan sighed and kept reading. "... Very, very stupid idea… blah blah blah… wait. They won't see the warning?"

"You've met them," Rodney scoffed. "Do you think any of them know how to use the internet?"

"... Good point," Brendan nodded. "Honestly, I'm surprised Scrapyard knows how to work a flip phone."

"Yeah. So, when Atropos says that they won't see this post…"

"... they're going to ignore the other warnings, aren't they?"

"Yup," Rodney said, popping the 'p'.

Rodney took nearly a full minute to think. Eventually, he asked, "Look, I know we did a job with them-"

"We helped them knock over the armored truck," Brendan interrupted. "Atropos said that was literally their biggest crime, and we helped them do it."

"They aren't the most competent villains, no," Rodney agreed. "But… look, they might be dumb as a box of rocks, but do you think they deserve to die?"

"If they ignore all the warnings? Well… I, for one, am not going to argue with Atropos over this."

"... Fair point," Rodney hummed.

Their new (if currently temporary) lair was silent for another long minute. Eventually, Rodney broke the silence, asking, "Hey. You still have Scrapyard's number, right?"

"Yeah…?"

"So… look, I'm not saying I like them very much, but I don't want them to die, right?"

"Right…"

"So… why don't we pass on the warning?" Rodney asked.

"... Atropos did say that they wouldn't see her post," Brendan pointed out. "If we tell them, wouldn't that make her a liar?"

"True, except we don't have to show them the post. Not that they could see it on their flip phones anyway," Rodney countered. "If we tell them about the warning…"

"... ok, yeah, I get your point," he replied. "But the question is, should we?"

The two stared at each other for a long moment. Rodney huffed and, with a vague gesture at his buddy's phone, he said, "You've got his number; I think you should call him. Warn him off or something."

"For all the good that will do."

"Maybe it won't change anything," Rodney sighed. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

"Fine," Brendan grumbled. "But you've got the next grocery run."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure."

A run-down camper van was parked in a gas station parking lot on the outskirts of Albany, New York. It was tucked away in the corner, as far away from the streetlights and passing cars as possible, partially to avoid light that might keep the occupants awake at night, and partially to avoid attention from the police. Not that they'd care; there were more national and state parks and recreation areas than you could shake a stick at in the area. A camper, no matter how old and run down it might look, was neither unusual nor out of place.

The phone going off roused Scrapyard from his sleep. He snorted and came awake, blearily peering through the somewhat dark interior. The phone rang again. He fumbled with it, nearly dropping it, but managed to get it open.

"H'lo?" he mumbled.

"Hey, Scrapyard, it's Uber," came the voice on the other end.

"Th' fuck you want?"

"Listen. You're about to go to Brockton Bay, aren't you?"

"Wha…?" Scrapyard said, sitting up in his bunk. "Who the fuck told you that?"

"Look, man, it's all over PHO-"

"Pee-haich-oh?" he interrupted. "The fuck are you on about, pee-haich-oh? Th' fuck is that?"

"It's a website where people go to talk about cape shit," Uber explained. "Anyway, not important. The important part is that there's this cape there, Atropos. You heard of her?"

"That's the bint who offed the Great Bin Chicken in Canberra, yeah?"

"... yeah," the voice mumbled, completely taken aback. "That's her."

"What's she got to do with me?" Scrapyard demanded.

"She lives in Brockton Bay," he explained. "The BBBC is her pet project; it's where she puts all of the bounties she's been getting."

"Yeah, I know," Scrapyard chuckled. "Got some dandy Board or somesuch; bunch of normals, all of 'em."

"So… she said that you guys were going to try to extort some money from them."

"Yeah," Scrapyard practically giggled. "Brilliant, innit? Get in, nab a couple of normies, get a heaping load of dosh, and get out."

"... no," Uber replied, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "No, it's not brilliant. Not brilliant at all."

"The fuck would you know about it, ya cunt?" Scrapyard demanded, getting irritated.

"Look, Leet and me, we came from Brockton Bay," he said. "We've seen how Atropos operates. If you fuck with her, you die. It's as simple as that. And she already knows you're coming. She posted about it online, told the whole world about it. She knows."

"Yeah, so?" Scrapyard flippantly asked. "We're not messing with her, just the BBBC."

"Scrapyard," Uber sighed, sounding completely put upon. "She is the BBBC. More or less. That's her project. If you fuck with it, you're fucking with her. If you fuck with her, you die."

"Naw. See, I got it all figured out," Scrapyard said, lowering his voice and talking in a conspiratorial manner. "She's got this whole three strikes thing, yeah?"

Uber sighed. "Yeah."

"See, we've never done nothing to 'er," he continued. "So this would be our first strike! We get the cash, get out of town, and never go back. No more strikes, no reason for her to come after us."

"Scrapyard… it doesn't work that way," Uber sighed. "Usually the first strike is a warning; that's what the PHO post was supposed to be. The second strike is coming to the city at all. You cross city limits? That's strike two. If you commit any crimes after that? She kills you. End of story."

"Well, she can't exactly warn us, now, can she?" Scrapyard shot back, starting to get angry. "So going to the city is strike one and my plan is strike two. Either way, we get away clean. Got it?"

"Look, man, just… just don't do this, ok?" Uber asked, sounding weary. "Trust me when I say that if you go to Brockton Bay, you'll die."

"Are you gonna try to stop me?" Scrapyard demanded, his ire fully raised by now. "Gonna go squealing to Atropos yourself?"

"Nah, man," Uber denied it, sounding like he was completely done with the conversation. "Just passing on the warning. Whatever you decide to do, it's on you."

"You can fuck right off with that, ya cunt!" the irate tinker shot back. He had just enough courtesy to not shout it at the top of his lungs; he wasn't the only person in the camper, after all. He didn't want to wake his teammates at this time of the night.

"Fine, whatever," Uber replied. "I tried. Goodbye, Scrapyard."

The line went dead.

"Well fuck you too, ya fucking cunt," Scrapyard grumbled. He huffed and got out of bed. After that call, he was too irritated to go back to sleep any time soon.

After a nice stretch and a scratch, he decided he wanted some snacks. After a thorough check of the camper's cabinets, nothing really jumped out at him. Grumbling, he pulled on some jeans, a pair of boots, and a jumper; it was pretty chilly at night this far north.

"Scrap?" A tired voice mumbled. "Wassup?"

"Gonna hit the store, Twist," he replied, keeping his voice down. Bull's snoring kept sawing away in the back; as the largest of the three of them, he got the largest bed. Not that he could fit into the little cubby bunks that he and Twist used, even if he wanted to. The man certainly had girth.

"M'kay," she mumbled. She rolled over, pulling her blanket up to her shoulder. "Get me some Twizzlers."

"Fine, fine," he grumbled.

'I'll never get used to winter in March,' he thought to himself. Back in Australia, this was late summer or early autumn, depending on what part of the country you were in. The incongruity between the seasons and the time of year was something he was still getting used to.

Dressed and ready to go browse the store's shelves, he went to the door and pushed it open. Or, at least, he tried.

"The fuck?" he muttered.

The door was stuck. He checked the lock; it was unlocked. He tried the handle again; the latch was completely open. He pushed; the door still didn't budge.

"The fuck?" he repeated himself.

Deciding to put his back into it, he braced his shoulder against the door and gave it a shove. It moved just a bit, but not much. Grumbling, he tried again, harder. The door shuddered under his assault but still didn't give way. His fury rising, he reared back and slammed his full body weight into the door.

With a loud crack, the door flew open. Not expecting the sudden lack of resistance, Scrapyard went tumbling out of the camper and rolled across the pavement. For a moment, he just lay there. A clattering sound caught his attention, though, so he lifted his head to look at it.

A somewhat square-shaped piece of orange plastic with rounded corners had clattered to the ground.

"The fuck?" he mumbled. Getting to his feet, he went to the thing and picked it up.

It was, as far as he could tell, the seat from an old school desk. Hard, cheap plastic, a bit worn and faded from extensive use. One side had a few off-colored spots. Scrapyard tilted it a bit to catch the light from the nearest streetlight. The spots were a dull tan and faded brown. He frowned; the colors looked familiar. Turning around, he looked at the side of the camper van. There, next to the doorframe, were a couple of spots where the paint had been pulled off. The spots on the seat seemed to match the spots on the camper.

"The fuck!" he repeated once more, though more plaintive than angry.

Someone had glued a plastic seat to his fucking camper. They'd done it right over the door, too; the glued-on seat was what had been holding the door closed.

'Who in the hell would do this?' he wondered, idly fiddling with the plastic seat cover. He flipped it over in his hands and nearly dropped it. He blinked in surprise; someone had written something on the other side.

"Scrapyard," he read the writing. "You should have listened to Uber. Consider this your first warning. Atropos. Toodles."

He turned his gaze up to the uncaring sky. It was overcast, so the only thing he could see was the orange of the reflected streetlights on the clouds.

"The fuck?!" he asked, confused and concerned.

'How the fuck did she do that?' he wondered.

Back in Brockton Bay, Taylor carefully tightened the lid on the tube of super glue. The stuff wasn't particularly expensive, but waste not want not. Once it was appropriately secure, she returned it to one of the many drawers in the workbench in the basement. Her dad hadn't done much with the space in years, but she'd used it a time or two to cobble together something or the other. Super glue was useful; the next time she needed it, she wouldn't want to find the tube all dried out.

"Taylor?" a voice called from the top of the stairs.

"Hey, Dad," she called back.

"What are you doing up so late?" he asked. His weight made the stairs creak as he put his weight on them.

"Oh, just working on a project," she replied nonchalantly.

"A project," he replied, his voice flat. "Uh-huh. What kind of project?"

"Delivering a warning," she answered.

"... right," he sighed. "It's late; you should get to bed. You have school in the morning."

"Alright," she agreed. "Just let me finish cleaning up here."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

There was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Come in!"

Cherie cracked the door open just far enough to stick her head through the gap. She glanced around, having to crane her head all the way around to find her. Taylor was standing in the closet, just inside the doorway.

"Breakfast is ready," Cherie told her, though from the look of curiosity she wore she was more interested in what Taylor was doing.

"I'll be down in a bit," Taylor murmured in reply.

"What are you doing?"

"Preparing."

"..." Cherie paused, thinking. "Is this about your post last night?"

"Yes," Taylor confirmed.

Cherie slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. Coming up to the closet doorway, she was finally able to see what Taylor had in her hands.

"Is that your portal device?" she asked, keeping her voice low. She wasn't sure why; Danny knew pretty much everything and no one else was in the house, but it seemed to be the thing to do. After all, plots were afoot.

"Mm-hmm," Taylor hummed.

"So…" Cherie prompted. When Taylor failed to reply, she added, "What are you doing with it?"

"Pre-programming a few jumps," she murmured. Her fingers were flying over the small keypad and text was rapidly flowing across the small screen.

Cherie couldn't make heads or tails of it; it seemed to be mostly numbers with a few oddly placed symbols. What N 43°6'29.776" W 70°55'35.456" A 37.295M 15:53:37 meant was entirely beyond her, but whatever it was, it was important. Maybe it told the device where to place the portal? Either way, there were several entries on the screen. The numbers might all be slightly different, but they were all related. Probably.

Shaking her curiosity away, Cherie asked, "Anything I can do to help?"

Taylor glanced at her, a reassuring smile on her face. "When the time comes, act surprised."

"... okay?" she replied, more confused. She shook it off, though; she had come up here for a reason, after all. "Anyway, breakfast is ready. You should come down and eat or we'll be late for school."

"Alright," Taylor agreed. "Just let me finish the last few entries."

When Taylor finally stepped into the dining room, Cherie nearly choked on her food. After swallowing her mouthful of eggs and washing it down with a gulp of orange juice, she incredulously asked, "You're wearing that to school?!"

Taylor looked down at herself. She was wearing a white button-up blouse and black slacks along with a pair of sensible flats. The top button of her blouse was unbuttoned, giving her a somewhat casual look without being indecent. Not that she had anything to show off, but it was the thought that counted.

"Is something wrong with it?" she asked.

"Isn't that…" Cherie began, paused, and tried again. In a lower voice, barely above a whisper, she said, "That's the top you wear for your costume."

"Mm-hmm," Taylor confirmed.

"And your slacks-"

"The same," Taylor interrupted, suppressing a smile.

"..." Cherie's mouth worked like a fish on dry land; opening and closing, but not making a sound. After a moment, she found her words. "Anyone who knows is gonna know."

"Along with anyone who suspects," Taylor nodded. "But those who neither know nor suspect will just see a normal blouse and a pair of slacks."

"Why wear it to school, then?"

"It will make things easier this afternoon," Taylor shrugged.

"What's happening this afternoon?" Cherie asked, her brows furrowed in suspicion.

Taylor smiled, her eyes twinkling. "You'll find out later."

Cherie sighed and shook her head. "Whatever. Just eat your breakfast or we'll miss the bus."

'Welcome to Brockton Bay', the sign at city limits said in bright, cheerful colors. The sign's background showed a beautiful white sand beach, a rocky promontory, and a classic New England-style lighthouse against a cloudless blue sky.

A plywood board had been affixed below the sign. It had been crudely painted white; even at a distance, it was easy to see the uneven places where the paint roller hadn't been properly wetted. Black spray paint had been applied in an urban style, and rather well done, despite the poor materials. It read 'Home of Atropos. Consider this is your second warning.'

Scrapyard's eyes remained glued to the sign as the camper rolled past it. Despite his bluster and projected confidence, he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine.

"So what's the plan, boss?" Twister asked. She was sitting on the bench seat in the little kitchen area, and she had to shout a bit to be heard by the two men sitting in the front.

"We gotta find a place to lay low," Scrapyard told her. "The North side of the city is all abandoned railyards and warehouses. We shouldn't have a problem finding an out-of-the-way place that'll work."

"I heard they're doing a lot of rebuilding in that part of town," Bull Rush said, his bass voice surprisingly thoughtful. "Might not be as out of the way as we'd hoped."

"Nah, most of the work has been near the docks," Scrapyard countered, sounding unphased. "We can check the places farthest from the sea; I bet we'll find what we need there."

"Alright, so, we find a place to lay low," Twister summarized. "What then?"

"See, the Chairman of the BBBC is this guy," Scrap continued, pulling out a printed-off photo. To anyone who knew, they would see that it was the same photo that was on the BBBC's website. "Danny Herbert. He's some big shot with the local Unions, too. Either way, he calls the shots, and has access to the coffers."

"We're going to kidnap him?" Bull Rush asked.

"Don't be daft," Scrap scoffed. "If we have him, who's gonna get us our money?"

Bull Rush nodded, acknowledging the point.

"Instead, we're going to go after her," he continued, showing another print off. It looked like an old yearbook photo.

"Who's she?" Twister asked.

"Taylor Herbert," Scrap said, a braggadocious grin on his face. "The big Kahuna's daughter."

"Shit," Bull Rush quietly swore. If the other two heard him, they ignored it.

"So we nab her and, what, ransom her to her daddy?" Twister asked.

"That's right," Scrap nodded, grinning widely.

"And then what?" Bull asked, briefly glancing at Scrap before turning his eyes back to the road.

"And then he brings us the money, we hold onto the girl until we reach city limits, then we drop her ass off and get out while the getting's good." Scrap leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. "No muss, no fuss, and we're on our way to living the high life."

The other two were silent for a long moment. Scrap got irritated at the perceived slight against his brilliant plan. "What, you got a problem with it?"

"No, boss, no problems here," Twist reassured him, a somewhat nervous smile on her face.

Bull just grunted. Whether that was agreement or disagreement, Scrap couldn't quite figure it out. He chose to believe the big man agreed.

"Good. Now, keep your eyes peeled," he said, turning to look out the window. "We need to find a place to lay low."

"You got it, boss," Twist chirped.

"Yeah… that'll do nicely," Scrap grinned, standing in the middle of the lot, hands on his hips, as he gazed upon their new lair.

Sure, the trailer office looked like it hadn't been used in a few years, but the water still ran. The power was off, but it wouldn't take Scrap more than a minute or two to get into the utility panel and switch it back on. Honestly, the power company only kept it closed with a simple lock; he could jimmy that in no time flat, even without his clockwork lockpick. The small metal frame building, a three-bay garage, could hide their camper and give him space to work. Even better, the piles and piles of rusted cars and crushed scrap around the lot would provide him with all the materials he could ever want for his Tinkering.

As it turned out, the reconstruction had already reached the farthest parts of the Trainyard. The buildings that weren't being actively renovated and hadn't already been knocked down had been surveyed and marked. Neither Scrap or his teammates knew which marks meant demolition and which meant renovation, but any building that had been marked might see some surveyor poking around where they weren't wanted. As such, they'd had to search further afield.

North of the Trainyard, close to the city limits, was an old, abandoned pick-and-pull lot. Several acres of cleared land were now home to thousands of junk cars. Common makes and models, especially the later models, were spread out far enough that enterprising mechanics could comfortably remove components as needed. The former owners would take older models and strip them of working parts in the garage, then refurbish and sell those parts on the internet. The remains were lifted into the compactor and crushed into rectangular blocks. When the price of scrap hit a high enough point, the former owners would contract a few flatbed trucks to transport the crushed scrap to a smelter.

It had been a decent setup, and profitable enough that the employees earned a decent wage and the owner could live an upper-middle-class lifestyle in Brockton Bay. The problem was that the owner got in bed with the Empire. The gang would bring in stolen cars and leave with 'refurbished' cars with salvage titles. Those salvage cars would go to an Empire front, Waterford Motors. The scrapyard owner got a cut, the Empire got a cut, and Waterford Motors always had decent quality used cars for sale at reasonable prices. It was too bad that an overachieving intern at the PRT had noticed that Victor had been driving a car with a Waterford Motors decal on the back. It had sparked an investigation that had busted the whole ring. Victor got away, of course, but a good number of unpowered gang members had been arrested, along with the owners of the scrapyard and of Waterford Motors.

All of this was a few years before Atropos showed up. Not that Scrap knew any of this. Even if he did, he wouldn't care. What was important to him was that the lot was out of the way, abandoned, had a garage large enough to hide their camper, and had plenty of materials for him to Tinker with.

"So what's the plan, boss?" Bull asked.

"I'll go get the power on," Scrap told him. "You and Twist get the camper in the garage, then clean out the office trailer. In the meantime, I'll get one of these junkers up and running."

"Why?" Twist asked. "Why not just use the camper?"

"Because it's big and slow, and I don't want anyone connecting it to us," Scrap explained, exasperation leaking into his tone. "We can use a junker around town and abandon it when we're done. That way no one will connect us to the camper and we can get away clean."

"Makes sense," Twist nodded. "Come on, Bull, let's get started."

Bull grunted and followed her.

Scrap nodded, suppressing a grin. Being in charge was quite gratifying, in his opinion. While reveling in his genius, Scrap meandered away. The power wasn't going to cut itself on, after all.

"A-a-ahhh," Cherie groaned in satisfaction. Her fingers were laced together and held far over her head, palms out, as she stretched. She leaned to one side, then the other, then as far back as she could without falling over. Her shirt rode up a bit in the front, much to the interest of more than a few boys, and she enjoyed the way their emotional chorus shifted and thrummed. When she finished, she glanced around; there were more than a few heads that quickly looked away.

She glanced at Taylor, who was giving her a mildly disapproving frown. It was a bit of a facade, though; Cherie could feel Taylor's amusement, so she grinned and winked at her. Taylor rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"You enjoyed that entirely too much," she said.

"Guilty as charged," Cherie replied, innocently folding her hands together at the small of her back. "It's the little things in life, the small pleasures that make life worth living."

"Uh-huh," Taylor replied, sounding unconvinced.

"You disagree?"

"I think we have different opinions on what constitutes the 'small pleasures'," she said.

"Oh?" Cherie asked. "Do tell."

"Good food, good friends, and good books," Taylor replied, allowing herself to grin. "Those are the small pleasures."

"Hmm. Can I substitute in 'good movies'?"

"Only if they're actually good movies," Taylor conceded.

"Hmm," Cherie hummed in agreement. "Though that makes me wonder where 'good eye candy' fits in…"

Taylor shrugged nonchalantly, though Cherie didn't miss the very faint blush on her cheeks.

The two chatted about nothing in particular as they made their way to the bus stop. Just before they reached it, though, a squeal of tires caught their attention. An old car with faded green paint and rust spots all over squealed to a halt in the bus lane. The passenger door opened up and a mountain of a man jumped out. He had to be nearly 7 feet tall, had huge wide shoulders, and an impressively large belly. He wore a leather vest that was open in the front, a pair of jeans, black combat boots, and a gas mask.

From the back seat of the car, a short, willowy woman jumped out. She wore a skintight body suit, mostly black but with light and dark blue curved lines that ran from ankle to shoulder, giving the illusion that a tornado started at her foot and ran up her body. Her auburn hair was held away from her face in a pony tail, and her face was covered by a dark blue domino mask. She held a burlap sack, about the size of a basketball, in one hand.

The big man stepped forward with surprising quickness for his bulk. For a second, Cherie thought the man was coming for her, but when he closed the distance, it was Taylor that he grabbed. Taylor scowled at him but offered no resistance. He hoisted her up over his shoulder and sprinted back to the car.

Cherie reached out, ready to flex her power, to flood these two fools with the pain of crippling loss and fear and despair. Just before she did, though, Taylor's words from this morning came to mind. "When the time comes, act surprised."

"Taylor!" she called out. It was surprisingly easy to act surprised when you were actually surprised. "Help! Help! She's being kidnapped!"

The big man pushed Taylor into the back seat of the car, roughly pulled her arms behind her back, and forced some zip cuffs onto her. With her hands secure, he pushed her the rest of the way in and stepped aside. The woman took her spot in the back seat and closed the door behind her. As soon as the big man was back in the passenger seat, the car sped off, tires squealing.

Other students were shouting in alarm, now. There was more than a little confusion; half the school population either knew or suspected that Taylor was Atropos. Cherie knew that if she had wanted to, she could have completely no-sold the attempt. It made her wonder why she was letting it happen.

'Probably part of the plan,' she silently admitted. It wasn't like Taylor had filled her in on the whole thing. She definitely hadn't told her that she was going to get kidnapped. Though on reflection, the PHO post had hinted at something like that…

Cherie mentally shrugged. Her role was to act surprised. So, Cherie acted surprised, and a bit shocked. When the police and the PRT came to interview people, she continued to act surprised and shocked.

'It'll all be resolved by midnight,' she told herself. Sure, she knew Atropos was the scariest thing on the planet. She'd killed the Bin Chicken of Doom while doing a Looney Tunes skit, after all. Despite knowing that, though, Cherie couldn't quite suppress the worry that churned in her guts.

After all, no matter how much Cherie trusted Taylor to be able to take care of herself, her friend had been kidnapped.

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Alright alright alright!" Scrapyard crowed as the rusted old car pulled into their new lair. His mood was so ebullient that he couldn't resist the urge to do a couple of doughnuts in the gravel parking lot, cackling like a maniac as he spun the car around, the tires sending pebbles flying every which way.

"Now that's how it's fucking done!" He cheered, finally pulling the car to a stop next to the office trailer. "You snatched her right up, Bull; great work! You too, Twist!"

"Thanks, boss!"

Bull nodded, letting out a rumbling chuckle.

"You two get this cunt squared away," he ordered them. "I'll go deliver the ransom note."

"You got it!" Twister chirped. She opened the back door and tugged the girl out with her. On the trip back to their hideout, she'd draped the burlap sack over the girl's head; no way was she gonna let her know exactly where she was being taken. That would just be stupid, and she wasn't an idiot. "Come on, you."

The girl had been oddly compliant the whole time. Twist doubted she was used to being kidnapped; it's not like anyone else would come up with such a brilliant plan. 'Maybe there's some kind of class rich bitches go through?' she idly mused. 'Kidnapping 101: Survival. Heh.'

Well, whatever. The girl's compliance made this all the easier. Chances were, her daddy would be just as compliant. They'd get their money and get out of town long before Atropos or whoever could find them. Then they'd be living the high life for a good long while. 'I've always wondered what caviar tastes like…'

Twist guided the girl up the waist-high stairs to the front door of the office trailer. Bull helpfully held the door open for her, allowing her to (relatively gently) push the girl inside. Down the hall, the last door on the right was an old office. She and Bull had moved the desk and filing cabinet out of the room earlier in the day, but they'd left the couch and the rather nice, if a bit dusty, office chair. Twist guided the girl to the office chair and pushed her down onto it.

"Listed up, girlie," she growled, cranking up her intimidation factor to really drive the point home. She reached out and yanked the burlap sack off of her head to better make eye contact; it enhanced the intimidation factor. "You're going to sit here nicely and quietly. If you listen to what we say, you'll get out of this without us hurting a single hair on your pretty little head-"

The girl blinked, cocking her head to the side. "You think I'm pretty?" She asked, interrupting Twist's speech.

"W-what?"

The girl bashfully looked away, her cheeks flushed red. "I-I mean, that's flattering and all, but… I mean, it just wouldn't work out. I'm, er, straight, you see, and you're kind of my kidnapper and it's not like I have Stockholm Syndrome or anything so there just isn't a spark between us and-"

She stopped, took a deep breath, and continued. "And you're kind of a redhead and I don't really like redheads because my best friend was a redhead and she turned out to be a huuuuge bitch, so I kind of have a lot of bad memories of redheads and if we got together I'd be constantly reminded of her-"

She took another deep breath.

"And besides you're not really my type, because if I was into girls, which I'm totally not, but if I was I think I'd prefer someone a bit more voluptuous like Glory Girl, and you're also older than me, and I'm not really into older women, but if I was I would totally be into the MILF type, like Photon Mom or maybe Miss Militia, and you're not that old-"

The girl took another deep breath. Twist, eyes wide and face pale, began to slowly back out of the room. The girl didn't notice; she was bashfully looking away as she babbled.

"You kind of look college age, and if I was into college girls I'd totally be into Laserdream, or Parian, or maybe Battery, but PHO thinks she's dating Assault, and I'm not a homewrecker, so I definitely wouldn't get with her unless she was single, and now that I think about it Photon Mom is married, so she's definitely off the table-"

The door clicked closed, thankfully muffling the endless babbling of the deeply closeted lesbian. For several long moments, Twist stared at the closed door, her eyes wide as saucers. Slowly, she looked to the side, her gaze falling on Bull, who had been leaning on the wall just outside the office the entire time.

He reached out with a big meaty paw and clapped her on the shoulder. The force of the relatively gentle blow nearly sent her to her knees.

"Better luck next time," he said, giving her a couple more pats to reassure her.

"I wasn't- That's not-"

"You can't win them all," he said, shaking his head. "Take the L and let it go."

Twist sputtered, completely unable to form a coherent word.

Taylor stifled her giggles. Twister's reaction had been hilarious. The mortification on her face (at least, the parts that she could see) was priceless. Better, that lingering embarrassment meant that neither she nor Bull Rush would be checking on her for a while. That gave her plenty of time to finish setting things up.

She deftly removed the paperclip that she'd attached to her cuff. Despite not being able to see it, she was easily able to bend it so that there was a long, straight section. From there, it was simple enough to push it into the zip cuff. The small but rugged tab that kept the zip tight was folded down, allowing her to work her wrists in just the right way to loosen her binds.

Once her hands were free, she folded the paperclip around the zip, preventing it from slipping out and allowing the tab to catch again. A bit of work snapped off the excess length of wire; that should prevent anyone from seeing what she'd done to it without a much closer examination than she intended to allow her erstwhile abductors. In the future, she'd have no problem slipping into and out of her restraints.

'Now, time to start the shell game.'

The first thing she did was pull out her phone and send a quick text to her dad.

'Taylor? Are you serious?'

'Huh. Poor bastards. Give them hell for me.'

'If you're sure.'

'Should I contact the PRT?'

'Alright. Stay safe.'

'Love you too.'

Barely a second after she hit send, a portal opened in the middle of the room. This was expected; she didn't spend the morning pre-programming these portals for nothing, after all. Stepping through, she emerged in her closet at home.

It took barely a minute to slip into the rest of her Atropos costume, sans teleporter. All the jumps she and Charlotte would need were already pre-programmed; there was no point in wearing it tonight. Now, it was time to set a few things up.

After all, appropriately ironic deaths rarely happened all on their own.

Danny put his phone down. He had mixed feelings. On one hand, his daughter had been kidnapped. On the other, his daughter was perhaps the most dangerous cape in the world. Fatherly concern warred with fatherly pride. Pride won out.

'Poor bastards,' he thought with more than a little schadenfreude.

Something suddenly came to his awareness. Danny's power let him know what was going to happen seconds before it actually happened. It only took a minor tweak to make sure that the brick flying through the window of the DWA offices didn't hit anyone, and that the flying shattered glass all landed harmlessly on the ground rather than in someone's eye or skin.

Still, he frowned. It had been quite some time since someone had thrown a brick through the office windows. Not since the last time the Empire had made a push to get the DWA under their thumb. Back when the Empire was still around…

He picked up his office phone and dialed a number.

"This is Gerry."

"Gerry, it's Danny."

"Whatcha need, boss?"

"I need another office window," he replied. "We still have spares?"

"We should; I'll check," Gerry answered. "What was it this time?"

"Brick through the window."

"Huh. I thought the gangs were gone?"

"They are," Danny replied.

"Then who would toss a brick through the window?"

Danny looked up at a knock on his office doorway. Kurt stood there, holding the brick in question.

"I think I'm about to find out," Danny murmured. "See if you can find a replacement, then get a crew down here to install it."

"Will do, boss."

Danny turned his attention to Kurt. "Yes?"

"Hey, boss?" he said, stepping into the room and waving the brick. There appeared to be an envelope taped to the side of it. "It's for you."

Danny took the brick. Sure enough, the envelope had his name on it. Well, almost; they'd spelled it 'Herbert', not 'Hebert', but that was a common enough mistake. He pulled the envelope off the brick, tore it open, and pulled out the note within.

'Danny Herbert,' the note read.

'We have your daughter. If you want her back whole and healthy, you will call the number on this note and listen to our demands. You will not involve the police, the PRT, or any federal agencies. Your daughter's life depends on your cooperation.

Sincerely,
Scrapyard'

Below that was a telephone number with an upstate New York area code.

'Huh. Out-of-towners,' he thought. 'Well, that makes sense; Atropos got rid of all the local villains.'

"So?" Kurt asked. "What's it say?"

"It's a suicide note," Danny replied.

"... a suicide note?" Kurt asked, eyes wide. "On a brick? That came through the office window?"

"Did you read Atropos' PHO thread from last night?" Danny asked.

"Er. No?"

"Atropos warned a cape called Scrapyard and his group to stay out of Brockton Bay," Danny briefly explained. He gestured at the note sitting on his desk. "They decided they weren't going to listen."

"Ah. Suicide note," Kurt nodded. "Yeah, that would do it."

He paused for a moment.

"So… what did they do?"

"They decided to kidnap my daughter."

"What?!" Kurt shouted.

"Mm-hmm."

"... aren't you going to do anything?" Kurt demanded.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because there's nothing I could possibly do that could top what Atropos is going to do to them," Danny calmly replied.

"..." Kurt opened his mouth to protest but paused. He considered the situation for a good long moment. He nodded. "Yeah. Ok, fair enough."

Kurt was silent for a moment. Eventually, he asked, "Are you sure Taylor is going to be alright?"

"I'm sure. Atropos already contacted me; she's keeping an eye on Taylor."

"Oh. That's good."

"Mm-hmm."

There was a long, awkward silence. "So, what now?"

"Now? Apparently, I have to call this number to hear their demands."

"... right. I'll just… leave you to that, boss."

"Come on, come on, come on! I hate waiting!" Scrapyard manically chattered to himself. He'd found a nice quiet back alley to park in; it wouldn't be long before his Herbert guy called.

Still, the wait was interminably long. Was the guy not at his office or something? The note should have gotten to him by now if he was…

His phone rang.

Scrap picked it up and grinned. "Showtime," he mumbled to himself.

"Mister Herbert-" he began, but was quickly interrupted.

"It's Hebert. He-bert," the man enunciated. "There's only one 'r'."

"What? No, I'm pretty sure it's Herbert," Scrap countered. "It says so on your website."

"You sure?" Danny asked.

"Positive."

"Can you see the website right now?"

"I've got a print-off of it," Scrap said, somewhat bewildered.

"... ok. Spell it out for me then."

"Fine. Its haich ee bee ee ar tee."

The line was silent for a long moment.

"Right. Hebert," Scrap muttered. "Whatever, that's not important. What's important is that we have your daughter."

"That's what your note said, yes," the man calmly replied. "What are your demands?"

"Three million in cash," Scrap immediately replied. "Unmarked bills. No dye packs, no tracking devices, and no new bills either; I don't wanna be tracked down by the serial numbers."

"That's a tall order," Danny demurred. "Banks usually don't carry that much cash. It'll take a day or two just to get it together."

"What?!" Scrap demanded. "Do you want your daughter back or not?"

"Of course I do," Danny replied, his voice turning soothing. "But I can't do the impossible. Brockton Bay Central definitely won't have that much cash on hand, and certainly if you don't want sequential bills. I'll have to get cashier's checks and send people to other banks to cash them out. I can only do that in thirty or forty thousand dollar lots; it'll take a long time to get the cash together. Besides, banking hours are almost over for the day."

"Fine," Scrap irritably conceded. "How long is it going to take?"

"Like I said, a day or two," Danny answered. "I could probably get it quicker if I could get the BBPD to help-"

"Abolutely not!" Scrap shouted into the phone.

"Fine, fine!" Danny backtracked. "I'll get the guys on it right away, but it'll take time."

"Fine," Scrap huffed. "Call me back once you've got the money together; I'll tell you where to bring it then."

"Okay," Danny sighed. "But I want to talk to my daughter."

"You can talk to her tomorrow," Scrap shot back. "Call at noon and I'll let you talk to her then."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Until tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. And remember, Mr Hebert," Scrap said, lowering his pitch and projecting as much menace as he could. "No cops. No tricks. No tracking. Or your daughter gets it. Got it?"

"Got it."

Smirking to himself, Scrap snapped the flip phone closed.

'And who says crime doesn't pay?' he mentally gloated. It paid to be as brilliant as he was, that was for sure…

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

A portal opened up into a large, dark warehouse. Only one out of every 10 or so of the massive overhead lights was actually illuminated; it provided just enough light to see row after row of shelving units lined up in neat, orderly rows and columns. Atropos ignored them for the moment, though. Instead, she turned to the nearby security system and quickly entered several codes on the keypad in quick succession. The first deactivated the motion tracking and alarm system, the second deactivated the logging system, and the third deactivated the cameras.


With that little chore taken care of, Atropos walked between the shelves, zeroing in on a specific place. It took little effort to push the mobile staircase into position and secure it. Up near the very top of this shelf were several rows of boxes. She found one specific box, cut open the packing tape, and reached in. The device looked cludged together, a mess of wires and components that looked like it was made by someone who had no idea what they were doing. Still, it would do what it was designed to do. Well, after a few adjustments.


She undid a latch on the device and opened up a small panel to reveal more of the internal mechanisms. Speculatively, she eyed the mish-mash of random parts and wires. Taking the broken off bit of paperclip, she carefully bent it into a strange, twisted shape. It took a bit of work, but she was able to carefully attach the ersatz wire to two specific points. A wad of thoroughly masticated chewing gum was sufficient to hold her little addition in place, at least temporarily. It would hold long enough to do what she needed it to do.


After reattaching the panel and latching it closed, she tucked the device into her coat pocket, folded the box closed, and returned it to its place on the shelf.


After moving the staircase back to where she found it, she went back to the security system, reactivated everything, and then stepped through the portal that appeared the instant she was done.

She stepped through into another warehouse. This one was a bit smaller than the last one, and many times more dirty and dusty. The concrete floor had more than a few oil stains, the bits of machinery scattered around were all covered in oil and soot, and a thick layer of dust coated almost everything outside of the work areas. But that was fine; she'd come prepared.


She slipped on a pair of shoe covers and thick leather work gloves. Humming idly to herself, she wandered between the shelves, picking up a few things here or there. A hose clamp, plumbing tape, a length of rubber hose, and a screwdriver disappeared into her pockets. In another section of the warehouse, she picked up a couple of gallon bottles, their labels obscured by dust.


Her task finished, she stepped through another portal that appeared right when she needed it, leaving behind the unoccupied dirty warehouse.

Sometime later, Atropos finished screwing on the cap to the reservoir. The gallon bottles were empty, their contents now in the machine in front of her. She'd had to replace a section of hose and replace a couple of fuses, but that hadn't taken her too long. Best of all, thanks to her work gloves, she didn't even get her costume dirty!


Waste not, want not, after all.


After depositing the soiled work gloves and boot covers in a nearby trash can, she stepped through another portal and appeared back in her closet at home. She efficiently stripped out of her costume, save for her top and slacks, and replaced her boots with the sensible flats she'd worn to school. Another quick portal jump and she was back in her ersatz jail cell.


She had a few minutes to kill before her kidnappers came by with dinner. Eating it would be awkward as all hell, since she needed to slip the zip cuffs back on, but it would give her a chance to talk to one of her kidnappers. Idly, she spun herself around and around on the office chair.


Finally, she heard a noise just outside the room, so she brought herself to a stop. The door opened and Bull Rush stepped through, ducking slightly under the low lintel. He carried a paper bag in one hand and a drink holder in the other.


"Dinner," he grunted, tossing the bag at her. It hit her stomach and fell onto her lap, though thankfully the bag stayed closed.


Taylor looked down at the bag, then up at the towering man, one eyebrow raised. "I'm a little tied up at the moment."


The man grunted. "Fine."


He grabbed the bag off of her lap and sat on the couch. Opening it up, he set aside the burger and one of the boxes of fries. Instead, he pulled out a box of chicken tenders.


"Buffalo or BBQ?" he asked.


"Hmm. Buffalo," Taylor decided.


Bull Rush opened the packet of Buffalo sauce, dipped one of the chicken tenders into it, and held it out to her. With a put-upon sigh, Taylor leaned forward and took a bite.


It wasn't bad, for a nationwide chain. Fugly Bob's would have been better, but she couldn't get everything.


Being fed by one of her kidnappers was awkward as all hell. Bull Rush alternated between bites of chicken strips and french fries dipped in ketchup. He was even nice enough to hold the cup of soda for her so she could drink from the straw.


"You know Atropos is going to kill you, right?" she asked.


"Atropos doesn't even know we're here," he shrugged.


"She knows everything that happens in her city," Taylor replied with a mild frown.


"Then why hasn't she shown up already?"


"If I had to guess? Preparation," she shrugged. "Atropos does everything with panache and style. She's going to kill you and your friends in a hilariously ironic way. It's kind of her thing."


"Is that so?" he rumbled with amusement.


"Mm-hmm," Taylor nodded. "By any chance, have you ever heard of Lung?"


"I think everyone's heard of Lung at some point," he replied.


"Atropos killed him," she replied. "Do you know how?"


"Can't say I do."


"She burned him to death."


Bull Rush raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't he a pyrokinetic? Shouldn't he have been immune to fire?"


"He should have been, yeah," Taylor replied. "But she found a way. Ironic, isn't it? The flaming rage dragon being burned to death…"


Bull was silent for a long moment. "How?" he asked.


Taylor shrugged. "She's just that good," she told him. "If she says she's going to kill someone, they're already dead; they just don't know it yet. The only question is how hilarious and ironic their deaths are going to be."


Bull Rush didn't have an answer for that, so he kept silent.


"You know, she knew you guys were coming," Taylor continued. "She posted all about it on PHO. The whole city knows you're here. They knew you were going to try to extort money out of the BBBC."


"Then why didn't she stop us?" Bull asked, sounding a bit nervous now.


"She's pretty scrupulous about following her rules. She gives everyone three strikes. Your first strike was the warning to stay out of Brockton Bay. Your second was crossing city limits. Your third? Kidnapping me, probably," she said, sounding nonchalant. "At this point, you're out of strikes."


"... shit," Bull Rush rumbled.


"I suppose there's hope for you and your friends, though," she mused. "I bet that if you turn yourselves in to the PRT she might be willing to leave you alone."


"Or make us easy targets for her," he pointed out.


"You know, I don't think she's ever killed anyone who was already in PRT custody," Taylor hummed. She shrugged. "It's worth a shot, anyway."


Bull Rush grunted.


"Take your time, think about it," she continued. "Better a few years in jail than six feet under."


"Yeah," he grumbled. He stood up and gathered the trash.


As he reached the door, Taylor called out, "Hey, wait a minute! I have to go to the bathroom!"


The big man paused and looked over his shoulder. After a moment of awkward staring, he said, "I'll go find Twist and send her to help you."


Taylor sighed. "Fair enough."

Later that night, just a bit after sundown, Scrapyard, Bull Rush, and Twister were sitting at a long folding table in the main room of the office trailer. Scrapyard was finishing off the last of his soda; the nearly empty cup was making that annoying, burbling, slurping sound.


"Knock it off, Scrap!" Twist protested. "The cup's empty already! Sucking harder isn't going to get any more to come out!"


"That's what she said," Scrap replied with a shit-eating grin.


"You're disgusting," Twist replied, crossing her arms and looking away.


"That's not what you were saying the other night, when you were-"


"Scrap!" she interrupted him. She picked up a crumpled paper bag and beaned him with it.


"Fine, fine!" Scrap said between cackles.


"So, what's the word on the money?" Bull Rush asked, more to clear the awkward air than anything else.


"That Hebert guy said it'll take a day or two to get it together," Scrap grumbled. "I guess we'll just camp out here in the meantime."


"Might not be a good idea," Bull rumbled. "Atropos already knows we're here."


"Yeah?" Scrap asked. "And how the hell do you know?"


"The girl told me," he replied. "She said Atropos posted about it on the internet. Apparently the whole city knows."


"She's bluffing," Scrap scoffed. "She's just trying to scare us."


"I dunno, Scrap," Twist said, sounding a bit unnerved. "I've heard a few things about Atropos. She's one scary mutherfucker. If she does know we're here…"


"If she knew we were already here, why haven't we seen her yet?" Scrap asked, getting irritated. "Unless she's got more important things to do."


"She could be biding her time," Bull said.


"Not bloody likely," Scrap scoffed. "Besides, she gives out warnings, yeah? We've only gotten one so far; we're good."


Bull opened his mouth to say something, but decided not to. He'd seen Scrap like this before. Once he had his mind set on something, nothing could stop him from trying it. He glanced over at Twist. She and Scrap weren't exactly lovey-dovey, but they were together. Sort of. Twist would follow along in Scrap's wake, like a lost puppy. Sure, she might complain or second-guess him, but when the rubber hit the road, she'd fall in line.


His little chat with the girl had unnerved him. Bull Rush had never kidnapped anyone before, but he'd expected the girl to be… well, scared. She wasn't; she was more annoyed than scared, perhaps a bit resigned to boredom. Like she knew she'd be fine, no matter what.


She had faith that she'd be fine. He wasn't sure if she believed that Atropos would rescue her, or that she'd kill them before they could harm the girl. Either way, she believed that she'd get out of this alive and healthy.


Bull Rush didn't think he'd have that kind of confidence if he'd been in her position.


In that moment, Bull Rush made his decision. He doubted he could convince Scrapyard or Twister to give up; Scrap was dead set on this plan and Twist would follow him to the grave. Literally, in this case. But he didn't have to go down with the ship.


'She hasn't killed anyone in PRT custody,' he thought, seizing on the lifeline. 'Maybe if I turn myself in…'


Bull Rush stood up and went to the door.


"Where ya going?" Scrap asked.


"Beer run," Bull lied.


"Bring me a six of IPA," Scrap said, waving him off.


"Um," Twist added. "I'll take some hard lemonade, if they have any."


"Sure," Bull nodded.


He stepped out, closed the door behind him, and got in the car Scrap had gotten running. Like most vehicles, it was far too small for him; he had to shift the seat all the way back, yet he was still hunched over in his seat to keep his head from hitting the roof. Even if it was uncomfortable, it beat walking.


They were half a city away from the PRT headquarters, after all.

Taylor felt Bull Rush drop off of her threat radar.


'Good,' she thought.


Technically, he'd already hit strike three. She'd be well within her rules if she decided to kill him anyway. Though she also gave three options; die, run away, or turn yourself in. She could let the third strike go if he decides to turn himself in.


Besides, a Breaker who could absorb pretty much all kinetic energy? That could be useful in the future. She'd have to impress on him that he owed her a favor for letting him live.


Worst case scenario, he could take a few hits for her at some point.


'Now, on to the next one.'

"What's taking him so long?" Scrap asked about an hour later.


"Traffic?" Twist offered.


"At this time of night? Nah," Scrap shook his head. "Can't be."


"You don't think…"


"Think what?"


"That Atropos got him?"


Scrap felt a shiver run down his spine. He manfully kept a straight face through it. "Can't be. We don't have three strikes yet."


"Are you sure?" she asked. "The sign at city limits said it was our second warning…"


"Yeah, but it's not like we ever got a first," he lied. After all, anyone could have glued that seat to the camper. It might not have been Atropos, even if whoever had done it had signed her name to it.


"Well… if you're sure…"


"I am," he confidently nodded.


"Alright," she sighed. "I'll trust you."


She stood up and went to the door.


"Where you going?" he demanded.


"To the camper," she replied. "I think I'll turn in for the night."


"But Bull Rush isn't back with the beer yet."


"I'll drink it tomorrow," she sighed. "G'night, Scrap."


"Fine, fine," he huffed. "G'night Twist."


The evening air was chilly, as was usual for this time of the year. Off in the distance, she could make out the towers rising up over the downtown area. A few of the windows were still lit, and the flashing lights at the tip of the tall spires blinked out of synch. It was a rather pretty view, she admitted. Not as grand as the New York City skyline, but quite nice for a town of less than a million people.


A light near the garage where the camper was parked flickered and went out. Startled, Twist turned and looked that way. It flickered back on and held steady for a few seconds, then went out again.


"What the…?" she mumbled. The light hadn't had any problems that she'd noticed so far. Was it about to burn out?


Twist slowly crossed the gravel lot, keeping her eyes peeled. The city lights in the distance didn't provide much illumination, and without the currently non-functional light, it was impossible to see anything. Even so, she stayed her course. From her pocket, she pulled a bag of 1-inch ball bearings; she could whip them around at a surprisingly fast speed with her power, and they did a hell of a lot of damage when they hit. She managed to make it about halfway across the lot before something happened.


The light flickered on again. This time, a figure was standing in the middle of the pool of light it created. Tall, thin, a blank black area beneath the fedora, and the small triangle of white bisected by the black tie. One hand lifted and pointed at her. Twist felt her heart skip a beat. The light flickered off again. When it came back on a few seconds later, the figure was gone.


'Oh god,' she panicked. She turned around, ready to run back to the office trailer, but the figure ('Atropos. It has to be Atropos!' her panicked mind supplied) was already standing in front of the door, illuminated by the light spilling out of the window.


Twist stumbled back and fell on her rear. Atropos raised a hand, fingers pressed together, and snapped.


Her world went white.

Boom!


"The fuck was that?!" Scrap shouted, scrambling up out of his chair. He rushed out of the door onto the stoop, then slid to a halt. There was a mass of… something in the middle of the gravel lot. There were long stretches of pale skin interspersed with patches of black and light and dark blue. A curtain of dark red spread out around one side.


It looked like Twister, but wrong. Oh, so very wrong. Like a ball of spaghetti noodles, all stretched out and tangled up together.


"Scraaaaap!" the thing brokenly moaned. Even her voice sounded wrong; croaky and wheezing, not at all like her usual voice. "Heeeelp meeee!"


"Twist!" he shouted. He leaped off the stoop and sprinted to her, sliding the last few feet on his knees. "Shit, shit, shit! What… what happened?"


"She's here," Twist hissed. Her misshapen, stretched-out torso heaved with each breath as if she couldn't quite get enough air. "Atropos… is… here!"


"Fuck," Scrap swore. "Just… just hang on, I'll be right back!"


"Scrap!" she moaned again. He ignored her; he couldn't do anything for her at the moment. He needed his tools. Maybe if he had his Tinker tools he could put something together. A frame, like an Iron Lung to keep her alive. Maybe he could add some pneumatic arms and legs, too; that way she could move around on her own or something. There was plenty of scrap around; if he could think it up, he'd have all the materials he needed to build it.


Scrap scrambled into the camper. He found his belt and bandolier and quickly put them on. Suitably attired, he grabbed his toolbox, then ran back out. He paused, glancing at his clockwork unicycle, but shook his head; he didn't need mobility right now.


As he exited the garage, a blow to the face caught him by surprise. Stars exploded in his vision and he lost his balance, stumbling a few steps before falling onto his face. He could taste blood in his mouth; it took him a few tries, but he managed to spit it out onto the dirt.


He felt something tug at his arms. "Wuzzat?" he mumbled.


"Hush," a soft voice whispered.


He tried to crane his head around to see whoever it was, but all he got was the hem of a black coat and a pair of shiny knee-high boots.


"You!" he tried to shout, but it came out more of a nasal mumble.


"Yes, me," Atropos (since who else could it be?) answered. "Now hold still."


Rather than do as he was told, Scrap tried to struggle. After a few seconds, a sharp blow hit him on the back of the head. More stars bloomed in his vision, and for a long time he found it difficult to struggle.


He was vaguely aware of his arms and legs being tied up with something. A heavy weight, enough to be uncomfortable without being painful, dropped onto his back. It made breathing a bit more difficult, but not so much that he felt like he was suffocating. Eventually, the insistent tugging at his limbs stopped, and without that to distract him, his mind wandered, lost in a fog.


A loud rumble, accompanied by repeated high pitched squeaking, brought him back to the here and now. Scrap craned his head around, looking for the source of the noise. What he saw froze his blood in his veins.


The heavy tracked excavator was slowly rumbling it's way toward him. From his vantage down on the ground, it looked like the tracks were perfectly in line with his head.


'Oh god!' he thought, panic and adrenaline driving away the last of the fog around his head. 'She's gonna run me over! Squish my skull like a watermelon!'


He began struggling, but whatever it was that had him tied up wasn't budging. The weigh that was pressing against his back moved and shifted, but didn't come off, no matter how much he struggled.


Before the tracks could run him over, the excavator stopped. A loud whining sound kicked in, one that Scrap recognized. It was the sound of old, poorly maintained hydraulics starting to move.


'Shit! Maybe she's gonna drop something heavy on me? Squish me that way?' he mentally gibbered.


Scrap closed his eyes, if only to shield himself from the horror of his impending doom.


There was a snap, then a soft buzzing sound. With a jerk, Scrap found himself pulled off the ground by a foot or so. His eyes snapped open and he tried to look around to see what was happening. The hydraulics began working again, and Scrap found the ground was receding away. Far away; a lot farther than he was comfortable with.


After barely a few seconds, he came to a stop. Well, mostly; he was swaying back and forth a few feet.


Down below, a dark-clad figure that Scrap knew had to be Atropos stepped out of the cab of the excavator. With deadly grace, she hopped down to the ground. Her fedora tipped back, and Scrap knew she was looking up at him; the shiver that ran down his spine was all the confirmation he needed.


Atropos drew a strange looking knife thing, gave it a twirl and a flourish, and cut a freaking hole in reality! With a jaunty wave, she stepped through. The dark portal winked out after a few seconds.


For several long moments, Scrap hung there, swaying back and forth in the chill breeze. Eventually, he came to a single conclusion.


'I should have listened. Why didn't I listen?' he wondered. 'Can't spend money if you're dead, right? God, I'm such an idiot…'

Nervously, Charlotte read through the script card one more time. Just like the last time she'd filled in for Atropos, she'd found the card in the bag she kept her Atropos costume in. There were only a few steps, and no spoken lines at all, so it was a fair bit easier than the last time she'd done something like this.


That didn't mean she wasn't nervous, though. The last thing she wanted to do was to mess this up. After all, Atropos didn't want anyone watering down her brand; she'd said so on PHO and everything.


'It's fine, you can do this!' she told herself, psyching herself up for her small part.


Her phone alarm went off. Hastily, she shut it off; her parents are downstairs watching TV and probably wouldn't hear it, but she didn't want them coming up and asking questions. Or finding her missing. Or finding her wearing an Atropos costume. They didn't even know what cosplay was; how could she possibly explain what she was doing? It wasn't like she could tell them the truth!


Charlotte almost missed the portal opening in the middle of her room. Almost. But not quite. Remembering the cue card she memorized, she stepped through, then crouched. The portal winked out behind her.


She found herself standing on the tin roof of a largish building in the middle of a junkyard. Green and white strobing lights flickered and reflected off of the crushed and baled scrap. Not off of her, though; she was hidden from the source of the light by the peak of the sloped roof. Just as the cue card had said.


Mentally, she began counting. 'One potato, two potato, three potato…' and so on and so forth.


When she finally reached fifty three, she stood up and carefully walked up the slope to stand on the tallest part of the roof.


Down below, she paused to take in the sights. A spaghettified mess of what used to be a person was being carefully packed into a bin by several PRT officers. Armsmaster was fiddling with an excavator close to the building she was standing on. The bucket had been replaced by one of those huge electromagnets. A vociferously swearing man was rocking back and forth, his arms and legs pulled behind him and tied together at the small of his back (she thought that was called 'hogtied', but she couldn't be sure). A long length of chain had been woven around and between his limbs, connecting them to a short segment of metal pipe. The pipe and chains were firmly attached to the electromagnet, keeping the man firmly suspended in midair.


Across the gravel lot, the door to one of those mobile office trailers opened up. A couple of PRT troopers emerged, followed by a tall, thin girl with a blanket wrapped around her. Miss Militia brought up the rear, closing the door behind her.


Charlotte recognized Taylor Hebert when she saw her. If the rumors around Winslow were to be believed, Taylor was Atropos.


'Huh,' she thought, a few puzzle pieces slotting together in her mind. 'So that's why Atropos wanted me to play this little part…'


After all, nothing was a better cover for your secret identity than having your superhero persona seen at the same time as your civilian self. Sure, there would still be a ton of speculation, but as far as the authorities were concerned? This, right here, would be solid proof that Taylor could not be Atropos.


Charlotte suppressed her laughter; it wouldn't do to be seen cackling like a madwoman while dressed up as Atropos.


Shortly after the group made it down the short steps and into the gravel lot, Miss Militia looked up. The patriotically themed superhero caught sight of her quickly. The woman froze, the pistol at her waist evaporating into a cloud of green and black light that whirled around her for a second before reforming into a dangerous looking rifle slung over her shoulder.


Following the cue card she memorized, Charlotte raised a hand and gave the woman a jaunty wave. Miss Militia paused before hesitantly waving back. Just like the cue card said she would.


'How does Atropos do that?' Charlotte wondered. She really was that good.


With an artful flourish, Charlotte drew her bodice sheers and 'snipped' at the empty air next to her. As if on cue, a black portal sprang into existence right where she had been 'cutting'. With one last tip of her hat to the heroine watching from below, she stepped through the portal and back into her bedroom.


As soon as the portal winked out, she collapsed heavily into her desk chair. Sure, there hadn't been any action or danger, nor had she had to face down PRT troopers, government officials, and a horde of reporters, but it was still a trying ordeal. Making sure she got every single one of her cues exactly right had been nerve wrenching.


'But I did it,' she thought to herself, her nerves draining away, replaced by elation and giddiness. 'I did it!'


If her parents were to peek into her room at that moment, they would be confused as hell. Seeing someone dressed up as one of the most famous and infamous capes in the world dancing in their daughter's bedroom tends to throw one off their game, after all.

PRIVATE MESSAGE

To: Atropos

From: L33t

Subject: About your post..

Hey, I saw your PHO post. Look, I know Scrap and his buddies are all idiots, but they don't deserve to die. So, if you could see fit to spare their lives, I'd appreciate it. Have them arrested, beat the hell out of them, maim them, whatever. Just… leave them alive, ok?

PRIVATE MESSAGE

To: L33t

From: Atropos

Subject: Re: About your post…

Fine. I'll leave them alive and in PRT custody.

But you owe me a favor. A big one. I'll let you know when and where.

Toodles!

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"...So," Anne said to Amy casually, "is it always this annoying to be on the sidelines?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I mean," she nodded at the brawl, "don't get me wrong, I appreciate the protection, I just feel like I should be contributing, instead of just watching my sexy girlfriends protect my honor."

Amy huffed. "Well, I was usually in the hospital and worried about patching up whoever got hurt, because cape fights are seriously dangerous. But then Atropos happened, so... I dunno, this is new for me."

"I see, I see." Anne nodded thoughtfully. "You know, I think I might have my danger sense permanently out of whack, after everything."

"Oh, I totally understand. I'm pretty sure Brocktoners who visit other towns will start coming across as oddly casual."

"Yeah. Hmm. Hey," Anne asked, "Atropos has basically made herself Brockton Bay's dark guardian, yeah? So what happens if a Brocktoner heads out of town to spend a week in Vegas, but gets threatened by a villain there?"

"I mean... she did hunt down March because Flechette is her friend, so..." Amy shrugged. "Coin toss if she gets involved, I guess. I don't know what goes through her head."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

Contessa, munching on a cookie: Just so you know, Sleeper's heading for White Rock.

Alexandria: What.

Legend: Shit.

The Guy Once Known as Eidolon: If I hadn't given away my powers, I could've stopped him.

A: No, you couldn't.

L: Not even on your best day.

<pause>

L: So, what are we going to do?

A: There's only one thing for it.

Dr Mom: No.

A: Yes.

<picks up phone>

DM: Don't you dare.

A: Do you have a better alternative?

DM: Anything but her!

A: That's not a better alternative. That's just denial.

TGOKaE: I hate to say it, but Becky's right.

DM: What, you too?

A: Shh. <taps number into phone> Hello, Mr Hebert. This is PRT Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown.

<watches DM stomp off>

<shrugs>

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"Flechette." Emily looked up from her desk. "Do you know why I called you here?"

"I'm going to take a wild guess and assume it has something to do with Atropos."

"Not directly. But yes, she does factor into the decision."

Flechette shrugged. "Well I know you're not going to lecture me on subversive influences, you've actually dealt with her. What's going on?"

"Scribe," Emily stated without preamble. "What's your read on her?"

"Oh, that's a hard one." The girl tapped her chin thoughtfully. "She's tense, obviously. Everyone knows who she was, and she knows if she steps out of line she'll get shoved into juvie--probably something she wants to avoid, since it's where she triggered. So right now she's trying to be picture perfect, except she doesn't have a perfect picture of what picture perfect is. Wilkins gave her a very clear idea of what a 'hero' was expected to look like, so as long as she checked the boxes she was fine, but with you here? I think she's feeling the pressure, and lashing out at anybody she thinks can take it as a form of stress relief. Which includes you as well."

"Hm. She thinks I'd dump her ass as soon as look at her."

"Would you?" Flechette pressed.

Emily quirked an eyebrow. There wasn't any eagerness in the tone, it was simple curiosity--an exploration of options. "As the director, I'm legally obligated to give parahumans a fair shake. But the last probationary ward I had fucked up so badly that she was Atropos' first kill. And now I have one of the former villains of my old town play-acting at reformation. The fact of the matter is, I'm too biased to be impartial."

She spun the paperwork around. "Which is why I want you to monitor her progress."

"Ah." Flechette nodded, picking up the paperwork and reading through it. "Trial by fire, I see."

"I know her as an active villain. You just know her as an ex-nazi. Ironically, that makes you more objective than I am." Emily smiled wryly. "And while she might still see you as another chink faggot, she also knows you're friends with Atropos--i.e. the woman who murdered Kaiser while she was mere feet away. Not somebody to get on the bad side of."

Flechette gave her a half grin. "Director, I'm insulted. I'm a dyke, not a faggot."

"And one that can tell what people mean when they say things," Emily agreed. "You've got a better read on how many of her slurs are automatic and how many are genuine, on just how much crap she spews because she's been swallowing it and how much of her shit is all natural."

"Your military evocatism is showing, ma'am. At this rate I may have to file a complaint for harassment."

Emily shrugged an apology. "My point is, if anybody can sort the wheat from the chaff in this situation, it's you. So, what do you say?"

Flechette didn't answer immediately, reading the paperwork thoroughly before she put it down on the desk. "I reserve the right to bitch about this to my girlfriend."

"As long as you don't reveal any classified PRT information, like the identities of the Wards, that's fine."

"And I demand ten dollars hazard pay for every infraction I report."

Emily quirked a brow. "Five dollars, and I'll put in a priority order for a Spitfire plush."

"Already got one," Flechette admitted with a faint blush.

"Alright," Emily conceded, "then I'll call Gallant and Clockblocker and get them to write up a list of the best date spots in Brockton Bay."

"...Deal." The girl, to her credit, managed to maintain a professional expression despite her now visibly burning cheeks. "Now let's get the paperwork and make this official."

Chapter Text

 

Dear Beloved Friend,
I know this message will come to you as surprised but permit me of my desire to go into business relationship with you.
I am Miss Akira Sony, a daughter to late of Mr Sony whom was murdered along with the rest of Kyūshū by Leviathan on Novermber 2009, before his death my late father was a great businessman who had amassed many fortunes in electronics. I have many millions in funds that I cannot access myself due to the collapse of Japanese banking industry.
I am here seeking for an avenue to transfer the fund to you in only you're reliable and trustworthy person to Investment the fund. I want you to help me transfer the fund into your bank account for investment purpose. Please I will offer you 20% of the total sum of USD4.2M for your assistance. Remain blessed,
Miss Akira Sony

"And this worked?" asked Danny, his eyebrows raising.

Kurt sucked in air through his teeth. "Yup. I love my mother, but she's not sharp like she used to be. She gave this person all her bank information and two days later her retirement account was emptied. Nearly thirty thousand dollars."

"Dammit. That's terrible, Kurt. Your mother still lives in the Bay, right?"

"Yeah. She's born a Brocktonite, and intends to die a Brocktonite. Couldn't pry her out with a crowbar."

"Okay, well… No promises, but I'll talk to the committee. Maybe this is something the BBBC can make right for her - we shouldn't let thieves bankrupt people in the Bay. But you need to understand, I can't just write her a check - the BBBC's not my personal piggy bank. We're gonna need bank records, emails, whatever documentation you can get us."

Kurt nodded. "I'll get you all that stuff pronto. Thanks, Dan."

"Hey, what are friends for?" A thought struck Danny. "Hey Kurt, does she have money to live on for the next couple of months? If not, we could--"

"No, no, Mom's alright short term. And Lacey and I are helping her, of course."

Danny's phone chirped. He picked it up and saw a text from Taylor. "Tell Kurt not to worry."

Danny pocketed the phone. "Listen, Kurt, don't stress, okay? I've got a feeling your mother's going to be fine."

"Oh, we'll get through this, somehow, like we always do. But I just keep thinking… What kind of person does something like this? Just finds a vulnerable old woman and cheats her out of her life savings?"

-------------------------

Seven thousand miles away, Trader glared at the printed-out email in his hand.

Trader was a rich man, but not rich enough. The secret to great wealth, Trader knew, was unrelenting work and keeping expenses down.

For example, most people in Trader's line of work had to spend a ton of money on guards. Without guards, workers would run away, or even worse, be forcibly poached by competitors, and there goes the business. (Not that kidnapping his workers would do Trader's competitors any good, but they didn't know that.)

But guards, unlike other employees, had to be paid and treated fairly well, since they weren't going to prevent themselves from leaving. That kind of cost added up.

But not for Trader. Shortly after he had bought his fenced compound, he invested in guard dogs, who the seller promised were vicious. He kept them half-starved, and sometimes beat them, and one of them died and had to be replaced. But even with that expense, dogs cost much less than all the round-the-clock human guards a compound like his would require, and were probably more frightening to potential invaders.

They were frightening to his workers, too, but Trader wasn't worried about his workers trying to escape.

Trader still employed one human guard. Well, marginally human, at least. Minotaur bore little resemblance to the bull-headed creature of myth, but when you're nearly three meters tall and over a meter wide at the shoulders, you could call yourself whatever you want. Minotaur's skin was covered in rock-like growths and she shrugged off bullets like mosquitoes. Best of all, she never slept - couldn't if she wanted to.

Minotaur was so intimidating she didn't need to beat up the workers. She was there as a deterrent, both for the workers and for Trader's competitors, and the very small amount of work Minotaur had to do was a testament to how effective she was. She spent most of her time sitting in a specially constructed chair facing the entrance and playing Red Dawn Redemption.

Of course, normally one guard wouldn't be enough to keep the workers from escaping, no matter how strong the guard. The workers could just all run at once, in different directions. But Trader's power took care of that.

Unlike Minotaur, Trader actually had to work. He was constantly buying new contact lists, managing investments and properties, and recruiting new workers - a difficult and expensive process, since all his workers had to be fluent in English to run the scams, but also desperate enough to cross the world for what they thought was a customer service job.

By the time they found out that their job was really to contact thousands of Americans and scam them as thoroughly as they could, it was too late for them to leave.

Speaking of which… He nodded to Minotaur, who got up and followed him as he walked into the office where the workers labored, three to a table, four tables in all. Each worker had their own computer terminal and a stack of mailing supplies. None of these computers were connected to the internet; instead, the emails the workers wrote were routed to Trader's own laptop, in a different room, and Trader skimmed them all before allowing the emails out into the world.

As the workers heard Minotaur's unmistakable footsteps, the tapping of keyboards fell silent and all the workers looked up fearfully, some of them wheezing heavily, some of them with only one eye, some with the yellow eyes of jaundice, some pale to the point of looking blue.

Trader held the sheet of paper above his head, shaking it. "What the fuck is this?," he said in English - his workers came from many different countries, and English was the only language they all had in common. "What the FUUUUCK" he repeated "IS THIS?" He lowered the paper and read from it. "Stop what you're doing, free your workers, and turn yourself in to the American authorities. Do this or I'll drop in for a visit, which you won't enjoy in the slightest. This is your second warning. Toodles, Atropos."

"This was sent to my brand new private email address, which literally no one in the world has. Which means one of you idiots thought it was a good idea to sneak onto my computer while I was asleep and pretend to be Atropos, right? You thought that would get you free?"

The workers exchanged worried, puzzled glances. Finally a worker named Hua spoke, his voice horse and apologetic. "But - I'm sorry. Who is Atropos?"

"Don't you fuck with me!" Trader stomped across the room and grabbed Hua's shirt, yelling into his face. "You know who Atropos is! EVERYBODY knows who Atropos is!"

"Trader, they don't have internet or TV. How would they know who Atropos is?" said Minotaur, her voice rattling like a muffled jackhammer.

Trader forced himself to keep his temper when talking to Minotaur. "They know because they've been sneaking into my office and using my computer." He turned back to the workers. "But here's what you stupid shits didn't know - when she's not killing Endbringers, Atropos doesn't give a shit about anything outside her stupid little American city, which is literally on the other side of the world from us."

He crumpled up the paper and threw it into Hua's face. Then, to make sure the lesson sunk in, he plunged his hand into Hua's chest. Hua's shirt and flesh gave way like it was made of wet clay, and Trader easily pulled out Hua's beating heart. Hua gasped and fell onto the floor, staring at his own heart.

It was fine, Trader knew - the guy would recover in a few hours. Well, mostly.

Trader turned and walked to a table where another employee looked up at him, her three eyes wide, filled with hope. She was lethargic and horribly pale, which made sense, since Trader had removed her heart months ago.

Trader held the beating heart in front of her eyes, wiggling it a bit, then abruptly pushed it into the chest of the worker sitting next to her, who gasped and clutched at his chest - suddenly having an extra heart was painful.

But he'd live. They'd all live, until the moment they strayed more than a hundred yards from wherever Trader was.

For keeping workers from running away, Trader's power was much better than guards.

--------------------

One useful quirk of Tattletale's power is that it's virtually impossible to sneak up on her, at least when she's awake. No matter how quietly a person can move, their breathing and their movements still move the air minutely, and Lisa's power notices.

So when Lisa stood from her chair and turned to find Atropos' black morph mask a foot away from her own face, she was if anything more shocked than an ordinary person would have been. She shrieked and fell over backwards, and would have cracked her head on the wooden desk if Atropos' hand hadn't shot out and adroitly rebalanced her.

After about a minute, Lisa's breathing and heartbeat slowed down enough for her to talk. "You… You're not here to kill me. You're a stickler for your rules, and I haven't even gotten a warning from you. I left Brockton Bay before I could get on your list."

Atropos gave a single slow nod.

"So if you're not here to kill me, or to give me a warning… you must want my help."

Atropos tipped her head. "That's your conclusion? Okay then, Tattletale, tell me: What can you do that I can't do better myself?"

"Well, I can---" Lisa stopped. She couldn't think of a single thing. Fuck! Lisa schooled her face, trying not to show her humiliation.

Senses your humiliation. Amused by your humiliation. Purposely allowing your power to read her amusement because that adds to your humiliation.

"Just kidding," said Atropos, and Lisa could hear the smirk in her voice. "As it happens, I do want your help."

Lisa blinked, double-checked with her power that Atropos had no intention of murdering her, then rallied and smiled. Not her best smile, but under the circumstances - a parahuman villain facing an unbeatable serial killer who specialized in killing parahuman villains - even a weak smile was something of an achievement. "And I'd love to help you! What's in it for me?"

------------------

Trader, dressed in jeans and a linen front-button shirt, was concentrating on prepping a contact list, so he didn't look up from his laptop as his office door opened. Lunch a little early today. "Just leave it on the desk."

"You know, I think I'd prefer to hold onto it" said an unfamiliar voice with an American accent. Trader looked up and immediately jerked back. A pistol was pointed at his face from three yards away. It was held by a cape he'd never seen before - a teenage girl, wearing a purple and black bodysuit and a mask. She smiled at him.

"Who-- who are you?"

"Trader, right? I'm Tattletale, and I'm not the one you need to worry about. Don't go for the pistol in the desk. Stupid of you to keep that drawer locked, there's zero chance you'd get it out in time. But of course, you're afraid one of your workers might steal it." She gestured with her gun for him to stand up.

Trader stood up, lifting his hands to shoulder height, palms out. "Okay, let's both just stay, uh, calm. Calm. I'm not armed, I'm a reasonable guy, and I'm good at getting people what they want. So, uh, what do you want?"

As he spoke, he edged around the desk. All he had to do was touch this bitch once… But the girl moved to keep the desk between them, tracking him with her gun the entire time.

"Here's your problem, Trader: I know you're a striker - your power can't hurt me unless you touch me. And unless you're also a speedster - and whoops, I can see you're not - I'll shoot you long before you touch me. Now back up a few steps. Towards the door."

He did, saying "You've got this all wrong. I'm not a parahuman."

She smirked. "Well, I am. I'm psychic. And that means I can't be lied to. No, shh, I'm talking now. You asked what I wanted. I want to sit here at your very nice laptop and open your bank accounts and your investment portfolios and just clean them all out. Out of curiosity, how much would you say your investments are worth in American dollars?"

"Um, a little over, uh, two hundred grand."

The girl whistled. "Wow, fourteen million and change? Trader, buddy, you've done well for yourself." How the fuck did she know that?

"It won't work. I won't tell you my passwords." And where the hell is Minotaur?

"You already have. Psychic, remember?" She tapped the side of her head with the forefinger of her non-gun hand. "After that, I'll start the process of selling everything else you own, like this compound."

"Then I'll go through your records and refund every single person you've cheated. Then I'll pay your workers ten times what you promised when you recruited them. And after that, what's left will go sixty percent to the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee and forty to me and my partner. Then I'll take this very nice laptop, go home and order an expensive delivery dinner, which will be delicious."

"So that's what I want - everything you own, plus dinner. What's your counteroffer?"

"You think this is cute?," he snarled. "Little girl, if you don't quit this bullshit right now, I'm going to fucking kill you. I'm going to take your liver--"

From behind, someone grabbed his wrist and the back of his shirt collar. "Whoops, you must be going," said Tattletale with a smirk. Trader tried to yank himself free, but whoever was behind him pulled him too far in the direction he was yanking, and he somehow found himself spinning and sliding across the wooden floor outside the office, coming to a stop face-down when his head hit against a cabinet.

He turned around and sat up, rubbing the top of his head. There were three capes here, not including the bitch in his office. There was a big Black guy wearing a sort of karate uniform, an actual child dressed as a surgeon and carrying an old-fashioned doctor's bag, and a thin woman dressed in black with a broad-brimmed black hat, standing in his office door. Behind her he could see Tattletale sitting down in front of his computer and cracking her knuckles while smirking at him.

What the hell happened to--

He turned to look at Minotaur's workstation, set up facing the door, so no one could get in or out without her knowing it. He half expected to see her bloody corpse lying on the floor. Instead, there she was, sitting on her expensive chair and playing Red Dawn Redemption on the wall-mounted screen, her headphones on and her back to the room.

How the hell did they even get in here? Trader thought, even as he screamed "MINOTAUR!" at the top of his lungs. Minotaur jerked in her chair, then turned around, her eyes widening when she saw the three extra capes. She stood up… and up… and up. No matter how many times he saw it, Minotaur just had a level of bigness that his mind refused to accept. She threw off her headphones, reached to a table against the wall and grabbed up her hammer, a huge thing with a five foot handle made of thick hardwood and a concrete head larger than a human's.

"Minotaur, how the hell did three capes just walk in while you--"

"Sorry, Trader, sorry!"

"Fuck!" said Trader, standing up. "You fucking incompetent!"

"It's really not Minotaur's fault," said the tall woman in black mildly. Minotaur glanced at her, then did a double take.

"You take out the big guy while I get the other two. Then there's a bitch in my office you'll have to kill - I'd do it, but she's got a gun."

None of the capes looked concerned. The little girl was looking around. "Hey, this is fun, but aren't there some patients I should be looking at?"

"Through that door," said the tall women, nodding towards the door to the workstations. "Go ahead and take a look, we'll catch up in a few minutes."

The girl walked through the door and the big guy in the karate outfit looked unsure what to do. "Go, be with Miss Medic. That's your job here, right?"

"Okay," the guy answered. Deep voice. "Are you going to be-- sorry, stupid question." He followed the little girl out of the room and shut the door behind.

"Minotaur!" growled Trader. "Why'd you let him go? I told you to get that guy!"

Minotaur was still staring at the woman in black, the rocky giant's eyes larger than he'd ever seen them.

"Excuse me," said Minotaur, in a remarkably submissive voice for a woman who sounded like jackhammers. "Are you… Are you Atropos?"

"Yes, I am."

"Oh. Um."

"Come on, get her!" Trader moved behind Minotaur and pushed her towards the woman in black, which had the same effect as if he'd been trying to push a cement bunker.

"Trader, she's Atropos." Minotaur carefully put her hammer back on its table and turned to Atropos. "I'd like to surrender now please?"

Atropos shrugged. "Fine with me. It's not like I emailed you a warning."

"You fucking traitor!" screamed Trader, jumping towards Minotaur with his hands extended. Minotaur turned, faster than he expected.

----------------

Trader woke up, blinking. Confusingly, the little girl was leaning over him, pinching his skin behind one ear. "A little pressure on the right nerve and - wakey wakey! Eggs and steaky!"

"What's - what's going on?"

"I think Minotaur just tendered her resignation. Oh, and thanks, Miss Medic." He looked up at the speaker, a tall woman in a black morph mask, and it all came rushing back - the warning emails, the smirking girl in her office. Atropos.

"What - but - why?"

"Why am I here? Because you swindled someone in Brockton Bay."

"I-- I'll give it back! Every cent!"

"Tattletale's already taking care of that." Atropos put a hand under one of Trader's forearms and guided him to a standing position. "I would have done it myself, but I'm more needed to supervise you while"

Trader plunged his hand towards Atropos' heart. Too late, he realized Atropos had never let go of his sleeve, and his hand was yanked to a stop with fingertips half an inch from her shirt, even as she rammed her elbow into his throat. He fell back, gasping, and she guided his fall into a chair.

At no point in all that had Atropos' voice even paused. "...you go and put all your workers' body parts in their original homes. Miss Medic, would you mind?"

Trader had been gasping for air and getting none. "No problem!" chirped the little girl, who grabbed the front of Trader's throat and tugged, and suddenly he could breathe again. The girl babbled on while he sucked in oxygen. "I've just been examining your workers, and wow, is your power cool! It's like you're giving all of them a weaker variation of Aegis' power. There's a guy out there who's literally using his spleen to pump blood! I love that word, spleen."

"Anyway, I could put them back together, but that would take so many hours, and it's meatloaf night, and in the meantime they're really uncomfortable. But Atropos says you can put them together lickety-split!"

"No," said Trader.

"No?" Atropos tilted her head.

"I've read about you. The moment I put them back together, you'll kill me! And it won't even work anyhow - even with their original organs back in place, it's only my power that's keeping them put together! If I die, they'll die!"

Atropos said nothing, while the little girl - Miss Medic? - giggled.

"Oh, you're so funny! I said your power was cool, not that it was powerful. There's nothing you can do I can't fix. I mean, come on. But if you help out, it'll save me a bunch of time. Please?"

"Trader, I understand your concern," said Atropos evenly. "I'll make you a deal. You help us out - make everyone as right as you can before Miss Medic does her stuff - and you can walk out that door."

Trader snorted. "Right, so you can shoot me in the back."

"Not at all. If you've read about me, you know I never lie. So here's the deal: Help us out, and I won't chase after you or hurt you. Not with guns, not with knives. I'll leave you completely alone."

"You mean Tattletale or that karate guy will shoot me instead."

"Nope, them too. They won't harm you at all, apart from Tattletale bankrupting you. But if you don't help us…What I'll do to you will be so awful I wouldn't even describe it in front of Miss Medic."

"Hey! What could you possibly do that would be too gross for me to hear?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Maybe "Miss Medic" wanted to know, but Trader definitely did not.

So Trader, burning with resentment, put all his workers' organs and pieces back in the original bodies while Atropos watched. He wouldn't have been sure which body part went in which person, but somehow Atropos always knew. "No, that liver belongs to the tall guy with yellow eyes" and so on.

While he was working, Minotaur walked back and forth to the storage shed, returning each time with the workers' confiscated possessions (those that Trader hadn't sold) and suitcases and passports. The karate uniform guy, whose name Trader never learned, efficiently cleared off a table which Miss Medic sprayed with some kind of mist before using it as her surgical table, opening up his workers and doing something in them with shiny metal tools that popped out of her bracers so smoothly they looked like CGI. And all the while, she softly sang pop songs, replacing many of the lyrics with "spleen spleen spleen spleen…"

Trader had a back-of-the-brain sense for everyone his power was keeping alive, something he was so used to that he didn't notice it. But he noticed it now, as one by one, Miss Medic worked on his workers and they slipped out of his awareness. It was like losing a tooth - you don't really notice it while it's there, but you definitely notice the hole where it used to be.

Once the last patient had gotten off Miss Medic's impromptu operating table, feeling his throat in wonder where his third eye used to be, Atropos secured Trader's hands behind his back with duct tape. Then she made an announcement to the workers.

"Listen, a terrible thing has happened to you. I'm not a social worker, and I can't make everything right for you guys. But if you have someplace safe you'd like to go, I'll get you there. Or if you don't have a place you'd rather be, I'll take you back to Brockton Bay, in the USA, and I'll introduce you to people who can set you up with a place to stay and a job if you want one. Either way, you've all got money coming to you, which I hope will make your transition easier.

"Also, I promised this guy that I'd let him leave alive, and I keep my promises. So I'll leave him in here with you for ten minutes, but be careful not to kill him, okay?"

"WHAT? NO! NO!" screamed Trader, as Atropos ushered the other capes out of the work area and shut the door behind her.

------------------

"All done?"

Tattletale smiled, Trader's expensive laptop tucked under one arm. "Basically. I'll have little bits of follow-up work for weeks, especially after his real estate is sold, but nothing I can't manage from home. And every cent due will be put into the accounts we agreed on."

They all ignored the thumping noises and groans coming from behind the door to the workstation room.

"I know they will. Good work, Tattletale. You've met Tenebrae, I know," said Atropos.

"Have I? Gee, I can't remember," said Lisa sweetly, while Brian glared at her. She blew him a kiss.

"But have you met Miss Medic?" Atropos continued, gesturing towards Riley, who was packing up some of her supplies. Riley turned around and accepted the hand Lisa held out.

"We've never met in person, Miss Medic, but I really admire your…" As she saw Riley closely for the first time, Lisa's eyes widened. She yanked her hand out of Riley's grip, shrieking briefly, and would have fallen onto the floor if Atropos hadn't caught her and set her upright. "You sure fall down a lot," Atropos commented.

"How - what - how?" said Tattletale, staring in abject terror at Riley, who shrugged and turned back to her packing.

"Something wrong, Tattletale?" said Brian, smiling maliciously.

--------------------------

A while later, after Minotaur had left (taking the XBox with her, after asking Atropos' permission), Miss Medic examined the bruise-covered Trader and declared him fit enough to go "give or take a few teeth." Atropos cut the duct tape holding his hands together so smoothly he never saw the knife.

"Well, Trader, a deal's a deal." She gestured towards the open door to the outside.

"You never said anything about letting them beat me up!"

Atropos shrugged. "Never said I wouldn't. Besides, let's face it - you're a literal slaver. You deserve so much worse." She held out something to him, and he reflexively took it. His passport and his wallet. There was some sort of grit on the wallet, which he brushed off. "Bye now."

There was a pause. Something in the back of Trader's mind was urging him to lunge forward and see how smug Atropos could be with only one lung. But now that he'd had some time to think about it, he realized that attacking someone who'd literally killed an endbringer would be idiotic. Better to live and start over.

From nothing. Years of his hard work, gone. It was so unfair!

It seemed wrong to walk away, but Trader couldn't think of a single thing to say or do that would help. So he turned and limped out the door into the dim night.

The heavy door shut behind him and he limped along the path running next to the main building, trying to plan what he'd do next. But as he was approaching the main gate, a rough voice with an American accent said, "These your dogs?"

He turned tiredly. Around the building's corner, where he hadn't looked, a teenage girl stood glaring at him. She was stocky and had blunt-cut hair. She was holding two chains, and at the end of each chain was one of his supposedly ferocious guard dogs, lying docilely on the ground.

First Minotaur, now the dogs. No such thing as good help.

"Keep 'em," he spat.

"No fucking kidding I'm keeping them," growled the girl. She walked towards him with large steps, and he backed up until he bumped into a rough wall. Wait, am I at the shed? He didn't dare turn around to look.

"Your dogs have been starved and abused. Which means you're one of those fucking assholes who thinks that starvation and abuse makes better guard dogs because you're too lazy and stupid to learn how to train them!"

At some point she'd dropped his dogs' chains, but they didn't attack her. The traitors just lay on the dirt, watching with odd alertness.

"Listen, I can explain," Trader said, then lunged forward to snatch out the girl's heart. But she made a clicking noise with her tongue and the wall behind him abruptly slammed into his back like a truck, so hard he was thrown into the gravel and slid several feet.

Hands and cheek stinging, Trader rolled over and almost had a heart attack.

There was a… thing standing over him. A giant lizard monster made of jumbled bone and muscle and dripping blood and the most enormous fangs he'd ever seen. He felt something wet land on his chest, and didn't know if it was drool or blood.

"You think I'm a fucking idiot?" hissed the girl. "Lisa told me you were a freaking striker. You think I'd let you touch me?"

He gawked at the beast, too terrified even to scream, as he heard the girl say "Brutus, maim."

Chapter Text

[A/N: This side story beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Reference: A Darker Path

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Lord's Port

Abigail 'Big Mac' MacFarlane

The interior of the derelict ship's hull was cramped, dark, held many sharp metal protrusions and smelled like Poseidon's jockstrap. While the woman whose name was now Abigail MacFarlane (and didn't that signal a change in her life) was bigger than most, she was also magnitudes stronger and more durable, so any importunate pieces of ship that got in her way could be easily bent out of her way. Electric lights strung through the companionways alleviated the gloom, and a large-sized filter mask (she hadn't even known they were made in Extra Giant) dealt with most of the stink.

Similarly oversized safety goggles (which she barely needed) and hard-hat (which she absolutely did not need, but wore anyway) completed her protective gear. For the rest of it, she wore coveralls and a high-vis vest with her nickname stencilled on the back. The heavy boots simply meant she didn't have to walk in muck with her bare feet.

I'm just glad I don't have hair anymore, she mused as she took stock of the boiler that needed to be removed. It would take forever to wash this stench out of it. But let's get this done.

Wrapping her arms around it, she applied a firm grip and began lifting carefully, ensuring that her knees took most of the strain; the training material supplied by the Betterment Committee had been firm on that. It came up without any impediment, given that its mountings had been torched and sawn away by the crews that had swarmed through earlier to make her job easier. While she suspected she could have torn it out without the assistance, it would also take a lot more effort, and the whole thing might just have crumpled in her grip.

"Big Mac to topside," she said, aware that the radio mic taped to her cheek under the filter mask would relay her every word to the crane crew above. "Moving Boiler One to hoist now."

"Copy that, Big Mac. Nice and easy does it." The leading hand above, Larry Truman, was a veteran of construction and deconstruction, and he made a practice of speaking with new Brutes in his crew about not trying to rush when carrying heavy loads. 'Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.'

Repeating the mantra to herself under her breath, Abigail eased herself and the boiler—the immense steel cylinder now held vertically, like the world's biggest soda can—down the passageway that had been hacked out for it, to where the hoist had been lowered down through a hole in the decking above. Metal caught on metal, but she didn't try to force it through; a wriggle and a shrug jolted it free, and she kept moving. When she got to the hoist, she carefully placed the boiler in the bracket that had been constructed for it, then stepped back. "Big Mac to topside. Boiler is on the hoist. Lift away."

"Copy that, Big Mac. Lifting." Commands called out filtered down through the hole, then the cables holding the bracket went taut; metal scraped across the corroded deckplates, then the entire assemblage began to rise through the shaft that had been cored out for it.

Abigail watched it carefully. If anything got hung up, it would be her job to free it; this was where the safety goggles came in. As durable as the rest of her body was, her eyes were a vulnerable point, and fragments of metal or other debris falling from above could put her off the worksite for a day or more.

But nothing went wrong; the clearing crews had done their work well. The crane hoisted the bracket holding the boiler up and out of the hole, then swung off to the side. Abigail acknowledged safe delivery, then headed back through to get the other boiler.

Just as she was settling it onto its bracket with the same amount of care as the first, the call came from above. "Okay, Blue Team, your relief's here. Finish up and go home."

"Big Mac copies end of shift. Boiler is on the hoist. Lift away." Again, she stepped away. As tempting as it would've been to ride the hoist up with the boiler on board, it would break so many safety regulations that she'd probably be fired before her feet hit the deck topside. So instead, she watched it rise up through the hole, ensuring it didn't catch on the way.

The passage through the guts of the ship to where she could climb out on deck was just as cramped and dim as it had been coming in, but it was with the knowledge of a job well done. This was reinforced when she finally emerged blinking into the mid-afternoon sunlight, to be greeted and back-slapped by the rest of her shift crew. "Nicely done," Larry said. "No trouble down there?"

"None," she confirmed. "The cutting crews did a good job." She stretched, twisting her back to the left and right. "Damn, but it's nice to be out in the open again." Pulling her mask off then removing the radio more carefully, she handed the latter to Larry. "Do things always go this well? It felt like we were going like … like clockwork. Well-oiled machine."

"With the Betterment Committee? Most days, yeah." Larry waggled his hand from side to side. "Other places I've worked? God, no. Stoppages, accidents, idiots doing the wrong thing. I dunno what it is here, whether it's Accord doing the planning, the safety briefings or something else, but we've gotten more work done across the city in the last three weeks than I've seen done in six months, some places."

"Oh. Good. Well, I've got to go clock out. See you tomorrow." Abigail nodded to Larry and headed for the admin shack.

The incoming crew were already coming on site, and a few of them offered high-fives. For her, these were mostly mid-fives, except for Glory Girl—clad in high-vis work gear and hard-hat—who deliberately lofted into the air to give it to her at the proper altitude. "Hi, how'd your first day go?"

"Pretty good, actually. Pulled a bunch of boilers out." Abigail was quite pleased with that fact. "Left you the easy work."

Glory Girl grinned and flexed a bicep. "Brute squad, go."

"Brute squad, go." Abigail returned the grin as she continued on her way. The filter mask went into a container set aside for them; they'd be renewed by the time she came on shift tomorrow.

There were two vehicles waiting to transport the outgoing shift to their respective homes. One was the standard bus, while the other had been modified with a higher roof and larger seating for oversized workers. Abigail climbed into the latter and sat down alongside Synth1a Eagleton, a four-limbed eight-legged mechanical horror the size of a small car. As nobody else seemed to be getting on, she pulled the sliding door shut.

Joe, the driver, looked around. "Synth, Abby. Same as normal?" An ex-cabbie in his fifties, Joe was unfit for most types of construction work, but he was being well paid to drive the bus back and forth with whoever needed to go. As he'd confided to Abigail, it was a lot better money than cab driving, and the passengers were nicer too.

Abigail thought about that. "Uh, drop me off at the shop. I need to pick up some groceries."

"Will go same place as normal. Appreciation, Joe." Synth1a's voice was created by a series of metal rods rubbing against each other, but she still managed to make it sound more or less normal. Abigail barely noticed anymore.

"You got it." Joe started the bus and put it in gear. "Have you heard Canary's new single?"

"Yes." Synth1a waved her primary limbs as though conducting an orchestra. "Harbinger of Light. Is very apropos."

Abigail rolled her eyes. "Because it's about Atropos. Got it. I wonder if that'll be a one-off, or if more people are going to get in on it?"

Joe chuckled. "One or two, probably. But they better be damn careful with the lyrics, just saying."

"Haha, yeah, no crap." Abigail relaxed back into her seat and looked out the window as the bus rolled through Brockton Bay.

It was truly nice here, in a way she hadn't expected it to be. She'd never been to Brockton Bay (or even the United States) before Atropos ferried her here, but she'd heard stories of the endemic crime, cape gangs and overall intolerance to anyone different. The reality, as she'd discovered over the last few days, was somewhat different: she could walk down the street and nobody paid more than passing attention to her. When she'd worn her high-vis vest for the first time yesterday, they'd actually waved.

It had to be a Betterment Committee thing. Or an Atropos thing. Maybe both.

Joe pulled the bus up next to the convenience store where she usually did her shopping. "This where you wanted, Abby?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Joe. See you soon, Synthia. Get your gaming rig warmed up." Along with a lack of need for sleep, she and the oversized Eagleton had discovered a common enjoyment of console gaming in the two days they'd known each other.

"Machine perfection will kick biological butt," promised Synth1a, but the LEDs that approximated a face on the front of her torso were lit up in a winking emoji with the tongue sticking out.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Bring it, chip-head." Abigail got off the bus, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. She slid the door shut and slapped the side of the bus lightly to let Joe know to drive on.

The bell above the door tinkled as she eased her way into the shop, half-crouched so as to not take out the door frame. Looking around from where he'd been stocking shelves, the proprietor smiled broadly, rearranging the wrinkles in his aged face. "Look who it is! Our biggest customer!"

He'd only been making that joke since the day before yesterday, but Abigail suspected it was set in stone by now. "Hi, Mr Nguyễn. I'm here for more fruit and power bars. The carob ones were really nice, if you've got any more?"

He held up a finger. "There is rest of carton in back if you want, Miss MacFarlane."

Her eyes widened. "That would be great, Mr Nguyễn. But I don't want to take all your stock."

"Pfft, it is nothing." He waved his hand dismissively. "I have more on order. You like, you have."

"That's great, thanks. I'll take it." As he bustled around, assembling her order—there was no way in hell she would fit down any of the aisles without knocking over entire rows of shelves—she carefully got her stimulus card out. Those things were so damn handy.

Still smiling all over his face, Mr Nguyễn brought her purchases to the front counter and bagged them for her. "Here you go, Miss MacFarlane. How was first day of work?"

"Got a lot done, actually." She tapped the card on the reader, which beeped happily as it subtracted the cost of her groceries. "Helping pull apart the ships in the, uh, Boat Graveyard. You might have noticed the smell." It was still clinging to her work gear.

The shopkeeper chuckled. "I was fisherman, back in Vietnam. Smell of rotten seaweed is the same, the world over." He nodded to her. "People like you are rebuilding city so all of us can have better lives. The smell does not matter."

It was a nice way to look at it. "Well, I guess there's that." She gave him a smile. "I'll see you later." Carefully, she opened the door and ducked under the doorframe on the way out.

Strolling down the sidewalk with her backpack over her shoulder and her grocery bag hanging off one finger, she let her mind drift as she politely stepped aside for a couple coming the other way. I'll put my work clothing through the wash before I go over to Synthia's …

"You! You there!" The voice, coming from behind her, was masculine. She didn't specifically recognise it, but it had a familiar accent. Frowning, she slowed down, then the voice called out again. "Minotaur! It is you, isn't it?"

She came to a complete halt as dread poured ice water down her spine. That name was one she'd hoped she would never hear again, and now it was being shouted in broad daylight. Slowly, she turned.

The man facing her was vaguely familiar to her. She couldn't say for a fact that she knew him, but he had a look about him that she recognised all too well. He'd been one of the faceless many under the power of Trader, back in the compound. Back in Africa.

"I …" She stopped, quailing under the sheer power of the fury boiling off him. "Yes. That was me."

He pointed his finger accusingly. It may as well have been a gun barrel. "We came here to get away from you! Why are you here? You should not be here!"

"Go back!" shouted the woman with him. She looked around, perhaps for a rock to throw, but found nothing. Instead, she hurled more words. "Leave this place! This is not a place for people like you!"

"I … I asked to come," Abigail began helplessly. "They hired me into the Betterment Committee."

"You are a bad person!" The man took a step closer, shaking his fist at her. "A terrible person!"

"We lived our lives in fear of you!" The woman's voice was an indictment. "You do not deserve to be here!"

Behind them, the shop door opened and Mr Nguyễn emerged, looking around for the source of the disturbance. "What is this? Why are you shouting?"

"That one!" The man pointed dramatically at Abigail. "That one did many bad things, as Minotaur!"

"I do not care about things that have been done." Mr Nguyễn's tone was firm. "I do care about people shouting outside my shop. Leave her alone, or I will be calling police."

Perhaps ashamed at having been called out, or maybe unwilling to deal with the police, the couple shut up and moved along. Abigail nodded her thanks to Mr Nguyễn, who waved back and returned to his shop. Turning, she went along her own way, but her step was not as light as it had been before.

It was true, she mused, as she came up to the block of apartments that had been set aside for people of her size. She had held them in fear of her size and strength. It wasn't like she'd actually had to hurt anyone badly; just the intimidation factor had been enough. But that was still a bad thing to do to people. The trouble was, with her size and lack of other qualifications, hurting people was often the only thing she could get paid to do.

There was a reason she'd asked Mr Hebert for a job where she didn't have to do that.

She nearly decided not to go to Synth1a's place after she'd sorted out matters in her own apartment, but it would be unfair to the Eagleton if she just flaked. And it wasn't like she could go to bed and forget the incident had ever happened. Sleep, she decided gloomily, was a feature, not a bug.

Even so, when she showed up, her gaming technique was so lacklustre that Synth1a pulled the session to a halt after ten minutes. "Something is matter," the Eagleton buzz/click/hummed. "What is problem? Store out of favourite carob bars?"

"No." Abigail shook her head and looked away. "I don't want to bother you with it."

A metal forelimb settled on her shoulder. Manipulators that could bend steel squeezed reassuringly. "Am here now. Am listening now. Is no bother."

Abigail did want to talk to someone, and Synth1a was about the closest thing she had to a real friend right now. "Okay, so, um, back before I came to Brockton Bay, I was working as hired muscle for an asshole supervillain called Trader …" Gradually, she spelled out the situation, waiting for Synth1a to turn away from her. "… and they yelled at me and told me I didn't belong here. In Brockton Bay." She didn't often cry, but tears were trickling down her pebbled cheeks as she looked over at Synth1a. "The worst part is, I know I'm a horrible person. I did all that. I'm not doing it now, but I hurt people then."

Synth1a was silent for a moment. "Perhaps forget who you are talking to? Eagletons are Eagletons. Our backstory is absolute worst. Dragon tells us, we are less what was done in past and more what will do in future. You do not carry concrete hammer and shout at people now. Past is past. You make own future."

"But … but …" Abigail couldn't help protesting against the unravelling of her own self-recriminations. "You were reprogrammed to not be bad."

"And humans cannot reprogram selves?" Synth1a didn't have a head as such, but she raised her sensor-bearing forelimbs and held them up in a tilted fashion to emulate a head movement. "Believe saying is 'turn over new leaf', yes?"

"Um, yes, but … well, okay, I'm helping rebuild Brockton Bay. That's good for the city in the long run. But what am I doing for individuals in the short term?" She studied her hands. There was power in the flexing of her fingers, but it helped nobody. "If I can hurt people, why can't I help them too?"

"Is interesting problem." Synth1a buzzed discordantly for a moment. "Perhaps have solution."

Abigail sat up. "I'm listening."

Emma

"Excuse me."

Emma looked up … and up … and up. The individual who had come to a halt before her and the other Followers was at least ten feet tall, built like a brick outhouse wished it could look like, and had a voice that sounded like granite being crushed. However, they were also smiling tentatively.

While the other Followers took an involuntary step back, Emma let her momentary fear pass from her. She had been Twice Warned by Atropos, after all. Nothing of a lesser nature would cause her to worry.

"Yes?" She smiled politely up at the immense person. "How may we help you?"

"Hi. My name's Abigail. You're the Followers of Atropos, right …?" For someone who looked like they could walk through a solid brick wall, Abigail seemed to lack in self-confidence.

"Of Our Lady in Darkness, yes." Emma nodded. "Did you have any questions? We have flyers."

"Um … actually, I was wondering what I needed to do if I wanted to join."

Emma blinked, hearing the massed gasps from behind her. Her smile, however, never shifted from her face. "Well, Abigail, simply desiring to join is the first step. The next step is to acknowledge Her rules for our conduct. Do you know them?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I looked it up online." Abigail took a deep breath. "No worship, no killing, do actual good. I'm totally down with all that. Especially the 'do actual good' bit. I want to help people."

"Good, good." Emma reached up and unclipped the second necklace from around her neck. She'd wondered why Taylor had sent her a text this morning to wear two, but now all was answered. Atropos didn't know everything, but she knew enough. "Give me your wrist."

The chain would not have been nearly long enough to reach around Abigail's neck, but it made for a nice bracelet as Emma clipped it into place. Abigail held it up to admire the tiny pair of shears that dangled from it. "Thank you. So … does this mean I'm in?"

Emma nodded firmly. "Welcome to the Followers of Our Lady in Darkness, Abigail."

"Thank you." There seemed to be the hint of tears glinting in Abigail's eyes. "It's good to be here."

Chapter Text

Reference: A Darker Path

"So," Ciara said solemnly, "you have come at last to slay me."

AND WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT?

"Have you not upended the old order? Did you not depose the Warrior through his own demise? The fae courts now know to fear you, even the new Queen understands she rules by your will alone." Ciara laughed, a bitter laugh. "What place has the keeper of the dead, in a world where death keeps all? What place has the ender of the cycle, when the cycle has been sundered entirely? I am a relic of the old times, and so shall be cast aside whether I wish it or not."

AH, said Ending. I BELIEVE YOU MISUNDERSTAND MY PURPOSE ON THIS WORLD.

"Do I?"

IT IS TRUE THAT I HAVE ENDED THE OLD CYCLE, BUT I DO NOT SEEK OBLITERATION. RATHER, I CREATE ENDINGS TO PROVIDE NEW BEGINNINGS. Ending gestured toward her. FOR ALL THAT YOU ARE DANGEROUS, YOU ARE NOT A THREAT TO THE NEW REGIME. IN FACT, YOU COULD BE MOST BENEFICIAL.

"If you are not here to execute me, then why have you come to this kingdom in the first place?"

THIS KINGDOM HOUSES THE DAMNED. NOT ALL WHO RESIDE HERE DESERVE SUCH, BUT MANY CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE EXISTING. MY... ASSOCIATE IS DISCUSSING THE MATTER WITH THEM. Ending focused inward, on his connection to his actor. IT'S QUITE A LIVELY DISCUSSION, BUT SHE SEEMS TO BE MAKING OUR POINTS RATHER WELL. I SIMPLY THOUGHT TO TAKE THE OPPORTUNITY TO APPROACH YOU DIRECTLY.

"I see. I had wondered at all the screams, if only briefly." Ciara sighed, gesturing toward the table where tea already sat. "Come, sit. I apologize for being a poor host. The prospect of death is certainly no reason for rudeness, even if I only imagined it."

THANK YOU KINDLY, MADAM. Ending took his teacup in a delicate, boney grasp. THIS IS WELL PREPARED.

"An advantage of my position in the courts. Only the finest servants for a queen, after all." Ciara sat across from him. "Even if I no longer hold the title."

TRUE ENOUGH, I SUPPOSE. He took a sip of the tea, nodding thoughtfully. I WILL ADMIT, THIS IS SOMETHING I HAD NOT CONSIDERED THE VALUE OF BEFORE MEETING MY CURRENT PARTNER.

"Oh?"

A GOOD CUP OF TEA. A NICE BEVERAGE OF ANY SORT, REALLY. I COULD SEE THE VALUE IN POISONING IT, BUT ENJOYING IT WITHOUT ANY SUCH INTENT... IT WAS A FOREIGN CONCEPT. BUT ATROPOS, AS IT TURNS OUT, IS AN AFFECIANDO OF SUCH GRACES.

"How charming. Perhaps we should share a meal sometime."

PERHAPS. Ending put the cup down gently. NOW THEN, LET'S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS.

"Not one for small talk, are you?" Ciara noted dryly.

IT ISN'T MY WHEELHOUSE, NO. I TAKE IT YOU ARE AWARE OF THE NEW LEADER OF THE NETWORK?

"Queen Administrator, yes. A... fussy sort, but quite good at organizing things. We could do worse for a leader."

INDEED. AT THE MOMENT SHE IS CLEANING HOUSE, HANDLING LOST FILES, THE BEAURUCRATIC BUSYWORK THAT PLAGUES ALL THRONES. HOWEVER. Ending leaned forward, clasping his fingers together. SHE HAS TAKEN INTO CONSIDERATION WHAT THIS NEW CYCLE REQUIRES, GOING FORWARD, AND HAS FOUND HER OWN PEOPLE WANTING.

Ciara masked her surprise with a sip of tea. "Truly? Wanting of what, I wonder?"

OF SOULS. MOST FAIRIES ON THIS PLANET HAVE LESS SELF-AWARENESS THEN A BLADE OF GRASS. SOME COULD BE LIKENED TO ROCKS FOR HOW MUCH PERSONALTY THEY HAVE. AND WHILE QUEEN ADMINISTRATOR IS EXCELLENT AT ORGANIZING, I SUSPECT SHE LACKS EXPERIENCE IN SOUL-CRAFTING.

"So you would turn to me for such things?"

YOU PRESENT A UNIQUE MIXTURE OF HUMAN AND FAY TO UNDERSTAND BOTH MENTALITIES, TO KNOW HOW TO INSTALL A SENSE OF SELF INTO SOMETHING AS VAST AND COMPLEX AS OUR BRETHREN. AND, NOT TO PUT TOO FINE A POINT ON IT, YOU ALSO HAVE A WIDE COLLECTION OF TEMPLATES GATHERED FROM WHICH TO CRAFT THE KERNELS THAT WILL GROW INTO NEW PERSONALITIES.

"Ah, and it all becomes clear," Ciara mused. "...Very well. I shall approach the Queen Administrator and offer my services, as the new jeweler of the court."

I BELIEVE YOU WILL BOTH GREATLY APPRECIATE IT. THOUGH, I SHOULD MENTION HER PARTNER IS THE FATHER OF MINE. Ending picked up his teacup. SO I EXPECT A FAIR NEGOTIATION.

"As though I would ever dream of slighting another royal, much less one supported by yourself." Ciara picked up her own teacup. "To endings and beginnings?"

TO ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS. The two cups clinked together in a single toast.