Chapter 11
Ascent Into Hell
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The Watson House, Kitchen
December 2nd, 2008, Tuesday
7:14 AM…
The smell of scrambled eggs and buttered toast filled the kitchen, warm and familiar. Morning light spilled through the blinds, catching in the steam curling from the pan as Belinda scraped the last of the eggs onto three plates.
Alice plopped into her seat with the grace of a falling brick, unleashing a yawn that made Rusty—one-eyed tabby, scarred ear, reigning monarch of the windowsill—crack his good eye in mild disapproval. He flicked his tail once, deeming the disturbance beneath him, and resumed his nap.
Alessa followed a moment later, setting her cane against the table. Belinda raised a brow. "You're up early."
"Had to check something before school," Alessa replied, truth in the broadest sense.
Alice smirked. "Before or after messing with your new toys?"
"Oh shut up." Alessa grumbled, flushing. "It's too early for your chaos."
"Maybe stop pulling late nights then." Belinda slid a plate in front of her before sitting across from Alice. "Heading out to your usual spot later?"
"Yeah… after homework." Alessa stated before digging in.
"Damn right after homework." Belinda stated, making it clear anything less wouldn't be acceptable.
Alice grinned through a mouthful of toast. "We could bomb finals and still come out fine with how obsessive Alessa is about school."
"Keep talking and I'll reprogram your bot to zap you when you're snarky," Alessa threatened. As if summoned by the mere hint of its name, said fox bot poked its adorable, black and gold neon highlighted snout out of Alice's bag, a happy yip quick to follow that had Belinda glancing under the table to see what the new noise was. She quickly shook her head after straightening, giving Alessa a silently approving look for what she assumed, and rightly so, that she'd made it to stick by Alice's side like glue.
"You wouldn't… right?" Alice asked. Alessa's smirk over her orange juice wasn't reassuring. "Aunt B, I might be in danger."
"Don't drag me into your lovers' quarrel," Belinda chuckled, making Alessa choke on her juice while Alice blinked in confusion.
"What am I missing?" She asked, her eyes darting between them like a pair of ping pong balls.
"Nothing," Belinda said with a knowing smirk.
"Spill it!" Alice pressed.
"It's nothing," Alessa said, keeping her tone even.
"Drop it and finish breakfast or you'll miss the bus," Belinda warned.
Alice sighed. "Fine… but I'll remember this."
Alessa shot Belinda a half-hearted glare, met with silent amusement. This wouldn't be the last she heard about this.
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The oil tanker, Alessa's Forge Domain
4:34 PM…
The tanker's workshop was warm compared to the snow outside, lit in a soft mix of golden Forge light and the steady blue glow from Alessa's AR console. The hum of processors and the faint whir of drones charging on the rack filled the air, overlaid by the occasional clink of Alice's boots against the metal bench as she sat sideways, foxbot in her lap. She absentmindedly scratched behind its LED ears while flicking between texting Taylor and scrolling memes.
On Alessa's side of the room, the AR goggles painted a grid across the city map hovering over her workbench. Tiny green icons swept outward in arcs from the harbor, each one tagged with a drone ID. They were already returning video feeds—one pane for each search sector.
"Alright," Alessa murmured, fingers ghosting over her controls, "programmed paths are synced. First pass is hostile activity mapping, second pass is base-site sweep."
Alice leaned forward, peering at the live feeds like she was watching a soap opera. "And by hostile, you mean…?"
"Drug gangs. Whatever's been moving bulk shipments without tripping alarms." On one feed, a group of thugs were setting up scaffolding in the half-finished condo tower, hauling up crates with bright orange hazard markings.
Alice squinted. "Wow. Peak ambiance: asbestos chic. I give it three stars for 'commitment to theme,' minus two for probable lung damage."
Alessa smirked faintly but didn't look away. Another feed showed a warehouse's loading bay, where men in oil-stained jackets were unloading drums under a flickering light. A graffiti-covered back alley appeared on another pane, baggies changing hands like poker chips.
She tagged each location red, little pins appearing on the shared map. The drones began sweeping wider arcs, targeting her secondary search grid inside the city.
One drone passed over the yawning mouth of an abandoned drydock warehouse—still mostly intact, easy to fortify if needed. Another dipped toward a storm shelter complex, its thick steel doors still in place, low-profile but with enough interior space to hide a small armory. Alice wrinkled her nose at the video feed and muttered, "Creepy underground bunker? Yes. But only if I get to paint 'No zombies allowed' on the door."
A crumbling apartment block came next, top floors still sturdy enough to serve as a lookout, though Alice quipped it was "a penthouse view wasted unless someone sunbathes." Then came an old substation with dormant transformers and secure fencing, and Alice immediately declared she wanted to hang a neon sign out front that read Totally Not Evil Lair.
Once the city sweep finished, the map shifted to a wider angle. Another drone cluster had been covering the outskirts, feeding in data from the rural perimeter. An abandoned quarry appeared first—steep walls, a water-filled pit in the center, and natural choke points on every side. "Looks like a Bond villain hideout," Alice said approvingly, "but only if we get a cool elevator down to the base."
A derelict farmstead followed, its barn and windmill still standing amid the snow. Alice didn't miss a beat—"If you hear a chainsaw, we're gone. If we see cornfields, we're really gone. And if we find a creepy old book in the basement? Nope. Just nope."
Farther out, the camera swept past an old railroad tunnel, one entrance collapsed but the other still open near a dense tree line. Alice deemed it bad for karaoke night but good for hiding things. The last feed showed an abandoned lighthouse, wind-scoured and weathered but with a perfect vantage over the coast. Alessa could already see the utility in turning it into a coastal surveillance post. Alice, on the other hand, was picturing "dramatic brooding shots at sunset, cape optional."
The final pins dropped into place on the map, red clusters marking hostile territory and blue ones denoting possibilities. Alessa leaned back in her chair, quietly studying the balance between risk and opportunity. Alice crossed her arms, satisfied. "Alright. I'm officially declaring war and gentrification in equal measure."
"This isn't SimCity," Alessa deadpanned.
"You say that like it's a bad thing." A grinning Alice retorted moments later.
Alessa reached over to her terminal, initiating a secure dump of the drone footage to an encrypted drive in the workbench's hidden compartment. The files weren't just tagged—they were scrubbed, checksum-locked, and buried under dummy data packets. If anyone tried to hack in remotely, they'd trip three different kill-switches before they got past the first layer.
Her gaze flicked—just for a moment—to the locked drawer where the damaged Skynet chip rested in its static-safe casing. The thought of using it, of what she could build if she really wanted to, tightened her chest. She pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the map. Plenty to do before she ever had to think about taking that risk.
Alice stretched, arms overhead until her spine popped, then hopped down from the bench. "Alright, my chaos quota for the day is filled. I should get back before Belinda starts sending search parties." She bent down to scoop up the foxbot, which perked up with a cheerful chirp when it recognized her.
"You taking him?" Alessa asked, glancing over from her console.
"Her," Alice corrected, stroking the smooth polyalloy plating like it was a real pet. "And yeah. I want to see how she does in the wild. Field testing, right?"
Alessa's brows knitted for a second, but she nodded. "Fine. Keep her close, don't mess with the voltage settings, and if she so much as hiccups in her diagnostics, call me. She's still got a few subsystems in calibration."
"Yes, mom," Alice said with a smirk. She slung her bag over one shoulder, foxbot cradled in her other arm. "Try not to blow up the boat while I'm gone."
"Don't tempt me," Alessa shot back, though her lips twitched in a faint smile.
Snow flurries swirled in through the brief opening of the heavy door before it clanged shut behind Alice, muffling the sound of her boots on the gangway. The workshop seemed quieter without her voice bouncing off the bulkheads, leaving only the hum of electronics and the distant rhythm of the waves.
Alessa lingered at the map table for a moment longer, watching the drones complete their sweeps. She told herself the foxbot was fine, that Alice was fine, but a flicker of unease settled at the base of her skull. She pushed it down, turning back to her terminal. There was still work to do—projects to finish, maps to update, files to encrypt, and more footage to go over.
Tomorrow she'd worry about anything else.
=========
Brockton Bay streets, just outside the old docks
7:18 PM…
The cold hit her first—a sharp, briny wind rolling in off the Bay. Alice tucked her chin into her scarf, foxbot nestled securely against her chest as she made her way toward the streetlights ahead. Snow drifted lazily in the air, melting into wet specks on her jacket. The Docks behind her faded into shadow, replaced by the faint hum of traffic and the creak of signposts in the wind.
That was when she caught movement—a figure leaning casually against a wall just outside the spill of a flickering streetlight. Tall. Lean. A snake tattoo coiling up his neck and disappearing under the collar of his jacket. He didn't look at her, not directly, but she could feel the weight of his attention all the same.
She quickened her pace. The foxbot's ears twitched, servos humming softly.
Another shape shifted in the shadows ahead, forcing her to take the side street toward the main road. Her pulse jumped as she realized she was being funneled. Herded.
Half a block later, the snake-tat man peeled himself from the wall and fell into step behind her.
"Not good," she muttered under her breath.
The foxbot let out a sharp electronic bark as three more figures emerged from the darkness, blocking her path. Alice turned on her heel—too late. A van rolled up from behind, its side door already sliding open.
"Go!" she shouted, dropping the foxbot to the ground.
It darted forward in a blur of motion, taser darts snapping out with a crackle of ozone. One attacker went down screaming, another stumbled back clutching his leg. The foxbot turned for another pass—only to be caught mid-leap by a baseball bat. The blow smashed through its frame, sending pieces skittering across the asphalt.
Alice's stomach lurched. She barely had time to swing at the nearest thug before rough hands grabbed her arms. A cloth pressed over her mouth. The sickly-sweet smell of chemicals filled her lungs, and the world tilted sideways. The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was the snake-tat man's grin as he stepped into the van after her.
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Oil tanker workshop, Alessa's computer array
7:23 PM…
The glow from Alessa's monitors painted her in cold blues and greens. She was halfway through calibrating a new drone array when the foxbot's HUD feed stuttered, then froze. A red error ping flared in the corner of her AR goggles.
SIGNAL LOST.
Her breath hitched—but she didn't slam into panic. She breathed in once, steady and deliberate, her mind locking into the disciplined focus Mental Resistance III afforded her. Her fingers moved fast, but with purpose, switching displays, forcing a reconnect. Nothing. The replay buffer filled the gap—Alice walking briskly, breath curling in the cold air, shadowed shapes pacing her at the edges, a sudden blur of motion, the camera whipping toward an oncoming swing—then static.
The muscles in her jaw tightened.
Her hands danced across the console. Two hover scouts in the Boat Graveyard altered course instantly, vectoring toward the last GPS ping. Aerial microdrones peeled off from their patrols over the boardwalk, infrared and low-light filters already snapping online. She cross-checked their trajectories against the local terrain, narrowing the most probable escape routes in her head. Only then did she grab her comm headset. Belinda picked up on the second ring, her voice warm for a heartbeat before Alessa's tone stripped it bare. "Belinda, it's Alice. The foxbot's feed just went dark—looked like an ambush. I'm already redeploying search drones."
A sharp inhale on the other end. "Do you know where?"
"Just outside the old docks. I'll find her." Alessa's voice was iron. "Just stay by your phone."
"Bring her back, Alessa. No matter what."
"I will." Alessa stated, the unspoken promise loud and clear to anyone that might've been listening. In any event, she ended the call before the weight in her chest could fracture her voice. New search patterns rippled across the HUD as her drones spread into a widening net, scanning every alley, rooftop, and shadowed corner.
"Alice," she murmured to herself, eyes tracking a dozen feeds at once. "Hold on. I'm coming."
Alessa didn't waste time. The moment the call with Belinda ended, she switched to her secure comm list and tapped Taylor's home number—one she'd quietly pulled from the school's system days ago. Guilt flared, but she shoved it down; she'd deal with that later. Right now, the phone rang once. Twice.
"Hello?" Taylor's voice was low, cautious.
"It's Alessa. We've got a problem—Alice was grabbed just outside the old docks. I've got a probable route and I'm redeploying drones, but I need another set of eyes."
A sharp intake of breath. "Where do you need me?"
"On-site. I'll send coordinates once I lock the location, but you need to move fast. Bring work gloves and a face mask if you have one. Doesn't have to be fancy—just enough to keep anyone from recognizing you. We're doing cape work here, and I'd rather your face didn't end up on the wrong forums."
"I can do that," Taylor said quickly. Alessa could hear drawers opening. "Dad's asleep. I can be out in five."
"Don't run into anything blind. Wait for my word," Alessa warned, eyes scanning a thermal sweep. A cluster of heat signatures pulsed at the edge of her grid—maybe a party, maybe worse.
Taylor's voice came back steady. "Just find her. I'll be ready."
"Working on it." She ended the call and rerouted another drone toward the suspected hot zone. The cold knot in her gut twisted tighter. She already had a good idea who had taken Alice. The foxbot's destruction had cut her off from confirming it, its onboard memory now useless without physical retrieval, and she hated herself for not acting sooner against the Merchants when she'd had the chance.
"Beat yourself up later," she growled, fingers flying across the console, eyes never leaving the feeds.
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Enroute to Merchant territory, back of a moving van
???
The van's interior was dark, lit only by the occasional sweep of passing streetlights through the cracks in the side panels. Alice's head lolled against the cold metal wall, every bump in the road sending a dull throb through her skull. The chemical tang of chloroform still clung to the back of her throat, making each breath feel heavy and metallic.
She was starting to come back to herself—slowly—when the snake-tat man leaned in, holding up a small vial and an eye-dropper full of a faintly glowing liquid. "Time to wake you up, sweetheart," he said with a smile that made her stomach churn.
Before she could turn away, rough fingers gripped her jaw, forcing her mouth open. The bitter, chemical taste hit her tongue a moment before the burn slid down her throat. She would've tried to spit it out, but the hand that'd just been holding her jaw was just as quickly slapped over her mouth, her muddled mind doing the rest on autopilot as she swallowed so she didn't choke on whatever they'd just given her. It barely took any time at all for the drug to take effect as the world sharpened and blurred all at once—every sound too loud, every light too bright, every beat of her heart an earthquake in her chest. Muffled bass rumbled from somewhere outside, growing louder with each turn. Voices drifted around her—laughing, jeering, talking over one another—but now they pressed in, sticky and invasive.
The van swerved sharply, tires crunching over broken asphalt. The bass became a pulse she could feel in her bones. Through the haze, she caught the smell—smoke, stale beer, and something chemical that burned the nose. Soon enough, the van rolled to a stop. Doors slid open. Hands grabbed her arms and hauled her out into the freezing air. Neon spray paint glared off brick walls, graffiti warped by the flicker of cheap floodlights. Somewhere beyond, the chaos of the party roared—shouts, music, and the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. Her stomach turned. Whatever this place was, it wasn't somewhere you came back from the same.
She was half-dragged, half-walked through a graffiti-scarred lobby that stank of mold and burnt plastic, the gutted walls now plastered with torn posters and strung with cheap colored lights. An old freight elevator groaned as they shoved her inside, its steel cage rattling on the ascent. Through the haze, she caught glimpses when the doors slid open again: what had once been an unfinished luxury condo floor now stripped of drywall and turned into an open sprawl. Spray paint murals covered bare concrete, flickering lamps swung from exposed beams, and the air was thick with smoke. Makeshift bars stood where kitchens had been, and plywood dance platforms replaced living room spaces. Merchants lounged or stumbled between the crowd, passing bags and bottles with equal carelessness. It was chaos built on the bones of something that was supposed to be beautiful. Even in her muddled state, that much she understood—and it made her stomach twist worse than the drugs.
Heat and noise slammed into her as soon as she stepped out. The crowd closed in—laughing, shoving, bodies pressing from all sides. Her escorts kept a loose ring around her, steering her through the chaos without giving her a choice. Someone shouted toward a bar, a coded call lost in the din. A moment later, a beer was thrust into her hands.
She was guided—pushed, really—into a sagging couch that reeked of liquor, piss, cigarettes, and God knew what else. A stranger flopped down beside her, an arm draping over the backrest like they owned her space. "Drink up," they slurred over the pounding music.
The bottle was cold against her palm, the glass slick with condensation. She didn't remember deciding to hold onto it. The lights strobed, the bass rattled her teeth, and the air was thick enough to choke on. Somewhere deep down, she knew she was already in trouble.
And then, slowly, the edges of that thought dissolved. The warmth in her chest spread, loosening muscles she didn't know were tight. The noise wasn't so sharp anymore—it was music, rhythm, something her body wanted to sway to. Colors bled richer, the air felt softer, the beer suddenly inviting in her hand. Her lips curled into a lazy smile without her meaning to. She felt good. Really, really good. Heat prickled across her skin and the crowd's wild abandon felt contagious. In a thoughtless burst of comfort-seeking, she tugged her hoodie off and let it fall, then peeled away her shirt, the heat and haze making the thin black lace of her bra feel like the most natural thing to show.
All around her, half-naked partiers writhed and ground together, bodies gleaming under the strobe lights. She swayed along, giggling when the man beside her laughed knowingly. "They gave ya the good shit, didn't they? Always the same story with fresh meat."
"Hehe… yeah… first party. Guess it shows, huh?" She giggled again, taking a sip of the beer, the cold liquid leaving tingles all the way down. His words—and the way his eyes lingered—should've terrified her, but the euphoria had her drifting, just another body in the storm.
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Residential district, the Hebert Residence
7:27 PM…
The hum of something small and mechanical pulled Taylor's eyes to the window. A black, insectlike drone hovered just outside, its lens angled toward her. A scrap of duct tape clung to its belly, holding a tiny earpiece in place.
She cracked the window, plucked it free, and shoved it into her ear. "Uh… how do you—"
"Not the time, Taylor," Alessa's voice cut in, tight with urgency. "You've got eyes on her now through me. Don't stop for anything — she's still moving, but it's getting bad."
Taylor hesitated just long enough to grab her jacket, work gloves, and a black ski mask from her closet. She could worry about how Alessa knew where she lived later. Right now, she had a hundred feet of living eyes and ears waiting to sweep the streets ahead of her — every wingbeat and scuttling leg ready to guide her toward Alice.
She bolted for the garage, yanking her old bike from the wall rack. The Trio had never managed to trash it, mostly because she never rode it to school, but tonight it would be the fastest way to get there without drawing attention.
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Merchant high rise, the dance floor
???
Alice rose from the couch, the bassline pulling at her body even as her legs felt like water. The euphoria was still there, thick and syrupy in her veins, but it wavered — edges blurring into something stranger, more jagged.
An older, leaner woman with a neon blue dyed mohawk and a half-naked, pierce-studded frame slid in behind her, hands bold as they traced her hips. Heat rolled off the crowd's cheers, a few voices shouting encouragement. Then the woman's mouth was on hers — a hot, invasive press, her tongue pushing deep while the smell of liquor and smoke filled Alice's head. A slick hand slipped past her waistband, sliding under her panties. Fingers grazed her with practiced intent, sending a confused bolt of heat through her that the drug only twisted further. The crowd roared, some laughing, others calling for more.
It took every scrap of willpower she had to wrench away, stumbling back, heart hammering for reasons she couldn't name. As she turned, she caught sight of a wiry man leaning against a wall — his shirt open to reveal a coiled snake tattoo winding up his ribs, eyes fixed on her like a predator deciding when to strike. Even as she pushed into the crowd, she felt his gaze trailing her, heavy and unblinking.
Around her, the room dissolved into snapshots of debauchery: someone drawing a white line across bare skin and snorting it, a couple grinding so hard they nearly fell, two men and a woman tangled together in the middle of the floor while people laughed and clapped. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and chemicals, and every step forward felt like sinking deeper into something she couldn't escape.
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The oil tanker, Alessa's computer array
7:33 PM…
The feed jolted as a beer bottle spun into frame, striking the drone's housing with a metallic crack. The camera tumbled, cutting out in a smear of color. Alessa froze. The last image before the signal vanished was the same Merchant who'd once spotted one of her stealthed drones back at the Boat Graveyard.
Her lips thinned. You just made my list.
She switched focus to the other drones already en route, their telemetry pinging steadily on her screens. The condo's location was coming into sharper relief — steel skeleton against the skyline, music pounding faintly even through the drone mics. She could already tag clusters of movement on the upper floors. Every face recorded now would be matched later against the BPD's database once she "borrowed" access.
She toggled comms. "Lost a drone. Someone saw it, took the shot, and scored. Two minutes until the others get there."
"That's two minutes Alice is in there without eyes on her." Taylor's voice was tight.
Alessa's fingers flexed over the controls, every instinct screaming to hurry. Mental Resistance III kept the panic down, but not the urgency. "Taylor, status? I'm hearing something growing louder on your end."
In the background came a faint, growing hum — low at first, then layered with a chittering undercurrent. "The Locker," Taylor said quietly, answering her question before she could even give it voice. "Got a power out of it."
"Oh… shit. That's useful." Alessa shook her head, focus snapping back. "We'll compare notes later. Just get there fast — and careful."
"I will." Taylor's tone was calm, unnervingly so. The hum swelled, and Alessa's screens lit with fresh contacts: countless tiny blips converging from every direction. Whatever Taylor's limit was, whatever she was calling to her side, she was pulling in everything like the Pied Piper.
Alessa just hoped it'd be enough.
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Merchant high-rise, exterior
???
Taylor's legs burned, lungs raw, but she didn't slow until she reached the shadowed side of the high-rise. The bike skidded to a stop; she leaned it against a graffiti-tagged wall where it'd be out of sight, her heart pounding in her ears. Even from here, the building pulsed with noise — muffled bass, drunken shouting, the occasional sharp crash of glass.
The swarm was already inside, slipping through open windows and vents. She felt them as a thousand pricks of awareness: flies brushing sweaty skin, cockroaches sliding under doors, wasps buzzing past startled faces. Chaos bloomed upstairs — people swatting, cursing, stumbling into the hallways. She pushed more of the swarm toward Alice's floor, directing stings and bites at anyone too close to her friend.
Some partygoers reacted with blind panic — a bottle smashed against a wall, someone firing a handgun at a cloud of wasps, the sharp crack echoing over the music. Others grabbed lit bottles, hurling them wildly, fire splashing against walls and carpet. One man, though, didn't panic. Snake-tat guy. She felt his movements — purposeful, deliberate — as he ducked into a side room and emerged with a short, pump-action shotgun. He barked an order she couldn't hear through the swarm, and a few others moved to join him.
Taylor ducked into the lobby and slammed the elevator call button. The ancient machine groaned somewhere above, every second stretching. Her legs were jelly, and she'd need what strength she had left when she got to Alice. The doors finally rattled open. Inside, the flickering light cast everything in a sickly yellow as the doors slid shut with a sluggish sigh.
Her bug-sense sharpened as the elevator climbed. Alice was close now — slumped, barely moving — with the swarm tightening around her like a living shield. Taylor kept them in motion, stinging and biting to keep the panic alive until she could reach her. Snake-tat guy and his crew weren't spared — every step toward the elevator was met with biting ants, stinging wasps, and the gnaw of mandibles. One man went down from the sheer number of stings; another bolted when a fire ant bit him just above the eye. A third fell screaming as a dense cloud of flies blinded him before roaches and beetles crawled over his face and hands. Snake-tat guy, though wounded, fired into the cloud, each blast tearing holes through the mass of insects, refusing to break stride.
Alessa's voice crackled in Taylor's earpiece. "If you had a phone, I'd tell you not to worry about calling anyone since half the neighborhood's already dialing 911. Cops and EMTs are inbound. Get to Alice, now."
"Right." Taylor retorted, stepping off the elevator just as she felt snake-tat guy fall to his knees, the innumerable bites and stings finally taking their toll. She didn't let her guard down though, not until she was absolutely sure he was out cold since she didn't feel like getting blasted by a shotgun toting gang member.
Through the tangle of bodies, fleeing Merchants, and buzzing insects, she finally saw her: Alice, slumped against the wall, eyes glassy, head lolling. Relief hit like a punch to the gut, tempered with fury at the state she was in. She grabbed a nearby cargo trolley the moment she spotted it in a corner, eased Alice onto it, and began pushing it back toward the elevator. "Hang on, Alice. I've got you."
==========
Back at the oil tanker
7:35 PM…
At that same moment, Alessa's drones finally arrived — but they couldn't see much. The feeds dissolved into static-laced outlines and brief, flickering glimpses through the storm of insects. Audio came through clearer: angry shouts, a woman's moan of pain, the thud of bodies hitting walls.
Then a burst of light: Glory Girl, golden hair haloed by her forcefield's glow, carried Panacea, whose white medical coat flared in the wind. Beside them floated Lady Photon, her shimmering light-construct wings catching every glint, with Brandish, clad in form-fitting armor and already shifting weapons from her hands, and Flashbang, in his sleek combat suit with glowing gauntlets ready to unleash concussive bursts. Hard-light shields and explosive bursts cleared paths, the swarm parting instinctively. Alessa's jaw tightened — backup was here, whether blessing or complication.
Regardless, she dispatched two of the lighter drones to shadow Alice's position while another began charting the least-clogged exit routes. The drone shadowing Taylor kept close, its sensors mapping threats while Alessa fed instructions through the earpiece. She might not have been there in person, but through her machines, she guarded their path like a hawk — determined to get all of them out alive before the situation spiraled even further. Thankfully, all of the chaos with the remaining partygoers kept New Wave from pursuing Taylor and Alice as they made a clean getaway to the elevator. Alessa just hoped all of the wounded would keep them busy so Taylor could flee the scene once Alice was out of immediate danger.
So Alessa, once things had gotten quieter as Taylor descended, said, "The moment you reach the ground floor, get Alice outside where the paramedics can see her. Once you do, get your bike, and go. I'll handle the rest."
Taylor hesitated, "Are you sure? I can stay-"
"Taylor, I owe you big for doing all this at all, especially on such short notice, but there's no need for you to be given the third degree by the PRT and their New Wave counterparts. Besides... I've got my issues with the PRT, so trusting them not to give you trouble isn't something I can do, nor would I recommend it either. I'll tell you why some other time." Alessa finished with a sigh, tapping her foot impatiently due to how fucking slow that damn elevator was.
Taylor meanwhile visibly worried at her bottom lip, clearly weighing her options before eventually nodding her head. "Alright... but when things settle down, we need to talk."
Her tone made it clear she wouldn't take no for an answer, but that was fine. "Fair enough. And honestly, since I know your secret now, it's only fair that I share mine in greater detail."
A shadow of a smile appeared on Taylor's exposed lips then. "Al-alright, I'll hold you to that."
==========
Taylor delivered Alice to the paramedics under PRT guard, then rode off as the swarm dispersed before anyone could attempt to stop her. A fresh wave of insects covering her escape ensured no one tried.
Alessa's relay drone pivoted toward the incoming heroes. Miss Militia strode at the front, her flag-patterned scarf fluttering above combat fatigues, power-forged rifle at the ready. Armsmaster matched her step, the blue-and-silver armored Tinker radiating precision and authority. Behind them came New Wave's family — Lady Photon, Brandish, Flashbang, Glory Girl, and Panacea.
"Is this the operator?" Miss Militia asked, voice warm yet cautious.
Through a voice modulator because she wasn't stupid enough to assume the lead Tinker in the city didn't have vocal recognition software tucked away in his armor, Alessa replied, "I'm the one who called it in. Your medics have the victim. That's all you need to know."
"Unregistered Tinker activity is a violation," Armsmaster said. "Identify yourself."
"Not happening, Robocop reject. Your priority should be the wounded, not harassing me." Alessa countered without missing a beat.
"You intervened in a violent criminal gathering," Miss Militia pressed, gently, to her credit, but the insistence from the two of them was starting to piss Alessa off. "We just wish to understand your role in all this, to gauge if you're a possible danger, that's all."
As demonstrated by her rather heated rebuttal. "If I was a danger to innocent people, you'd already know. The girl on the bike kept the body count from being higher, so take the win for what it is."
It was then that Armsmaster scanned her drone. She might've been impressed with how fast he got the results back, let alone how fast he read through said results, but she felt strangely violated by his unwelcome probing as he started to say, "Your optics are military grade—"
"—and they're none of your business so I'd appreciate it if you didn't scan my stuff again, Armsmaster. Focus on the Merchants before the rest scatter." Alessa's tone was cold and even, but there was no masking the boiling fury just beneath the surface for the blatant invasion of privacy… technically speaking anyway. Moments later, the drone lifted higher, but before she directed it to fly off altogether, Alessa added, "And tell Piggot this city's got way bigger problems than unregistered gear or Capes. Tonight's proof."
With that, the feed cut as the drone zipped away into the night.
=========
PRT ENE Headquarters
8:05 PM…
Piggot sat in the dimly lit briefing room, her stocky frame squared in the chair like a boulder set in place. Her uniform was crisp despite the late hour, the creases knife-sharp, gray hair framing a hard, weathered face that spoke of decades in uniform. Her eyes, pale and sharp, swept the room as Miss Militia, Armsmaster, and the New Wave contingent took turns giving their accounts. Miss Militia's flag-patterned scarf hung loose around her neck, her posture composed yet alert, every word precise. Armsmaster's blue-and-silver armor caught the overhead light, his helm concealing all but a focused mouth set in a grim line. Lady Photon's shimmering constructs flickered faintly from residual power, while Brandish sat rigid, hands clasped tightly, jaw set. Flashbang's gloved fingers tapped idly on the tabletop, a restless counterpoint to Glory Girl's casual slouch and Panacea's stiff, defensive posture.
The holographic table display cycled through images: Merchant lieutenants in custody, weapons caches, stacks of dirty cash, bricks of narcotics. Piggot's gravelly voice cut through the quiet. "A plague of insects doesn't just happen. We need an ID on the bug controller, yesterday."
Panacea crossed her arms, scowling, the shadows deepening under her tired eyes. "Half those guys were already half-dead from whatever they'd taken. The swarm didn't exactly make triage easier."
Glory Girl leaned back further in her chair, the corner of her mouth twitching in something halfway between pride and challenge. "Still saved that girl."
"And the Tinker?" Piggot's gaze narrowed, steel in her tone.
"Voice-masked, three autonomous platforms, no wireless footprint," Armsmaster reported without hesitation. "No amateur could've pulled it off."
Piggot's lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, the muscle in her jaw flexing with the effort of holding back sharper words. The overhead light caught the hard planes of her face, the faint glint in her pale eyes narrowing as she registered the subtle — and to her, unwelcome — note of admiration threading through Armsmaster's otherwise clipped report. The frustration in his tone was clear, but so was the spark of professional respect for the unregistered Tinker's craft, and that grated on her. Piggot had seen enough Tinkers in her career to know that most of them, save for the late Hero and the rare few he'd wrangled into collaboration, burned hot and burned out fast when paired with others. She wasn't about to fan those flames.
"Find them," she said, each word deliberate and heavy, her voice low enough to carry weight without volume. "Quietly."
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Back at the Oil Tanker
8:14 PM....
Alessa pulled off her headset, tension bleeding out. Wasting no time, she called Belinda.
"Tell me you've got her," Belinda said.
"She's safe. She's likely gonna be pretty shaken when Panacea purges whatever shit they gave her, but Alice is safe."
"Oh thank God." Belinda breathed out, her relief palpable over her other headset.
Hanging up, Alessa sat in her chair like a limp rag, exhausted in more ways than one. Then, with deliberate slowness, she unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out the Broken Microchip, letting it rest in her palm. "Tomorrow, you're going to reveal your secrets. No more pussyfooting around. Not after this."
It was well past the time to bring the Future to the present.
Now was the time to go to War.
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A new age of warfare (600 CP) (Metal Gear Solid)
Metal Gear, a weapon capable of bringing an entire nation to its knees (in theory) your engineering talents have extended to the point you can create these war machines, even automate them with AI, provided you have enough time and resources. With box-tech you can also invent things like man-portable railguns and stealth camo.
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