It was ironic that Hookwolf didn't usually involve himself in the Empire's drug trade.
Oh, he acted as enforcer, on call to respond to emergencies involving cape fights. But his faction within the Empire? It mostly focused on illegal gambling, bloodsports, and just the occasional sideline of anabolic steroids. Something about a warrior's purity of body and spirit, or somesuch.
And there were factions, I was learning. The Empire wasn't one big happy family.
Hookwolf's power bloc was one of three factions within the gang, with Kaiser's right hand Krieg making up the second arm, and Purity forming the third. Purity had apparently been making overtures of splitting off from the Empire entirely.
It was amazing what kind of gossip you could learn with Ears of the City.
Combined with Know Thy Enemy, I'd gained a fairly comprehensive outline of Hookwolf's operations last night, right down to his civilian identity and home address.
The reason I was crouched outside of an Empire meth house on Tuesday morning instead of Brad Meadows' apartment?
Along with the bundle of cash I'd mostly burned through yesterday, the PRT had helpfully included some pamphlets aimed at new vigilante capes. Certainly, their focus was on a recruitment pitch, but sprinkled in between were some useful nuggets of information.
Information like how harshly the law dealt with people, vigilantes included, who violated the civilian identities of Protectorate capes and Wards.
While not outright stating it, the subtext was also clear. A cape's civilian identity, even villains, were mostly treated as off-limits, something of a 'mutually assured destruction' scenario.
Dad was only just starting to come back to me. I didn't want to risk losing him because I was reckless.
Of course, I was still keeping the details stored in case I needed them. If the Empire crossed that line, they'd find I wasn't afraid of avenging the injury sevenfold.
Instead, I was keeping up the pressure on their main income line. With two recent hits on their primary drug shipping operations, they'd soon be running low on product. Rachel and I had left a big mess in Mike's Auto Repair on our way through, enough that not even the corrupt police department could be paid off to look the other way.
I still felt a twinge of annoyance that the Empire had managed to keep hold of the cash, though.
In the grand scheme of things, a meth house like this was a dime a dozen in the Bay. Easy to set up, low cost to run, and it kept a baseline of drugs churning out to fill the gang's coffers.
Because they were so common, they were also lightly guarded.
Today wasn't about crippling the Empire. I was planting seeds instead.
If my tactics were going to change, I needed a new focus, something I'd use to leverage my ability to subvert the gangs.
It wasn't enough to simply get the rank and file arrested, one or two at a time. The Empire had sufficient influence to get their important people out quickly, via legal means or otherwise, and that wasn't even counting their sympathizers inside the justice system aiding by losing paperwork, misfiling evidence, or otherwise.
If I wanted to make an impact, I'd need to make supporting the Empire more costly than abandoning it.
I didn't have raw power or cape numbers on my side. Even the entire Brockton Bay Protectorate couldn't match the Empire in these arenas.
However, I did have one resource that the heroes couldn't use.
I had fear.
It was simple, really. Keep the gang members in fear, looking over their shoulder, never certain of when or where I'd strike. Apply psychological pressure, the feeling that the Empire, even with all its power, couldn't stop me from reaching them.
At its heart, wasn't the power of any government or state enforced by fear of violence?
I was fortunate that my power came with an arsenal of tools tailor-made for causing fear.
The house's door was locked, but they'd left a small window cracked open for ventilation. A quick peek let my awareness feed me a view of the room inside, which was empty. The window itself was too small to allow me entry.
I slipped the sack in my hand through it instead.
The contents hit the floor inside with a rattle.
"Carrie, search and hurt," I called.
Bones rolled out of the sack, in reality just an old pillowcase I'd scavenged for convenience. Clicking together like they were magnets, they assembled themselves into shape, until within seconds the skeleton of a massive dog stood inside, close to seven feet long from skull to tailbone, a product of her mastiff ancestry.
Without any more noise than the soft clicking of bony claws on the floorboards, she prowled deeper into the house.
The silence didn't last long after that.
Screams of fear and cries of pain rang out as Carrie followed my orders. 'Search' to move through room by room, 'hurt' to fight anyone until they stopped fighting back. While she was little more than a mindless robot created by my power, she was fully capable of following basic instructions, should they be clearly outlined.
I'd named her Carrie because she was easy to carry around with me.
Absolutely no other reason at all.
I heard a gun fire twice, and hoped nobody had been hit with friendly fire. Carrie could be injured, but it took the kind of force that would be needed to shatter bone. A glancing hit with a bullet wouldn't slow her down in the slightest, and the power I had invested into her creation with the ritual I'd performed last night ensured she was extremely tough.
When the screams faded to moans and Carrie returned to the room, I had her circle around to the front door and bash it open. The frame warped, splintered, and eventually gave way completely, letting me walk inside as Carrie awaited my next orders. The bones of her body were a pale, glossy ivory, the only sign she was more than a taxidermist's macabre project being the twin pinpoints of pale blue fire that flickered and danced in her eye sockets.
"Heel," I commanded her, and she obediently followed me, allowing me to survey the damage inside.
The kitchen was a mess, and I had a feeling not much was due to Carrie's efforts. The pair of skinheads curled up on the ground bleeding slowly from their leg wounds obviously didn't take too much stock in workplace health and safety. Empty packets of cold medicines that formed the basic precursor for their drug production littered every surface, their popped foils forming drifts in the corners of the room. Whatever other surface was available held stained glassware and bottles of reagents, and a heavy tang of pungent chemicals hung in the air.
"Fetch," I said to Carrie, sending her to bring me any other gang members in the house. I set to work using my zip ties to secure the two in front of me while Carrie dragged a third in by his collar.
"So, boys," I said as I finished securing the third, "I think it's time I introduced myself. I'm Ascendant, in case you didn't know who I was, and you've all been very, very naughty. See, you're helping the Empire, and they just tried to kill me."
I crouched down so they could stare me in the eyes.
"I didn't take kindly to that."
I gestured to Carrie.
"I even brought back a friend with me to express how unhappy this makes me."
I stood back up, pacing the room, feeling their eyes tracking me.
"Now, I'm faced with a dilemma. How do I respond to this disrespectful act? What price, what weregild, should be paid?"
I could tell I was using too many words by their blank expressions. Paragons of intellect, these three were not.
Oh well. Time to be more direct.
"Perhaps an eye for an eye?"
I turned my back, gesturing Carrie forward. Their screams were the perfect cover for me to mask my power's activation.
"Detect Thoughts," I incanted, then chopped my hand down, halting Carrie's advance.
"But on second thought, I'm better than that. No, you'll face the law for your crimes, but not before I've taken my price."
My power buzzed on my tongue, sharp and angry.
"My price is your secrets. Your dirty, little secrets," I said to them in a threatening voice, feeling the rush of thoughts triggered by my words.
"How you've been skimming off the top of the product, Ben? How Ritchie here covers for you? They're kiddie stuff, boys. No, I'm talking about the real deal, the nasty little nuggets of filth buried in your midst."
I bent over, getting face to face with the third. He was blubbering, begging me softly.
"No, you know what I'm talking about, don't you, Ron. About where you go when you tell the others you're 'going out.' The visits you make to Ben's little girl, all alone in that trailer park. That little twelve year old autistic girl, who can't tell a soul."
I stroked the side of his head softly.
"But I know, Ron. Even though you were so careful, I know."
I straightened up, clapping my hands.
"So, now we're even! And since you gave me the locations of the places you deliver these fine products to," I said, pausing dramatically while listening to their thoughts, "Well, that means I won't have to harm a single hair on your head, Ron."
I snapped my fingers, calling Carrie to my side.
"I'm calling the cops now. Have fun in prison together."
I paused in the doorway, tossing one last comment over my shoulder.
"Also, if you happen to talk to any of your Empire buddies, pass them a message for me: I know your secrets, and the Empire's days are numbered. Maybe think about how much loyalty you really owe them."
Collecting Carrie's sack, I left.
Mentally, I crossed the name of Ronald McClintock off my list. He was one of the ones I'd been keeping in mind, ever since I'd casually brushed past him in a crowd.
It's nice when you can set up the trash to take itself out for you.
"Play dead," I commanded Carrie, watching as the glow faded from her eye sockets, before she collapsed into a jumbled pile of bones.
I needed to figure out a way of getting her to put herself in the sack before doing that. It was an utter pain picking up all the pieces afterwards.
Using the burner phone I'd bought yesterday, I called the cops and gave them the address, sticking around to provide my statement. The phrase 'power assisted detection of illegal activity' covered a large amount of ground normally required by warrants or active pursuit by the police, making the bust all nice and legal. There was a small stash of cash on site besides the drugs, barely a few thousand, but I'd still get something back for my work today.
Making my way back to where I'd hidden my backpack, I decided I needed a bit of cuddly canine therapy to clean away the filth of the gangster's thoughts.
-=-=-=-
"No, Tango. No no nonono-"
Tango ignored me, jerking into a full body shake from nose to tail that sprayed dirty, soapy water across me, the bathroom, and every other object in reach. Then, wagging his tail and giving me a doggy smile, he let out a woof and tried to scramble out of the tub.
"Bad boy! Sit," I commanded, spitting soap and dog hair out of my mouth.
He whined but obeyed, letting me finish running the shower hose over his coat.
"Honestly, I know you can't help making a mess, but did you have to roll in it?" I said, scrubbing his fur.
Finally done with the last dog, I stretched the kinks out of my back and began cleaning up the mess, a task that involved a bucket and mop. Then, I climbed in the tub and decided to indulge myself in what was possibly my riskiest power.
"Fastidiousness," I incanted, watching as the dirt, grime and moisture simply wicked off me, leaving me perfectly clean.
The upside? I was cleaner than I'd ever been in my life.
The downside? It was an undeniably parahuman power at work, and would last for a full day. If a car accidentally splashed me going over a pothole on the way home, everyone on the sidewalk would know I was a cape.
Right now, I didn't care. After three hours of scrubbing filthy dogs, I was ready to take that risk. I figured I could avoid running into anyone between here and home, and just wait out the timer.
Of course, that was when someone started banging on the door, calling Rachel's name.
Dammit, Taylor. You just had to tempt fate.
Getting out of the tub, I walked over to the door, pulling it open to put me face to chest with a tight white t-shirt stretched over an impressive set of muscles, a strong chiseled jaw, and deep brown eyes that looked at me and said, "Who are you?"
"T-taylor," I stuttered, blushing when there was nothing to blush about, not a single reason to act strange, you just took down three adult men and sent them to jail today Taylor, stop blushing!
"Where's Rachel?" he asked suspiciously, his posture shifting in a way I identified as preparing to fight.
"Do you want to come in?" I asked him, trying to head off whatever was happening here. I didn't need to blow my civilian identity over a misunderstanding. "You, uh, might want to sit down."
"Okaaay," he replied slowly, entering warily and looking around as if he expected to be ambushed. When all he saw was me sitting cross-legged on the cot, he took the chair next to Rachel's desk, perched like he was ready to jump to his feet at any moment. He was packing some serious paranoia.
"So, I've got some bad news. Rachel, she's, well, she's dead," I blurted out tactlessly, completely out of my depth at how to handle this situation. "Sorry to break this on you suddenly like that," I babbled, "I just don't want you to get the wrong idea here, since I found out she kind of ran into Hookwolf a few nights ago, and, well…" I trailed off.
He stared at me wordlessly for a few seconds, as if waiting for a punchline, then pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a huge sigh.
"Shit. Hell. Fuck shit goddamnit fucking fuck," he swore, his shoulders slumping.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I added lamely.
"Thanks," he said ruefully, then seemed to collect himself. "Sorry if I came on a bit strong there, she just never mentioned you before," he apologized belatedly.
"It's fine, I only met her last weekend," I demurred. "I'm really only just kind of helping out with the dogs. Although…"
"Yeah?"
"I mean, I hate to impose, but I kind of get the impression you knew Rachel pretty well?" I asked. "I'm only prying because I gotta be honest, I'm in over my head here. Rachel has, had, a lot of dogs, and I'm doing the best I can, but-"
"No, no, I get it," he said, raising his hands. "You didn't sign up for this, I can tell. Rachel, she had kind of a crusade going for helping dogs, more than any normal person would be willing to handle. I'm guessing you need a hand figuring out what to do next?"
"Yes," I gushed. "Please, if you know any good shelters, or organizations, or anything?"
"Yeah, sure. I know someone, she can probably think of a way of getting this mess sorted out pretty easily," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Thank you, you have no idea how much of a help that would be," I replied. "Also, if you do figure something out, could you let me know where the dogs end up going? I've, uh, sort of gotten attached to one, but I'd need to check with my Dad first to see if he's okay with us adopting."
"Yeah, no sweat," he replied. "Want me to grab your number?"
"Thanks," I said, watching as he dug his phone out of his pocket. "Here, I'll call myself so you have my number. Put me in under Taylor. What should I put you in as?"
"Oh yeah, sorry, I didn't introduce myself, did I?" he answered. I held out my hand, my thinker power tingling as I casually brushed against his fingers when I took it.
"My name's Brian."630J D LarsonSep 3, 2024View discussionThreadmarks Hunter 3.3 View contentJ D LarsonJan 4, 2025#406Spoiler: Author's Notes"Thanks, officer Velasquez," I said, finishing up my statement.
"No problem Ascendant," she replied, giving me a warm smile. "Always appreciate the help putting the bad guys away. And my friends call me Maria!"
I nodded and took that as my signal to leave, jogging away from the circle of gawkers who'd been drawn out by the sight of the arrests. She was one of the good ones, and I just hoped Brockton Bay wouldn't crush the enthusiasm she still had to be an honest cop.
Another day, another Empire Eighty-Eight meth lab busted. My strategy hadn't changed from yesterday, even if the methods felt wrong. Using Carrie to take out the gang members inside was fine, but I still disliked the performance I had to put on to extract information from them afterwards.
Standing around making grandiose speeches like I was in some Saturday morning cartoon felt foolish, and I had spent a long time practicing in front of the mirror in my bedroom to try and get the tone and body language right. My thinker powers seemed to help me here, drawing out a level of acting skill I knew I'd never had previous to obtaining my abilities.
Still, it was necessary. My ability to detect thoughts only skimmed the very surface level of memories from my targets. Ironically, I only got to know their secrets by tricking them into thinking I already knew them, making them focus on the information they most wanted to protect. It was like telling someone not to think about an elephant.
Through it, I was building a more complete web of information about the Empire's operations. Street level members like these might not be handling the bookkeeping for the gang's finances or maintaining their membership rosters, but they were still a wealth of knowledge about everything an insider of the gang knew. I could now name a few dozen safehouses, drop-off points for drugs, guns or cash, and point the police to the places where victims of hate crimes had been buried.
I deliberately refused to let that thought remind me of Sunday night.
I focused on the movement of my body instead, the effortless ease my brute power gave me to maintain my pace. I was coming to love the simplicity of running, letting my awareness spread around me as the city unfolded in a circle with me at the centre.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but with all the running I'd been doing, I even thought I could see some slight changes in the mirror at home. My belly just a little bit flatter, my legs just a little more toned, my skin a bit clearer. Either that, or maybe just the lack of constant daily abuse at the hands of the trio and their minions meant I wasn't subconsciously internalizing their words.
Several turns led me back to where I'd stashed my backpack, hidden behind a tall fence sprayed with swastikas and other Empire Eighty-Eight graffiti. It had once protected a house that now stood abandoned, probably one that had been owned by someone the Empire deemed unsuitable, given the amount of hate slogans and slurs currently painted across the walls. For my purposes, it served as a convenient location to shed my costume and quickly change into street clothes, transforming from hero to just another white girl in Empire Eighty-Eight territory.
I was still careful to avoid leaving by the same route I'd entered, climbing the fence and dropping into the drainage ditch behind. The ditch led to a culvert that directed water underneath the road nearby, and carefully avoiding the stagnant muck and trash in the centre, I straddled the edges and slipped out the other side, putting me on a different street than the one I'd used in my hero identity.
My precautions were fuelled by more than just paranoia, too. My return from the dead and subsequent actions yesterday had spread like wildfire through the Empire ranks. Rumours were flying over what type of cape I was. Some thought I was a regenerator, others claiming I made body doubles or long lasting clones. A few of the wilder theories believed I'd been some kind of Case 53 cape that possessed bodies and wore them like a suit, healing by feasting on the flesh of the dead. Personally, I thought they'd probably just watched too many zombie movies.
One thing was certain, though. My actions yesterday had stirred up a hornet's nest, and there was a bounty out for any information about me. I had no doubt that someone in the crowd of rubberneckers before had phoned in my appearance, hoping for a quick payday.
It was my goal to try and disappoint them.
Honestly, I was amazed at the amount of money the Empire Eighty-Eight threw around. Sure, the gang had been operating in Brockton Bay for close to a generation, but I'd failed to really appreciate how much that meant in terms of their resources and support network.
I'd been thinking of the Empire as just a gang of thugs and racists, but it wasn't, not really. It was an entire ecosystem of its own, with various programs and initiatives aimed at drawing in the support of the community it claimed to represent.
Take the dog-fighting ring I'd shut down. Blood sports and gambling was an income stream for the Empire, but it was also a way of showcasing and rewarding their foot soldiers. Bare knuckle fist-fights with no safety rules usually followed the dog fights, with generous prize money awarded to the victors of each bout. Injuries were hardly important either, not when Othala could fix broken bones in minutes. There was an informal level of respect assigned to those who could endure the most abuse without tapping out, and the clear tactical advantage it gave to have experienced fighters in their ranks was obviously no accident. The Empire Eighty-Eight held a fight night each month, and affiliated gyms offered training between each match to their soldiers to keep them sharp.
Then, there were the initiation ceremonies. The actual hate crimes required of the candidates was randomly assigned so as not to allow patterns to make them predictable, a level of planning and cunning that sickened me. However, each month, a private ceremony was held to acknowledge their new members. The closed ceremony would usually only include successful candidates, their sponsors, and one of the top Empire Eighty-Eight capes, often Kaiser himself, giving them an inspiring speech, full of pomp and ceremony to make them feel special. Following that, they'd be given a stack of cash, a private party at an Empire bar with free booze and drugs, and usually finish the night in a tattoo parlour, branding themselves with the Empire's mark. Everything a young man needs to make him feel accepted, important, and ready to fight for the cause.
Perhaps by far the most insidious of the Empire's tactics were the family friendly events. They marketed themselves to the common man as an ally against their enemies, stoking grass-roots support. Are you a man who lost your job recently? It's not your fault, it's those dirty immigrants stealing honest American jobs. But hey, if you're a regular at the monthly weekend barbecues, well we might just know someone that has a good paying job for the right kind like you. Are you a single mom struggling to provide for your kids? Did you know those black welfare queens are popping out babies and sucking the country dry? Don't worry, the Empire Eighty-Eight will take care of you, and one day you can return the favour. Someone in your family's sick and your insurance won't pay out? You know those companies are run by greedy jews, right? Did you know Othala can help your Mom's bad back? Did you know there's a charity that can get you free medicine? Did you know that Empire Eighty-Eight members and their family get priority treatment?
Then, there were the rallies. All the pageant and patriotism usually reserved for a presidential election, with the spotlight focused on Kaiser. A chance for him to speak to the true believers, to preach to his most fervent supporters and focus the blame for their problems on the Empire's enemies. A chance for mob mentality to rule, to let everyone voice the twisted hatred that they were forced to keep quiet in polite society. Kaiser had taken every trick and tool of showmanship and distilled it into a ritualistic cult of personality, stealing from politics, televangelists, and celebrity tactics alike.
It was possible to exist in Brockton Bay entirely within the bubble of the Empire's world. You could have a job surrounded by Empire sympathizers, then have a social calendar filled with Empire Eighty-Eight events each week. Those inside the Empire existed in their own little world of us versus them, the righteous and the unrighteous, believing that theirs was the true race destined to inherit the earth.
The more I learned, the more overwhelmed I felt.
I started to understand why the PRT had been so ineffective at controlling the Empire.
The revelation that I was sympathizing with the PRT shook me.
Were my tactics really going to do anything in the face of an organization this entrenched?
Did anything I'd accomplished matter?
Maybe not. Maybe I'd never be able to stamp out the idea that made the Empire Eighty-Eight exist. Bigotry, hatred and racism weren't an enemy I could believe any one hero could conquer.
Ultimately, I suppose my only goal was to hurt them. Hurt them hard enough that, if I threatened to hurt them again, they'd flinch.
That was the only thing bullies like the Empire ever really understood.
I smiled and nodded to a pair of skinheads that passed me, both of them heading in the direction I'd come from. I'd focused on disguising myself from notice and my thinker power was feeding me a constant stream of information, little things like altering my posture and walking gait to be less recognizable, changing my facial expression to appear like I was familiar with my surroundings instead of a stranger in enemy territory.
Acting friendly towards the people who'd probably try to kill me if they knew who I was.
I was even getting little flashes of inspiration about other things I could do to further protect my identity. My mind was buzzing with ideas about how I could use just a simple makeup kit to subtly alter my appearance, both in and out of mask. Merely adding a bit of shadow, some false lines, a subtle adjustment of my voice, and I could pass for a decade or two older if I desired.
I had a makeup kit at home.
Emma had given it to me a few years ago on my birthday.
I could probably dig one of Mom's kits out of storage instead. It would probably be better quality, and even if the memories associated with it weren't exactly happy, I'd take bittersweet over pure poison any day.
Did Dad even put her makeup in storage, or was it still on her dresser?
Had he even touched her things there?
"You can stop hiding, I know you're there."
A familiar voice spoke as I rounded the corner, my awareness instantly identifying the man in front of me, flanked by a pair of Empire Eighty-Eight goons.
As if the twisted metal mask wasn't enough.
Fucking Hookwolf.
He didn't even look at me.
My innate sense of distance suddenly went berserk, and with a single step, a young girl moved from a nearby rooftop to the centre of the street.
Vista, the youngest hero of the Brockton Bay Wards.
Staying in character for a civilian citizen in the zone of a potential cape fight, I turned and ran.
"You're off the reservation, girl!" Hookwolf shouted, while I desperately searched for a spot to hide. "Go back to patrolling the boardwalk and posing for pictures. This is Empire business, and you're in Empire territory."
I had a premonition. Whether it was my thinker power, divine inspiration, or something else, I could sense a hunch deep in my gut. Hookwolf was out for blood, and he was looking for an excuse to take it out on someone.
His motives were pretty clear: I knew from reading the thoughts of the Empire Eighty-Eight members that Victor had been killed on Sunday, and the Empire was making a show of strength in retaliation. Anyone crossing them was fair game, and with Hookwolf's reputation added into the mix, I doubted even a Ward would be safe.
"This isn't your city, Hookwolf!" Vista shouted back. "We live here too, and a criminal like you doesn't get to act like he owns it."
Shit, she was escalating.
"Didn't your parents teach you any respect, brat?" Hookwolf shouted back. I'd found cover behind a van and risked a peek around the corner, getting a snapshot of the scene. Vista's face, the part not covered by her mask, was twisted into a scowl at his words, and her body language was screaming aggression.
"Run away, before I teach you to respect your elders," Hookwolf goaded her, while I frantically dug through my backpack. It was a bad spot to try and suit up, but I wasn't about to stand by and let Hookwolf injure or even murder a Ward in front of me.
"The only one who needs a lesson is you, Hookwolf. You can huff, and you can puff, and you can blow yourself, asshole!"
"I guess class is in session," Hookwolf said with a growl, accompanied by the familiar sound of slicing blades.
I'd stripped out of my civilian clothing by this point, tossing my hoodie and sweatpants on the ground as I threw on my costume. It seemed almost eager to respond to my efforts, resizing itself around my frantic flailing to avoid snagging as if by magic, before settling in place perfectly. Similarly, my cape needed only the barest of efforts before it fixed itself to my shoulders, billowing in heroic fashion as I wrestled with my mask. Unlike the rest, this part was merely cloth, and I lost precious seconds untangling it and wrapping it haphazardly around my face until I judged it good enough.
Swiping my symbol into my hand, I dashed out from behind the van. The pair who'd been with Hookwolf had disappeared, while Hookwolf, fully transformed into his namesake, seemed stuck in place. Vista had him trapped in a circle of her power, distorted asphalt making the inches around him into dozens of feet of distance.
However, Hookwolf didn't seem concerned, and I soon saw why. The pair of Empire thugs he'd been with revealed themselves, having flanked Vista.
The sound of gunshots filled the air as they both unloaded their weapons in her direction.
With a twist of her power, Vista redirected the bullets.
The moment of distraction was all Hookwolf needed to break free.
In an instant, he'd crossed the distance between himself and Vista, swiping out at her with a massive paw. Vista let out a cry of pain as he slashed deep red wounds across her thigh.
One stumbling step carried Vista thirty feet away from Hookwolf, before her leg gave out and she collapsed onto the road.
Hookwolf charged towards her, even as I threw Carrie's bag onto the road and tried desperately to cover the distorted ground of the battlefield to reach a point that would put me in close enough range to aid.
One hand pressed to her bleeding thigh, Vista glared at Hookwolf, raised the middle finger of her other hand towards him, and silently mouthed a very clear 'fuck you.'
The whirling mass of steel barbs, hooks and knives descended towards her.
The overhead power lines above them both were suddenly inches from Hookwolf's face.
Living blender met power cable, and a thunderclap of noise like the wrath of an angry god joined an explosion of actinic light at their meeting.
Somewhere down the street, a transformer box caught fire, creating a waterfall of sparks that shone like fireworks on the fourth of July.
Hookwolf's blades had folded back into his skin, whether consciously or by reflex was unclear. What was clear was the villain was still alive, albeit with limbs tangled in live wires that had him flopping uncontrollably like a fish.
The two Empire Eighty-Eight thugs were so shocked at the turn of events, it took them several seconds to even register I was present.
I, on the other hand, had already flicked out my baton and was closing distance.
A shirtless man in a tiger mask leapt from a nearby rooftop, floating like a leaf in the wind to land between me and the fight.
"Truce, Ascendant," he commanded, body language wary but loose, ready to respond in an instant. I halted my charge, if only to allow Carrie a chance to catch up to me after assembling herself.
"Call this a draw? The Empire doesn't want the death of a Ward blamed on us, even if she did attack us unprovoked," he said, backing up backwards towards Hookwolf's prone form. "Get her medical care. I give you my word you'll be allowed to leave Empire territory in peace if you do."
I spared a moment to assess Vista's condition.
Shit, that was a lot of blood.
Hookwolf was down. I thought I could probably take Stormtiger, even if it would be a tough fight.
I could avenge Rachel's death today.
All it would cost would be Vista's chance of survival.
"Truce," I spat back at him, circling towards Vista.
Stormtiger threw blades of compressed air towards the live wires surrounding Hookwolf, severing the cables with ease. He threw Hookwolf's unconscious body over his shoulder, muscles bulging from the effort, before using his other hand to dig a phone out of his pocket and speak into it softly, no doubt calling off the manhunt.
"You okay?" I asked Vista as I reached her, watching as she finished tightening her costume's belt around her thigh with blood-slick hands, resorting to using her teeth in order to get a better grip on her makeshift tourniquet.
"Just, ngh, peachy," she panted, head flopping back onto the ground from the effort.
Stormtiger had retreated, signalling the two Empire goons with a jerk of his head. Beyond the occasional flicker of movement from the windows nearby, we were as safe as circumstances allowed.
"Want a hand? I have a healing power if you'd like those extra holes fixed," I said to Vista, crouching down at her side.
"Sure, you go for it, I'm just gonna take a quick rest," she said, her voice slurred and drowsy.
"Hey, no sleeping just yet," I replied sharply, taking a few moments to channel my power through my symbol a few times. I gave her shoulder a shake, waking her up.
Vista roused and seemed to regain her wits, immediately sitting up and checking her wound. While still covered with blood, her leg was now completely whole.
"Wow, not even a scar?" she said, carefully untying her belt from around her thigh with a hiss of discomfort as the blood resumed moving through the limb.
"Yeah, I do good work," I bantered playfully, helping her back onto her feet as she tested her leg and had it collapse under her.
"Shame, wouldn't have minded a souvenir of the time I kicked Hookwolf's ass," she said, giggling as she stumbled into me, her head impacting my chest.
"Easy there, you've lost a fair bit of blood," I cautioned, grabbing her by the shoulder to steady her.
"Nah, had worse," said the girl who couldn't have been older than middle school age, before reaching out and twisting the air into a path to a nearby rooftop. "Wanna get out of here?"
"Sure, one sec," I said, before sending Carrie to fetch my backpack and discarded clothing. She returned quickly, and together we took a dozen steps that took us ten blocks away and firmly out of Empire territory.
"Ah, I'm in so much trouble," Vista said, flopping down onto the rooftop we'd stopped on. The view from it was impressive, giving an uninterrupted scene of downtown, the bay sparkling behind it with the shimmering bubble of the Rig's forcefield in the distance.
"Wanna talk about it?" I asked.
She was silent.
"Picking a fight with Hookwolf without backup seems a bit extreme," I pressed, sitting down beside her.
"Knew I could take him," she muttered, before exhaling a long sigh.
"Thanks for the save, by the way. I'm sorry, it's just been a bad day for me. I went out to clear my head, and there he was, just walking down the street like he owned the city. I screwed up and let my emotions get the better of me, and all I've got to show for it is a bunch of property damage and a ruined costume. Piggot's gonna tear me a new-" she paused, realising she was probably oversharing with a stranger.
I sat silently next to her, turning her words over in my head.
"Well, the property damage was my fault, not yours," I said slowly.
She turned to stare at me, clearly unbelieving.
"If you hadn't seen me getting chased by Hookwolf and stepped in to rescue me, I'd have been mincemeat," I continued, building up momentum. "I'd pulled down the power lines using my telekinesis to stop him, and you got injured trying to protect me."
"Telekinesis, huh?" she said, voice dripping with doubt.
"Yep. Same power I use to control her," I lied, pointing my thumb over my shoulder at Carrie, who waited silently with my bag and clothing in her jaws.
"I was gonna ask about the skeleton, but didn't get the chance," she said, still clearly unconvinced with my story. "Seems a bit dark for a hero."
"It's a good psychological tactic," I replied. "Seeing a big, spooky, scary skeleton charging you can take the fight out of most bad guys. Also helps me avoid getting shot at."
"I'm sure it sends shivers down their spine," she bantered, weighing my unspoken offer to take the fall for the fight with Hookwolf.
We spent a moment together just taking in the view.
"You're just trying to steal my cred for taking down the Empire's toughest cape," she accused me, but her playful tone told me she'd decided to accept.
"Well, I'm a new hero. Gotta build up my rep somehow," I responded, buffing my nails against my costume in a nonchalant display. "Need to let people know I'm here to help them if they need it."
"We could always use more heroes," she replied automatically, like a line that she'd rehearsed dozens of times. "Thanks, Ascendant. I appreciate the offer, and in the interests of us older, more experienced heroes helping out the next generation, I've decided I'll graciously give you the honour of getting credit for beating Hookwolf like a piñata today."
"Thanks Vista," I snorted, standing up so that the difference in height between us was painfully clear to the 'older, more experienced hero.' "My gratitude is overwhelming."
"And remember, the Wards would love to have you join us," she spoke, and her words were just oozing with practiced smoothness. "Being a Ward means you never have to face danger alone, and always having someone to back you up."
I stared at the way her lips quirked at the edges, no doubt savouring the delicious irony of delivering a canned recruitment speech in the current circumstances. Letting out a huff of amusement, I shook my head.
"I'll think about it," I replied, and shockingly enough, I meant it. Honestly, if the rest of the Wards were like Vista, I could see it actually being tolerable.
She stuck out her hand to me, smiling at the trust we'd built between us, and I returned the gesture, grasping her hand firmly and shaking it to seal our agreement, while my thinker power tingled and fed me her secrets.500J D LarsonJan 4, 2025View discussionThreadmarks Hunter 3.4 View contentJ D LarsonJan 6, 2025#438My burner phone buzzed silently in my pocket.
Clearing my history and closing down the browser on the library computer, I stepped outside to return the missed call. Given the limited number of people whom I'd given this number to, I wasn't surprised when Brian's name showed on my screen.
"Hey Brian, what's up?" I asked.
"Hey Taylor, I got that friend I mentioned to look into shelters, and they came up with a list that can take the dogs straight away. You free to come down and unlock Rachel's place for us this afternoon? I borrowed a van that should be good for transporting the dogs to the shelter."
"Sure thing, see you around four-ish?"
"Sounds good, see you then," he replied, ending the call.
Brian Laborn, a.k.a. Grue, leader of the Undersiders. At least, that was what my power had told me yesterday when I'd used my thinker ability on him. Ironically, I'd just finished researching him and his group at the library before he called me.
His profile had nothing of any real note, just a listing as having darkness generating powers along with a few photos of a human shaped black outline. He'd been active as a villain for a few years, mostly as hired muscle or engaging in petty theft, but about halfway through last year he'd been seen with his new group.
I cringed internally at myself for my reaction yesterday. Crushing on the bad boy was an utterly cliché teenage girl move, and I was better than that. I resolved to clamp down on my reactions in the future around him, using my brute power's calmness if need be. I didn't need to be distracted by stupid hormones when dealing with someone I might one day need to send to jail for their crimes.
Even if he did fill out a tight t-shirt rather well.
The rest of the Undersiders, excluding Rachel, were a bigger mystery. There was virtually nothing about them online, and I wasn't happy about that. Unexpected surprises were how fights were lost and won. My powers worked best when I'd had time to prepare exactly the right counters to my enemies.
If Brian was giving me an opportunity to gather more intel on him or his group, I'd take it.
-=-=-=-
"Hi, Taylor," said Brian, walking into Rachel's shelter. I'd arrived earlier after catching the bus from the library, getting the dogs fed, watered and exercised before their trip.
"Hey Brian," I replied, swallowing the last mouthful of my souvlaki wrap. Between my meth lab bust earlier today, my rescue of Vista, and my trip to the library, I'd skipped lunch. The Greek place near the bus stop was still just as good as the last time.
"This is Lisa," he said, introducing the blonde behind him. She was in her late teens, dressed in an outfit that would be more suited to an office job than handling a pack of dogs, and as soon as her eyes met mine, her face split into the biggest, most smug smile I'd ever seen.
It reminded me of the smirk the trio would have right before they'd play one of their 'pranks.'
I found myself instantly disliking her.
"Hi, Lisa!" I greeted her, smiling and rising up to offer her my hand.
"Hi Taylor! Oh, sorry, I'm a total germaphobe," she replied, eyes flicking down to my hand and ignoring the offer. Brian gave her a slight sideways glance at the words, but otherwise ignored the exchange.
Lying.
"That's gonna be a bit of a problem with loading packs of dogs into a van, won't it?" I asked, frowning as I let my hand drop.
"Why do you think I brought some muscle?" she replied, gesturing to Brian. "He's not just here to be eye candy, am I right?" she said, her tone teasing with a hint of suggestion to it.
"Well, I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty, so why don't we get started, Brian?" I said, wondering why he'd brought someone with him that wasn't even planning on contributing.
"Sure thing Taylor," he said. "Lisa, you got the list of shelters?"
"Yep, and the types of breeds and numbers they can take," she responded, answering the question of what her role was in this operation.
Together with Brian, we got the first batch of dogs loaded into his van, while Lisa supervised and picked out which ones to send. It was mostly the larger breeds, and once we got them settled Brian pulled out his keys and jumped in the driver's seat.
"Hey Taylor, you go ahead and take a rest, Brian's got this one," said Lisa, interrupting me as I went to get in the passenger seat.
"I can help keep the dogs settled on the way over," I argued, getting more than a little annoyed with her attitude.
"Nah, I'm sure an independent woman like you is used to doing things solo, but why don't you try taking a break for once? I'm betting you've had a busy morning," she replied, grinning.
Okay, what the hell?
She was definitely fucking with me.
"You know what? I could use a break," I said, closing the passenger door and looking at Brian. "You good?"
"Yeah, I'm good. The guys at the shelter can help me unload," he said, turning the key in the ignition. An enterprising doberman scrambled into the passenger seat instead, and he rolled the window down for it, the dog's tongue lolling out of its mouth, barking with joy as the wind picked up.
"I'm gonna hit the restroom before we get the next lot ready," I said to Lisa, who was on her expensive looking phone, speaking with the shelter to let them know Brian was on his way. She just gave me a thumbs up as I walked inside.
I'd guessed she might be one of the Undersiders, given her association with Brian, but hadn't wanted to assume. However, her words just then? She was all but admitting she knew I was a cape, but using just enough plausible deniability that I couldn't call her out on it.
Probably some kind of thinker mind games, I'd guess.
She wanted to play games?
Fine, let's play.
I retreated to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Even though it would take a minute of incantation, I doubted Lisa would be following me and pressing her ear to the door. Plus, even if she did, what would she gain? It wasn't like my cape status was a secret with her, apparently.
Originally, I'd been planning to save this one for Stormtiger. However, I could always prepare and use this power tomorrow morning for that. Right now, Lisa took priority, especially given how she'd responded when I offered her a handshake.
She thought she'd avoided my power?
She obviously wasn't as smart as she thought she was.
"Know thy Enemy, Lisa."
-=-=-=-
"Good girl, Peanut," I said, scratching her behind the ears. She leaned into my touch, a doggy expression of pure ecstasy on her face.
"So that's the one you picked, huh?" Lisa said as she entered again, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.
"Yeah, but I wanna check with my Dad first about adopting her, see if he's okay with it," I replied, patting Peanut on the head and standing up to face Lisa.
"Funny, wouldn't have picked you for a small dog person. You don't seem like the kind of girl who goes around carrying a dog in your handbag," she said, giving an unsubtle glance at my backpack in the corner.
Cute, Lisa. Real cute.
"What about you?" I asked. "Ever thought about adopting a pet? It's nice to have someone to come home to if you live alone, especially if you're settling down instead of constantly on the move."
Oh, what was that? Did that smile just get a bit smaller there, Lisa?
"Nah, I'm not interested in responsibility. I'm more of a free spirit, you know?"
"Could've fooled me," I said. "You look like someone who's probably got plenty of stress in their life. Dogs are great listeners if you just want to vent to someone. Had a bad day at work, or got a boss you can't stand that you'd just love to strangle? Even if you can't do anything about it, at least your dog would be there to offer sympathy."
That's right, Lisa. I went there. What are you gonna do about it?
"Is that what appeals to you about having a dog?" Lisa asked, her smile having completely vanished. "A best friend? A loyal companion for life?"
Oh, no. You did not just bring that up.
"When you adopt a dog, they become part of your family," I answered, pushing my emotions from her words into the calm of my power. "They don't care about your faults. It's fine with them if you're uncreative and give them a simple name. They're happy with Spot, Fido…"
I watched, waiting for the exact moment her power finished the pattern.
"...Rex."
Her breath hitched.
"They'll love you unconditionally," I continued, my power buzzing on my tongue, harsh and raw. "From the day they enter your life until the day they die, with their whole heart. And all they ask is for a fraction of your attention. For you to notice them, spend time with them, share your life with them, and keep them safe."
"Stop," she said quietly, sliding down to the ground.
"It's a shame you can't make room in your life for something like that, Lisa," I seethed, standing over her with fists clenched. "I expect you're too busy right now. It's okay, you probably have a lot going on and can't make the time."
Peanut started whining, pulling my attention away from Lisa. Walking away from her, I crouched down to calm the jack russel's nerves.
"I just hope it doesn't mean one of them gets put down because they couldn't find a good home," I muttered over my shoulder, giving the knife one final twist.
We stayed that way for the next few minutes, Lisa hiding her tears, me settling the dogs who were reacting to the tension in the room. Eventually, Lisa's sniffles petered out, and she coughed, clearing her throat.
"Truce?" she croaked, pulling out a tissue wiping her eyes.
"I think the correct words are 'unconditional surrender,'" I replied, keeping my back to her.
"I surrender," she said meekly, "But I do have conditions."
"So do I. First, don't pull that with me again. I don't like mind games, and if you start something, you'd better be prepared for me to finish it."
"Fair. Just for the record, I didn't mean anything by it."
"Play with fire, expect to get burned," I responded.
"Just so you know, I respect the unwritten rules," she continued.
Lying.
"You really think bullshitting me right now is the right move?" I asked her, fixing her with a hard stare.
"Look, my situation with my boss doesn't really give me many alternatives, okay? If I had a choice, I'd never reveal your identity. Plus, it's not exactly fair to criticize me when you're doing pretty much the same thing too, is it?"
Touché.
"In the interests of fairness, I'll be honest with you," I said. "Right now, you and your group are far, far down on my priority list. I'm willing to live and let live, since I've got bigger fish to fry."
"Plus, you're also still guilty about Rachel, and don't feel like dishonoring her memory," said Lisa.
"Don't push it," I growled.
"Not looking to, just being honest. You said no lying, remember?"
"We both know what you're doing and we both know how it'll end. Let's just skip to the part where you conclude that antagonizing the person who got killed by Hookwolf and walked it off is a bad idea, okay Lisa?"
"How did you do that, anyway?" she asked, the burning need to know clear in her voice.
"Didn't you hear? I'm a Case 53 that possesses bodies and heals by feasting on the dead," I responded, my power filling my mouth with a saccharine sweetness with hints of a bitter taste underneath.
"Okay, I can't tell if you're being serious or not right now, and that is absolutely terrifying," said Lisa, shaking her head at my words.
"You want truth, Lisa? Here's some truth. You always have a choice."
"All my choices are bad choices, Taylor," she muttered.
"Make better ones," I responded.
"How amazingly unhelpful."
"If you're smart, you'll think of a solution."
I just smiled at the finger she raised at me.
-=-=-=-
"That the last of them?"
"Yep, thanks Brian," I said, while Lisa climbed into the van's passenger seat.
"No worries Taylor, thanks for your help today too," he replied. If he'd picked up on the odd mood between Lisa and me earlier, he hadn't mentioned it.
Somehow, I think I trusted Lisa to keep the story to herself too.
Did that mean I trusted her?
No.
She'd keep it to herself, if only because it was a painful memory, and wasn't in her own interests to share. Lisa would look out for Lisa first, I was sure.
As I waved goodbye to the van and locked up the shelter, possibly for the last time, I reflected on my feelings for her. She was in a bad situation, but she herself wasn't blameless either. Her own actions had led her into being trapped, a pawn for an even worse villain than herself.
It sounded like she needed a hero.
A pity there weren't enough of those to go around.535J D LarsonJan 6, 2025View discussionThreadmarks Hunter 3.5 View contentJ D LarsonNov 21, 2025#468"I've got an appointment next week," Dad said.
I looked up from my bowl of cereal at him questioningly, taking in his expression. He seemed better than I remembered him looking for a long time, even if the shadows of the past still haunted the edges of his face. He'd gained back a measure of that spark, that will to live I remembered him having when it was still the three of us, not just two.
"I spoke with the lawyer that handles reviewing the contracts for the Union, asked him for a recommendation. He put me in touch with a firm, McClintock and Fisher, who handle civil liability suits. They agreed to look over the case against Winslow next Friday."
"Can we afford that?" I asked after a beat, still trying to reconcile the idea of Dad fighting back against the school.
"That's what I plan to find out," he said with a shrug. "They said they'll hear me out, no charge, so all it'll cost me is a missed lunch break and a few extra hours of overtime to make up the difference. Hopefully we can work out a deal that won't let Winslow kill us with legal fees before we get justice for what they let happen to you, but I'll be damned if I let those bastards win without a fight."
I paused, expecting my thinker power to expose the lie.
It remained silent.
He was waiting for me to respond, I realised. Something fragile was in his eyes, a black cloud of guilt and self-hatred for his inaction warring against the desire to reach out and protect me. Refusing the claws of grief that he'd let sink so deep that their pain had become a comfort to him.
"Can you do something for me, Dad?" I asked him, standing from the table.
"Sure, Taylor, what?" he asked, and I held up a finger before quickly dashing to my room, leaving him waiting for my answer.
As I set the binders on the kitchen table a minute later, taking a few calming breaths, I kept my hand pressed on top of them, head bowed to avoid his questioning gaze, even though my awareness let me see his concern.
"After all the trouble at school started, I began keeping a journal of things they did to me. At first, the school said they lacked evidence, and I thought if I could give it to them, they'd help," I explained, seeing the realization dawn in Dad's eyes as he took in the size of the binders.
"Of course, nothing happened when I showed it to them. I think maybe it became a way for me to deal with what was happening after a while, even if the school refused to accept it as evidence. Dates, times, records of their petty little cruelties, to prove they weren't just my imagination. Just getting it out of my head by putting it on the paper instead."
I kept my hand pressed down on the binders as Dad reached for them, stopping him from taking them.
"I think this kind of stuff would be useful to the lawyers if you're trying to find out whether there's a chance we have a case, but would you promise not to read it?" I asked, finally meeting his eyes. "It's all over now, and I'm ready to put it behind me. You don't need to waste your time digging through old history."
I waited, watching my father stare at the papers like it was a rattlesnake on his table, before he swallowed the obvious lie waiting for him to utter, and he closed his eyes in pain.
"When I married your mother," he said after a long silence, "we had a long talk about our wedding vows."
I could hear the tightness in his voice, the hitch in his breath, see the wetness at the corners of his eyes from the memories.
"You know how she was about words and their meanings. For her, the wedding wasn't just a ceremony and an excuse to have a party. The vows were the most important part, the public promise to each other, witnessed by the people closest to us both."
He let out a rueful laugh, shaking his head at the memories he'd visited.
"Honestly, I think that was the biggest reason we didn't just elope instead. God knows she didn't need the constant fights with her mother over her choice to 'waste her future' with me. Getting to stand in front of her parents and speak, while they were forced to sit down and shut up for once in their lives, was probably the only part that made the entire thing bearable."
He opened his eyes and put his hand on mine, the roughness silently witnessing a man whose life had been spent unafraid of hard work.
"For better or worse. It was something I remember from how she explained what that meant. About how it made us a family, that we didn't just share good times, but the bad too. We don't suffer alone when we're together. A burden shared is a burden halved."
I didn't resist as he lifted my hand from the binders.
"We're family, Taylor. Your fights are my fights. Your pain is my pain. I'll always be in your corner, and nothing in there could hurt me more than believing you don't think we can face it together."
I stayed wrapped in the hug he gave me until he reluctantly broke away, murmuring a quiet apology about being late for work. I sat back down at the table, staring into my soggy cereal, ignoring the space where my binders had been before Dad picked them up. Having them gone felt like I'd lifted a millstone from around my neck, but the relief was replaced by the fluttering fear of knowing my father would soon read every detail of the suffering I'd experienced for more than a year.
For better or worse.
-=-=-=-
How does one person bring down an institution?
I finished washing up the dishes and sat back down at the table, attacking the Empire 88 in my mind from various angles, playing out the scenarios to their most likely conclusion.
I was inflicting losses on them, and building my reputation. I was growing stronger with every fight. Even more, I was collecting a wealth of their secrets.
The trouble was, they weren't bleeding enough. Even more, they were ramping up their reaction to my raids, as yesterday's encounter with Vista showed. Quicker response times meant a higher risk I could be caught by their capes, and I didn't know if I was capable of surviving a second round with Hookwolf.
I appreciated the fear I'd felt from the gang members I'd interrogated, the aura of mystery surrounding my death and revival that not even Tattletale had unravelled. Having my enemies second guessing my powers worked to my advantage, but it meant that the truth was all the more painful.
I'd survived by sheer luck.
With my brute power depleted, I was nothing more than a frail teenage girl. It had been pure chance that my power had been enough to prevent me bleeding out, and the few hours of 'rest' in the carcass pit had given me enough time to regain consciousness.
It would have been nice to think Aroden had been looking out for me, tilting the odds in my favor, but I didn't believe it. I felt like I had a pretty good read on him from our time together, and he definitely wasn't the type to come riding to the rescue of the helpless damsel. He was more the kind of teacher that threw you in the deep end of the pool and expected you to learn to swim.
Free will means freedom to fail. I'd rise or fall on my own merits.
If they were still willing to chase a fight with me, I wasn't using enough fear.
Well, there was one option that even the most hardened capes feared.
The trouble was that it risked me ending up in the Birdcage.
The kitchen clock counted the seconds away as I twisted and bent the angles of attack in my mind, my fingers steepled in front of me, still as a statue while my thinker power worked. It was escalation of a considerable factor, enough that the PRT itself might brand me a villain and turn against me. In essence, it all hinged on one single parahuman.
Paige Mcabee.
My power fed me the details of the case, the abuses of due process, the kangaroo court she'd been subjected to, disregarding all precedent under three strikes policy. Disgust filled me with how far the miscarriage of justice stretched, all for one simple reason.
Fear. The powers that be feared her, and the potential for what she could become.
When I'd thought of this strategy, I'd asked my thinker power about potential legal consequences. Despite never having heard of Bad Canary beyond a passing familiarity with her pop music on the radio, I now knew far more details about her case than I ever wanted to. One wrong step and I'd be sharing a cell with her.
It was exactly the message the authorities wanted parahumans to fear. Their line in the sand.
There was a narrow path of possibility through the danger, full of uncertainties and potential failures, that saw me victorious despite this. I was relying heavily on my thinker power's ability to navigate the rules and loopholes that comprised parahuman law, trusting that information plucked out of thin air would hold enough water to protect me.
Did I dare walk the tightrope when a single slip spelled doom?
Moving for the first time in over an hour of thinking, I stood up.
I had preparations to make.
-=-=-=-
Collecting my documents from the library's printer, I tapped the stack of sheets to square them, then carefully separated the two piles of work.
Sticking the larger stack into an envelope I'd purchased on my way, I thanked the librarian at the entrance as I left, pulling up my coat's collar and taking a detour on my way back to the bus. The express postage was expensive, but delivery within the commercial district was reliable. They'd reach their destination on schedule, and as the papers dropped into the depths of the mail chute I felt the uncertainty leave my mind with them.
I also felt relief at the smaller bundle stowed in my backpack. Dad had been true to his word and given me study materials, and I'd finished the worksheets he'd assigned. I could sense how out of depth he'd been, but the genuine effort to help keep me from falling behind academically made up for the somewhat scattershot collection of home schooling materials he'd found.
I'd make sure to leave them on the kitchen table for him to find later.
All except for the copy of the Constitution and Declaration of Independence. That was for me.
This evening would be my last 'normal' hit against the Empire before executing my new strategy. The target tonight was a bigger safehouse than the meth labs I'd taken out the last two days, this one a step up in the chain of supply. The house served as a collection and distribution centre, taking delivery of drugs from the local cookers, passing them out to their dealers, and keeping the dirty cash before it was split out to their various fronts.
Despite being more valuable, it had a weakness. It was Friday night, and even skinheads enjoyed having a social life. Security was lighter due to several guards taking the night off to go out drinking or partying, as the little dips into the minds of my former captives told me.
While not unguarded, I estimated that Carrie and I could likely handle a couple of guards with guns.
I was looking forward to a nice, simple job.
-=-=-=-
"Heel," I commanded Carrie, whispering softly.
The dry clack of bones assembling in the dark gave way to the soft crunch of her steps across the frosty grass, her outline barely a hint of pale shadows against the night, betrayed only by the twin burning blue flames that glowed malevolently in her eye sockets.
Despite knowing she was a mindless automaton, I couldn't help but feel like she harbored some deep, unfathomable hatred for the living when I met her gaze too long. A subtle sense of wrongness surrounded her, a feeling of some force not meant to exist in this world.
Or perhaps I was just projecting my own thoughts as I prepared to attack the Empire.
The California style ranch house was a monument to the truth that crime does pay. From the six car garage, the giant floorplan that had to contain more than a dozen bedrooms alone, the massive outdoor entertaining deck, or the sprawling fields behind it with a small stable of horses of all things, it showed that not everyone in Brockton Bay was struggling.
It gave the impression of a rich asshole's holiday home, somewhere he might visit on weekends, but only during good weather, to relax. A place that might otherwise sit empty most of the time, barring caretaker staff.
Assuming those caretaker staff normally had shaved heads, wore Empire colors, and patrolled with firearms ready.
I marked my target as he rounded the corner of the house, right on schedule. I'd spent the last hour circling the property from a distance, watching the patrol routes of their guards, seeing if there were any surprises. So far it matched what I'd skimmed from the minds of the other gang members. Just one patrolling guard, not the pair that would normally be on duty, and no sign of any external watchposts.
While I preferred the advantage of daylight for my enhanced awareness, the departure of the extra guards only happened after sundown. My allies tonight would be speed, surprise, and overwhelming force.
When his back turned to me, I sprinted across the open lawn from my hidden position behind the manicured hedges, Carrie racing quietly at my side. The click of my baton flicking open was the guard's only warning before I was on him, a backhand across his face with my weapon throwing him off balance and triggering his instinctive reaction to raise his hands into a defensive position, weakening his grip on his gun.
Lucky for him, since when Carrie's jaws clamped over the weapon, I doubt she'd have worried about him losing a finger or two in the process.
He barely put up a fight after that. I soon had him on the ground and zip-tied, hand and foot, any thought of shouting for help or raising the alarm dying quickly when Carrie's teeth would clamp down on his throat, only loosening when he remained silent. I smiled at the naked fear in his eyes as I lifted a finger to my mask, giving him a quiet 'shh,' nearly laughing at his frantic nods.
A makeshift gag made from a wadded up sock stuffed in his mouth and tied in place with its partner wouldn't last long before he wriggled out of it, but by the time he did I planned to already have lost the element of surprise anyway. His gun and phone were tossed well out of reach, lost in the darkness.
Keeping low and moving quickly, I hustled to the back deck of the mansion, mounting the steps two at a time and dodging the scattered outdoor furniture until I reached the sliding glass doors leading inside. They offered no resistance as I slipped into a room decorated with tasteful wall art, overstuffed couches and an empty stone fireplace. Ignoring the fact the entire room was bigger than my house, I quietly stalked towards the dark and silent hallway ahead.
I concentrated on my breathing, keeping it low and even as I halved my pace forward, the heel-toe roll of my steps keeping my advance near inaudible while I focused on my powers to enhance my stealth. The sound of Carrie's claws were swallowed by the rich carpeting in the hallway, and no breath would betray her presence forevermore.
Only the barest scraps of reflected light illuminated the gloom, and the shadows danced in front of my eyes. I bit back a curse as I rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of a massive shape looming over me, only to then realize it was an entire stuffed bear caught poised to strike. Ignoring the distraction of the utter tasteless crap rich people filled their houses with, I moved forward, balancing between speed and silence.
Finally the unused portions of the house gave way to the areas with activity. Ahead I spied light spilling from under a door, and the muffled sounds of voices came from behind it. Slipping up to the side of the door, I gently turned the handle to confirm it was unlocked, and staying out of sight, pushed it open and sent Carrie a silent command.
Seven feet of grave-borne violence and undying hatred charged into the room, and I followed as soon as the screaming started.
Luck was on my side tonight, it seemed. Based on my gathered intelligence, the rest of the guards had all grouped themselves together into one big game room. I saw Carrie bound up onto a pool table, launching herself fangs first towards the face of a terrified teenager. She latched on and rode him down behind the table, hitting the floor with a thud before ripping her head back.
A rich spray of bright red blood painted a vivid line five feet up a nearby wall, and I winced as I realized I'd probably have to fix that soon.
It was still caused enough chaos to keep the attention of the older skinhead with a pool cue in his hand. He raced over and started swinging his cue like a club, trying to drive Carrie off her victim. The third and final Empire guard had been sitting at the long bar in the rear of the game room nursing a beer, and he knocked it over in his haste to draw a pistol from the holster strapped to his belt, his panicked eyes meeting mine as my awareness filled the room.
Threats assessed, I raised my free hand towards the one with the gun, twisting my fingers into a clawed gesture as if grasping his throat, then incanting.
"Hold Person."
Instantly he froze. He was mid-leap, one foot on the ground, his entire centre of balance pitched forward, but my power ignored physics. His body locked in place, though not his mind. He could do nothing, not blink, not twitch a finger, barely even breathe, until my power released him.
It was a power that lasted less than twenty seconds, but that was more than enough against the last standing Empire guard armed only with a pool cue. I disregarded the teenager completely, who simply made gurgling, choking noises on the ground, too overwhelmed with their injuries to pose a threat.
Plus, since I was going to have to spend some healing power anyway, I didn't have to hold back. I traded pool cue blows to the head for baton strikes to the kneecaps, and kneecaps gave way far faster than my brute power.
I even had enough time to casually walk over and pluck the gun from his fingers, pressing the barrel to his forehead as the effect wore off. He stumbled forward and started blubbering, filling me with a profound sense of disgust at his weakness.
He'd been Mastered for less than a minute, and the fight had gone completely out of him.
It was barely an afterthought to fit him with zip-ties around his wrists and push him over to the other two. I called Carrie to heel, then had to command her to release the mangled chunk of flesh and hair she had gripped in her jaws. I could have almost sworn she was glowering at me when she obeyed, dutifully standing guard over the injured pair of guards while I did my best to press the boy's scalp back in place. Fortunately, even massive blood loss takes several minutes to cause death, which is good because getting the detached ear to line up properly while he squirmed was a challenge.
Then I channelled my healing power over them, and everything was good as new.
I finished up binding the guards, who did their best to seem as unthreatening as possible, then wiped as much blood off my hands as I could. There was a lot still spread across the floor, and I didn't envy whoever had to clean that up later. I also took the opportunity to relieve them of their remaining weapons and phones, in case they decided to grow some spine when I wasn't looking.
"So," I spoke, my power buzzing on my tongue, harsh and angry. "Who's gonna tell me where you're keeping the cash and drugs, and who's gonna make me have my friend here ask them instead?" I gestured to Carrie, who watched patiently, gore dripping from her muzzle.
I got my answer quickly.
As I left them behind and went in search of the stash, I briefly reflected whether I'd been too heavy-handed.
I remembered digging Rachel's grave, and the thought died.
Abandoning stealth for speed, I followed the directions I'd extracted from the guards. Through a dining room with a table large enough to seat more than a dozen, past a kitchen gleaming with every modern device needed to serve meals fit for a Michelin star restaurant, and down another hall.
I paused when I heard the faint, muffled screaming of a female voice ahead.
None of my intel said anything about them having prisoners here, and what I could hear sounded like someone being tortured.
Would they have shared that information with low-level drug dealers?
I broke into a run, following the noise to a heavy door, throwing it open as the muffled sounds within became crystal clear while my awareness revealed the room.
A massive flat-screen television set dominated the far wall, its size too large for mere home entertainment. Bulky, expensive speakers hung from the four corners of the ceiling, and an honest to god tiered floor with plush leather armchairs faced the screen in a miniature private cinema. The walls were covered in black foam squares, absorbing the noise within and insulating it from distractions outside.
Currently, the screen displayed a woman wearing nothing but ropes begging and crying in German, being abused by three leather clad men in some kind of dungeon. They were laughing at her, all the while doing things that looked painful and very nonconsensual.
Seated in the leather armchairs watching the screen, one hand stuck under the waistband of his track pants, sat the whitest man I'd ever seen.
"Hold Person," I incanted, reaching out and halting his leap out of the chair. Raising my baton, I charged.
I'd barely made it halfway up the tiered steps to his seat when, four seconds later, Alabaster sprang into motion again and pulled a concealed stiletto dagger, thrusting it at my face.
"You're the one they say can't die, right?" he said, grinning manically as I swiped away his attack with my weapon. Carrie leapt over the chairs, mauling his other arm as he used it to shield himself from her charge, completely ignoring the savage wounds she was inflicting.
"See, that's a funny coincidence, since that's my thing! Wanna find out who's better at it?" he laughed, taking a strike to the face with my baton in exchange for stabbing me in the side.
Was he seriously going to banter mid-fight?
He looked curiously at his dagger as he pulled it out, noting the lack of blood on his weapon or my costume.
"Not bad, but you still hit like a girl," he taunted, his injuries disappearing as he reset.
I guess he was.
He dropped his dagger and grabbed Carrie where she was hanging from his arm, pulling her free and tearing a massive piece of flesh from himself still in her jaws. Throwing her at me as a distraction, he charged from the high ground, tackling me into a grapple that ended with him on top, pinning me to the floor.
"You see, if you can't die, that makes you pretty valuable," he smirked, struggling with me for control of my baton. "Being durable makes you fun to play with. Plenty of entertainment value!"
His fingers pried mine open, his adult male strength beating my teenage girl's in a straight contest. Taking my baton, he struck me across the mouth.
"I wonder how long you'll take to break?" he breathed, licking the side of my face, while on the screen above him, the woman continued to beg.
"Fuck off, you limp-dicked Nazi creep," I growled, struggling to push him up.
Tackling into him from the side, Carrie broke his grip on me, rolling him onto his back as her jaws began digging into his stomach and ripping out entrails.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!" he laughed, swinging my baton at Carrie as her bones cracked under his blows, even while she hunted lower, chasing softer meats.
Pushing myself to my feet, I fled.
Stumbling out of the home theatre, I followed the hall, running as fast as possible to the end and slipping into the garage. Desperately, I looked around for something to barricade the door, before pulling a heavy toolbox over and wedging it under the handle.
Short of running into Hookwolf again, this was about my second worst-case scenario.
Alabaster was a bad match for me, I reflected, while I desperately looked around for a makeshift weapon to defend myself with. He was immune to pretty much anything, both injuries and Master effects, and didn't feel pain. He had no reason to fear me.
As I grabbed a tire iron and gave it a few experimental swings, I furiously brainstormed ideas.
Carrie might delay him, but eventually he'd damage her enough that the force animating her would be destroyed permanently. I wasn't overly emotionally attached to her beyond the investment I'd made into her creation, but throwing her away as a sacrifice wouldn't accomplish anything if Alabaster simply caught me again.
I couldn't outrun him. He didn't tire out. Besides, he probably knew how to drive the fancy looking cars in this garage, and I didn't. The only way I was escaping him was keeping him tied up long enough to prevent him following me, and I didn't think he'd let me zip-tie him if I asked nicely.
I needed a weapon that could disable him fast enough that he'd be helpless almost instantly.
Tossing the tire iron, I kept searching.
Then, I needed a way to take advantage of his moment of weakness. I couldn't get both his hands tied up in under four seconds. I needed something faster, more effective in the brief window I'd have.
I lifted a heavy coil of fencing wire to check the box underneath it for weapons, then paused.
I looked at the ceiling of the garage.
My thinker power began feeding me knowledge. Engineering diagrams, weights and measures, angles and counter-forces.
Grabbing a pair of pliers, I got to work. It took less than a minute to rig what I needed.
That just left the weapon, I thought grimly, resuming my search. Screwdrivers, wrenches, claw hammers, all of them I discarded. They couldn't hand out the kind of traumatic damage I'd need to deliver with a split-second's timing. My eyes found a wood axe in the corner and I gave it an experimental heft, resigning myself to it being my best option.
Then I saw it, hiding under a dirty mound of rags.
It was stupid, but it was exactly what I needed.
Ordinarily, it would be a terrible weapon. It was the wrong shape, the wrong weight, the wrong balance for fighting. It was a gardening tool, despite multiple movies that let Hollywood lies transform it into something more.
I had something better than Hollywood.
I could turn the ordinary into the extraordinary. I could transform the mundane into the sublime.
With my power, I could take a simple object and let it become equal to the mightiest of weapons. A dirty mop would become equal to a soldier's spear. A child's toy sword would be the same quality as a master bladesmith's greatest work. For a short while, my power would let me wield it with no limitations, as if the greatest artisans had spent a lifetime of skill designing the perfect instrument of destruction, while I'd spent a lifetime drilling my body into using it perfectly.
And I hadn't prepared that power today.
Why would I? With my baton, with Carrie, what need would I have to temporarily have another weapon at hand?
If that weren't enough, I'd even prepared powers that could enhance my baton, foolishly overlooking the possibility I'd be disarmed.
I still smiled, pulling back the rags and hefting my prize.
I smiled because I could cheat. Just once, not ever more than once per day, but the power was still mine to command.
Grasping my symbol, I called on its well of power, the stored charge that let me, without needed to prepare in advance like almost all my other abilities, call upon any power I could choose. One chance, to have the right ability at exactly the right moment.
Thank you Aroden.
"Peasant Armaments," I incanted.
My weapon glowed briefly, and knowledge flooded through my body as the weight of it shifted, becoming perfectly balanced, waiting and eager to cut down my foes.
"Enhance Weapon," I continued, and this time the glow remained, a burning fire lighting the edges with promises of destruction to all it struck. It became more than just steel, drawing power from the same well as my own, for a brief time.
"Shield of Faith," I uttered, letting my power armor me for the fight ahead.
"Divine Favor," I concluded, and Aroden's hand wrapped around mine, guiding my blows.
Grasping the pull-cord and dropping the chainsaw, I yanked it back up with an effortless flick of the wrist. The motor roared, the blades spun, the weapon screamed like all the demons in hell demanding sacrifice.
Kicking the door open, I went hunting.