Aisha Laborn, or ‘Imp’, as she preferred to go by in-costume, had a bit of a bittersweet problem.
She was getting a bit too good at taking out the trash.
“Group headin’ out the back, Imp. Kill ‘em!” Trainwreck’s voice, as gruff and rough as pebbles in a river, ground out through her earpiece. A staccato of gunshots ripped through the air, almost in response, and the giant metal man’s responding roar nearly gave her tinnitus.
“Bet that,” she smirked, her new bowie knives - possibly maybe perhaps stolen from a sporting goods store - slipping out of her forearm holsters and into her hands. There wasn’t much time to enjoy the feeling of cool, dark leather pressing against her palms, because the back alley exit of the ABB warehouse suddenly burst open with explosive force.
Four men in various states of disarray, holding bleeding shrapnel wounds and lugging guns and machetes, raced out into the darkness of the alley.
And right in front of her.
Now, despite Trainwreck’s aggressive language, Imp knew that the plan wasn’t to just kill these motherfuckers. If they went around slaughtering every single gang banger in Brockton Bay, the PRT would come down on their heads like an anvil - and not even Avalon could save them. Probably. But they’d been beating up these cockroaches since 7 AM that morning, and it was damn near dinner time now. At some point between breakfast and her afternoon snack, while throwing herself bodily into fighting crime with her new teammates, something had just clicked in her mind.
If she took ‘em out fast enough… they literally couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t see her. Couldn’t feel her.
So she went balls to the wall.
It was fucking cathartic.
“Fuck this, man! Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this,” the goon with the machete panted, flopping back against the rusty red emergency doors and slamming them shut. His right eye was stuck shut, crusted with blood, and his hands shook with nerves. “The fuck are we even doin’ here, man?! Lung and Oni Lee are dead, that Avalon guy killed both of them, and we’re fighting his team for what? We don’t got shit! I can’t do this. I CAN’T-”
CRACK!
“Damare!”
The man holding the battered looking rifle stood over the machete-wielding goon, one hand gripping the gun and the other dripping with fresh blood. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and Aisha noticed the way that his fingers twitched sporadically against the trigger.
Quietly, she stalked to the left - keeping her front level with his back. He was clearly the ‘big dog’ in this little group, and she wanted the best angle to take him down.
“Lung is dead, but the ABB is not,” he continued in a hiss, his words slightly warped by a thick Japanese accent. “We rise from the ashes and push forward, Kai! There will be more Lungs. There will be more Oni Lees. But we must-”
“Screw you!” ‘Kai’ growled, spitting blood and saliva on the ground between his legs. “Stop the sanctimonious bullshit! Lung ain’t care about us. He never did. Now he’s dead and we’re the ones getting fucked up ‘cuz of it! I’m done, Kenzo. I’m fucking done. I got a fucking baby on the way, man.”
“You are a coward!” ‘Kenzo’ snarled, taking a step backwards. He almost tripped over a grimy piece of garbage, his rifle swinging around and flagging the other thugs.
“Oi, watch it Kenny!”
“Woah now-“
“Go! Run away to your family, away from your brothers.” The rifle-toting gangster continued bullishly, ignoring the startled exclamations from said ‘brothers’. He sneered as Kai staggered jerkily to his feet, his machete clattering to the ground beneath him.
Blood freely leaked from his split lip, and Kai didn’t bother wiping it away. “… Listen to me. I’m just saying, Brockton Bay’s too hot right now. You know it. All of you do. You keep this shit up and Invictus is gonna hunt you down too!” His head swung around, one red-rimmed eye searching for support from the two other mooks watching the confrontation.
But their gazes went elsewhere, and Kenzo’s countenance changed. Became darker. Aisha knew from personal experience that more physical aggression was coming soon.
Her lip quirked up into a wry smirk. ‘Poor Kai.’
Another guttural bellow emerged from the warehouse - one that was followed by a small explosion, agonized screams, and more gunshots.
Trainwreck was living up to his namesake.
‘And I should really be doing the same,’ Imp thought, her grip on the knives tightening with anticipation, ‘But this is some good fuckin’ tea.’
Front row seats to the Asian version of Gangsters In Paradise was worth ruining her spotless bodycount, if only for a couple more minutes. After all, there was no way Kenzo was going to betray his gang. That would be too sensible and intelligent of an action for someone so clearly coked out of his tiny fucking brain.
“Leave, traitor. And hope I don’t see your face again.” Kenzo, his arm shaking, one-handed his rifle and pointed down the alleyway - to freedom. “You have five seconds.”
“Don’t do it, Kai. He’s gonna shoot you when you turn your back to him.” Imp unhelpfully called out, wishing that she had some popcorn.
No one heard her.
“Damn it! You’re makin’ a mistake, Ken. The city’s fucking changing. You’ll see. All of you will see.” Kai grunted, but it was clear that the last vestiges of rebellious fire that had been attempting to brew in his gut were utterly smothered by his ex-homies’ cold apathy. He stumbled away, in the direction Kenzo’s shaky rifle was pointing at, and the other gangsters simply stepped out of the way.
Behind Kai’s back, Kenzo’s lips twisted into a hateful snarl. The other two men shared uncertain glances. The tension in the air built to a fucking crescendo, and Kai - the idiot not even bothering to look back - had no clue what was brewing behind him.
But Imp saw it all from her premium front row seat. And Kai was, so far, her favorite character in this shitty, underfunded gangster thriller. She wanted him to make it back to his girlfriend and kids.
So as Kenzo’s fingers twitched against the trigger, and the other two thugs began to raise their pistols…
She pushed herself off of the grimy alley wall and moved. Fast.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
“AGHHH, WHAT THE FUCK-”
Kenzo’s aim was already shaky, what with the edgy ass one-handed Rambo shot he was trying to pull off, so when Imp’s studded black platformers slammed against his elbow with a heavy, meaty ‘thud’, the trio of bullets that were meant for Kai… ended up peppering the legs and groin of one of the gangster mooks.
He went down screaming bloody murder, and Aisha-
Well, she just went down. Dropkicks tended to do that.
“Ken you fucking cunt, you shot me! Shit, you fucking shot me man!”” The bullet-ridden thug screeched in between groans of pain, blood quickly pooling into a sticky red puddle beneath his body.
But Kenzo wasn’t paying any attention to any of them. Not to Kai, who had already ran away, or to the other thug who was crouching beside the incapacitated one. No, in his booger-sugar haze, Kenny was whipping his head around in a panicked stupor, his assault rifle swinging from wall to wall.
“Who- who’s there? Who the hell kicked me?!”
“Kenny you’re buggin’ the fuck out!” The third thug finally shouted, loud enough to overpower his friend’s agonized screams. “We needa get Yuta to the freaking hospital! I- I don’t think he’s gonna die or nothin’, but-“
“Shut up! It’s- there’s a fucking ghost, Hong! A yurei!”
Imp had to duck down to avoid the barrel of the rifle from smacking her in the nose.
She knew that playing with grown men holding AKs and Glocks wasn’t the sanest thing a person could do, but Imp had never been a girl too concerned with playing things straight. Fear beat at her heart, but it intermingled with adrenaline and anticipation- a chemical concoction that nearly made her skin and bones vibrate with excitement.
She wouldn’t kill these guys, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little bit of fun on her last bust for the evening. Mom did ask her to be home for dinner tonight, and after Avalon healed her up… well, their relationship was still rocky, but the woman was trying and Imp didn’t not want a mom. No matter how much that mom fucked up.
It was best to get the mischievousness out her system now before she went home and filled her stomach up with soul food.
Mind made up, Imp slung her arm over the panicked gangster’s shoulder, her brand new bowie knife resting snugly against the damp recesses of his right armpit. “I’m a devil, actually. How do y’all say it in Japanese? Akuma? Or is that the big guy from Street Fighter…”
Kenzo’s body tensed up like a deer in headlights, his dilated, bloodshot eyes slowly drifting over to Imp’s ivory white mask. He was a relatively short middle-aged man, about 5’5” or 5’6”, so they were practically face-to-face when he turned his head.
She could feel in her core the exact moment her power decided to give him his first actual look at just who, and what, she was. Over the past several hours she’d gotten pretty good at guessing just when the fucking thing wanted to be bipolar and shut itself down for the briefest of seconds, and it was always preceded by this odd dip in her stomach, like she was lurching up on some wacky amnesia-girl rollercoaster.
There were very specific instances where this feeling occurred, too; either when she wanted to be seen, or roughly on a 50/50 basis when she wanted to physically fuck with (read, attack and harass) another person.
With experience and practice, Imp was confident that she could control these ‘dips’ and lessen the odds of her powers winking out in those tiny windows between attacks, but for now…
“DEMON!”
She felt her heart nearly drop into her asshole as Kenzo’s wide, bony elbow flew towards the side of her head in a clumsy, drug-empowered blur. Sharp and twitchy reflexes, naturally honed from a lifetime of ADHD hyperactivity and casual training with her dad and brother, had her stepping back out of the swing while her knife, already in position, jerked clean through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Cloth and skin parted easily beneath the sharp blade, but Imp made sure to not slice too deep - she’d never been good at school, couldn’t focus or remember shit well enough, but plain common sense said that slicing through nerves beneath the arm would probably disable said arm. Today proved it, and for the assholes with guns, the armpits and ankles had become her favorite spots to target.
And sure enough, like all the other gangbangers, Kenzo immediately dropped his rifle.
“OW, shit! My- my arm! What the fuck-” He staggered back, his left hand flying up to feel at his sliced up armpit, and Imp side-stepped the panicking thug and stuck her foot out.
BAM!
Kenzo fell hard on his back, limp right arm flailing the whole time.
One casual soccer kick later, and he was honk-shooing with a big purple bruise blossoming on the side of his face.
Platform boots were so efficient when it came to beating people’s face in.
“… Kenny?!” ‘Hong’ gaped, damn near hyperventilating, as he watched his ‘friend’ seemingly get diced up and knocked out by emptiness. “Fuck. Fuck, it’s a-actually a fuckin’ ghost. Or- or some kinda invisible cape? Listen- I’m leavin’, I swear!”
“It’s not invisibility, actually.” Imp smiled thinly, knowing full well that Hong couldn’t hear, see, or smell her. He couldn’t remember her. That was what her powers did, ironically enough - pushed people away, made their brains all fucky-wucky in the memory department. Focused, weaponized dementia.
Neglected in crime fighting as she was in life. How sad was that?
She walked up to Hong as he was slowly getting to his feet, clearly too afraid to make any sudden movements and bring the ‘invisible cape’ down on his head. Now that the evidence of her presence there was solidified in the form of two unconscious and bleeding men, the fun was over. He’d either run or get tagged, and she wasn’t letting him go.
Hong was just getting ready to make a break for it when she reached him, her knives sheathed in favor of another one of her definitely taken with permission toys - a pink, bedazzled stun gun that her mom used to keep in her purse back when she actually gave a fuck about security and safety.
“Zap.”
Boredly, right as Hong began to sprint away, Imp palmed the blocky hand-grip of the stun gun and slammed it against the back of his neck - right against the bony part of the spine. The man spasmed instantly, screaming out and crumpling to the ground in a seizing, electrified heap. There was practically no resistance - one moment he was standing, prepared to flee, and the next he was lying facedown with…
Her nose twitched.
“Euuuugh, you pissed yourself? Dude…” She grimaced, stepping away from the still-twitching body. The acrid stench of urine and blood intermingled in the alleyway, creating an overcasting haze of grossness, and while Imp wasn't some prissy bitch who folded at disgusting smells and sights-
Neither was she into that nasty shit.
She turned around, one finger coming up to activate her earpiece, and yanked at that feeling in her stomach to temporarily cancel her power. “Outside’s clear. You done with the jackasses inside, Trainwreck?”
The metal behemoth’s response came through quickly, accompanied by the pained groaning of broken men in the background. “Been done. Yer’ gettin’ cocky, brat. Coulda finished up before me.”
“Hey! There was a shitty soap opera playin’ out here and I wanted to see what happened. The ending was predictable as fuck, but still…”
“Uh-huh. An’ I wanna get some fuckin’ sleep, so stop wasting my fuckin’ time.”
In spite of herself, Imp’s lips curled up. “It’s only 8 PM, unc. No way you’re sleepy already.”
“… Fuck you. Ain’t no hard time for gettin’ rest. And I ain’t old.”
She couldn’t help but snicker at the perpetual grumpiness.
Before she could respond, the screeching of sirens in the distance did its best to remind her that they were in a hot zone, and cops would be showing up at any minute to check out the scene. Imp swallowed her witty rebuttal and slipped back into the warehouse, stepping over Kenzo’s body as she did so.
“Yeah, yeah - popo’s on the way, old man, so we gotta dip. You good to come and pick us up, Overdrive?” She hastened her steps, going from a laidback walk to a full on jog. Glass and debris cracked and broke beneath her boots, but Imp didn’t pay it any mind. She just followed the trail of blood and destruction.
It didn’t take their impromptu team leader long to respond.
“Perfect timin’! Kitkat just messaged me, said to bring all of us down to the Boat Graveyard for an important meetin’. I’m ‘bout to swing around the corner now, so just sit tight and keep lookin’ pretty for a second.”
Despite the fact that she’d separated from Imp and Trainwreck to go flush out some former Empire hotspots all by herself (and that sassy robot), Overdrive sounded completely at ease and refreshed. Hell, Imp could hear country music playing in the background.
Fucking Tinkers. Why couldn’t she get badass super-genius crafting powers instead?
“I ain’t cleanin’ the beach. Don’t know what that kid thinks I am, but it ain’t charity. Fucker still ain’t get me my house,” Trainwreck grumbled, his voice coming from both her earpiece and in person as she stepped into the main area of the warehouse.
Imp’s eyes widened, and she suddenly felt a bit self conscious about her own performance.
There were at least eight men in various states of broken disrepair, their unconscious bodies sprawled out throughout the room, but that wasn’t the thing that caught her eye. No, it was the pure breadth of damage and destruction that had been inflicted upon the building, like an actual bomb had gone off inside. Tables and furniture were reduced to splinters of wood and scraps of metal, entire walls collapsed outwards, and small craters were gouged into the concrete floor sporadically through the room - shallow ones, but the fact that they were done with such a raggedy looking weapon
Trainwreck, meanwhile, stood in the center of the room, leaning heavily against his gigantic rocket hammer. With his new helmet, a bulky thing that looked like a combination of a steel knight’s helmet and a welding mask, the metal behemoth looked more like some sort of scary medieval golem than an actual person. Blood was drying against the once gleaming surface of his power armor, dark, rustic crimson clashing against burnished steel.
He didn’t even glance over to acknowledge her when she entered, though she knew by the unsubtle widening of his stance that he noticed her presence. The asshole was just edgy like that.
“It’s barely been a week, dumbass - and we’ve already been paid a lotta money,” Overdrive shot back, the smirk on her lips practically audible. “You coulda left at any point, and you know Avalon wouldn’t have stopped ya. Just admit you like bein’ in Invictus you big softie!”
“... It ain’t a bad gig,” he huffed, turning his head away and staring at Thug #6 dangling ass-first out of a window.
“Haha, exactly! And think about it; he said our base would be in that same spot. Don’t know how big papa’s gonna make that happen, but with that magic BS they were talkin’ about- shit, hold on.”
Overdrive abruptly cut herself off, and before Imp could even fully absorb the conversation she’d just been listening to - ‘magic bullshit’? - the sound of burning rubber made itself known in person. She backtracked on bouncing feet, inching up beside a suddenly alert Trainwreck as something big and fast skirted around the street corner at high speeds and headed straight for the warehouse they were in.
And it wasn’t stopping.
“Uh, Overdrive - if that’s you, you may wanna slow-”
“Incomin’, get behind cover! Just dusted the cops and ran like three red lights, so we gotta go!”
CRASH!
The shiny, heavily armored hull of Overdrive’s self-patented ‘War Machine’ tore through the side of the decrepit building, only barely avoiding the unconscious bodies of the ABB goons. Old brick and corroded metal fell across the windshield and hood like a waterfall, showering the new ‘entrance’ in dust and plaster, and with that new opening, the sound of sirens sounded a lot closer.
She couldn’t see her through the tinted windows and the dust, but Overdrive’s voice was loud and damn near demented in her ears. “Yeaaaaah buddy! Get the hell in the truck, fuckers. We gotta burn rubber, and fast.”
Trainwreck yanked his rocket hammer off of the ground, slinging it against his back. “You fuckin’ crazy bitch.”
But Imp was good at reading the room, and at reading people - she spent her whole life doing it - and there was definitely a grin beneath the helmet. She couldn’t keep the smile off of her face either as she sprinted for the vehicle, easily outpacing Trainwreck’s loud, clunky jog.
Overdrive was crazy. But so was Imp, and Trainwreck, and Avalon, and Iris. All in their own special ways.
And she was just happy to be a part of it.
_________________________________________
“Holy shit…”
Imp - now Aisha, with her mask off and the blood cleaned off of her clothes and hands with alcohol wipes, stared, wide-eyed, at the mystical spectacle occurring in front of her. In front of all of them.
Hundreds of what looked like wispy silver ghosts hovered and floated across the Boat Graveyard, hauling varying amounts of driftwood, scrap metal, and garbage with the single-minded focus of spiritual machinery. The entire beach was silent outside of the constant clanging of metal and debris being thrown into large, towering piles near the overhanging cliff face. They worked tirelessly, no single apparition stopping or even hesitating in their constant, machine-like motion, and Aisha could only gawk speechlessly from the passenger seat.
“The hell’s goin’ on? Why’d ya stop?” Trainwreck’s annoyed voice grunted from his personalized compartment in the boot of the truck.
“Hypothesis: Master Avalon has acquired a new form of magic - one most suitable for mindless physical labor.” Pod 084 piped up helpfully. It hovered upwards, and the gunner’s hatch parted automatically to let the small robot out. “This Pod will go find Master and Mistress. Please wait patiently.”
“No need for that, tin-can.” Overdrive breathed, her head craned down to see more of the dilapidated beach. “I think he found us. Fuckin’ overdramatic douche… I love it.”
It took Aisha a few seconds to spot what Overdrive was referring to, since the woman’s welding goggles definitely had some sort of night vision lens installed inside of ‘em. The sun was low in the sky now, nearly gone completely, and with the perpetual depressing cloudiness of Brockton Bay’s weather, that meant early nights and late mornings. The ghostly, moonlight-like glow emanating from the army of working spirits casted a small amount of light across the sands, but it wasn’t enough to completely light up the beach-
But then she caught a glimmer of shimmering silver and gold flashing up - waaaay up, near the cliffside - and then, like clockwork, her eyes adjusted to the nighttime darkness and she saw him, from hundreds of feet away.
Extending straight off from the side of the cliff overlooking the Boat Graveyard, and then slanting downwards, roughly in their direction, was a shining silver ramp that Avalon was casually walking down.
Although it was hard to make out specific details from such a distance, Aisha could see that the man had one hand in the pocket of his jeans while the other waved idly in front of him in subtle, yet complicated gestures. With each movement of his hand and fingers, that golden and silver light that had caught her attention in the first place pulsed, like - physically pulsated outwards from the end of the ramp, and in a flash… another section of the sloping mass of metal materialized in bursts of golden sparks. It happened practically every other step, and with his long strides, the distance between him, the ramp, and their spot towards the edge of the busy Graveyard was disappearing faster and faster.
Aisha was genuinely at a loss for words.
She had always held respect for Avalon, ever since his official ‘debut’ against Hookwolf a few weeks ago. There weren’t many black heroes in Brockton Bay… hell, she wasn’t even sure if there were any, to be honest - and the only other black men that did literally anything positive in her life was her dad who was almost always too busy to answer her texts, and her brother, who was too busy working and trying to support her from the shadows that he didn’t even realize that he was ignoring and hurting her too.
For years, it had only really been just her, her drug-addled mom, and the cockroach fuckers who moved in and out of their lives, fucking and hurting and enabling. No one had ever helped her, had ever helped them, and it had just felt… good to have someone like Avalon that she could wholeheartedly put her trust into and root for, even if she held no actual hope of him being some omnipotent black messiah and somehow fixing her home life.
Until a couple days ago, when her mom came home hours earlier and caught big, scary Mike trying to force himself into her closet with his pants down by his fucking ankles.
What an amazing pedophilic drug-dealer of a boyfriend, ma. Truly.
Aisha figured that something had just snapped at that point while she was huddled beneath old, mildew-smelling blankets, wishing beyond everything in her soul that the big, greasy fuck would just treat her like everyone else in her life and just fucking leave her alone. Forget she existed. Having the body of an eighteen year old when she was only fourteen wasn’t the fucking blessing chicks at her school thought it was. Especially when your mom brought new scumbags back to the apartment every week.
When Celia started screaming at the would-be rapist, attacking him with her purse and yelling that she’d call the cops, only to cry out when he backhanded her into the bed… that tug in her stomach occurred for the first time. Her powers reached out to do its little dementia attack, and Aisha had lunged out of the closet with one of those wired close hangers. Wrapped it around Mike’s neck from behind. Strangled him to unconsciousness, and while her mom cried like a useless bitch and had a panic attack, she went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and stabbed him in the gut three times.
Was it overboard? Definitely. And she felt bad about it afterwards.
But would she do it again? For sure.
Things had moved quickly after that. She figured out how to pause her power’s constant desire to shroud her from everyone’s memory, and after Celia calmed down and practically begged for forgiveness while Mike’s corpse shat and pissed itself on her already stained carpet, Aisha worked on dumping the body while her mom cleaned everything up.
Turns out that hiding a corpse was ridiculously easy if everyone got mindfucked whenever they thought to even throw you a sideways glance.
And later that evening, after she’d scrubbed her skin clean and sat in the kitchen with her mom to actually have a mature and civil discussion about everything?
Aisha would forever remember the way her heart felt after Celia said three simple words.
‘Avalon healed me.’
That was when she knew what she wanted to do with these new powers. Who she wanted to follow.
And the rest was history.
But now, watching as this man who’d been damn near a deific figure in her mind conjure a fucking silver ramp across the whole beach with simple waves of his hand whilst hundreds of spiritual minions worked beneath him to clean the biggest eyesore of the city… it felt nearly biblical. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body nearly buzzing with excitement and anticipation the closer he got, and Aisha knew without a shred of doubt in her body that she made the right decision.
This man would change everything. He had to.
“Careful, girly,” Overdrive muttered, a knowing grin pulling at her lips. “Boss man’s plate is ‘prolly full right now. Wait a couple years and see if any more slots open up.”
The teasing tone pulled Aisha out of her reverie. Avalon and his… magical bridge was much closer now, close enough to where she could see the easy smirk on his face, the new luster to his chocolate brown skin, his white hair, and what looked like… elf ears?
He looked like a fucking fantasy anime protagonist, in the best way possible. How the hell did one man constantly one-up himself day after day?
“Yeah, yeah,” she breathed, not fully acknowledging the buxom woman’s words. It was hard to focus on other shit whenever her brain was fully wired in a specific direction, and right now, she just wanted to finally meet her hero. “Tell me again in like an hour. I’m getting a fucking autograph.”
Overdrive paused, her eyebrows shooting up. “Just wait in the-”
But Aisha was already getting out of the car. The last thing she heard before slamming the door shut behind her was Trainwreck’s frustrated repeat of his previous question, and Overdrive shouting back at him to be patient.
‘Pfft. They fight like freakin’ siblings.’
In a weird, backwards way, it kinda reminded her of how she and Brian used to be, back when he was actually around.
But now wasn’t the time for being in her head. That was how she spent most days, but now she actually had people to talk to and hang out with, and one of them - the biggest one - was right fucking there.
The last piece of the silver ramp materialized out of thin air just as Aisha walked in front of the truck. The shiny metal seemed to anchor itself into the sand, holding itself up seemingly with its own power despite there being no support beneath any of it, and Avalon hovered the rest of the way down. Particles of sand flew around his feet as he drifted closer, and Aisha caught a whiff of trees and flowers the closer he got - washing away the stench of the neglected Graveyard.
He seemed even taller in person. Regal. For once in a… very long time, she felt intimidated and overshadowed, merely by this guy’s presence - but it wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling. Just unnatural. Combined with the branch-like tattoo drifting down the side of his face, the gleaming silver and black eyes, and the almost ethereal glow that suffused his skin… Aisha could definitely see Avalon defeating the Empire, ABB, and Coil almost single handedly. He just gave off a different vibe.
She thought about playing it cool and leaning back against the truck with her arms crossed, but knowing Overdrive, she would almost definitely do some fuck shit like honk the horn or engage hydraulics to toss her off.
So Aisha simply did what felt normal, and went with her gut.
“I don’t have a notebook or anything, can’t really keep things like that with me on the job. Y’know, stabbing criminals and shit. But I do have this knife!” She flicked her wrist, sliding one of her bowie knives out of its holster and into her palm.
Avalon simply hovered there, eyes lidded and smirk ever-present. “And what do you want me to do with that, Aisha?”
…
Just the way her name rolled off of his tongue sent shivers down her spine. She didn’t even care to think about how he even knew her name in the first place.
‘Down, girl. He’s, like, older than Brian and has a fucking girlfriend!’
“I- uh… shit. You’re easily the best fuckin’ hero in Brockton Bay, and I just- can you sign my knife?” She cleared her throat, annoyed at her stupid teenage hormones for throwing off her game. “I don’t have a pen either, but-”
The smirk widened into an actual grin, showing a flash of pearly white teeth that simply looked way too clean to be natural. “I’ll do you one better, how ‘bout that? Hop back in the car, and tell Sherr to drive up the ramp - meet me at the top of the hill. I got a lil’ workshop up there.”
It wasn’t an outright rejection.
Aisha just nodded her head, not wanting to stick her foot in her mouth again, and Avalon’s grin - if possible - grew even wider. He waved at Overdrive’s truck, throwing it a wink, before turning around and disappearing without a sound. She didn’t even try to track his teleportation, her anticipation for whatever was awaiting them at the top of the hill too high to waste time.
Overdrive eyed her with both amusement and curiosity when she jumped back into the truck. “Hehe, you seem excited. What did Boy Wonder say?”
“Up the ramp!” Aisha pointed straight for the glimmering metal, grinning. “I asked for an autograph, and Avalon said he has a workshop up on the hill. I guess that means he’s gonna give me a gift?”
“A workshop…?”
Overdrive hummed to herself, putting the truck into drive. It pushed forward, smoothly transitioning from sand to metal slope, and the woman shifted gears and pressed down harder on the gas in order to start climbing the incline. It was just big enough to fit the wide-bodied truck, but only barely.
“Kid ‘prolly has somethin’ magical for all of us if he said somethin’ like that,'' Trainwreck groused, but even he couldn’t keep the inquisitiveness out of his voice. “Fucker loves that gay mysterious shit. I bet he hovered down to th’ beach like some kinda angel, huh.”
Aisha snorted, turning her head to stare down at the ghostly wisps below. “Now you’re just projecting. What’s gay about being mysterious and awesome?”
“Dunno. I don’t make the rules.”
“There are no rules - you actually did just make ‘em up. Just admit you have a huge crush on Avalon, dude! I like girls too, it’s not something to be ashamed of.”
“Fuck off.”
Aisha’s smirk turned wicked. “Gaytinmansayswhat?”
“Don’t-”
“... What?”
“Annnd you said it. Hehe, you fuckin’ idiot...” Overdrive shook her head in disappointment, a small smile on her face.
Aisha couldn’t help it; she snickered like an immature teenager, the culmination of everything melting together and ending off on such a nice point bringing an all-encompassing relief that turned such a stupid, juvenile joke into something that tore genuine laughter out of her chest. It was something that Aisha realized that she’d been doing a lot with Invictus, lately… just laughing.
Joking.
Shooting the shit.
Even though Trainwreck was a sourpuss asshole with a stick up his ass, he knew how to take a joke and toss them out on occasions. Overdrive was like a badass older sister with both a scathing wit and the tendency to kick momentous ass all by herself, and Iris was just awesome. Cute, ridiculously smart, and kind as fuck to boot.
And Pod was like, uh… a hyper intelligent, ridiculously scary pet that was just there. Earlier she saw it flip an entire car over into a ditch with a big, fuck-off hammer made of white hardlight, so its effectiveness as a protector spoke for itself.
With this ragtag group of misfits, Aisha actually felt like she belonged. It was a new and refreshing feeling, one that she’d probably never felt in her entire life, and it was a feeling that she absolutely wanted to protect and cherish, for better or for worse.
By the time their slow ascent saw them at the top of the hill, the laughter had all but died down. She leaned forward, the excitement and anticipation from before making itself known once again, and what greeted them as they pulled forward onto the grassy field was just as mystifying as it was fantastical and cute… in a cottage-core way.
A small wooden shack rested beside a large, heavily charred tree, with a small gazebo extended out the side of the quaint building, opposite the tree. Beneath it, idly swinging in a hammock and curled up in an oversized blanket, was Cassie, a small laptop resting on her lap. Beyond all of that, about sixty or so feet away, thirteen tall, ancient-looking stones rested on the ground in a half-circle.
Avalon stood in the middle of them, watching the truck pull up with that ridiculous smile on his face. One of his hands were extended, his elbow tucked in - and above his palm, though it was hard to see in the dark, were what looked like three silver rings lazily hovering and rotating in the air.
Overdrive clicked her tongue as she put the truck in park. “Yep, he has that look on his face. Get ready to have your mind fucked with, Imp - he likes droppin’ bombs on us. Gets a sick kick outta it or somethin’.” The woman pressed a button beneath the console, and the back of the vehicle made a loud popping noise as Trainwreck’s jaw-like compartment cracked open.
“Just call me Aisha when the mask’s off,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. “Being called Imp feels weird if I’m not stabbin’ bitches.”
That made Overdrive pause midway through opening her door, but only for the briefest of seconds. A warm, dazzling grin formed on her face right after. “Huh... that's a pretty name. Call me Sherrel! Now then, Aisha, let’s go see what ol’ Boss Man wants, eh?”
Her stomach still warm and fuzzy - something Trainwreck would probably call ‘gay’ - Aisha nodded her head resolutely. “Fuck yes. I’m so ready to get married.”
“There’s three rings,” Sherrel snickered, throwing her door open and stepping out into the crisp, late evening air. “Looks like Trainwreck’s gonna get his wish after all.”
The massive truck shifted as if a heavyload had just been dropped off the back, and Trainwreck didn’t even bother giving them a second glance as he walked past the driver’s side and headed straight towards Avalon. “I ain’t even gracin’ that with a response.”
They shared an amused glance.
“Awww, don’t be like that, Trainy!” Sherrel called out, slamming her door shut and following after the lumbering giant. She twirled her keyring around her finger as she walked, her curvaceous hips swinging with each step. “Jaaaason, Trainwreck wants to pin you down and fuck ya! We might needa whoop his ass to defend your ass, boss!”
Aisha slipped out the truck and closed the door a bit more quietly behind her, ears perking up at the casual reveal of her hero’s name. ‘Jason? Heh… that sounds so normal. Like a guy you’d be friends with in school.’
“That right? I’m honored, Trainwreck, really… but I’m taken, homie. That thing we had back in the Trainyard was an isolated incident, and I'm not into big hairy men.” ‘Jason’ chuckled, the sound like honey burbling in a-
Holy shit, she needed to stop. Fucking game face on, Aisha Laborn. Stop being a hormonal teenage bitch.
Ignoring her pounding heart, she forced herself to move, following after Sherrel’s seductive gait. With a mechanical hum, Pod 084 floated out behind her, zooming over her body in a blur of motion and flying to Iris, who seemed utterly locked in on whatever she was typing on her laptop.
“Ya took me by surprise,” Trainwreck grunted, coming to a stop a few feet away from Jason. The height difference was crazy - he’d seemed so tall back on the ramp, but standing beside Trainwreck, Aisha could see just how fucking huge the tin man was in comparison. Not a shred of apprehension showed in Jason’s body language, though - if anything, he seemed amused.
“I opened the door and you tried to take my head off of my neck off my chest off my body,” he shot back easily, jerking his head towards Sherrel. “I’ve got a witness too.”
“You did try and sucker punch him, Trainwreck,” she concurred, brushing past the armored man and sidling up to Jason’s side with the seductive and rhythmic grace of a woman with a mission. "Dick move. But he's a dick, too, so I can't blame ya."
Aisha paused a bit behind Trainwreck, her lips parting in actual, genuine shock as Sherrel draped her body over Jason’s side, capturing his arm between her large, busty cleavage and trapping his hand between the front of her thighs. Her head tilted to the side, angling up just a bit to murmur something softly into the shell of his ear, and Jason’s eyes widened for only a moment before they turned heavy. Sherrel giggled, then, a noise that sounded infinitely more girly than anything Aisha had heard the woman utter before, and puckered her plump lips to place a soft kiss against his neck-
‘Hold- hold the fuck on. What is happening?!’
At some point between getting out of the car and making her way over to the stones, her grasp on the memory-altering aspect of her power had clearly slipped away - because she could feel it now, pressing out of her body like micro-radiation. Maybe that was why Sherrel didn’t feel awkward, doing this little bit of PDA in front of her, but that didn’t explain why Jason was cheating on Iris right in front of her!
Until she glanced over to the gazebo, almost scared of what she would see, and saw the hacker… flushed and peeking over the top of her laptop like a shy schoolgirl?!
What kind of freaky isekai harem bullshit was Jason pulling?
No, scratch that: better question - why and how the fuck was he staring straight at her right now?
“You are incorrigible, woman.” Jason’s head tilted, his gaze moving away from Aisha’s, and she felt as if she could actually breathe again. For a moment, she debated reaffirming her hold on her powers and ‘reappearing’, but something in her gut told her to hold off for now…
And it wasn’t because she wanted to be nosy, either. Absolutely not.
The man leaned down ever so slightly, Sherrel’s leaning up to match him, and there was the chastest of kisses - nothing more than a slight, tender pressing of his lips against hers - before Jason’s lopsided grin was back, and he faded away into nothingness, causing his… second girlfriend(?) to flinch in surprise.
He reappeared, seated on one of the stones, and his eyes-
Yep… they were gazing right back at Aisha’s.
‘He can see me.’
She didn’t know whether or not the bolt of electricity that shot through her stomach at the realization was good or bad, but either way… things were bound to be interesting around this man.
“Now, I’m sure we all have shit to do tonight… so I’ll chill on the small talk. Aisha, stop hiding and show yourself to the others, ‘ight?”
Trainwreck shifted, his head moving left to right in a futile attempt to spot her, and Sherrel-
Her neck and cheeks flushed crimson, eyes widening in shock. “Wait, huuuh? She didn’t- Aisha ain’t here, Jay. Or… damn, I guess I wouldn’t know.”
He didn’t respond. His gaze didn’t leave hers, the silver eyes almost glowing beneath the moon, and Aisha swallowed, straightened her back, and yanked back on her powers.
“Ta-daaa!”
Trainwreck flinched the hardest out of him and Sherrel, since she’d practically been right beside him the entire time. “Fuckin’ ninjas!”
Jason merely snorted.
“Right then. Since I already gave Cassie’s hers, that just leaves the three of you.” He raised his hand higher, and the three silver rings - and she could tell that they were, in fact, rings now that she was closer - floated down beneath whatever telekinetic magical spastical power Jason used to control shit with his mind. They darted forward, halting in front of each of the Invictus members: Aisha, Sherrel, and Trainwreck.
Hers had a purple gem embedded in the front, Aisha noticed. A small, glimmering chunk of Amethyst.
It was actually beautiful.
“... I ain’t marryin’ ya.” Trainwreck commented, though he was studying his ring with what Aisha assumed was a critical eye beneath his helmet. “And I don’t know if ya forgot, boss, but I ain’t got fingers.”
It was the first time Aisha heard him speak with any amount of actual respect. It felt oddly fitting for the situation.
“That one’s special,” Jason smirked, pointing a lazy finger towards Trainwreck’s ring. It did seem a little bit different than the others - the silver seemed more shiny, if that was even possible, and the chunk of sapphire attached to it seemed bigger. “Just trust me.”
Trainwreck merely grunted agreeably, and Jason’s gaze turned towards Sherrel.
Her face finally cooling down, the blonde woman cocked an eyebrow in response to the silent inquiry. “That’s your way of askin’ me if I like it?”
“Yep.”
“...” Sherrel crossed her arms beneath her bust, eyeing the ring closely with a critical glare. When she tried to grab at it, it darted beneath her grasping hand, circling around her back and hovering overhead.
Frustration and yearning broke through the blonde woman’s stoic facade. “Fuckin’- It’s perfect, okay?! And also the prettiest gift anyone’s ever gotten me… so thank you.”
“Same here,” Aisha piped up, turning back to her own hovering piece of jewelry. “This is a lot better than you signing my knife, holy crap. Thanks, Aval-... Jason. For real.”
Slowly, Aisha and Sherrel looked over to a silently looming Trainwreck.
…
…
“... Thanks,” he grumbled.
Jason’s entire face brightened, and he smiled - not a crooked grin or a roguish smirk, but an actual, close-mouthed upturning of his lips. “No problem. Don’t put me on a pedestal or anything, ‘cause it’s not like I’m just giving this to y’all for no reason. They’re Rings of Mind Shielding - or, in Trainwreck’s case, a Ring of Mind Shielding That Can Enlarge Itself to Fit a Bigger Finger. That name’s not as catchy, though, so-”
“God, sugar, what do they do?” Sherrel interrupted, a long-suffering grimace on her face.
“Happy you asked,” he continued seamlessly, probably having expected the interruption. “Put ‘em on and I’ll tell you.”
There was a brief pause.
It almost sounded like a test, or a challenge, the way that he phrased it. The three of them glanced at each other one by one, and although Aisha couldn’t see Trainwreck’s ugly mug through his helmet, she knew that he had to have the same look of determination in his eyes that she and Sherrel had. They’d already made up their mind to be a part of Invictus. Hell, they’d already killed for the sake of this team and this city. Why would they be scared of putting on some magical mind-protection ring?
Almost as an afterthought, as she reached out to grasp the piece of jewelry, Aisha chanced a glance back at Cassie.
The girl was watching from behind her laptop, Pod 084’s depowered body slumped on the ground with a USB cord connecting his… ass to the computer?
“Hurry up and do it already!” she shouted, waving her hand - the one with her ring - overhead. “He won’t tell me anything ‘till you do! The butthole!”
“She’s right,” Jason chuckled, nodding his head. “Too much shit to get through multiple times in a row. I’d rather get it all done at once, you feel me? ‘Least till Ames wakes up.”
“So you are gonna drop some crazy, mind-breaking shit on us tonight…” Sherrel muttered, the ring already gripped between her thumb and index finger. She observed the golden gem glittering from the top of hers. “Fuck it, then. ‘Bout time I learned more about your shady ass.”
“I’m down.” Aisha swallowed, reaching forward and plucking her ring out of the air. “In for a penny, out for a pound - or however that shit goes. I wanna stay with you guys.”
“Feh.” Trainwreck grunted, following their lead and grabbing his in his oversized palm.
They shared one last glance, Jason watching over them from his seat upon the middlemost stone…
Before slipping the rings on their respective fingers.
The last thing Aisha saw before blackness overtook her vision was her new boss’ reassuring smile, the twinkling of the stars in the night sky, and then…
Nothing.
_________________________________________
Meanwhile…
Jack stared up at the grinning, ever so smug photo of one ‘Avalon’, the self-entitled ‘Tarnished Hero’. It was a recent picture, one taken by some random onlooker a couple days ago and then posted on Parahumans Online, beneath one of the many fan threads popping up about Brockton Bay’s newest star. It was taken during the initial fanfare of the late Lung’s attack against the boy, when everyone was huddling beneath their tables and chairs and the hero had stood up without a single care in the world.
He’d watched the accompanying videos. Saw the utter confidence in the way that this ‘Avalon’ held himself. The way that he stared Lung, the same man who’d once chased the Leviathan away damn near single handedly, down without an ounce of anxiety past the obvious worry for his two beaus - a plucky little hacker called ‘Iris’, and another Brockton Bay legend, the glorious healer herself, Amy Dallon.
There were other pictures too, on his bulletin board.
A photo taken of Avalon floating above the street during his battle against the presumably late Kaiser’s group. The quality of this photo was worse than the other one due to it being taken from further away during a rainy night, but even with the blurriness, one couldn’t ignore the action hero shot - Avalon standing above Stormtiger, rows upon rows of golden spears stacked overhead one after another. A hundred of them, at a minimum, and each one reportedly able to snuff the light out of a human being with a single blow.
Another one, of him stabbing another spear - most-likely Tinkertech - through the neck of a Lung mid-transformation.
And then one of him sprinting on top of water.
And another one, taken as he raised his hands above his head and summoned a lightning storm down on the ocean, with the iridescent glow of a blue crack slicing through the sky above.
He’d only been active for a little under a month, but in such a small amount of time, Avalon had already solidified himself as a harbinger - and wasn’t that just a fun little word - for peace. For revolution. He was handsome, charismatic, powerful, and the internet… no, America loved him. Whether or not he was aware of just how much attention he was getting across the country was, ultimately, inconsequential.
Avalon was practically the antithesis of what Jack Slash was meant to represent.
Instead of a simple, cheesy name designed to inspire primal fear, he took from the Arthurian classics of heroism, knighthood, and mythical wonders.
Instead of a simple, blood-stained ensemble and a basic knife, he wore an opulent, gold-accented costume made from expensive cloth that never seemed to actually stain, and his spear seemed practically created to look gaudy.
And instead of bringing fear to the people… he, instead, sewed hope. With his declaration of being able to slay an Endbringer, the vigilantism that never actually toed past the negative line of outright anarchism, and a Trump ability so potent that the word ‘Eidolon’ was beginning to get tossed around way too often…
Jack hated it. He hated the way that he walked, the way that he talked, and he hated the way that he dressed.
The boy was simply too perfect.
But perfection in and of itself was a disgusting flaw. There was no growth in perfection, no spice and excitement in a place so fat and lazy with safety and power that one single newbie hero could rise to the top and declare, under no uncertain terms, that any and all villains who dared to disturb his roost would be defeated.
Ironically enough, Avalon and his burgeoning ‘kingdom’ in the East was the perfect example of what the Slaughterhouse Nine hated. Given time to grow, Jack was almost certain that the boy would quickly become a boring thorn in their side, uninhibited by the morals and political red tape that people like the Triumvirate were limited by. It was inevitable.
A future being harried by some overpowered brat with no creativity? It didn’t interest Jack.
But breaking someone that did so much to make himself seem unbreakable and untouchable? Warping his brain, picking apart his body, and pushing him to massacre the very same people he swore to protect?
Now that sounded fun.
Jack had always been a decisive man, even as he meticulously planned everything out to account for as many hiccups as he could without making the whole undertaking boring. And after one evening of bored scrolling on that forum showed him a glimpse of this new hero defeating Hookwolf, a possible nominee, his interest had been roused. Cultivated. Honed to a sharpened edge that would hopefully be tasting this upstart’s flesh within the coming days.
He stood, smoothing the wrinkles in his pants out with a doffing of his hands, and made his way out of the cluttered RV. Some of his ‘family’ looked up from their respective spots in the campsite at the sound of the plastic door shutting firmly behind him, while others continued on with their nightly activities..
Crawler, lay beneath a humongous oak tree, the largest one in the clearing, and although the beast no longer required much sleep, if any at all, all one hundred of his eyes were closed as his body breathed in and out, shaking the tree with each movement. The hulking, hunch-backed form of Hatchet Face lurked near him, squatting in the dirt and leaves and tracing shapes in the ground with his, well, hatchet.
Sitting around the smoldering campfire and roasting hotdogs were Shatterbird and Burnscar, the latter of which was having trouble alternating between staring into the flickering flames and blinking the brightness out of her eyes. Shatterbird held a book - The Catcher in the Rye - in one hand, but her gaze was neither on it or the campfire. Instead, she watched him with a knowing look in her eye.
Then there was Bonesaw and Mannequin, the tall, puppet-like entity watching over the small girl’s shoulders as she happily scooped the entrails out of a raccoon - one that was still alive, judging by its muffled, squeaky whimpers. A shining shell of some sort of metallic alloy with four pincers rested on the wooden stump she was using as an operating table. A small fan blew the stench of blood and guts away from the women lounging around the campfire, out into the surrounding forests, where he could only assume the Siberian was playing in, judging by her absence.
Jack glanced over all of them, all of his most ‘trusted’ comrades, and counted their heads one by one. Crawler, Hatchet Face, Bonesaw, Mannequin, Shatterbird, Burnscar, and finally him… Jack Slash.
Eight murderers, with the name ‘Slaughterhouse Nine’. This could only be fate.
“Good evening, everyone,” he clapped his hands, the loud smack echoing through the clearing and bringing all of the attention to him. Even half of Crawler’s eyeballs opened up. “I have been thinking for a couple weeks now, as some of you may have seen on my target board above my bed…”
No one answered, and that made him smile. “Good, that was a trick. No one goes to my corner of the RV.”
“I’ve seen you print out his pictures,” Shatterbird was the first to break the silence, setting her book down on the ground beside her and clasping her hands over her lap. Her words were as strong and measured as always, as if she was weighing the pros and cons of everything she said before she said it. “Avalon. Is he the one you plan to nominate, Jack?”
There was that word. ‘Nominate’. Jack could see how everyone’s attention was suddenly piqued at the word, their lust for blood and death just as prevalent as his own. Even Shatterbird seemed excited, for as much as she tried to play the role of the quiet and controlled intellectual, Jack knew just how badly she desired bringing destruction.
She was probably one of the worst ones here, and that was saying something.
“Who’s ‘Avalon?” Bonesaw’s childish, high-pitched voice was practically dripping with curiosity. The girl turned away from the raccoon, her yellow rubber gloves actually dripping with blood and offal. “I’m tired of playing with animals and hitchhikers, Jack! Are we gonna go play with this ‘Avalon’ guy? Oooh, is he strooong?”
Her anticipation was expected. Planned, even. They hadn’t made an attack in weeks because he wanted them biting at the bit to test Avalon. As far as he was aware, Brockton Bay hadn’t been visited by an Endbringer recently. The city was overall weaker because of the overnight villain purging, but that meant that the heroes would be less busy. More alert and healthy. They would need all the bloodlust they could get.
“He’s a boy attempting to be king in Brockton Bay, and he’s very strong.” Jack gently assuaged the young girl, before looking over to the others. “He’s killed the likes of Lung, Kaiser, and Coil, ridding Brockton Bay of three of its biggest gangs in one fell swoop. A Trump with a wide variety of potent powers, and a… dream of protecting his city from ‘monsters’ like us.”
Well, he hadn’t necessarily said the latter portion specifically, but it wasn’t like most of them would go back and check the interview. Shatterbird probably would, but as long as she was allowed to showcase her penchant for shattering, she didn’t care about little white lies.
She was a good birdie like that.
“When-” Burnscar swallowed, wetting her moist throat. When she looked up to him, her eyes were redshot, the fresh scratch marks on her cheeks and neck inflamed with irritation. “When do we leave? I’m getting tired of this forest.” Her voice was dead, her words slow, a byproduct of her waning usage of fire.
He would have to make her set fire to the forest come the morning, otherwise those scratch marks would end up on her forearms again. She wouldn’t bleed out, couldn’t, with Bonesaw’s modifications, but it was the thought that counted.
The weakness was disgusting.
“We’ll leave New Mexico tomorrow and head Northeast, en route to the Bay.” Jack Slash’s smile grew even wider, and he rubbed his hairy chin. “The trip will give you all time to figure out who, in the city, you’d like to nominate yourselves. I think… four, Avalon included, would be a good number.”
“Oh! Can I pick a nominee this time?!” Bonesaw gasped, darting forward and clenching her blood-soaked gloves beneath her chin. It stained her face in the sticky red liquid, but she didn’t care. “There was this really pretty girl I read about on the internet last time we stopped by the library… um, Panacea. Her freckles are really cute and she has powers like mine!”
It wasn’t even possible for Jack’s smile to get even wider, though it tried.
“Don’t worry, Bonesaw - it’s your turn this time.” He tilted his head, studying the faces of the other members to gauge who seemed the most interested in the city.
Crawler’s eyes were closed again, the foolish creature. He saw no enjoyment past carnage and growing more powerful, but now wasn’t the time to pick at that specific scab. Hatchet Face, his hanger-on, was practically the same. Stagnant.
Burnscar was too depressed to say anything.
But Shatterbird’s eyes… they’d lit up, even though her lips stayed in a stoic line, and Mannequin’s body jerked upright with what could only be curiosity. That was two…
There was a gust of wind by his side, suddenly, and Jack became aware of the naked, dark-haired woman with skin like monochromatic tiger stripes invading his personal space. He relaxed the instinctive urge to draw a knife, knowing that she would take it as ‘play time’ and go for a finger or an ear.
Blood dripped down her lips and chin, pooling between her breasts.
Golden, cat-like orbs stared him dead in his own eyes. He wasn’t a mind reader, but Jack was skilled at picking up nonverbal cues, the Siberian’s especially.
And what he gathered from that one stare was like music to his metaphorical ears.
“Then you’ll be the fourth,” he breathed, nodding his head gently.
The Siberian drew back, neither nodding or shaking her head, and one push of her foot took her around his body and towards Bonesaw. The young girl giggled as the tiger-like woman - no, the tiger-like monster picked her up in her arms, always so careful with her claws, and swung her up to her shoulders.
“Listen, Sibby! Jack said I can get an older sister! So then I’ll have you, and Burnscar, and Shatterbird, and then Panacea! … If she passes the tests, which I’m sure she will! Her powers are really similar to mine, after all, and I am the best. Tinker. Ever-”
Her voice, always so energetic and cheerful, slowly faded away as the Siberian walked back into the woods, each casual step of her foot moving the duo several feet at once. Jack watched them go before returning his attention to the others.
“We leave early in the morning, so if you wander away, be back before midnight.” he said, nodding subtly to Shatterbird.
Her head barely twitched in response.
“Jack.” Crawler’s deep, raspy, guttural voice - like multiple old men with strep throat speaking in unison - suddenly spoke up.
He paused mid-way to heading back inside of the RV, and Shatterbird stiffened from where she had been standing up. “Yes, Crawler?”
“Is he truly strong? Enough to lessen this boredom that I’ve been feeling?” Reading between the lines was unnecessary where Crawler was concerned. The man, or as much of him as you can call a man without being purposely disingenuous, was practically an open book since no one around him except for maybe the Siberian could do him any harm in the first place.
And him revealing his boredom was big, because he never usually showcased boredom. He only let it show itself when he decided to act out and go on a rampage.
But similarly, Jack complimenting a hero’s strength was just as rare. Almost unheard of.
And he knew that he could use this. Oh yes, he could definitely use this.
“For your test, Crawler,” Jack chuckled, turning around and swinging open the RV door, “Do your absolute best to destroy him, and if you finally want a challenge? Let him do the same to you? Because Avalon… he’s your closest shot to fighting the likes of Eidolon in a contained environment. And once we break him, my dear friend…”
He didn’t even have to finish the sentence.
Crawler’s monstrous, chest-thumping chuckles of elation followed behind Jack long after he retreated back to his side of the RV, as well as when Shatterbird followed after to discuss the coming days.
They would get their pound of flesh soon, and when they did…
They would make the East Coast shudder.
_________________________________________
1200 CP remaining.
A/N:
Yooo, and we're back with a chunky chapter! Sorry for the week of absence, I'm not sure if I said it here but real life is fucking wild right now and I'm currently dealing with the arrival of a newborn so my attention is split in three different ways. But I found time to write this up yesterday and this morning, so I'm gonna crash after uploading this.
Aisha's POV ended up getting pretty long because I realized that I can show, roughly, what Jason and Cass has been up to throughout the day in her POV, rather than switching out or extending this shit out to another chapter. I'm learning, guys!
The Invictus trio gets their magical rings, the Graveyard is slowly but surely getting cleaned up, and we see Jason flex some more magic. He's getting more and more accustomed to using his magic in casual, day to day life, and you can see the effect of that here. At this point he's barely even realizing that he's using telekinesis.
And the surprise at the end... well, they had to show up at SOME point. The S9 are alive, baby, in the forests of new Mexico, and they're about to FUCK SHIT UP!
... Eventually. They gotta travel cross-country for their newest 'recruits', after all. Ironically enough, Jason's appearance moved their arrival up by months.
Any idea how that's gonna go for them? 💀