Screams filled the room as loud as the explosions as glass ceased to be a complete solid in one half of a heartbeat. In the second half, the newly renovated conference room became light.
Not good light.
Not anything clean or holy or useful.
Just a million-billion little sparkling edges, each one hyper-accelerated through the air in a glittering mist of murder and mayhem. Bright and sharp and everywhere, the localized hurricane of shining sand and reflected glare was almost frozen before he could blink.
The room was still for all of an instant as White Knight took it in, barely anyone moving but Assault and Battery and — blue eyes snapped to his right — and Apex.
That golden gaze was trailing up towards Greg’s standing form, a body in black-and-yellow already out of his seat too as a burst of gold sparks trailed from his eyes.Huh…He blinked and the world sped up, Greg suddenly in motion before his brain finished running the math on the threat, Danger Sense still screaming as it guided his path — higher cognitive functions taking a firm back seat.
Most of the time, that was more bad than good. It usually meant somebody was dying or he was about to get hurt because of that exact lack of thought.
This time, it bought him a pulse.
He threw himself in a sideways lunge across the front row, the aisle crossed in a single blur of speed that parted the air around him. A heavy ergonomic chair in his way went flying to the back of the room, shoulder-checked into a crowd of metal seats as he dropped hard against the linoleum. White-blue boots scraped the ground as he slid his body forward, all his mass thrown in front of the three least armored people he could see.Lady Bug, Vista, Kid Win and the absolute worst of the horizontal spray.
The Lady went down hard, hands over her head as her signature swarm of red-and-black insects — normally a tight, curated halo — scattered around her like spilled ink, polka-dot satchel smacking against the tile right behind his boots.
Lucky for her, he was almost a walking tank.
Almost.The high-BPM impression of winter hail on a tin roof didn’t exactly go ignored. As much as he wanted to act like it didn’t bother him, enough of it was causing low single digits of red to flicker to life the longer he let glass hammer his shoulders, the storm of silicate battering against the white plates of his armor.
His arms went out wider and further, the knight doing his best to act as a human umbrella against the Wards; body covering as much space and surface area as he could. Shards scraped and bounced over him, scratching across every inch of him he could reach.
A few were lucky enough to find the seams.
One jagged little sliver made a new line across the left side of his neck. Another caught soft skin, right under his jaw and dragged a hot wet line where his pulse was.
It was a gentle heat, all things considered; a slow drip of wet copper that was nothing he hadn’t already dealt with from gangbangers with rusty box cutters.
Someone screamed again, a raw tear of the vocal cords that came with the crashing and burning of the huge multi-thousand dollar monitor bolted to the wall, dead pixels spidered and weaponized as it all collapsed in on itself. Another command tore through the room, that sound completely vanishing under the high whine still digging into the room and vibrating through his eyes, ears, and the most sensitive of his organs.
"You alive?" Greg stared down, peering through his blue mask. He held a gauntleted hand out, a simple gesture. “Lady?”
Lady Bug looked up at him through her own red domino, the color-coding a problem; mostly because it made it incredibly annoying to track how much of the red on the side of her face was actual blood. “D-define alive.” “Is the majority of your bleeding internal?” Greg pulled his hand back as Lady Bug’s breathing slowed, the girl clearly handling herself. It was almost impressive, honestly; how quickly she could orient herself after taking a hit like that, for a non-Brute at least. “Because if so, that’s bad.”“Yes. Alive.” She blinked, a gloved hand coming up to trace that bloody side of her mask, the mascot-bounce to her voice clearly fighting a tight battle against pain and blood loss. "Bugs and buddies taking a few losses, though. No squishing, please."
…oookay, maybe not all that impressive. He might have been too early to applaud because she was definitely not exactly all there right now, but… "Yeah, alive."“Your…” A gasp came from the greenest figure in front of him, Vista’s eyes aimed down. “Your leg!”
His gaze dropped down to where she was looking, white pants splattered red as the thickest part trailed down his thigh. Huh? It only took a second for him to realize the itching on his leg had something to do with the largest red number in his vision, the double digits slowly beginning to fade. “...shite, that was a new phone!”“Shite?”He didn’t have a chance to answer Kid Win’s question as another yell forced his attention away."White Knight!"
The cape in question turned his hooded head, blue cowl tugging against his collar as he took in the bright form of Glory Girl with the rest of New Wave; the family bunched together tight on the far side of the room.
A whole defensive wall of white spandex and bright (mostly) primary colors were clustered behind hardlight. Laserdream and Photon Mom had arms and barriers up; purple and neon red shining bright against the dimmed room.
Neither of them had anything on the youngest Pelham, though.
Shielder’s geometry was even more impeccable than the last time Greg had seen it up close, a half-dozen separate blue planes covering several sections of the room at once. Even the largest shards of the biggest windows were caught dead in the sapphire hexagons, suspended and fractalized out like massive snowflakes.
"I'm fine. Don't grab me!" Glory Girl hovered a clean half-foot over the ground; fists clenched, jaw locked and bright blue eyes wide and furious. "Are you serious right now?”
She wasn't talking to him anymore, the floating cape yelling back at a PRT officer trying to usher her and the rest of her family toward the nearest door. “That's not happening. I said back off!”
…man, she’s so badass. Even the time he had to save her from Lung, she’d managed to keep looking awesome the entire time. So cool.
“Vicky!” Gallant stood near the rest of the Wards with Aegis at his side, both of them in between Greg and New Wave as the knight in silver extended one armored limb out towards New Wave’s flying face.
Yet, even as he spoke to her, that featureless visor-line turned squarely toward Greg. Even if he could barely make out the other guy’s eyes behind the blue glow but even if he could tell the guy wasn’t glaring at him anymore, the Ward was still staring a bit too hard for Greg’s liking.
Consistency was a virtue, but Greg would have respected the boyfriend-guarding a lot more if the room was not halfway to a murder-blender.
“Status!” Miss Militia’s command cracked through the dust and plaster powder still raining down on their heads from the sudden shredding. A little late to the party, but protocol was protocol… or whatever.Dozens of voices answered back with general announcements of fine as people were already moving, chairs tossed aside as the organized and diplomatic structure of the meeting went with them. PRT officers in kevlar and black body armor dragged injured administrative staff out of the room, away from the ruined hole where the main window used to be. Kid Win was still on his knees, one hand clamped over the side of his head and visor HUD blinking bad enough to be seen from the other direction.
Most of the Independents were already booking it, controlled enough to not run or scream at the very least. Inexperienced or not, they were very clearly aware that the room had become stupid to remain inside.
Very smart, honestly.
Another pulse ripped through the air, the remaining glass embedded in the drywall trembling with it.
Shatterbird. Greg blinked. Right. The Slaughterhouse Nine had done more than just arrive, they’d announced themselves in the biggest way.
"Report!"
Piggot’s voice was as blunt and as heavy as the rest of her, the woman still upright behind the podium. One arm of her suit jacket was dark and wet with blood but it might as well have been untouched the way her face was locked in a scowl hard enough to shatter steel.
"Casualties!” An officer barked back, hand pressed against his own forehead as blood trickled through gloved fingers. “Multiple reports of casualties from the Southeast Wing!"
"Medical team on the move!"
"Keep away from the windows!"
"No windows left." Assault stood in front of the table, a line of blood wiped off the side of his cheek with one hand. “If you want to be technical about it.”
“Nobody was.” Battery stepped right into his space. "Not the time to talk."
"I’m providing necessary situational commentary."
Triumph stood to his right, fists clenched and without a wound to show for it. "While also bleeding on the floor."
"So is everyone else.” The red-suited cape clicked his tongue. “I’m being inclusive."
A neon-green hand clamped tight onto his shoulder, courtesy of Battery. "Assault."
"Shutting up."
Another ‘ping’ sounded off, his System flaring to life again with another unhelpful notification.
[Bonus Objective: Prevent Shatterbird’s citywide glass attack.]
Really? His eye twitched against the blue text. Now?
How 'helpful'. Nothing like a glowing neon reminder that the highly obvious city-shredding emergency was, in fact, an emergency. Thank you, Ms. Game. Greg clicked his tongue. As helpful as a pop-up ad, sometimes.
A loose chunk of glass wavered loose, dropping from the ceiling it was embedded into to shatter uselessly against the white plating of his shoulder armor.
Okay. Greg breathed out slow. Fine.
Mouse Protector was still standing and, apart from a few holes in her hoodie and a bit of blood seeping through one sleeve, she was no more worse for wear than before.
"Shatterbird." Armsmaster didn't turn around from his position, the man’s attention aimed firmly out the window. "Last street camera before her scream took it out places her at an elevated position. Eight blocks southeast. Continuing active silica manipulation across the surrounding grid."
“Can you target her?”
"From this position?" Armsmsater still didn’t bother to turn around, not even to answer Piggot’s question, but even the surprise was clear in his tone. “I’m not sure how I could manage that.”
Piggot jerked her chin. "Fair point."
"People are definitely in her way." Photon Mom’s barrier flared bright purple as she finally let it drop, a thin wave of glast dust falling to the ground with it gone. "That’s how she fights. If we start throwing heavy fire blind, we risk them as much as anything else."
Miss Militia’s weapon shifted, the green blur rearranging from a simple glowing assault rifle to a shining scoped sniper platform ready to be used. “We just need a clean shot.”
Easier said than done. Greg’s steps carried him to the edge of the room, blue eyes peering out through the jagged empty frames as he took in the glittering cityscape of Brockton Bay.
For one stupid awful second, it was almost beautiful.
Glass rained from the surrounding buildings, big office windows blown open as a storm of shining diamonds fell. Car windshields flashed and burst in glittering geysers, streetlights shattering above them as storefronts shredded themselves onto the asphalt in a tidal rain of sharp edges. Fgures ran across the pavement with arms wrapped over their heads, like that was enough to stop a city from deciding to cut them apart.
The scream rose again; high, beautiful, and horrible.
Greg’s jaw tightened, muscles locking as his teeth ground together. Without another thought, he spun on his heel. “Apex!”
Sparky’s head snapped toward him, his best friend already shifting himself from one shoe to the other, arms raised and rady like he was just waiting for someone to point him at a target.
Luckily, Greg had one for him.
"Magi!"
Theo looked over from where he was on the floor crouched beside a fallen PRT officer with one gloved hand pressed flat against the carpet. Blue light spread out from his other palm in pale geometric lines, glowing softly against bare skin.
"Keep the civvies safe."
"Yeah, no, sick plan.” Gold eyes blinked his way from behind his yellow goggles, voice clear enough from behind the honeycomb grille of his mouth-mask. “Down and fucking down into the meat grinder."
“Just get the people free from the crossfire, genius.” One gauntleted arm swept out toward the reinforced doors of the PRT interior. “Away from the windows and anything… anything even close to glass. If you’re not sure, ask Magi. Carry whoever lacks strength to walk."
Theo’s head tilted an inch to the left, that LED smiley face tracking the hallway. "Might I recommend something else?”Greg raised an eyebrow. “Go for it.”“I can reinforce interior corridors of buildings. Sealing up whatever corridors I can.”
"Do that, then.” White Knight nodded at Magi. “Whatever keeps the shrapnel out. Wall it off."
Lady Bug pushed herself up onto one elbow, dark curls covered in all sorts of dust. "White Knight—"
"Stay with the squires."“Squires?”Greg bit down a wince. “Stay with the Wards.”
"I can help.” She snapped back, voice clear, brittle, and lacking the magical-girl friendly bounce of before; familiar in a way Greg pushed to the back of his mind. “My swarm can tra-"
"Thou art helping by refraining from bleeding further onto the carpet."
She stopped, jaw set as she glared at him through a domino mask.
He didn’t bother giving her the extra oxygen to continue the debate as he took another step forward. Sparky took a step toward him, one hand out in his path."Where the hell are you going, brah? Fuck are you doing?"
Greg looked back out at the ruined skyline, the air glittering with falling knives that were turning the bay into a shimmering meatgrinder. Blue eyes gave Apex one last look. "Where do you think?"
He ran.
Right toward the gaping hole where the window used to be.
White boots hit the center of the polished Protectorate conference table, expensive wood cracking beneath his feet.
Somebody shouted his name again.Greg didn’t care as he kicked off, hard enough to shatter the table under him. Wood splintered into kindling as he launched himself forward through the ruined window line and straight out into the open air.
For one zero-gravity second, there was absolutely nothing beneath him and an eighty-foot drop to the pavement.
Then the wind caught his cloak.