Interludes everywhere! Almost 30K. I tried to get a real spread in across the cast. Feel like it turned out nicely, though I much prefer writing in the first person tense.
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As the first hint of light sneaks through the curtains, Emma jolts awake.
She doesn't move. Not just because she's warm and comfortable, with no particular reason to get up and do anything. But also because she's lightly held in position by the comforting weight of a masculine arm wrapped around her torso. A slight shift of her head brings Greg into view. Already awake, his head slightly shifting to meet her gaze before returning to what he was looking at before. She follows his gaze.
And there is Sophia. Half-hidden by what little of the covers remained in place, but still clearly visible as her head bobs up and down on Greg's shaft. There's a momentary pause as Sophia notices Emma, a slight shift in the former's eyes as if to convey... something. Emma could imagine that, if her mouth were free - Sophia would say something like: 'You think I wanted this? I woke up next to this stupid erection and just wanted to get it out of the way. I didn't even want to touch it, but nobody else was doing anything about it.'
But Sophia's mouth is busy, and Emma is disinclined to interrupt - and before Sophia can make the decision to pull her mouth away to clarify that everything was absolutely not as it seemed, the decision is taking away from her. Gently, firmly, Greg pushes her head back down onto his shaft. There's a flicker of mulish irritation from Sophia, a moment that hangs in the balance between acceptance and resistance - but ultimately, no pushback comes.
Hot. Emma licks her lips at the scene. She's thought about it before, of course. Ever since Greg raised the idea as a possibility, her dreams at night had been filled with different scenarios. Shadow Stalker, confronting him alone at night, only to be overpowered and punished in increasingly sinful ways. Sophia, attempting to dominate the one-time-nerd, only to find herself on the losing end of the trade. Sophia being held down by herself and Madison, letting her writhe and struggle as Greg came to breed his favourite sow - her resistance becoming a little bit less convincing every time.
Perhaps that sounded a little extreme for a friend - but thoughts weren't crimes. And everyone had a kink or two. Emma had seen Madison's browser history. This was tame. And unrealistic. Or, it should have been.
But here Sophia was. And while the one-sided dominance, the punishment, the humiliation - those aspects of her dreams were decidedly not present - the end result, somehow, was. Here was a Sophia that had learned submission. Not one that had come to terms with that fact, admittedly. Even last night, when she had returned from her 'shower' to twin knowing grins with a scowl on her face and a wobble in her step - she'd been petty and spiteful to Greg, dropping insults and jabs at every turn. Yet, after Madison had returned to her home at the end of the day as her parents began to worry about the safety of the city, the question of sleeping arrangements had come up - and Sophia had folded in the face of Greg's insistence on the current arrangements. A shared bed. Completely nude. A steady grip around the both of them.
Every additional demand had resulted in an accusation of perversion, of sleaziness, an attack on his masculinity. But, at the end of the day - she'd let herself be convinced. Even when he had, with the least sincere expression on his face possible, claimed that it was impossible for him to fall asleep next to two such beautiful ladies without jerking off - Sophia hadn't kicked him out, or started attacking him, or even told him to fuck off and sort himself out. No. She'd accused him of being annoying, of being a pest - and, after an all-too-short effort to convince her from Emma and Greg, of making a mess and forcing the need for yet another shower in a single day.
Domesticated. Perhaps that was the word. Still a feisty girl. A housecat with claws, but one that obeyed. One that fell in line. And for someone that Emma knew was so strong, just seeing that state of affairs was hot. The Emma from a few months ago would have gasped at the betrayal in her values, but really - nothing had changed. Predator and prey - that was still true. There was just a shift in perspective. An understanding that there was a level above where she was standing now. And if the most appropriate thing for the level below her - including Taylor, most of all - to do was to submit, then it followed that the same applied to her and Sophia both for someone who stood above them. There weren't clearly defined margins for what would be 'above' them. Raw combat power didn't make you a predator. And most of the city, most of the world, just didn't get it. Didn't understand. She'd just assumed that it was impossible to fill that spot. That they were as high on the food chain as you could go.
And then... Greg. A stupid, kind-of-sweet name on an assuming figure. A diamond in the rough, held back by his closeness with Taylor. A bit of polishing and... wow. That was all that could be said. It was like a switch had been flicked. He'd bulldozed through Emma's flimsy attempts to string him along in days. When she'd taken their relationship to the next level - giving out a rare treat to try and keep him in line, obedient, away from Taylor and focused on her - he'd just... treated it like it was normal. And now, expected. Even when she gave him her entire body, everything she had to give - putting him in the position of perhaps the luckiest guy in school - it was clear. In his heart, he'd already moved on to the pursuit of the next girl. And he had just assumed that she would follow along. To help, even.
And he was right. Sophia had said it best. You knew Taylor was lower on the pecking order because she instinctively knew her place. A doormat. And now, the same had applied to Emma. And now, the same had applied to Sophia. From out of nowhere, an apex predator had arrived. Not because of some margin of personal power or status - it was about who he was. How he understood his place in the world. It came naturally to him. It wouldn't be long before things at school escalated with Sophia as well. Sophia might think that this was a one-time event, but it was obvious that Greg had never even considered that possibility. Emma knew that, by the end of next week at most, Sophia would be kneeling next to her in an abandoned art classroom - cock in her mouth and her fingers buried in her slit. Utterly defeated in her heart, and simply accepting that fact.
And, as a bonus, Emma would get to watch her friend get railed properly. She couldn't help but feel slightly-put-out that Sophia had run off to hide somewhere private before doing the deed. But even if Greg had allowed that to start with, that wouldn't last long. Her body didn't just belong to her any more - and Emma would get the opportunity to see up-close how closely her old dreams lined up with reality. But, for now, the sight of her friend - so strong, so powerful - laid so low, debasing herself like this for a boy she'd looked down on for so long... that memory would be enough to keep her nights exciting for weeks to come.
Did he know? Sophia had gone out to fight yesterday, and at some point - had come back, and got swept off her feet by Greg. Was she in costume? Did she get caught changing? Did she get rescued, a powerless, gallant knight rescuing her from a perilous situation - leading her towards a change in heart, forced to admit that he wasn't so bad after all? Or had she made it back undetected, only stumbling upon Greg in her civilian guise - and deciding that the thrill of victory and rush of emotions needed an outlet? So many questions, but Sophia was too touchy about the subject to ask - and Greg effortlessly dismissed her efforts to dig deeper by redirecting her towards more 'useful' endeavours. Which she was happy to do, but she still didn't have answers. She could respect privacy, of course, but... it was a bit frustrating to not know. Just a little.
She leans into Greg's chest, fingers idly tracing along his muscles. Quite where he found the time to work out, she didn't have a clue. But whatever he was doing, or whatever he was taking - it was working. Her newfound closeness with his body alerts her to a momentary shiver, a breath cut short, a hint of tension and relaxation both - she turns her head downwards in anticipation. Don't tell her. That's the thought that runs through her mind. Sophia would probably pull away, or make a disgusted face and let his load spill out onto the bed. Far less entertaining than the alternative.
Greg seems to be of the same mind. He doesn't utter a word, and a few seconds later, he climaxes right as Sophia finds herself at her deepest, lowest point on his shaft yet. Held lightly in place, she lets out a muffled cry of outrage, a flash of coughing and gagging emerging from around his cock as she tries and fails to contain the sudden eruption with her lips. Between a few desperate, urgent gulps and the remnants escaping from the seal she was making around his dick - Sophia regains some semblance of control over the situation.
"Fucking asshole." The eloquent response is the first thing out of her mouth as Sophia finally breaks away. "Give me some warning."
"I forgot." Greg lies, the glower that gets sent his way showing that the lie was transparent to Sophia as well. He just wanted to see her like that in exactly the same way that Emma did. "And, I figured you didn't really want me to talk - considering how quiet you were, trying not to wake Emma up while you were sucking me off."
"Don't make it sound like I actually wanted to do any of this." She sneers. "It was just the least annoying option, compared to you waking up Emma to deal with it instead. Don't get used to it. It will never happen again." Sophia slides her eyes to me. "And that's a bullshit argument anyway. She's obviously awake now."
He blinks owlishly at me. "So she is." He doesn't even try to inject sincerity into the attempt at a shocked tone.
"Oh, fuck off. I'm leaving anyway. Some of us have important things to do today." Sophia growls in her usual fashion, practically leaping from the bed and stalking around the room to find her discarded clothes.
"Something I said?" Greg quirks an eyebrow, not looking apologetic in the slightest.
"She always leaves early in the morning. Don't take it personally." Emma drawls. Usually, she would be heading out as well - ready to crack heads alongside her. Or, keep lookout at the very least. But somehow, she got the feeling that Sophia needed space right now. On top of the fact that Sophia probably blamed her for no small part in things going down the way that they did. Best leave her to cool off alone.
"More time for us then." Sophia doesn't even flinch at that, stalking out of the room while trying to make it not seem like a retreat. Apparently, she's no longer concerned with protecting Emma's chastity after everything that had happened. Greg shrugs, sending a wry smile to Emma.
His smile pauses, his gaze resting on something... behind her? By her head? She half-turns to see what he was looking at, seeing nothing and turning back around - just barely catching him whisper something under his breath. Perhaps a bug? Nothing seemed off. Nothing except his face, which remains focused on that point for another second before his expression shifts - a look of tension replacing his frown in an instant. His arm flexes out, shaking out slightly as if to remind him that it was even there. A seemingly unconscious touch against his neck, as if tracing a line or scar that stopped at his shoulder. And then he relaxes. A pleased look landing on his face, before a wry smile replaces it. "Didn't even change anything. Don't know what I expected." She can barely catch the murmured thought. She tilts her head at him. "Ah, never mind." He explains. "I was thinking about something else."
She shrugs. That kind of shift in focus, as if ready for a fight - that seemed like quintessential predator stuff. She didn't really get it, but that made sense - there had to be something about him that made him different to her and Sophia. Best to put it out of her mind.
"Sophia really did leave a mess behind, didn't she?" He remarks drily, shifting focus to the hastily-abandoned cock still standing upright in the bed. Coated in cum and saliva, certainly not a well-done job.
"You can teach her to do better." Emma's response isn't a suggestion. It's a fact. A statement. "And meanwhile, you have me." Finally, Emma slips out of his grasp - sliding down the bed to match Sophia's old position. A lick, a dab, a light-yet-firm grasp of his cock is all it takes to have it swelling to full-mast again. Cleaning up was one thing, but... she wasn't in any rush to send him home. Dragging things out a bit could be fun. Just long enough for him to lose patience. Just long enough to make him take what was his by force.
If she could keep his attention, that is. Already, with Madison and Sophia gone - he seemed restless. Eager to go out and do something. She wasn't enough to keep him satisfied. That thought didn't hurt, but it did present an issue - that he was more likely to follow Sophia out the door rather than spend the morning fucking her into a puddle. Sharing him with Sophia and Madison had been fun and hit all the right kinks for her, but nothing quite compared to having his sole attention.
Emma's phone buzzes. Both of the room's occupants glance at it. "Five-one-four-two." She doesn't move from her position as she calls out the pin. She had more important things to focus on, and she didn't have anything to hide. Not from him. Not on that phone. Even the conversations with Sophia were always kept vague enough to be considered a girl's night out, the worst thing in there would be... hm. He used to be Taylor's friend, so perhaps there were a few choice turns of phrase in there that he wouldn't appreciate.
Well. Wouldn't have appreciated. Taylor had burned that bridge thoroughly now. Not that Emma intended to just let things be between them. No, simply breaking things off wouldn't solve anything. It was getting them back together again, with a relationship that had been truly corrected - that was the endgame. Friendship? Between Greg, superior to Emma - and Taylor, below her? That didn't work. They weren't equals. And if Greg could make both Emma and Sophia understand that, then he could make Taylor understand it too. Emma could admit that they had failed to properly educate Taylor on their own, but Greg could do it. When he returned to Taylor not as a friend, but as a conqueror. When Taylor realised that the only way to return to her parasitic existence was to submit, to be little more than an obedient cocksleeve at the bottom of the food chain - to beg for mercy and forgiveness for all the wrongs she had committed to not just her, but to Greg as well - then the victory would be complete.
And then, maybe, they could be friends again. Taylor would be so, so much happier once she stopped resisting. And Emma was gracious. It wasn't like Sophia or Madison had been on Emma's level when they had arrived at Winslow, but she had extended a hand anyway. It would be the same with Taylor, never quite to be raised up to the level of an equal... but, even a pet could become worthy of love and respect over time. So long as it was appropriately tamed.
"Someone called 'Anne' is coming back early?" He questions her with a raised eyebrow.
"My older sister." She says by way of explanation.
She feels the weight of his attention shift. "Oh? I didn't know you had a sister."
Emma licks her lips. Surely not. She knows what he's thinking, but they've never even met!
But he could. A dark whisper murmurs in her ear. He'd done it to her, and she was a survivor. A predator in her own right. And Anne was many things, smart and kind and caring... but none of those indicated that she would offer much resistance to someone who had effectively conquered Sophia in a single day.
And, wasn't this exactly what she had been after? She knew him. He'd been about to make an excuse, fuck her throat and then leave. And now? He was interested. Engaged. Eager. It wasn't even like she was selling out her own family, Anne would enjoy it - so long as Greg could coax her into it. And when things ended up with an unorthodox threesome with her own sister involved? Well. She wasn't exactly disinterested in watching Greg fuck the daylights out of a more-developed, graceful version of herself. And she doubted that her expertise would go unappreciated in the end.
Control. That was something she'd sought early in her relationship with Greg. To leash him like a weapon to use against Taylor. And that had backfired. Backfired on all three girls. But only because she hadn't understood what she was dealing with. Now that she truly understood him, she had more control now than ever - albeit in the same way that a driver can control a car with no brakes. Perhaps she can't command him at will like she had once hoped, but she could steer - entice him down a path more favourable to her.
And today, that path just happened to involve turning her prudish, nerdy sister into a slut.
But tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Eventually, she'd find the right words. Just the right tease, to have him go to Taylor. To take what was his, and reforge her into the submissive slut that she was always supposed to be.
She smiles. "She looks a lot like me, just a bit older. Taller. Bigger tits. She used to be a model as well, but stopped once she started studying at her university properly." She averts her gaze. "You'd like her, I think - but, you probably couldn't get into her pants. She's not too interested in romance, or men in general, really. A real feminist type." She hides her smile at the look on his face. Hook. Line. Sinker. He leans back into the mass of pillows, flicking through what most likely her pictures to find the girl in question.
"Tell me more." It's an order. It's a promise. It's a statement that he'll still be here for the rest of the morning, left with nothing to do to kill the time but abuse Emma's body to the breaking point. All in the name of an attempt to fuck the two sisters together.
Emma couldn't be happier about that. And she couldn't wait for Anne to feel exactly the same way.
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Vista hated meetings. And paperwork. And console duty. And just about everything Wards-related that didn't involve going out to kick Nazi ass.
But, if there was one type of meeting that she hated slightly less than the others - it would be these. The situation reports. The catch-up after a moment of crisis. Where the PRT took stock of a problem and started trying to fix it. When new Capes appeared on the map and every detail about them was scrutinised for hints about powers, potential and their likely heroic or villainous inclinations. It was a real hero meeting. It felt important. It wasn't an hour-long lecture by someone who didn't have powers telling her about the dangers of being on a ladder because 'technically' she was working at heights when skipping from rooftop to rooftop.
"I will begin." Armsmaster enters the room and starts talking without much preamble, the projector whirring to life in the same moment. Did he practice that entrance? Or was he just waiting outside the door so that he could time it properly? She hides her smirk at the idea before anyone can notice.
Apart from Gallant. Gallant always noticed.
"Firstly, we don't have any concrete leads on any greater plan behind this incident - whether any unconfirmed rumours from non-vetted sources claim that there is one or not. No concerted break-out of prisoners, no major robberies, no unusual spike in crime or severity - for the moment, we are to keep our eyes open and watch for unusual activity. But for now, we will be treating the simultaneous nature of these attacks as either attacks of opportunity or simple coincidences." His monotone carries throughout the room.
"Secondly, this incident has confirmed the allegiance of several additional parahumans to certain groups. Some of these were already known or suspected, but others are new. I have updated the folder for all the affected groups, I will address some of them, but I advise you read further in your own time." Clockblocker makes a pfft noise, slightly too loudly. Armsmaster's helmet turns, slowly, woodenly - and stares. Clockblocker shrinks down with a muted 'sorry'.
He continues. "And finally, there is a need to assess some of the vigilantes and villains that have popped up over this incident and the last few weeks."
The projector behind him shifts.
"Most critically, then, the state of the city." Swathes of colour fill in a map of the city to indicate controlled territory. Shadow Stalker's disgusted snort, for once, is understandable. It's always bugged Vista as well - just how much of the city was... conceded to the gangs. The law was still enforced, up to a certain point - but... at the same time, there was a point. And the Empire and ABB could no more be dislodged than the PRT themselves could. More often than not, they were the true enforcers of those areas, rather than the cops allowed to handle petty crime. "Despite being crippled on the Parahuman front, the ABB remains a powerful force - with the loss of Oni Lee more than answered by a surge in guns and explosive weaponry, put to devastating use in response to the Empire incursion. Given the Empire's failure to take out Lung and our own capture of Victor and Krieg, we can expect the current stalemate to continue for a time for both major gangs - all of you should be wary of retaliatory strikes against us as a show of force."
"Are we going to take the fight to Lung then?" Aegis asks the question. "Between the hero groups of the Bay, we have mobility that the Empire doesn't. We don't have to take a predictable route along the streets, one quick fight before he grows and the ABB as an organisation is done."
"We? Or, we?" Miss Militia crosses her arms. "The Protectorate and its partners will consider all of the options available to them, with the greatest focus being put on the safety of civilians and the preservation of life. It's too soon to make a rash decision about such a potentially volatile mission." Another snort from Sophia. Vista unhappily agrees with her again. That sounded like a 'no'. "Or, if you meant - 'we' as in, you? Are we going to send our Wards, all of whom are yet to reach adulthood, into enemy territory to fight a known murderer who once clashed with an Endbringer directly and came out alive? Was that the question?"
Aegis shrinks back a little, looking sheepish as Miss Militia rephrases his real question. "The-the first one." He answers lamely.
"Bitch." Aegis whirls on Sophia as her snickering comment carries across the room.
"Shadow Stalker, you will be taking over console duty for Aegis on Saturday." Armsmaster decrees, earning a thunderous scowl from the girl. Vista smirks. It was always nice to see her taken down a peg, even if their views were happening to line up a bit more than usual today.
Everyone settles down again, Aegis looking mollified and the adults in the room looking nonplussed. Assault starts speaking. "Right. Uh. I'm supposed to talk about neutral people. So. Faultline and her mercenaries appear to have left Brockton Bay, likely for the sake of a contract - as usual. Word is that they pissed off the Empire while this was all going down, so even if we didn't hear much about it - they'll probably keep their distance while the heat dies down. Parian did nothing of note overall apart from knocking around some gangbangers with those dolls of hers. I've seen the video for that, I've submitted a request to upgrade her master rating - the larger ones are way more of a problem than the smaller ones we last saw in a fight."
"I've approved it." Armsmaster rumbles.
"Right-o." Assault shrugs. "Anyway, that's mostly it. I would usually talk about Hellhound, but, uh - she's definitely a villain now."
"Hellhound was already classified as a villain." Armsmaster interjects. "She is wanted for questioning regarding the murder of two-"
"Yeah, yeah. We get it. But nobody was actually going to arrest her for knocking Hookwolf through a wall and shutting down dogfighting rings, right?" He rolls his eyes. "Apart from you, I suppose."
"Positive actions do not necessarily outweigh negative ones." Armsmaster responds tightly. "But, you are correct. If anyone was not considering her a 'real' villain before, she is now. The next most concerning group on our list confirms a previous report on the team known as the Undersiders, with some additions. A group of thieves and lowlifes that have recently upped their game as their numbers swelled. The leader appears to be a teenaged girl called Tattletale. Power, unknown - but likely Thinker. Hellhound and Grue, both with previous conflicts with heroes, have both been confirmed as members. A pyrokinetic known as Spitfire, previously assumed to be a vigilante, has now been confirmed as a member. This is Regent, power unknown."
As he speaks, images and stills from a security camera pop up on-screen showing each costumed member racing through a corridor, presumably from their latest heist. A casino, if Vista was remembering the initial reports right.
"While none of them are an individual powerhouse relative to their peers, their numbers and teamwork do make them a significant threat - and their newfound combat abilities allow them the possibility of choosing direct conflict in response to confrontation rather than relying solely on their escape specialities. Whether they will choose to utilise that option, or continue with their modus operandi - is still unknown." Armsmaster crosses his arms. "We have little insight into several of their powers or their potential upper limits due to the lack of footage to analyse, so if you do encounter these thieves, you are to request for backup and do your best to not escalate the situation or initiate hostilities."
"Got it. Don't fight the serious criminals. Don't fight the non-serious criminals." Vista murmurs. Miss Militia shoots her a disapproving look. Whoops. Too loud. But, she doesn't regret saying it. She knows she isn't the only one here to feel that way. Everyone in the Wards had seen the online reaction to the relative lack of success on the hero side of things compared to the conflagration of villainous activity across the city. Too many videos of heroes standing by and 'monitoring' the situation, or exchanging half-hearted blows before allowing the villains to retreat. Even Clockblocker wasn't joking around for once. There was a sense of bitterness in the air that couldn't be dispelled. A feeling that, if not for the PRT holding them back - they could have really done something.
Something about this latest group made that feeling worse. That this group of five teenagers was considered a threat worthy of consideration and even a small amount of respect, but if you turn that into a group of seven and call them Wards - suddenly they're a liability. A glorified babysitting job, a group that should sit down and obediently wait to turn eighteen before being allowed to do anything.
Maybe it wasn't an entirely fair thought. In less explosive times, the Wards had been deployed before... but Vista didn't feel like being charitable or fair right now.
"Uber and Leet have not streamed or been seen in any fashion since their... performance. It's likely that they will return at some stage, but they are not our primary concern for now." One more slide change. "And, for the last notable villain group to take action - the Merchants appear to have recruited a Changer after an extended fight in the Trainyards. The parahuman strength of the group is still minor, but their unpowered ranks continue to swell along with their influence over the drug trade."
The girl at Vista's side lets out an impatient sigh. "A few new Capes showed themselves, the Palanquin has fucked off again, Uber & Leet are trying to piece their broken toys back together, a few nobodies pulled together more of a team so that they could steal candy better, the Merchants have another nobody on their team, the Empire lost some guys and probably has it out for us - and Lung is still crying all on his own about how much he misses Oni Lee." Sophia interrupts with a summary of her own. "None of us are allowed to do anything about it, and we should tuck our tails in and run away if anybody even looks at us funny. Does that about sum it up? Can we go now?"
"No." Armsmaster tells her bluntly. "There's still more to discuss. Namely, the two vigilantes that we do have a significant amount of information on - and that, so far, have remained heroically-minded overall. Void Cowboy, and the newly-named Arachne. While they have both politely refused an invitation to the Wards so far, there is an open invitation for them to join at any moment. If you encounter them, be sure to encourage future cooperation and the advantages of Ward membership. Several people here today have had interactions with one or both of them. Vigilantism is still technically illegal, and it is not uncommon for vigilantes to be lured in by a gang - so even if we don't currently have plans to confront them, now is the appropriate time to discuss aspects of their powers, ratings and potential countermeasures."
Miss Militia takes over at the front of the room as Armsmaster steps away. Too in-sync. Too smooth. Not for grumpy, unsociable Armsmaster. Did he have a speech-writer in his suit, and he just asked it to make a proper speech and followed the prompts as appropriate? No. Surely not. Vista peers at his helmet suspiciously, as if hoping to catch some glimmer of flickering light or lines of code racing across the visor. She gets a steady look in return.
Too obvious. She looks away as Miss Militia starts to speak. "I'll start with Arachne, based off of my only interaction with her - after the capture of Oni Lee, along with the CCTV footage gathered surrounding the incident. A Master over bugs of various descriptions, capable of acting both at scale and with precision. She appears to be limited by range, although said range is still respectably large. During the confrontation with Oni Lee, she held a mass of bugs large enough to block the light from every window, doorway and internal light source in the warehouse simultaneously while still several buildings away from the actual conflict inside."
Vista shudders at the image Armsmaster brings up on screen. A bodycam footage of a wall. But not just a wall. A living wall of chittering, gibbering chitin. A mass of bugs so numerous that, for a moment, you couldn't even grasp what you were looking at until you saw some fly away or shuffle around the pile. That was too many bugs. Maybe Arachne was secretly a nice person, but Vista personally wouldn't mind if she just... became a villain and got tossed into a cell forever, a long way away from Brockton Bay.
Maybe that seemed extreme. But Vista had seen the incident report of the last time the girl had gone on patrol and encountered some drug dealers. If there was even the slightest possibility of Vista ending up like that, then her reaction wasn't extreme enough. Anyone would understand.
Vista shakes her head as Miss Militia continues to recite her thoughts. "She appears to control every bug within her range automatically, with no need to apply a control vector of any kind first. We don't have a confirmed upper limit on her range, but based on the earlier example, we could safely assume that every bug within half-a-block in any given direction is under her control at any given moment. When I met her, she demonstrated the ability to form complex patterns with her bugs, indicating that she was simultaneously directing the bugs individually rather than commanding the swarm as a whole. Inventive, and nigh-impossible to easily separate from her bugs without special measures. Master six."
"Still just a squishy Master at the end of the day, right?" Clockblocker stretches his arms up. "I mean, I'm not lining up to fight her - but if we ever did come to blows, swap out the half-masks for a full helmet, and she's-" He pauses dramatically. "-buggered."
Kid Win kicks the back of Clockblocker's chair, his feelings mirroring the minor groans and disappointed looks that the room sends his way.
"She's got them dragging string around and tying up thugs now. They have mass behind them, they can carry objects given time. Even if her control is unchanged, they're not just bugs crawling into open mouths anymore." Dauntless offers. "I'd make it a seven. Maybe even an eight - I don't see a reason why she could weigh people down, carry small bags and tie up thugs, but not cart around grenades or guns and pull a pin. It's a dangerous power if she ever pushes it, it's strange to say given the... obvious discomfort of seeing her in action, but I dare say we've only seen the family-friendly version of her skillset so far."
Triumph interjects. "I'm in favour of the higher rating as well, if only for different reasons. I was following a PHO thread trying to break down her powers when she was first spotted. The videos were all poor quality, but one guy in there was able to point out damn-near every type of bug in the city. That sounds obvious, but I mean... beetles, spiders, ants, flies, wasps - there's no significant link between them other than 'bugs'. There were no obvious exceptions to the rule, which means we can't rule out the possibility that she could find a particularly poisonous or lethal bug - even one that could never survive locally under normal circumstances - and turn it into a weapon. Local or foreign, there's potential to kill a person in a single sting. Not that I'm saying she would! By all accounts, she seems lovely-"
"But that kind of discussion, that kind of scenario, is precisely the kind of thing we have these meetings for." Dauntless assures him. "If they won't come in for power-testing and have no strong desire to join the Wards, we need to take a cautious approach. Imagine what the worst-case scenario might look like. You don't need to justify the answer, it's a fair point."
Velocity interjects. "I wouldn't say that she's doing those tasks as smoothly as a human would, but she was tying up well over a dozen people simultaneously when the police arrived while barely even looking at them. She noticed Victor on the roof and took him down without ever having the chance to see him directly, even if she didn't identify him as an actual Cape at the time. A conversation didn't stop any of her bugs from their tasks. Sensory abilities through her bugs, multitasking. That's a Thinker rating on top. Not a big one, but worth considering. You can't count on her being distracted."
Armsmaster shifts his weight. A moment later, text appears next to the photo of the girl. MASTER 7. THINKER 2. "Anything else to add?"
After a moment of silence, Miss Militia pipes up. "It's not power-related, but I'm inclined to think she's the more heroically-minded out of the pair. Comparing injury rates from their vigilantism, her obvious preparation in the event of allergies or unaccounted-for injuries on patrol and the way she seemed to jump straight to the aid of her partner when he ended up in a tough spot - she seemed thrilled to see us, if considerably-less-so once I raised the subject of the Wards. The boy - less so. I understand that her refusals have become firmer recently, but I do wonder - if that boy hadn't been there at our first meeting - I feel like I might have been able to convince her there and then."
"Something to consider when trying to recruit them. Try to keep them separated, not by force - but, if we can just happen to time our choices in conversations well, we might be able to convince one before the other can rally them against the idea." Battery rests her head on one hand.
"I don't know if it will come to that. They've been spreading their patrols and attacks out lately. Lung is naturally furious with them. The Empire is wounded, looking to restore their reputation after a bad night out. They might just come to us on their own for protection, once the reality of being pursued by an entire gang kicks in." Assault responds.
Gallant frowns. "We can't sit back and hope like that. The odds are just as good that they show up dead, or end up as part of that gang themselves."
Assault shrugs. "I'm not saying that we just sit back and hold out a form for them to sign while they're being hunted down, but if things go that far - we have an obligation to be heavy-handed, if only to stop them from going out and tweaking Lung's nose until they stop getting lucky. And, fact is, we don't have much of a choice. They haven't exactly left us a viable route to regularly have an honest, serious discussion with them or sway their opinion on the matter. We can't just walk up to their door and insist that they hear us out, it has to be their choice to come to us in the end - unless they end up doing something that makes us track them down, of course." He doesn't look at Sophia. He doesn't have to. Everyone knows that Sophia got dragged here against her will. She's made that point clear. Loudly. Repeatedly.
"Will Lung even do anything?" Aegis asks quietly. "I know that he's, well, Lung - but at the same time, he's just one guy. He can't be everywhere. If he goes chasing someone halfway across the city, the Empire will slice his territory in half in a blink. Same situation if he goes and tries to jailbreak Oni Lee."
"Our current estimates say, no. At least for now." Armsmaster interjects. "Until the ABB's numbers grow, it's likely that he will simply respond to incursions within his claimed territory - but we can't rely on that staying true forever. With the presence of the Empire and the promise of his personal strength, new Capes of certain ethnicities are likely to see him in far more of a positive light to the rest of the city - to say nothing of the potential for trauma or drug-induced triggers among his actual underlings through their regular activities. He won't struggle to recruit a new face forever. We can't get complacent, we'll likely be a primary target the second he feels safe leaving his territory."
"We won't have to get complacent if Oni Lee is stuck in the Birdcage." Sophia growls. "Why the hell is he - not to mention the two Nazi pricks - still waiting to be broken out? He's a mass-murderer five times over."
"Legal proceedings take some time in cases like these. While Oni Lee is undeniably guilty, his lack of previous captures means that he's technically never been previously convicted. The severity of his crimes are certainly enough to make it a simple, foregone conclusion in essence - but a court case and all the necessary proceedings are still required. Permanent imprisonment without any possibility of release is not something that can clear the courts in a day, even the simplest of objections mandates a thorough trial in all but the most dramatic of cases. All three of them have had a number of concerned civilian civil-rights advocates interceding on their behalf, with no shortage of legal efforts to slow, delay and obstruct the case."
Sophia doesn't back down. "Civilians my ass. You mean the gangs paid their lawyers to fuck around for a few weeks while they find out how much to pay off the prison guards. Just arrest everyone that says something nice about all three of them in the court, they're all in the gangs anyway."
"There's no conclusive proof of that, unless you have anything to bring forward yourself." Armsmaster responds bluntly. "As much as it would make our lives far easier if due process and the law could be ignored, that's not a path that we, the Protectorate or the nation at large wishes to go down. Too many high-profile mistakes have already been made when sending people to the Birdcage. Even if it's likely that no small number of the drama and challenges surrounding this case are malicious in nature, they are legally sound."
"If it makes you feel better, the courts do get fed up with escape attempts as well. It's not exactly advertised, but if you keep escaping, they just do the trial without you after you end up with enough strikes on your card. Rack up six or seven points, they don't even show you to a judge - you just get put in the first van out of town and wake up in your new home-for-life." Assault grins lazily, side-eyeing an unimpressed Battery. "Or, so I heard, anyway."
Vista couldn't help but feel that she was missing out on an inside joke, judging by Battery's irritated body language and something in Assault's tone.
"Great. Let's just lock him up five more times, and maybe we might get him before he changes his name and moves to another country. We might actually have him out of Brockton in a decade or two!" Sophia doesn't sound appeased.
"It would be a mistake to consider a potential escape as an inevitability. All three are held in a secure location, not a simple prison cell that they can walk out of. Both gangs have suffered losses and are unlikely to consider cooperation, nor are likely to succeed alone on a direct attack against the PRT." Armsmaster responds stiffly.
"I'll believe it when I see it." Sophia's sullen, bitter tone signals the end of the tangent.
Miss Militia coughs. "If there's nothing else, then shall we move on to the other member of the pair?"
Armsmaster nods. "Void Cowboy. Based on his choice to maintain his PHO identity after becoming a Cape, we have a more thorough understanding of his psychological profile and tendencies - and while some of his personal anecdotes are likely to either be exaggerated or fabricated entirely - some knowledge into certain aspects of his life along with it. Current PHO alias, XxVoid_CowboyxX. Three previous accounts with permanent bans for doxxing, harassment and distributing leaked documents. Eleven temporary bans on his current account and eighteen infractions, usually for profanity or arguments in the 'Conspiracy Corner' and 'Powerscaling' sections of PHO." A selection of forum posts appear behind Armsmaster. "Since his reveal as a Cape, no further infractions have occurred and he appears to have deleted large swathes of his previous conspiracy posts - whether this indicates a surge of maturity, a power-induced psychological shift or simply represents an attempt to clean up his image is currently unknown."
"Pleasant character, when you put it like that." Aegis mutters.
Armsmaster continues. "Of the pair, he was the first to appear on the scene. He performed several patrols late into the night, leaving a trail of broken bones in his wake. Little was known about his powers at this time, mostly due to the unreliable nature of his typical targets due to being under the influence of drugs." He pauses. "What I am about to tell you is not public knowledge, and does not leave this room unless he reveals it himself." He holds everyone's gaze individually until a nod of agreement is returned from everyone. "When he chose to attend the Simurgh battle in Canberra as a support Cape, the vetting and power analysis team forwarded us the usual report for new Capes. While this is strictly legal, it's not a well-known fact that we like to advertise. As far as he is aware, we don't know this information for certain yet, or at least, not to the extent that we should have any concerns about him - but it has informed our approach to recruiting him." He clears his throat. "Void Cowboy is not a simple Trump as he claimed initially on his online debut, nor a grab-bag inspired by nearby Capes like he has hinted at in the past when questioned on his sightings and powersets in person and online - he is a power-copier. One that, so far, has yet to lose access to any power that he has gained access to."
There's a shift in the room at that. Some people don't look surprised. Some look uncomfortable. Makes sense. Vista wouldn't be too happy at the idea of knowing some guy could just copy her power without going through a drop of the trauma she had to put up with to get it. Everyone else probably felt the same.
"When he gets emotionally close to a Cape or forms some kind of attachment with them-" Armsmaster almost seems upset at the words coming out of his mouth. He was probably annoyed he couldn't break it down scientifically into numbers and hard facts. "-he has a chance to gain abilities similar or adjacent to some aspect of their powers. So far, these have not been as powerful as the originals - either due to an inbuilt limitation of his power, or because he has been unable to form close-bonds with anyone apart from his primary partner due to his obvious personality defects. Most likely, the latter, despite a seeming ability to subconsciously adapt his conversational approach when conversing with others. Not a threat worthy of a Thinker rating, but some kind of psychological nudge from his power seems evident."
Vista blinks. Wow. Harsh. Or, was that just Armsmaster being as blunt as ever? It wasn't like she could even say that it was out of line, looking at the spirited argument on the screen claiming that Marquis was the best thing to happen to the Bay and crime rates were down when the Butcher was around. That was a dumb thing to say. Or support.
"That said, even a small acquaintance or passing relation can be enough to gain a weak variant. Our first reliable, coherent report comes from Civilian A - whose name I will not reveal out of privacy concerns. Void Cowboy prevented her from being mugged and raped, demonstrating an unambiguous use of the powers belonging to Clockblocker, Vista, Shadow Stalker and Velocity. None of those three reported any unusual contacts either in-or-out of costume around that time, but later analysis has indicated that all of these powers have considerable downsides compared to the original." A timer appearing next to a GIF of his apparent Shadow State, looping through multiple different uses. A picture of him frozen for multiple seconds before the camera blurs as he leaves the scene. An indication of all the ways Clockblocker could have ended a brawl by freezing clothes, while Void Cowboy wrestles an item clear from their body first - a line tracing away from the image leading to the words 'Manton Limit?'. Someone had put effort into this.
Gallant raises a hand. "So... what do we do? Like. Avoid him? Try to meet him? Leave any interactions to the regular troopers? If he's just going to copy our powers whenever we cross paths... how do we stop that?"
"Stopping it entirely without alienating him or revealing our hand is likely impossible." Armsmaster states bluntly. "But considering that he has several interactions with other Capes and has yet to demonstrate many of their powers, gaining a power requires more conditions than simple proximity and conversation. He was able to acquire a minor version of Othala's powers almost immediately upon meeting her, but has yet to demonstrate anything from Miss Militia or Oni Lee. That said, it would be wise to consider that any overtures to reach out and meet from him are likely to be an attempt to acquire a new power - if he contacts you, contact the console for approval before responding." He shifts his weight from one foot to the next. "And, remember - we're not expected to know this information, and publicising our methods might render us to a certain level of scrutiny that could negatively affect us in the future. We should endeavour to act normally, but with the understanding that it's very possible that - however unimpressive he appears now - he could be a genuine powerhouse in the future. Recruitment and extending a hand of friendship should be a priority, but without massively accelerating his ability to gather new powers. Sticking to the same few individuals to talk to him might be an appropriate measure."
"Not someone we can just let fall into the hands of a gang." Battery murmurs. "If we play it too slow, and his power doesn't have a limit somewhere - we could have a second Lung on our hands. Literally."
"Equally, he's not someone we want to drive into the hands of a gang." Assault counters. "You can read his post history for five seconds and realise he doesn't like us or the gangs. He's got a lot of opinions on government overreach, I know we need him on the side of the angels - but he's definitely wary of the potential of getting press-ganged. I know certain people here don't love vigilantes, but in this case - vigilantism is good. We don't want to start a fight and start racking up charges against him. The Empire will already be interested in a potential recruit, we don't have to make it easy for them by throwing out an arrest warrant for being on our side but without the right label."
"We're already extending no small amount of leeway to the pair, for precisely that reason." Armsmaster crosses his arms. "Othala. Panacea. Shadow Stalker. Velocity. Vista. Glory Girl. Perhaps others. Even with only minor power variants, he's gathered a respectable number of ratings across the board. Striker. Mover. Shaker. Brute. Trump. We haven't seen upper limits for many of them, but I've put every rating at three for now until we know more."
"And a Thinker zero." Velocity adds. "Maybe he doesn't know exactly where each power comes from if he meets too many people in a day, but if he starts hanging around someone in his civilian identity and his power starts getting hits..."
"A potential to out someone." Armsmaster concedes, adding the rating in. "And we shouldn't discount the possibility of his civilian identity being weaponised to that aim either."
A hefty silence descends on the room.
"That's a dangerous thing to start assuming, Armsmaster." Miss Militia has a note of caution in her voice. "I understand where the thought comes from, but... accounting for that in a threat assessment is another thing entirely. Something we would do for a villain. He hasn't demonstrated a reason for that lack of trust yet, has he?"
"I will leave the speculation off of the final record." Armsmaster reluctantly concedes. "However, everyone should still be on the alert for... oddities, in civilians. Approaching heroes on patrol is common enough for civilians, we can't entirely ignore the possibility that he wants to get stronger without us realising what he's doing. Report any oddities in people that approach you to console. Given that it doesn't strictly appear to be an effect he causes against us, but something he gains himself - it's not something we could call a crime, but using his power in such a fashion would let us freely pursue any leads he gives us on his civilian identity. If you do believe that you are interacting with him, inside or outside of costume, just ignore the possibility of power copying and make a report to console at the first opportunity. We don't want to let him know that we are aware, and the hope is that eventually any power that he gains is something that he would get use of in the PRT anyway. Albeit, with permission and appropriate power testing."
"I don't like it." Vista mumbles. The fact that her power was on that list... she'd earned that. And he just... took it? Sure, it wasn't like it was his choice to trigger - or to have that powerset - but she couldn't help but feel a little angry at the idea of someone lucking into an easy, simple powerset that seemed likely to propel them to the upper-echelons of the Protectorate without having to so much as sweat for it.
"It isn't an easy subject." Velocity sends her a wry smile. "And nobody is expecting you to just make it easy for him. But we need to be the most attractive option for his future. We can't let a bit of foresight into his aims and intentions allow us to alienate him. If he comes clean publicly about his powerset, we can raise the idea of working in a larger team - even transferring between different teams - to get a wider spread of powers, assuming there isn't a range limit. He's obviously got aspirations, and now that we know what they are - we can use that to lure him in once he gets frustrated with the difficulty of handling everything alone."
"Doesn't sound likely." Shadow Stalker interjects snarkily. Vista blinks, suddenly noticing that Gallant was practically staring at Shadow Stalker. What was with him? Wasn't that hussy Glory Girl enough? She glares, before remembering herself. Gallant switches his gaze to her, then looks away a little uncomfortably - only to find himself drawn back to Sophia once more. Vista certainly didn't see what was so fascinating to him.
"Every vigilante gets tired of doing it alone eventually." Velocity interjects. "Whether they need the salary, or the backing of a larger team, support with their powers or costume, government support with their personal lives, or just feel like they aren't hitting enough big targets on their own - there are a lot of advantages to consider, regardless of your own feelings on the matter. Even just having someone around to handle interactions with the police and bureaucracy can be valuable. I know more than one vigilante that turned legitimate when he found out that all the people he left tied up around town were getting let go because the police couldn't stick a crime to them without proof."
"Except he is - quite vocally - uninterested in the Wards." Triumph leans back. "It's all very well saying that we smile and look friendly and hope that he chooses us, as if we were hoping for a superstar to sign up with our favourite sports team - but what's actually going to change his mind?"
"The girl, perhaps. As Miss Militia said earlier. If his team expands, he might get attached - and follow the rest of them if we can convince them all except him." Dauntless offers.
"A long shot. She seems more inclined to follow his lead, than the other way around. I'm thinking we need a few more honest conversations with him. Feel out his reasons. If it's the Wards in particular he has a problem with, we've been flexible before." Assault waves his hands in the air. "We know he goes to Winslow or Clarendon, most likely the former. That means, what. A year or two away from being an adult anyway? We've made worse allowances for people going straight into the Protectorate."
Vista scowls, standing up from her chair. "You can't be serious!" They'd do that for him, but not her? "That's not fair!"
"Settle down, midget." Shadow Stalker drawls. "Don't make us get out the pushchair."
She rounds on the ebony-skinned girl, balled-up fists at her side, ready to put a dent into the smug look on her face. Sophia leans forward, practically inviting the hit.
"Enough!" Miss Militia barks out. "We haven't made any promises or allowances yet. Nothing of the sort has ever happened in this area before." She turns to the side. "Assault, please mind the people you're throwing out half-hearted suggestions towards. We can't just make exceptions on a whim like that. The Wards exist for a reason."
"I'm serious." He throws his hands up. "If he walked in here right now, and said he'll join - with the one condition being that he skips over the Wards - are you really going to sit here and say that you'll deny him? Sure, if his power turns out to be a dud - if he's hiding a limit that means that it's never going to get strong enough to be relevant, then he got us. We get a few complaints from people who also want to be treated like an adult, and the Protectorate gets a mid-tier vigilante on their side. And if he's not, then we're keeping the next Dauntless out in the cold on a technicality. You're going to give the Empire another two years to try and recruit him before you'll let him join? If he sticks to his guns and that's all he wants?" Assault shakes his head. "Of course you won't. He's got us over a barrel, whether he realises it yet or not. The sooner we get him in, the better our situation is - even if we have to compromise more than usual. The advantages we can offer to him now are going to be a lot more appealing compared to the advantages we can offer a guy that might be able to take on Lung in a fair fight."
Armsmaster remains silent for a moment. "I'll discuss it with the Director."
"If I may." Velocity takes the chance to speak. "I know we've kind of moved past this - but I couldn't help but notice. Those first few powers he demonstrated in his initial appearance. Myself, Vista and Shadow Stalker. We can assume that Shadow Stalker has, however briefly, interacted with a large enough portion of the school to place that as chance for now - but Vista, Clockblocker and myself can't be explained so easily."
"You think that he sought you out deliberately?" Armsmaster queries. "Or that you cross circles in some other part of your life?"
"Oh, no. Well. I don't have a particular reason to think that, there's no particular link between Vista, Clockblocker and I that isn't also true for half the room - and I don't exactly interact with teenagers much in my civilian identity. No, the only thing I noticed was that he has a rather pronounced opinion about the both of us. If you look at his post history, he's got some... interesting takes about my personal ability and strength. A rather low opinion of my powers and achievements, and he seems to take every chance that he can get to put me at the bottom of any given power rankings or tier list. On the flip-side, Vista, Clockblocker and Armsmaster are the complete opposite - he seems to be championing their cause on his favourite powerscaling communities. Considering how you mentioned how he needs to get a certain level of... closeness, to someone-"
"He's a fan of mine?" She brightens at the news, already inflating her opinion on the boy back up to almost-positive levels.
Velocity hesitates. "More... of your power, perhaps. While he seems to be a genuine fan of, ah, 'Halbeard'-" The Wards titter at that. "-most of his comments for you two were ideas about how your power interacts with others, and his theories about how you could murder everyone else in a deathmatch."
"O-oh." Th-that was still good. Probably. It showed she was being taken seriously, that was a point in his favour. She thinks.
The rest of the room moves on while she tries to establish her opinion on her newfound 'fan'. "You think that his strong opinions about you online could have replaced the need for any physical interaction or proximity." Armsmaster muses.
"Yet, he doesn't have a Tinker power." Kid Win counters. "I mean, if he did - that costume isn't exactly impressive. He'd have made a weapon, at least. Surely."
Velocity nods. "I've got an explanation for that, too. If my theory is correct, I think he would have gained a power from Armsmaster if he had triggered a few months earlier - but as much of a fanboy as he seems, his later posts indicate that he is... rather agitated at the fact that you swapped out your old, blue-white-gold bike for your newest one. I won't repeat his statements on that front here, but I dare say that his opinion on the 'current' Armsmaster has soured from its original heights."
"The MKXIV is vastly superior to the MKXIII." Armsmaster frowns. "Any Tinker worthy of the name would barely need a glance to observe its obvious improvements to functionality and efficiency. That may mean that you're correct that he has yet to find a Tinker specialisation, if he has failed to realise such a simple fact."
Velocity adopts a nonplussed expression as Kid Win nods in support of the point. "Not my point, I think he's more concerned with the aesthetics of it. Not that you care, I know. But, I just thought it was an interesting coincidence. He argues for and against other people, but the three of us stand out the most in his posts - and there's a viable explanation for why there might be an emotional link for both of us, in addition to the absence of one for Armsmaster."
"So if Armsmaster pulls out the paint, Void Cowboy is going to get a Tinker power the next time he checks PHO?" Clockblocker tilts his head. "Huh."
"That won't be happening." Armsmaster denies frostily.
"Well, it's a potential avenue for getting him interested in joining up. You reckon you can promise a roadtrip across the state as a signing bonus?" Assault grins at the unamused Tinker.
Velocity waves his hands around. "I didn't raise this to make a dig at Armsmaster. I raised it because of me. He's made acquaintances out of other people, established friendly relationships - hasn't really got involved in that many incidents to make enemies in, aside from Oni Lee. Yet, his feelings towards me are obviously negative. And yet, he has a variant of my power. There aren't any other speedsters in the Bay, let alone ones that have the same struggles with mass. That means that his interactions don't need to be positive. They could be enemies, and still benefit him."
"So he could be hiding a power from Oni Lee that hasn't been seen yet." Triumph comments. "But as far as we know, he hasn't had enough Cape fights for that to be a concern yet."
"It's another point to consider if we ever end up fighting him." Gallant considers. "If all that matters it that he feels strongly about someone - alongside whatever other conditions are at play - then, the possibility of isolating him from allies won't serve to minimise his potential powersets at all. Every battle or clash might just give him another power as his opinion of us gets worse."
"A fight was already a last-resort. This shouldn't change anything, for now." Armsmaster takes over. "It's a good theory, and we should adjust our online interactions with him accordingly - in case that is truly a vector that he can acquire powers from. If things do come to a fight - and for the last time, that is something we wish to avoid - we need to win on the first engagement. Decisively, before he can adapt. Let's talk about countermeasures and weaknesses. I've already provided a list of his known powers and estimated limits on them, but we're talking about actual combat here."
"I've looked at some of the footage previously. He has Shadow Stalker's power, but he doesn't have her equipment." Aegis offers. "He's slow and cautious about going through unfamiliar walls in certain places, I'll bet he has the same weakness to electricity and no ability to see it through walls."
"Limiting his mobility. Good." Velocity nods. "On a similar note, I've never seen him combine my power with any other power. There's a few cases where it would have made sense to just phase right through a wall with my speed, but he stops, swaps power, goes through, and then uses my power again."
"A one-at-a-time limit?" Armsmaster adds it to the screen. "Not for everything, perhaps. He's on record as healing with Othala and Panacea's power simultaneously. Clockblocker's power has remained active consistently when he has used other powers as well."
"Does Othala's power need to be maintained though? Even if you knock her out, everything she has handed out keeps going until it times out. Maybe his version is the same?"
"Powers that are only required to be active at the moment of use? So continuous powers need to be disabled before another power can be activated, but others can be set and activated in an instant." Armsmaster nods. "The possibility that it might be impossible to blend Brute and Mover powers together would be good to consider. That would change our possible containment methods."
"I wouldn't worry about any Brute aspects yet, if the 'weaker variant' trend holds true, then they shouldn't require drastically different measures. But if he does have a power from Oni Lee, he can teleport now. And there's no shortage of people in the Bay that can fly. So I dare say he'll pick it up one way or another. He can already go through walls, he has a speedster power already... his mover rating is stronger than everything else he has at the moment." Battery leans in. "Honestly, we're lucky that the Bay doesn't have a single human Master or any Strangers at all. That would be the most dangerous addition to his arsenal."
Triumph scowls. "This is pointless, it's all just guesswork right now. He could be hiding a dozen powers from his time at the Endbringer fight if he was so inclined, we'd have no way to tell and we have no way of planning around it. Plotting up strategies is a dead-end. We either get him into power-testing or we get cameras on him when he's going all-out, until then - anything we dream up could just be countered by the very next power he gets."
"That is a point." Battery hums. "The Endbringer fight. It's an oddity if you just look at his history. But when you factor in the power copying..."
"We've got to give the benefit of the doubt for that." Assault intercedes. "I'm sure he considered the benefits, don't get me wrong. But I don't know if it actually matters. He went there to help, and he did. From what I understand, he didn't go out of his way to talk to any powerhouses over there - no trying to fist bump Eidolon or Legend. Yes, he probably picked up Othala's power. Yes, if he joined the PRT we'd have to put a leash on that behaviour so that villains don't stop showing up out of fear of getting their powers copied - but simply showing up there, even if only back at the support camp miles away from the fight, is a mark of moral integrity and a sense of duty. There's no such thing as a safe spot in an Endbringer fight."
Armsmaster speaks grimly. "But if the worst came to pass - if he joins a gang tomorrow and we need a reason to put him away, abusing his power like that - abusing the trust people have in the Endbringer Truce... that would be enough. Sign up, or face the Birdcage."
"I'm not loving the idea, I'll be honest with you." Assault sighs. "We don't know enough about how he acquires powers to assign that level of... deliberation to his motives. Yes, he obviously got a benefit out of it - but are we punishing him for simply existing? There's no way he can show up to an Endbringer fight without doing that. If an identical case came along tomorrow, is the message that we send going to be, 'We will treat you like a malicious criminal if you ever attend an Endbringer fight'?"
"Hopefully not." There's a firm note in Armsmaster's voice. "Remember, our first aim is to recruit him. Friendly faces, open arms. But if he signs up with the Empire, we can't afford to treat him with kid gloves. If he lands in prison once, we can't let him sit in juvie and let him out a few months later. With the way his power might grow, we might never get that chance again. The first charge would need to stick, and messing with the Endbringer Truce would do that."
"You-you mean the Birdcage, right?" Vista frowns. "That seems... excessive. Like you're punishing just because he triggered with the wrong power, that he might be too much trouble down the line - so wash your hands of him now." Vista wasn't entirely sure why she was bothering to defend him, but she was sure that she was in the right here. He didn't seem that unpleasant, and he liked her - even if for a bit of a weird reason. If nothing else, she's sure that he would be devastated to hear his apparent idol thinking of ways to put him into the Birdcage on a technicality if he ever put a foot wrong. It wasn't the heroic thing to do. And Vista was a hero. No matter what Shadow Stalker said behind her back.
"If Dauntless was a vigilante, and we understood his power and its nature - we would have had the same conversation about him." Assault admits. "Sometimes, life isn't fair. It won't come down to us to make the decision if things get that far. Besides, if we can verify that his power isn't growing at that exponential rate - then that worst-case scenario would be no different to handling someone like Rune. It's only the baby-Eidolon, baby-Dauntless level of power that generates the fear for the future to an extent that something unpleasant might be considered. And even then, it's not a given. There would be a difference between Hookwolf and Othala, even if they both got three strikes. The same could be true here."
"We're lingering on the worst-case scenario. Not what's in front of us now." Aegis frowns. "I spoke with him briefly, and he seemed- well. He seemed like a bit of a dumbass, honestly - but he didn't seem malicious. Not like Empire material. If that changes, then this conversation will happen again anyway - but shouldn't we just focus on the guy that we see today?"
"The dumbass. The showboat. The shitposter." Assault smiles. "Worrying about how to navigate the ego of a guy like that sounds like more fun than worrying about a potential A-Class threat. Hell, listening to the way we're talking - I'm half-worried that by focusing too much on the threat, we'll drive him right into becoming what we're worried about. You ever think about what he would think or do if he overheard this meeting? He could be knocking on Kaiser's door begging for protection by the end of the day, and we'd have nobody but ourselves to blame."
"This meeting is secure. I handle the security system, footage and records personally, and every participant was scanned and vetted before arriving." He replies shortly. "We can talk safely here, that isn't a concern."
"Not my point." Assault waves him off. "It's just... let's not overthink things. For now, the guy is a hero and he hasn't done anything for us to doubt him on that. Obviously, he's going to try and get stronger - there's nothing innately nefarious about that. Between him and the girl, they've hit both major gangs in the city. Give them the opportunity, I daresay they'll do it again. Good. If the opportunity comes up, we should help. Take the opportunity to show that we're not all... what was it?" He pauses and glances at a tablet. "...'useless frauds sucking up taxpayer money, motivated to keep the villains rolling in and out of prison at will so that they can keep their inflated salaries rather than cleaning up the city'."
"Sounds like he's nailed it." Everyone ignores Sophia. Apart from Gallant, who still seems... off. Did he have a crush? Had he broken up with Glory Girl or something? What was with the staring?
"Let's return to this topic once we know more." Miss Militia sighs. "Let's keep the meeting rolling, not too much left to talk about. New villain: This is Mush, if our informants are to be believed. A Changer that's recently joined the Archer's Bridge Merchants..."
Vista glances over as Gallant takes the chance to lean towards Sophia discretely. Too discretely. She narrows her gaze. What did he have to talk about with her? She surreptitiously pinches space in the smallest of corridors between her and them, a tunnel directly to her own ear.
"Hey, I won't say anything but - congratulations. I'm happy for you." Gallant whispers. "If you need any help explaining things later-" His voice falls silent as Sophia turns to him with a murderous expression. "-ah, I might have misunderstood-"
"Kill yourself." She shows none of the restraint in her volume that Gallant had.
The response comes from the front of the room immediately. "Shadow Stalker! Extra console duty on Sunday!"
She flicks her middle-finger at the adults of the room. "Fuck you!"
"Make that Monday as well." Armsmaster drones before returning to his speech as if there hadn't been any interruption at all. "...capable of enlarging and enhancing himself using piles of trash, although whether that is a limitation of his own mentality, his powerset or his environment is yet unknown..."
Vista snirks. Whatever that was about, it had worked out well. Nicely done, Gallant. She no longer had to worry about another rival in love.
Her smile fades. That rang a little more hollow than usual. Like she was just going through the motions. Habit.
No. She definitely liked Gallant. Why else would she have spent this long trying to get his attention and impress him?
She looks at him, his back turned to her as he listens intently to Armsmaster. Seriously looks at him. Looking for the spark that she remembers. The perfect gentleman. The flawless hero.
He's just a guy.
An insensitive one. The uncharitable thought springs to mind against her will. He gets cheat emotional powers, and he still couldn't understand her feelings. He'd never, ever intended to let her in. Yet, he'd never committed to firmly denying her either. She'd always known that it must have been obvious - but it was only now that she was acknowledging what it meant. That he enjoyed the feeling of being wanted. That leading her on was just fine in his book. That her feelings were something to bask in, but never to acknowledge.
For a moment, she attempts to argue against the thoughts. That this was the worst way to interpret his actions. That he had proven himself as a kind, generous person before. That he just didn't want to embarrass her, or hurt her feelings. But it was too late to un-think those thoughts. The foundation was broken, whatever feelings had held it in place - long gone, without her even noticing until now.
Vista's first crush evaporates with a whimper. The object of her heart's desire gone in an instant, leaving a gaping hole where her purpose used to be.
She's never felt so empty before.
---
---
Some time ago...
"I failed." A sombre, slightly shaky voice fills the cell. "The ground gave way underneath me. I- I drowned."
He makes a note on his clipboard. Another modifier. Useful. Then, a nod at the researcher responsible for monitoring him. "Swap it out."
She leans into the intercom. "Take a rest. We'll move on for now."
"R-right." The youth falls silent, sinking into the room's only chair with a haunted look on his face.
The researcher's foot taps on the floor with increasing pace and intensity. A stiff expression on her face indicating that she had plenty she wished to say, but was uncertain if she was allowed to say it.
"Speak freely." He doesn't raise his head from the clipboard.
The scientist does so. "This is a waste of time. This is statistically impossible." She shakes her head. "We're doing this wrong. Or it was doomed to start with."
"Improbable." The Number Man corrects. "But I'm inclined to agree with the sentiment." He taps the screen, the half-formed skeleton screams silently into the room as an assistant carts it away. He notes the sharpened focus of the boy, the slight whisper in the air that barely even registers to the microphone. The dejected slump highlights the power's continued failure to demonstrate value. "Subject 1024 has no combat power to speak of. Strictly speaking, a small toddler could likely destroy it in a fight before the reverse occurred. A teenager failing so many times in a row through fluke and happenstance indicates a flaw in our understanding."
"What variable could we be missing? It's a dud. Perhaps it had some higher functionality originally, but we've seen other promising powers falter when put to the test as well. It's a basic combat simulator. Minor precognition. Minor postcognition. That's it." The researcher leans back into her seat with a sigh. "You aren't usually this invested in new subjects."
"He's an oddity." He says, as if it explained everything. Which it did. "Did you see the test results for attempt Alpha-five-seven?"
She shuffles papers in front of her for a moment. "Challenge against Subject 372. Modifiers: Time, Gang, Bloodlust. Result: Failure."
"You'll have to read in more depth. It's interesting solely because of the scenario presented. It's a tactical layout - a potential trick on a battlefield - that could only be used by that particular subject's blend of powers. I drew it up. I've never written it down. Never planned to use it. And yet, shortly after testing his power against me - four out of the eight next challenges all attempted similar scenarios. Similar methods. Two more involved plans to detonate this facility as a last resort, another featured a way to escape off-world." He gazes down at the boy through the one-way mirror.
"It could be a coincidence." She challenges. He knows she doesn't believe it. It's an academic exercise. "He's never seen the facility outside of this room, yet he's basically got the place mapped out in his head by now. He recognised Subject 213 by number alone before they ever came face-to-face. Unexpectedly stumbling across unrelated information during simulations this varied is to be expected."
"Fifty-five challenges in a row with no sign of any special knowledge of the facility. He challenges me personally a single time, then the next seven in a row contain secrets so well hidden that he could wander this facility for a decade and never stumble upon?" It was possible. He knew that. He knew that better than anyone alive. But at a certain point, he had stopped believing in simple coincidences. Not when there were far simpler explanations. "His interaction with my power impacted his own. The simulations changed. Shifted in focus. More relevant, perhaps. More modifiers that we had never seen before. Whether that's a good thing or not, it's hard to say. From what I can tell, it only made him less likely to ever defeat one of his challenges and see if anything happens after a win. It's unusual for one of our agents to make things difficult for a host in response to external stimuli."
"I'd be hesitant to ascribe intent like that to a dead agent." She comments. "Most likely, we're seeing some movement in the mirror here and calling it life. The agent reacts to the stimulus it gets provided, and I dare say that your agent was more stimulating than the typical fare we had tested up that point. Not to mention, alive. If I injected a plant with a cocktail of drugs and chemicals, we might see strange, previously-unseen behaviours - that doesn't mean that the plant is doing anything intentionally. It's a reflex. Nothing more. In truth, I think we could just wipe his recent memories and drop him off to Watchdog. Line-of-sight combat simulations against a villain, not the most useful - but it's viable at least. No point keeping him here."
He considers the boy blankly. On the surface, broken. He'd seen the expression a lot, over the last few decades. His occasional pleading, begging with anyone that would listen to release him - or at least to stop forcing him to use his power to such violently unpleasant ends - that was all genuine.
But he knew what a person that was ready to lay down and die looked like. Even setting aside the continued effects of stimulants, adrenaline and trauma - the expression was just... off. A careful facsimile of what a docile, defeated prisoner should look like.
"Sir?" The researcher prods. "Should I send him off?"
"No." He decides. "Expand the scope of the tests. Bring up Subject 1139, ensure there is a release method for the restraints." He could be wrong. It's true. And someone could die because of it. But he could also be right. Regardless of the moral quandaries, when it came to the sole mission of this facility - a boy with a relatively useless power did not have value. A trial by fire then. If he dies, the sample could be partially resynthesised from his corpse and diluted with other samples - a recovery on the investment, and hopefully a useful mix of the power's Thinker aspects with a more useful secondary effect. If he lives... progress. Another glimpse of insight into the curious nature of his power.
"Sir-" For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty enters her voice. "-1139 is scheduled for destruction. It's completely insane. You don't intend to actually try and make him fight it for real, do you?"
Abnormal challenge to his authority. Unusual concern for a subject. He races through his assessment of the woman, marking her attitude and recent behaviour against the baseline. Within margins. He relaxes, then mentally adds two points to his assessment for safety. Still within margins. No visit from Contessa. No overt sign of Mastered behaviour. Minor flicker of conscience. A sign that she should be rotated out to another duty soon.
He maintains his gaze, returning to mull over her question. Not that it needed much thought. This was far from the worst thing he had ever done. "We may as well maximise the value of the resources we have. If his power fails to reveal anything of substance, even faced with mortal peril - then the experiment can end."
She yields. After a series of buttons are pressed, she spends some time speaking with hushed tones into a radio. The cell below shifts, and Subject 1139 arrives. Restrained by a set of steel bars. Part bird. Part human. Part plant. A towering beast no longer recognisable as human in body or mind, save for the appearance of a torso and organs that glowed through plant-like skin with an intense light. In his eyes, a host of flaws and weaknesses presented itself. Patches of skin too thin to act as the armour that it appeared to be. Limbs struggling under their own weight. Misaligned eyes, likely to induce highly-flawed vision. Vine-like tentacles whipping around at floor-level, unable to break their own momentum - and thus capable of dragging the Subject off balance entirely, if not shatter their already fragile bones.
Yet, indisputably, a monster straight out of a horror movie. Other people did not have his powers of analysis. They saw the beak, capable of sundering stone. The tentacles, where idle-lashings left dents into hardened steel. The shaking of the cage, where impossibly-large muscles raged against their bonds. And the slavering, bloodthirsty eyes - alight with hate and fury. A failure. Even more so than most of the Case-53s that weren't permitted to leave the facility.
"That's significantly stronger than a baseline human." She argues. "He won't have any luck with that considering the others he failed against. It's an absurd matchup."
"But not impossibly out of reach." He appends. "In a first-time battle, Subject 1139 would be drastically favoured. With enough repetitions, a healthy male of his build should begin to approach parity. After thirty-two attempts, he will become favoured himself."
"You're going to tell me to die to that thing?" The tired voice asks.
"We're always hoping that you win, Greg." She chimes into the speaker. He arches an eyebrow at her. "What? It's true. Nothing wrong with being encouraging, is there?"
He recalculates her against the baseline of his master/stranger test again. Another point. Still within allowed margins. Overt sympathy. Perhaps allowing two-way communication was a mistake in this case. She was used to handling decidedly 'inhuman' subjects. Perhaps the inhumane treatment of the boy was upsetting her sensibilities.
That was fine. He didn't have a problem with people maintaining their principles. Other people could take their place and do the dirty work. Several others had also been working on the boy, moving one scientist off the case wouldn't make a notable difference.
"Have you seen the size of that thing's beak? The fucking tentacles?" A hysterical laugh emerges from his throat. "No, no. I get it. You're enjoying this. No. Fuck off. I'm not getting ripped apart again. I'm keeping my arms right where they are. Do you- do you have any idea, any idea at all, how that felt last time? When they got pulled off? It's not the pulling that hurt. Not really. It's when they just- just let me lie there. In a pool of my own blood. Can't move. Can barely breathe. I know that I'm dying, but they don't care about finishing me off. They'll just eat my arm in front of me, laughing. And all I can do is- is just beg to die. Beg to die before they move on to another limb. Shuffle around, trying to make the blood loss worse - stop the clotting." His voice breaks off into a shuddery gasp. "Just let me go already."
The Number Man leans in. "Subject 2087-"
"That's Greg, to shady fucking assholes and mysterious, sanctimonious voices from the ceiling." The bitter snark returns, stronger than before - momentarily snapping him from his descent into mute horror.
"...Greg, then. In nine minutes and twenty-three seconds, the bars holding Subject 1139 back will be lowered. Subject 1139, if you successfully kill the Subject in front of you - you will be set free." A raucous caw meets the words. Not that it had understood him. The words were solely for the benefit of the young man sharing a cell with the ravenous creature.
"Hey! Hey! What do you mean by that?" There's no response to that. "Hey!" She frowns at him, but her attempt to speak into the intercom is paused by an extended hand.
"Let's watch." He says.
"Dammit. Challenge!" A moment later, the boy sags - clutching at his arm with a muted sob of frustration.
They watch in silence. Three minutes pass. Pleading. Begging. Crying. Another challenge. Another three minutes. Swearing. Screaming. Another challenge. Another three minutes - and the bars retreat.
"Challenge!" A pause. This time, there's no flinch. A wild look enters his gaze. "I-I won! It didn't do anything, but- but I won!" He backpedals as the creature pulls itself out of the cage. "Hello? Help!"
"Elaborate." The intercom blares out.
"Uh - it said success, it looked like it was going to give me a reward - and then it just-it just broke on me. A kind of- a blue screen of death. Corrupted data everywhere." He stumbles as he retreats, the murderous caw of his predator pursuer ringing out in anticipation. "Uh, uh! A missing sample! I was missing a sample, or something like that! That was the error! Help already! I did what you asked!"
"Broken." She grimaces. "It was a good idea, if only to confirm that we've seen everything that there is to see. I'll stop the experiment-" He stops her hand before it can reach out to the emergency suppression button. She glances at him. "Are you seriously going to let him die?"
"No." His gaze sharpens as the boy skips back, almost perfectly avoiding the maximum reach of the aggressor's tentacles - even before he had seen them fully extend. Impossible for a normal human to calculate. By the frantic, desperate expression on his face - it wasn't a conscious dodge or a planned adjustment. Coincidence? No. He observes the next step forward, the shift in his weight as the boy contemplates a forward rush - only to abort, darting out of range again as the creature takes another lumbering step forward. "Watch."
They watch as the boy hits the wall at the back of the room, then the corner as the Case 53 advances. And then, finally - the boy charges forward with a maddened, furious cry of terror. They watch him hurl himself into the gaping mouth that stood at the entrance of the creature's ribcage before the first lunge of a tentacle can grab him. They watch him scream and tear his way through the soft, feathered lining at the back of the creature - only to turn around, grasping a sharp-looking rib in his hand, splintered from being grabbed, and driving it back into the bloody mess he emerged from. One organ after the other, until the screaming creature sags - its height turning from twice that of a regular man to something that merely droops on top of his head. He doesn't stop screaming. He doesn't stop stabbing.
Heightened aggression. Suppression of panic and fear. Poor test results under laboratory conditions. The strange adaptation after the challenge against him.
Interesting.
He hated interesting.
"I'll kill you all!" The triumphant boy promises with a crazed grin, directing the promise to the wrong surveillance camera. "You can't keep me here forever. And when I get out-"
He mutes the feed as the boy giggles and returns to furiously ripping apart the lifeless corpse.
"Should we say something?" After some time of watching the boy stab the lifeless corpse, the scientist whispers the question to him.
"Let him get it out of his system." He shakes his head. "He's rather energetic for someone who looked about ready to give up and die. After four attempts, I estimated his chances at less than one in seventeen. Yet, look at him now. Barely even a scratch, and not even a spark of that hopeless nihilism we've been seeing all day. You would think he had completely forgotten about everything leading up to this point." He drums his fingers against the table. She doesn't recognise the tune. "Continue the testing. Expand the scope to more varied targets."
She raises an eyebrow. "You're not giving up? Getting an actual error code back seems pretty clear to me, and a pleasant improvement over a messy self-implosion as their body breaks down. We broke it when we were mixing it, whatever. That's going to happen when you go rummaging in the scrap yard and mash together twenty-unrelated devices to make something that might work as an engine if you squint at it right and pray. On the plus side, if we can mine the area this sample came from, perhaps we can create an agent that skips straight to the 'reward' that we've apparently broken. That sounds like a goldmine in the making to me, rather than traumatising this guy some more."
"That was the full sample, as best as we could tell. Almost pristine." He denies. "And I find it hard to believe that it's fundamentally broken. A human-readable interface? A game-like system, a concept ingrained in modern-day humanity. Accurate identification of targets, by either names or identities. The level of precision required for a power to demonstrate such an excellent connection with the human mind is too much for a power that is 'broken' and 'dead'. If your metaphor for our usual work is the accidental completion of a rocket, salvaged from different unrelated powers - then this is a fully-functional computer pulled from that same scrapheap - the simple fact that it turns on and displays in English is proof that it works. The slightest of errors in any part of the machine would have caused failures with lethal consequences long before that young man could make sense of it in his own language."
She growls in frustration. "And yet, if we can't login - it's scrap all the same. We've been at this for days. One success in, what - over a hundred attempts?" Three hundred and fifty-eight. The subject had been kept active for all three shifts for the last two days. But he doesn't correct her. Tinkertech stimulants were useful for extended power-testing like this, but it wasn't uncommon for researchers to object to the idea and she had already displayed an unusual amount of compassion in this case. Ignorance was bliss. "We're already past our usual schedule. This guy will be using his power for the rest of his life. Drop him home, tip Watchdog off and he'll get all the help he can get making sense of what he has - and you'll get the data you're looking for in the process. Sent right to your inbox, without lifting a finger."
"Something to consider another time." He stands. "As I said. Expand the scope. Continue to test him in high-stress simulations. Ascertain whether this was luck, a power interaction or simple motivation. Get the exact wording from him on everything he saw and did in the simulation, along with what his power said. See if errors occur in all potential cases, or if this was a one-off."
She looks pained, but nods her head tiredly. "I'll get on that, Sir."
He leaves the room silently. Twenty-one inspections down. Thirteen to go. Average predicted inspection time, four minutes and fifty-two seconds.
Perhaps he'd take an early lunch.
--
The door opens. The Number Man doesn't react.
"Contessa." He greets without turning his head. "What am I looking at here?"
"-cking whore. I'm stuck here, and it's your fault!" Subject 2087 seemed distinctly more animated than when he last observed him, just a few days ago. And the accompanying change of fortune was obvious as well.
"That would appear to be Subject 2087, who appears to be taking the lockdown in the middle of his escape attempt poorly. And Doctor Mother." Contessa observes blandly. "She appears to be enjoying herself."
"Quite." They both consider the nude, nubile form of the de-facto leader of Cauldron - kneeling in front of the subject and enduring a brutal face-fucking. "I will confess some responsibility for the escape attempt and the apparent security breach. I hadn't anticipated the possibility of a Master power emerging in this particular subject, or more specifically, its ability to spread its influence so effectively. What I am surprised about, is that you allowed it to get this far."
A headshake. "It didn't register on the path as a viable escape attempt, and - perhaps due to a flaw in my choice of wording - none of my current paths consider Doctor Mother to be under a Master power."
He hums. "Is he immune to your path then?"
"No." A quick denial. "Or, not personally. The exact details of his challenges and their immediate outcomes are difficult to model without information - but his, personal, actions, choices and motivations? No."
"A quirk in wording then." He stares at the scene. "In truth, I'm struggling to recognise that something is wrong myself. My initial thought was something along the lines of 'good for her', and that it seemed like the kind of thing she would do. Stress relief, something like that. But, every plan that I've made - every policy, every safeguard that I've put in place, would never have allowed for such a person as our leader if she was always so... flighty. Thoughtless. She is exactly as I remember her being, but - all the same, something is wrong."
"Certainly." Contessa agrees easily. "It's the result of his power. The lead scientist tested his power against some of her colleagues, and he concealed the truth about his success from her. On each victory, his targets became a little more loyal, a little closer to his ideal partner - loyal enough to break protocol and 'test' his power against more people. With the entire department increasingly eager to 'help', Doctor Mother was lured down during an inspection and promptly fell victim herself - at which point my intervention became necessary to stop the escape attempt from succeeding."
"And you couldn't have intervened earlier?" He sighs.
"It didn't come up in the Path until now." And wasn't that the most obvious, self-explanatory answer she could have given. She didn't know. She hadn't happened to ask, and only discovered the extent of the issue when she found herself initiating the facility lockdown.
"And you say that they've changed. The scientists, I mean. All of them. Even Doctor Mother." He looks down at his notes again, then back at the scene.
"Quite thoroughly. Almost unrecognisably so." Contessa deadpans.
He peers at his pencil. The traces of lines and angles in the air practically screaming at him. "...is that the Path talking? Or you?"
She crosses her legs in her seat. "The Path informing me."
He clicks his fingers together. "Interesting. It matches my own feelings on the matter, but not my memories. I've seen video recordings. I've interviewed relatives of our scientist. Checked my old diary entries. There is nothing to say that the reality we see in front of us, has not always been the case." He raises the pencil in front of him. "Nothing but his memories and reactions, that know otherwise. Nothing but your powers, that inform you of the answer - and nothing but the ghost of my previous work, loud in its inconsistency. After you locked the site down, I wrote down my summary of the situation in my notebook. Names. Events. Yet, the amount of graphite remaining in this pencil - the angle that the tip remains at - is wrong for the writing that I should have done. On top of that, my previous plans and predictions for this department no longer make sense when I recalculate them in the same way. Minor errors. Inconsistencies. I would never have made such simple mistakes."
"A far-reaching effect." Contessa nods in support. It's unnecessary, but he's filling in the role of Doctor Mother right now. A more human check against her power. A second opinion, however easily the Path might convince him if pushed.
"Or, not far-reaching at all. Tell me, if I were to investigate every 'changed' individual - would I find anything of note that either he or I haven't already noticed?" He asks.
"No." Simple question. Simple answer.
"Then it's curious, isn't it? The world has changed on a scale that exceeds any single parahuman power-" He closes his eyes. "-or the world has not changed much at all. If we called in Subject 98. Would he observe any additional abnormalities?"
"No." After a moment, she volunteers. "Nor would 242. Nor would Alexandria."
"Then, if we discard you as the abnormality - the only ones to say that anything is wrong, is him and me. Nobody else. Not even other Thinkers. And we've interacted before." He lets the pencil drop to the desk. "Such a perfect, flawless change. Eidolon at his peak would struggle to replicate the feat. Even if we consider that the sheer precision behind an unbound agent might minimise the energy requirements for each individual change, the sheer scale... we're talking about the effortless modification of memories, of digital media, of physical records - only to stumble in such a clear, obvious way that only I could possibly notice. To fail in a blatant enough way that only he could notice, and thus feel fear for his eventual discovery. It's too precise for what it has shown its capabilities to be."
He continues. "How exactly it achieved all of that is another story. Has the world always been this way, and we've simply been targeted by a power-spoofing attack of sorts, scrambling our memories and perception of events? Or could his power truly be effecting that change? Electrical signals and minor matter manipulation like we've seen elsewhere, but with a reach and precision that we rarely see in a single agent. Or, another variant of an interdimensional powerset. Blending two worlds - or even his own simulation - together, not needing to create - but simply overwrite without a need to process or understand, or perhaps offloading said processing via the host - and any agents that he's interfaced with." He shakes his head. "But the point remains. It took concerted effort to effect such a change, yet to leave so precise an error - to not leave a single trace save for those that would be observed and acted upon by someone immediately."
"You think that the mistake is deliberate. To induce panic. Desperation." She tilts her head. "Conflict." He knows that she already knows. Or, could already know if she wanted to. In many ways, she was only here to guide his thoughts down the correct path.
"His agent is alive." He states bluntly. "It was no mistake that it failed to achieve anything meaningful during controlled testing, only for a string of improbable victories to occur leading up to an escape attempt. We should have recognised it from the outset, we just weren't expecting it from an agent that should have been dead. The interaction with me - and the adaptation shown by the simulations after the fact - wasn't a simple reflection of my agent. It remembered me. Changed itself. It left a sign that only I could see. Mocking, in a way. Perhaps a way to engineer a change in its circumstances, quite effectively it seems - it certainly encouraged the boy to act with unusual haste. I wonder if that would continue as a baseline behaviour or, if testing continued under a less controlled environment better suited to the agent and thus eliminating the need for it to draw additional attention to itself, that not even I would be able to detect changes as they occur without assistance or observing his reactions directly."
"A power that could be useful." Contessa comments.
"A power that could be dangerous." He counters. "He's already compromised our leadership. He already hates us. At worst, he's dangerous enough to destroy now - at best, we hand him over to the Slug and rebuild him from the ground up."
"Can we afford to do that?" She challenges without heat. "This isn't a future agent being sent on dangerous missions. This is a potential silver bullet. This could be it. Everything that we asked for."
"Are you really trying to convince me? I'm not fighting the Path on this." He pulls a face. "You're supposed to put the Path into the background for these meetings." He spares a meaningful look around. "Why aren't the others here, anyway?
"They would all disagree." The blunt reply is exactly as he feared.
An ominous thing to say, coming from the strongest Thinker in the world. "And the Path says to ignore them." And to tell him about that fact, despite how trivial it would be to deceive him or skirt around the conversation in a hundred different ways. He could feel a headache coming on.
"They would have concerns over the moral implications of the powerset. They would ultimately be convinced, but them having a concrete understanding of the situation complicates the Path later. More opportunities for disruption and failure." She explains.
"And the same isn't true for me?" He asks.
A shrug. "You don't need convincing, and you seem to act as a stabilising influence later on."
He doesn't need convincing? He glances down at Doctor Mother, and the miniature Heartbreaker taking his anger at his imprisonment out on her. He wasn't sure about that. It wasn't about the morality of the situation. Hell, if Heartbreaker himself could wrap Scion around his finger he would join everyone else in kissing the man's boots. Saving humanity was the ultimate goal, regardless of the morality and character of the man to do it. And he was hardly the right person to make moral judgements on someone else. There was a valid enough argument that he, alongside most of Cauldron, would deserve whatever happened to them in the end. But judging them was a task for a world that had been saved. If there was a society left capable of putting them to trial, they could all accept that for the win that it was.
He didn't need convincing. He didn't need convincing. How, exactly would this help? Increasing the ambient level of triggers in a certain environment? No. Contessa mentioned a silver bullet. A simulation against Scion? A testing ground for various attacks and safeguards? No. Too experimental. Too unproven. Her Path wouldn't be able to verify such a possibility.
Contessa skips ahead, cutting past his musings before he can arrive at the answer. "Though you can't remember, Doctor Mother looks twenty years younger. Perhaps a bit more."
He waits for her to continue. She does not. He closes his eyes. What did that mean? The answer comes instantly. "If he could do something similar to you..."
She nods. "If I could regain the power I had at eleven years old, before the Entity placed its restrictions on me - it's over. We win, at that very instant. That power had a plan that was capable of killing both of them. I knew it back then, I just couldn't hold onto it. It had no limits. No restrictions. It knew how to slice through every safeguard with ease. If we can get it back, Scion will fall without so much as a drop of blood being shed against him."
He mulls that over. Maybe she was right to leave the others out of this. A Contessa capable of saving the world alone... only to immediately deliver it right to her new master. He can see why the others would have been difficult, perhaps looking for any chance to apply a leash to the new Cape. Mastering the Master, it was easy to see how a simple disruption to that Path could turn problematic. "Shit." He enunciates emphatically, letting out a rare-but-appropriate curse. "It is a long shot, but... we can't pass that up. If there's even the slightest chance..." He crosses his arms. "But that's even more reason why we need to wipe his memories and start again. We can't risk him out in the world, and we can't keep him here plotting to kill us for everything we've done already."
"Alternatively, we can't afford not to risk him out in the world." She stares at him levelly. "You've had him here, drugged to the gills on stimulants - for almost a week. In that time, the only notable streak of success was the moment you lost control of him. His synergy with his agent is good. Set him loose, see what happens. If it's a failure, we bring him back. No harm done."
He waves a hand in mock-surrender. He hates trying to argue with Contessa. Even when he has viable counterarguments, knowing that it's a doomed effort and that he'll be convinced in the end is enough to convince him not to bother. Especially without Doctor Mother, who she at least respects enough to disengage her primary paths for.
And she was still indisposed. Enthusiastically so. Now along with another researcher as well. Those were his colleagues, but he can't exactly be angry about it. They're all quite happy with the situation, and the subject... well. He isn't happy, but he is finding it quite difficult to remain angry in the face of such enthusiasm from the ladies in the room. He was probably a virgin before this, and had likely expected to be one for a long time. It was impressive, how quickly the thought of escape had fled his mind at the prospect of losing that classification. Teenagers.
He returns his focus to Contessa. "Will that mean anything? What's he going to gain out in the world that's going to help him beat you?" He frowns. "Assassinating the Butcher? An arrangement with the Yangban?"
Contessa pauses. "You know I can't model agent mechanics that effectively, I have some guesses based on how the path moves - but it would be dishonest to say that I was certain." That was a lie, she knew exactly what it would do. But he recognised it as a lie, which meant that the Path had allowed him to glean that knowledge from her reactions - which meant... what? Either his knowledge didn't change things at all, or his immediate reaction would be to the benefit of the Path. Perhaps a flash of insight that would help at a later date. Or any other number of explanations.
What a pain. This is why he liked spreadsheets. They didn't play games like this.
He just lets her continue, not calling her out on the deception. There was such a thing as overthinking, particularly when interacting with strong Thinkers. Being internally consistent was better than constantly trying to outfox every precognitive that dared to make predictions about your behaviour.
She pauses just long enough for his internal musings to resolve. "But we both know, if the agent is alive - and the agent isn't capable of getting what it wants - it will adapt. It won't accept sitting there, losing, forever. Not with a compliant, willing host. Maybe the simulations will change, or the nature of the rewards. But we won't find out if we don't provide it the opportunity."
"I hate this idea." Blunt honesty was necessary here. "The outside world is full of miniature blind spots and variables. Triggers, Endbringers. If you think that he could be a silver-bullet, we should be focused on controlled outings." He grimaces. "Yes, we've had a week of failures so far - but we know more now. Even if his agent did stack the deck against us, it's not impossible to work around."
"But?" She presses, knowing that it wasn't all that he had to say.
"But we don't exactly have an unbiased science team to process him anymore. They'd let him out after the first day if we didn't watch him personally, and we'd never make progress like that." He makes an annoyed expression at the concession. "Don't use me as a replacement for Doctor Mother. I just want to handle the books." He grumbles. "Yes. Fine. It's worth an attempt. We'll need to make some contingencies, he could catch enough attention that we might need to hide him away for his own safety - or in a different world entirely."
"The attention might be a good thing. There is an element of time-pressure involved. If he gets too comfortable, or goes too slow, that could be devastating as our timeline to act shrinks. But if we're in agreement, then we can just act in the absence of Doctor Mother." She stands. "Door. Cauldron. Testing-room Epsilon-D4."
"What are you-" He stands as well, a concerned expression on his face as she walks through. "Wait a second-"
"Who are- I'm not afraid of you. Challenge!" The voice floats up from below.
He steps through after her. "There's no need for that kind of haste. We leave the Path running in the background during meetings for a reason." He scowls at the drooling, vapid expression on the boy's face - which unfortunately had nothing to do with the two ladies fighting over his cock and studiously ignoring our arrival. "Look, you broke him."
"I... hadn't considered that I might be unable to path myself entirely." She actually sounded a little sheepish. "I modified the path to minimise harm while doing this, but hadn't considered that an extra blindspot would need modelling."
He shoots her a level look. "Something that I could have told you about if you'd stopped to listen. Don't tell me you're going to be like this all the time now that Doctor Mother is... like that."
"Oh, Doctor Mother has all of her usual faculties. She's just also... having a romantic fling, of sorts. Catching up on some much-needed stress relief. She'll be fully capable of handling her usual duties once the two are separated." Contessa jumps to her defence. "And he's not broken. Mindwiped of everything Cauldron related since he was brought here. Very thoroughly."
"You're telling me that his agent can look at your agent, and simulate a third agent that he has never met, effectively enough to work on himself? That's not reassuring in the slightest." But, at the same time. Perhaps that was what was needed. Another agent, whole. Without restrictions. Without a safety net. One never meant to join the cycle. A silver bullet. Any disconcerting implications about the range of its abilities might be a good thing. They'd thought the same about Eidolon, once.
"Get away from him-!" He ducks away from an attempted tackle. He hurls his pen at one girl. He slams his clipboard into the neck of Doctor Mother. A palm strike takes out the third.
"Harsh." Contessa calls out, as if she couldn't have done it herself with a fraction of the effort - or achieved a similar goal without lifting a finger.
"Wh-what?" The subject blinks. Looking around in confusion. "Who are you? Where am I?"
He ignores him. "They've made my day difficult. I'm allowed to be bitter." They'd sleep it off. "Let's go, Subj- Greg." The youth startles back to his senses, a sense of life and fire returning to his gaze alongside an intense embarrassment as he frantically pulls his clothes back into order. A very precise mindwipe indeed. The Slug could turn someone into a permanent, drooling wreck - they might have had to resort to a Master power to puppet around the boy's body and his power. Yet, that didn't happen.
An offer of a clean slate, right when it was needed. Convenient. Concerning.
"Door. Veder household." He murmurs, shoving the boy lightly towards the portal as it appears - Contessa following closely behind.
He wrinkles at the state of the room. Messy. Unaesthetic.
"Challenge." The whisper comes from behind him. The boy is looking directly at him. And then, suddenly, he turns as pale as a ghost. Shrinking back, using Contessa as a shield. "Y-you guys. You're... C. Right? You know-" He glances around. "Cauldron?" The stage whisper is too loud, the excitement in his tone overcoming any pretence at subtlety. Had he not just been violently killed? Perhaps the death had been swift enough that he hadn't appreciated what actually happened. "Are these my powers?" He waves his hand in front of his eyes. "Is it like a game? How do I level up? Status. Pause. Save. Abilities. Social links. Quests-"
"Greg. Look outside and tell us what your power sees." Contessa interrupts.
For a moment, he looks like he wants to argue - but the argument stills in his tongue as he turns to face Contessa properly, reading something that only he can see. "R-right." He paces over to the window. "Uh. That's Alice. This box says... 'Tutorial. Veder Household 1/8'. If that means anything to you."
Contessa turns her gaze from Greg to the Number Man as places his head in his hands.
"That's perfect. Thank you, Greg." Contessa regards him silently.
"It could have just created that on the fly." He argues to nobody in particular. "It's arrived at a scenario it likes. It kicks things off on easy mode."
"Uh? Hello? Am I out of the loop here?" They ignore Greg.
Contessa says nothing. The silence is damning.
"Or it knew." He reluctantly confronts the other possibility. "The precognition goes further than we-" He stops. "No. That's not it. Contessa. When the vial was administered, you were in the room. Were you targeted afterwards?"
"Almost immediately." She confirms. "My paths took some time to re-organise. Modelling his powerset to a functional level took longer than expected."
"Something you only finished after he challenged you?" He asks. He gets a nod back. A moment later, a thoughtful expression appears on her face as the Path feeds her his theory before he even verbalises it. "I think I see. His challenges were a complete blindspot for you. He challenged you - and his agent interacted with yours, in much the same way as it did with mine. It's not a one-way information transfer. With me, I gained additional information about his modifiers over the next few tests even as his simulations benefitted from the input of my own powerset. An exchange occurred. Your agent gained an understanding of the simulations and the ability to model their outcomes into the Path, and in exchange - it took knowledge. I imagine no small amount of possible simulations are now drawn from Paths that we've modelled previously and discarded, but more relevantly - it came to an understanding with the Path itself."
Contessa nods. "That it would end up here, with a clean slate. In such a controlled environment, without one of my blind spots knocking things off course, without changing any of my active Paths since that interaction - everything remained as predicted without needing an update. My agent told his where the most likely path would end up - and it knew it would be here, with a clean slate from zero, right from the outset. It never needed to cooperate in the lab."
"I'm right here, you know?" Neither of them acknowledges the boy. "Wait, how is it the weekend? Am I going to be in trouble for getting kidnapped, or is it a package deal that you handle that sort of thing for me? My family isn't exactly the most understanding..."
"Predicted, or negotiated?" He makes a sour expression. "Your haste in entering the testing room, and the decision to leave the other core members out of this - that was uncharacteristic of you. We can't entirely dismiss the possibility of... collusion, between agents to achieve this result. That you had multiple possible Paths that could have handled this situation, and this one was selected as the ideal one for you to see. Evidently, not to the extent of what a successful victory for the boy might result in - but we can't ignore the possibility that both agents will seek to nudge things in a mutually-beneficial fashion for them even after the briefest and least successful of challenge attempts. He should be prevented from interacting with potential cognitohazards entirely, and we should verify that we haven't been partially compromised beyond an unwitting exchange of data."
"I'll shuffle my Paths around once we leave. Talk to Eidolon, have him check me over." Contessa nods. He would make certain that she did as well. "Such a disruption should shake off any lingering effect or lasting benefit that his agent gleaned from mine."
"Challenge!" Greg slumps, drooling, again.
He regards the boy for a moment as he once again reduces himself to a drooling wreck.
"Let's hope he loses that habit." He comments drily. "Repetitive exposure to the Slug can have some rather negative effects. Simulated or not, best not try our luck - if he is, indeed, everything you hope he is."
"Let's take it as our cue to leave." She agrees, pressing a piece of paper from her hand into the boy's - and then ungently shoving him onto the bed. "Door to Cauldron."
He stays still as the portal opens. "We're not even going to explain his power to him?"
"Isn't that the point of a tutorial?" She returns.
"Can't argue with that." He grimaces. "Though, not getting any value at all out of the data I gleaned from our brief interaction - that makes me feel like I got swindled."
"You could consider it a lopsided deal on a personal level, though evidently not to the extent of most that were impacted in this incident." She comments drily. He groans at the reminder that this incident still can't be considered complete. "Or, if you consider that ultimately, any goal of his will require saving the world at some point - you could simply call it an overall win for our team."
"An overall win is hardly what I would call losing an entire research division." He makes a gesture around them as they finally step through the portal, Greg making a groaning noise behind him as he wakes.
Contessa shrugs. "We didn't lose an entire research division."
He narrows his eyes at her. "Every single one of them broke protocol. Every single one is under the lasting influence of a Master power. Every single one of them would happily plant a dagger in my back if they thought that their newfound crush might benefit from it or appreciate it in some way." He lists out bluntly. "Even if I can't remember them being too different aside from their new crush, that doesn't change the facts."
"Yes." Contessa agrees. "But you won't fire them."
When a pre-cog says something with that amount of confidence, other arguments tend to fall flat. It was a fact, and now it was necessary to work back from the end result. "You're saying that I decide to keep them. You must realise how absurd that sounds."
"We're keeping Doctor Mother, it's no different." Contessa says indifferently. "On a victory, his agent seems to shift people closer to an ideal partner. An ideal follower. A more loyal, more effective version of themselves. Yes, you now have a team full of shameless fangirls - but their new obsession doesn't indicate that they are any worse at their jobs. No, they will actually improve across several metrics. Enough so that you will be unable to replace them without a drop in performance."
A slow, mounting sense of horror overtakes him. "I'm going to take up drinking." He grouses. "And even if you think I'm going to be impressed, I'm still going to tear the entire department a new one. I'll have the entire department explain why they shouldn't be fired for failing to follow basic security policy."
"Enjoy." Contessa smiles. "I'm going to talk with Doctor Mother."
"There's a lot to catch her up on. If she's in any state to handle it." He agrees.
"That too." She nods airily. "But, I was more thinking... girl talk."
"Ah." He blinks. "I see."
Well. There was nothing wrong with a healthy level of interest in the subject. Particularly if one of the world's greatest hopes now rested on her allowing herself to be Mastered in exactly the same way, once the boy grew capable enough. Had she ever-? No. He didn't know, and he didn't care to know either. Best to focus on more pressing matters.
Like the small army of angry researchers rounding the corner - each one demanding to know what he did with 'their' Greg.
He turns around. Contessa is already gone. Leaving him to the wolves.
He needs a vacation.
---
---
Void_Cowboy_3 casts Self-Destruct!
Hell Dragon Emperor takes 214 damage!
Void_Cowboy_3 has died!
Void_Cowboy_3: My bad, thought that would kill it. Should have waited another turn.
Void_Cowboy_3: You might have enough damage to kill it? We can go again, if not. I have time.
She narrows her eyes at the screen, pushing her momentary panic at finding herself alone aside. Slowly, painstakingly, she navigates the menus. An easy task. A difficult task. With everything so breakable. So fragile. Especially when the stakes were so high!
GStringGirl drinks potion of Haste!
GStringGirl casts Astral Might!
GStringGirl is filled with power!
GStringGirl casts Fireball!
Hell Dragon Emperor takes 24 damage.
Hell Dragon Emperor defeated!
Void_Cowboy_3: Oh - nice!
GStringGirl: I did it!
Void_Cowboy_3: Sorry to make you waste a potion for that. I'll send you another.
GStringGirl: You don't need to! I know where to farm more.
Void_Cowboy_3: Don't worry. I have loads. They share a cooldown with [Potion of Might] so I rarely get to use them with this build.
Void_Cowboy_3: And once you start catching up in gear, they only get easier to farm anyway.
A chime emerges from the speaker. Mail. She teleports back to town to find the mailbox.
Ten potions.
GStringGirl: Ten?!!
Void_Cowboy_3: Consider it payment for the carry.
GStringGirl: I'm the one that should be saying that... you're not even getting anything from this boss.
Void_Cowboy_3: Well, what kind of hero would I be if I left a friend to grind these mats alone? Finding a party for content that isn't from the latest patch can be a real pain, and most people expect you to either know the strats or be so overgeared that the strats don't matter. This is the best way to do it.
GStringGirl: Thank you... I still feel bad though... >_<
Void_Cowboy_3: I'm telling you, it's fine. It's nice to take some downtime to chill once in a while.
A distant noise from outside the room. In an instant, she propels herself away from the computer, to hang above the door - compressed flat against the wall. A familiar sense of predatory hunger rising up inside her as the door opens- "Please watch out!" She calls out with a worried tone, catching herself at the last second. Her tentacles don't match her concern, wrapping and squeezing the person walking through the door in an instant. Strong enough to bend steel and shatter bones into pulp. "I'm so sorry!" She pleads.
"I'm fine, Sveta." The muffled voice confirms. "Just focus on yourself. Breathe."
In. Out. Her tentacles tighten. "I'm trying!" But trying wasn't enough. It was never enough. This suit wouldn't protect her target forever, soon the emergency alarm would be triggered - and they'd suppress her again. And then take away her computer, and then- Something cracks under her grip. "Oh no. Not now!"
A chime emerges from the desk. Her focus shifts to the computer, and a full half of her tentacles follow her gaze. The other half remain stubbornly wrapped around limbs, but the occupant of the protective suit can only watch as she drags them towards the computer.
Void_Cowboy_3: And besides, I might be a bit too busy to hop on here that much over the next few days. Basically every villain in the city reared their heads yesterday, and they got enough of a bruising that they'll probably try a round two at some point. Prison breaks are a regular thing for them - It's not like I know when or where they're going to hit, but I'd really like to be there when they do. That means being out and about, rather than on my computer.
Void_Cowboy_3: So don't feel like I'm ignoring you or anything!
She smiles. A real hero. She'd read the news articles. And followed the PHO post. And watched the Uber & Leet stream. He seemed... to be having fun. It was a little sad that he wouldn't be able to join her here, but she couldn't be selfish about this sort of thing.
GStringGirl: Good luck! When you come back, I might be even stronger than you!
Void_Cowboy_3: We'll see about that >:)
"That's your friend, Sveta?" Doctor Yamada questions, having found herself mostly free as more tentacles abandon their grip on her to attempt typing.
"That's him." She confirms. "He's a hero - an actual hero - you know? He recommended this game to me when I mentioned my difficulties with, um, motor control."
"He seems to have made a good recommendation." The doctor comments idly. "Your control seems greatly improved since the last time we spoke."
"This is actually the same keyboard from then." She couldn't have kept the pride out of her voice if she tried. She'd been trying, really trying - and she hadn't broken a keyboard in almost a week! "The mouse- well. The mouse is harder." Her tentacles writhe in the air, as if doing some kind of mourning dance for the many, many computer peripherals that had perished in her attempts to use an appropriate level of strength when holding or moving the mouse.
"Progress, Sveta. Progress. Look at how far you've come already - there's no need to be down on yourself about having more to do." The last tentacle slips away from her neck. She doesn't take the chance to run. She's smart like that. Smarter than all of the others that thought that they could claim Sveta as a solved case - another achievement on their record. Sveta likes Doctor Yamada. She hopes she doesn't die. "And, you have a good reason to practice. You want to beat your game. And show off to your friend."
"I-" Her tentacles shrink around her face. Like a mask. "I'd like to call him that. But, can I call myself his friend when I'm lying to him all the time? About who I am. What I am. What I've done-" This time, the mouse explodes in her grip. They both regard it for a moment. "-sorry." She mumbles. "That's another one."
"We have plenty more." She waves it off with a dismissive gesture. A tentacle mirrors the movement back at her. "Why don't we talk about your friend? I'm afraid I don't know much about him."
"He's a hero." She repeats. "Well. I didn't know that when we met. In fact, he wasn't a hero yet at that point at all. I think- I think he gained his powers quite recently, so he was a normal person when we first interacted. I'd just gotten my computer privileges, I made my first post on PHO to say hello - and nobody replied to it. It fell off the front page. Then off the second page of results. Then the third. And then I get a private message from him - telling me that there's all sorts of creeps and weirdos on the forums, and that I should be careful about what I post online." She smiles. "He was easy to talk to, and quick to respond even when everyone else was offline. He plays a lot of games, he knows a lot of things. He always has strange ideas and theories to tell - back when I found it hard to type, it was fun to let him go on and on - and all I had to do was agree and manage small responses. A proper conversation!"
"I'm glad that you found someone pleasant to talk to." She makes a show of reading the messages as a tentacle presses her face towards the screen.
"Sorry." She mumbles again. Another tentacle restrains the other, a moment later - a small tangle slumps into a defeated knot. "Anyway. We started talking about each other. Then about games. And, after a while of that - he revealed that he was a Cape now. He used the same PHO username, so it was a bit of a reveal for everyone. Reading the thread about it was funny." She suppresses a smile at the memory. "I got to see more of him after that. Stories about how he fights. How he acts in real life - as a hero, I mean. Videos. News reports. He's a good person." She pauses. "And... I can't help but think, should I even be lying to him at all?"
Doctor Yamada pauses at that, understanding her meaning instantly. "Sveta, I don't mean to entirely discourage the idea. I think it's great that you're ready to trust other people with the real you, but... have you considered if you are prepared for every eventuality here? Everyone who uses the internet encounters the same dilemna, how much of themselves they should share with a stranger online. If I meet someone new, however much I like them - I don't truly know their views. I don't know how they would react to the truth of my work as a therapist, I don't know how I would react to knowing everything about them. What if I lost a friend, knowing some new fact about them that I could no longer overlook?"
"I know. But, this isn't the first time I've thought about this. He's a Cape himself. And... he thinks Case 53s are cool. If you look at his post history, I don't know if he would really have a problem with the idea that I'm not really a... person."
"Don't say that." Yamada states firmly. "You may be different, but you are still every bit as much of a person as the rest of us."
Sveta spins absently. "But you're right. I can't... I can't tell him that I killed people. That I'm a mass murderer. He's too sweet, too innocent - and, I don't know if he could ever forgive that. So I'll lie. But, I'll lie a little less than before. And if I'm wrong, if he's mad that I lied - or angry that I never trusted him enough before - and he never wants to talk to me again..." Her tentacles wriggle again. "Then... that's just how it is. It's better than continuing like this forever."
Yamada regards her silently for a moment. "I think that's incredibly brave of you Sveta."
"Thank you, Doctor." She brings up the chat box again. "Can- can you leave the room? Just to be safe."
There's no argument against that. No tentacles attempt to restrain her as she slowly, tentatively backsteps towards the doorway. "I'll be watching from out here."
GStringGirl: Hey, you know I told you a long time ago I couldn't come to see you? Or show you a picture of myself?
GStringGirl: That wasn't a lie, but... I wasn't honest about the reason.
Void_Cowboy_3: ??
GStringGirl: I'm a Cape.
GStringGirl: A Case 53.
Void_Cowboy_3: Oh!
Void_Cowboy_3: Wow, didn't expect that answer.
GStringGirl: You believe me just like that?
Void_Cowboy_3: It does answer a lot.
Void_Cowboy_3: So, nothing to do with your parents being strict, I assume. Trapped by the government?
GStringGirl: Not in the way that you're thinking. I'm not free to leave, but... I wouldn't want to either. I'm dangerous to be around. I don't want to hurt anyone, so I need to stay here.
Void_Cowboy_3: Are you allowed visitors?
GStringGirl: I... I don't know. I've never had anyone other than the doctors who might want to see me. I'd have to ask, and there would probably be lots of paperwork and arguments about it.
Void_Cowboy_3: Well, if you do find out - let me know. I'd love to come and visit. Even if just to say hello.
Void_Cowboy_3: Does this mean that you're willing to tell me your name now?
GStringGirl: My real name is Sveta. But I think you might recognise it if I told you my Cape name...
GStringGirl: I'm sorry. I'm going to keep that a secret a little while longer.
Void_Cowboy_3: That's fine. I'll consider it a challenge to work out in the meantime.
Void_Cowboy_3: Thanks for trusting me. It can't have been easy.
GStringGirl: No, thank you.
Void_Cowboy_3: ??
GStringGirl: For being my friend.
GStringGirl: I've got to go now. Bye, Void!
Void_Cowboy_3: See you soon, Sveta. >:)
GStringGirl has logged out.
She does a happy spin around the room. She moves to face Doctor Yamada at the viewing port to tell her the good news, only to find that there's already a beaming, proud smile on her face. She pouts at that. Her tentacles spilled the beans before she could even say it herself.
But, she can't be upset. Not when she's taken such a big step. Not when she has a friend.
And... "Doctor Yamada-" She presses herself up against the viewing port. "By any chance - is it possible for me to get visitors? Not- not right now. But... maybe, in the future. Is it possible?"
"It is something that the facility allows for." Yamada considers. "It's not something that's currently authorised in your particular case, but that's mostly a case of the question never coming up. I'm confident that I can handle the paperwork to get someone on this side of the safety mirror. If you mean inside the room with you, that might be more troublesome. You're well on the road to getting to that point, but it's still a danger for untrained personnel. The fact that he is a Cape both helps and hinders the paperwork." She makes a face. "I don't have a concrete answer for you right now. I'll have to run it up the chain, but I'll let you know when I hear back."
They share a smile. Filled with optimism and hope for what the future might hold.
---
---
Amy suppresses the sense of loss as Glory Girl sets her down. There were all sorts of reasons why she loved flying with her sister. All sorts of genuine, wholesome reasons to enjoy the thrill of soaring over the Bay - the wind racing through her hair and costume. And then, there were also the unwholesome reasons. The fact that she always smelled so good. That she always held her so tenderly, so firmly. That sometimes, Vicky would shift her grip just enough to press Amy into her chest - utterly unaware of the fact that her sister was secretly enjoying it.
"Alright, you sure you don't need me?" Vicky crosses her arms. "I can stick around if you want. If he gives you any trouble..."
"I'll be fine." She assures her. "The PRT is hanging around anyway, if he wanted to make a scene - he could have done it whenever. This is just a box-ticking exercise." One that had the PRT ringing her up and insisting that she come to the hospital right away. She wasn't a huge fan about the lack of foresight or planning that Void Cowboy had put into this sudden appearance. Not when it impacted her free time.
But, that was life. A Cape shows up at the hospital and randomly starts healing people, who else were they going to go to?
"I won't be far if you need me. I'll have my phone on me. You know the drill." Vicky promises, before rocketing off into the sky. Overly dramatic, considering she was probably just going to touch down at the mall down the road. But, Amy would probably do the same if she had flight. And Vicky looked beautiful doing it, so she wasn't going to complain.
She enters through the usual door. A PRT officer greets her immediately. "Panacea." An inclined head. "Up on the second floor. Room 17B."
"Thanks." She walks past him, unbothered as he falls in behind her. "Is this really a problem? He was vetted enough for the Endbringer fight, wasn't he?"
The officer grunts. "Emergency situations can afford to be more lax about these things, and we don't share records in that level of detail - most of the actual healing process went undocumented. I'm sure you understand how it is."
She does. "Fine." She says sourly. "I'll check that it isn't any different, and you guys will stop being a pain about it?"
"I understand that the upper brass wishes to concede to your professional opinion in this field." He says diplomatically.
She grunts. Up the stairs. Along the corridor. Room 17B. She pushes the door open and steps inside.
"-ure thing buddy, I bet you were sitting in this hospital bed for fun. You're probably addicted to the feeling of your life savings going down the drain and into these hospital bills. Keep complaining, I'll break it again." There's Void Cowboy.
"Disrespectful young brat." The patient snaps.
"I appreciate that I'm missing half of the conversation, but I do agree that you need to work on your bedside manner." She speaks up drily. Void Cowboy spins around fast, his face lighting up when he sees me.
"Panacea! Lovely to see you." He enthuses. "Never mind this guy. He was complaining about me not asking for permission before I saved him thousands of dollars and un-broke his leg to let him walk again. Completely rational of him, I know."
"Yes." She deadpans. "Consent before subjecting someone to a parahuman power or performing a medical operation on them. That's important." He rolls his eyes, so she continues. "As in, it's a crime not to have it and do it anyway."
"Somehow, the lovely officers patrolling around haven't seen fit to arrest me yet." He shrugs. "Burning CDs is a crime. Vigilantism is a crime. Climbing in through the windows so I don't have to talk to the receptionist is... probably not a crime. Right? I've never seen a law that says I have to use the front door."
"Trespassing." She helps.
"Trespassing, schmespassing." He makes a face. "The point is, they're not going to start a fight over it or try to throw me in jail. That's bad PR, if nothing else. A slam dunk in the court of public opinion-"
"But not an actual court." She interjects.
He ignores her interruption. "-so the worst that will happen is the hospital director comes along and asks me politely to leave. Which, surprise, he doesn't want to do while the beds are still overflowing." He looks at her with a grin. "Besides, if they were really going to throw the book at me - why would they send you here to sign off on the fact that I'm not secretly giving everyone super-cancer?"
She can't entirely argue with that. "Can you do that?"
He grins. "Come over to this guy and find out. He was being annoying, so I figured I'd make his balls fall off in a few weeks-"
"I fucking knew it!" The man yells. "Someone arrest this little shit already!"
Amy shoots the other Cape a dirty look. "I think that was a poor attempt at a joke, sir. If you'll give me permission, I'd like to verify that everything is as it should be - and I can ensure that there aren't any unpleasant surprises in the process."
"Yes, yes. Go ahead." The man mutters, trading glares with the other male in the room.
She presses one finger to the man's temple - searching through the flood of information that she has access to with that simple touch.
She pulls away. "You're perfectly healthy, Sir. No unexpected effects, and your leg is healed to a satisfactory level. It may take some time and effort to rebuild the muscle up to normal - but I don't foresee any issues as it stands."
"...and my pecker isn't going to fall off?" The man glares as Void Cowboy breaks out into snickers.
"...No." She confirms woodenly.
"Welp. That's that. On to the next one. Come on, dear Panacea!" Void Cowboy skips from the room.
Reluctantly, she follows. "When did I say that I volunteered to do anything with you? I have a life myself, you know."
"You're here to test my powers right? Is a sample size of one really enough?" He shrugs. "And besides, these people need help. Right?"
"Right." It's not like she can deny that. However bitter she feels about it, this is what her power is for. "You were using... discount versions of mine and Othala's powers, if I recall correctly?"
"I guess." He sounds sour about my choice of words. Good. "Which, coincidentally, is the other reason that it would be good to have you around. I need to offload Othala's power so I can roll regeneration again - and giving powerups to you is probably better than giving them to hospitalised probable-gang-members." His finger pokes her in the cheek. "Poke."
"Gah!" She leans away, fixing him with a deadly scowl. "Personal space! Consent!" She needs a spray bottle.
"Oh, no. I'm so sorry for giving you Brute powers Miss Panacea!" He drawls sarcastically. "Having super-strength must be so arduous for you. I can only apologise."
"You unironically should." She pauses. "But... super-strength, you said?"
He wordlessly hands her a metal spoon.
She gives him a strange look. "Where did you even get this?"
"Do you want to know, or do you want to see yourself tying that thing into knots?" She considers that for a moment. Then she twists the spoon into a perfect circle. Then wraps the ends around each other. Twirling at the end, only to snap off due to the stress. "I looted it from the kitchen here."
She drops the spoon, then hastily picks it back up and shoves it into her pocket. "Why would you do that? And why did you wait to say that until after I had broken it?"
"I thought it would be funny. And I didn't bring anything to eat my lunch with." He pauses. "Ah, swap those around. I stole the spoon because I needed cutlery to eat, and I waited because I thought it would be funny to mess with you-"
"Yeah, I get it." She replies sourly. "Don't use me as the guinea pig for your power again."
"You seemed to enjoy it." He accuses blandly.
"The novelty wore off." She dismisses. "It's just a gimmick."
"Ah. Then you won't be wanting the superspeed that I rolled next? A shame. I'll have to find someone else to give it to along the way." He makes a show of peering down at a clipboard. She can't entirely read it from this angle, but it looks familiar. A list of patients that would benefit the most from Parahuman healing. Looks like the Hospital Director really was looking the other way for this one.
They walk in silence for a moment.
She coughs. "You know, it really would be irresponsible to grant powers to patients like that. They could really hurt themselves-"
"Say no more." She blinks. "Poke!"
"Wai-" She adopts an angry expression as his finger presses into her cheek again. "Stop that!" He slows.
No. He didn't slow. But he was falling behind. His head was slowly turning to follow her, but... she dashes around him. She's fast. Far faster. Fast enough that he can't even follow her movements.
She could...
She could kick him in the balls. There's no way he could react to it from here.
Reluctantly, she puts the violent thought out of her head. Being annoying was one thing, but he probably didn't deserve that. Yet.
She runs to the end of the corridor and back. Void Cowboy turns only just fast enough for her to blow past him on the return trip.
"Wwweeeeellll, ssooommeeooonnneee iiiisss-" Void Cowboy starts, his voice sounding comically deep to her ears.
...whatever he was about to say probably wasn't worth listening to. It would probably be annoying. She dashes up to him, leans over his shoulder - and peers at the clipboard. Room 25C.
He would have to catchup. Before he can even finish the next word, she's gone.
The power runs out mid-conversation with a rather confused patient. The sudden cut-off leave Amy deliberately slowing and drawing out her words, enough to create a small misunderstanding with the patient - who probably thought she was being insulting. Void Cowboy shows up thirty seconds later with a bemused look on his face.
"Too late, I'm already done here." She breezes past him.
"I'm still yet to hear a thank you, by the way." He gripes.
"I'm still yet to hear you ask for permission." She counters.
He sticks his tongue out at me. "That only makes me less inclined to ask."
"You say that, but you seem to have learned your lesson now." She smirks. "Good boy."
"Nonsense." He dismisses. "I just rolled regeneration early. No sense wasting it on someone who's perfectly healthy."
True to his words. The next patient practically heals themselves. She observes the process to ensure it goes well, but she didn't really need to bother. The healing was flawless, if a bit slow. The power ran out before finishing the job entirely, so she touches up the final steps.
The patient three rooms further down doesn't get the same treatment.
"I totally fixed it." He argues as they leave the room. "No wound, no problem."
"On the skin, sure. But a wound doesn't disappear just because you can't see it anymore." She grouses.
"No infection. No bleeding. No need for bandages." He shakes his head. "I can tell you for a fact that someone with a wound like that, that gets treated like that, will go on to survive for days."
"Oh, wow. Entire days." She drawls. "And when he keels over in a few months because you only cleared up the surface level problem - that's entirely unrelated to you?"
He scowls. "It's not like I couldn't have done it - but my power has a bit of a range problem from the point of contact. If it was just me, life or death situation - I'd have stuck my finger in there and done the rest. Would have hurt a bit, but it would be fixed. Alas, that guy was a wuss and you were just complaining about the hypocritical oath or whatever-"
She ignores that. She's a hundred percent sure that he got the name wrong deliberately to antagonise her.
"-so I figured I would just leave it for you to handle." He finishes with a grin. "Between the two of us, there's nothing we can't handle. That guy had no idea how lucky he is."
"The two of us?" I raise an eyebrow.
He nods. "That's right. With our powers combined, we can cure anything. Cancer. Amputees. Weird diseases. Common cold. Plague. Dental work. Heart attacks." He flounders for more health-related issues for a moment. "Uh, conjoined twins!"
She fights her lips as they try to quirk upwards. She's not going to smile. "I feel like I'm doing the heavy lifting in that partnership. Is your power really going to handle even half of that list?"
"It's called teamwork, Panacea." He fobs her off with an overly-pretentious, dismissive wave. "You couldn't possibly understand."
"I think I would use the term 'babysitting' instead." She internally smiles at his wounded expression.
He mock-dials a number into his hand. "Can I return my Panacea to the store? I wanted the peppy, wholesome white mage and instead I got the bitter, sarcastic version that keeps calling me a loser."
"Have you considered that you might be the problem?" She proposes.
He shakes his head. "Never in my life."
"Explains a lot." She tilts her head as he doesn't turn towards the stairs. "Wrong way."
"Nah. Time for a break." He decides.
She looks pointedly at his list. "There's still more to do."
"And there always will be, what's your point?" She doesn't have one. "It's not like I'm being paid for this. They can hardly fire me for volunteering for three hours instead of four, or whatever I end up doing. Come on."
She follows him out of the patient wing. Across the building. Into an oddly-specific room and- "Are you kidding?"
"No?" He glances back at her through the open window.
"I'm not jumping out the window." She tells him. "We're three floors up. I'll die."
"Space warping powers. It's completely fine. Maybe a single metre drop at most." He rolls his eyes at her doubtful look. "I'll even make a step with Clockblocker's power. How about that?"
"I still have absolutely no reason to go with you." She crosses her arms. "What's wrong with just taking a break in the waiting room?"
"Well, aside from all of the injured people guilt-tripping you while you sit there, and the PRT officers watching our every move while pretending that they aren't doing that - I've got a pyrokinesis blessing that you really can't try out inside without setting the fire alarm off." He taps his nose with a wink.
She sends him a bemused look. "You're acting like some sleazy guy trying to lure kids into his van with candy. Except instead of candy, you have powers."
"And instead of happy, joyful kids I get a sulky Striker who is trying to pretend that she doesn't want to try breathing fire." He appends. "It's easily the most fun power of the lot. According to my patrol partner, at least. I can't hit myself with these, so I can't give my personal opinion."
"This is so dumb." She mumbles to herself. "I'm going to get kidnapped, and I'm going to deserve it." She follows him out the window, momentarily struggling for footing on the time-locked cardboard box he had used as a step.
He was right. The firebreathing was fun.
What was slightly less fun was their frantic escape from their chosen park after the first few civilians started screaming about Lung. She should probably feel a little bit guilty for the panic she caused... but it was mostly Void Cowboy's fault. That was her story. And she was going to stick with it.
"Poke!" She snarls wordlessly at him as they slowly retrace their steps to the back of the hospital. "Durability. Well. Invincibility, according to the roll. Never tested the high-end though, so take that with a pinch of salt."
She's not stabbing herself to test that. She waits until they pass a nearby tree. Then punches it. Nothing. The next wall, she slams her fist into it again. Like hitting a cushion, except with the harsh thump of two solid objects colliding at speed. The next wall- she roars out a noise of complaint as her hand decisively loses the battle with the bricks.
"Hm. Yeah, invincibility tends to last the shortest amount of time. Othala has the same problem." Void Cowboy is not a font of sympathy.
"This is your fault!" She hisses at him. "I just broke my hand! I can't heal myself!"
He gives her a strange look. "My fault because you punched something too hard?" She stomps on his foot. "Ow! Right, okay. I'll fix it." He pauses for a moment too long, a stupid smile making its way onto his face. "I mean. I guess I'll give you a han-" She kicks him in the shin. "Woah, woah, woah! Okay - no sense of humour! Fine! Mercy! I've had enough abuse from you today. I can only take getting beaten up so much."
"I've barely touched you." She grouses.
"That's what you think." He kneels, then takes her hand in his. "Let me see..."
"...are you seriously going to try and fix a broken hand with your Walmart version of my power that only affects skin?" She deadpans.
"It doesn't only affect skin, let's be clear about this. There is a small amount of penetration-" He folds under her unimpressed stare. "Fine, fine. Regeneration, as soon as I get it back. Enjoy durability for the second time in a row."
"As if I'd put my faith in that again." She says sourly.
He doesn't let go of her hand. Not that she really mind either way. His regeneration power might not handle everything - so taking a moment to handle the most obvious issues with her powerset made sense.
...Vicky would definitely get the wrong idea if she saw this. She checks the sky for a moment out of paranoia. Nothing.
Regeneration isn't the next roll. Strength is instead. "We should head back." She shifts on her feet.
"Fine, fine. Just don't sic the PRT on me once we get in there." He appeals. "Or your sister."
"I will consider your request." Amy doesn't give him a firm answer. Let him stew in anticipation for a while about whether he should expect an angry Brute to jump him later today. His fault for handing out sketchy powers with no safety instructions.
The next power is super speed. And she soon finds out that superspeed also means super jumps. Getting back inside the window is a cinch with his space warping in effect. When he encourages her to jump back out and do it again for fun, her withering glare and pointed expression at her broken hand is enough.
Halfway down the corridor, she feels the superspeed wear off mid-stride. Good. It was difficult to keep normal pace as it was. She watches him shift his arm out of the corner of her eye, rising up to her cheeks again. "Po-" She turns sharply. Her teeth clamp shut on his outstretched finger. "Ow! Ow! Leggo you crazy-" His finger dissolves into shadow before he shakes his hand frantically in the air. "Is that the thanks I get? I'm kind of used to not getting any thanks from Miss Grouchy, but what's with that? I give you an unbroken hand and you try to amputate my finger? What if I was giving you super-strength? I use these fingers! How would I type properly?"
"You'd have to find a kind, noble healer in the area who would be willing to reattach it for you." She tells him sweetly. "Perhaps she could teach you a valuable lesson about consent in the process. Like I've been trying to tell you all afternoon." She flexes her hand. Quick work. "I guess you got lucky this time."
"See if I ever heal you again." He pouts at her, not seeming all too bothered despite his words. "The dream team of ultimate healers might just break apart here. And it's all your fault. What will all the doctors and patients around here say when you have to admit that the legendary duo broke up because of your innate violent nature?"
"They'd probably be relieved. I would do the same amount of work in a third of the time if I was alone." She punctures his ego again.
"Alright, now I just feel unappreciated." He sulks.
"Welcome to the medical industry." She snarks.
He snorts at that. Together, they continue on to the next patient.
That evening, when Glory Girl comes to pick her up. She leaves the hospital with a stubborn smile on her face. For the first time in a long time.
"...sooo." Vicky says slowly, drifting over the rooftops as they return home. "...Was he cute?"
Amy dissolves into coughs and splutters, the motion threatening to send her tumbling to the ground below if not for her sister's sure grip. "Vicky!"
---
---
Thirty-four metres away, a pair of girls recoil as a wasp makes its presence known on the doorknob. The pair quickly find another place to have lunch.
Fifty-two metres away, a small swarm of flies deter a group of joggers from passing close to her building. They pick the bug-free path at the crossroads, and continue into the distance. She couldn't take any chances. However small the odds were of them glancing through the window to this darkened classroom, it was still a risk that couldn't be tolerated.
Because Taylor, by night an up-and-coming superheroine, was currently completely naked and sprawled across a pair of tables - fingers buried in her slit.
Not because she was a pervert. Because she wasn't. But because she was practicing. Practicing how well she could track things, track people, in the distance. Practicing her sensory abilities with her bugs. Practicing how well she could judge the body position and movements of other people, based only off of the movements of the few bugs she could sneak onto them.
So when Emma - or perhaps it was Madison, it wasn't impossible for her to lose track of which bug belonged to which in a group - adopted a strange position like this? Then, naturally, Taylor should mimic it herself. Just to verify that the position was possible, to verify that the positions of the bugs matched up - thereby proving her increasing mastery.
And when Greg happened to thrust forward, well. It wasn't strictly necessary, but if Taylor happened to touch herself at the same time - syncing things up in a certain way... then that was really just helping to act out the scene, wasn't it? It wasn't like she had forgiven him or anything, or even wanted anything to do with him right now at all - this was just part of verifying that her understanding of the inconsequential scene happening two buildings across and three floors up was accurate.
Greg pulled back. Greg thrust forward. Taylor's fingers press in, and out. In, out. It didn't have anything to do with Greg, not really. Why, it was all-too-easy to swap Greg out for Void. They had a similar enough build at the end of the day - and imagining Void as stumbling upon her in a classroom and deciding to ravish her there and then... well. It wasn't a particularly new fantasy, to say the least. Greg had filled that spot once, but that friendship was over. For now. If he apologised, she'd forgive him before the words were even fully out of his mouth. If he realised what a colossal bitch Emma really was, she would share in his pain and welcome him back with open arms.
And, perhaps, allow herself to go back to that rather enticing dream - of an apologetic Greg and a jealous Void arguing over her, and then, in a flash of perverted brilliance - deciding to share her instead. Nowadays, even ignoring the... issues, with Greg - it felt a little bit too much like cheating on Void. Not that they were in that kind of relationship, he'd been clear about that - and she'd understood how things were without question. She'd seized on the slightest gap in his defence in a moment of weakness, and now, Taylor had a secret lover.
Or, Arachne had a secret lover. To be more specific. Taylor was still... Taylor. Greg would be jealous if he knew, she's certain - but that's a topic that could never be raised without revealing her status as a Cape.
Which was also something that Greg would have loved.
Which made it all, so, so frustrating. That he'd just... let Emma ensnare him like that, before Taylor had a chance to say how she really felt. Before Taylor could tell her best friend that she was a genuine heroine. He was so sure that he understood Emma and could solve the cause of their 'issue', but he was too wilfully blind to see that he had fallen right into her trap. Emma didn't care for him in the slightest - not in the way that she did. All Emma saw was a weapon. A way to hurt her. And, admittedly, she had.
But she couldn't do that with Void. Whatever the trio tried at Winslow, they couldn't take that from her.
In. Out. In. Her fingers pump away in time with Greg's hips. Although, for entirely unrelated reasons - of course. Her lips part as an unconscious, half-stifled moan escapes from her throat - a testament to the effectiveness of the efforts of both her hand and her imagination. Building up to her own climax, a climax that, if she was reading the faster shifting of the bugs in that room right, might just happen to coincide with Greg's own. And, perhaps Emma's. Not that she cares.
She whimpers. She writhes on the table. She clenches around her own fingers. And finally, she slows to a stop - basking in the moment of bliss and satisfaction, all thoughts of petty vengeance and deserved apologies pushed aside. Slick, wet fingers pull away as she considers Greg's likely motions based on what few bugs she had managed to sneak onto him without him noticing. The angle was hard to judge, but perhaps... she smears her fingers along her chest and stomach. Along the slight swell of her breasts. Yes, that seemed likely. Void liked to do that too. Although, her own fluids weren't even a fraction of what was needed to properly mirror what Emma probably looked like right now.
She pushes herself off the table at the thought, a swarm of bugs descending on the small mess that she had made immediately. Right. Emma probably looked like a whore right now. Maybe Greg would come to the realisation that he didn't care for such a blatant slut? If he realised that Emma had nothing going for her aside from her body... Taylor peers at herself in the full length mirror. Once, Taylor would have said that she was lacking in that department. But, the nude, lewd form posing in the mirror with confidence - that was her. Void liked this body. He'd seen all of her, without any of her costume to try and accentuate some measure of femininity - and decided that all he wanted to do was to mark her with his desire.
Taylor was hot. Taylor was wanted. Greg was missing out. And Void was not. Those were the facts, at the end of the day.
She shifts her legs, trying a sideways pose in the mirror. Then a shift to full exposure. Thrusting her chest outwards, then hunching her shoulders forward to see which magnified her assets more. Teasingly protecting her dignity with a delicate shift of her arms. Void was somewhere in this school. If he could see her right now, she would probably end up just like Emma. And however much she might complain about Emma whoring herself for the pettiest of purposes, it wasn't like Taylor couldn't see the appeal in it. If it was Void... Taylor wouldn't mind being a slut. Just a little bit.
Hell, Taylor was already the lowest of the low on that front. Void was taken. In a relationship. And Taylor had wormed her way in regardless. It was easy to imagine most of the school having a poor opinion about that fact if it ever came to light, but Taylor hadn't done it for approval. She'd done it because it was better to be with Void in some fashion - even in second place to his mystery girlfriend - than to be without him entirely. And if he happened to get tired of his boring, non-superheroine girlfriend? Then she would happily slide into first place and ensure that he never, ever felt the need for another second to wait in the wings.
Biting her lip, she retrieves her phone. She snaps a variety of pictures, careful to leave her face excluded from the shot, and after a bit of deliberation over the best one - prepares to send it across to her partner. Not over PHO. Void had warned her about that. About the powers of moderators and admins, about the possibility of Tinker-tech hacking and about conspiracies of government spying. She wasn't sure about all of that, but it meant that he had directed her to more secure app - better suited to messaging like this. And he was comfortable doing it in return. She can't help but flush at the memory of the last picture he sent. A promise that he was ready for tonight's 'patrol'.
Sending picture... Sent!
Arachne: Looking forward to tonight :)
Void_Cowboy is offline.
She shifts her attention. Greg and Emma have split apart, seeming to put on their clothes and preparing to leave. A pair of her bugs get squished, and she briefly loses track of Emma entirely as the last bugs on her get dislodged entirely. If only she could just swarm her, but with both of them nude - even sneaking on the smallest, least detectable of bugs was a difficult task without being noticed. And the entire point was to not give the game away. Greg was a Cape nerd, he'd probably connect some oddly-behaving bugs and the recent arrival of Arachne onto the scene. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to get the mistaken idea that she was a pervert or some kind of voyeur.
She should probably change back into her clothes as well. It wasn't like she had anything else to do, save for waiting for her next class. She directs a trio of bees to threaten a boy that was probably waiting to trade drugs around this building. Satisfied with her privacy, she shifts focus. Not to the bugs in Winslow, but to the administrator back in her house. The one ensuring that her swarms were maintained, that they were breeding appropriately, fed appropriately, making more spidersilk exactly as designed. She adjusts their orders. A few bugs that had slipped inside his range are redirected and repurposed. Corpses are carried away, some to be discarded, others to be devoured.
It takes a few minutes to run through everything, limited mostly by the mobility of the bugs in question. But... no major issues. But it was nice to check in and make sure everything was as efficient as it should be. Not needing to segregate the bugs from each other until she got back was a boon, and she couldn't be more grateful to Void for showing her how her own power had worked all along. Not that he'd meant to, but seeing his version of her power - she'd been able to do it as well once she tried. Messily at first, but she was getting pretty good at it. Half the trick was finding the right bug. Most bugs just fried their brains trying to process everything. The key was-
She shifts her attention again. A frown creases her brow.
And she gathers her clothes together, ensures her own decency - and paces out of the room.
She leaves the school grounds. Crosses the street. Then again. Into an alleyway. An abandoned set of garages. Right to the furthest edges of her range from her last location.
And then, she looks down on the lone bug - easily missed in the centre of the tarmac.
Greg's bug. Or, maybe it could have been Emma or Madison. Or even Sophia. It wasn't impossible that things had gotten shuffled around when her attention had moved to her administrator - or even when they were getting changed, any dislodged bugs had been directed to fly around and land on the closest target so it wasn't impossible that she'd just been unlucky when it came to keeping track of who was who. It wasn't like she could verify who her bugs were on without seeing the person herself - all she had to work with were the sensations of the bug itself. And knowing that this person had hair was... not helpful. But, originally, this one had been attached to Greg.
Still. It isn't that common for a bug to be dislodged like this. Not when it hadn't quite left her range. Nor was it common for the bug to be unable to pick up the target by charging in the expected direction of travel - that's what she usually did in these cases. That tended to work. Not this time. The other bug on them must have died, but that wasn't a surprise. As tempting as it was to sneak some kind of durable beetle or cockroach on him that could survive a crush - small fliers tended to be the most practical at slipping into folds of clothes or collars without being suspicious. Their fragility was a problem, but it was good practice at finding and remembering the positions of her targets - so she didn't mind.
But, just falling off - she hadn't registered any sensations that felt like the bug getting swatted or brushed away, but maybe that could be chalked up to the different senses of each bug? Impacts and pain in general weren't felt in the same way as a human, she could have simply overlooked it - mistaken a determined brush-off for a particularly vigorous stride. A sudden wind, just enough to knock it away? That didn't ring quite right, but it wasn't impossible.
She looks around. Nobody. Nothing. Just broken down buildings, sealed off units and solid walls. There weren't many bugs here. Relatively speaking. Ants and beetles, of course - but not the usual fliers of varying description that she usually relies upon to find someone that she has lost track of. There's not enough around for that. Not even the usual waste and refuse so common in the less-well-off areas of Brockton Bay.
This person, whoever it was, Greg or one of the Trio - could be anywhere. Could have any number of reasons why the bug had vanished. She looks at the closest wall to where the bug had fallen. Just a few steps away.
She flicks her head away. Hard.
There were all kinds of potential explanations. Explanations that didn't involve the two other people who caused this to happen all the time. Maybe it was fine for some things to be a mystery. Maybe there were some answers that she didn't want to know.
Her phone chimes in her pocket.
Void_Cowboy: Hot. Going to ruin you later.
A happy, flushed smile spreads across her face. Right. This was what was important. Even if she found someone out here. Emma, Madison, Sophia or Greg - what would she say? Nothing. Nothing good. She'd just be accused of being a creepy stalker, and she wouldn't even be able to deny it. She should never have even come out this far. Hadn't she been clear that she was done - no longer involved with any of them? Maybe she should start acting like it.
Greg was an idiot. The trio were all bitches. She'd let them dominate her thoughts for too long recently.
Tonight, Void could help her forget all about them.