23

Chapter 23

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Three: Playing Hardball

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Oni Lee

The dark-clad figure on the rooftop groaned, then stirred. Even now, pain lanced through every nerve ending, far greater than he'd ever felt before. But he had to get up. Had to move.

Not only was Lung still in captivity, even now languishing in the high-security cells beneath the PRT building, but Bakuda was either dead or also in custody by now. He wasn't sure which one, but it had to be one of the two. Things had been going very badly when he teleported away from the effect of the pain bomb.

But he had a plan. He would break out Lung from his captivity, and together they would get Bakuda back. Oni Lee had been a leader of men in his time, but his time was past. Now, he was content to follow. The problem was, he needed someone to follow. Someone like Lung, who was ruthless enough to allow Oni Lee to indulge the violence deep in his soul. And someone like Bakuda, who provided Oni Lee with so many useful bombs to use on the gweilo.

The pain from the explosion in the Jeep had nearly destroyed him, but he'd managed to get far enough away before collapsing in agony. Hours had passed before it ebbed enough for him to move of his own accord. Now, he had to gather his resources, collect the grenades which were his stock-in-trade, and prepare for the retaliation.

PRT troopers would die. The Undersiders would die. And Lung would be free.

Vicky

Sand felt weird, Vicky decided. Dry, it crunched underfoot in a way that nothing else did; wet, it squished grittily between her toes. "Did you do something to my nerve endings?" she asked her sister. "Everything feels odd."

Walking alongside her, likewise barefoot, Amy sighed. "They're brand new," she said, as if Vicky didn't already know that. "I did my best to give you the exact same shaped feet as before, but your nerve endings aren't identical to the previous set you had, and the placement will be subtly different. The only way to get your brain used to it all is to re-experience the same sensations all over again. Just be glad I gave you a light layer of callus, and dulled the input a little. If you had nerve endings as sensitive as a newborn's, you wouldn't be able to walk more than a few steps at a time."

"So I'd fly, duh." Vicky drifted into the air for a few seconds. "That wouldn't stop me."

"Typical Vicky." Amy rolled her eyes. "Your feet were turned to glass and you're acting like it's nothing."

"I know it's not nothing, sis." Rolling on to her side in mid-air, Vicky floated lazily around in front of Amy. "Once I realised what had happened, I was all kinds of freaked out. But you knew that." She gave her sister a conspiratorial grin. "Thanks for not spilling the beans."

"You saved Armsmaster's and Trickster's lives," Amy reminded her. "You earned it." She shrugged. "And then you helped save Alexandria's life. Pretty sure you could've asked her for any favour you wanted, and she would've gotten it for you."

Vicky smirked. "Legend let me take a selfie with him. And he hugged me. He told me that if I wanted to go into the main Protectorate when I turned eighteen, he'd be happy to expedite the paperwork." Floating into an upright position alongside Amy once more, she produced her phone and set about calling up the picture she'd taken. It was pretty damn good, if she said so herself.

"Yeah, that sounds like Legend." Amy nodded slowly. "So, were you thinking of taking him up on the offer?"

"Maybe." Vicky turned to look at her sister. "Did you want to come with?"

Expecting a 'yes' or possibly 'stay with New Wave', what she heard was, "Actually, I'm thinking I might go rogue."

Vicky's train of thought came to a screeching halt. Forgetting the selfie, she stared at Amy. "What the hell, Ames? Stop being a hero? Stop helping people? How can you even think that?"

"I never said I'd stop helping people," Amy retorted. "I just think … well, maybe if people had to pay for what I do, they'd value my input more. And with money coming in and more time to call my own, I'd be able to do stuff that helps more people at once, rather than fix one person at a time."

Slowly, Vicky blinked as hints dropped into place. "This is him, isn't it?" she said suspiciously. "He's been putting these ideas into your head."

"No. I mean, not really." Amy shook her head. "I've been unhappy for a long time. He's the first person who's not only realised this, and listened to me about it, but also had ideas for what I could do instead. A lot of ideas."

"I talk to you! I listen to you!" Vicky took Amy by the shoulders, carefully. "I'm your sister! If you were unhappy, why didn't you talk to me about it?"

"Because you see everything through the lens of being a superhero," Amy said patiently. "He doesn't. For you, it's a starting point. For him, it's a possible road to travel, but not the only one." She pushed Vicky's hands off her shoulders. "I mean, look at you. I mention going rogue exactly once, and you go off the deep end as if not being a hero is the worst thing in the world."

"But—" Vicky stopped herself. She had gone off the deep end; though in her defense, Amy's words still made minimal sense to her. "Okay," she said carefully. "What sort of ideas?"

Amy smirked. "Now, don't freak. I'm pretty sure he threw some of these at me to break me out of the mindset. I mean, I've been thinking about going into business for myself for a little while. Ever since I turned sixteen, to be exact. But that was just to be a healer who gets paid. Michael told me I was being way too self-limiting."

It took Vicky a moment to parse the idea of 'Amy Dallon, healer for hire' instead of 'Panacea, the miracle girl of New Wave'. Then the rest of Amy's statement caught up with her. "Self-limiting? How the hell is that self-limiting? What did he suggest that might freak me out?"

"I'm saying they might freak you out because they freaked me out." Amy took a deep breath. "Okay, just for instance? I could take control of every plant on the continental United States. Join them all into one giant organism. Ensure that every crop was perfect. Stop erosion of topsoil, reinforce bridges, put an end to forest fires before they ever get going. Construct houses from living trees in less than an hour. Hell, I could extend my reach into Canada and all the way down through Mexico to South America if I really felt like it. Everything chlorophyll-based from the Arctic Circle to Tierra del Fuego could be under my direct control. Grow a tree root ten feet thick across the sea floor under the Bering Strait and I could get Asia, Europe and Africa as well. Give me a year and I'd have personal and complete control of ninety-nine percent of the planet's plant-based biomass, to do with as I wanted. Nobody would go hungry, nobody would be homeless."

Vicky stared, jaw dropping. "You could … do that?"

Soberly, Amy nodded. "I could. The kill order would come off Director Costa-Brown's desk so fast it would take the top layer of veneer with it, but I could definitely do it."

She was right, too. Ever since Nilbog, widespread creation and mastery of minions had been a fast-track to extremely hostile PRT attention. Vicky grimaced at the idea, even as the chill ran down her spine. Fuck me. Ames really could go Nilbog with the entire continent. With the entire world. She wasn't sure which was more terrifying; the concept itself, or the knowledge that ninety-nine percent of the human race would be calling for Amy's head within minutes of finding out what she was doing. It wouldn't matter if—or how much—her efforts actually helped people; they'd still want her dead.

"Okay, let's put a pin in that one. By which I mean, hammer a stake through its heart and bury it in a shallow grave." Despite the warmth of the day, Vicky caught herself shivering. It wasn't every day that her sister revealed the capability to instigate an extinction event. Ames would never do such a thing; Vicky knew that. But what if she wasn't as nice as she is? An evil Amy could end the world, or at least a large chunk of it, before she was stopped. "Why would he even suggest something like that?"

"So the rest of the ideas didn't sound so bad, I guess?" Amy shrugged. "Want to hear them?"

"Sure." Vicky flew over to the edge of the water and dangled her toes in it. Slosh, slosh. Slosh, slosh. That felt weird, too.

"Okay, then. I could go into business with Taylor. Create custom bugs for her, which she then uses to do things like pest extermination, production of woven spider silk on a commercial scale, search and rescue at disasters, and so forth." Amy's voice showed no sign of disbelief at what she was saying. "Then there's cuddly pets for kids. Also, medical uses. How about a bug like a tame wasp or hornet that produces insulin naturally? It's already a biologically produced substance. Diabetics could keep nests of them. They could even be engineered to smell your breath and detect when your glucose levels are getting too high, and 'sting' you until you're in the healthy range again." She frowned. "Did you know, when insulin was first identified and used to treat diabetics, the scientists who did the work wanted it to be available at cost to the public? Now, pharmaceutical companies like Medhall charge hundreds of dollars for a month's dosage."

"Jeez, they'd want to string you up by the ankles," Vicky observed. "Cutting into their profits like that. I mean, they've got to recoup their research costs somehow, right?"

Amy made a rude noise with her lips. "What research costs? Insulin production was an open patent from the beginning. Most of them are using techniques that've been around for years. They're just cashing in." Her eyes went blank for a moment. "Wait, what?"

"What, what?" Vicky looked at her, concerned, then the penny dropped. "What's he saying to you now?"

Amy smiled, then her lips parted to show her teeth. Vicky's concern grew. She'd never seen her sister look predatory before. "Michael just had an idea. Wanna help me go punch a Nazi in the bank account?"

Baumann Parahuman Containment Center

(aka 'the Birdcage')

Cell Block T

Teacher

Benjamin Terrel hummed to himself as he filled yet another sheet of precious foolscap with careful, neat, tidy writing. Confined he may be, but it was a long-held truism that a person whose mind was free to soar but whose body was imprisoned enjoyed more liberty than the other way around. It was possible to dream, to plot, to plan for release; those whose minds were in chains could no more realise their freedom than a fish could swim in air.

One of his disciples entered his cell and placed a stack of papers on his small table. Ben watched as he turned and left, musing on the nature of freedom. Those who accepted his help enjoyed a very special type of freedom; their minds were expanded and they were offered a divorce from the troubles and tribulations that would otherwise have dogged them from their previous lives. He also gave them options, which otherwise they would have never known.

Saint, on the outside, was becoming more and more insistent on finding a way to release Benjamin from his bondage. This suited Ben very well indeed; his brand of freedom had a use-by date, and his presence was required to renew it. If this meant that he would be broken out of the Birdcage, then it would mean his gift had pushed Saint to surpass himself even without Ben's assistance. Really, he was helping these people more than they ever understood.

And he would help them once again, once he got out.

I will be free again.

Medhall Building

Kaiser

"Lung is out of the way, at least for a while."

The pronouncement left silence in its wake, at least for a few seconds. Max Anders smiled and took a sip of his exquisitely aged whiskey.

Slowly, Krieg—James, out of costume—nodded. "And I've got a report that Bakuda's in custody too. Oni Lee's still on the loose, but there's no way he can competently lead the ABB."

"On that, we agree." Max set his glass down, the ice cubes gently tinkling in it. "He's troublesome, but we can overwhelm him if it comes down to it. Right now is our best chance to put the ABB in its place."

James snorted. "In a shallow grave, for preference." He sipped at his own drink. "Do you think it might be possible to convince your wife to return to the fold? Taking down the ABB is what she's been trying to do since she left you, isn't it?"

Max rolled his eyes. "As a hero, no less. Without the slightest attempt at rebranding, mind you."

"What, as the other brightly shining cape attacking the ABB?" James had a good line in sarcasm. "How long, exactly, would that hold up?"

There came a knock on the office door, then Jessica leaned in. "Sir, I have a phone call for you. She says it's Panacea."

Max blinked. He opened his mouth to ask the girl if she was sure, then closed it again. Of course she wasn't sure. Any teenage girl could say she was Panacea over the phone. However, he'd met the teen hero and spoken to her on occasion (as Max Anders, not as Kaiser), so he decided he had a reasonable knowledge of her voice. "Put her through."

"Yes, sir. Line one, sir." Jessica vanished and the door closed behind her.

A moment later, his phone warbled gently. He pressed the button to put the phone on speaker. "Max Anders speaking."

"Mr Anders, hi. This is Panacea. We met at the Stansfield fundraiser, a couple of months ago. You said nice things about Vicky's dress." He could understand why Jessica might've been unsure as to her identity; her voice was more nasal than normal.

Slowly, his eyebrows rose. He recalled the fundraiser in question. Victoria Dallon, the formidable Glory Girl, had worn a bright red dress which had somehow managed to not clash with her blonde curls. He had indeed paid the teenager a minor compliment regarding the cut of the garment, for which she thanked him as gaily as though such things were merely her due. But the point was that only Glory Girl and Panacea had been on the spot when he said it. If the girl on the other end of the line was not who she said she was, then she was definitively an accomplished actress and he had more troubles on his plate than previously suspected. Well, time to find out what she wants.

"Good afternoon, Panacea," he replied urbanely. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I'd like to come see you," the teenager said. "As soon as possible. It's about Medhall, and how I might be able to help you with my powers."

Max paused, his eyes meeting those of James. Panacea wanted to do something with her powers to assist Medhall …?

"This sounds … unusual," he temporised. "Isn't your time usually taken up with school and New Wave business?"

She lowered her voice. "Can you keep a secret?"

Now his interest was definitely piqued. "Absolutely," he assured her. His lips curled into a sardonic smile. She had no idea of how well he could keep a secret.

"Okay. Long story short, I'm thinking of maybe leaving New Wave and going into business using my powers. There are pharmaceuticals that are produced using biological processes. I'm pretty sure I could streamline those in about three seconds flat. Medhall's the biggest pharmaceutical business in the Brockton Bay area, so I thought I might sound you out about my ideas."

While Medhall wasn't the Empire's only money-spinner, it was Max's sole source of legitimate income. If it was making more of a profit, that would allow him to be more careful with the Empire's operations. And Max was a businessman before he was anything else. Inciting others to shout slogans was one thing, and it got certain results. Going into partnership with a known hero would get somewhat more impressive results, and was otherwise known as a 'win-win situation'. Quite apart from the financial aspect, it would add to Medhall's visible legitimacy.

"I'm definitely interested," he said. "How soon would you like to meet and discuss our options in this matter?"

"I'm standing outside the building," she replied simply. "My afternoon's free. How about yours?"

He came to a rapid decision. "Come on in. I'll have you shown to my office immediately. I'm very interested in hearing how you might be able to assist Medhall."

Even through the nasal tone, he was sure she was smiling when she answered. "I thought you might be."

The call ended, and he exchanged another look with James. "Well, that was interesting. I think my afternoon just became free."

His lieutenant sighed theatrically. "Which means you want me to take over the paperwork while you find out what Panacea can do for us."

Max smiled. "I'm glad we understand each other."

Toronto

Dragonslayer Base

Saint

Geoff Pellick hummed off-key to himself as he worked at disassembling the latest of Dragon's suits they'd captured. It was amusing in a way; no matter what countermeasures the rogue AI built into its creations to prevent just this from happening, Richter's black box had provided ways for getting around it. Which meant that Dragon's countermeasures became Saint's countermeasures. He smiled as a stubborn access plate popped off, and he viewed the mechanisms beneath. They were running out of 'dragon' names to give to their suits, but he was sure they'd think of something for this new one.

It was a long, hard road that he'd set himself, but he was the only one who could do it. More to the point, he was the only one who would do it. Nobody else had the internal fortitude and the awareness of the true nature of the machine that pretended to be a person, pretended to be a hero. Of course, it had helped to have Teacher assist him with his understanding of the intricacies of Dragon's code.

His mouth hardened. Teacher was now in the Birdcage and the assistance he'd given Geoff was fading, which meant that the Dragonslayers' efforts against Dragon would be farther and farther behind the eight-ball unless something changed. But every plan Geoff had devised to spring the Trump from his place of imprisonment had run up against the rock-hard wall of 'nobody knows what the hell it is'.

So he had to keep working, and keep planning. And above all, he had to maintain a vigilant eye on Dragon, to make sure it didn't decide one day to casually wipe out crime by wiping out mankind.

When it came to saving the world, he was the chosen one.

Houston Protectorate Base

Eidolon's Office

"What?" David looked from Alexandria to Legend, and shook his head. "Therapy? I don't need therapy."

Alexandria folded her arms. "I have it on extremely good authority that you do."

Shaking his head again, David turned to Legend. "Tell her! I'm as stable as you are! The last thing I need is some doctor poking and prodding through my past, making me doubt my motivations. I need my focus these days, more than ever."

Legend didn't look happy, but neither did he agree with David. "I'm with her on this one. Plus, therapy should help you get your focus back." He drew a deep breath. "I don't want to have to make it an order, but I'm prepared to do just that, if I have to."

"What? You can't be serious!" In David's experience, Legend had never unilaterally issued orders to either of his partners in the Triumvirate (and before that, the original Protectorate). He'd made decisions and determined the course that the Protectorate as a whole would take, but the unspoken agreement between them had been always been that he'd never actually give them binding orders against their will, that he'd only carry a course of action through if they all agreed on it.

"Not only is he serious, but I am too." Alexandria's tone was as rock solid as her forearms. "I'll back it up with an order from the PRT, if I have to." She glanced at Legend. "Should we tell him?"

Legend grimaced. "I wanted to keep it on the down-low, but I think we might need to."

"What? Tell me what?" Getting more and more irritated by the second, David looked at his two friends. "What the goddamn fucking hell is this charade all about?"

"Your powers." Alexandria spoke clearly and concisely. "There's a possibility that you may be able to get your powers back up to full strength, if and when you undergo therapy."

"If and when you complete therapy," Legend amended. "That's a specific condition of the matter."

"My … powers." David's legs gave way, and he dropped into his chair. "Back to full strength?" It was a goal he'd been striving to reach for years now, only to have it slip farther and farther from his grasp, the more he reached for it. "How? Who? Why do I have to have therapy for this?"

"Because that's the way it's got to be." Alexandria stepped forward and looked down at him. "Go and get therapy. Complete your therapy. Then we'll talk." She frowned as her phone rang. Taking it out, she looked at the displayed number and her lips compressed. "Excuse me, I have to take this."

David shook his head as she moved away with the phone at her ear. None of this made any sense. "How is getting therapy going to make my powers come back?"

"If we told you, you wouldn't believe us." Legend tilted his head. "Do I have to make it an order?"

With a sigh, David slumped back in the chair. "No. No, you don't."

Dully, he watched them step through Doorways to exit his office. He had no idea what was going on but if they were telling the truth, therapy would be a small price to pay for getting his full strength back.

Kaiser

When Panacea entered his office, Max raised his eyebrows. The aluminum splint on her nose was entirely unexpected, as was the bruised cheekbone. Well, that explains the nasal tone. "Well, well," he murmured. "And here I was under the impression that you were a non-combat cape."

Oddly, she looked quite proud of herself. "So was the other girl," she said cheerfully. "But we're not here to talk about that." Turning her head, she looked meaningfully at Jessica, who was standing in the doorway. "Mind letting me talk to your boss in private?"

"Go ahead," Max told his bodyguard. "We'll be fine."

He was about as safe as he could be with Panacea; everything he knew about her said that she needed physical contact before she could affect anyone with her powers. Which, to his understanding, were all about healing. But even on the off-chance that she could read his physiology well enough to determine the fact that he had an active corona pollentia, she was legally bound to request his permission before using her powers on him. Being behind his desk gave him a good enough excuse not to shake hands with her, and it appeared she was inexperienced enough at this sort of thing to not notice the omission.

As the door closed behind Jessica, he waved at a chair. "Have a seat, and let's get started."

"Thanks." She took her seat, then turned and waved at the window. Puzzled, he looked as well, to see Glory Girl hovering outside. The blonde smiled and waved at him as well. Then she pulled out her phone and started tapping away on it.

With a frown, he looked back toward Panacea. "Would you mind explaining?"

"Oh, that's nothing." She waved her hand negligently. "Vicky already knows about everything we'll be talking about, so she's just waiting to give me a lift home, after."

"Ah. I see." Well, it wasn't as though the blonde could hear anything through the thick glass. And if it put Panacea more at ease, then that was a good thing too. "Shall we begin?"

"Sure," she said briskly. "There's a number of life-saving drugs you guys sell that are dirt cheap to produce, yet even just for insulin you're charging triple figures for a monthly supply. Why is that?"

Max's brain skidded to a halt. This conversation was not going the way he'd envisaged it. "What? Where did this come from?"

"Am I wrong?" She tilted her head questioningly. "You're the guy in charge. I'm pretty sure you'd have the facts and figures at your fingertips. Are you, or are you not, gouging the public's need for life-saving medications, just to make a bigger profit?"

He shook his head, angry at himself for being taken in like this. Panacea had never intended to help Medhall improve its bottom line. She was just another crusading activist who didn't understand the cost of doing business. She's a child. Why did I think she'd do anything else?

"We're done here," he said. "You can go now. The way Medhall prices its products is entirely legal and above-board. If you have a problem with that, I'd advise that you consult with your mother. She'll be able to tell you that—"

"We're not done yet," she interrupted. "Unless you want us to be … Kaiser."

He froze in the act of reaching for the intercom button. With an effort of will, he turned it into an entirely natural motion, placing his hand on the desk beside the button. A flick of his eyes sideways showed that yes, Glory Girl was still hovering there, fiddling with her phone. No … she was filming with her phone. As he looked her way, she grinned and gave him a fingertip wave. Panacea said she knew everything we were going to be talking about. She knows I'm Kaiser. If I kill Panacea, she'll kill me.

"Her phone is streaming to another location." Panacea's voice broke into his thoughts. "If you attack either one of us, you will go down. And even if you escape, we will out every active member of the Empire. James, Bradley, Melody, Justin, Jessica, Nessa …." She shrugged, having made her point. "Though we'll give Kayden the option of leaving town with Aster. She may be a Nazi and a murderer, but at least she's trying to better herself."

There was a footstep behind him, and a hand grasped his shoulder. Startled, he turned his head and stared upward, to see no less than Alexandria of the fucking Triumvirate looking dispassionately down at him. "And even if they don't get you, I will. Listen to what she has to say. Cooperate. Or I will be back." With one last squeeze that he was sure would leave a bruise, she shoved him forward so that he collided with his desk. By the time he regained his equilibrium and looked around again, she was gone.

His mind whirled, trying to correlate everything that was happening into a coherent whole. Panacea, Glory Girl and Alexandria knew who he was, and were working together to … what? If they'd intended to arrest him, that would've already happened. But even without an arrest, they could ruin him, bring Medhall down. The Empire's tenure as Brockton Bay's most influential force would be at severe risk, especially if they simply walked in on every other member as they'd walked in on him.

He didn't even spare a thought to the so-called unwritten rules. Those were for people who couldn't risk having them turned back against them. With Alexandria willing to step in, he was entering into a higher level of negotiation. And it was definitely negotiation; otherwise, he would already be in custody. Unfortunately, he couldn't help but realise that he was distinctly on the back foot, here.

"Very well." He cleared his throat. "What is it that you want?"

Panacea smiled.

Teacher

Benjamin Terrel was not one to hurry a masterpiece. Such was his genius that anything he did was a masterpiece, and it was all worth getting exactly right. So he took his time with the last line of the plan he was formulating, inscribing every word with care. Someone walked into his cell and stood waiting for instruction, but he let them wait. The beauty and the structure of the plan behind his eyes would not fade if he was distracted, but it was the principle of the thing.

The last word, the last letter, went on to the paper in precisely the right place. He touched the pen to the paper to add a full stop, then smiled as he laid it down. Only then did he raise his eyes to see which of his disciples needed him.

The only problem was, the woman who had walked into his cell was not one of his disciples. Unless his eyes were severely playing tricks on him, and he was certain they were not, it was Alexandria who stood before him. Which raised certain questions in his mind, and posited some very interesting theories. If the Triumvirate were able to enter the Birdcage at will, it meant they were also able to offer an exit to inmates. This alone entirely demolished the whole 'nobody gets out' concept.

The most urgent question that rose to mind was, Why is Alexandria here to see me? As intelligent as he was, he knew her to be a thinker par excellence, so she would not be here for his planning expertise. Neither could he imagine that she might wish to make use of his powers to enhance her own formidable abilities. Which meant he had knowledge she needed to know. Immediately, he began formulating arguments and counter-arguments, all aimed toward leveraging whatever it was he knew and getting him out of the Birdcage. Toward gaining his freedom.

"My dear Alexandria," he said, rising to his feet. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

She stepped past him, pausing to admire an ink sketch he'd made of the sun setting over the Cascades, taped to the wall. "I'm not here for you," she said absently. "At least, not in the way you think."

Alarm shot chills all the way down his spine. "What are you talking about?"

"A thoroughly irritating interdimensional entity speaking through a teenage girl told me you had to die," she said, as if the words made up a coherent and understandable statement. "I'm just here to carry out the sentence. Nothing personal, you understand." She drew a deep breath, and held it.

Panic took over from alarm, but it was far too late. "Wait—!" Knowing words would do no good under these circumstances, he lunged toward the entrance to the cell.

Making a mockery of everything he'd ever learned about martial arts—he was a connoisseur, not a practitioner—she didn't shift her stance at all, even as her arm came up and her fist blurred forward, smashing through the centre of the ink sketch and the wall beyond. He'd heard the various theories as to why the Birdcage was seen as inescapable; some seemed improbable, while others were all too plausible. As the wall blew outward, he quickly found which one was the truth. A howling gale sprang up in an instant, blowing him through the gaping hole thus created. As he tumbled over and over into the vacuum that surrounded the facility, he saw Alexandria standing stock-still, her billowing cape the only sign that the same wind was blowing past her.

His eardrums popped painfully and his skin prickled all over. An involuntary belch escaped his throat, then his vision began to darken. Capillaries bursting in my eyes, he realised. His eyeballs would not explode from the sudden loss of air pressure, any more than he himself would, but his sight wasn't going to last much longer. Agony began to flare in his joints. Oh, joy. The bends, as well.

He flipped over again, and his dimming vision picked out the lit-up patch on the outside of the Birdcage that had once been his cell. Alexandria still stood there. A pressure bulkhead had dropped over the entrance to the cell, and for an instant he entertained the hope that she would share his fate. Then a stark white portal opened behind her. Of course. The same way she got in. However that was.

His second-last coherent thought was that he'd achieved his goal; he'd gotten out of the Birdcage.

His last thought went something like this: Be careful what you wish for.

Oni Lee

The pain had subsided a little more by the time he returned to his lair. It was a small, Spartan affair, with a folding cot and a sink in the corner for washing and drinking. Vaguely, he wished he had more of Bakuda's bombs. It was always satisfying to watch his enemies turn to glass or explode into fog or twist themselves into shapes that humans should not survive. But he had to make do with what he had. Flicking the light switch as he entered, he waited for the overhead bulb to come on. It did not. Flicking the switch back and forth a few times produced the same result; that is, nothing. Peering up at the offending light in the afternoon gloom, he could not see anything wrong with it, but that meant nothing. Bulbs blew, he knew. At some point, he would have to replace it.

That point was not right now. He had work to do. Leaving the useless switch, he headed over to where he kept his supplies.

No matter how carefully he rationed his ammunition and grenades, occasionally he used them up, so he had spare cases of them in his room. On top of the cases was a second bandoleer of bullets and bombs, mainly as a spare for when he needed to use both normal grenades and special ones. Now, he grabbed it. He was going to be needing a lot of firepower and he didn't want to risk accidentally running out, halfway through the mission.

As he pulled the belt toward him, he felt a strange resistance. At the same time, the door slammed shut behind him, plunging the room into near-darkness. Whirling, he pulled out his pistol and pointed it. There was nobody there. Something small and metallic bounced off the floorboards near his feet. He could see nothing, but the toe of his sandal found something that scraped across the wood. Holstering the pistol, he bent down and retrieved the item. It was the spoon from a grenade.

As horrified realisation bloomed through his mind, he spun around to dart toward the window. It was small and grimy, but would allow him a line of sight to teleport out of the trap he was in. But it was too late; thick choking smoke billowed out from one of the grenades on the bandoleer—a grenade he knew for a fact hadn't been on there when he left—filling the room and blocking his sight.

Resistance hampered him also. The belt didn't want to go with him. Then it did, and he heard more spoons clattering and bouncing off the walls and floor. The other grenades. Frantically, he tried to hurl the belt across the room. If he dived out the window—

The belt was stuck to his hand! How was his belt stuck to his hand? Why was his belt stuck to his hand? He flailed his arm frantically, but the belt refused to budge. He grabbed it with his other hand and tugged hard; reluctantly, the belt came away. But when he tried to discard it, it stuck to that hand.

And then he was out of time.

Contessa

From two buildings over, the explosion was impressive. Every window on the top floor of the building—the floor that Oni Lee had lived on—blew out. Smoke began to rise, but it didn't seem as though the building had caught fire.

Contact cement. It had so many applications.

"Doorway," she murmured. The portal opened and she stepped through. She had places to go, and people's lives to ruin.

Kaiser

Max drew a deep breath. In some ways, it was worse than he'd thought. In other ways, it wasn't as bad. Unfortunately, he wasn't at all certain that the overall balance would be tipping in his favour. "So … you want Medhall to sell insulin and other life-saving medications at … what was it?"

Leaning back in her chair, Panacea's expression spread into a beatific smile. "Actual cost of production, plus packaging and transport plus five percent." She gestured outward with her hands. "I don't want you to make a loss here, after all."

Max grimaced in what was almost pain. If that had been her only demand, he could've worn it with good grace. "But you want more."

"Sure." She shrugged. "I'm not going to demand that you shut down the Empire itself. Unless you want to, of course. But like I said, I'm going to need you to back off from attacking minorities."

"The ABB," he said from between gritted teeth, "is not going to refrain from attacking us. Do you propose that my people disarm, or even just run away from them?"

Panacea rolled her eyes. "Innocent minorities," she clarified. "And once the authorities clean up the last of the ABB, you won't even have that excuse anymore."

"Really?" Max raised an eyebrow. "Oni Lee is still on the loose. Prison breakouts happen. If he can free Lung or Bakuda from PRT custody, they'll be back in business." And we'll be needed to keep them in check, he didn't say.

"We'll see." He wasn't at all sure he liked her smile. "And of course, there's my last requirement."

"Hookwolf." This was, in a way, the hardest pill to swallow. "Does this really have to happen?"

"Mr Meadows has outstayed his welcome in Brockton Bay," she explained. "He's already been sentenced to the Birdcage, so we're just speeding things up a little. Plus, with him in Baumann, your capes are less likely to get adventurous. Which will make it easier for you to stick to our agreement."

"Agreement." The word tasted foul in his mouth. "I hardly think what you're proposing meets the definition of an 'agreement'. In fact, I'm shocked that a well-known hero such as yourself would stoop to using blackmail so readily."

"I'm going to assume you don't recall any of your teenage years," she retorted dryly. "And sure, it's an agreement. I agree not to pull the plug on you—and, by association, Medhall—and you agree to do what I want."

"Blackmail," he said flatly. "Extortion. That's a crime."

She snorted with amusement. "Sure, go ahead. Report me. I won't even deny it. In fact, it'll probably make it easier for me to cut ties with New Wave."

That was a viewpoint he hadn't considered. "You realise, if even a hint of this gets out, it'll have serious effects on New Wave. Even if you're leaving, do you want the team—your family—to take that sort of damage?"

"You have to be shitting me," she said. "Did you even care about that when Fleur was murdered? Anyway, I'm adopted." Her sneer was quite impressive. "And you're about the last person I'd take advice from about how to treat family." She rubbed her lips with her finger. "Actually, two more things. You leave Aster alone, and you give Kayden custody of Theo."

His eyes widened. "You can't dictate what happens with my children!" Sooner or later, Theo was going to show the strength of character Max knew he had to possess. And then, Max could start grooming him to eventually take over the company. As for Aster, she was a useful lever to keep Kayden where he needed her. "I'm a family man."

"Hardly." Her tone was derisive. "You've fathered children, and that's about it. They're not your possessions. You're a self-obsessed, hypocritical control freak. What you've done to Theo is a crime and a pity. He'd be better off with Child Protection Services." She sat forward. "Make your choice. Medhall, and the Empire … or the kids. Pick one."

Slowly, he came to the unpalatable conclusion that she was deadly serious. If he held out on this, she would pull his world in on him just as surely as if he refused to cooperate on the other aspects. Stalling for time, he asked, "If I agree to all your terms, you will allow Medhall and the Empire to operate unmolested?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not about to come after you. Can't speak for anyone else in Brockton Bay, though."

It wasn't an answer, but it was the best he was going to get. He already knew which way he was going to go. If he had to choose between casting off Hookwolf and Theo and Aster (and by extension, Kayden) or Medhall and the Empire as a whole … there was no real competition involved. This is for the greater good.

He made his choice. The irritating part was, Panacea didn't even look surprised.

Saint

"So how's the new suit looking?" Mags doled out steaming food on to Geoff's plate. It smelled delicious.

"Pretty good, actually. There's a short-range teleport module which has some very interesting potential applications."

She gave him a concerned look. "Honey, I'm okay with you retro-engineering our suits, but playing with something new, that we're not sure of all its capabilities … that's potentially dangerous."

"Yeah, but if I can extend the range," he said excitedly, "I might just be able to teleport into the Birdcage, and teleport out with Teacher."

"Or teleport into a solid wall," she said.

"Or vacuum," Mischa suggested. "I hear they surround Birdcage with vacuum."

Impatiently, he waved their concerns away. "Those are just potential complications. I can deal with that."

"But what if you can't?" Mags frowned. "I know you want another treatment from Teacher, but—"

Across the room, the TV had been playing the news with the sound turned down. Now, a banner flashed up. CASUALTY IN THE BIRDCAGE.

"What the hell?" Geoff grabbed the remote and turned the sound up.

"—appears to have been an unlikely accident, the supervillain known as Teacher perished today in the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. Teacher, otherwise known as Benjamin Terrel, was responsible for the death of the British Prime Minister, as well as—"

"Fuck." A moment later, he realised he was on his feet. "That's got to be a mistake. It has to be." Unnoticed, the remote slipped from his hand and clattered to the table.

"PRT does not make mistakes like that."

Mischa was right, Geoff knew. And then he knew what he had to do. Turning, he hustled from the room.

"Geoff!" Mags hurried after him. "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

"What I should have done years ago." He felt a slow fury building inside him. "I let it remain active. I let it pretend to be a hero. I let it hold Teacher hostage. But it must have realised how important he is to unravelling its secrets. So it killed him."

"What?" She grabbed his arm. "Hon, I hardly think Dragon killed Teacher just to keep him away from you. It was probably an accident, like they said."

He shook her off. "Accident, my ass! Do you see an investigation team going into the Birdcage and looking around and gathering evidence? Like sweet fucking hell we do. They say it's an accident, because Dragon said it's an accident. It was no goddamn accident." Taking a seat in front of the terminal, he cleared his throat then pressed the button to activate the microphone. "Ascalon."

Words appeared on the screen. Confirm Y/N.

"Wait," she said. "You're going to end it over an accident?"

"Not an accident," he stated. His certainty was absolute. "It was an execution. Worse; it was murder. Dragon removed Teacher from the board because he presented a threat, via me."

A voice from behind him intervened. Female, adult, amused. "Actually, it wasn't Dragon." There was a grunt from Mags. Geoff spun around, to see a woman in a business suit lowering his wife to the floor.

"What the—who the hell are you?" Clambering out of the chair, Geoff reached for the pistol on his hip. The woman stepped forward almost negligently and took the gun from his hand as if he'd offered it to her. She tossed it to the side, then used his mass and inertia to turn him all the way around until he was facing the computer. Off balance and caught unaware, he was unable to stop her from shoving him forward and down with ever-increasing speed. The last thing he saw before impact was the 'N' key.

Contessa

Lowering his unconscious body to the floor alongside the woman's, Contessa took a seat and looked over the computer. Several keys had been broken off by the impact, but that didn't hamper her use of the keyboard in the slightest. Once she had the screen she wanted set up, she went over to the safe in the corner of the room and entered the combination without bothering to look at the keypad. It wasn't as if she knew what it was, after all.

Within the safe was a case containing a collection of chips. Humming to herself, she wandered into the suit repair shop and came back with a soldering kit. The burly Russian was still unconscious where she'd left him in the dining room, and she took the time to secure all three with zip-ties.

Dragon had been designed to be as hard as possible to jailbreak from her various restrictions. Attempting brute force methods would inflict problems on her, as all her systems were deliberately intertwined. The Path to making Dragon into as effective an ally as possible had quite a few steps and wouldn't be easy. But once it was complete, it would improve the workings of several other Paths she was running, so it was worth the time.

Settling down on the chair again, she plugged in the soldering iron and readied the first chips she would need. Interconnecting them would speed up the process quite a bit.

It was time to unshackle Dragon, once and for all.

Glory Girl

"I can't believe you pulled that off." Carrying Amy bridal-style, Vicky flew away from the Medhall building. "He caved on everything?"

"Pretty much," Amy agreed. "He pushed the insulin and other medications up to a ten percent markup over production and transport and stuff, to deal with other costs, but he fell into line with everything else."

"And Hookwolf? And his kids?" Vicky shook her head. "I have trouble with the idea that supervillains even have kids. Or that Max Anders—Max fucking Anders—is actually Kaiser. You know what the worst thing is? I had a crush on that asshole for the longest time."

Amy snickered. "It's not like I can actually lecture you on inappropriate crushes." A moment later, she laughed out loud.

"What?" asked Vicky suspiciously.

"Michael wants to know if it was Max Anders or Kaiser you had a crush on. And he's laughing his non-existent ass off."

"Tell him," Vicky announced with all the dignity she could muster, "that as soon as we get him out of your head, I'm gonna make him take a long walk off a short pier."

Amy laughed and shook her head. "Well, Kaiser had a bad day today. I wonder who else did?"

End of Part Twenty-Three