55

Chapter 55

A Darker Path

Part Fifty-Five: The Facts of Life

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

Saturday Afternoon, February 26, 2011

Brockton Bay Betterment Committee Headquarters

Danny

The table wasn't Tinkertech, but it didn't have to be. It had a complete map of Brockton Bay set into the surface, with an LCD screen underneath. Data was streaming into the room from all over the city, showing each of the road crews standing ready to roll. Danny held a tablet showing the same map, allowing him to zoom in on each area and even call up camera views if need be.

He didn't need them.

As the clock ticked toward three PM, the time that had been chosen for the start, he could feel it all. Every person, every machine, even the road surface under the tyres and treads of the earthmovers. All of it. And he was the one controlling the nerve centre of the entire operation.

Taylor and Cherie were there, standing behind the operational personnel; Taylor because she was the architect of the whole thing, and Cherie because she'd done her part as well. Of course, nobody but Danny knew that part.

As far as everyone in the room knew, Taylor was his daughter and Cherie was her best friend, and nobody had a problem with them being in the room at the start of the operation. Later on, when it got busy, would be a different matter. But for now, it was okay.

As it was, they were keeping back out of the way. Cherie was examining the table-map with pure fascination, and Taylor was looking at the wall-screens showing the camera views. Danny shared a nod with Taylor and a smile with Cherie, all without losing track of the mass of people ready to break ground at his word.

A discordant note broke through to him. "Hm." He tapped at the tablet, then zoomed in on a section. The earpiece he was wearing would transmit his voice to whoever he selected, as well as their immediate foreman; he tapped the icon indicating a single front-end loader. "This is Danny Hebert. Pull Loader Seventeen A from the line and send it in for repairs. It's got a faulty transmission. Roll out a backup loader."

On the wall-screen, a single loader trundled out of formation and up onto a flatbed truck. Just before the driver shut the engine down, there was a grinding noise audible through his earpiece, and smoke rose from somewhere within. The driver hit the kill-switch, then climbed down from the stricken machine, waving to the repair crews. It was their baby now.

Several people around the table were staring at Danny. It wasn't hard to divine their thoughts. How did he know?

Cutting the transmission, he looked at the inquiring faces. "Long practice." It wasn't that at all, of course, but it was a convenient lie.

The new loader rolled into place with barely a minute to go. Danny sighed and hit the transmit-to-all icon. He hadn't wanted to do this, but even Kurt and Lacey had insisted.

"Attention, all," he said. "This is Danny Hebert. Like most of you, I was born in Brockton Bay, and I grew up here. For the longest time, we've seen it go downhill. Well, today we stop that slide. Today, we start to turn it around. Together, whether we were born here or came in from outside, we're going to fix what's wrong with our city and rebuild it stronger than ever before."

He paused and took a breath, glancing at Taylor. She grinned back at him, no doubt fully aware of what he was going to say next.

"We all know where the money is coming from to do all this. But without us, without you, the money is useless. Without willing hands and a strong back, all the money in the world can do nothing. So, what happens next is up to you. Fixing Brockton Bay, fixing our city, is your job. We have the tools. We have the materials."

He watched the clock as the hands ticked over the last few seconds.

"Let's get to work."

Taylor

As Dad pulled out a chair and sat down, I strolled over and leaned against the table next to him. "Nice speech. Been practicing?"

He snorted and shook his head. "Hardly. I've been too busy making sure all the ducks were in the appropriate rows." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Though the other thing is astonishingly handy, I have to say. So, thank you for that."

I shrugged. "Barely had to do anything. We just had to explain the facts of life, that's all."

He raised his eyebrows. "She said it threatened her with physical violence."

"The facts of life being that if she didn't play ball, there would be physical violence." I let a smirk creep onto my lips.

"I see." He shook his head in amusement. "An offer she couldn't refuse, huh?"

"Oh, she could refuse it. It just wouldn't have been wise."

He became more serious. "Still, I'm not totally comfortable with coercion by threats like that, especially when it's not totally necessary."

"Dad." I stood up from the table. "Walk with me a second?"

He paused, apparently ensuring that the combined operations across the city were proceeding apace, and nodded. Getting up from the chair, he followed me out into the corridor. Cherie stayed in the room, gazing at the progress reports popping up here and there on the table.

Once the door closed behind us, he looked at me. "Talk to me."

"Okay, then. Powers and the shards that bestow them? They're not here for our benefit. They're here for theirs. In a very real way, they're designed to test us to near-destruction while harvesting data from that use for their own ends. If Administration had attached to you in the normal course of events, you probably would've ended up estranged from humanity, controlling a horde of rats. There's always a catch."

His head came up at that. "She said you—your power—ordered her not to use 'monkey-paw bullshit'. How did you manage that?"

I grinned. "My power isn't part of their collection. It was thrown in by something else to be a joker in the deck, to disrupt the whole damn operation here on Bet. You've got Administration, I've got Ending. He can be very … persuasive."

"She prefers 'Queen Administrator'," he observed dryly.

I shrugged. "Don't care. The tee-ell-dee-are is that the normal run of shards give powers that pretend to be useful in solving the problem at hand, but in the long run only make it worse. So don't waste your energy being sorry for Her Highness the Grand Poohbah of Administration. She came to this planet intending to screw over whoever she attached to." I put on an exaggerated sad-face. "Whoops."

"Jesus," he muttered. "So, every cape out there except us two …"

"Well, there are certain exceptions, but that's a topic for another day. Ignoring those ones, sure. They're all screwed up in some way. Take Cherie, for instance. Do you think her powers made her life better before she ended up with us, even ignoring the shit her father dumped in her head?"

"Okay, right, yeah, good point." He took a deep breath. "Message received, loud and clear. Thank you."

I gave him a grin and opened the door back into the operations room. "My genuine pleasure, Dad. Go fix the city."

He smiled right back. "I'll do that. Though I might be late home tonight."

"We'll leave something in the oven for you."

"I knew there was a reason I keep you around."

Boardwalk

Salvage

"Hello."

Sal looked up from his latest creation, an old-fashioned steam locomotive with moving parts that included connecting rods and coupling rods, to see a bunch of teenagers standing in front of his table. They all wore Goth-style dark clothing and black makeup, though there was a lack of weird piercings.

"Hi," he replied, trying to look friendly and harmless. He didn't get as many sales as Parian, mainly because his whole demeanour tended to scare the kids, no matter how softly he talked. Still, he had to try. "Can I help you with something?"

"You enjoy the favour of Atropos," said the pretty redhead who seemed to be their spokesperson. "There are children in this city without toys, so we will buy the ones you make and spread the beneficence of Our Lady in Darkness."

"Ah." Now that he was paying proper attention, he could see the tiny silver shears they were wearing as ornaments, either as necklaces or as earrings. Why am I not surprised she has a cult? "Uh, sure." Reaching down behind the table, he lifted up the box he'd already filled with unsold toys. It was heavy, but he was strong. "How many do you want?"

Reaching into her purse—black, of course, with a skull on it—she produced a wad of bills. Others in the group added their contributions, and she slapped the lot down on the table. "Everything that will buy."

Well, all right then. "Ladies," he said, taking up the cash and starting to count through it. "You have a deal."

Dallon Household

Panacea

"Wow. I mean, wow." Crystal held the doll carefully, turning it over in her hands. "Parian is really, really good. And she made this in just a few minutes?"

"While I was talking to her," Amy confirmed. "She wasn't even looking. It was amazing."

"So, why'd you even ask for a doll of yourself?" Eric smirked. "That's something I'd expect Vicky to do, not you."

"Hey!" protested Vicky. "I'm not that self-centred!"

"Sorry, cuz, but you kind of are," Crystal said gently. "But we love you for it."

"May I?" asked Aunt Sarah. When Crystal handed the doll over, she examined it with as much care as Crystal had. "This is really amazing craftmanship. It's definitely not a child's toy. Parian has a real talent."

Amy nodded. "That's what I said."

"I hope you didn't short-change her on it," Carol noted. "We want to encourage this sort of thing."

Amy smiled. "I paid her exactly what she asked for it." Seeking to change the subject before someone asked precisely what that was, she added, "But the rest of the Rogues' Guild were pretty cool too. Salvage takes scrap metal and makes stuff out of it, like actual toys."

"Yeah," Vicky said. "And Bastet does this swirly dance with ribbons and other stuff, Spitfire dresses in a dragon costume and, well, spits fire, and Oracle answers questions. But get this: she dresses like she's trying to cosplay Atropos, only not as edgy. Hat, mask, and the cutest little coat and tie and stuff."

"Well, they certainly sound interesting." Uncle Neil took the doll next, handling it gingerly. "I might get one of these done for my sister. She'll love it."

"So, what's this I hear about how Atropos was down on the Boardwalk at the same time, and that you two were talking to her?" asked Carol, her brows drawing down. "Apparently, the photos are all over social media." Unspoken were the words, you'd better not have done anything to mess with the good name of New Wave.

Vicky jumped in before Amy could think of what to say. "We were there, she was there. She actually introduced us to the Rogues' Guild. They apparently know each other."

"Well, duh," Eric said. "She saved them from Bastard Son that one time, remember? And then they showed up to the fundraiser where she had that epic swordfight with Mouse Protector."

"So, what did you talk about?" Carol wasn't letting go of that thread. "I know enough about her to be aware this wasn't a chance meeting on her part. Why did she seek you out?"

"Um." Amy glanced helplessly at Vicky, then back at Carol. "Just … um … stuff. She wasn't mean or anything. Asked how we were. Made sure Vicky knew she didn't hold a grudge about the thing in the park that time. Introduced us to the Rogues' Guild. No threats, not even subtle ones. She was pretty chill."

"Victoria?" Carol turned her attention to her biological daughter.

"What Ames said." Vicky shrugged. "Maybe she thought we were going to try to harass them or something, and she was making sure we didn't. Because you know, some heroes are assholes like that."

"Language." Carol spoke the word without heat. "But you're right. If she has some kind of a proprietary interest in them, then it's good idea to leave them alone, especially as they seem to be harmless."

"Well, she does aggressively promote anything that's good for Brockton Bay," Mark offered. "A bunch of capes making toys and other products, earning money for being entertaining, when they might otherwise end up as unemployed criminals? I think that fits the description pretty well."

"I have no problem with things being good for Brockton Bay, or even with Atropos promoting the idea." Carol looked around at the rest of New Wave. "My issue lies with her methods. Murder is one of the things every hero should stand against."

"I agree with you," Aunt Sarah said. "I really do. And I want to agree that something should be done about it. But … seriously, Carol. She killed the Simurgh. And while the PRT hasn't yet confirmed it, the word online is that she's also taken out the other two Endbringers. You can't exactly deny that they, at least, deserved it."

"Well, no, of course they did." Carol evidently knew when to not argue particular points. "But you were there for Lung. You saw what she did to him."

"I did." Sarah nodded. "It was horrific. But he was slated for the Birdcage, and she'd warned him to get out of town or surrender. Just like she did with the other three. He had options. He just chose not to take them."

Amy nodded, along with everyone except Carol. It was self-evident now (even if it hadn't been for some people then) that a warning from Atropos was the equivalent of Holy Writ, but for everyone. Ignoring two warnings was for the terminally stupid, the insanely arrogant, or the actively suicidal.

"And let's be real here," Uncle Neil said. "What happened to Kaiser was just plain karma. All of them, really. Sorry for the language, Carol, but they've been fucking around for years, and they finally found out."

This argument was threatening to go in circles, so Amy caught Vicky's eye. "I'm just going to lie down for a bit," she murmured.

"Sure," Vicky replied with a smirk. "Go snuggle with your dolly." Retrieving the doll, she passed it to Amy.

Making sure Carol wasn't watching, Amy poked her tongue out at Vicky, which made Eric and Crystal grin. Then she headed up to her room.

Once she was alone, she removed her costume and hung it up, then flopped onto her bed. The next few minutes passed with her lying inert, staring at the ceiling. Vicky was right. Carol would freak if she learned even half of what we're doing.

Digging in her jeans pocket, she took out the card and looked at it, turning it over several times. The front had a phone number, which was different to the one on the back. Finally, she took out her phone and woke it up. The numbers lit up on the screen one at a time, until she had just the call icon to go.

She wavered, second-guessing herself. This was a huge step. She'd never actually gotten someone's number before, much less called it.

Holding up the doll in front of her, she stared at it. She made a beautiful thing, just for me.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped the icon.

The phone rang. Once, twice. She nearly cancelled the call.

"Hello?" It was the same soft, gentle voice from the Boardwalk.

"Hi, it's me. Panacea. Amy."

"Oh. Oh, wow. I was wondering if you would call."

Amy's giggle was more a release of tension than anything else. "I was wondering that, too."

"It's really nice to hear from you."

Rolling onto her side, Amy smiled. "It's nice to hear your voice, too. So, tell me about fashion."

Hebert Household

Atropos

"I won't take very long, this time." Mask and hat in hand, I gave Cherie a smile. "Maybe half an hour, tops. The lasagna shouldn't require any attention, but if I take longer than that, keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn't burn."

"Oh, totally," she assured me. "I love your lasagna. There's no way I'm letting that burn. And thank you."

I wasn't quite sure what she was referring to. "For what?"

"The responsibility." She waved her hands vaguely in the air. "Not just being trusted to be home alone, but being trusted to do something. Treating me as a person, not just a chattel."

"Well, look at you." I grinned. "Someone's improving their vocabulary."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Says the girl who grew up knowing words like that."

"Eh, true." I gave her a quick hug, which she reciprocated. "I'm very proud of you. I want you to understand that. You're really taking your remedial classes seriously."

"Yeah, well." She quirked a grimace with one corner of her mouth. "I went into it convinced I knew everything I needed to know. The more I learn, the more I realise I just don't know."

"Welcome to the paradox of academia." I pulled on the mask, then the hat went on top. "When we get back, you can pick whatever movie we're going to watch first."

Her eyes lit up. "Ooooh."

Trickster

"We're getting low on food, guys." Oliver put the pot in the middle of the table. Savoury smells wafted out from it, teasing Francis' nostrils. "Two more days and we're going to have to decide what we're doing."

"I think we should stay." Jess was still sitting in her wheelchair, although she'd spent a couple of hours, on and off, using it as a walker. "Atropos cared enough to get the PRT to bring Miss Medic out to fix my spine. Nobody ever did that for us before."

"Yeah, but what'll we do for cash?" Luke dug into the pot and filled his bowl. "Hero for pay, that's where the big money is. Because there's no way in hell I'm going to be doing crime anywhere near this town, and nobody in Bet pays their heroes unless they're Protectorate, and they don't get all that much anyway. So, we go back to Aleph. Instant monetisation, cha-ching!"

Francis frowned as he filled Noelle's bowl and then his. "Not so sure that's a great idea."

"Okay, this is different." Cody waited until he was finished, then borrowed the ladle. "Used to be, you were all gung-ho about going back to Aleph. What changed?"

"No, I was gung-ho about helping Noelle with her problems," Francis corrected him. "Everything else was secondary. Everything. Even stuff I should've been paying attention to. But since then, I've had time to think about it. We've been gone what, fifteen months? What if they've declared us dead?"

"Actually, that's a point," Jess agreed. "What if their Madison's been quarantined the same way it was here on Bet?"

"Exactly." Francis gestured with his fork. "Going back now could draw a whole lot of unwelcome attention. It's for damn sure we won't be able to simply step back into our old lives."

Noelle looked at Luke. "And that'll mean a ton of scrutiny just when you're trying to keep a low profile and kick off your superhero career."

"And if some of us decide to stay," Marissa added, "the authorities will be asking the people who go very awkward questions about what happened to them. 'They decided not to come back' might not cut it."

"Goddamn it, Krouse," Luke muttered grumpily. "Why couldn't you just stick to being wrong?"

"I don't know." Noelle put her arm through Francis'. "I kinda like the new him."

"So, what are we going to do?" asked Oliver.

Francis had been thinking about that. "Tomorrow, we'll drive into Brockton Bay and apply for work with the Betterment Committee. That'll give us a regular income and the chance to sleep under an actual roof. And those of us without a relevant power can take the training courses they're offering, and just work like everyone else. Show of hands, all in favour?" He raised his own hand.

Noelle's went up immediately, followed by Cody's and Marissa's. Oliver raised his hand a moment later, then Jess did as well. Everyone looked at Luke, who rolled his eyes. "I still think being a hero for pay is a boss idea, but okay. Let's go work for the man." His hand finally rose into the air.

Francis smiled. "Thanks, guys. I hope this works out. If it doesn't, we can always ask Atropos for a ticket home."

"You really think she can pull that off?" asked Cody.

Jess snorted derisively. "With everything else she's done, do you really want to bet she can't?"

Cody considered that. "Good point."

Director Emily Piggot

The helicopter flared as it came in for a landing on the helipad at Ellisburg Base. A moment later, the wheels touched down, a sensation so familiar to Emily that she didn't consciously register it anymore. All she knew was that it was time to divest herself of the helmet with its built-in headset and climb out of the chopper.

Keeping her head down—she knew the blades were well above her head, but she also knew a wind gust at the wrong moment could flick them downward, with horrific results—she moved away from the helicopter, to where Major Holden was standing alongside Atropos herself. Holden straightened to attention and saluted, while Atropos merely nodded. The salute was required by regulations, while Atropos had no obligation to even acknowledge her presence.

As Emily was no longer a serving officer, and had no cover to boot, she didn't return the salute. "Major," she said instead. "Atropos. I was worried I might be late. We ran into headwinds." Why haven't you already done it? she didn't quite ask.

"I knew you'd be here on time." Atropos might as well have been discussing the weather. "Nilbog still has a minute or so to announce his surrender. I figured I'd wait until you arrived before I went in."

"I only let a few personnel know I'd even be here." Emily looked at her narrowly. "Who talked?"

Atropos' tone was unruffled. "Nobody. I know you, and this is personal. There's no way you could stay away." She glanced sideways at Holden. "Major, the time?"

Major Holden checked his military-issue timepiece. "Sixteen forty-three, ma'am."

"And has Nilbog indicated in any way that he would like to surrender to PRT forces?" Atropos' tone was oddly formal, while she asked a question that everyone knew the answer to.

"No, ma'am, he has not." Holden's voice, on the other hand, was filled with quiet satisfaction.

"Well, then. He's had his twenty-four hours." One of Atropos' hands had been hidden behind her long-coat, and now she lifted what was in it—a large and very sharp-looking axe—to rest on her shoulder. "Time to go explain why he should've surrendered."

"Wait." Emily stared at the axe. "Is that …?"

"Hatchet Face's axe. Yeah." She was certain Atropos was grinning behind the mask. "It's amazing how many problems cease to be problems when you apply a really sharp piece of steel to the right point." Raising her free hand, she snapped her fingers. Emily was entirely unsurprised when she vanished.

"We have screens set up in the command hut, ma'am. If you will accompany me?"

Emily was going to savour this. "Lead the way, Major."

Atropos

The moment I appeared in the Goblin Kingdom—right in the middle of a crowd of the little menaces—I threw the vial I'd palmed to the ground. It shattered, and the fumes went in all directions. Then I drew my pistol and shot three of them, to incentivise the rest to scatter and pass on the good news to their brethren (and sistren, I guess).

One didn't get the message. Bigger and bulkier than his fellows, he loomed toward me. I didn't hesitate; holstering the pistol, I let him have it in the centre of his face with the axe. Whatever thought processes were propelling him, having several inches of razor-sharp steel intruding on his brain did them no good at all.

The goblins I'd (temporarily) spared were running in all directions, shrieking words that could have been 'Intruder!' and 'Alarm' at the top of their lungs. I wasn't listening, mainly because I had earplugs in. For this situation, I wasn't using a suppressor, and my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun was going to have a chance to come out and play, none of which would be good for the ears.

Within my head, the threatscape was drawing itself up nicely. Wherever the alarm goblins went, they knew about me and wanted to hurt me. Not as fanatically as they would've without the first virus in their systems, so I wouldn't be overwhelmed, but they still fully intended to perform many indignities on my body, some while I was still alive. Then I would be fed into the spawning monsters, to spit out new goblins for the Kingdom. Of course, the spawning monsters were currently inert, incapable of producing so much as a malevolent fruit fly, but Nilbog was not going to know this until he got the word and sent orders for them to produce enough warriors to murder me fifty times over.

As I made my way toward the Goblin Kingdom's seat of government (so to speak), the first creatures to respond to the alarm call came at me. I shot two with the pistol, then changed out for the shotgun and blew the head off of a third. There was a fourth that looked like the offspring of a minotaur and a clownfish, that had bony plates that made him bulletproof. Or at least, he thought he was until I put a twelve-gauge slug between his teeth and blew out the back of his head.

Here was where the lack of long-distance communication worked in my favour. While Nilbog could see through the eyes and hear through the ears of his creations, he could not control or command them that way. Normally, this would not be an issue, but they didn't know for a fact that he knew about me, so one of the little snitches was running directly toward the boss, to tell him what was going on, and to get orders.

And, of course, taking the virus with him.

They came at me in disorganised waves, attacking from concealment or even jumping off roofs to get to me. It might have even worked if I hadn't known exactly where they were and what they intended. Some of those little bastards were really good at hiding, but it didn't help them when I put a shotgun shell through the drywall they were skulking behind, and into their vital organs.

I had extra ammo that I'd requisitioned from Major Holden; even though I conserved it where I could, that wasn't always possible. Some of the goblinoids I skewered with the shears, others I hacked apart with the axe, but most of them I shot. Director Piggot wanted blood? She'd get blood.

There were no live goblins behind me, either dead at my hand or from the virus, when I kicked open the doors leading into Nilbog's throne room. I used the last two shells from the shotgun to take out the two critters that had been waiting in ambush on either side of the doors—seriously, I didn't even need my power for that—then holstered it and pulled my pistol and shears. The axe was slung in its holder across my back, but I didn't bother with it.

Eight mutated monsters, the cream of Nilbog's twisted crop, came at me. I dodged bone darts, sprays of acid, snapping fangs and razor claws. While Nilbog himself—or rather, his homunculus—gibbered on the sagging throne, I dismantled his bodyguards. Larger and tougher than the norm, these ones had taken longer to succumb to the virus than most, but even now it was weakening them.

Five of them I shot to death, though it emptied the magazine of the pistol to do so. The other three went down to slashes of my shears, though the last of them was already dying on its feet. I stood from its body and faced the last living inhabitant of the Goblin Kingdom. His breath was already thickening as the virus attacked his lungs and heart from within, his own body slowly strangling him. Underground, because he shared an umbilical with this creature, the real Jamie Rinke would be suffering the same fate.

"I warned you. You didn't surrender." Changing magazines, I chambered a round and fired a single shot into his forehead, just as his last breath rattled to a halt.

Then I holstered the pistol and sheathed the shears. Climbing onto the throne, I took the axe out of its holder and swung it sideways once, twice, three times. Finally, the head rolled free onto the blood-streaked ground, and I stepped down off the throne.

I didn't trust the straggly hair not to pull out at the roots, so I took a cloth bag from my pocket and nudged the head into it. Putting the axe back into its holder, I set up the new jump while my hands were out of sight of the camera. The teleport took hold, and the charnel-house of the throne room was replaced with the relatively clean (if dusty) Ellisburg Base camp.

The door to the command hut opened and Emily Piggot emerged. Moving carefully, she descended the steps and made her way toward where I waited. Silently, I held out the bag to her. She took it and opened it to peer inside. The twisted, dead face of Nilbog looked back at her. Some would have been horrified; others, repulsed.

Emily Piggot smiled.

When she raised her eyes to my face, I saw they were wet with tears she would not shed until she was in private. "Thank you, Atropos," she said, and held out her hand.

I shook it. Her grip was still strong, after all these years out of uniform. "You're welcome."

She looked into the bag again. "God damn, this is a good day."

"What are you going to do with Ellisburg, now that everything in there is dead?" I asked.

"Seal it in," she said, with a jut of her chin. "Lock down everything in there under six feet of concrete and steel. If he left anything behind, it'll have to dig its way out through that."

I nodded. "That should work. Well, I'll see you around. Toodles!"

Right on cue, the teleport portal formed, and I stepped backward into it.

Cherie sat up from the sofa, a book in her hands. "So, how'd it go?"

I looked down at the blood decorating my boots. "Well, he's definitely dead. I'll just go shower and change, and wipe these down. Have you thought about what movie you want to watch first?"

She grinned and nodded. "Man of the House, with Sylvester Stallone. Some of the kids in my class say it's really funny."

"It's all of that." I headed for the stairs. "Check on the lasagna while I'm cleaning up?"

"I can totally do that."

End of Part Fifty-Five