70

A Darker Path

Part Seventy: Clearing the Air

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: This one just kept growing and growing, and there was no good place to split it up, so you have a monster sized chapter this time. Woo!]

Relevant Side Story 1: Meanwhile, at the Dallon House by Masterweaver

Mark let out a low breath as he heard a phone slam into its cradle, rolling his neck as he got out of bed. He made his way down the hall, leaning on the doorframe with a sympathetic expression. "Hey dear, what's wrong?"

"Squealer's trial was postponed again, that's what's wrong," Carol growled. "Her lawyer's trying to pull an insanity defense, can you believe it?"

"That's new. I mean, I could maybe get the drugged and coerced angle, but insanity?"

"Skidmark's death was apparently so traumatic that the woman has somehow suppressed the 'Squealer' persona," Carol grumbled. "Or it's become a split personality? I don't know exactly... The worst part is she's actually getting an expert psychiatrist to look into it." She snorted. "Which of course means she'll dodge prison. Probably be recruited by the PRT, too, you know how they are about tinkers..."

"It was a pretty, ah, gruesome death," Mark pointed out. "And Tinkers are pretty close with their equipment, so... blaming herself for killing her boyfriend isn't necessarily impossible..."

Carol glowered at him.

"Hey, at least Mush is getting properly tried, right?"

"...there is that," Carol grumbled. "I just-either she's faking insanity for a lighter sentence, or she's actually gone crazy but that shouldn't matter because it happened after she committed her crimes-" She rubbed her temples with a groan. "This is a blatant miscarriage of justice."

"Are you even on this case?"

"No. If I was I could at least do something, but-" Carol sighed, pulling out a few files. "Damn it all."

"You'll find some other criminals to bring to justice, I'm sure of it." Mark smiled softly. "Maybe focus on white-collar crime? You know how CEOs get away with a lot."

Carol snorted. "Like Anders-hmm." She nodded thoughtfully. "Like Anders... That could be important, actually. Thanks for the idea, dear."

"Happy to help."

Mark backed out of the doorway, walking down to the kitchen. There were probably the fixings for a sandwich somewhere...

As he went about the pantry and the refrigerator, he noticed the television was set on a local news channel. A story about a drug explosion segued neatly into a report on Atropos, who apparently held somebody at gunpoint...?

"I'm Atropos. You're Damsel of Distress. I warned you once to stay out of my city. Consider this your second warning. The third warning will involve a closed-casket funeral."

Ah, that would do it.

A strangled gasp brought his attention to his daughter, sitting stock still as she watched the news. One handful of ice cream was frozen halfway to her mouth.

"You know your mother would have words with you about not using a spoon."

Vicky nodded absently. Then Mark's words registered, and she seemed to come back to herself-just as the news shifted to something about Winslow. "I guess she would, yeah." Quickly gulping the mint out of her hand, the teenage girl sagged. "Maybe she should, I dunno..."

Mark sat down beside her, glancing at the half-eaten tub in her lap. "What's on your mind?"

"It's that obvious, huh?" Vicky huffed. "Of course it's obvious, I'm a teenage girl moping around eating ice cream. Great way to play into the stereotype, Vicky. Maybe next I'll go out and oogle boys while buying shoes."

"Don't you already have twelve pairs?"

"Ten. Ten pairs. I'm not-" Vicky sighed slowly, bowing her head. "It's just... what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Do?"

"I liked being a superhero. I liked going out and fighting threats nobody could. But Atropos-she killed the worst and chased off the rest." The teenager chuckled mirthlessly. "Listen to me, I'm complaining about the city being too safe. I really am a selfish bitch, aren't I."

Mark frowned. "I wouldn't say that. You did tie up a lot of your identity with Glory Girl, after all. And there'll still be muggers to catch."

"I guess," Vicky mumbled sullenly, scooping another handful of ice cream out of the tub in her lap. "Doesn't seem like you'd need an Alexandria package for that..."

"...You know, it's not unheard of for young people around your age to experiment. Try new things, reinvent themselves..." Mark wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's a little something called growth."

"What, are you saying I'm childish?"

"You? No. But... maybe it's time you outgrow Glory Girl," Mark suggested gently. "You won't be just a girl for much longer. And I'm sure you know being a hero isn't about the glory."

"I always wanted to be a beacon of hope," Vicky muttered. "A beacon... Beacon." She chewed on her ice cream thoughtfully. "...It... doesn't quite get rid of the whole thing where I feel useless, but... hmm."

Mark smiled quietly as her expression shifted from hopelessness to thoughtfulness. He knew then she'd come out of her funk.

"...I guess... I don't have to stay in Brockton Bay," Vicky mused. "I could always spread New Wave's message in another city... and the Empire isn't dead so much as scattered to the winds..." She took a deep breath. "Yeah. Not right away, but... yeah, that's a better goal. Gotta think about a new costume, the tiara is just... silly..."

"You'll figure it out, honey." Mark hugged her with one arm, before standing up. "You're smarter than you look-"

"Hey!"

"-and that's saying something."

Vicky snorted, but she was smiling all the same. "Yeah... thanks Dad."

"Just doing my job, honey."

Mark left her to her contemplation and news-watching, taking his sandwich upstairs. He intended to eat it in the bedroom, but he heard something when passing Amy's door.

"...and if Carol found out about this, she'd freak out. We, we have to keep this a secret, okay?"

He could have moved on, but something made him pause. After a moment, he knocked on the door, raising a brow at the shocked squeak he heard in reply. "Sweetie? Is everything alright in there?"

"Uh, yeah! It's fine, it's all good!"

"Who were you talking to just now?"

"My..." There was a long, awkward pause. "...ssseeeeeeelf?"

"...I'm coming in," Mark decided, opening the door.

To his surprise, there was not a half-naked boy and/or girl trying to clamber out the window-his daughter seemed flustered and a little panicked, but surprisingly unruffled. That didn't necessarily exclude her having a lover she thought Carol wouldn't approve of-and to be fair, Carol was very discerning-but it did make it less likely. For a moment he worried Amy was trying some sort of drugs... before he remembered she was Panacea, so that was a ridiculous thought.

"Sweetie," he said gently, "you know you can tell me anything, right?"

Amy glanced away. "It's-it's nothing important, Dad, just, you know, some... some personal problems. I'm fine, really."

She didn't meet his gaze, and Mark noticed her eyes darting toward-was that a terrarium? He didn't remember her having a...

Aaaah.

A sense of relief washed through him as he realized the situation wasn't nearly as serious as he'd thought. Amy was just being her usual high-strung self. Still...

"Amy," he said seriously, "you know that a pet is a very big responsibility."

"Huh?"

"You have to take care of them," he continued gently. "Make sure they have what they need, not just leave them alone until you want to play with them."

"Uh..."

Mark sighed at Amy's visible confusion. "I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell us you're adopting..." He glanced at the terrarium. "...a reptile, I'm guessing, given their reputation. But you, of all people, deserve to have a friend you can trust. And... look, I'll take you down to the pet store later, alright? I don't care if you get a dog or a snake, I just... want you to be happy and healthy."

"...right. Yeah." Amy nodded slowly. "A pet. That's... yeah, taking care of a pet. That's... a good way to look at things, now that I think about it." She blinked a bit, before looking at him. "Not that I have-I mean, I haven't done that thing where I sneak animals in to take care of them. I'm not stupid."

Mark glanced at the terrarium again.

"Uh." Amy cringed. "I mean... I haven't, but... I've... thought about it?" she offered with an awkward cringe.

"...Sometimes I wonder if you care too much for your own good," Mark mused. "I've heard horror stories about doctors burning themselves out-"

"Why don't we just go to the pet store later!" Amy interjected quickly. "Get, uh, something... Chameleon? Yeah. A chameleon. Or something."

"...alright, sweetie. I'll go get my keys."

"Yeah. Um... thanks Dad."

Mark smiled gently, walking out of the room. There was obviously something going on in Amy's life-he'd have to talk with the hospitals later-but maybe getting a pet would be good for her...

Relevant Side Story 2: Closed Loopholes, by Psiidmon

Arcadia's parking lot was a bad place to be having heavy thoughts, but Dean knew he needed to push himself out of his comfort zone. He gave a wave to a few friends as they left, then smiled softly as Victoria opened the passenger seat and floated into position, buckling up.

"Hey. I have a bit of a confession to make... would you be alright with heading somewhere private?" Dean asked, as they were pulling out of the school.

Vicky glanced sideways at him and shrugged, not having much planned tonight. "I guess? Is it something I'd get angry at you about?" The colours around her head weren't the ones that normally proceeded one of their explosive breakups, so Dean had to assume she was making some kind of joke.

"Uh... probably, but not in an immediate sense?" Dean hedged as he focused on the traffic. "Was thinking a parking lot roof so if you need some air you can take off directly."

She hummed thoughtfully at that, before nodding in the Thinker's peripheral vision, a swirling miasma of different emotions floating around his vision from her.

Once they'd parked and both unbuckled their belts, Dean cranked his seat back and stared up at the bright sky above them. "Okay, so... I've kind of... been lying to you."

Dean saw the mottled yellow of what was probably some kind of anxiety, along with a mild red, as Vicky cleared her throat. "Explain."

He was ready for the ugly, bruise-like splotch that the name would invoke. "... Atropos, one of the groups she banned from dealing with Brockton. The way she stops people from fucking with loopholes... I think I'm safe, maybe. I... my dad. He... he bought powers for me. From Cauldron."

Victoria leaned into his line of sight and looked down on him, her shadow cooling the area around his chest. "How's that make you a liar?"

"I... they can't enforce their threats against me, if they're banned from the city, or from retaliating if I'm visiting somewhere else. I didn't... I didn't trigger, Victoria. I sat in a white fucking room and they had a lady in a lab coat use a code name for me as she talked me through drinking a tube of... vile poison."

She continued to hover in his line of sight, her lips a flat line, hard to read with her face upside down from his perspective. "And poisoning you gave you powers?"

"I had to get in the right mindset, while they're using fake names for me, for dad, all the while there's an undercurrent of menace and I can't figure out what any of them want." Dean kept trying to explain, mind going in circles.

"Hmm... and then you blanked out like normal?" Her voice, her tone, what did it mean? What was this magenta flicker radiating from her head, lancing in front of the sunlight?

"I just remember dad having... green, like moss behind him, as they shuffled us out." The not-so-gallant ward mumbled, averting his eyes downward to look at the rim of his windshield.

"Well... you never exactly offered up a fake trigger, but I'm not exactly happy here Dean." Victoria admitted. "I might have to take up the offer to head home alone, you've given me a lot to think about."

He still felt cold as she floated away, backpack collected from the rear seat, and he didn't understand why.

It was sunny out.

Relevant Side Story 3: Epiphany, by Masterweaver

Amy glanced up as her door opened, and Vicky walked in with a distant look on her face. She watched her sister flop onto her bed, sit there for a moment, then slowly rotate herself so she was staring up at the ceiling.

With a roll of her eyes, Amy shut the door and sat down next to her. "So what's the melodrama today?"

Vicky stared up at the ceiling for a moment longer. "...did you know?"

"Know what?"

"About... Gallant. You've healed him before, did you see it?"

"...I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, Vicky."

The blonde sighed. "...He's a Cauldron cape. His dad bought him powers."

"...Huh." Amy nodded slowly. "That explains... a lot."

"I don't even know how I feel about it," Vicky mutters. "I should have yelled at him. That's what I do when I'm mad, right? I get... loud. You know that."

"I do," Amy deadpanned.

"But I just said I wasn't happy and flew away." Vicky gestured at the ceiling. "I'm... that's not me. You know?"

"Are you just using me as a sounding board, or do you actually want my opinion?"

Vicky bit her lip. "...Yes."

"Cute." Amy shrugged. "Well, I for one can see the logical value in having capes that are not traumatized by default. I don't know how I'd go about it, but some biotinker figuring out how to simulate a trigger event sounds reasonable enough. I know the government would be very interested in the process."

"That's not-Amy, I'm more frustrated with Dean than the cape illuminati."

"Vicky... Dean's a teenager." Amy shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't know, tell me why I should be mad at him."

"He's preventing you from exploring your bisexuality."

Vicky snorted. "No, seriously, Amy. I'm trying to process this, I don't... really have time for your jokes."

Amy shrugged. "Welp, I tried."

"…should I be mad at him?" Vicky asked. "I mean, this is a pretty big thing... right?"

"It's as big as you want to make it," Amy assured her. "Heck, I'll hold him and you punch."

"...you're really not helping," Vicky deadpanned.

"I'm really not trying."

"Amy, this is serious!"

"Is it?" Amy gave her a look. "Vicky, your boyfriend is a rich white boy. Sure, he's a nice guy, but that doesn't change the fact that he lives in a fancy house, buys you jewelry on the regular, and has the best car on the market. Getting powers with a little payment is par for the course, at this point. It's just another way the upper class don't understand the middle class, only with something a lot more esoteric. As far as I'm concerned, you can be exactly as angry about this as you were about him not understanding why your tiara is a big deal."

"...funny you should mention that. I've recently come to the realization that the tiara... yeah, it's kind of silly."

"There, you see? You're changing, so your relationship to Dean's richness is changing. And now you've found out his powers are a result of his wealth." Amy shrugged. "So you're confused, but whatever, that's being a teenager apparently."

"...How do you have your shit together all of the sudden?" Vicky asked suspiciously. "Seriously, you've been a nervous wreck for... years now, and nothing I did to help worked."

"And you're suddenly not as confident. And Dad's getting more aware, and Carol..." Amy paused, considering. "...well, okay, no, she's still the same. Funny how that all happened after the gangs were burned out."

"...Right, no gangs means less healing so that's not as stressful for you..."

"Something like that."

"...Damn it," Vicky groaned, "that girl is so... fucking weird! Like she's, she's a villain, but she's not-she isn't, you know, evil! She just kills people! And like, that should be evil, but the way she does it isn't, and I am soooooo fucking confused and terrified and now Dean's not a normal parahuman and holy fuck I'm a mess." She took a breath. "...I'm calling it. We, as a family, need therapy."

"We're parahumans. Of course we need therapy."

We now return you to the alleged narrative ...

Three Supervillains

"It's unfair, that's what it is!"

"I know it is, Gina, but what are we going to do about it? She kills anyone who comes after her."

"She won't kill me, Bethany."

"That's right, she won't kill Ryan! She can't! Nobody can!"

"Okay, fine, but how are we going to get to where she is?"

"I know the four places she'll be around midnight tonight. The quarantine sites."

"Ooh, good thinking, Ryan!"

"Yeah, but which one do we go to, Gina?"

"Gary. It's closest, and my mom will drive us."

"And what do we do when she shows up? She shoots people."

"We don't attack her. We distract her, and Ryan takes her down."

"I can do that."

"If you're sure about that …"

"Well, how else am I supposed to get back into the top ratings if we don't put her out of the running? She's been hogging them for the last two months!"

"I guess …"

Glory Girl

"Nearly home."

Vicky spoke loudly enough for Amy to hear her through the headphones she was wearing. It used to be that Amy would enjoy flying almost as much as Vicky did, but these days, she seemed to prefer putting music on and just chilling with her eyes closed for the duration of the flight. In fact, she was overall a lot more relaxed and happier than she had been for … well, years.

While Vicky tried not to think about it specifically, this change in her sister's attitude seemed to line up altogether too close to their first, disastrous encounter with Atropos. She was almost sure it was a coincidence … but she'd seen far too much of how Atropos operated to assume anything at all was a coincidence around her. Amy had also been sneaking out to meet Atropos (or being picked up by her; Vicky wasn't clear on that bit) which was the weirdest bit. Amy claimed to dislike Atropos, and she normally couldn't lie to save her life … so why was she happier now?

Not that Vicky could really claim to be any more consistent. She'd actively lobbied to go off on the last escapade with Atropos and Amy, and had been surprised at the amount of disappointment she felt when she was denied the chance. And then, when Atropos had called her during lunch break, she hadn't even hesitated to fly off and be the hero of the hour.

Not that she'd been able to hang around long after getting the back-board up to the injured guy. Mr Hebert, the tall guy, had been talking to the young woman with blaster powers, Ms Stillons, about smoothing out a track to get them back down to ground level, so she wasn't even really needed for that. As it was, she'd only just got back to Arcadia in time for class.

As she let Amy down on her feet, her sister gave her a smile. "Thanks. Just gonna go check on Smaug. Make sure he didn't get lonely without me."

"He's a lizard, Ames. He probably slept all day." But Amy was already gone, dashing into the house.

Vicky sighed and rolled her eyes. Sometimes, it seemed that Amy spent more time talking to the bearded dragon (who was admittedly kinda cute) than to the rest of her family. Still, if having a pet was what had given her a new lease on happiness, as opposed to her occasional association with Atropos, Vicky was all for that. Ames had saved too many people to count from various medical afflictions; she deserved a little happiness of her own.

She went inside and waved to her father on the way through to the kitchen. He waved back, then returned to watching TV. The flight home had given her a case of dry-mouth, so she poured herself a glass of juice then came back out to the living room. "What are you watching?"

"Game show." He snorted. "They're asking cape questions, and half the official answers are wrong."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Vicky sat down to watch. As she drank the juice, she thought over the decision she'd made and wondered how badly it would impact him. Even though he's the one who put the idea into my head.

Amy came downstairs after a little while to grab some cookies, then went back up. Mark found a news channel and started watching that instead. Vicky put her glass in the sink, then got her homework out and started doing it.

Carol arrived home a little after five, the car easing into the garage and the door rumbling down. Vicky was nearly done with her homework, but now she couldn't focus anymore. She'd keyed herself up for this moment for so long that all she could think of was the words she needed to say.

Leaving the open books on the table, she headed upstairs as the connecting door from the garage opened. Mark greeted Carol, but all Vicky heard was the rumble of his voice, no words. Heading along to Amy's door, she knocked on it. "Hey, Ames. You busy?"

"Not really." She heard footsteps on carpet, then the door opened. "Why? What's up?"

"Come downstairs for a second?" Vicky grimaced. The moment was accelerating closer and closer like a runaway freight train, and the impact was likely to be considerable. "There's something I want to say to everyone, and I think you need to be there. That way you won't be left out of the loop when Mom starts yelling at me."

"What? Why?" Amy blinked. "What's going on, Vicky? We don't have any secrets, remember?" She paused, too late. "Uh—"

Vicky raised her eyebrows. "Right. Like sneaking out with Atropos. Listen, I want to catch Mom before she locks herself in her study. Please come down now?"

Amy had gone pink at the reminder of her indiscretion, and now she nodded. "Okay, fine. You twisted my arm." She stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her. "Let's go see what revelation you have for the maternal unit." She tilted her head sideways, peering at Vicky. "You're not gay." It wasn't a question.

"No. And don't pry." Vicky led the way downstairs. "Uh, Mom?"

She'd gotten to the bottom of the stairs just in time; Carol turned back from the corridor leading to her study. "Yes, Victoria? Is this important?"

"I think it is." Vicky braced herself. "Mom, Dad, Amy, I have an announcement to make. Can we turn the TV off for a second, please?"

Mark frowned mildly, but did as he was asked; the TV went dark. "What is it, Vicky?"

"I …" Vicky took a deep breath. "I want to start working after school for the Betterment Committee." That wasn't all she intended to say, but it was a good beginning.

"What?" Carol blinked. "That … well, that'll cut into your patrol times, but we can manage it, certainly. Why the big fuss over it?"

"Because that's not all I want to do." In for a penny, in for a pound. "I'll be turning eighteen this year. When I finish school—" As it was, there were only three months left in the school year. "—I want to either go full-time into working for them, or if I've decided that's not for me, I want to leave Brockton Bay and go to Boston or New York and join the Wards or Protectorate there. Where I can actually make a difference."

Stunned silence reigned within the house for the exact amount of time it took Carol Dallon to draw in an outraged breath. "What?"

For his part, Mark looked at Vicky, then evidently recalled the conversation they'd had where he'd suggested doing this exact thing. She didn't know now whether he'd been just trying to cheer her up, or even if he'd thought she would never go through with it, but he didn't seem to have anything to say about it. When Carol looked at him for support, he just shrugged as if to say, I got nothing.

Carol tried again. "You can't do that! You're part of New Wave!" Vicky got the impression that to her, this was an unimpeachable argument. New Wave was the beginning and end of it.

"I can and I will." Vicky had been willing to entertain logical arguments, but 'you can't' was just plain denial.

"You're a minor!"

"I'll be eighteen!"

"I forbid it!"

Vicky felt her temper rising, but she stopped before she could say something she would later look back on and cringe. Holding up her hands, she breathed in and out a couple of times until she felt in control again. "Mom, you can't 'forbid' me from doing something like that. I'm not five anymore."

The look of betrayal in Carol's eyes cut her to the quick. "Victoria, you're still my child, living under my roof."

"I could move out." It was more of a rebuttal than a threat.

"Where would you go?" It wasn't quite a 'gotcha', but from the look in her eyes, Carol hoped it was.

Unexpectedly, Amy fielded that one. "The, uh, Betterment Committee has cheap accommodation for its workers." She folded her arms and looked away as everyone stared at her.

"And you would know that … why?" asked Vicky.

"That's what I heard, anyway," Amy mumbled.

Hmm. Exactly what have you been talking to Atropos about? "And that's where I'll go." Vicky squared her shoulders, grateful for the out. "But I'm not doing it now. I just wanted to tell you what my plans were."

Carol took the opportunity to also regain her poise. "Victoria, what's brought this on? Why do you want to leave the team?"

A question that wasn't an accusation in disguise, she could answer. "I talked about this with Dad a while ago. I feel like I'm just spinning my wheels here, yelling at jaywalkers. Without the gangs as an issue, the cops are actually able to keep on top of crime a lot easier. Pretty soon, we'll be calling dibs on muggers. I want to do something where my powers can make a difference, like working for the Betterment Committee here or fighting crime in one of those cities where they've still got supervillains." The last four words sounded so weird to say, but she said them anyway.

Carol turned her attention to Mark. "You advised her to do this?" Why? her tone seemed to ask.

Mark stood up so he didn't have to keep twisting his neck around to participate. "She was drowning her sorrows in ice-cream, and I gave her a little pep-talk about growing up and moving on, maybe updating her image. I didn't think she was totally serious about going to another city then, but to be honest, I can see her point. When was the last time we even heard a gunshot, out on patrol?"

"But …" Carol seemed to be at a loss now. "What about Dean? I thought you were going to … well, you make a very nice couple, is what I'm saying."

Vicky shook her head. "I broke up with Dean. He wasn't honest with me about some stuff, and we're through." It was more than that, but she didn't want to bring that up here. Finding out that Dean had had his powers given to him by drinking a vial from the semi-mythical Cauldron had been bad enough, but he'd once lied to her about it, described a fake trigger event. She needed to move on from him, and being in the same city didn't help.

Carol didn't argue about that, but she did switch back to her main point. "This is our team. We've put our lives into it. We've shed blood for it. How can you just walk away from it now?"

Vicky debated whether to tell her that New Wave had been based on a failed premise from the beginning. In her own head, it sounded cruel, but was it worth it, to pull the Band-aid off quickly? Or would Carol take it as another betrayal?

Amy raised her hand. "Um … maybe this isn't the best time for this, but I'm thinking about stepping back from the team. From being a hero."

"What?" And there's the other shoe. I wondered where that came from.

"What?" This one did seem to take Mark aback.

"What?" Carol's reaction was the most dramatic, possibly because of the one-two punch. "How can you stop being a hero? I was okay with you having a girlfriend in the Rogues, but now this? I thought we were getting better. We were getting better!"

"We're totally getting better, but …" Amy hesitated. "I want to go rogue. I want to do more with my powers than just heal people." She grimaced, as though she knew the next bit would not get a great reaction. "And, you know, maybe get paid for it?"

"Do more?" Mark sounded puzzled. "You're a healer. That's what you do."

"Paid?" Carol was a little slower off the mark, possibly because she had stalled on that word. It was one thing to get money for team sponsorships, Vicky mused now that the heat was off her, but quite another to be paid simply for using one's powers. "Why do you want to get paid?"

"Because that's what happens when normal people use their skills to help others," Amy retorted, showing more gumption than Vicky had seen her using in quite some time. "And if I'm not lining up with the rest of the team as Panacea, then I'm going to need some kind of income." She paused for a moment then added, "Also, I'm not just a healer. I never have been."

"So, what do you want to do with your powers that you haven't been doing before?" Vicky was honestly curious. She knew about Amy's ability to reverse ageing, but that was basically healing the damage done by time … wasn't it?

Amy ticked off points on her fingers. "Custom houseplants, like fluorescent roses. Rainbow poodles. Cosmetic surgery. Turning off the genetic propensity for weight gain, or turning it on for people who want to gain weight. Instant-growing trees for the Betterment Committee."

From the way they were staring at her, she may as well have grown a second head and started declaiming the Necronomicon in Klingon. Vicky wasn't sure about her parents, but she'd had no idea what was coming when Amy started speaking. "… and you've always been able to do all that?"

"Sure." Amy held her hands out, palm up. "Healing is the tiniest fraction of what I can do. Fixing an organism back to its original template? That's easy. And boring. Imagine if da Vinci had only been allowed to do charcoal sketches of fruit baskets on three-by-five cards, his entire life. That's me. That's what I've been doing."

Mark frowned. "So … when you said you couldn't do brains …?" His voice held a mixture of doubt and hope.

"I said that because I don't want to do brains." Amy's voice was firm. "There's so much interconnected stuff going on there. Memories and skills and thoughts and attitudes and likes and dislikes and … everything. I could totally do stuff, but I don't. There's the privacy issue, for one thing. And then there's the chance that I do something for someone, and they decide to sue me because they say I did it wrong. How can I prove I didn't? One of the things you always taught me was that you can't prove a negative. Broken arm? Any doctor can prove in thirty seconds it's not broken anymore. Coffee now tastes like week-old urine? I can't disprove that kind of allegation."

Carol frowned and pulled out her phone. "I'm calling Sarah. We need to get the whole family in on this." She pointed at Vicky. "And don't think for a moment that you're off the hook, young lady."

"Wait a moment." Mark raised his hand. "Carol, maybe we need to step back a little on this, and take a breath before we say or do something we might regret later."

"What do you mean?" Carol tilted her head. "Don't tell me you're on their side in all this?"

"I'm saying there doesn't need to be an us-and-them side. Carol, honey, look at them." Mark gestured toward Vicky and Amy. "We've raised two wonderful girls, but they're almost adults now. Vicky's always been headstrong, and Amy seems to have picked it up along the way. If we push back now, all we're going to achieve is to shove them further away from us. What I'm saying is, maybe it's time to think about compromise?"

"Compromise." Carol said it like a dirty word, but she wasn't bristling as much anymore. Her lips compressed as she looked at Vicky and Amy, then she drew in air through her nostrils. "Okay. Let's sit down and talk this through one step at a time. Come on."

Vicky glanced at Amy as they all sat down in the living room. Neither one spoke, though Amy raised her eyebrows hopefully. Vicky wasn't that optimistic, but she was willing to see where the chips fell.

2330 Eastern Standard Time

Charlotte

Dressed in her Atropos costume, Charlotte eased out through the back door and let it close behind her. Heart thumping along at about seventeen beats a second, she pulled it carefully until the latch engaged with a click that sounded almost as loud as a gunshot in the quiet night air. Freezing in place, she waited for any noises from inside or lights coming on, but nothing happened.

Letting out a long breath, she stepped down from the porch then froze again as part of the darkness moved toward her. Her heart rate momentarily tripled, then steadied down again as she made out the faint white triangle of Atropos' shirt front, bisected by the tie. Not for the first time, she wondered if she was really cut out for what she'd signed up to do.

"Hi," murmured the shadowy killer. Unlike Charlotte, she seemed entirely at home in the darkness. "Are you ready for this? Remember the script?"

"Y-yes," whispered Charlotte. The folded piece of paper had mysteriously ended up in her backpack, and she'd spent the afternoon and evening memorising what it said, re-reading it at every opportunity until the words floated in her mind's eye.

"Good." A hand closed over her shoulder. "Turn to your left and walk forward."

Obeying Atropos' voice and the urging of her hand, Charlotte turned to her left and walked forward. Between one step and the next, everything changed; the night noises, the light level, even the ambient temperature. She was standing on a rooftop, vaguely illuminated by lights from below, of which there seemed to be more than a few.

"Wh-where are we?" she asked.

"The outskirts of Gallup, New Mexico." Atropos' voice was steady and reassuring. The hand lifted off her shoulder and pointed over an area where a bunch of buildings seemed to have been demolished. "The quarantine site is that way. Go toward the biggest bunch of PRT vans you can see."

"And what do I do when I get there?" Charlotte was starting to get nervous all over again.

"Get to the front lines of the PRT. Don't push or shove, just say, 'coming through'. They'll step aside for you. Go to where the lights and cameras are. Step into view at twenty minutes to midnight, which is twenty to ten where we are right now. Quote the script. Once everything starts moving, do that flourish you've been practicing with the shears, then step into the portal."

Charlotte felt weak in the knees. She'd gotten her hands on a genuine pair of bodice shears, and she'd been practicing a flourish with them every chance she got. But to find out that not only did Atropos know about it, but she also approved … wow.

"Uh … what portal?" she belatedly asked.

"There'll be a portal." Atropos gestured. "Fire escape's that way. Time's a-ticking."

"Right, right." Charlotte headed in that direction, eyes searching the darkness for the ladder. Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder. "How are you going to do the other three zones if I'm doing this one?"

Atropos' form was just a silhouette against the faintly illuminated sky. "Pastor was going to hold out to the last minute, but he lost his nerve two hours ago. Released his hold over the people in Freedom, then speed-walked out of his zone before they came all the way to their senses. Submitted to arrest and let them slap the cuffs on. The PRT has people checking his victims out. I can handle the other two pretty easily."

"Oh." Charlotte took one more step, then found the top of the fire escape. "Okay, I'm heading down now."

There was no answer; she glanced back again, and saw nobody on the rooftop.

Well, shit. I'm definitely on my own now.

By the time she got to the bottom, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she picked her way across the cleared ground toward where the PRT vehicles were clustered around what she figured was the main entrance to the Gallup quarantine zone.

Atropos, she figured, didn't run. She was always right where she needed to be, at the correct time. So she moved forward at a steady, deliberate pace. No rush, no fluster.

Twice she encountered troopers moving around in a steady, purposeful manner. Each time, when they saw her, she gave them a nod of respect and kept going. The troopers just stood and watched her go by. Nobody tried to stop her.

When she got closer to where the lights were, she saw it was a temporary stage set up between two PRT vans. They looked like they had a good view of the main entrance, and there were cameras trained on the men up on the stage. One looked like a politician, and the other was a PRT officer in full armour, but holding his helmet under his arm. As far as she could tell, they were conducting a TV interview while they were waiting for Atropos.

Or, you know, her representative.

Palming her phone out of her pocket, she checked the time then dropped it back in. She had thirty seconds to be in place, so she moved forward. There were troopers guarding the steps leading up to the stage, and one stepped in her way. "I can't let you … uhh …" He hesitated when he saw who she was pretending to be.

"Coming through, trooper." She tried to sound uncompromising, the way Atropos would be in this situation.

"Uh, yes, ma'am." He stepped back out of the way.

"Thank you." She climbed the steps onto the stage, trying not to let her knees shake.

Lights bathed her. Both the politician and the PRT officer turned to see who had intruded, and fell silent. Ahead of her, on the other side of the barricades, massive floodlights illuminated the capes inside the Gallup quarantine zone. They'd taken over a seven square mile area south of I-40 and turned it into their own personal fiefdom, but now she got the impression they were a lot less sure about their position.

Ignoring the two men, she stepped up to the microphone. The script that she'd read and re-read compulsively came back to her. Switch microphone to public address. There was a switch with a setting marked PA, so she clicked it that way.

Let them sweat for a moment. She could do that.

When you talk, do it slowly and steadily. Don't rush. Don't try to be menacing. You're explaining the facts of life to them. To you, it's no big deal.

"About twenty-four hours ago, you were warned that I was coming here," she said. "You were given the choice to either evacuate, surrender or die."

Her words rolled out over the quarantine zone. Not a voice raised in protest. Even the night insects were quiet.

"The way I see it, right now you're being given the option to surrender or die. No way to just leave. Well, let's fix that." She turned to the PRT officer. "Have your men stand down. Open a corridor through the PRT lines. If any of them want to leave, let them."

"I can't do that!" he protested. "Those are dangerous villains! I …"

Don't argue. Don't push back. Just look at him.

"I … um … very well." He took a radio and spoke into it, giving orders.

"This can't be what the Chief Director wanted," the politician said, sounding worried.

Be matter of fact. "She asked me to clear the zone. Didn't specify how. This is the most efficient way."

That's the carrot. Now the stick. She turned back to the microphone. "As you can see, a way is being cleared for you to just leave, but there is a catch! As of right now, you are all on your second warnings. Submit to arrest, and you're fine. You may choose to leave, but if you deliberately commit even one felony from this moment on, I will know about it, I will know who you are, and I will murder you in a gruesome yet ironically amusing fashion. Same goes for if you choose to stay inside the zone."

Pause to let that sink in.

"So, if you think you can manage to go straight, feel free to head for the tall timber. Otherwise, I'd suggest you come and have a heart-to-heart with these friendly PRT troopers here instead. I'm sure they've got some nice comfortable jail cells all warmed up for you."

As she stepped back from the microphone, she could see the look of comprehension on the PRT officer's face. Some would almost certainly choose to walk, but the vast majority would peacefully surrender to the troopers amassed for the occasion. "Go ahead and open the gates."

Orders were given, and the gates rolled aside. The capes inside, few if any in recognisable costumes, started forward into the wide laneway that had been cleared for them, that led all the way out past the PRT troopers. Charlotte wondered which ones were going to make a run for it, and which would surrender.

The wave parted, going to the left and right. She saw men and women putting their hands up and approaching the PRT officers. Others, seeing the way the trend was going, did the same.

"God damn," the officer said, shaking his head. "I had no idea what you were doing, but … no, this works. This really works."

"Give my regards to the Chief Director." Charlotte took her shears out and performed the flourish she'd worked so hard at perfecting. "Toodles." Right on schedule, the portal opened before her, and she stepped into it.

As it closed behind her, she looked around to see her bedroom, the night-light glowing gently in the wall plug. The shears slid from her fingers and bounced off the floor. Staggering to the bed, she sat down heavily on the mattress. "Oh, my God. I did it." Slightly unhinged laughter bubbled up from her throat. "I did it. They really thought I was Atropos. Hoooooly shit."

Reaching up with shaking hands, she loosened the tie and pulled it off, then started on the rest of the costume. She had to take three stabs at it before she finally got it undone, then she got up and removed the whole thing. It felt like forever before she had it folded and stored away at the back of her closet, not helped by the occasional fit of near-hysterical giggles.

She took even longer to get to sleep.

I wonder how Atropos did with the other two zones …

Atropos

I'd always known that Gallup would be the 'safe' zone. All I had to do was get Charlotte there, have her say her lines, and teleport her home. Just the effect of 'my' presence, and the speech she gave, would promote the effect that I needed. Having the teleporter project its starting and ending points at some distance from the actual unit wasn't something I wanted to do very often, mainly because it took somewhat longer to allow even a short jump afterward, but there were factors involved that wouldn't allow me to pull it off in any other way.

Allowing my power to time my movements precisely to hers, so that anyone watching the footage side by side would have trouble determining who was in which location, I walked onto the raised platform that had been set up a little distance from the main entrance to the Gary quarantine zone. Director Hearthrow of the Chicago PRT was talking in low tones to the officer nominally in charge of the area, as well as a tall rangy PRT officer whom my power identified as James Tagg. They all turned to look at me as I showed up.

I knew damn well that the capes inside the Gary zone were watching to see what the hell was going on. All the troops on the outside were on high alert, full armour, heavily armed. If I went in there and started killing, there would be a concerted effort at a breakout, and PRT personnel would die.

I preferred my way. Better optics. Also, the only enemy I was going to face wasn't going to come from inside.

Stepping past the three men, I raised the bullhorn I'd had slung over my shoulder the whole time. My power mimicked Charlotte's tone of voice, as well as the exact words she was using, all the way down to the microsecond pauses. When the PRT ran them side by side (and they would), they wouldn't be able to tell the difference. "About twenty-four hours ago, you were warned that I was coming here …"

When I gave the order to open a lane, I directed it to the officer in charge. He glanced at Hearthrow, who looked like a deer frozen in the headlights, then at Tagg. Tagg nodded once, briefly. "Do it." Then he turned to me. "Interesting strategy. Did the Chief Director okay it?" The tone of his voice said quite clearly this isn't how I'd do it, but I'm willing to watch and learn.

"She asked me to clear the zone," I said. "Didn't specify how. This is the most efficient way." We both knew who 'she' was. I raised the bullhorn again. "As you can see, a way is being cleared for you to just leave …"

As I clarified, I saw the smile spread across his face. He'd gambled, and it had paid off. Those villains who didn't hand themselves into PRT custody would be my responsibility, and God have mercy on their souls. I knew this, because I could hear him explaining it to Hearthrow and the officer in a low tone while I spoke.

Stepping back, I gave the order for the gates to be opened. Many would've snuck out in the last twenty-four hours, and they'd be exempt from my two-strikes rule, but those who came out now knew damn well that they were living under my sufferance. The few who took the route to freedom would do their utmost to go straight, I knew that much.

It was almost time for the next act in this little play. I slung the bullhorn as I watched the capes emerge and make the decision whether to try for freedom or settle for incarceration. Time ticked down and I pulled out my shears. The flourish was apparently based on what I'd done now and again on camera, and it wasn't too bad; again, I performed it exactly in time with Charlotte.

"No!" The word rang out behind me, high-pitched with anger and the fact that it was coming from a child's throat. At the same time, two explosions knocked the few PRT troopers behind us sprawling.

I turned, concealing the fact that I'd just slipped a tiny tub of Riley's preparation out of my pocket and dosed the tip of the shears with it. Still idly twirling them, the tub back in my pocket, I took stock of the three kids who'd just shown up. "Oh, hey," I said. "Shouldn't you three be in bed? School night and all."

"Fuck school and fuck you!" Bambina stomped the ground and kicked off with an explosion. She wasn't heading for me, but for Tagg, who'd started to pull a pistol. The explosion she created when she landed sent all three men sprawling; the pistol skittered across the ground.

"Careful," I said mildly. "You could hurt someone, doing that."

"Bambina and me aren't here to hurt you," Starlet said, tossing a few of her explosive darts, knocking more men over. "That's August Prince's job."

The kid in question, serious looking with a widow's peak, stalked toward me, carrying a mace. "You made Bambina look bad. So, I'm gonna make you look bad."

I sighed and addressed everyone who was capable of listening. "See, this is the problem with kid supervillains. Nobody wants to fight them, because if you win you've beaten up on a kid, and if you lose, you just lost to a kid. They get overconfident."

"Shut up!" yelled Bambina.

Starlet tossed a dart my way. It wasn't going to come close enough to do more than knock me sprawling, but I wasn't playing that game. Drawing my pistol, I shot it out of the air, causing a premature explosion that made her stagger backward.

"You want to know why I haven't given you any warnings yet?" I asked. August Prince swung the mace. I swayed out of the way. "Because you're no threat. I'm not going to kill you. I'm not even going to hurt you." He swung again; while he was still recovering, I got my phone out and took a selfie with him.

"Shut up and lose already!" Bambina had been bouncing around the perimeter, raising explosions, and now she came for me. She couldn't hit close enough to August Prince to harm him, but she wanted to ragdoll me into the air, so I'd be vulnerable when I came down.

I wasn't playing that game, either. When August Prince's next swing came past, I let my power take the reins and pluck the mace out of his hand. The same movement allowed my shears to open a shallow cut on his hand. Then I threw the mace hard at Bambina, catching her in the solar plexus; she went down in a coughing, gasping heap. "Well, much, anyway," I added.

Starlet went to throw another dart and I shot that one out of the air too, close enough to smash her to the ground with her own explosion. I took two long strides to get to Bambina, got a selfie with her, then sliced her hand with the shears while I was grabbing the mace. Behind me, August Prince pulled his pistol and aimed at my back, but I threw the mace without looking, clobbering him in the face.

Starlet was just struggling to her feet when I reached her. I kicked her legs out from under her, took a selfie, then nicked her hand with the shears. Then I put my phone away and picked her up by the front of her costume, dragging her over to where the other two were.

"Of course," I announced, "what I just said about not wanting to fight kids doesn't apply to me. I don't fight. I end fights. And powers." Raising a hand, I gestured to the PRT troopers, who were just now getting themselves back into order. "All yours, now."

My teleporter still had a few minutes to go before it would be ready to take me anywhere, so I sheathed my shears, put my hands in my pockets and pretended to chill while the PRT troopers took the three little shitheads into custody.

Bambina was the first to try to use her power to escape, and the shocked look on her face was worth the entire fight. "My powers! What've you done with my powers?"

"You attacked me while knowing I kill powers." I shrugged. "Sounds like consent to be depowered to me. What do you think, Tagg? Same?"

Dusting himself off and setting his cap on straight, he stepped up alongside me. I noted that his pistol was back in its holster. "I think these little delinquents deserve whatever punishment you chose to deal to them. When you get to the point where the opposition has thrown all civilised rules out the window, the only winning move can be to reply in kind."

"That's basically been my business model from the start, yeah. Though I'm curious as to what you think about the way I've been doing things. When you get too well known as the person who kills assholes really, really effectively, it's hard to get honest feedback."

He chuckled briefly, harshly. "I hear what you're saying. I got a lot of flak from the way I dealt with the Lausanne Simurgh victims. Still do, occasionally."

I shrugged briefly. "You gotta do what you gotta do. I killed one of Heartbreaker's kids before the man himself came to town and I was able to End his influence over them. The other one surrendered, so he got to live. They don't always surrender. That's a fact of life."

"I've studied your case." It wasn't an admission or even a confession, just a matter-of-fact statement. "You don't go after innocents, and you give the guilty a chance to not die."

"Not always." I wasn't feeling guilty about this, because why should I? However, I did want his input. "I didn't give Oni Lee a warning. And I didn't tell the Nine not to come to town. I just killed them when they did."

This time, his chuckle was warmer. "I don't know a single person who wouldn't have done exactly what you did with the Nine, if they had the capability. As for Oni Lee, I didn't have personal experience with him, but all the reports say he was a problematic individual. If you were going to kill anyone to make a point, he would be as good as any." He frowned. "Actually, I do have one question."

I knew what was coming, but I nodded anyway. "Shoot."

"You mentioned Heartbreaker's children. On the PHO boards, you said there were four of his children he was never getting back. From questioning the remaining members of his little clan, we got four names. Jean-Paul, cape name Hijack, who ended up in the Undersiders as Regent, then joined the Red Hands after he fled Brockton Bay. Nicholas, no cape name, who died when you cut his throat. Guillaume, also no cape name, who surrendered to the PRT at your behest. And Cherie, cape name Cherish, whom Guillaume last saw in your company. Would you be able to give me any idea of her whereabouts, or if she's even still alive?"

"She's alive and well, and not committing crimes," I told him truthfully but unhelpfully. "I've placed her with a good parental role model. I honestly don't think the PRT coming in right now would help her to any significant degree."

"And if she happens to want to see her siblings at some point?" He wasn't pressuring me, just testing the waters.

"She hasn't expressed that particular wish yet, but she'll tell me if she does. You'll notice that those kids didn't really like each other that much, mainly because their father used to set them against each other. I'm not going to force her to do something she doesn't want to do." I raised my head. "Time I moved along. I've still got Flint to deal with."

He nodded to acknowledge this. "Good luck. I doubt you'll get the capes there to cooperate like you did here."

"I know I won't. Toodles." With the teleporter finally on deck again, the portal formed and I stepped on through.

It was eleven minutes to the hour when I arrived. There was no lit-up stage, no politicians looking to get face time to scrounge a few more votes. Just PRT officers and troopers, all in armour. I saw a few tracked armoured vehicles that looked like they might have been borrowed from the local National Guard; unsurprising, because I also saw National Guard personnel nearby.

"Gentlemen," I announced, heading toward where the commanding officers of the various contingents were conversing among themselves. "I understand there's a hitch."

They turned toward me. Helmets were on but visors had been opened, so I saw their expressions. These ranged from worry to resignation. The local PRT commander stepped forward. "Yes. We've detected a number of overlapping teleport interdiction zones within the city. Once you get inside, you'll have to proceed on foot. At some point, you'll be inevitably dogpiled by their strongest capes."

I nodded. "I figured they'd try something like this. You get that many capes in one city, there's bound to be a few Tinkers among them." I unslung the bullhorn and put it on the ground; even if anyone examined it, all they'd get was that it had once been the property of the Dockworkers' Association. "May I borrow a rifle? Plus a spare magazine, if that's not too much trouble."

They looked at me incredulously, but the National Guard commander turned and gestured. One of his men double-timed over, and handed me an assault rifle. The extra magazine, I slipped into a pocket. I nodded to the soldier, and he stepped back out of the way.

As I was checking the rifle over, the PRT commander spoke up. "I have to ask. What do you think you can do with a rifle and sixty rounds, plus whatever else you're carrying? There are literally thousands of capes in there."

"At least a dozen of which are listening in on us right now." Not counting the three who were trying to read my mind and getting nosebleeds for their trouble, but I didn't bother mentioning that part. "I've got nine and a half minutes. I'm just going to End the problem with the best weapon at hand. Me."

Raising my hand, I snapped my fingers. The teleporter jumped me to the nearest observation post on top of the wall; I ignored the guard's startled response, and raised the rifle. I wasn't aiming at any of the capes that were massing here and there, but at a tiny emitter, several hundred yards away. I fired; the antenna was severed, and one of the interdiction fields went down. Half a second later, the teleporter jumped me a hundred yards into Flint.

23:51:03

I appeared right behind a cape who appeared to have been watching my part of the wall with binoculars. Before he could react, I stabbed him with the shears. If he'd been a normal trigger, the remainder of the paste on the blades would've reverted him, but things didn't work that way in Flint. But that was okay; the shears went right through his neck and out the other side, and I sliced his windpipe and jugular on the way out.

Flicking the blood off the blades, I sprinted for the other end of the roof, just ahead of a crackle of green lightning that hit the unfortunate sentry and fried his section of rooftop. He was as good as dead anyway; this just sped things up a little. The green lightning guy realised I was out of his kill-zone at the same time as another one who apparently had a laser Blaster ability.

A huge trench was carved in the roof as they both swung their attacks toward me. I drew my pistol and fired once, killing the laser guy. He dropped out of the sky, spoiling the lightning thrower's aim for just long enough. As he reacquired his aim, the PRT sentry I'd appeared beside figured out what was going on, and hammered three shots into him, taking him out of the picture. I would've shot him myself, but his lightning aura made him almost impervious to low-calibre bullets, and I needed all the rifle ammo that I had.

As I reached the end of the roof, I leaped outward, as though I'd be able to cross the twenty yards of distance to the next building in a single jump. Instead, at about the same time as my arc started curving downward (and well after I passed into the next teleport interdiction field) I fired the rifle three times, knocking out the emitters as they came into view. The teleporter kicked in, bypassing two rooftops and dropping me into an alleyway between two buildings.

23:51:14

There were Thinkers in the horde of capes that were targeting me that could detect me by my exhaled breath and the rustle of cloth on my back. A few were trying to detect my power use and my power stopped those dead, but I couldn't go undetected by all. While the next emitters would be a bit harder to reach, I was getting closer.

I used up half the magazine in my pistol as I came out of the alleyway; not on the capes with offensive powers, but on the ones who were hanging back, vectoring their buddies in on my location. They fell, blood and brains spraying over the ruined asphalt, and I kept running … straight for the combat capes. Each wore a tiny pouch on a chain or a thong around his or her neck. They hesitated for a vital half-second, then unleashed their powers at me.

At where I'd been, rather. I went down in a roll, under a torrent of flame and a buzzsaw of sparking metal shards, then came up between them, grabbing their gruesome power-granting talismans and yanking them free. Holding them in the air, I flourished them while I kept going straight ahead. Behind me, I heard the ones I'd taken the power-granting fragments away from screaming at the others not to shoot, they might hit the bits. That was about the time the fight broke out.

The whole problem with Flint had started when someone triggered with the ability to bestow powers to anyone just by staying in their vicinity for a while. His second biggest mistake was to form a gang, bestowing powers on his underlings. The biggest mistake? Turning his back on one of his lieutenants, who'd decided that they wanted to be in charge, so they took him down and started cutting him open to see what made him tick.

As it turned out, with appropriate Tinker tech to keep him alive, all the parts they carved off him contained his power. Between willing volunteers (who were given bits and pieces) and forced inductees (who were made to eat small pieces) a large percentage of the population of Flint became capes, all part of the original gang. This didn't last long, as several of the underlings decided to split off on their own, and they couldn't be depowered except by force. By the time the Chief Director called me in on it, the quarantine zone contained several gangs, usually vicious rivals, but for me … they'd make an exception.

I tossed the pieces aside as I entered the alley across the street, and started up the closest fire escape. My self-appointed timer was ticking down, and I needed to be on the roof before the next flier came over. The closer I got to the original power granter, the more emitters there would be, and the harder it would be to target them. My only real advantages were that I'd gotten past their initial perimeter, and that they didn't have many capes left who could track my location.

Coming out on the rooftop, I immediately started scrambling up the water tower. Fliers were inbound, but while they knew I was in the vicinity, they weren't certain where. They'd know in a few seconds, but that was okay. Going loud was an unavoidable part of this particular mission.

When I reached the top, I unslung the rifle and started firing. The last time, I'd dealt with three emitters. Now I had fifteen more in my sights, some more than two miles away. I fired as fast as I could, working with the cyclic rate of the assault rifle, killing the overlapping fields. When the last one fell, a great arc of the interdiction field was gone, except for the middle.

Where my target was.

I teleported forward again, vanishing as a chunk of what looked like lava-coated granite homed in on me from the side. A hundred yards behind me, the water tower detonated.

23:53:17

I appeared on a highway overpass. Chunks had been blown out of the side of it, possibly from a turf battle. Keeping low, I moved on, not wanting to waste more ammunition than I had to. The building I was aiming at was still more than a mile away, and I could only teleport every ten seconds.

The timer ticked over.

23:53:27

I was immediately closer, running through what appeared to be an overgrown park.

23:53:37

Moving through an abandoned industrial facility. No angle to snipe any more emitters.

23:53:47

23:53:57

23:54:08

23:54:18

The locations began to blur together. I was fit, but my breath was rasping in my lungs. When I caught glimpses of my target, it didn't look any closer than before. Sometimes it felt like I was running forever through darkness.

23:56:50

I figured it had been twenty jumps from the overpass that put me in front of the building. Several storeys high, with at least one emitter right in the middle of the roof, protected by screens. The only way in was through the front door. Right where all the guards were.

Well, this was going to get tedious. Fortunately, most of the capes were more than a mile away, looking for me where I'd been before I slipped away. So I only had the ones in front of me to worry about.

Yay.

The four clustered around the front entrance alerted as I started across the street, but I didn't give them the chance to raise the alarm; my pistol, silenced as it was, only startled night birds. Nobody inside the building would've heard.

This was going to change. I only had five left in the pistol. There were forty-one left for the rifle, but I was going to need every last one of those. Especially the very last one.

I pushed the door in, and started up the stairs, moving as quietly as I knew how. When I got to the second floor, I knew there were some coming down, and that I could get three of them, but the fourth would get away. Or I could take out all four, but take a hit that might slow me down later.

My preference was to stay in top fighting form for as long as possible. No sense in letting the assholes nickel-and-dime me down. So I whipped around the corner and eyesocketed three, then nailed the last one through the kneecap as he flailed back through the doorway. He was a flier, so I wouldn't be able to catch him that way, but with any luck it would slow him down.

23:58:01

The time for quiet was over; if the alarm hadn't been raised yet, it was just a matter of seconds. Ignoring the need for silence and my own aching leg muscles, I sprinted up the stairs. I was almost to the correct floor when the first wave of defenders arrived in earnest.

They were speedsters, but not in the way Velocity was. He had a Breaker state where everything slowed down for him, but he could barely affect the physical world until he slowed down again. Great for getting across town, terrible for punching bad guys fifty times a second.

These guys had Brute-scale leg-muscles, all fast-twitch. They did explosive bursts of speed, but only in a straight line. And they were all the same. Every single one. Facial features, the lot.

I heard them coming, got into the right position, and fired my pistol at the correct instant. It took out the left leg of the first guy coming down the stairs as he blurred into sight, and he tumbled. His buddies didn't have time to adjust to the brand-new obstacle, and they all went down in a welter of limbs and high-frequency cursing that would've had the local bat population blushing. I holstered my pistol and kept going.

As I came up the next flight of stairs, I saw the speedster guy on the landing; like Spree had done once upon a time, he was popping out duplicates. But the duplication wasn't his power; I knew that implicitly. That was someone else, forcing him to duplicate. I didn't care either way. One bullet from the rifle dealt with the original speedster, plus the ones that had been coming up from behind me.

23:58:46

But there were more capes up there than the speedster. The next wave to come down were heavy, bulky, grey-skinned, and all identical as fuck. The duplicator was at it again.

Their skins were bulletproof, but their eyes and mouths weren't. I fired the rifle as fast as I could, advancing up the stairs. The grey guys—slow moving but once they got hold of me, I would not be breaking free—went down in waves, but more kept coming. I reached the end of the magazine, slapped in a new one, and kept firing. The rifle was killing them faster than they were coming at me, but I had a limited supply of bullets and if I couldn't get to the duplicator, they had an unlimited supply of assholes.

Thirty-nine more grey guys bit the big one before I stopped firing. There was one in the chamber, but I was reserving that for when I needed it. More were coming at me, slow, reaching, shoulder to shoulder. Whipping off my long-coat, I threw it in the faces of the closest one, then leaped and kicked off from the stair rail to land on his head. If I couldn't go through them, I'd go over them.

It was like running up a down escalator; I was able to evade the grabby hands, but they were now flooding down the stairs, and every step I made onto a bald grey head only got me a half or a quarter step forward. But I was nearly there. Almost to the doorway.

23:59:55

Then the grey men stopped, and two big guys blocked the doorway almost totally, from side to side. They were so big that they couldn't both have fitted down the stairwell at the same time. And, of course, they were identical to each other.

But I'd seen my prize. The tank in which the brain of the cape power plague originator floated, kept alive and (if my power was correct) aware of everything that was happening to every last part of him by a complicated Tinkertech device. The tank, of course, was bulletproof. But it had a lid.

I brought the rifle up, even as one of the big guys pushed through the doorway, crunching aside part of the wall as he came. It lined up with my target and I fired. He grabbed the barrel an instant later, crushing it with dismaying ease. I'd hoped to give it back in better order than that.

As other hands grabbed me, I pulled my shears and flung them through the tiny gap left in the doorway. Razor steel glinting silver, they arced across the room. The bullet had struck the edge of the lid, dislodging it before ricocheting off to strike the OFF button of the Tinkertech life support machine. My shears plunged through the gap thus created, spearing into the water and impaling the brain floating there. Punching straight through the corona pollentia.

Oh, and delivering a fatal wound at the same time. Because that was also my plan. But I wanted the powers dead now, before the Asshole Collective decided to rip my arms and legs off as a final fuck-you.

23:59:59

I knew the instant the plan had worked, because the hands holding me faded away as the duplicates vanished. I'd be bruised here and there in the morning, I knew; the grey-skinned guys had not been gentle in grabbing me. But it didn't matter.

Taking out my phone, I dialled a number as I strolled into the room. A whole bunch of ex-capes stared at me, but I wasn't after them. Pushing the cover all the way off the tank, I reached into the nutrient-laden water to retrieve my shears. They'd done their job. I'd told the assholes in Flint to 'cut that shit out', but it had taken the shears to actually do the cutting. Or rather, stabbing, but I wasn't going to split hairs.

The phone rang at the other end. "Hello? Atropos?"

"The same," I said cheerfully as I dried off my shears preparatory to sheathing them. "As you've probably guessed from the number of ex-fliers suddenly plummeting to the ground, the only cape left in Flint is me. You're welcome to come in and clean house."

"Ah. Right. We wondered. Um … thank you."

"You're welcome." I headed out the door again. That coat and I had been through a lot together, and I wasn't about to leave it behind. "Give the Chief Director my regards."

My coat was okay, though a bit scuffed here and there from being trampled. I shook it out and put it on, then headed downstairs and out of the building. The four capes I'd shot on the way in were still lying untidily on the pavement, but that wasn't my problem. I headed across the street to where the emitter no longer prevented teleportation, then dialled in the coordinates for home.

I really, really needed a shower and a bed, in that order.

The portal formed, and I stepped through it.

End of Part Seventy

[A/N: That's it for another two or three weeks. See you then.]