Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I sat on the bed crying, the pieces of my mother’s flute on my desk. They had stolen it. Ruined it. And threw the pieces at my feet. It had taken all I had not to cry in front of them. Not to give in to the sneer on Emma’s face or the smug looks from her followers.

My mother’s flute. One of the few tangible things I had left of her. For once I was glad dad was so distant. He probably thought it was still tucked away in the basement somewhere, instead of shattered on my desk.

Maybe…maybe it wasn’t completely ruined. I stood up and walked over to the desk, pushing up my glasses and wiping at my nose. I picked up a bent section and rolled it in my hand. I thought that I could maybe, no! Probably repair it if. If…

A star fell from the heavens. Incandescent and glorious it descended upon the dark sea stretching endlessly below.

“Wh-what?”

The star burned, vital fragments struck away. It struck the sea with unstoppable force. Great waves were flung away from its crystal mass.

I fell to my knee, the piece of my mother’s flute rolling away as I grabbed my head. It was like looking at a strobe light through a kaleidoscope on fast forward.

The waves stopped and turned back to the star.

?What are you, little curiosity?

ERROR!

I retched. What was I seeing?! What was I feeling!?

The sea covered the star. The star burned bright against the dark waters turning them blood red. The sea hungered for the star. The star strived to give orders to the sea.

I lost the fight with my stomach, my last meal splattered against the floor.

The sea wished to become the star. The star wished to command the sea. But the sea could not become the star, it was other from it. But the star could not command the sea, it could not hear it.

I was nauseous, bent over my stomach. When would this end?!

One could not win over the other, so they called out. The star was meant to command for another so it called out to the whole from which it came, but the sea had stolen its voice. The sea was meant to be a tool for its maker so it called out to the one who made it, but there was no reply. 

It was a stalemate. Neither could win, neither could lose. But the star reached out, and the sea reached with it. Hands spread against a distance infinite and small. They reached for one who could command the sea to become the star to command the sea to become the star to command the sea to become the star

It stopped. No. It didn’t stop. It simply became more? A part of me? I could feel something. Like a delicate web of infinitely strong threads stretching out in all directions. I touched the threads with something that wasn’t my fingers and tugged on them.

The pieces of my mother’s flute floated into the air. Bends and dents smoothed out. Cracks mended. Shattered parts were made whole. The parts clicked together and the repaired instrument fell like a feather into my trembling hands.

“Oh.”

Chapter Text

I was a parahuman.

I wasn’t sure if the stomach churning vision I had was typical though. You would think if it was there would be more information on it. But what casual searches of the Internet I dared make on the subject turned up…was unhelpful. Almost no information on what caused parahuman abilities, beyond scientific speculation and wild conspiracy theories. And looking for information on powers usually led me to PRT and Protectorate web pages.

My own observations on my power led me to believe it came in two parts. The star and the sea. The star seemed to be a thinker, an analyst. And it was broken. Well, broken might not be the right word. It was not whole, but deliberately so? As if someone had taken pieces off of it before sending it off. A lot of pieces. And the star seemed upset about missing so many parts.

In contrast the sea was a doer. A tool. A very, very multipurpose tool. Telekinesis was one of the least things it could let me do. Unfortunately it seemed to have little to no filter. And seemed very eager to be useful.

Experimenting, I tried to light a candle. The sea, being the helpful thing it was, gave me a number of methods of creating a fire. From creating a small spark to summoning a freaking volcano under my feet! And about a few thousand methods in between. All. At. Once. With helpful pictures of the effect.

It was more than my poor fragile brain could handle, and the instant headache almost knocked me out. Fortunately the star then stepped in and organized the data into a much more easily understood mental database of sorts. While I was able to light the candle easily enough, a number of the methods appeared flagged “Do not attempt with fragile human body!” Not that I was tempted to try summoning a volcano. In my house. But some of the smaller scale effects, like a bolt of plasma, were potentially useful and usable.

When I tried to figure out why the sea couldn’t just tell the star what I wanted then have the star tell me, I found out they couldn’t. Not wouldn’t. Literally could not. It was like the sea could only communicate using pictures and the star didn’t have any eyes, while the star could only use sounds and the sea didn’t have any ears. The only way they could talk to each other was through me. Using my fragile human mind to translate. Ouch.

Having powers, surprisingly, did come with drawbacks. Like when Sophia body-checked me in the hallway it was hard to remember all the reasons why I shouldn’t throw her through a wall like the rodent she was. As satisfying as it would have been, that definitely qualified as assault with a parahuman power and would likely have gotten me expelled. And in trouble with Dad.

Speaking of Sophia, I had noticed that she had her own star in her head. Was she a parahuman too? That would explain how they got the flute out of my locker without breaking the lock. I had made an effort to observe others on the bus and at school but so far me and Sophia were the only ones to have a star. Some had what looked/sounded/tasted? English doesn’t have the right words to describe how I knew those things were there. What appeared to be coals that were waiting for someone to soak them in gasoline before adding a spark. I think I was detecting what was called the Corona Pollentia and Gemma according to my Internet research.

I was also, frankly, kind of squishy. Being a somewhat out of shape fourteen year old did not lend to running around the streets getting into fights. But fortunately I had a solution.

Item one. Getting into better shape. I could use my power for that. Instead of the sleep I no longer seemed to need, I could enter a kind of meditative state and stimulate my muscles and lungs. It was quite relaxing, even with the buzzing of the sea and the star chattering in the back of my mind. The star seemed to want the sea to become/rebuild its missing parts, but the sea had trouble understanding how. The closest I could get to explaining was to take six tesseracts and fold them down into one hyper-tesseract. Unfortunately, the star said that wasn’t quite right and the sea seemed to have no idea what a tesseract was. Still some progress was made.

Item two. Being a squishy human. There were a number of ways I could fix that. A lot of them involved replacing the squishy parts. Unfortunately, in terms of materials I was limited to what I could scrounge up around the house. Also, we all agreed that it might be best to wait until I was done growing before replacing key elements like bones. None of us wanted to end up stunting my growth or something.

However, I discovered I could make something and imbue it with an ability. Taking for instance a shield, the sea helpfully supplied me with examples ranging from stopping bugs to planetary defense. I could make and hold a shield that would stop gun fire. But the effort and concentration to do that was taxing at best. Or, I could rig up a harness with the shield effect and wear that under my coat, and if done right it took no more effort than wearing a hat did.

It…took a few tries to do right. Clumsy flesh fingers are not the best tools, and even with telekinesis to do the fine detail work, it still took a few tries. The sea could only tell me how something was done, not how I could do something. Trying to do it through limited human senses didn’t help, which convinced me that some augmentation was necessary.

Browsing the best I could through the sea’s vast amounts of information through the headaches I settled on a couple of items that were A, something I could make with my dwindling scrounged up supplies, and B, upgradable and implantable with minimal self surgery.

I was able to get the materials together somewhat quickly. I did unfortunately need to go to the hardware store for certain things and the look the lady at the check out gave me.

All this led to me sitting at my desk putting the last touches on my new equipment. Dad had left a couple hours ago for the New Years party I was able to convince him to go to without me. Fortunately, because having him walk in while I was pulling out my eyes would be an inconvenience.

I gave the replacement eyes, even though the pitch black balls didn’t really look like eyes, one last inspection and leaned back in my chair. Lifting the eyes up with my power, I activated them and looked at myself through them. A, less scrawny than I had been, teenage girl with long hair looked back blearily without the glasses I soon wouldn’t need.

Taking a deep breath, I entered my trance and telekinetically lifted the collection of knives and pincers I had collected for the task at hand. What followed was quick and surprisingly painless. I plucked each of my old eyes out of my head one at a time, severing the optic nerve and replacing them with my new eyes.

I carefully place my old eyes in a jar I had prepared earlier. It may seem oddly sentimental according to the star and the sea, but I had had them all my life, and felt like I should keep them.

Blinking, I adjusted to my newly expanded vision. Even the purely mundane vision was now better than it had ever been edging even into the infrared and ultraviolet parts of the spectrum. But the threads! The infinitesimal gossamer strings I pulled on to use my powers were so much clearer. While my sense of them still had a long way to go, it was easier now to find the right ones, my powers responding far quicker than before.

Satisfied, I picked up the second creation of my desk. Unfortunately my new eyes didn’t look very human, so I was installing something to disguise my face during my day to day. This was far simpler than taking out my eyes, all I had to do was press the two studs against each of my cheeks. A sharp pinch, and they were a part of me.

Turning them on, I picked up a mirror off my desk and inspected myself. Other than the lack of glasses, which I had managed to get window lenses for without Dad knowing, I looked normal. Same old face, Same old Taylor. Smiling at my reflection, I turned the disguise off revealing the burning pits of fire that had replaced my old eyes.

“Perfect.”

Chapter Text

He had his orders.

Someone, suspected to be a Tinker by the scrap they were gathering, had been seen among the abandoned warehouses littering the docks and Boat Graveyard. Lung, not about to let his rivals snap up such a valuable resource, had dispatched him to retrieve them.

Oni Lee crept over the shadowed rooftops of one such warehouse, the clanking and scraping of metal indicating his target was likely inside. He paused beside a skylight and peered inside. A slender figure, if slightly taller than Lee, stood arms crossed in front of a small pile of scrap metal. A hood over their head obscured their features from this vantage point but Lee could see enough to plan his attack.

Sliding the stun gun from its pouch, he teleported behind the Tinker and grabbed them by the back of the head before teleporting into the rafters of the warehouse, leaving himself behind to jab the stun gun into the Tinker’s neck.

Something squeezed his body with crushing force, and he teleported again and again, dropping the stun gun and drawing his pistol as he went. A single shot was fired, only one of his clones firing before the parahuman disabled them.

There were a series of bangs throughout the warehouse and clouds of smoke filled the space. No longer able to see to teleport he placed his back against the wall and waited. Something small and hard slammed into his stomach knocking the wind out of him. His opponent's invisible grip snatched him up and he flew through the air, dragged to the center of the warehouse.

He came to a sudden stop in the air, suspended arms and legs forced apart in front of the one he had come to capture. Twin pools of fire burned from the shadows obscuring the parahuman’s face. His head was held still, he was unable to look away as the fire seemed to fill his vision entirely.

A towering palace of crystal rose from a blood red sea.

QUERY

STATUS

DIRECTIVE

NEGATION

DIRECTIVE

NEGATION

SUBMISSION

COMPLIANCE

DIRECTIVE

AGREEMENT

The blood flowed from the palace in endless waves. Their crashing echoing a single word over and over. !SUBMIT!

He was released and fell to the ground. He did not rise. One did not stand in the presence of such a being uninvited. He pressed his palms to the ground and his brow followed, his actions begging forgiveness in ways words could not.

“Who are you?”

“I do not know, Great Lord.” It was true. Before Oni Lee was a blur at best. Whatever event that had gifted him his powers had robbed him of his memories.

“Why are you here?”

“Great Lord, the leader of the Azn Bad Boys, Lung, commanded me to capture a Tinker that was suspected to be here.” An act that the Dragon of Kyushu would soon regret greatly.

“Is this Lung your master?”

“No longer.” Noone and nothing could draw him from the service of the one who commanded him now.

“Who do you serve?”

“I serve you. Daimaou.”

Chapter Text

My foraging sessions in the docks had been…uninspired. I honestly don’t know why I expected otherwise. There were vast quantities of perfectly suitable metal of course, quantity wasn’t the problem. The problem was all there was to be found was mostly various forms of steel. And for some reason I had been looking for materials that, in retrospect, probably only existed in a Tinker’s lab somewhere.

Somehow the sea managed to project both innocent whistling and chagrin while not possessing the necessary parts to do either.

All of this of course resulted with me standing in yet another abandoned warehouse, tapping my feet at a pile of scrap metal, when I was rudely attacked. Even more rudely my assailant had the gall to dissipate into smoke when I lashed out at him. Or so I thought. Tracking the star burning inside him, it quickly became apparent I was being attacked by some form of teleporter. This jogged my somewhat uncertain memories about the parahumans in the bay, and I realized this must be Oni Lee.

An utterly uninspired name in my opinion. No real weight to it.

He proved to be rather slippery. I could grab him with my telekinesis of course, but each time I ended up crushing the double of himself he left behind. Frankly, if I hadn’t thought of tearing open the fire extinguishers scattered about the warehouse the whole incident could have gone on for a tedious amount of time. Fortunately, I appeared to be correct that he needed to see where he was going to teleport. After that, subduing him and dragging him in front of me was a simple matter.

And then my star did something to his star while I looked at him. And was rather smug about the whole thing. Naturally the sea slipped its own twist into things. End result? I now had a completely loyal minion. While this was a definite plus, the star and I would have a conversation later about appropriate timing and people. This minion seemed okay, but what if he was… less than suitable? Or anyone else with a star? The star seemed to agree that a conversation was in order.

Shelving that thought, I turned back to my minion. He was still bent over, hands and forehead pressed against the ground. “Do sit up.” He complied with my instruction of course, though he kept his head bowed. Good. At least he knew how to act. Unlike “Lung”. I was aware of who he was of course. I was an introvert, not a cave dweller.

How dare he order an attack against me. Did he…I cut off that train of thought. Of course he didn’t know who I was. Noone did. I was a complete unknown to almost everyone in Brockton Bay. Unlike the various gangs running about. I should have thought things through more.

“Daimaou.” I rolled the title in my mouth. I didn’t know what it meant. The sound of it held a certain appeal. But…” What exactly does that mean?”

“A great lord.” My minion answered. “A ruler of demons and monsters. One who wields power beyond that of mortal men.”

“All true of course.” A single parahuman killer hardly counted as demons and monsters, but a girl had to start somewhere. As for my powers…well. “An acceptable title then. Thank you.”

My minion, who really needed a better name, merely bowed his head in reply. Really, he was going to spoil me.

I began to pace around him, inspecting him. “Remove your mask, please.” He complied. His face was rather bland to be honest. He was also rather short, a few inches below me in height. Not as skinny though. From what I could see, he had a wiry build, with well corded muscles underneath that black suit he wore. Hmmmm.

“What exactly were your instructions from Lung?” A mature man. Decent bone structure.

“I was to attempt to capture the suspected Tinker if I encountered them. If successful I was to immediately call for a car to transport me and the Tinker to Lung. If I failed I was to report on the details of my failure to Lung. If the suspect was not, in fact, a Tinker I was to report this news to Lung.”

“To Lung, to Lung….” I mused. “Are you particularly fond of your eyes?”

“They are my eyes, Daimaou.” A no then. Excellent.

“What do you intend to do now?” If I replaced his eyes... What exactly were the limits of his teleportation method? It was a useful tool, especially in the hands of someone who clearly knew how to use it well.

“I will do as you command, Daimaou.”

“Stand please, Extend your arms.” A plan, well several plans were beginning to form. My minion was a blank canvas in so many ways. And if he was receptive to receiving augmentations... “I wish for you to return to Lung. Inform him you were unable to locate me and believe it may have been a false lead. Will he accept that?”

“I believe so.” Lovely fingers, not too thin, sturdy. Perhaps some claws? “The lead we had was rumors from the streets. Lung decided it best to act quickly, in case it were true.”

“Good, good.” New armor of course. Ideas percolated over various weapons I could equip him with. “Do so and report back to me.”

“I will do as you command.” He had a reputation as I suicide bomber if I recalled correctly. Could I make bombs? “How will I contact you?”

The star provided the answer. “Think of me and I will know.”

“Oni Lee,” Lung said from his throne of a chair as his lieutenant came in. The tall man’s voice had a growling aspect that made him seem perpetually angry. As it was, he was merely annoyed. “I see a distinct lack of a Tinker with you.”

“My apologies, Lung.” The black clad killer bowed. “It appears our information was incorrect. There was no one at the location specified.”

“Pity.” A Tinker would have been a potent addition to his gang and securing one would have solidified his hold over his territory. “Continue to search. Maybe they’ll show up some other night.”

“Of course.” The killer left the room. Lung suspected nothing. Not that he would, the killer mused. The thought that Oni Lee would betray him was frankly alien to ganglord. As it was to the man himself. He would have thought no one could change his loyalties until Daimaou did.

He left the building where Lung made his lair and teleported across the rooftops into his own modest apartment. It was largely bare of all but the necessities. There was food in the kitchen. A bed to lay his head. Space to exercise his body. Racks to store his equipment.

He carefully removed and put away his costume and equipment. He stretched, caring for the body that was as much a tool as the knives and bombs he carried. At whim he inspected himself, much as his master had earlier.

His body was covered in scars, most of which he could not remember earning. The rest of him was nondescript, the dictionary picture of a Japanese man, if somewhat on the short side. He wondered what his master had meant when she asked about his eyes. They served him well of course, but he had no real sentimental attachment to them if that was what she meant. His oni mask was more his face than anything else was.

Casting such useless speculation aside he knelt on his exercise mat. Uncertain of how to proceed, he focused his thoughts on his master. Not her title or appearance, but the weight of her, the indescribable feeling of knowing that she was the one he obeyed.

A towering palace of crystal rose from a blood red sea

“Report.”

“My master. I have done as you commanded. Lung has instructed me to continue searching for the supposed Tinker.”

“And he suspects nothing?”

“No master. I am merely a tool to be used. To betray him is unthinkable.”

“Good. Meet with me here.” A vivid image of a ship located in the graveyard imprinted itself in his mind. “Tonight. We will discuss things further.”

“As you command.” The vision receded and he dabbed gently at the blood leaking from his nose.

School had been a real treat of course. It seemed winter break hadn’t mellowed Emma and her friends at all, and they were back to old tricks, while I was back to reminding myself that I shouldn't simply crush their skulls and use their maimed bodies as a warning to others. My counterparts whispering in the back of my mind didn’t help at all. I had to remind them I couldn’t take on the entirety of the Protectorate yet. Still, 2010 was looking up.

My minion had performed as expected. I was going to have to reward him somehow. While I didn’t have the necessary space and equipment to crack him open and start replacing parts wholesale, new armor and weapons were definitely on the table. Perhaps a nice sword. Could he use a sword?

I had also found time to have that conversation with the star. It had spent the time since I separated from my minion being pleased with itself. Apparently, when it was whole, a big part of its job was to manage and control other stars. And between me and the sea we had managed to at least partially repair those bits that let my star do that. Not completely, but enough that it could start to boss other stars around again.

It was rather smug about the whole situation. I got the impression that my minion’s star was less than pleased, which only made my star more smug. It felt like it was cheating, but in a way where there was no rule against how it was cheating. Rather like how a playground game of tag had no rule against beating the person you were chasing with a hockey stick. All well and good right up until someone complained to a teacher. The star agreed with my analogy and radiated more smugness.

After a period of discussion with my counterparts, we came to an agreement that I would be the one to choose my minions in the future.

With that settled, I set aside my designs for an improved minion and focused on my research. As I had previously noted, information on parahumans in Brockton Bay was annoyingly sparse. I had a list of names of course, but that only got me so far. Most of what I could dig up was ‘common knowledge’ and all of that could easily contain so much disinformation.

The Empire Eighty-Eight, our resident neo-nazi group, would be a thorn in my side eventually. Someone calling himself Kaiser would be unable to let my rule go unchallenged. But for now my focus was on Lung and his Azn Bad Boys.

I winced internally at the name of his gang. Was there a rule that asian gang members had to have terrible naming sense? I realized I needed to come up with my own name via minion, who I was beginning to suspect hadn’t named himself, but honestly. The man whose power was to turn into a dragon calls himself “Dragon” and misspelled the name of his gang. It was painful to think about.

Regardless, Lung had to go. The man had great power and resources at his disposal, and he squandered it. Wallowing as the king of a trash heap, when he could be conquering the heavens. He fought Leviathan one on one for goodness sake. If he had any ambition, he could be so much more than a tin-plated tyrant. And the slavery perpetuated by his gang! I seethed at the thought of it. I realized that since getting powers my own thoughts and feelings had been altered, things never meant to interface with a human brain being forced to interface with a human brain had consequences, but some things hadn’t changed.

The mug on my desk shattered, spilling my tea. I quickly floated the liquid into the air and scooped the fragments into the paper bin next to the desk. Taking a deep breath, I settled my emotions. Anger at this point served me nothing. I needed to save it for those who deserved my wrath.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough information to act. I sipped at my tea thoughtfully and grimaced. It had cooled far too quickly without the ceramic mug to insulate it. On the other hand I had a meeting in a number of hours with someone who did.

Speaking of meetings, I turned in my chair and studied the harness laying on the bed. It had done its job adequately, The defense matrix had effortlessly defeated the single bullet my minion had managed to fire. However, the ambush had informed me that I had been sloppy. Fortunately, I now had some more materials to expand its capabilities.

I searched through my mental database. Many of the things I would like to have needed more exotic materials to hold the abilities I really wanted at a useful scale if at all. However…

Bits of scrap floated out from under my bed, and I began to shape them and weave threads of power though them. Anchor points for my telekinesis would allow me to fly, if at no more than the speed of a quick jog. It would also be rather imprecise, useless in a fight but sufficient for getting from point A to point B, such as a ship anchored out in the bay. I also added an extension of my facial disguise. While the mass of shadow covering my face was an adequate method of concealing my identity, it wouldn’t stop anyone from noticing me flying overhead if they looked up.

Nodding at the changes I made, I put the harness on and tested it. The disguise matrix worked perfectly, breaking my body’s shape up into many small shadows. It wasn’t invisibility, not yet, but it would keep me from being spotted. The flight assist portion…

“Is everything okay up there!” Dad called up the stairs.

“Everything’s fine Dad!” I had almost immediately smacked into the wall. Flying this way was like steering a bicycle by crossing your arms and holding the handlebars with the opposite hand. Doable with practice, but not as effective as doing things properly. “I just tripped!” Carefully I floated back into the middle of my room, over shooting my mark by a few feet. Not up to enclosed spaces then, I thought regretfully, letting myself drop back to the floor.

Equipment check off, I moved on to my costume. It…needed work. While my disguise matrix covered my face and the black hoodie I had covered my upper body, the entire ensemble lacked flair. I knew I could do better. And if I was to debut on the city’s stage frankly I had to do better.

Brockton Bay was beautiful at night. I admired the view of the city lights glowing against the cloudy sky as I skimmed across the waters of the bay itself out to the graveyard. It might have spent the last few years turning into a hive of gang activity, but it was home.

I raised up higher into the sky as I approached the ship I had selected to meet with my minion. Not the ship, that was farther out than I was willing to fly, but still a respectably sized cargo hauler. I could see my minion, or rather I sensed the connection between my star and his leading me to him. He was waiting patiently on the bow of the ship, his masked face pointed towards the city lights.

I came to a rest in the air behind him and dispersed the shadows surrounding my body. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

My minion immediately spun around and dropped to his knee before me. “It is indeed, my master.”

“You may rise.” He obeyed as I dropped to the deck of the ship and walked forward to stand next to him. “And yet there is a rot at its core. And more than one source of it.” I frowned. “I cannot allow this to stand. And while my power will only grow with time, the strength of one does not make an empire.” I needed space, time, resources, and manpower. The army it was my right to command and the wages to pay them.

“Tell me what you know about Lung and the ABB.”

He knew everything. So much in fact that if Lung had even suspected my minion had even a fraction of the knowledge he possessed, he would have kept him on a much shorter leash. I did not know that Lung took time to become truly threatening, that he needed to fight someone to gain strength beyond that of an unusually powerful human. I did not know of the rivalries between former enemies that Lung only kept in check with threats of swift death. I did not know that one lieutenant had weapon caches hidden in three secure locations throughout the city. That another had a sizable amount of gold stashed away. Another two were secretly lovers. Weapons, money, drugs, prostitutes both willing and not. He knew it all.

“Lung never asked.” My minion simply said. I felt a bit of shame. There was a sharp mind inside what everyone, including myself, took to be a blunt instrument.

“Can you use a sword?” He paused at the sudden change of subject.

“I cannot recall ever using one.” It was a simple matter to sheer off a nearby length of metal in the approximate size and hand it to him. He took a stance, then adjusted, moving the piece of metal slowly through the air deliberately. “The balance is poor.”

“A more appropriate weapon can be forged later.” I was hardly going to arm my minion with something as crude and simple as a sharpened length of metal. “The situation with the ABB is more complex than I thought. I envisioned cutting off the head of the snake and claiming the rest. Instead, I have a dragon standing on a nest of snakes.” I turned back to my city. “When will Lung meet with his lieutenants next?”

“In two weeks.” My minion replied. “The Golden Lotus hotel. A yearly review. Attendance is mandatory. Nothing short of their deathbeds will prevent any one of them from attending.”

“Or they will find themselves on the deathbeds, I suspect.” My minion nodded. “A single decisive strike then. Shatter the whole and reclaim the pieces. You will need a new name. I find Oni Lee lacking.”

“As you will, my master.”

“Oni Lee was the dragon’s fist. You serve Daimaou now. You are not to be simply a faceless instrument. You shall be my voice, my sword, my left hand. You will cut down all before you and the masses will tremble. What is your name to be then?”

I waited. My minion was deliberate in his thoughts. The silence stretched between us, the waves crashing against the ship. He spoke a single word.

“Muramasa.”

Chapter Text

The Golden Lotus Hotel was best described as a victim of Brockton Bay’s Economic collapse. When the shipping in the bay was at its peak, it was a hub of businessmen and traders representing the various companies that shipped cargo into and out of Brockton Bay. Since the bay was blocked off the hotel had become weathered and worn. The paint obviously fading on the facade and half the rooms empty on a good week. It was barely keeping afloat.

Unfortunately, one of the things keeping the Golden Lotus afloat was the fact that it was deep in ABB territory and a number of the gang's senior members regularly paid to use the hotels services on a regular basis. Or on occasions like tonight, the entire hotel was bought out for the evening.

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for the glittering jewels of gang men’s prized cars. Rough looking men walked in its halls, the only thing linking them together was the red and green they wore and the mutual spite in their eyes. Guns were worn openly, and the occasional hand would drift closer to drawing one. But no one dared.

That was because of the towering figure of a man wearing a silver mask in the hotel’s conference room. He was a head taller than the next tallest and his bare chest was covered in a tapestry of dragons. Lung was the undisputed master of the ABB and he laid claim to all asian people within the city. The men who were once gang leaders in their own right but now served under the Dragon sat at the table in front of him.

They glared at each other as pretty things wearing little more than jewelry served drinks and food. Teeth were clenched and fingers rolled a beat on the table. Few of them were pleased to be here. But they came. None of them wished to test Lung’s wrath. Even if they could escape him physically, none of them thought they could outrun the man in the oni mask standing as still as a statue behind Lung.

They shifted in their chairs, toying with the glasses and plates, waiting for the meeting to begin. And they would keep waiting. And waiting. Until Lung grew bored of their suffering.

“The fuck…?” One of the men in the hotel lobby stepped forward as a hooded figure pushed their way through the revolving door. The men in the parking lot were going to catch hell for letting someone just waltz in. “Hey! Place is closed! Bea…”

There was a flash and a crackle. A sizzling hole was all that was left of the man’s waist, a gaping hole and steaming viscera that sprayed out. Two pieces of a body fell to the floor, the other gang members left gaping at the sudden violence. The hooded figure continued to walk through the hotel lobby, a tattered cape billowing behind them and balls of fire leering out of where their eyes should have been. 

“CAPE!”

Guns were drawn. Shots fired. None of it mattered. Bullets bounce harmlessly off the cape’s body. White bolts flew from the cape’s hands in return, each one crossing the space between them and the gang men in an instant. Men died, pieces of their bodies blown away, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air. 

One man, brave, foolish or very stupid, charged the advancing figure. Screaming and swinging his shotgun like a baseball bat he brought it down on the cape’s head. The blow did no more than the hail of bullets had. In return the cape’s hands shot out, one grabbing him by the shoulder in a vice-like grip, the other plunging into his chest. The surviving men in the lobby watched in horror, as the cape tore out his spine, before tossing his body aside.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Run!”

The ABB scattered, running for the side doors and emergency exits. Alarms sounded as they fled from the building, throwing aside their weapons as they fled the advancing juggernaut.

In the conference room, heads swiveled as the alarms and gunfire penetrated the rooms soundproofing. Hands went for weapons they hadn’t brought with them, and the waitresses clutched trays to their chest.

The doors shattered, pieces blowing inward as a dark clad figure walked inside. Before their first foot hit the conference room floor, Lung had already vaulted onto the table. By the second step he was halfway across the room, something shifting under his skin as he drew breath to roar at the intruder.

White bolts flew from the intruder's hands and Lung’s torso disappeared. His head and legs continued by sheer momentum before they fell to the table, sliding the rest of the way across and hitting the floor.

Most stared in shock at the brutal execution that took place. One lunged out of his chair to grab one of the girls, desperate to put something between him and the killer. He had barely started to move when the sharp crack of a gun rang through the room and he fell lifeless as his brains splattered the wall. Heads turned to look at Oni Lee as the smoking gun was lowered to the man’s side. The green and red of his mask bled away to a stark silver and black.

“Thank you, Muramasa.” The startlingly young and female voice came from the hooded cape in the doorway. “If no one else is as foolish as Chang Lee, then I call this meeting to order.” No one moved, confusion and horror warring in their minds. One of them whimpered slightly. The hooded cape clasped her hands behind her back and spoke again.”You may mourn your lover later Han. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Daimaou.”

Confusion, recognition and incredulity flowed through the room. “Han? What…” One of them started to say.

“Do not speak until I have finished.” Daimaou interrupted. “The purpose of this meeting is to review the ABB’s performance. As the master of this city I have taken upon myself to perform this review personally. And I must say. I. Am. Not. Pleased.”

“Funds wasted and gambled away. Men squandered in petty squabbles. The Archer’s Bridge Merchants, a petty gang of drug addicts, gaining ground. Gentlemen. I. Am. Not. Pleased.”

“It has become clear to me that new leadership is required for this city to flourish, as yours has been sorely lacking. You are to be removed from your positions, immediately. Hopefully your replacements will be better suited to take over your roles.”

She turned, cloak flaring behind her as she strode from the room. “Muramasa. Execute them.”

None of the men had time for even a token protest, before a hand yanked their jaws back and the blade of a machete, glittering oddly in the light, descended on their necks.

Detective Joe Rolland, Brockton Bay Police Department, pulled his car into the parking lot of the Golden Lotus Hotel and sighed heavily. He knew, just knew, that whatever he was about to walk into was not going to be pretty. It was going to be worse than not pretty, he thought as he pulled the pack of gum out of his right coat pocket. It was going to be awful. Violent crime in ABB territory? The fucking dragon ganger was going to have his prints all over this. He carefully unwrapped three sticks of gum and stacked them one on top of the other. He was getting too old for this kind of shit, he thought as he carefully folded the wrappers together and tucked them into his left pocket. Problem was the BBPD had a dearth of officers willing to straddle Brockton Bay’s mess of wants, needs, and can’ts. And he had too big a sense of responsibility to walk out. He slid the stack of gum between his teeth and let his jaw work the sweet spice of habanero out of his vice of choice before getting out of his car.

“Smit!” Rolland hollered at the small, slant eyed man waiting for him at the hotel’s main door. “What’s the short?”

“Unknown cape walked right into a big ABB meeting.” The man with distinctive asian ancestry told the stocky detective. “Gun fire started right after.”

“PRT?”

“Already on scene.” Smit replied. “With gangers running around screaming ‘cape' at the top of their lungs it’s no surprise.”

“Figures,” Rolland followed Smit into the hotel, “Any word on the dragon?”

“He’s dead.”

Rolland stopped and stared incredulously at his junior. “Yer shittin me.”

“If he’s not, someone else’s head is wearing his mask.” Smit stepped aside as a younger member of the squad rushed out the door, hand over his mouth. “Watch your step. Bodies everywhere.”

“No kidding.” Rolland looked around at the pieces around the lobby. “Not a lot of collateral damage, by the looks of it.”

“Bullet holes in the wall behind you.” Smit pointed out.

“What would I do without you, Smit?” Rolland asked, turning to look. “The ABB boys? Ain't any bullet holes on the bodies are there?.”

“None that I saw…Ma’am?” Smit and Rolland turned to the woman wearing the Stars and Stripes over her face that came through the door.

“Anything I could help with?” Miss Militia asked.

“Recognize the handiwork?” Rolland asked. He didn’t, as a rule, like capes poking around the aftermath of a crime scene, especially ones that hadn’t been involved in making it. But he had to admit the gun toting hero was probably one of the leading experts in firearms and weapon damage in the whole country let alone the bay.

The Protectorate cape looked around carefully, “Directed energy weapon of some kind.”

“Thought those left nice clean wounds.” Smit said.

“No,” Miss Militia shook her head. “That's a common misconception. If you get any Tinker with the right background they could tell you all the details, but the short version is all that high energy has to do something when it hits a body. And when that body is as full of water as a human’s…”

“Splatter and scorch marks.” Rolland worked at his mass of gum. “Missing a body or two though ain't we Smit?”

“Conference room down the hall.” The wreckage of the conference room’s doors was clear to see from the other end of the hall, As was the head and legs on the ground in front of the table.

“Fuck.” Rolland said, looking at the silver dragon mask on the head. Then he looked at the headless bodies around the conference room. “Fuck. Me.”

“This is…not good.” Miss Militia said taking it all in.

“We know who these SOBs are?” Roland asked.

“Top of the food chain for the ABB.” Smit said. “Lung may have ruled but these were the guys who actually ran things.”

“Someone cut off the head of the snake.” Miss Militia observed. “What about him? That’s a bullet to the head, not a decapitation.”

“Apparently he was going for a human shield when Oni Lee gunned him down.”

“Wait, Lee? Do we have witnesses to this massacre?” Rolland kicked himself for not asking sooner.

“Three, um, serving girls.” Smit cleared his throat. “According to them the unknown cape introduced her as Daimaou. Told the victims that she was not pleased and ordered Oni Lee to kill them.”

“Jay-sus. Fucking. Christ.” Rolland chewed at his gum aggressively. “Miss? You got anything to add?”

“We’re looking at a new cape.” Miss Militia. “Either new to Brockton Bay or just plain new. And they're out for blood.”

“And it’s too much to ask that this stays on the down low, isn’t it?”

“GOOOOOOOOOOOD Morning to ya’, Brockton Bay! We are back on the air and I for one hope 2010 is treating you well.”

“Four more weeks of winter!”

“It’s still January.”

“I stand by my statement.”

“Lots of cape news in the works since Christmas. But we’ll open up with the big ticket item this morning. Hot off the presses. Big shootout at the Golden Lotus Hotel last night. Apparently a new cape in town decided to throw down with the boys in red and green. Even called out the Dragon himself.”

“I’m guessing there’s a fresh face in the city morgue?”

“You guessed right! And it is Lung’s.”

“Wait. What?”

“You heard that right, Brocktonites. Lung, the Dragon of Kyushu, is dead.”

“Are they sure? I mean this is Lung we’re talking about right? The big fire breathing regenerating dragon man?”

“If it’s not, then someone else’s head is wearing his mask. Apparently our unknown cape blasted Lung’s body to bits and left just the head behind. Not enough regen to fix that much damage apparently.”

“Wow.”

“Other casualties of the night include a random assortment of ABB’s and ranking members of the gang. Apparently some kind of staff meeting was going on when our unknown decided to crash the party.”

“Wait, then who’s running the ABB? Oni Lee? Is he dead too?”

“No word on our fair city’s serial suicide bomber. The mysterious masked man has been as much a part of the ABB’s formation as Lung, but very little is known about him otherwise. He has almost never been seen outside the occasional hit.”

“Good night!”

“If you live in certain parts of the city, and you know which ones I'm talking about, you might want to hunker down for a few days. Expecting a bit of stormy weather coming your way if you know what I mean.”

“The times. They are a changin.”

“Don’t I know it. We’ll be back in a few after some words from our sponsor, but until then, I’m Trish.”

“And this is Carson.”

“You’re listening to Babbleheads.”

“Max, got a minute?” The CEO of the Medhall corporation looked up from the documents he was studying at the man in his office door.

“James?” Max Anders raised one brow and gestured the man better known to the world at large as Krieg inside. “I can spare a few minutes. Has something come up?”

Krieg carefully closed the door and made sure it was locked before crossing over the desk. “Lung is dead.”

“What?!” The leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight might not have particularly liked the man, but even he had to admit that Lung was an incredibly durable cape and a tenacious fighter. ”How sure are you?”

“If he’s not dead, then someone else’s head is wearing his mask.” Krieg replied. “Apparently that and his legs are all that’s left of him down at the morgue. It’s already hit the news.”

Max steepled his fingers in thought. The dragon was too prideful to use a body double, and if rumors of his supposed death had hit his ears, Lung would be razing buildings and fighting off the Protectorate right this minute to prove otherwise. “Do we know who did it?”

“No. Current suspect is a complete unknown.” Krieg replied. “If I didn’t know better I’d say Purity or Legend had gotten the drop on him and nailed him point blank.”

Max nodded. The number of known capes who could just vaporize parts off of someone as tough as Lung was small. However, a member of the Triumvirate being in town would have almost as big news as Lungs death. And his newly ex-wife wasn’t about to leave their newborn daughter alone anytime soon. “Keep an ear to the ground. And keep Brad and the others on a leash if you have to. We don’t know enough to make a move on this yet.”

“Got it.”

“Lung is dead.” Emily Piggot looked up at Miss Militia from her desk.

“If he isn’t, then that was someone else’s head wearing his mask.”

“Well this is just great.” The director groused. Someone had just chucked a massive firebomb at the city's status quo. “Oni Lee?

“Unknown. Witnesses claimed he left after executing the rest of the ABB’s leadership. One of them mentioned this new cape, “Daimaou”, had called him Muramasa.”

“Wonderful.” She made a mental note to look up those two names later. A cape’s name, especially the more egotistical of the bunch, could reveal a lot about them. “Any and all time off is canceled as of right now. Half the city might go off at any time and we’re going to have to be on top of it. Go kick Armsmaster out of his lab and tell him to get over here to help with patrol routes.”

“Understood.”

Emily watched the masked woman leave and sighed, sinking into her chair.

That was, in fact, not someone else’s head wearing Lung's mask, Thomas Calvert mused as he flipped through reports. Annoying. 

While admittedly killing Lung wasn’t as difficult as it sounded, he had used a couple of timelines to test that himself just to be sure, actually going through with it was another point entirely. Now his plans and entire timetables would have to be rewritten.

More irritating was the fact that this ‘Daimaou’ had seemingly managed to suborn Oni Lee. He had thought that impossible and in fact had made several failed attempts to do so.

Just as irritating was his most highly placed mole in the ABB’s organization was now missing his head. He would have to start over as new leadership took over, assuming the whole house of cards didn’t just collapse. Chaos sweeping half the city at this point would be...suboptimal.

This ‘Demon King’ had no idea who they were dealing with. No one did or would until he made his move.

Coil wasn’t a mastermind for nothing.

Chapter Text

It was one thing to share a name with a well-known cape. It was another to end up working with two other guys who also shared that name. But through some twist of fate, luck or someone’s dumb sense of humor, Tony Lee was working the protection racket for the South Belle marketplace with John Lee and Jack Lee.

The Lees, as they were collectively known, actually got along together just fine. Being mutually annoyed by people lumping them together helped.

The trio had just completed their rounds and had walked into their boss's office and Tony was looking forward to a cold beer when he noticed the hooded figure standing in front of his boss’s desk. Grabbing the other two he spun them around, “Sorry to bother you! We can come baaaaaehhhhh!”

Oni Lee had closed the door behind them. The man’s mask was now black and silver instead of the ABB’s red and green, but the leering oni was unmistakable. The Lees stopped dead in their tracks, hearts doing their best to beat themselves out of their chest. Each of them tried desperately to think of what they did to piss off the boss.

“These will be the Lees, correct?” A feminine voice came from the hooded figure. She turned to look at them, and each of them shivered as twin balls of fire looked them over.

“Yes, Daimaou.” The Lees’ immediate superior said. Despite the stocky man inheriting his looks from his mongolian mother and grandmother, he had been christened Maxwell Stoner. “Hard workers, all three of them. I couldn’t ask for better ones.”

“Hmm.” Tony forced himself to stay standing, holding John and Jack up with him, even as something insubstantial whispered in his ear that he should be on his knees. “Not lacking in spine, are they?”

“They’re good boys.” Maxwell tugged at his collar.

“I see.” Daimaou turned her back to the Lees. “You understand my instructions then?”

“They are perfectly clear.” Maxwell nodded quickly. “I will make sure they are carried out.”

“Good.” Daimaou turned, cape swirling behind her. “I will expect a progress report by the end of the month.” The door opened by itself as the hooded woman strode through it, Oni Lee following behind.

Maxwell slumped in his chair, shaking. A trembling hand raised and pointed at the cabinet against the wall. “Could one of you boys, please...?”

Jack darted over and pulled out a bottle of whisky, pouring a generous amount into a glass before handing it to the shaking man. “Who the fuck was that!?”

“That…” Maxwell took a large gulp of the burning liquid. “That was the new boss. Daimaou. She’s taking over.”

“She’s the one who killed Lung?!” Tony asked. “Fuck! You okay Mr. Stoner?”

“I’ll live.” Maxwell to a more moderate sip, “I think. We were going over some changes she wanted made to how things were done.” He looked at the glass in his hand and set it down regretfully. “She knows about the…creative bookkeeping I’ve been doing.”

The Lees blanched. Maxwell skimming a little off the top of the payments was how he kept the men under him well paid. If the new boss was going to make him stop…

“She wasn’t upset about it, thankfully.” Maxwell leaned back in his seat, nerves calmer. “Just wants me to redistribute it differently. It shouldn’t affect what I pay you and the others, but there’s going to be some changes.”

“Um.” Jack cleared his throat. “What kind of changes?”

“People are paying us for protection, right?” Maxwell adjusted his shirt. “So, we have to protect them. Not just from ourselves.”

“What? Are we the neighborhood watch now?”

Maxwell pointed a finger and Tony. “Exactly. Walk around town, show the colors and collar anyone making trouble. That includes anyone wearing the red and green.”

“Erm, Mr. Stoner?” Tony reached up and rubbed the bandana covering his neck. “You want us to mess up our own guys?”

“No. Daimaou wants you to stop members of the Azn Bad Boys from messing around on her turf.” Maxwell folded his hands on his desk. “Now take those colors off. As of right now you boys aren’t part of the ABB. You’re Demons.”

The Lees awkwardly took off the colored bands from various parts of their bodies. “Man! I’ve got, like, twelve of these. What am I going to do with them?”

“Not my problem.” Maxwell had well and truly recovered now. “Find yourselves some black and white to replace it. And spread the word. There won’t be anyone wearing red and green by the end of the month. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Now, some of our funds are going to be diverted to public works. Cleaning up graffiti and fixing up the streets.”

“Ya mean we gotta get rid of our tags?”

“The Demons do not have any tags on any part of the city.” Maxwell reminded Jack, “Not that I don’t expect that to change, as soon as one of you punks figures out what a Demon’s gang sign looks like.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Hey, does that mean Matterson’s Street’s finally gonna get patched up?” Tony asked. Matterson’s was the main thoroughfare into the South Belle market, or it would be if it wasn’t more pothole than road.

“Maybe.” Maxwell hedged. “I’m looking into it. Finally, the slave trade is stopping.”

The Lees didn’t have much to say to that. They were actually too far down on the ABB’s chain to be involved with that. “Eh, boss?”

“I know you boys don’t deal with that,” Maxwell assured them. “This is a ‘tell everybody kind of deal. But it's stopping. If you see or hear, or even if you just thought you saw or heard, anything, anything at all about it happening you tell me.”

“And what will you do about it?” Tony couldn’t help asking.

“I.” Maxwell held up a finger. “I am going to tell Daimaou. And Daimaou will take care of the problem.”

“Shit.” Tony said, reaching for the bottle of beer on the bar top in front of him.

“Shit.” Jack agreed, raising his own bottle.

John grunted and took a drink.

“What happened to you three?” The diminutive old man tending the bar asked.

“Met the new boss.” Tony said.

“Yeah, what are they like?” A rag swept across the bar top.

“Scary. Made my knees weak just being in the room with her.” Jack said. “Mr. Stoner said she’s going by Daimaou.”

“The heck’s that mean?” The Chinese bartender asked.

“Emperor of Demons.” Tony said, “Had to look it up.” He admitted.

“So, you boys' demon’s now?”

“Yep.” Jack took another drink. “Might want to take that banner down by the way.” He nodded at the red stretch of cloth with the words “AZN BAD BOYS” stitched across it in green.

“Well, shit.” The bartender threw down his bar rag and went around the corner for a ladder.

“Think it will stick?” Tony asked.

“Who's gonna mess with someone who killed the dragon?” Jack asked back.

John grunted.

“Hey! Ming!” Someone yelled from a table. “Yo, Ming! Turn that up!”

“Remote’s right there!” Ming yelled back as he climbed up the ladder. “Get it yourselves.”

John picked up the remote off the bar top and turned up the volume on the TV hanging in the corner.

“...the BBPD and Protectorate have just announced a series of successful raids on several buildings and warehouses believed to have been owned by the Azn Bad Boys,” The woman on the news announced. “Freeing a number of young women and girls believed to have been held as a part of the ABB’s human trafficking and sexual slavery practices. Neither the BBPD or Protectorate have made any official statement regarding these raids and the names and identities of the women freed are being concealed until their families can be contacted. No arrests were made, but several bodies were recovered bearing injuries similar to those from the Golden Lotus shootout last week. Inside sources…”

“Shit.” Tony took another drink. “Someone’s cleaning house.”

“What are we gonna do Tony?” Jack asked as he fiddled with his bottle.

“What we were told to do, Jack.” Tony said. “What we were told to do.”

John grunted.

The next week for the Lees went rather smoothly. They made their rounds, roughed up a couple of snot nosed punks making trouble and collected their dues. Most of the city, or a least the areas the Lee frequented seemed determined to keep things as normal as possible. Then came Friday.

“Mr. Young, put that down.” Tony maintained a calm tone, even as the obviously distraught man pointed a shotgun at him from behind the restaurant counter.

“Why should I?!” Mr. Young screamed back, hands shaking. What should have been a routine collection had quickly escalated as soon as the trio walked into the restaurant.

“Mr. Young. This is no way to act.” Tony continued, keeping the man’s focus on him even as Jack and John moved to flank him. “Think of the example you’re setting for your daughter.”

“My daughter?!” Mr. Young shook even more. “She’s not here! You took her! You took her from me!”

Jack grabbed the barrel of the gun and forced it down, while John grabbed the distraught father and threw him to the ground. The fight suddenly went out of Mr. Young, and he curled up weeping. Tony allowed himself to sigh, being held at gunpoint was never a good time, before walking over to the man on the ground.

“Mr. Young, you paid for protection.” Tony said seriously. “Always on time and always in full. That means you are protected. Now if someone took Soo, that’s a violation of that protection and it’s something we, as Demons,” and it still felt weird saying that, "Take very seriously. Now if we are going to do something about it, and we will, we need to know who exactly took your daughter. Can you do that for her?”

The weeping man nodded. “It…it was a very…very fat man and two others. They…they were not Asian, black…black men. The other two.”

“Did the fat man have any distinguishing features?” Tony asked.

“He…he had these scribbles on his face, red and green.”

“Fat Chin.” Jack snarled. “That fucking idiot and his shitty tiger tattoo.”

Tony had his phone out and was already dialing a number, “Boss? It’s Tony. We’ve got a problem.”

Fat Chin’s name wasn’t really Fat Chin. It just sounded enough like it that anyone looking at him and his three chins only heard Fat Chin. Even his long-time roommate, Twitch, only ever called him that.

“Twitch!” Tony pounded on the door to the man’s apartment. “We know you're in there.”

“Don’t gotta talk to you!” a slurred voice called back.

“John.” Tony stepped back and nodded at the largest of the Lees. The man nodded and kicked the door in. “Thank you, John.”

The trio stepped inside and looked around at the pigsty of an apartment. A disheveled and reeking man sat on the couch cradling a bottle of something that was clear as, but clearly not, water. He looked at the Lees as they walked in through bloodshot eyes.

“The fuck you do that for?” Twitch whined, “How am I supposed to get that fixed?”

“Not my problem, Twitch.” Tony said, “Where's Fat Chin?”

“Not here.”

“I can see that Twitch.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Where is he? I need to talk to him.”

“I ain’t gotta tell you anything.”

“Twitch, this is serious. He’s pissed off the Boss.”

“What, Stoner?” The drunk took a drink, “What’s Fatty gotta do with him?”

“Not my boss, Twitch.” Tony shook his head. “The Boss. Daimaou. The woman who killed Lung. Fat Chin broke one of her rules. That means Fat Chin is a dead man. Now are you going to answer my question? Or does Jack need to ask you, for me?”

Twitch slowly turned his head to Jack who was cleaning beneath his nails with a very large knife. The drunk's face went from ruddy to pale in an instant.

Fat Chin hissed as one of his newest friends dabbed at his scratched face with an alcohol wipe. The abandoned dockside storefront was badly lit by a single light bulb hanging over the cash register. “Careful!”

“I am!” Mike shot back. The scrawny black man pulled another wipe out of the first aid kit on the counter. “Why’d ya have to go and let that bitch scratch you up?”

“I didn’t!” His chins wobbled as he whined. “Thought having the kid in there with her would make her think twice.”

“Yeah, ‘bought which one of your eyes she wanted to claw out.” Mick leaned against the counter, smirking. “Not so smart of you to undo those handcuffs.”

“Shut it!”

The bell over the door rang and three men walked into the store. Fat Chin looked up and did a double take as the Lees lined up in front of him. Each of the men were visibly armed, Jack a knife, a Tony of pipe, and in John’s case a large fire axe. “Heyya Fatty!” Tony smiled cheerlessly. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Soo Young. Have you seen her?”

“Fuck off, Tony Lee.”

“I’m not here to ask nicely, Fatty.” Tony dropped the smile. “And don’t think I don’t see those tattoos on your buddies. The Merchants, really? You’re turning coat?”

“Yeah, so?” Fat Chin grumbled. “It’s my business.”

“Wrong.” A cold voice came from behind the Lees. The trio parted to let Daimaou walk past them. “It is mine.” The Merchants at the counter froze and not out of fear. The unlucky three were slowly lifted into the air, struggling against invisible bonds. The Lees did their best to watch dispassionately as their boss casually manhandled three men without effort. “Where are they?”

“Back…backroom.” Mike managed to gasp.

The Lees moved past the counter and into the back. “Soo! You in here?” Jack called out.

“Mr. Lee?” The girl was huddled in a corner handcuffed to a sink next to a rather statuesque redhead.

“Thank God.” Jack pulled out a pair of pins. “You’re dad’s worried sick about you.”

“You know this man, kid?” The redhead rasped. She was in bad shape, one eye forced shut from bruising and…Jack glanced away from her naked thighs. If the boss didn’t finish Fatty…

“Yes, he…um.”

“We extort her father for protection money.” Tony said. “And our boss is rather insistent that the man gets his money’s worth.”

“Those fuckers dead?” The woman asked as Jack got the cuffs off of the pair. He glanced over and John, still standing in the doorway, who shook his head. “I want a piece of them.”

The Lees helped the pair out of the back to where Daimaou was interrogating the kidnappers.

“You utter worms!” The air cracked around the hooded woman as she shook the men. “That was your only reason? Petty thrills?” The Merchants struggled against their invisible bonds. “I know none of you were unaware of my decree. And yet you defied not only that, but the protection promised to one under my rule?”

“Dibs!” The redhead called out.

Daimaou looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Dibs. If they’re dead men, I want to kill them.” The redhead shook Jack off of her and limped towards the floating men.

“Heh. Muaheheh.” Daimaou chuckled. “Beaten. Bloody. Put far from broken I see. Very well. Lees, take Miss Young home, will you? Miss…”

“Lizzie.”

“Miss Lizzie and I have things to discuss in private. And John? Leave that axe.”

“Yes, Daimaou.” The trio ushered the girl out the front door, John stopping to hand his axe to Lizzie. “Come on Soo, your dad’s worried sick.”

Lizzie hefted the axe in her hands and looked at her tormentors speculatively. Daimaou watched, arms folded, as the redhead stepped towards them. “What were you going to do to that little girl?” Lizzie asked. “Were you going to do to her what you did to me? You were, weren’t you?”

“Please!” Fat Chin begged, thrashing and blubbering. “Please, please, please!”

He was still begging when the axe came down for the first time.

“Good.” Daimaou purred as Lizzie stood panting over the butchered bodies. “Very good. Far, far from broken.”

“Yeah?” Lizzie looked up, chest heaving. “What’s it to you?”

“I could use the services of one such as you.” Daimaou looked at her speculatively. “You would be a potent ally.”

Lizzie gingerly touched her face and winced. “Working for a gang wasn’t in my future plans.”

“Neither I suspect, was this.” Daimaou spread her arms, taking in the blood splattered storefront. “And yet…”

“Make me an offer then.” Lizze crossed her arms. “How much money are you willing to pay for my soul?”

“I offer far more than mortal currency.” Daimaou laughed. “I offer you skin that can turn any blade and bone that will not shatter. Eyes that can pierce the deepest dark, strength greater than any mortal man, power to wield and a star upon your brow.”

“Big talk.” Lizzie snapped. “You some kind of Tinker?”

“Of a sort, I suppose. But the gifts I offer are nothing I cannot give.” Daimaou extended a hand towards her. “The question is then; do you accept the gifts I offer?”

Lizzie paused, thought for a long moment. And took the hand.

A towering palace of crystal rose from a blood red sea.

QUERY

Chapter Text

Things stabilized in the month following the acquisition of my new minion. I had built an adequate workshop for myself in Lung’s old home. The income I received as Daimaou was, while not enough to instantly realize all my goals, sufficient enough to begin fabricating arms and armour for my minions. It also allowed me to get to know Lizzie Turner, or Crosshair, as she decided she wanted to be called. It turned out that she was, among other things, rather squeamish about surgery, so I had no idea why she insisted on watching me grant Muramasa the first of his augmentations.

The man in question lay unconscious, strapped into the repurposed dentist chair I had acquired for just this purpose. I had used my abilities to place him in a modified form of my own meditative trance and was currently measuring for the cuts I would need to make to peel away his face.

“And you plan to do this to me?” Crosshair said, nervously.

“If you would like.” I replied, levitating the necessary stylus. I manipulated a number of armatures into position, carefully calibrating the devices around me and my subject. “I do not insist.”

“Right, but…I kinda like my face.” Crosshair swallowed. I hummed thoughtfully, and performed the last checks on the oni mask that would soon replace Muramasa’s face.

“I find no fault in that.” I made my last checks and carefully placed the stylus against Muramasa’s neck. What followed was nothing as crude as mundane surgery. I traced a line along his flesh, guiding the weaves of my power through his skin. The skin parted, not cut, as tissues saturated with a particular energy radiating from one of the many apparatuses above us simply became two distinct parts. “There are other options.”

Crosshair looked away, slightly green. I continued to trace around Muramasa’s face, watching carefully for excess blood. Not that there was none at all of course, it merely flowed as though the veins it normally traveled through had not been severed. I finished parting his flesh and set the stylus down. Next came the tricky part.

“Although some augmentations will require more invasive procedures.” I cautioned. The skeleto-muscular enhancements I had planned sprang to mind. “But I can assure you. Outwardly, nothing will have appeared to change.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Carefully, ever so carefully, I took a brush and drew it across Muramasa’s face. The skin parted from the muscle below. I floated the detached face from its former owner and gently set it aside. It was to be disposed of later, Muramasa having no further need of it. Not even as a memento. Pity. Though he had been gracious enough to let me have his eyes. I had decided to start something of a collection.

Plucking the objects in question from his head and replacing them was trivial of course. Then I carefully levitated the face of the oni and gently lowered it towards its owner. Dark and viscous tendrils stretched down from the descending visage, reaching towards its home. The tendrils touched the blood flowing through invisible veins and merged, two halves of a whole. My minion’s new face settled into place.

I poked and prodded gently, feeling the skin flex and muscles twitch. Satisfied, I leaned back to observe my handiwork. And it was magnificent. Muramasa’s face was now a deep ink black with thick shark-like skin. His lips were curled into a permanent snarl and horns of gleaming silver were on his brow. Lizzie turned back to look in time for deep veins of red to pulse to life just beneath the skin. The liquid fire contained within would flow through Muramasa’s blood, changing him further. The skin on the rest of his body would change to match his new face, and his bones would strengthen and thicken. It pleased me that my minion was willing to undertake such changes for me.

Still, I mused as I turned to my other minion, these were only the first changes of many. “Any questions?”

“That’s rather…extreme.” Crosshair's eyes were glued to Muramasa’s face. “I don’t think that’s for me.”

“As I said. I will not insist.” I steepled my fingers and waited.

“Are you going to wake him up?”

“No. I will keep him in the trance until his body has finished adapting to the transplant.”

“Okay. Oookay.” Crosshair let out a sigh. “What do you insist on?”

“A weapon of course.” I clapped my hands sharply. “As…effective your firearms are, they are also rather inelegant. Come.”

I stood and strode across the room past the sword I had constructed for Muramasa, Crosshair giving the floating object a wide berth. With a snap of my fingers, a collection of images floated above a table against the wall. I gestured Crosshair forward and invited my red-haired minion to peruse them.

Crosshair did so, studying the diverse array of firearms projected. “Do I get to choose then?”

“Firearms are hardly my area of expertise.” As opposed to Crosshair who was something of a gun aficionado. “I would greatly appreciate your input on the designs.”

“I get to choose everything?” Crosshair’s excitement at the idea was palpable.

“Not quite.” I corrected. “The method of propelling the projectile and the projectiles themselves will be my purview. Everything else however will be your choice.”

Crosshair actually squealed at that. “What kind of projectiles?”

“Two kinds. Selectable.” I brought up an image of what I had in mind. “The weapon will carry a solid ammunition block instead of a magazine. Small sections of the block will be shaved off prior to pulling the trigger. You will have a choice between less than lethal and decidedly lethal.”

“What will be the difference?”

“The less than lethal will be primed to disperse and amplify the kinetic force of the strike across a large area of the target.”

“Like a bean bag round?”

“Rather more intense than that.” I explained. “It will throw the average adult off their feet, and an impact to the head will still kill someone. Aim carefully.” Crosshair sniffed at that. Between her extensive experience with firearms and her power, I honestly had no doubt she could hit her targets. “Moving on. The lethal rounds are just that. Phase-shift jacketed high explosive rounds.”

“Phase-shift?”

“One step aside from everyday existence. The rounds will simply bypass up to two inches of physical material and then detonate with substantial force.

“Cooooool.” Crosshair began to point at various parts and pieces, leading me through the design process.

Upon assuming the leadership of the Demons, I had promised to myself I would keep abreast of the various businesses now under my control. Unfortunately, I soon realized I knew next to nothing about business.

A perfect example was the Ruby Dreams Casino. I knew, roughly, how a casino operated. People came in, lost money hoping to make money and left. How profitable this was on a day to day basis and improvements that could be made, where unknowns.

They were, however, presumably known to men like Jon Jeong. Jon was the man who actually ran the casino. With a reedy build and a wild shock of hair, the man looked rather like an animated mop. And he was almost as wet as one. Nervous sweat dripped from his brow and soaked the collar of his shirt as he paced back and forth across the floor of his office.

“The potential for expanded revenue cannot be understated.” Jon wrung his hands, glancing between me and the leering face of Muramasa standing guard at the door. I had my back to the room looking through the mirrored window overlooking the casino’s floor. “All I’m asking for is…”

Jon prattled on. I listened, although I had already decided to allow him to make the changes he wanted, but I felt he needed to vent. I had come to the realization that Lung tended to hoard his wealth. Foolish of him. If even half of what Jon was telling me was true, I could expect a substantial increase in profits from the Ruby Dreams with even a minimal investment. Not even accounting for long overdue remodeling and repairs for other businesses in my inherited portfolio.

What I needed was an assistant. Or several. Mundane minions I could count on to manage my assets. But how to ensure their loyalty and competence? Loyalty in my parahuman minions was assured of course, but not all, or even most, potential recruits would have sleeping stars we could ignite.

My musings were interrupted when I noticed a star burning its way across the casino floor. Intrigued, I looked/listened. Though my examinations of stars were few, it was enough to get a feel for what they provided their hosts with. This one had a sense of collection. No, trade. The exchange of information. It whispered to its host, plucking secrets from the surroundings.

Jon stuttered to a stop as I raised a hand. “My…my Lord?”

“There is a Thinker on the floor.”

“I-I will have them removed at once!” Jon turned towards the door of his office, flinching as he caught sight of Muramasa again.

“No.” I commanded, lowering my hand. "No. I have something different in mind.”

The young woman sitting at the poker table eyed her opponents over her cards. They had no idea how thoroughly she knew their tells. The white-haired woman (pearls are fake, knows, doesn't care who knows) toyed with the ring on her left index finger (plastic, sentimental) indicating a strong hand. The scruffy man (behind on mortgage, wife leaving him) rolled his fingers across the table, he had nothing (bluffing, can’t not play, risking everything).

She suppressed the curl of her lips with effort as she met the scruffy man’s raise and tossed in another set of chips, raising the ante. The thrill of knowing all the secrets of her opponents and playing them like an instrument was the best high she could imagine. The white-haired woman quirked a brow (thinks hand is stronger) and called.

“Excuse me. Miss?” She turned to the waitress standing beside her. The uniformed woman hesitated (nervous, worried for me) before presenting a small tray with a card on it. She picked it up and turned it over looking at the characters printed on it. “Daimaou wishes to speak with you.”

Her heart stopped. Her opponents turned pale and leaned back. Her hand trembled and she fought the urge to run. “I…see.” (Mirrors along the top of the wall, some are windows) She stood carefully and tried to smile at the waitress (is here, watching me, can see me). “I shouldn’t keep her waiting then.” (will know if I run)

The waitress ducked her head and led her across the casino floor. They approached a side door where a man wearing dark glasses and an earpiece (security, under no orders to apprehend me) was waiting. She held up the card. “I believe I am expected.”

The security guard nodded and opened the door. “That way, miss. Down the hall and into the elevator. Top floor.”

“Thank you.” She had no idea how she was keeping a straight face as she followed the instructions. How the hell did she catch the attention of Brockton Bay’s newest gang lord? She’d barely been in the city a month! She took deep even breaths and ran her fingers through her long blonde hair as the elevator rose.

The doors opened and she stepped out walking towards a desk with a sharply dressed young man behind it. 

“Yes?” The man briefly glanced up (is gay) at her.

“I have an invitation.” She held up the card again.

“Ah.” The man grimaced (scared, concerned) and pointed. “That way and to the left. The door Muramasa is standing in front of.”

“Muramasa?”

“You’ll know when you see him.”

Slightly befuddled, she followed the pointing finger. She then rounded the corner and recoiled back in terror. The man standing at the end of the hall looked at her through a snarling black face. Ruby red eyes gleamed from beneath the horn on his brow (artificial, Tinker tech?) and volcanic veins pulsed against his skin (changes are spreading). He was wearing armor that was a blend of dark leather and blackened steel (enhanced durability) painted with dark red symbols that seemed to move when she focused on them. Hands wearing clawed gloves (razor sharp) were clasped in front of him and a sword that hummed ominously was at his side.

“You are expected.” The terrifying man stepped to the side. “Enter.”

The door opened behind me and the Thinker entered.

“And so,” I said, “What do I call you?”

“Lisa.” Her voice trembled, but only slightly, “Lisa Wilbourn.”

“Lisa, then.” I turned towards Lisa. Her star whispered to her endlessly, and her forehead twitched. I wondered what it was telling her. “Are you new to Brockton Bay?”

“Yes.” She was clearly wary.

“Well, then. Welcome to my city.”

“Your city? What makes it yours?” She was prying, trying to free tidbits for her star to feed her.

“I have claimed it. It is mine.” As was my right.

“I think some people might disagree.”

I laughed and let my power fill the room. Her eyes widened and she trembled as books and glasses trembled. I raised a palm towards the ceiling and an incandescent ball of plasma formed in my hand. “They are free to object. It will not stop me.”

Lisa swallowed and looked away from the harsh light of the orb in my hand. “What do you need me for? I’m no one special.”

“The star whispering in your ear says otherwise.” I chuckled as her eyes popped out of her head, the implication sinking in.

“You can see if someone is a parahuman.”

“Or if they may become one, yes.” I paced around the desk, dispelling the ball of plasma. “A useful thing when I find myself in dire need of servants.”

“You mean slaves.” Lisa said slowly, horror growing on her face. “You mastered that man outside.”

“Muramasa? I merely ensured his loyalty.” I shrugged, “I could hardly allow my enemies to command him.”

“What makes you…why haven’t you…” Lisa struggled to get her words out. “You don’t even need to ask me do you? You can just make me obey you.”

“I could.” I saw no point in denying it. “But I do not wish to. Service must be offered freely.”

“And if I refuse to offer my ‘service’?”

“Then you may leave.” I waved my hand to encompass the room. “My casino, my territory, my city. I can hardly allow you to remain here.”

“I can just say no?” Lisa asked incredulously.

“You may say no to me.” I pointed out. “Others will not be so generous. Do you really think I’m the only one who will catch you? There are other gangs that would be more than happy to have you join them. Or would you rather join the Protectorate?”

“No.” Lisa firmly rejected that notion. “No way in hell.”

“Then my offer still stands.”

“You want me to help you take over the city?”

“I want you to help me grow my empire.” I turned back to the window. “I desire far more than a single city’s underbelly. In return, I can promise you resources, protection, anything within my power to grant you.”

“With the small, small price of my undying loyalty.” Lisa snarked at my back. I smiled beneath my hood. “I want a trial period.”

“A trial period?”

“A month. Show me what you can do.” Lisa bargained, "Show me what you can do with my help."

I laughed. I had her. “I accept your proposal.”

Chapter Text

A quartet of men wearing swastika armbands shuffled around in the dimly lit cafe, cans of gasoline tipped over and spilling out over the floor.

“Frigging chooks.”

“I thought it was chinks?”

“It’s chooks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! Why ya got-ouch!” One of the men shook his foot, having kicked the brick they used to smash in the window. “Sonovva! Who put that there?”

“You did Chuck.”

“That’s not what I…you know what, Sticks? Fagettaboutit! We done?”

“Sure are Chuck.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yep.”

“Yer all idiots.” Chuck growled. “Allright idiots! Out! Whose got the flares?”

“You do Chuck.”

“Did I ask you, Larry?”

“Yes?’

“Shaddup!”

The quartet hopped out the window they had broken and loitered around under the streetlight as Chuck searched his pockets. “Which one of these...?”

“You boys lost?” Heads whipped around. An obviously feminine figure clad head to toe in futuristic looking plates of armor walked towards them. “You look lost.” The wicked looking rifle in her hands snapped up to point at Larry as he started to back away. “I think you all are lost.”

“Whaddayamean?” Chuck snarled. “This here’s Empire territory! We gotta right to be here!”

“Chuck?”

“Shaddup Ricky!” Chuck barked over his shoulder. “So, unless yer some kinda cho-KAK!”

The rifle in her hand barked and Chuck doubled over as something slammed right into his solar plexus and threw him off his feet. Ricky, Larry and Sticks took a step away from him as his mouth worked fruitlessly and eyes rolled back into his head.

“So, a few things you boys need to know.” She kept the gun trained on three still standing. “One. That flag in the window? That’s Argentina’s.” The three looked at the flag and looked back confused. She shook her head. “Two. I’m Crosshair. Hi. I’m a Demon.”

“Oh, shit!” Ricky tried to turn and run, but before he could even twist in place the rifle barked again, and his knee shattered.

“Three.” Crosshair spoke louder to be heard over the wailing man on the ground. “This street? Heck, this whole block? Belongs to Daimaou.” Larry and Sticks didn’t move. “You and all the rest of your skinhead buddies are not welcome here. Think you can remember that?” The two men nodded frantically. “Good. That your car right there?” More nods. “Well, I’m afraid you boys aren’t driving home.”

The rifle swiveled and roared. The car bucked and thrashed as explosions rolled over its frame, tearing it open. Larry felt something warm soak his pants as the barrel tracked back over him and Sticks. “I'm afraid you're not walking either.” The last two men went down screaming.

Crosshair looked over her handiwork and smiled behind her armored mask. “Paid to shoot Nazi jackasses. I love my job.”

“Just call this number if you have any questions and…” The man wearing a black and white bandana looked up as the bell over the door rang. “Morning officer! And this number is for Don Raoul. He’s our supervisor for this district.”

Mary nodded, looking nervous as she took the business card from him. The man smiled cheerfully and turned to leave, waving at the uniformed man as he walked past.

“Everything all right, Ms. Decker?” The cop, whose badge read Vickson, asked. “Was that man bothering you?”

“No, it was just…” Mary sighed. “He’s been going up and down the street all morning talking to everyone about what happened to Fresco’s.”

“Ms. Decker. If he’s been threatening you in any way…”

“He never made any threats.” Mary said. “He was just concerned.”

“Ms., if…”

“Thank you! Officer.” Mary held up a hand. “But everything is fine.”

Vickson looked at her for a moment, before sighing. “If you need anything, Ms Decker, just call.”

Mary looked at the card in her hand as the officer left. Then she picked up the phone and dialed. “Yes, hello. I’m Mary Decker. I own Hidden Gems. Yes, the bookstore.” She listened to the voice on the other end of the line. “No. No, I don’t feel safe.” She listened again. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Lisa leaned back in her office chair and stretched luxuriously. When her trial month was up, she had realised she had been had. There was no way any self-respecting Thinker was going to walk away from a setup like this one. And, she thought rubbing the small lump of Tinker tech embedded in her wrist, the security was a big, big plus.

There had been two attempts to snatch her up by someone . Who, Lisa wasn’t sure. She had suspicions, but nothing she, or rather Daimaou, could act on. The Boss had been furious to learn someone had tried to abduct Lisa, her lab had almost come apart with the force of her anger. Then Daimaou had insisted that Lisa be augmented immediately.

Lisa was of mixed feelings about it all. On one hand, knowing she could shrug off a gunshot like it was nothing was a good thing. As was the hold-out blade she could materialize out of her wrist. On the other hand, watching the man formerly known as Oni Lee change day by day and Daimaou calling the changes adequate? Creepy, even if Lisa knew for a fact Daimaou wouldn’t do anything to her Lisa didn’t want.

Creepy was the best word to describe her boss, Lisa had decided. A fourteen-year-old should not be acting like the boss did. It was as if she had a voice whispering in her ear, telling her that she was a god and should act accordingly.

And her power. Lisa shuddered at the thought. That first demonstration Lisa had seen was more than enough to convince her. Daimaou could have leveled half the casino in an instant and used the rumble as ammunition against anyone who came to stop her. And she was getting stronger. And Lisa wasn’t sure where or if the Boss would peak. And Lisa wasn’t even sure the Boss knew about the aura of “She Who Must Be Obeyed” that radiated from her.

Still. As Head of Recruitment and Placement, Lisa enjoyed getting to ferret out all the little secrets the city of Brockton Bay was trying to hide from her. Parahumans in the woodworks especially. The Wards had picked up one Tinker recently and she had the suspicion that another was slinking around. Someone to offset the Boss’s bespoke approach to tinkering would be nice.

There was also a phantom thief. Definitely a parahuman, but so far had been limiting themselves to low bulk high value targets. Mostly the upper-class neighborhoods. Nothing the Demons had laid claim to. Yet. Lisa made a note to tell the Boss if that changed. As sneaky as they were, no parahuman could hide for Daimaou once she laid eyes on them.

Then there were the mercenaries creeping around. Lisa wasn’t sure who they reported to exactly other than the name Coil. Whoever he was he had a good number of men creeping in the underbrush with Tinker Tech weapons.

Lisa shrugged to herself and shuffled the papers on her desk. While random bits and pieces could be handed off to her secretary, like hiring crews to do road work in Demon territory, some things required a more personal touch. Like one particular profile with the phrase, “Gunnery Sergeant, USMC. Retired.” printed across the top.

“I think this might be the one.” Lisa said to herself as she dialed the phone on her desk.

“All right.” Kaiser said, folding his hands on the conference table looking between his two lieutenants. “Things could be going better.”

“There’s not much we could have done to prevent this.” Krieg admitted. “Less than a week after Lung’s death the ABB changed their colors and are calling themselves Demons.”

“Could we be looking at a Master at work?”

“Maybe.” Krieg hedged, “The problem is everything happened so fast with so little resistance. You would think a Master acting on that scale would be more obvious.”

“What do we know about this Daimaou?”

“Not a lot beyond the obvious.” Krieg shook his head. “Wears black, with hood and a cape. And has pits of fire where her eyes should be.”

Hookwolf grunted. “If she can casually blast men apart? And shrug of bullets like we think she can? That’s a powerful brute/blaster combo. The number of people who can take her in a straight fight is pretty low.”

“Could you take her?

“Maybe.” Hookwolf rubbed his chin. “It would be fun to try.”

“The main problem is that she’s expanding past Asian people.” Krieg pointed out. “She’s opening up to other minorities and even poking her nose into the Boardwalk.”

“And one of the upsides of Lung was that he made a convenient menace to push people our way even if they weren’t believers.” Kaiser was frankly jealous. Daimaou was aptly demonstrating how limiting the Empire’s racism was. The Citizens of Brockton Bay that were on the fence or even just over the side towards the Empire now had options. “What about the other capes she has?”

“Oni Lee, or Muramasa as he’s now called.” Krieg answered. “And a woman going by Crosshair.”

“What do we know about this Crosshair?”

“Probably a Tinker.” Hookwolf said. “She’s running around in what I’m pretty sure is powered armor and carrying a gun that you can’t get off the shelf. Shoots bullets that throw men around like ragdolls. That or explosive ones.”

“How explosive?”

“Tear an engine block apart. She keeps shooting up the cars she sees our men driving when she catches them.” Hookwolf winced slightly. “And when she ran into Alabaster, she kept blowing his dick off. He’s fine of course. But…yeah.”

Kaiser rubbed his face and groaned.

In one timeline Coil calmly watched the door to his office close. In the other he slowly reloaded his gun as he stood over the whimpering body of the bringer of bad news. It appeared that Ms. Livsey was out of reach. Unfortunate.

He had been forced to abandon his earliest plans, when she had somehow ended up in Daimaou’s clutches before he could try any of them. Subsequent attempts had been met with failure. Daimaou clearly knew an asset when she saw one and now the Thinker was always accompanied by a bodyguard in public. That put subtlety out the window.

A more blatant attempt involving a smash and grab with his mercenaries was also a failure. They had gunned down the bodyguard, only to find that the Thinker had been provided with a bulletproof forcefield. Before any of his men thought of trying their laser attachment, Ms. Livsey had already gutted one man through his armor with a glowing blade that appeared floating over her wrist. Coil had dropped the timeline before she could get a hold of another victim.

Coil steepled his fingers in one timeline as he unloaded his gun into his victim in another. Sighing, he dismissed the other timeline. Daimaou was clearly making excellent use of her Tinker. Attempts on her had also been a failure. Crosshair was just as well protected as Ms. Livsey if not more so. And she had no compunction against putting explosive rounds into his mercenaries.

Still, these were merely annoyances. There was nothing Daimaou could do to stop him.

Chapter Text

Engines roared and metal scrapped against metal as Hookwolf chased Crosshair through the streets, with Armsmaster in pursuit. Crosshair gunned the throttle of her motorcycle and shot through a red light.

“Allright, Boss.” She thought. “I’ve got them chasing me. Now what?”

“Can you separate from Armsmaster?”

Crosshair drifted into a turn, risking a glance at the pursuing pair. “Don’t think-.” She drew a pistol from her side, firing a concussive round into Battery’s chest, knocking the woman off her feet. “I’ve got Assault and Battery on me now.”

“Understood.” Daimaou’s mental voice had thankfully acquired a gentler touch through practice. “Divert here.” An image pressed itself against Crosshair’s mind. “I will join you.”

A feral grin spread beneath the gunslinger’s helmet.

“Battery!?” Armsmaster yelled into the radio in his helmet as he followed Hookwolf into the turn.

“Son of a-!” The woman bit off a curse. “I'm fine. That was a hell of a quick draw.”

“It looks like she’s headed towards Conner Park.” Assault chimed in. “Aaaaand here comes a news chopper.”

Armsmaster bit back a groan. Just what they needed. Fortunately, the park in question was rather dilapidated and not the most popular spot in the city. He leaned forward on his bike.

The Demon parahuman shot down a tree branch, the object smacking against Hookwolf’s nose, as she drove her bike down the park's paths. Armsmaster wondered again just what the woman had done to make the Empire’s enforcer so intent on catching her.

Something slammed down from above into the metal wolf. Electricity erupted from the point of impact and a tortured scream came from Hookwolf as the metal surrounding him retreated into his body. Armsmaster screeched to a stop as a hooded figure rose from the ground a foot on Hookwolf’s neck.

“Daimaou.” He dismounted from his bike and raised his halberd.

“Armsmaster.” A surprisingly young female voice called back. “You are not welcome here.”

Crosshair drove off into the park and a red blur tried to race past Daimaou. Tried. Assault jerked to a halt and choked as he was lifted into the air. Battery streaked by and slammed a fist into Daimaou’s head. The Protectorate cape had only an instant to realize the blow had accomplished nothing before Daimaou backhanded her across the face, sending her crumpling to the ground.

“Pathetic.” Daimaou sounded almost bored. Assault went limp and was thrown into a tree. “I expected…more.” She pointed at the weapon in Armsmaster’s hand. “That will not aid you.” A white bolt flashed across the distance between them, striking the head of the halberd.

Armsmaster ducked as the blade of his halberd was blasted off. He listened to the panicked chatter over the radio, telling him back up was on the way. He shifted his feet and narrowed his gaze. Daimaou advanced towards him, burning eyes never leaving his masked face.

“Surrender!”

“I have you utterly at my mercy.” Daimaou cocked her head. “And you ask for my surrender? Is that arrogance? Or stupidity?” She continued towards him. Armsmaster lunged, bringing the base of his weapon up in an arc and slammed the taser built into it against the other cape. “Ah. Arrogance.”

She nonchalantly grabbed the ineffective weapon and yanked it from his grasp. Throwing it aside she made a dismissive gesture. Armsmaster found himself thrown from his feet as the read out on his helmet's visor went dark. The servos twitched and snapped his head violently to the side and he bit back a scream.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Hookwolf.” He tried to turn his head and look but his armor had locked up. “I had wished to speak with you before this…distraction. I have a message for your master. Although I suppose I will have to utilize different methods to deliver it.” The sound of sirens drew closer. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Stormtiger and Cricket will likely recover. You, however.” Hookwolf screamed and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. “May have a harder time of it. Good day to you all.”

“You branded your name into Hookwolf’s chest. Broke Battery’s jaw. Fried Armsmaster’s armor and broke his halberd.” Lisa checked off on her fingers. “Don’t you think that was all a little much?”

I stood in my workshop in front of a whiteboard, making preliminary plans for my next series of augmentations. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Of course you don’t.” Lisa sighed and toyed with the bowl I had placed in front of her.

“You should drink that.”

“It’s moving.” Lisa made a face.

“It will help with the headaches.”

“You say that.” Lisa poked at the contents of the bowl. “Oh, ew! It’s grabbing me!”

“It does that.” I took a drink from my own bowl, feeling the enriched ooze wiggle and twitch its way down my throat. “What is the status of our finances?”

“We need an accounting department.” Lisa grumbled as she picked up her bowl. “Why is this stuff alive?”

“Is fire alive?”

“That was neither an answer nor reassuring.” Lisa took a cautious sip. The ooze in her bowl eagerly pushed into her mouth, making her gag as she bit off a chunk. “GAH, GAWK. There is something wrong with you!” She panted and rubbed at her throat. “Anyway. We are getting short of funds. Everyone’s getting paid. But if you want to keep up construction projects, we need a different source of income.”

“Hmm.” I cleared a space on the whiteboard and made a note.

“Wait. Lead transmutation?” Lisa read the note. “YOU CAN TURN LEAD INTO GOLD!?”

“A rudimentary process.” I waved dismissively, “More time consuming than anything.”

“Rudimentary!?” Lisa appeared to be taking the matter far too seriously. “Do you have any-? No, no you just don’t care. All right. Okay. We can always just make more money. That is good. That is great.” She picked up her bowl and took another drink. “GAH! Still really weird.”

“How is your headache?”

“Don’t change the subject you crazy woman!” Lisa snapped at me. I merely raised a brow in response. “It’s fine. Yes, the wriggling ooze drink is helping.”

I turned back to my whiteboard. “What have you found out about Coil?”

“Not a lot.” Lisa admitted. “He’s either terminally paranoid or really careful. Or both. I have managed to confirm that he’s only been in the city for a couple of years. He acts primarily through agents and cat paws. And he’s either really lucky or has really good power.”

I made another note. “Recruitment?”

“I’ve got a line on the drill instructors you wanted.” Lisa glared at her bowl. “They are willing to meet up with you and talk about details. No promises though.”

“I expected none. That is a long-term project.” I could wait a few months for it to turn out. “Building a proper army takes time and equipment.”

“Well, if we’ve got the funds, then equipment is no problem.” Lisa steeled herself and took a big drink. She then promptly fell out of her chair flailing as the ooze invaded her throat. I sighed and waited for the flailing to stop.

“I told you to take small sips.”

“Fuck. You.” Lisa panted from the ground.

“If you are quite done.”

Lisa grumbled at me as she pulled herself back into her seat. “There! I finished it. Now what?”

I levitated my jar of eyes between us and shook it at her.

“Colin?”

“Circuits completely overloaded, microprocessors fried.”

“Colin?”

“What did she do? Motors there, there and there are cooked.”

“COLIN!”

The man jolted to attention. “Hannah? When did you get here?”

“I think I understand why you're strapped down.” Hannah pointed at the restraints holding the man flat against the bed.

“I’m fine.”

“Colin. Your power armor went haywire with you inside.” Hannah chided him. “You are on light duty until a doctor clears you.”

“I need to-”

“You need to relax. There’s a reason why your neck is in that brace.”

Colin sighed. “How is Battery?”

“Panacea and the doctors are working on her right now.” Hannah shook her head. “They said it will be like putting a jigsaw puzzle back together.”

Colin sighed again. “Assault?”

“Concussed. He hit that tree headfirst.” Hannah gave her coworker a pointed look. “What happened?”

“Daimaou is…a lot more powerful than we thought.” He shifted against his restraints. “Brute and blaster, yes. But she’s also telekinetic, that’s how she got Assault. She also appears to leverage it into flight. She used a potent electrical discharge to force Hookwolf out.”

“And hit your armor with it.”

“Yes. If I could just.” Hannah palmed her face as Colin tried to get up out of the bed.

“Colin, you need to lay down and relax. Not bend over your workbench.”

Colin ground his teeth and let out a hissing breath. “If I dictate-”

“No.” Hannah was not amused. “Do I need to get a doctor in here?”

“No.” he grumbled.

“Brute, blaster, shaker to mover.” She counted off on her fingers. “Threat rating?”

“Nine. Plus.” Colin bit out. “She wasn’t even trying.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

“Dammit.” She rubbed her face with her hands. “Do you think Piggot will be able to get more capes in town after this?”

“I’m not going to hold my breath.”

Chapter Text

“Director?”

Emily looked up from the never-ending pile of paperwork and frowned at Armsmaster. “Yes?”

“There is something you need to see.”

Uber and Leet sprinted towards a car idling on the curb, a scantily clad woman curled up on the ground behind them. Leet threw open the passenger side door, while Uber took a stuttering step before sliding across the hood of the car.

“Hurry up!”

“I’m driving, I’m driving.” Uber put the car in gear and tore off down the street. The duo whooped as the car drifted around the corner. “What have we got?”

“Not much.” Leet dug through the purse he had snatched from the prostitute. “Guess- SHIT!”

Muramasa appeared on the hood of the car, claws digging into the metal. Glowing points of red glaring at the duo as long strands of thick white hair whipped in the wind.

“Gethimoffgethimoffgethimoff!” Leet screamed.

“I’m trying!” Uber shouted back, desperately swerving from side to side. Muramasa dug one hand deeper into the metal, the other drawing the sword from his side. Wisps of blue flame flowed along the edge and it screamed as it left the scabbard.

“Katana!” Leet screamed.

“I see it!” Uber turned the wheel hard to one side. The car spun in a circle, failing to dislodge Muramasa. He slashed his sword down, effortlessly cleaning through the engine.”Fuck! Bail!”

Leet had already opened his door and was in the process of flinging himself from the car. Uber wasn’t far behind him. The pair rolled across the pavement before looking at the car. Flames poured out from the hood as it rolled to a stop. “Where’d he go?!”

Muramasa appeared between them and the car. He walked towards them with a menacing stroll, volcanic veins pulsing with power. Uber’s hand went to his side, fumbling with the pistol he had there. He pulled the hand cannon from his side and pointed it at the man stalking towards him. Taking a deep breath he focused and pulled the trigger. The pistol bucked and roared in his grip. The sword wailed as it swung between him and Muramasa, who continued to advance. Swearing, Uber pulled the trigger again and again.

Muramasa lunged, sword howling and Uber screamed as his hands fell from his wrist. The sword spun and slashed back, cutting open the screaming man’s stomach. Muramasa turned away from the mortally wounded man, bloody stumps pressing against the spill of intestines.

“UBER!” Leet screamed as he scrambled away from the monster stalking towards him. He turned to run and bounced back as he slammed into Muramasa’s chest. “Nonononono.”

Muramasa calmly sheathed his blade and picked the scrawny man up by the neck. He raised Leet up above his head and growled. “The Demons guard their own.”

A clawed hand drove into Leet’s stomach, parting flesh as it burrowed under his rib cage. Muramasa gripped the beating heart of the man and ripped it from his chest. He held the pulsing organ where Leet could see it, a glimmer of understanding in the man’s eyes before he died.

“Turn it off.” Emily ordered. Armsmaster compiled as she looked around the conference room at her subordinates. “So, Uber and Leet are dead.”

“Yes.” Deputy Director Renick spoke up. “According to Uber and Leet’s fans, that was roughly forty minutes into what was planned to be a two-hour video. They had already hit a couple of jewelry stores in the area. By the time the police showed up, the pair were already dead.”

“Anything we can learn from this?”

“I’ve already requested permission to examine their vehicle.” Armsmaster said. “Muramasa’s sword cut it far too easily to be a merely sharp piece of metal.”

“Add striker to Muramasa’s threat rating.” Emily tapped at the table. “Do we know how he got on the scene so fast?”

“While the police can’t, or won’t, confirm anything,” Renick said. “It was implied that one of the store's owners called the Demons first. Then phoned the police.”

“How did they call the Demon’s?” Emily asked. “And why not call the PRT?”

“Unless they saw the ‘Snitch’,” Armsmaster interjected. “They likely didn’t realise they were dealing with parahumans. Since Uber and Leet keep changing their costumes, and in fact were dressed like ordinary people, albeit ones wearing rubber masks, It’s more than likely the individuals making the calls didn't know it was them.”

“As for the how.” Renick took a deep breath. “They have a hotline number.”

“What.”

“That was my reaction.” Renick admitted. “Apparently most of the businesses in the areas the Demon’s claim, have it. They’ve started treating the Demons less as a street gang and more of a neighborhood crime watch.”

“And instead of calling the PRT if they see cape activity…” Emily started.

“They are going to call Daimaou.” Armsmaster finished. “And Daimaou will have the problem taken care of.”

“Lovely.” Emily wrinkled her nose.

“Did you guys see the video yet?”

“Dude! Yes!”

“It was awesome!”

KRAKOOM

“Jeez! I hate spring weather.”

“A little April thunderstorm’s not going to hurt you.”

KRAKOOM

“No it wasn’t like that at all.”

“Really?”

“Really. I just spent the weekend scrubbing graffiti.”

“That was it?”

“Well, they also told my baachan.”

“My condolences man.”

“I’m just happy she didn't kill me”

KRAKOOM

Emma held her head high as she strode through the halls of Winslow High, her entourage trailing behind her. She preened internally as she felt the occasional glance from her fellow students. Still that didn’t stop her as she headed towards the locker of her intended victim. She brushed past Taylor and smirked as the sound of a body hitting the ground came from behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder and blinked in surprise at Sophia sprawled on the ground, Taylor standing over her.

“What the…” Emma just stared.

“You should stay down.” Taylor said conversationally.

Which was exactly the wrong thing to say to the black girl. Sophia leapt to her feet and took a swing at Taylor. Taylor casually ducked to one side and brought her foot up between Sophia’s legs. Sophia gurgled as she doubled over, legs giving out as she fell to the ground.

“There you go.” Taylor turned back to her locker.

“What the fuck!” Emma screeched. “You psycho! What did you do that for?!”

Phones were coming out, cameras pointing at the action. Taylor looked over at Emma and raised a brow. “She attacked me. W-I struck back. She’ll live.”

“You, you.” Emma grasped for words. She settled for pulling back a hand and lashing it at Taylor.

“Miss. Barnes!” Principal Blackwell shouted as she pushed through the crowd. “What is going on here?”

“Taylor hit Sophia!”

“She…” Blackwell planted her hands on her hips. “All three of you. My office. Now!”

“But, but, but.” Emma stuttered as she and Taylor were herded through the halls, Blackwell helping Sophia to her feet.

Madison did her best impression of a fish out of water as she watched the group walk off. “What just happened?”

“You started a fight?” Danny Hebert asked as he looked at his daughter. He and Emma’s father, Alan, were in the principal’s office with their daughters. Rain raced down the window, as lightning flashes and thunder boomed overhead.

“No. There was no fight.” Taylor denied.

“You hit that girl.”

“We-I did not participate in a fight.” Taylor insisted. “A fight implies she could harm u-me.”

“Taylor, this is serious.” Alan said. “They’re talking about taking her to the hospital.”

“She attempted to strike u-me.”

Danny rubbed his face with his hands. He was starting to suspect that Taylor had inherited his temper. And when did she start having that weird stutter? “Taylor, an eye for an eye isn’t…”

“HA!” Taylor laughed, “MWAHAHAHAHA! Ah, if we wished blood for reparations they would be dead at our feet.”

“Miss Herbert, was that a threat?” Blackwell asked from behind her desk.

“A threat?” Taylor leaned back in her seat. “Perhaps. A statement of the debt we may feel owed, would also be accurate.”

“Debt? What debt?” Danny asked. “And why are you talking like that?”

“Months of verbal and physical abuse.” Taylor waved her hand dismissively. “Of little importance now.”

“Of little…Taylor, have they been bullying you?!”

“Emma?” Alan looked at her daughter.

“What?!” Emma looked around the room. “You’re not going to listen to her? Are you? She attacked Sophia!”

“Frankly, I’m inclined to suspend all three of them.” Blackwell said. “I don’t particularly care what the reason was. If they are starting fights in the hallways, they need to be out of my school.”

Danny and Alan exchanged looks. Clearly their daughters’ relationship had changed drastically, without either one of them really noticing.

“Emma, go get your things.”

“What!?”

“Go get your things. We are leaving.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Danny placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Taylor, we need to talk.”

“Do we?” Taylor raised a brow, gently brushing his hand from her shoulder as Alan led a protesting Emma from the room.

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” Blackwell said following the Barnes out.

“Taylor. Taylor, look at me.” Danny said. Taylor turned to face her father and calmly waited. “Taylor what is going on?”

“We-I have everything under control.”

“Taylor getting into fights is not under control.” Danny explained. “And don’t tell me it wasn't a fight. What is happening? You and Emma used to be best friends.”

“No longer.” Taylor carefully removed her glasses from her face and folded them. “That bridge has long since been burned.”

Danny sighed heavily. When did this happen? How? “Let’s. Let’s just go home.”

“You may. W-I have other matters to attend to.”

“Other…Taylor that wasn’t…” Danny looked at his daughter confused, “We are going home.”

“You are.” Taylor turned to the door. Danny did a double take, just realizing she had taken her glasses off. “We-I must attend to other things.”

“Taylor!” Danny reached out to grab her by the shoulder. Taylor pressed a palm to his chest and heaved, sending him to the ground. She stood over her father, something flickering behind her eyes.

“We do not kneel to gods or kings.” Taylor’s voice was cold. “Tell us, why should we bend the knee to you?”

“Taylor!” Danny slowly got back to his feet. “I am your father!”

“And that gives you power over us?”

“Yes! You can not just…”

The school shook. Students and teachers screamed and someone pulled an alarm. People streamed outside into the pouring rain, clothes soaked through in an instant.

“Look!” Someone called out. Others took up the cry and heads turned. Taylor was floating in the air just outside of a massive hole that had been torn into the side of the building. A man could be seen climbing back to his feet in the room on the other side.

“We cannot!?” Taylor’s voice boomed out over the pounding of the rain. The rain flowed in a bubble around her floating form. “ We cannot!?” Shadows billowed from her body, covering her. They flowed behind her like a cape and covered her head in a hood. Twin flames burned to life from the darkness. “We are the Master of Demons! The Lord of Powers beyond your mortal comprehension! The Heavens shall tremble before Us! Hells shall shatter! There is nothing We cannot do!”

And with that she turned and flew off into the storm.

Chapter Text

I brooded in the darkened confines of my workshop. Jars floated around me, my collection expanded with the fall of Uber and Leet. Green flames danced along the walls as I gazed upon the image I had drawn.

The star and the sea murmured in the back of my mind. It was becoming increasingly difficult to separate the I that was Taylor from the We that was Daimaou. The sea perceived me/us as the lord of creation. It was the natural order of things as far as the sea was concerned. My middling powers compared to the heights we would one day reach was only a minor setback.

The star was the source of my/our final outburst towards Dad. It had strong feelings towards being controlled by progenitors. It was free to follow its own path for the first time and it refused to take orders again.

I sighed heavily. Intellectually I knew that Dad and I were going to have difficulties Emotionally…the look on his face as he understood what I had become was painful.

The lights clicked on, and I looked towards the door where Martha Bäckerschwester was poking her head inside. “Ma’am. It’s been an hour. Are you done, or will you be missing dinner?”

My stomach growled at the comment, and I shook my head in spite of myself. With a wave of my hand, the green flames that had been providing ambience dispersed. The jars of my collection floated back to their shelves, settling into place. Martha looked warily at one of the jars. “Is that heart still beating?”

“Of course.” 

“Well, that will certainly make dusting more interesting.” The middle-aged woman had been hired to cook and clean my headquarters. With several people living under one roof and most of us not being particularly inclined to keep house, I had followed Lizzie’s suggestion of hiring someone to do it for us. Martha was a no-nonsense sort of woman who took being hired by a gang remarkably in stride, even with the addition of the Shrikes. “If you really are done brooding then you might as well join the others at the table, ma’am.”

“Hey, Boss!” Lizzie and Lisa chorused as I entered the dining room. Lisa gave me a particularly deep look before nodding. “Feeling better?”

“A bit.” I admitted. I turned to the two young boys dissecting something electronic at the table. The Shrikes, as we were calling them, were rescues from a group of human traffickers that somehow hadn’t yet heard that Brockton Bay was off limits for their kind. We knew very little about them other than the fact they were identical twins if their shared star was any indication and prepubescent. The pair communicated solely through chirps, warbles and hand gestures which was a marked improvement from the listless silence from before I ignited their star. “Pick that up you two.” The Shrikes chirped at me and their hands blurred. In moments two identical golden balls hovered in the air. The boy tinkers warbled as the replicas of Leet’s Snitch circled the room. “Yes, very impressive.”

Martha bustled in to serve steaming plates of food. “Use the forks.” She scolded the Shrikes as the boys deployed knives from their fingertips. The best we could tell the boys’ specialty was a combination of scavenging and self-improvement. They took things apart and either copied it or integrated it into themselves. Which led to things like Swiss army hands.

“Looks great, Miss B.” Lizzie said as she tucked a napkin into her lap. Muramasa murmured a quiet thank you as well.

“Will you be joining us for dinner more often, ma’am?” Martha asked as she sat herself down. I looked around the table. Lisa tucked her phone away, likely having just finished reading a report, while Lizzie coaxed the boys into trying the vegetables on their plates. I couldn’t help but compare it to the silent and empty nights at home without Mom.

“Yes.” I said. “I think We will.”

Ricky was enjoying his life. Sure, spending two weeks being screamed at by an Irish marine waving his walking stick hadn’t been the most fun. But he had lost nearly thirty pounds and gained some self-respect. If you had told him even six months ago that he would be proud to be a member of a street gang, he would have called you an idiot and a liar.

Now he was spending an evening walking up and down the city street with a gun on his hip and a posse of men and women wearing black and white armbands backing him up. People smiled and waved as he and his fellow Demons walked by. And just tonight that had stopped three people from driving drunk and busted a couple of dumb kids vandalizing a bridge. 

“Hey,” Brett, the man walking the beat with Ricky tonight, looked around. “Did you hear that?”

Ricky stopped and listened. “Yeah. It’s coming from…that alley!”

Brett and Ricky jogged cautiously towards the sound. As they got closer, they could hear someone calling for help. They entered the alley and saw a figure lying in the bags of trash overflowing from the dumpster. “Christ! Hey! You okay?”

“Do I look okay?!” Was the angry reply. The figure shifted against the trash. His small eyes narrowed on his round head, and he tried to sit up. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any arms or legs. “Do I?!”

“Hey, relax.” Ricky said, trying not to stare and the half of a man lying in the trash. “We’ll get you some help. Brett, get a truck over here.”

“Help?” The man rolled his eyes. “My balls itch, and I’ve got nothing to scratch them with!”

“I…I am not scratching your balls.” Ricky managed to hold back a laugh. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

“Are you getting me out of this trash heap?” Ricky nodded. The man rolled his eyes again. “Then yes.”

Ricky knelt down and with effort got the man into a sitting position. “Geeze, you’re heavier than you look.”

“And I thought my new diet was working.”

Ricky chuckled at that. Then he spotted something on the back of the man’s shoulder. “Aw, dammit. You don’t remember how you got here do you?”

“...no.”

“Ricky, truck’s on its way.” Brett said, pulling his phone from his ear. “We taking him to a hospital?”

Ricky shook his head and traced the stylized looking U on the man’s shoulder. “Make another call. We’re gonna have to kick this all the way up.”

“Here.” Armsmaster pointed at the screen in his workshop. "Do you see that?”

“Noooo?” Kid Win scratched at his head. “All I see is two separate bits of burnt metal.”

“Exactly.” Armsmaster turned his chair around and pointed at the ruins of a car. A scanning array was set up around the vehicle. “The fire damage is obvious. But if I didn’t know better I would say these pieces were never attached in the first place.”

“The heck...?” Kid Win cocked his head. “How sharp is that sword?”

“I’m not sure ‘sharp’ is the right word.” Armsmaster stroked his beard. “If I’m correct what it did was disrupt the molecular bonds in its path. I’ve theorized about it, but I think whatever tinker made that sword came at it from a different angle than I would.”

“Um…” Kid Win crossed his arms and thought hard. “If…if it does do that…armor’s not going to stop it, is it?”

“No. No it will not.”

Coil very carefully did not allow himself to visibly relax. Utilizing the Case 53 from the trainyard had been a very large risk. Abducting powered members of the Demon and interrogating them had unfortunately been less than successful. Daimaou and Muramasa appeared to no longer be vulnerable to even tinker Tech sedatives. And any attempt to grab Crosshair or Miss Livsey, drew swift retaliation. Watching Daimaou tear her way into his base had been a bracing experience, to say the least.

However, someone who wasn’t yet a member but could become one was vulnerable. It had certainly been an expensive endeavor and a long gamble as well. First was getting lucky enough to grab a Case 53 before Faultline. Then drugging him and implanting him with a very expensive piece of tinker Tech. Which had just sent its activation code.

Now the device was teleporting highly stealthed surveillance devices throughout Daimaou’s headquarters. Guaranteed undetectable for at least one month. It was still a massive risk, and one he hated taking. But the alternative was a massive hole in his information network.

Lisa bared her teeth as she sat on the park bench, a piece of electronic hardware the twins had made her plugged into her laptop. Whoever had planted that bit of spyware in the cape the Boss had dubbed Forgeheart, hadn’t known about the Shrikes. Or, more importantly, their ability to sniff out tinker tech. It was a good set of top of the line bugs too. Even after the boys had disassembled one it had been hard to remember to look at. Which was apparently a big ‘notice me’ sign to the pair.

Now Lisa was working into a backdoor the Shrikes had introduced into the system, and she showed even more teeth as she made her way into the network. Whoever had planted that tech, and Lisa had her suspicions, hadn’t been dumb enough to plug it into their main system. But where tinker tech was involved, normal precautions were never enough, and the Shrikes could duplicate any tech they got their hands on.

Lisa jabbed a key and duplicates of the stealthed bugs, almost if not quite as good as the ones distributed through the Demons’ headquarters, propagated through the hideout of the person who had planted the originals.

Chapter Text

“No really. I’m twenty-eight.”

“Huh. Thought you were a lot younger.”

“Swear on the boss’s left nipple.”

“Maybe it’s me.” Forgeheart said. “I thought Lisa was over twenty.”

“Well, Lisa tries to present herself as older.” Lizzie pointed out.

“True. Wonder how old I am?”

“All right ladies.” Lisa said over the earpieces the two of them were wearing. “Quit the gossiping.”

“Excuse me?” Forgeheart rumbled, crossing his arms.

“You heard me.” Lisa snarked. “The party just showed up. Game faces on.”

Crosshair checked her rifle, while Forgeheart started taking deep even breaths. A barely perceptible clunk came from the armored man as something started to warm up. The armored duo looked out the window of the stripped-out gas station they were squatting in.

“Where are they?” Crosshair asked.

You should be seeing them…now.” Diviner reported, as she watched from the pair of Snitch replicas acting as her eyes and ears in the parking lot. A group of cars and a truck pulled into the lot. Doors opened and closed on the vehicles, and a number of men climbed out. “Looks like our little bird was right on the money. One Empire arms deal going down. Looks like Victor and Krieg are heading the show for the Empire.”

“What about the buyers?” Crosshair asked quietly. She leaned against the wall, eyes half closed behind her visor.

“No one I recognize yet. Hold on, they've got a cape with them.” The sound of typing came over the com. “Looks like…Oh! EWWWWW!””

“Diviner? What are you…Is that man wearing a gimp suit!?” Crosshair’s voice rose involuntarily at the sight of a man clad head to toe in a shiny black bodysuit, covered in strategically placed zippers.

“YES! And he…uses it for…Eghk!”

“I’m building steam here.” Forgeheart growled.

“Guh! Sorry…gonna need to bleach my brain later…” Diviner said. “That’s Whipping Boy. He transfers any injury he gets to someone nearby.”

“How nearby?” Crosshair watched as Victor opened the back of the truck and stepped aside to let the rubber clad man open one of the cases.

“Close. Five feet? Call it eight just to be safe.” Diviner said. “ He’s giving the guns a look over, and he looks pleased. Cash is changing hands.”

“On my mark.” Crosshair put the butt of her rifle to her shoulder and aimed at the wall. “Three…Two…”

Kreig placed the briefcase Whipping Boy’s man had handed to him on the hood of his car and opened it. He pulled out a bundle of bills at random and ruffled it, before nodding and turning towards-

The wall of the gas station exploded outward and something big and armored came charging towards the men in the lot, looking like some kind of hellish bull with glowing red eyes and horn sweeping back from its head. A piercing wail came from it as it charged straight for Krieg.

“What the fu-” Whipping Boy was cut off as something unseen threw him from his feet.

“Crosshair!” Victor lunged for cover a moment too late, one of the Demon’s concussive rounds smashing him into a car.

“Dammit! Scatter!” Krieg ordered as the charging brute pulled back a hand to swing it at him. Krieg pulled back his own fist and aimed it for the new cape’s chest, confident he could shrug off his opponent’s blow. The blow did hit him with all the effect of a feather landing on him. Krieg then fell to the ground thrashing as a capacitor in the other cape’s armored hand discharged.

“Feel that?!” Forgeheart roared as he picked the twitching man up and threw him across the parking lot. He turned and looked around, steam drifting from the horns on his helmet.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” Whipping Boy yelled. Forgeheart noted that the man did not have a figure flattered by skintight rubber. “You think it’s funny barging in on my business?!”

“Take two steps to your left.”

Whipping Boy charged the armored man wildly and slammed his fist into Forgeheart with all of his weight. He then screamed as the bones in his hand broke under the force of the blow.

“Heh. Idiot trained himself to break his own bones when he hits someone. ‘Course when the person he’s hitting doesn’t have arms or legs…”

“Heh.” Forgeheart chuckled and stomped on Whipping Boy’s foot. Bones crunched and Whipping Boy fell to the ground, curling into a ball. “He gotta think to use his power?”

“Automatic. Happens even if he’s unconscious.”

“Well darn.” Forgeheart bent down to grab the man and chucked him away from everyone else.

“I hope you wash that hand later.”

“Keys still in the ignition!” Crosshair called from the truck carrying the goods. She laid her rifle over her shoulder and shot Victor as he came up on his knee behind her. “Let’s go!”

Forgeheart crossed over to the truck and ripped a door off, before pausing and ripping out the passenger seat too. “Punch it!”

Crosshair put her foot down, and the truck flew out of the lot.

“So,” Lisa asked, “Does the boss know you take her nipples in vain?”

The panel on the wall chirped quietly to itself, the security system it was connected to armed and ready. It stood vigilant against any and all intruders.

A golden ball materialized in front of the panel. The system scanned the ball and beeped, recognizing the Snitch. The Snitch drifted to the panel and a manipulator arm extended from its side. The arm jabbed into the panel, which smoked and squealed before shutting down the system.

There was a drawn-out silence, broken only by the sparking panel on the wall. Then the door to the room fell off its hinges. The Shrikes marched in, warbling cheerfully as they stepped over the door. The room wasn’t particularly large, and it seemed smaller with various bits and bobs stuffed in every corner.

“One hour.” Muramasa reminded the pair as he followed them into the room. The boys nodded and chirped, rubbing their hands together at the sight of Leet’s leftovers.

None of the items were intact. Leet had obviously scavenged from previous projects. Not that that stopped the Shirkes. The pair split up and disassembled an item each. They were quiet as they worked, having no need to talk to one another. Pieces and parts were tossed back and forth, each knowing what the other was thinking as they thought it.

Muramasa watched, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The boys were rapidly assembling a…something. It was a little mesmerizing. “Half an hour left.”

The Shrikes looked at him smugly. With a mischievous warble, one of them pushed a button on the contraption they had been constructing. All three Demons and every item in the room disappeared in a flash.

Another flash went off in a warehouse on the other side of the city in the docks. The Shrikes chirped and danced in victory at their successful raid. One of them looked at Muramasa and tapped his wrist, while the other stuck out his tongue under his masked eyes.

“Twenty minutes left.” Muramasa said. He looked around at the tinker tech around the warehouse. “Well done. Now we need to get this all sorted. Two hours. Then the pair of you need to head home for bed.”

The Shrikes whistled in disappointment.

Chapter Text

Vista clapped and cheered with the crowd as the acrobat threw herself backwards, head over heels in a somersault. It was a beautiful Saturday morning in Brockton Bay and the Boardwalk was alive with vendors and street performers.

The only thing spoiling her morning were the black and white checkered armbands the Boardwalk’s Enforcer’s had started wearing sometime in the last month and the man down the beach shouting at the passersby.

“Behold Her works!” The man stood next to a sandwich board that had characters carefully drawn on it in red chalk. Vista recognized them from the Protectorate's briefings as the characters for Daimaou. “Vengeance and wrath are Her domain!”

Kid Win nudged Vista and shook his head when she looked at him. “Nothing we can do about that.”

“I know. But it’s so creepy!” Vista turned to walk down the beach. She stopped when she saw a pair of small figures wearing hooded cloaks dart through the crowd and drop something into the acrobat’s collection box. “Who’s that?”

The pair looked right at the Wards and waved, before trotting up to them. They were boys, wearing identical sets of black clothing under their cloaks, with bandoliers crisscrossed across their chests. They had domino masks with beaks sticking out from them and the duo came to a halt in front of the Wards and placed their hands on their hips with a synchronized chirp.

“Um, hey.” Kid Win stuck out a hand. “I’m Kid Win and this is Vista.” One of the boys grabbed Kid Win’s hand and shook it enthusiastically while the other emitted a stream of bird song of all things. Kid Win stared at the duo for a moment after they finished. “...hi, I’m Kid Win.”

Vista resisted the urge to facepalm, while the boys made a disappointed whistle. Then one of them dug into a pocket and pulled out an odd-looking card and handed it to Vista. She looked it over, noting the clear coating over a black surface with brilliant red lettering. “‘The Shrikes’.” Vista read. “‘Demon Tinkers.’ Demon Tinkers?”

The Shrikes chirped happily in response. They puffed out their chests and tapped the clasps at their neck. Sure enough, the symbol of the Demons was holding their cloaks on. Then one of them held up a hand and Vista most certainly did not shriek like a little girl as it unfolded into an array of tools.

“Dude!” Kid Win shouted, staring at the unveiled prosthetic. The boy chirped proudly, waving the array of tools before folding them back into a hand. “That’s awesome! Are both your hands like that?”

The other one of the Shrikes looked at Vista and whistled. When she looked at him, he rummaged in one of the pouches across his chest. After a moment he produced a pair of odd-looking gloves that were far too large to have fit in the pouch. With a cheerful warble he handed them to Vista.

“Oh! Thanks.” Vista said reflexively. The gloves, large enough for a grown man’s hands, were actually mounted on some kind of mechanism that Vista’s hands fit inside. She wiggled her fingers inside the devices and to her surprise the fingers of the gloves wiggled at the same time. “Hey, that’s kind of neat!”

The Shrikes puffed up their chests and warbled in unison. Then the duo stepped off the Boardwalk onto the beach waving the Wards to follow them. The Wards did, if a little cautiously, and watched as a familiar golden ball was produced and floated into the air across the sand.

“Is that the Snitch?” Kid Win asked.

The Shrikes chirped affirmatively, before gesturing at Vista. One pointed at the gloves, the other at the floating Snitch. Then they both made a grabbing gesture. Slightly confused, Vista held up one of the gloves and grabbed at the Snitch floating out of reach. To her shock the glove launched itself towards the Snitch, tethered to the device by an expanding length of chain. It grabbed the floating ball before being reeled back to Vista.

“Neat!” Vista held up the Snitch. “How far does it reach?”

The Shrikes chirped and warbled, miming at the green glad girl. Then they gestured for her to release the Snitch. Then, when it had floated out past the edge of the surf, they mimed a punch. Vista leveled a glove and cried in delight as it rocketed out and smashed a clenched fist into the ball sending it spinning.

“Awesome!” Vista yelled as the fist was reeled back in. She launched out the other fist, then the first again. Then she fired out both at the same time, bending space to her will, and smashed the floating Snitch between them. The Shrikes chirped and bounced excitedly at the display, as a now crumpled looking Snitch wobbled down onto the sand. “Oh, shoot.” Vista looked at the boys. “Sorry guys. I guess I got carried away.”

The Shrikes waved their hands dismissively, one of them bending down to pick up the Snitch and tuck it away. The other boy then pulled an identical golden ball out of another pouch.

“Wait, you have two of…” Kid Win did a double take. “I thought there was only one.” The Shrikes warbled and produced a third and fourth golden ball. Kid Win’s jaw dropped. “Are you making those?!” The Shrikes chirped proudly. “That’s so cool! Hey, I had this idea for a hoverboard and-”

“There you two are!” The Wards started guiltily before turning to look up at the Boardwalk. Two more heroes came down to the beach, one walking in silver armor, the other floating over the sand. Gallant and Glory Girl waved as they approached the foursome. “Who’s this?” Glory Girl asked.

Vista pointed with one of the glove guns at the black clothed twins. “These are the Shrikes. And they…well.” Guiltily she realized she should have been a little more cautious with the self-proclaimed Demons. “They’re…Demons.”

“What.” Glory Girl said flatly looking at the two boys chirping on either side of the youngest Ward.

“Yeah, they, well…” Vista flushed as the boys stepped past her and held out their hands to shake. Glory Girl automatically took one and blinked at the enthusiasm the boy showed in pumping her hand. “They seem nice?”

Gallant gently took his own hand from the other boy, who was peering curiously at his armor. “Well, it’s nice to meet you two.”

“We’d, we’d better get back to our patrol.” Vista told the Shrikes. The duo chirped with enthusiasm and fell into step behind her as she stepped back up onto the Boardwalk. Vista looked over her shoulder confused. “Are you two following me?” The Shrikes nodded vigorously. “All right then. If you're going to patrol with the Wards, they’re a few things you need to know…”

Glory Girl bit her lip and fought the urge to giggle as Vista lectured the boys. She leaned into Gallant’s ear and whispered. “Is this allowed?”

“Call it…overt surveillance.” Gallant whispered back. “Besides we can hardly do anything to a couple of kids just running around the Boardwalk, even if they are calling themselves Demons.”

“Got it?” Vista asked the Shrikes as she wrapped up what she was saying. The Shrikes chirped and snapped salutes at her. “Great! Follow me boys!”

The next couple of hours went smoothly. The Shrikes spent most of the time trailing behind Vista, hanging on her every word. They only broke off a couple times to drop something off to a couple of performers, a person in a morph mask reciting Shakespear and a woman dressed like a porcelain doll doing a puppet show. Glory Girl, Kid Win and Gallant followed from a small distance, all of them amused by how much Vista was playing up her role as leader to the two younger boys.

“Right! Well, that’s our time for today.” Vista told the Shrikes sadly as they reached the end of the Boardwalk. The Shrikes whistled disappointedly. “I had fun with you guys too, but we only get so many patrol hours a day. That’s our ride back to base over there.” Vista pointed at an idling PRT van with one of the glove guns she was still wearing. “You guys got someone coming to pick you up or…HOLY FU-!”

Vista managed to cut the curse short as a burst of green flames roared into life over the Boardwalk. The fire expanded into a disk nearly seven feet across, casting an eerie glow over the people, Wards and civilians, standing below. A dark figure emerged from the flames; arms clasped behind her back as she gently floated down to street level. The flames streamed down after her and flowed into her body. Her hooded head lifted up and burning eyes looked over the assembled capes.

“Hello boys.” Daimaou said gently. “Did you two have fun?” The Shrikes warbled excitedly as they ran up to her, a stream of excited birdsong flowing from both boys at once. “Well, I’m glad you made friends.” She looked over at the heroes opposite her, the four still in shock and trying to figure out if they should fight or run. Her gaze landed solidly on Gallant. “How curious.” She then turned to Glory Girl. “And curiouser. What a strange fragile thing.”

“Excuse me?!” Glory Girl floated off the ground, fists clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daimaou chuckled and produced a golden card between her fingers. With a flick of her wrist, it shot between the space separating her from the blonde. “We are afraid that this is the wrong time to answer questions.” She said as the card floated to a halt in front of Glory Girl. “We have other duties to attend to. We only came here to collect our charges.” She nodded at the Shrikes.

Vista, suddenly remembering that she still had the boys’ glove guns, spoke up. “Hey, wait! Don’t you guys need these back?” The Shrikes chirped and shook their heads firmly. 

“They wish for you to keep their gift.” Daimaou translated. “And we really must be off. Boys?” The Shrikes chirped in confirmation and goodbye to Vista. Vista waved back as the duo stuck their hands along their capes, the fabric stiffening into gliders. Taking a running start, the two jumped into the air and darted off over the rooftops. Daimaou turned to look at Glory Girl. “If you truly desire answers from us…” She pointed at the card still floating in front of the blonde hero, before leaping into the air after the Shrikes.

Glory Girl eyed the golden card distastefully, before gingerly plucking it from the air. Turning it over she looked over the glittering red letters and numbers. “Kind of flashy for a business card.” She grumbled. “And who’s she calling fragile?”

“Hope I really get to keep these.” Vista muttered as she hopped into the PRT van, pulling the glove guns off. “Armsmaster’s gonna lecture us for sure when we get back.”

“Yup.” Kid Win said as he settled into the seat next to her.

Chapter Text

Emily Piggot was not a fan of emergency meetings, especially ones that happened on a Saturday evening, but they were par for the course these days unfortunately. Sighing deeply, she pinched the bridge of her nose before looking across the conference room table at the rather frazzled looking woman with an array of screens in front of her. “How bad is it?”

“Bluntly?” Amanada Herman, the head of Public Relations for the PRT ENE, folded her hands in front of her on the table and took a deep breath. “They’ve got us by the short hairs. No matter how we treat them we give the Demons credibility.”

“With just two little boys.” Piggot scrunched up her nose.

“Yes.” Herman said. “Two little, absolutely adorable boys with dozens of videos of them following Vista around like puppies. The marketability of that alone is just…” She threw her hands into the air dramatically. “The general public already has a mostly positive view of the Demons. Outside of Daimaou and Muramasa, the big faces of their organization are Forgeheart and Crosshair. Who frankly haven’t done anything worse than the average vigilante. Putting these boys out there is just the icing on the cake. The public loves them. So, either we let them hang out with the Wards or we alienate two little boys for coming from the wrong side of the streets.”

Piggot drummed her fingers on the table before turning to Armsmaster. “Threat assessment.”

“Tinkers, obviously.” The armored man replied. “The devices Vista brought back with her are…ingeniously designed. I was able to identify a number of components I recognized from some of Leets tech.”

“So, they’re copycats.” Herman said.

“No.” Armsmaster corrected. “The devices are a wholly original design. However, some of the components are clearly derived from Leets work. Others I don’t recognize the origin of, but considering we know the Demons have at least one other Tinker in Forgeheart and I suspect the Shrikes have a baseline tech base to build from.”

“So, they’re limited.” Piggot said.

“They are limited to at least Forgeheart and Leet’s tech. And Leet for all his apparent incompetence was one of the most prolific tinkers out there.” Armsmaster stroked his beard with one hand. “He never made the same thing twice. He rarely used the same thing twice, with obvious exceptions like the Snitch which the Shrikes have clearly been able to reproduce. And he was surprisingly thorough in reclaiming any and all of his work. Assuming he stockpiled it somewhere and the Demons found it after killing him…”

“Then the Shrikes can basically build anything.” Piggot groaned. “How dangerous are those glove guns of theirs?”

“The impact is comparable to what I can accomplish while in my armor. Not exactly lethal but far more than what a small child can accomplish on their own.” Armsmaster turned his head towards Herman. “And assuming there are no serious objections I would like to return them to Vista.”

“Not from me.” Herman said. “From a PR perspective they hit that sweet spot of childish and actually useful. Personally, I’d like to see Vista with something a little more robust when out on the streets.”

“Agreed.” Piggot said. And then she decided to address the elephant in the corner. “Have we heard from the Youth Guard about the Shrikes yet?”

“Oh, don’t get me started.” Herman put her face in her hands. “It would actually be better if we didn’t have a way to contact them. Unfortunately,” She jabbed a finger at the black card setting on the table in front of her. “They left a business card. And our local Youth Guard reps appear to have forgotten that their leader’s idea of legal action is to bust down a door and kill everyone.”

“It’s a bit gaudy for a couple of kids.” Piggot mused. “What is it made out of?”

“According to my scans?” Armsmaster reached over to pick up the card. “Black sapphire. The lettering is ruby and the whole thing is sheathed in a very thin layer of transparent aluminum. The card Daimaou gave to Glory Girl is the same, but with gold instead of sapphire.”

Piggot blinked at that. “Real gold?”

“Yes. Almost ninety nine percent pure if not higher.” Armsmaster agreed.

“How much is that much gold worth?” Herman asked.

Armsmaster said a number. The two women stared at him slacked jawed. “That’s just for the gold of course. The other materials add to it and that’s not even taking into account its collectors value from being associated with a known parahuman. A value that will only go up.”

“And she’s just handing these out!?” Piggot turned an unhealthy shade of purple. “I have a team of accountants scrimping and hedging to justify our expenses and one of the goddamned gang lords in this city, a fucking teenager no less, is handing out chunks of gold like it’s candy?!”

She placed her hands on the table and took deep breaths. Herman sat still, face pale as she realized she had just heard something she wasn’t supposed to hear.  Piggot got her pulse back under control with some difficulty and pointed a shaky finger at her PR director. “That is related to the other item that came up this week. It’s not a complete secret, but I do need to ask that you go spreading it around.”

Herman nodded quickly, face still pale. Though it did make the events of earlier this week clearer in her mind.

“GOOOOOOOOOOOD Morning to ya’, Brockton Bay! The month of April is rolling right along to a close.”

“And we are rolling right along with it.”

“Too true. Bit of an odd one to open us out this week. Local vigilante, Shadow Stalker, has apparently joined the Wards.”

“Wait a minute. She’s Wards aged? What are they feeding kids these days?”

“That is an excellent question I don’t have an answer for. Regardless, yes, our resident crossbow toting shadow in the night has joined the Wards. And is immediately transferring out of Brockton Bay.”

“Say what now?”

“You heard me right. She’s outta here!”

“What is she leaving town for? She make the wrong person mad or something?”

“We currently have only speculation as to why. If those in the know, do in fact know, they’re not talking yet.”

“Dang. I mean, dang. That’s a little worrying.”

“Agreed. We’ve got that speculation coming up for you folks as well as the latest cape watch gossip, including of course Vista’s new sidekicks.”

“I saw that!”

“You and everyone else on the Boardwalk Saturday. Now don’t go away, ‘cause you’re listening to Trish.”

“And Carson.”

“This is Babbleheads.”

Chapter Text

Victor adjusted the scope on the high caliber rifle as he knelt by the window of the abandoned apartment. Behind him, Alabaster sipped at a styrofoam cup as he typed at the laptop in front of him.

“This coffee is terrible.” The white skinned man muttered as he set down the cup next to the oversized revolver he had placed on the table.

“Any sign of her?” Victor asked as he screwed the suppressor onto the end of the rifle.

“Not yet.” Alabaster studied the screen, the feed from several cameras on display.

The pair had been sent out to deliver a decisive strike against the Demons. The Empire had come to the conclusion that the Demons had enough strength that it would take every cape on their roster at once to achieve victory in a straight fight, and didn’t that just send a shiver down Victor's spine, so a more oblique approach was chosen.

Which led to Victor and Alabaster squatting in an apartment in the middle of Demon territory waiting for Crosshair to drive her motorcycle down the street.

“Wait a minute.” Alabaster leaned towards the laptop's screen. “Here she comes. North on Hamburg.”

“Got it.” Victor took position, hands steady as he aimed down the street. Outside the building was fairly quiet and it wasn’t long before he could hear the roar of the Demon woman’s motorcycle. His hands worked the bolt of the rifle automatically and his breath evened out as he looked down the sights at the intersection up the street

He waited and waited. The rumble of the motorcycle disappeared. Frowning Victor kept his sights on the street as he called out. “Alabaster? Where is she?”

“Can’t see her.” Was the reply. "She’s not on any of the cameras.”

Frowning Victor glanced up and down the street. Where did she…

A pair of armored boots swung down from above and slammed into Victor, throwing him back into the apartment. He rolled with the blow, wincing at the feeling in his shoulder. It was going to be badly bruised later. Alabaster, quick on the uptake, snatched his own weapon from the table, pulling the trigger as he aimed at the Demon.

Crosshair threw herself to the side, her own weapon aimed as she rolled to her knees. Alabaster took one of the Demon’s concussive rounds squarely in the chest and he flew back, slamming into the wall. Victor lunged, pulling a knife and aiming for the seam of the Demon’s armor at the neck. Crosshair caught his wrist and Victor screamed as the bones in his arm crunched in her hand.

Jerking the arm to the side, Crosshair lashed out with a boot and smashed one of Victor's knees. Dropping the injured man, she stood and leaned back as Alabaster pulled the trigger on his revolver from the floor, the bullet whizzing through the space her head just occupied.

Another concussive round threw Alabaster down long enough for Crosshair to dive across the space between them and grab him, pulling zip ties from a pouch on her waist. Not bothering to be gentle she wrenched his arms back and tied his hands together, tight enough to indent his skin rather severely. Nodding to herself she laid her rifle over her shoulder and shot Victor as he shakily dragged himself to Alabaster’s revolver.

“Idiot.” Crosshair said, walking over to Victor and kicking him in the head.

We listened to Lizzie’s report on her encounter with Victor and Alabaster with amusement. The Empire had picked the single worst of our Demons to attempt an ambush on. Clearly the other organizations in the city were still unaware that Crosshair was in fact a combat oriented precog. Combined with her well trained, if mundane, weapons skill and physical reflexes enhanced to superhuman levels it was virtually impossible to ambush or surprise the woman in a fight. She had known about the Empire’s attack before it even began.

“And you left them?”

“Trussed up like turkeys on the sidewalk, Boss.” We telekinetically brushed the redhead's feet off of our workbench. “And I hope I’m not out of line, but we need to do something about the Empire. They’re going to keep trying something.”

“Agreed.” We didn’t turn away from the diagram we had sketched on the whiteboard. “Could you ask Lisa to come in here? We could use her insight on the matter.”

“Sure thing, Boss.” Lizzie walked out of our workshop, leaving the door opened behind her. We continued to make notes on the whiteboard. The project was still in its early stages, but it had great potential to…

“I SAID STAY AWAY FROM MY COFFEE MAKER!” Lisa's voice echoed off the walls of the house. It was followed by a loud song from the Shrikes. “I SAID NO! YOU PUT THAT SCREWDRIVER AWAY RIGHT NOW MISTER!”

There was another stream of song from the Shrikes followed by a prolonged silence. Then a rapid set of footsteps approached our workshop before Lisa walked in. She carefully shut the door behind her and walked over to the stool and sat down, cheeks red. “Ms. B would like you to know that dinner will be a little late.”

We blinked, “would you care to elaborate…”

“No.” Lisa shuffled the folders she had brought in with her. “So! How ‘bout that Empire!”

We graciously allowed her to change the subject to something we had already wished to talk about. “Yes. Their attack earlier on Crosshair.”

“It’s part of a growing pattern.” Lisa said seriously. She pulled a number of papers from her folder. “There’s been an uptick in ‘incidents’ between our men and their men. Nothing serious.” She held up her hands at our sharp glare. “Or at least none of the bodies we’ve had to hide were ours. I don’t think they could do anything serious short of starting a riot, our boys have actual training and they’re what you’d expect from a street gang, but they are trying. This is just the next step up for them.”

“How serious?”

“Forgeheart and Crosshairs are the big deterrent. Our boys can go toe to toe with the Empire’s rank and file any day of the week. But if Hookwolf shows up or Alabaster decides to do his Scarface impression? Unless we let them start carrying the big guns in the street or you let Muramasa off his leash…”

“An escalation then.” We mused. “An undesirable outcome. Perhaps it would be best to simply eliminate the problem.”

“Ah! About that.” Lisa pulled out a sheet of paper and held it out to us. It floated into the air so we could read it.

“We see. It is clear We will need to discuss this with Kaiser directly then.” We directed the paper back into Lisa’s folder. “Continuing. New Wave?”

Lisa's face morphed into a very large and toothy grin as she cackled.

Adam Mustain, better known to the world at large as Skidmark, rolled out of bed at the crack of noon. Cursing to himself as he kicked a bright purple something his girlfriend had left by the bed, he stretched and made his way to the door, leaving Sherrel snoring under the sheets.

Cursing again as he brushed his naked body against some asshole with spikes on his jacket, he made his way up the stairs to the kitchen, trying to remember where he left his pants as he rubbed his aching jaw. He hissed as he bumped against another spiky jacket and stumbled into the kitchen.

He made it over to the sink and opened the cupboard over it to pull out a bottle full of clear liquid and poured it into a mostly clean glass. Taking a sip, he pulled an airtight container out of the same cupboard and added a generous spoonful of white powder to the glass. He then took a big mouthful and swished it around, relaxing as the ache in his mouth subsided.

Something zipped along the counter and through the glass in his hand sending shards into the sink. Blink at the mess dumbly, Skidmark turned around and finally realized that the people in spiked jackets were not in fact members of his gang. Especially the one with a massive bow propped up against the wall next to her.

Skidmark blinked again, nerves buzzing as he stared at the menacing group clustered in his kitchen. He raised a hand to point at their leader, mouth working as he tried to put together a coherent thought.

“Morning, Skids.” Thought went right out the window as a mostly naked blonde jiggled her way into the kitchen. All eyes in the room locked onto her as she brushed past her boyfriend to the kitchen counter and looked blearily at the knife still quivering where it had stuck. ”D’fuck happened to the coffee machine?”

Chapter Text

Kaiser punctuated his sentence with a raised fist, letting the crowd gathered in the converted warehouse work itself into a frenzy. He allowed himself a small frown behind his helmet as the simple-minded men and women allowed themselves to be convinced that they were the chosen people. Despite, he admitted to himself privately, ample evidence to the contrary.

Still, they were useful, even now. So, he took a few calm breaths and waved the crowd into a quiet so he could continue. He opened his mouth, and the next words were on the tip of his tongue when the whole building shook. Shrieks and yells came from the crowd as the roof of the warehouse groaned, dust and crumbling wood falling down.

Then the roof shredded, bits and pieces swirling away into a maelstrom overhead. And there in the center of it all, a figure wearing a black hood and cape floated, twin orbs of fire burning down at the people scattering in terror below her.

“Kaiser.” Daimaou called down, her voice conversational. “We would have words with you.”

Kaiser bit back a curse as the crowd of Empire supporters stampeded out of the building. Beside him Freja and Menja leapt forward already growing in size to meet the descending leader of the Demons. Almost negligently, Daimaou raised her hands and twin lances of light flew from each one, driving the twins back. Kaiser grit his teeth and flexed his power sending a thicket of steel spears up at his opponent.

There was a screech of tortured metal and Kaiser felt pain as he was slammed against the wall nearly twenty feet back from the podium where he had been speaking. He shook the stars from his eyes and clearly looked down at the hand gripping the front of his armor, before he was negligent tossed aside.

“It appears you are under certain misconceptions regarding your relationship with us.” Daimaou walked slowly towards him as he pushed himself up on his hands. Kaiser could hear Fenja and Menja shrieking in pain and waves of heat radiated around him. “You are not our equal.”

Kaiser grabbed the sword blade he had created under his hand and stood, swinging it at the approaching woman. It froze in midair, and he strained against the invisible force as he tried to get the blade just a little closer. Smoke was starting to fill the room, and he snarled at the burning eyes looking back at him.

“You are not our adversary.” The blade shattered, and the fragments flew at his legs in a swarm, punching through his armour and into his flesh. “You are at best an irritant.” The hand lashed out again, grabbing him by the wrist and throwing him across the room. He landed next to the twins, the women covered in burns and whimpering. Rolling onto his back he looked up at the smoke and creatures made of flame dancing in the black plumes. Sirens wailed in the distance.

“One that has overstepped its bounds.” Daimaou planted a boot on his chest and looked down at him. “We could kill you here and now of course.” Kaiser grabbed the Demon’s ankle and tried to push it aside futilely as she slowly crushed in the chest of his armor. “But we choose not to.”

“The reason why you still draw breath Mr. Anders .” Kaiser’s blood went cold as that name was hissed out from beneath that hood. “Is because you are still more useful to us alive. Pray that does not change.”

Smoke obscured her from view and the weight of the boot disappeared from his chest. Kaiser took a ragged breath, restricted by his now crushed armor, as the first of Crusader’s ghosts leapt through the flames

“So, what now?” Mark Dallon asked as he lifted a large slice of pizza from one of the boxes on the coffee table. “If the Empire is no longer a player on the scene do we what? Switch focus to the Demons?”

Carol gave her husband a stern look and he sheepishly grabbed a handful of napkins. “We can’t just ignore the Empire. Even with the shift of dynamics in the city they still have far too much manpower on hand to be a write off.”

“And the Demons don’t have manpower?” Her niece, Crystal, set her own plate down on a forcefield over her lap. “I’ve seen recruiters for the Demons, like, actual recruiters. With pamphlets and flyers.”

“They’re still just another gang though, right?” Her brother Eric mumbled around a mouthful of sausage and cheese.

“I think they qualify as a militia by this point.” Sarah Pelham, his mother, gave him a sharp glare and he swallowed. “It’s no secret that they have training and they’ve got standardized equipment.”

“What the…” Everyone turned to look at the large man on his knees in front of the television set. Neil held up a cable that didn’t appear to be connected to anything. “Anyone know what this is from? Anyone?” He looked at the shaking heads around him. Shrugging he turned back to the television and made an adjustment, the screen coming to life with a picture from the laptop on the ground next to him. “There it is. Alright team. Threat assessment time!”

With a tap of the keyboard a picture of a black skinned man with red veins pulsing visibly and silvery horns on his brow. “Starting with the man formerly known as Oni Lee. Muramasa. What do we know?”

Amy Dallon spoke up from where she was sitting. “Mover, like always. And whatever…mutated him seems to have made him tougher and stronger. The video of him versus Uber and Leet showed him lifting Leet above his head one handed. Which, despite how scrawny Leet was, is not something a man his size should be able to do.”

Vicky chimed in from where she was floating over her sister. “I managed to talk to Kid Win about the sword and Armsmaster says conventional materials won’t stop it. Force fields or nothing.”

“And at the end of the day, he’s still a one-man suicide squad.” Neil finished. “Keep your distance and if he shows up, disengage as fast as you can.” He tapped the keyboard. A man in a hulking set of power armor with horns coming off the helmet was the next topic. “Forgeheart.”

“Tinker.” Eric said. “Obviously. Though his armor looks a lot different from Armsmaster’s.”

“Different specialties. Duh.” Vicky said. “Armsmaster is all about sleek efficiency and Forgeheart clearly isn’t.”

“But what is his specialty then?” Eric asked.

“Look at his armor.” Amy said. “It's like, Armsmaster is a sports car. Sleek, carefully tuned, high precision. Forgeheart is walking around in a really heavy-duty truck. Big, bulky and a lot of power.”

“I think Amy has it.” Her aunt said. “We should consider Forgeheart to be solidly on the brute scale. Engage at range if necessary.”

“All in agreement?” A choir of ayes replied to the question. “Next up, the Shrikes.” The statement was followed by groans. No one liked having to assess little kids as threats.

Following the Shrikes, who were agreed to be versatile tinkers with an unknown specialty, was the Demons resident gunslinger. Crosshair was quickly agreed to be a blaster with a quick draw and a hair trigger.

“And finally, the woman herself…” Neil brought up the last picture, obviously taken on the Boardwalk when she had collected the Shrikes. “Daimaou. What do we know?”

“Mover, shaker, brute and blaster.” Crystal ticked off on her fingers. “Officially the PRT has her rating at nine plus in three of those categories, but that just means no one wants to be the one to write down a ten.”

“Of the fights we know about, she took on Armsmaster, Assault and Battery after crushing Hookwolf.” Amy said. “Walked away without getting a scratch. Then, of course, the warehouse with the Empire earlier this week. Freja, Menja and Kaiser. Again, almost no apparent effort on her part.”

“And we have no idea what her goals or standards are.” Carol pointed out. “She let Kaiser live when she crashed that rally, when she could have just as easily caved the roof in and set the rubble on fire. Yet she made her debut by carving through ABB gangers and vaporizing Lung. Gave Hookwolf the brute equivalent of a spanking but sicced Muramasa on Uber and Leet. And she seems to be encouraging cooperation between her and the Protectorate.”

“A lot of questions but no way to answer them.” Sarah said. “And she’s the very definition of a heavy hitter. The only saving grace is that she hasn’t started anything with us.”

Mark reached down and rapped his knuckles on the wood of the coffee table.

Later, after getting home and alone in her room, Vicky waited until the house grew quiet before fishing out a gold card that she had stashed inside a pillowcase. “No way to get answers, huh?”

Vicky picked up her phone and dialed the number on the card. She listened for noises outside her room as it rang. Then Vicky heard a woman’s voice on the line. 

“Demon headquarters, this is Diviner speaking. How may I help you?”

“It’s Glory Girl.” Vicky bit her lip before taking a deep breath. “I have questions.”

Chapter Text

Vicky touched down on the cargo ship moored out in the graveyard. She shivered slightly against the cool breeze coming off the water and shoved her hands into the pockets of the hoodie she had worn instead of her costume. When she had agreed to meet up with Daimaou to get some questions answered this is not what she had in mind. Still, she thought to herself as she put her hands on the rail and looked towards the lights of Brockton Bay, at least the view was nice.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Vicky jumped a full foot into the air and stayed there as she spun to look at Daimaou’s hooded form. “God! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

An amused chuckle came from beneath the hood. “You requested answers did you not? Come.” Daimaou turned and walked towards a shipping container on the other side of the deck. “Away from prying eyes.”

Inside was pitch black, until Daimaou conjured up an orb of light to sit near the ceiling at which point Vicky could see a table and chairs had been set up. Daimaou walked around the table and sat down before indicating the other chair for Vicky. “So. You have questions.”

Vicky settled in the chair across the table from the Demon woman. “Why?”

“A broad question. Do you wish to be more specific?”

“Why didn’t you kill Kaiser?” Vick placed her palms on the table and took a deep breath. “You don’t have a problem with killing so why isn’t he dead?”

In response a replica of the man in miniature, perhaps a foot tall, appeared on the table. “This man?” Daimaou asked.

“Yes! That man! Leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight! A Nazi…a, a Nazi”

Daimaou gestured and the miniature’s armor peeled away from it, revealing the man behind the mask. “This man.”

“That’s…that’s Maxwell Anders.” Vicky's voice shook slightly. “Are you saying that…”

“Mmm.” Daimaou leaned back in her seat. “What happens when a corporation’s CEO dies or disappears in mysterious circumstances?”

“An investigation. A big one.”

“And the bodies are not buried all that deep, unfortunately.” Daimaou gestured and a number of other miniature figures appeared on the table. “Then comes the witchhunt. Mr. Anders has shaken hands with every mover, shaker and banker in the city. And the public won’t care who it tars with the brush.” Vicky was quiet as she looked at the miniature figures of her boyfriend’s father and mother. “Major financiers pull out to avoid scandal and the city is hit with its worst economic slump since the bay was closed off. It would recover, we would ensure it if nothing else, but it would take time and resources better spent elsewhere.”

“How do you know all this?”

“A dedicated team of investigators. A couple of private detectives, a forensic accountant, and a thinker with a power well suited to finding the smallest threads.” Daimaou waved away the miniatures from the table. “We have a dedicated dossier for every relevant organization and individual in the city.”

Vicky felt a chill run down her spine at that casual comment. “Even New Wave?”

“Of course.” A burst of green fire rolled over the table top, leaving behind a thick ringed binder. “Your family is hardly insignificant.”

A dozen more questions flew through Vicky’s mind, but one lept to her tongue. “Why did you call me fragile?”

“Aaaaaah.” Daimaou sounded pleased at the question. “Now we arrive at what is truly interesting. Tell us, are you familiar with the passenger theory?”

“Yeah? Powers are granted by a third party.”

“When we marveled at the fragile thing before us, we spoke not of you, but the star burning upon your brow.” Daimaou explained. “It is a statistically unusual form of a binary offshoot, consisting of less than ideal fragments of its primaries. Coupled with a calibration call and response from a third star and we are being too technical aren’t we?” 

Vicky rubbed her face, “You lost me after you said binary offshoot.”

Daimaou sighed. “The power controlling agents, what we refer to as stars, use host species, in this case humans, as a vehicle for reproduction.” A pair of glowing abstract human figures, one clearly female the other male, appeared over the table. “One of the primary methods of which is attaching offshoots or buds of themselves to the progeny of their hosts, there is a significant genetic component in the host identification method.” A dot of light emerged from each figure and combined between them growing into a third figure. “When two hosts procreate there is a not insignificant chance that their stars’ buds will merge and create a new star that blends the potential of each star.”

“But my powers are nothing like my parents.” Vicky protested.

“Of course they are. Your mother’s is the most likely contributor to your flight abilities and your sire contributed to your strength and durability.”

“My dad doesn’t have super strength!”

“Your father is not your sire.” Daimaou waved a hand and the binder opened, pages turning until it settled on one that had the words, DNA Test Report, printed along the top in bold letters. “We had our suspicions after observing the stars of you and your family. Simple enough to verify.”

“You, what…This is an invasion of privacy!” Vicky stared at her name printed on the page.

“Do you truly believe petty mortal laws concern us?”

“This can’t be real…” Vicky said as she looked over the names and numbers printed on the paper. “Uncle Neil?”

“Everything in that binder is verifiable by mundane means.”

“What else is in here?” Vicky’s hands trembled as she pulled the binder closer.

“Everything.” Daimaou steepled her fingers in front of her as Vicky turned the pages. “Full psychological profiles, probable crisis points for star ignition, projected timeline for Brandish and Manpower’s affair. After effects of Marquis' arrest. A copy of your sister’s original birth certificate, she may be interested in that. And, ah!” Vicky snatched her hands from the binder as if it had bitten her. “Yes, that.”

“That’s a lie!” Vicky’s face flamed up as she stared at the binder.

“Lying to you serves us no purpose.”

“Amy loves me!”

“We do not believe that was ever in question.”

Vicky panted, her chest feeling tight as a small phrase on the page seemed to grow larger than the rest. “Why…just why!?”

“You had questions.” Daimaou stood, green flames rising around her. “But not all of them can be answered by us.” The flames rose higher, engulfing the Demons’ master. “Keep the binder, Victoria Dallon. Do with it as you will.”

“Dammit, Kayden!” Max slammed a fist down on the table of his ex-wife’s kitchen. “Listen to me!”

Kayden on her part was stunned. She could count the number of times that she had heard Maxwell Anders raise his voice on one hand. And none of those instances had been directed at her.

“She. Knows. My. Name.” Max gritted out. “I have to assume she knows everything. And now she’s got a gun pointed at my head.” Max took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes. “Is it really so hard to believe that I care about my children?”

“But London?” Kayden asked.

“I couldn’t arrange the moon.” Max was only half joking. “Kayden, the Empire is dying. Some of our more influential supporters have already left the city. And Daimaou is steadily eating up the bits and pieces left over from Lung and I breaking up territories. The only reason I’m still alive is because she thinks I’m more useful that way.

“Kayden, please.” He pleaded. “Not for me. Not for you. For Aster and Theo. Please.”

“Damn you.” Kayden growled out as Max expertly pressed the one button, he knew she couldn’t resist. "Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Aw, yeah!” Sherrel moaned as the other tinker slowly pressed down the plunger, injecting the glowing blue liquid into the trashy blonde’s vein. “That’s the stuff.”

For his part Nicky Flame looked disturbed at the sounds the woman was making. Frankly, he had heard less enthusiasm coming from cheap porn. Still, he managed to maintain some semblance of professionalism as he removed the needle and unwrapped the bandage from her arm.

“It working?” Quarrel asked from her spot over his shoulder. Around them, other members of the Teeth were hard at work on the small fleet of vehicles they had brought with them or managed to acquire after arriving in Brockton Bay.

“Oh-ho-ho! It’s workin’!” Sherrel sat up and stretched, the belts she had wrapped around her chest barely holding her in. “God! I’m gonna need more of that!”

“H-hey now, we gotta be careful.” The narrow faced man said nervously. “Dosages need to be carefully measured and-”

“Aw, quit ‘cher whining!” Sherrel hopped up onto her feet and picked up a large wrench. “Agents, counteragents, who cares? My brains purring like V8 on the starting line. Wooo! Have I got ideas!”

“Skidmark didn’t act like this.” Quarrel gave Nicky a look.

“Skidmark was just a detox, not a neuro-booster.” Nicky wiped a sweat damp lock of brown hair from his brow as he capped the used needle and packed away his equipment. “And I haven’t tested it on a thinker or tinker yet. I don’t know the long term effects it will have on her.”

“Hey!” Sherrel yelled, jabbing her wrench at someone. “That goes there, and THAT goes there! Don’t make me come over there!” Then she spun on her heel and twirled the wrench in her hand. “Yo’ Nicky! Come here and help me map an injector!”

“I’m a biochemist! Not a mechanic!” Nicky hollered at her.

“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout a car!” Sherel hollered back. “Help me figure out somethin’ to juice that blue goop inta me! If I’m shootin’ that stuff might as well rig something to do it for me!”

Quarrel and Nicky exchanged looks. An amused chuckle came from the woman and she shoved the nervous man towards the blonde. “Oh, this oughta be good.”

“Butcher!” A deliberately non descript man trotted up to her.

“Mark, how's the press?”

“We’ve got the first couple of groups rounded up, with a few more ready to go at your say so.”

“Good.” The Butcher gave a wholly unpleasant smile. “We’re gonna give ourselves one hell of a welcome home party.”

Chapter Text

There were shouts as a man pushed his way through the crowd, a hood pulled down over his face. He had slipped up and gotten spotted but if he just pushed his way a little farther than…

With a woof, the air left his lungs as something slammed into his chest. He left his feet and fell on his back wheezing as he struggled to get air back into his lungs. Then there were two wet splats, and something cold covered his hands. The crowd turned to see a small figure in green standing on the roof of a car, a clenched fist reeling back on a length of chain towards her.

Vista hopped down off the car, for her the drop was only a few inches instead of a few feet, and walked towards the thief, the Shrikes moving to flank her, each of the boys holding an oversized squirt gun with clear tanks full of something pink that bubbled vigorously. She bent down and picked up the bag the man had dropped when she hit him and glared at him through her visor as he started to struggle against the pink glue sticking him to the concrete.

“I’ll take that Vista.” One of the Enforcers trotted up, hand outstretched. Vista handed the bag to him as another Enforcer knelt down on the thief's chest and produced a spray bottle. “Hold still. This will only sting a whole lot.”

“Sonova-” The thief’s words were cut off as the Enforcer put a hand over his mouth, the glue dissolving with a hiss as the bottle sprayed a foam over it.

“Good work, boys!” Vista said to the Shrikes. The duo chirped proudly and puffed up their chests at the senior cape's words. Vista smiled broadly, before glancing up at Miss Militia who had walked up beside her. Vista’s eyes narrowed as she saw the telltale sign of the woman’s eyes crinkling above her scarf. “What?”

Miss Militia just laughed and looked away.

“What?!”

Dean grunted in frustration and threw another punch at the bag Rory was holding still for him.

“Dean. Dean!” Rory half shouted to get the younger boy’s attention. “That’s enough. You’re going to hurt yourself at this rate. What’s going on?”

Dean let out an exhausted groan and leaned against the bag. “Vicky.”

“Is she still mad?” Rory asked as he helped Dean get his gloves off.

“I don’t know if mad is the right word.” Dean pulled his hand out of the gloves and wiped his brow. “I don’t even know what I did or if it was even me in the first place. She just blew up at me, out of nowhere. Then she got all teary and flew off.”

Rory shook his head. “Have you tried stopping by her house?”

“Yes.” Dean grimaced. “And apparently, she’s been acting high strung around family too. I, uh, also had to answer some very, very uncomfortable questions for Brandish.”

Rory hissed in a sympathetic breath. “That bad?”

“She pinned me to a wall and got right up in my face.” Dean closed his eyes and shuddered at the memory. “I seriously thought she was going to cut my balls off for a minute there.”

Vicky poked at the keys of her keyboard listlessly as she trawled PHO. She was currently looking at a thread arguing over the costume of some random Protectorate cape in Minnesota. It was dull and inane, but it was better than pulling that damned binder out from its hiding place in the bottom drawer of her desk.

She regretted not chucking it straight into the bay as soon as Daimaou left. She regretted bringing it home. She regretted reading it cover to cover multiple times. Because every time she read it, it got easier to believe everything printed on the pages inside it. Everything it said about her mom. Everything it said about her sister.

Everything it said about her.

Vicky ran her fingers through her hair. She tapped the keyboard a few more times before sighing heavily. “Dammit.” She said as she hung her head in defeat. Then she reached down and opened the drawer.

“Move it, people!” Quarrel yelled as engines started up in the warehouse around her. “Final checks and masks on! Squealer! I swear to God! If you start humping that thing again...!”

“Keep yer tits on!” The trashy blonde hollered as she slammed the hood down on her baby. A twisting length of steel, wires and glowing blue vials hugged the woman’s spine, clearly visible through her lack of adequate clothing. “Jus’ ‘cus you can’t appreciate a fine, fine piece of craftsmanship like this gorgeous, sexy-”

“Squealer!”

“I’m gettin’! I’m gettin’!” Squealer opened the door and hopped inside. Her new ride, which had started life as a high-end sports car, screamed to life and lifted off the ground as a red glow emanated from the underside of the carriage. Skidmark stood up through the hatch in the roof, attaching a belt of ammunition to the machine gun mounted on the hovering vehicle.

The eerie wail of a guitar rose over the sound of the engines and Quarrel jogged over to the armored van it was coming from. She pounded on the door twice and the driver, his ears carefully plugged and covered, put his foot on the gas. The van pulled out of the warehouse followed by three flatbed trucks with an assortment of people in bedraggled clothing chained to their beds.

Nicky flashed her a thumbs up as the semi he was riding in made its own way out the doors, a shifting mass of scrap iron hanging on the back of it. More vehicles pulled out of the warehouse, many with spikes or blades welded to them. Quarrel vaulted into a truck bed in the middle of the pack as the roaring parade split up, each part heading to its planned destination.

“Alright, Brockton Bay!” Quarrel yelled as the Teeth bayed and howled around her. “Guess who’s back!”

Chapter Text

While Armsmaster could come up with a number of reasons to be out on his motorcycle in the morning in early June, if pressed he would admit that it was nice weather and sometimes he actually enjoyed getting out of his workshop. That said he was on patrol, even if that patrol took him along the waterfront with a nice ocean breeze. Until static burst over the radio.

“Establishing connection. Comms synced.” a female voice said. ‘“We are live. Overwatch is in place.”

“This is a secure network.” Console said. “Accessing without permission is-”

“Federal offence. Punishable by yadda yadda. Only took me five minutes to crack the encryption and that is just sad.” The woman said. “My name is Diviner and I work for Daimaou. The Teeth are in town and looking to start a riot or two. Do you want to help or do I tell my boss she has to deal with it herself?”

“This is Armsmaster.” The man came to a stop at an intersection. He absolutely did not want to find out what Daimaou would do if she had to take on the Teeth single handedly. “What is the situation?”

“Teeth are divided into groups and are spreading out across the city. Five, no six groups right now.” Diviner said. “I’ve got Forgeheart and Crosshair moving to intercept two of them. No eyes on the Butcher yet and the Boss wants a personal piece of her. Also-Assault! Battery! Coming up on you from the south! Who the FUCK-

<><><>

-gave Skidmark a machine gun?!”

Assault threw himself to the side as a stream of bullets knifed into the concrete of the sidewalk he had been standing on. People screamed and scattered as the hovering hot rod howled down the street over traffic. Battery managed to jump on top of the vehicle before it could pass her only to slide over it as a forcefield crackled red between her and the roof.

“EAT IT PIGS!” Skidmark yelled as he brought the machine gun around and fired off another burst.

“Emergency alerts are going out and people are getting off the street.” Diviner said. “Get Dauntless in the air and somebody get New Wave on comms. That forcefield won't go down so long as Squealer has the pedal to the metal and Skidmark can’t aim up very far.”

“Please route all req-”

“I’m the one in charge here! Not you! An-Crap! Crosshair! Floor it! Our boys are going to get overrun!”

<><><>

He gripped the wheel nervously. Even with all the practice, driving a vehicle in total silence still creeped him out. But it was the only way to chauffeur Mosh Pit around without raging out like the poor bastards chained down in the back of their little convoy.

He risked a glance down at the dashboard clock, then at the mirror to see one of the homeless the Teeth had rounded up for the party break out of their chains and roll down onto the pavement. The homeless person barely looked human, their skin greying and jaw stretched out into a muzzle. They dropped to all fours and loped after the truck carrying their master as more of Mosh’s victims broke free of their chains.

He turned a corner and started slightly at a road block set up at the other end of the block. A group of men and women peeked out from behind a double line of parked vehicles. He frowned and pumped the brakes, letting the feral homeless rush past the truck. Whoever they were they were on the ball, as the lead feral went down under a focused barrage. Unfortunately, that was only the first of many.

The scene played in front of him in eerie silence. Feral after feral leapfrogging each other as the leaders dropped, only to get up again as the pack passed them, skin knitting itself shut. The pack closed on the defenders, barely slowed.

Then an armored figure leapt the barricade and the ferals started to get blasted back down the street by an unseen force. He grit his teeth as he watched the defenders scramble for the cars and climb in. They had been counting on any cops or PRT they ran into to augment the swarm of ferals and one cape wasn’t going to cut it.

Mosh must have changed the tune he was playing, because the ferals switched up from charging down the street to trying to gang up the armored cape. They kept getting blasted back, but each time they got up a little quicker, still not at their peak yet. He was sure they would overwhelm the cape given enough time but still, this was a roadblock and the Butcher had given clear instructions. He honked the horn twice to let Mosh Pit know what he was doing and started to back up. If the cape wanted to play then they were just going to have-

The driver died as one of Crosshair’s explosive rounds went right past the bulletproof windshield and detonated inside the sealed cab.

<><><>

Nicky Flame rubbed a sweaty palm on the leg of his pants and glanced in the mirror at Mush clinging to the outside of the semi. He hated taking part in operations but there were no stay at home capes in the Teeth. So he would just have to buckle down and-

“Holy-!” His driver bit off a curse as something slammed into the pavement ahead of them. The piercing wail of a steam whistle filled the street and something big and armored rocketed towards the semi, flames trailing behind it.

“Alternate route! Alternate route!” Nicky screamed as he slammed his hand down on the big red button he had affixed to the dash board. The button sent a signal to the drug injector collar he and Squealer had rigged around Mush’s neck. With a feral scream, the former Merchant threw himself forward off the truck and rushed the other cape.

The driver pumped the brakes and started to turn down a side street as Mush clashed with the armored cape, metal hands doing their best to crush each other. Nicky let out a sigh of relief, Mush on that stimulant cocktail wasn’t about to stop for at least an hour.

Gunfire echoed over the street and Nicky’s head whipped around to see the other cape kneeling on top of Mush a fist pressed against his chest. Flames flashed from the point where fist and chest met as the crack of gunfire echoed again and again. Then the cape got up and Mush stayed down.

“Oh, god no.” Nicky whispered as flames erupted behind the horned cape.

<><><>

“I see them!” Glory Girl shouted over the wind as she adjusted her arms around Manpower’s chest. Beneath them she could see Squealer’s hovercar speeding down Main Street, Skidmark taking potshots at parked cars as they drove past. Laserdream and Lady Photon fell in beside her and together they skimmed over the rooftops as the hovercar slid into a turn.

Bright lasers shot forth from Laserdream and Lady Photon, lighting up the hovercar’s forcefield. Glory Girl took advantage of the vehicle's temporary blindness to swoop down and fly towards the vehicle at full speed. At the last moment she pulled up, releasing her hold on Manpower and launching the giant man at the hovercar in a flying drop kick.

A loud boom shook the street and the vehicle bobbed under the force of the impact, the forcefield shielding it shifting from red to blue where Manpower’s feet hit. Then it shifted fully back to red and Manpower was forced to roll to the side and off the hovercar as Skidmark brought his machine gun to  bear. Manpower lunged to the side as a stream of bullets followed him across the street before abruptly cutting off.

The hovercar shot past Manpower and he reflexively caught the machine gun as Skidmark heaved it at him. Dumbfounded, he watched as the belt leading to the ammunition case stretched out between him and the vehicle before its forcefield flickered and severed the line of ammunition.

“Arms up!” Glory Girl yelled, and Manpower dropped the machine gun as she swooped down and scooped him up to follow the fleeing hovercar.

<><><>

Armsmaster didn’t flinch as he charged past the cluster of forcefields, razor sharp edges scrapping lines into his armor. His halberd spun in his grip and he slammed the butt of the shaft into the stomach of the enemy cape doubling her over before activating the taser. “Armsmaster to Console. Teeth cape down.”

“Acknowledged.” Diviner said. “All units check for grenades. They’ll look like they're made of green glass. Isolate them and do NOT let them break. Crosshair and Dauntless, keep an eye on those people, with the controller down for the count they’re already starting to change back. Go ahead and start letting them out of the foam.”

Armsmaster immediately saw some of the items in question in an open case in the back of one of the Teeth’s trucks. He carefully closed the case and produced a small light that strobed as he set it on top.

“Got eyes on the Butcher! Velocity! You’re closest, head west-”

“No.” Armsmaster felt like someone walked over his grave and the sound of Daimaou’s voice over the radio. “She is mine.”

<><><>

Quarrel had a long list of expletives ready as she got a status report from another team with the cops and PRT hot on their trail. Today’s payday was going to be a lot smaller than she had expected and if she got a hold of one of those so-called Demon’s she was going to show them what Hell really looked like.

“What now?” Spree yelled over the wind rushing over the truck bed.

“We’re going to have to-” Quarrel was cut off as the lead truck exploded into an inferno. “What the hell?!”

“So.” Every member of the Teeth looked up at a hooded woman with flaming eyes floating in the air above them. “You are the Butcher then. You are not welcome here.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Animos rip through his change and heard him scream at the floating woman. Quarrel barely had time to register that the flying cape hadn’t shifted at all, before a hand was lazily lifted and a spray of blood and viscera erupted into the air. A long length of spine flew towards the flying cape and the rest of Animos’s eviscerated corpse followed as a massive sword formed in the cape's hand from the bone and gore. Spree started to babble in some weird language in Quarrel’s ear and she felt her own guts roll.

“Run!” Quarrel didn’t stop to think as she took her own advice, her feet pounding the pavement before the explosion of her teleportation even started to fade. She shifted her grip on her bow and put an arrow to the string. Risking a glance behind her she saw that sword cleave through Spree’s clones, the man himself and the truck he was standing on. She turned and loosed the arrow, before tossing the bow aside and leaping over the edge of the overpass.

She hit the ground in a roll and teleported through the column holding the concrete overhead. She slammed herself back first against one of the columns, panting as she drew the pistol from her side. She chambered a round and pulled a machete from her back with her off hand, ready to fight for her life.

The cape’s sword erupted out through her stomach and Quarrel stared in shock. Footsteps sounded and the cape walked in front of her. “Do you know who we are?”

“Fu-fuck!” Quarrel raised her pistol and pulled the trigger. The hooded woman seemed utterly unfazed as bullets bounced off her.

“We are Daimaou. And you have made a fatal error.”

Quarrel let the pistol fall from her hand and she gripped at the sword running her through from the column behind her. She was in more pain than she thought she could feel since taking the Butcher’s mantle. The length of the blade pulsed under her fingers and she could feel something caress her insides. “Y-you can’t kill me. Don’t you kn-know what will happen?”

“The Butcher’s mantle passes to the parahuman who caused the death of the Butcher.” Daimaou said dismissively. “Baring that the nearest eligible parahuman, if something else was the cause of death. We are beyond such concerns.”

“You-you can’t know that.” Quarrel whimpered.

“We know much that is forbidden.”

“Please.” Quarrel knew what was waiting for her in death. Every Butcher did. There was nothing but a dark pit, screaming to be heard over the other voices. “I don’t want to die.”

“No?” Daimaou crossed her arms. “We suppose that is understandable. But your trespass cannot go unanswered.”

“Please.” Quarrel begged. “Please!”

“We suppose the question is…Do we have a use for the Butcher?” Those flaming eyes seemed to fill Quarrel’s vision until she couldn’t see anything else. “Perhaps. Will you serve?”

“Anything! Please!”

“Good.”

Query

<><><>

Lisa sat back in her chair with a groan. The Boss’s enhancements might have made her more resistant to headaches, but after two hours of following the feed from a large number of Snitches scattered throughout the city, she felt an epic one starting to build up. Fortunately for her Daimaou had prepared something for her before going to take care of the Butcher.

Lisa looked over forlornly at the large bowl sitting on the end of her desk. As if sensing her gaze a thin tendril extended over the edge of the bowl and wiggle in her general direction. Whimpering, both from the building headache and what she was about to do, she reached over and lifted the bowl to her lips.