The Second Archon War, Interlude 1 (Patreon)

Interlude 1: A Terrible Day for Rain

“We’re calling it the Hebert Cluster, for obvious reasons,” Doctor Mother said, adjusting her glasses as she motioned to the screen. “It’s not a traditional cluster at all. Cases all across the country, nearly a dozen in the last nine months in the United States alone that we know of. More globally. How many, we can’t be sure.”

“You know, something else happened nine months ago,” Hero commented, nodding to the Eastern section of the map.

“Yes, quite,” Doctor Mother sighed. “Well. Let’s go over the characteristics, shall we?”

She walked over to the podium, and picked up a sphere that seemed to be made of glass. This one had cracks in the surface, and ever so faintly, the etching of a triple spoked barbed helix. “All members of this cluster have a totem of some sort. It’s usually about 10 cm in diameter, exact dimensions vary, though all are very light but durable. Most are a geometric shape of some kind, with spheres being the most common. It takes a great deal of force to harm one, as this example bears out.”

She set the object down, gesturing to one shown on screen. “When the parahuman is alive and in possession of their totem, it glows purple, and crackles with what appears to be electricity.”

“Just like someone else we know of,” Hero mused.

Doctor Mother shot him a withering look, but the boy just grinned mischievously at her. She sighed and continued.

“When the totem is removed from its owner, or the owner dies, it rapidly dims and becomes inert. So far, we have not yet found a way to restore them, aside from returning them to the original owner. Interestingly, the owner loses all their powers when the totem is removed, which brings me to my next point.”

The slide advanced, showing several brief clips, which Doctor Mother talked over. “All individuals in this cluster manifest similar powers. Some do not possess all the listed powers, and all are more skilled in some powers than others to varying degrees. All are electricity based. They include the ability to generate and fire bolts of electricity, infuse themselves with electricity, create shields of electricity, create small objects, stimulate plant growth, bestow regenerative abilities to themselves and/or others, a breaker state that may or may not grant enhanced speed or short range teleportation, and are some level of more durable, faster, and stronger.”

“So, they’re all Movers, Shakers, Brutes, Breakers, Blasters, and Strikers. Anything I’m missing?” Hero mused. He sat up, snapping his fingers. “Say! I know someone else who-”

“Yes, they all seem to possess lesser versions of the abilities that the parahuman known as Raiden do,” Doctor Mother said wearily. “And yes, I am aware that Raiden carries around a similar totem, and has taken this helix as her sigil.”

“So she’s got to be related,” one of the Thinkers in the room said, brow furrowed. “We’ve sussed out that much, it’s just-”

“Oh right, we can add one more thing! They’re all Trumps in some way,” Hero said with a nod.

Doctor Mother made a face. “That is not conclusive. There are some whose Thinker powers operate just fine on the new cluster. Most, however…well. It’s been described to me as a kind of ‘haze’ or ‘fuzz’ that makes reading them harder, but not impossible. Whereas even our best models do not yet fully incorporate Raiden.”

“You’re just still pissed she hasn’t invaded Korea,” Hero teased.

“I am quite glad that the region has not further destabilized, especially with the Yangban struggling to maintain control in China and the latest revolts in Taiwan and Xinjiang. But our models did predict that once Raiden consolidated control of Japan, she would launch further conquests. That still may happen.”

“Taking all bets that Raiden sits in her room playing video games,” Hero said, earning a few groans and chuckles.

“Hero, those are unconfirmed rumors. As baseless as the claims she’s a god,” Doctor Mother said, trying not to sound irritated. Those rumors just couldn’t be true. Holing up and indulging in Hedonism was not how Passengers drove their hosts to behave. It would throw off every model they had.

“So, we all sort of knew this, what else can you tell us about the Hebert Cluster?” Hero asked.

She should never have let him in this session. But, well…she did feel she sort of owed it to Wyatte.

“This is still exploratory. We haven’t had any good autopsy subjects, and the pool is limited enough that results could be skewed. However, we have two new pieces of information. The first is this: Their trigger events are not like anything we’ve ever seen.”

The slide advanced again, and Doctor Mother gestured to the picture of a weedy looking middle aged man in glasses and a cheap suit, his totem being used as a sort of neckpiece in place of a tie.

“This is Miniver Cheevy. He’s a 42 year old accountant who works for the Internal Revenue Service. A wife, three children between the ages of 6 and 14, all girls. Reportedly happy home life. He triggered in April of this year, and it was caught on tape.”

The slide changed to show an office room, where Miniver and several other suits were sitting around several tables with heaps of papers atop them.

“It’s here, I know it is!” Miniver was saying, holding up a paper. “We just need a little longer!”

“And we don’t have the budget. Maybe he is laundering millions, but to prove it would take more time and money than we have, Mini,” an older man with a paunch and hangdog look said, shaking his head.

“Fuck you, John! This is my life's work right here!” Miniver said, slamming the stack of papers in front of him. “Don’t you have any ambition!? This guy is crooked and his books are cooked! We both know it!”

“It’s not worth it. We’d never recover more revenue than we lost going after him. With the budget cuts, we need to move on to other audits,” John answered. The other men at the table looked frustrated and tired. One took out a cigarette, muttering about going for a smoke, and walked off.

“Oh yeah, Mike, just walk away! Come on! Don’t you see!? You all lack vision! We can do this!”

“It’s a waste of time. You can’t get them all, Mini,” John sighed. “Let this one go.”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you? Crazy Mini! That’s what you say! You’ll just let this guy go!” Miniver was pacing now, ranting and going out of range of the camera as he did so.

“You’re not crazy, just a stubborn fool. We’ve got better and bigger fish to fry,” another man said.

“No! I refuse! You might give up, but I won’t! I WILL do this if it takes me the rest of eternity! I will not let this man get away, so help me God!”

Miniver had stepped back into the pickup, and there was a clap of lighting. Papers scattered and the lights and video flickered, going to static. When it returned, Miniver was standing and holding aloft a glowing object in his clenched fist.

“I WILL GET THESE BASTARDS IF ITS THE LAST THING I DO!”

The video ended, and there was puzzled silence in the room.

“That was a trigger event? That was his worst day?” someone said skeptically. “Was it induced somehow? Something else happened?”

“Reportedly, Mr. Cheevy had just gotten a raise, his daughters were and are in good health and getting good grades, and his wife claims that their sex life was great, but has gotten even better,” Doctor Mother said dryly.

“That’s…bizarre,” Hero muttered. “What are we missing?”

“We’ve looked at every angle. A team of Thinkers and analysts have gone over it. But I think Mr. Cheevy’s own words will do here.”

The slide advanced, to a much more energetic Miniver sitting in a PRT interview room.

“So I hear this voice, you know? And it tells me, they’ll call me crazy. I’ll face the storm, but I’ll be obsessed, even facing the Lightning’s Glow. I figure, it’s gotta be the voice of God, right? And I say HELL YEAH.” He slammed his fist on the table, and a few purple sparks shot out.

“So I got this thing, right?” he held up his totem and shook it, before lowering it back around his neck. “And let me tell you, since then, I’ve just been able to see it, better than ever! We’ve closed six audits that we didn’t think would go anywhere, and recovered millions for the American Taxpayer! And I’m going to keep doing it! Every day! Until I get every last dollar these jerks have stolen from us!”

“To this day, Mr. Cheevy has not used his abilities to fight a single other cape. He has gone on a few ride-alongs to capture the individuals who he catches through his forensic accounting, but again, he has not used his powers once. He has them, and has demonstrated them a few times at our request. Aside from that, he continues to do exactly what he has done for the last twenty years.”

“You have got to be shitting me, but I know you’re not,” a Thinker groaned, putting their head in their hands. “I can see it! He’s going to just…keep being an accountant! A damn good one! Shit, he’s going to win all kinds of awards and become head of the IRS!”

“That’s the general consensus, though several have said his wife’s going to get pregnant, despite being menopausal,” Doctor Mother said. “They’ve always wanted a boy.”

“So, what does this tell us? Trigger events are getting less traumatic for second generation parahumans, right?” Hero pointed out.

“Yes. But Mr. Cheevy is most decidedly not a second generation parahuman. His parents are still alive, and do not have the capacity to trigger. Which brings me to my second point. Mr. Cheevy does not have a detectable Corona Pollentia, or Gemma.”

“That’s not totally unheard of,” another Thinker pointed out.

“No, it’s not. But it is unusual. As is a subject remaining conscious through their trigger event, which most, but not all, members of this cluster do. And none of them have the enlarged Corona Pollentia that we would expect.”

There was silence for a long time, broken, of course, by Hero.

“You know, maybe he’s right. Maybe a god did give him his powers,” Hero said. He wasn’t teasing this time. He was somber, and he looked and sounded frightened.

“If that’s what you want to call an Entity, all well and good. But I will not hear more of that absurd theory,” Doctor Mother said, her tone ice.

Hero held up his hands. “I’m just saying. Maybe Raiden doesn’t have a complex.”

“End of discussion, young man. That’s a dead end we won’t go down,” Doctor Mother said firmly.

Hero sighed, and stood. “Speaking off… I have a prior engagement. Thanks for having me.”

He walked off, leaving Doctor Mother and her Think Tank to try and figure out just what was happening. The few answers they arrived at were disturbing indeed.

In stories, it always rained at funerals. From Alexandria’s experience, that wasn’t usually the case. The grass was wet, and it had rained earlier that morning, but despite the scattered clouds, it was shaping up to be a fine and warm late summer day.

So Alexandria found herself providing the rain herself.

“-and so we return to the Earth, to await the day of Resurrection and the return of our Lord and Savior, when the dead shall rise in glory. Ashes to ashes, dust to-”

“DADDY!”

The scream was expected. Alexandria had heard similar screams before. But seeing a little girl in a black dress, her face streaked with hot tears, snot dripping from her nose, pudgy hand reaching for the casket as it was lowered into the ground…

Having heard the same screams before didn’t make these any easier to bear. Knowing that the casket was mostly empty didn’t make this any less painful. There hadn’t been much to bury left.

A line formed, and Alexandria joined it. Hero stood beside her, sobbing quietly, looking guilt stricken as he always did. Legend was sober and dry eyed, but still mournful. And Eidolon was a dick.

“We shouldn’t be here. Especially out of costume,” he grumbled.

“David?” Legend said, his tone sweet.

“Yeah?”

Legend punched Eidolon right in the short ribs, soliciting a quiet grunt. “Shut the fuck up, and pay your respects.”

After about a half hour wait, they approached the open grave. Alexandria picked up a handful of dirt, sprinkling it over the already mostly covered casket. All of the Longshoreman’s union of Brockton Bay were here, to pay their respects to a fallen hero. She looked at the gravestone, and felt a pang.

Daniel J. Hebert

Beloved Father, Faithful Friend, Fallen Hero

Dec. 2, 1970 - Sept 15, 2000

He hadn’t even been 30 yet.

They walked by the wife and daughter, who were sitting on a bench under a tree, with a few relatives and well wishers gathered around. Annette Hebert looked exhausted, and stunned, as if it hadn’t fully sunken in yet. Taylor Hebert was crying softly, sitting on her mother’s lap and looking as though her entire world had just collapsed. She couldn’t have been more than five.

Alexandra stopped, kneeling beside Annette, who blinked at her, not recognizing her at all. She swallowed and said, “David. Some privacy?”

He grunted, but he did it. The others all felt the urge to be somewhere else, and wandered off, leaving the four of them alone with Annette and Taylor.

“Are you…some of Danny’s…friends?” Annette asked, her tone uncertain, but indicating she thought they were capes of some sort.

“I like to think we would have been,” Alexandria said quietly. “He saved my life. And Wyatte’s too.”

“Oh.” Annette sounded exhausted, as if she’d heard all this before.

“My name…well. You’d know me as Alexandria.”

The other woman’s eyes went wide, her jaw dropping as her daughter stirred, blinking back tears and frowning at Alexandria. “You…you mean-!” Annette looked around in surprise. “Does that mean, they’re-”

“I’m Hero,” he said, taking a seat on the bench. “But you can call me Wyatte. That’s David, also called Eidolon, and-”

“Keith,” Legend stuck out a hand, which Annette shook numbly. “I’m Legend.”

“Are…are you really Alexandria?” Taylor asked, fixating and scooting closer, her sorrow momentarily forgotten.

“Yes. I am. Your daddy saved my life.” She wasn’t entirely sure that was the case, but The Siberian had seriously injured Alexandria, and without that healing, she didn’t know what would have happened. Wyatte would definitely have been dead. Maybe all of them would have been. Well, probably not Eidolon. As it was, a lot of people had died before The Siberian had fled.

Including Danny Hebert.

Taylor nodded soberly. “He kicked ass.”

“Taylor,” Annette chided, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it. She still seemed slightly dazed. “You…thank you. I…I didn’t realize…”

“The Siberian was going for me. I was dead to rights,” Hero said quietly, folding his hands and looking at them in his lap. “Danny jumped between us. He didn’t have to. But he knocked me out of the way. He…he took the hit that was meant for me.”

“That’s what he always did,” Annette said, smiling faintly, tears filling her eyes once more. “He…he was such a good man. Full of ambition. When he got his powers…I…I was so afraid, and…”

Alexandria let the woman cry as long as she needed to, leaning in to hug her tightly. Not too hard, just a firm squeeze. It was several minutes, during which time Wyatte took Taylor and got out some baubles he had on him, that had the little girl giggling and clapping in moments.

After several minutes, Annette leaned back, taking out an already damp handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. Alexandria did the same. She’d been crying too. She’d done this so many times. But it still hurt.

“Thank you. They…they wouldn’t tell me exactly what happened. They said…said it was classified,” Annette hiccuped, giving a grateful if pained smile to the four survivors.

“He was a real hero. And if you need anything, ever, call us,” Alexandria said, giving Annette a small white business card that had only a number on it.

“I don’t think I’ll have too many super villains pop up. Or so I hope,” Annette said in a bit of forced levity with her voice cracking towards the end so that hope came out half a sob.

“I mean anything. A couch moved. Something special for Taylor for Christmas. Money. A jerk told off. You call us. We’ll be there,” Alexandria vowed. This was something she didn’t do often, but…well. She hadn’t had her life saved very often either.

“We look after our own. Especially those of our fallen comrades,” Eidolon said quietly, his tone actually somewhat soft for once.

“Thank you,” Annette whispered, clutching Alexandria’s hands. “Thank you.”

They took one more minute, one more precious minute, then Alexandria stood. They’d tarried here long enough. “We’ve got to go.”

Annette nodded, standing herself, and Taylor timidly waved goodbye. They walked off together, until Alexandria felt something vibrate in her pocket. She took out the phone, and put it to her ear.

“Alexandria! We’ve got a situation! New Endbringer!” the frantic voice of one of her top PRT operatives gasped.

Her blood ran cold. “Where?”

“Davao City! The Philippines! Information is still coming in but-”

Hero reached out to her, and Alexandria grabbed him as he put on the gear needed for him to survive a flight with her, even as Eidolon and Legend took off together. They took off, and were at PRT Brockton Bay headquarters in moments. The facility was mostly empty, most of the staff and heroes would be at the funeral or running security in case a villain decided to make an appearance.

Within minutes they had the data, but there was frustratingly little. It wasn’t even clear if it WAS an Endbringer, whatever it was. A winged humanoid had descended upon Davao City on the island of Mindanao and had a population of nearly a million people. There was an active Cape Scene there, with a full time hero team and several villain groups and a dozen or so solo acts.

They soon had a live feed, which showed a winged woman hovering over the city at a height of about 1000 feet. Despite having wings, they were wrapped about her nude form as if to guard her modesty, and she appeared to be sleeping, head bowed, eyes closed. She seemed to be about 15 feet tall, and was so thin you could count the ribs that weren’t covered by her wings. She was pale, with white hair and feathers and almost alabaster skin.

“So she’s just sitting there, doing nothing,” Armsmaster said, having joined them a short time later. He frowned at the screen, then shook his head. “What do we do?”

“That’s not the question,” Eidolon said, his fingers laced together before him, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward in his seat.

“So what is it?” Armsmaster asked.

“What does She do,” Legend snorted, taking a sip of hot tea.

“She did fuck all when Behemoth hit Guadalajara, and that cities irradiated rubble now even with us getting there in record time,” Hero sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s on the other side of the planet from her,” Alexandria pointed out. “This is practically in her backyard.”

“Manila has requested aid from Japan. Not us. So what do we do?” Legend said with a sigh.

“We wait,” Alexandria answered.

After a few hours, Tokyo declared that it had no interest in the woman in the sky of Davao. The Philippines were not Japan. Raiden and the Sentai were the heroes of Japan, though the phrase they used for Raiden was closer to Spirit or God. And so, Raiden would remain in Japan.

Some time later, Washington got a call from Manila, begging for PRT aid.

“Well then, let’s go,” Eidolon decreed, standing.

“You wanna come?” Hero asked, grinning at Armsmaster. “It could be fun!”

He raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that. But my gear’s ready. Let’s go.”

They didn’t make it to Davao in time. Exactly eight hours after descending, the Angel of Death spread her wings, and began her song of destruction. It would be some time before they learned just how complete the death of the city was, and how grevious the blow to humanity would be.

But the people of the world cried out for a savior. They cried out for freedom.

And in Bavaria, a wind began to blow.