One More Trigger Pt 26 (Patreon)

Emily Piggot's desk phone rang. She typed another few words, during which time it rang a second time, then she picked it up. “Director Piggot.”

“Director, I have an incoming call from Vista. She asked that it be routed through to you.”

Piggot's head came up. “Yes, of course. Patch her through.”

She heard a series of muted clicks, followed by the voice of her youngest Ward. “Hello?”

“Vista,” she said. “Why do I get the feeling that this is not a social call?”

“Because it's not,” Vista replied promptly. “I have some information for you. In return, the Samaritans require two things.”

Emily's eyebrows drew down at that. Initiative was something they certainly tried to foster in the Wards, but Vista seemed to be gaining somewhat more than her fair share of it. “I'll need to know what those two things are before I agree to anything,” she replied guardedly.

Vista seemed not at all put out by her lack of immediate agreement. “Certainly. First, that you do not send troops or capes to assist us. Second, that you send buses to help evacuate Winslow High.”

The Director blinked. “From what you're saying, something significant is happening at Winslow High. What is it?”

“It's where the Nine are going, Director. And it's where we're going to trap them and capture them, once and for all.”

Emily froze. “You know this for a fact?”

“I believe the information that we've been given.” It wasn't quite the same, but it was close enough.

The Director took a deep breath. “Where did you get the information, and how long have you known?”

“Uh, we developed the information from an outside source, Director,” Vista informed her. “We've uh, known for a little while.”

“What outside source, and why did you not inform me earlier?” The plastic of the handset creaked under the pressure of Piggot's grip.

“Director Piggot, when I accepted the position of liaison with the Samaritans, you assured me that I would not be spying on them. It was explained to me that now was the best time to inform you, and I accepted that. Has my job description changed?”

“It is not spying to keep me apprised of critical information, such as where the Nine are going to be attacking!” snapped the Director. “What reason did they have for keeping me in the dark?” If she doesn't have a good reason, I am going to be very unhappy.

“I was told that if you were informed ahead of time, then the PRT and Protectorate might attempt to intervene, and that could have disastrous consequences,” Vista told her. “There are only four of them, and we have developed plans for taking them all down. If anyone else shows up to the party, they're likely to be forewarned, and things will get very messy.”

When Piggot next spoke, her tone was tinged with the disbelief that she was feeling. “You're saying that our presence would cause your plans to fail?”

“That's what I was told, Director.”

Told by whom? But there was something else that Emily's mind had seized upon. “And what do you mean, four? Only three were supposed to have survived. Where are you getting your information from?”

There was a momentary pause. “Director, I don't have time for this kind of interrogation. Burnscar is the other survivor. We're getting our information from an outside source, one that I don't want to reveal over the phone. That person assured us that we had a far better chance doing this on our own than with your … assistance.” Emily presumed from the slight hesitation before the last word that she had changed her word choice at the last moment. Probably from 'interference' or something similar.

“So you need buses to evacuate the school, and for the PRT and Protectorate to hold back while you go up against an S-class threat again. When they're ready for you this time.” She managed to keep most of the sarcasm from her voice, but not all.

Vista, however, seemed not to notice it. “Yes, please, Director. That would be perfect.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, considering matters. The Samaritans were a very competent team; they had proven that, time and again. They had taken on the Nine, the first time, and thoroughly owned them. But a once-beaten enemy is a forewarned enemy, and Jack Slash was a very tricky customer.

I would give a great deal to learn the name of whoever gave them the information. But she knew that pressing at this point would do more harm than good. When she spoke again, her voice was a growl. “Requests granted. When this is over, you and I are going to have a very long talk, young lady.”

“I look forward to it, Director. Thank you. Goodbye.” The call ended.

Emily put the phone down, glowering. Then she turned to the computer, and brought up a list of obscure procedures. Picking up the phone again, she hit a single key; the phone dialled a number.

“Ready room. Lieutenant Cowley speaking.” The voice sounded bored.

“Lieutenant, this is the Director. Enact S-Class Emergency Evacuation procedures for Winslow High School. Effective immediately. Do you understand me?”

Cowley was jolted out of his boredom. “Uh, yes, ma'am, immediately, ma'am.”

“Good. Get to it.” Piggot put the phone down.

<><>

“You've got a problem.”

Carrie Blackwell stared at the costumed teenager who had stepped into her office without so much as an invitation. Her voice was bright and chirpy.

“Wait – what – you're Ladybug,” she managed. “What are you doing here?”

“Informing you that you've got a problem,” Ladybug replied, her voice sounding irritatingly patient. “And I'm about to ask you to evacuate the school.”

This never happened with Shadow Stalker. Carrie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. It didn't really help. “Why?”

“Um.” Ladybug paused. “I'm actually not allowed to tell you. Director Piggot said that it would cause a panic.”

Carrie blinked. “A panic? What would cause a … oh.” A feeling of dread crystallised in the pit of her stomach. “Villains are attacking the school again, aren't they?”

“Maybe.” She couldn't see Ladybug's eyes behind the visor, but if she could, she knew they would have been shifting evasively. “But even if they were, I'm not allowed to say who.”

What villain gang would cause a panic if it was mentioned that they were about to attack the school? Well, any of them would cause concern. But which one would the PRT Director forbid Ladybug from telling me about … oh, no.

“No.” Carrie was already shaking her head. “No. No. Please don't tell me that they're attacking the school again. Not the … the …” Her throat closed up, and she had to force the word out. “The Nine.”

“I can't tell you that.” Ladybug's voice was strangely insistent. “Like I said, Director Piggot told us not to. And she's already unhappy enough with us as it is.”

Which meant that she was telling Carrie, but in a way that she could claim that she hadn't. “I thought they were dead or in custody.”

“There's a theoretical chance that the surviving members may have escaped custody due to outside factors.” Ladybug's voice was flat. Carrie read the tone perfectly. They got away.

She swallowed. “Uh … who's 'us'?”

“Me and the Samaritans,” Ladybug told her. “This is really important. Everyone here is going to be in a lot of danger really soon, so if you could evacuate the school, that would be absolutely awesome.” She paused. “Oh, and all the staff and students need to leave their cars here. So that it looks like we haven't evacuated.”

“But why would you want it to look like everyone's still here?” Carrie was confused now.

“Because that way, the people who are coming here still decide to come here.” Ladybug's tone was matter of fact.

“Wait.” Carrie put both of her hands on the desk. “You want them to come here.”

A nod. “Yes.”

The revelation was as blinding as it was unbelievable. “You're setting a trap for them? A trap for the Nine?”

“Not saying that's who it is, but yeah. If we can pull it off.” There was that chirpiness again.

“But why my school? Why are you bringing them here?”

“It's not our idea,” Ladybug explained. “Hypothetically speaking, if it was them, then there's a really good chance that they're coming back here to balance the scales for us beating them the first time. Not that I'm saying it's actually them, of course.” She gave Carrie a wide, ingenuous smile. “But about evacuating the school?”

“Just give me a moment.” Carrie massaged her temples. "You do realise I can't just take your word for it, right?" Without waiting for Ladybug to answer what had been mostly a rhetorical question, she picked up her desk phone and hit speed-dial.

<><>

Barely had Piggot put her phone down than it rang again. She glanced at it in annoyance. The caller ID read Winslow Blackwell. Her habitual frown deepened. She could guess what it was about, but she didn't want to speak to Carrie Blackwell. But then she grimaced and reached for the handset. I'd better talk to her. I can always hang up.

“Piggot here,” she stated flatly. “What do you want, Blackwell?” She hadn't forgotten how badly the woman had handled the Shadow Stalker situation, allowing Hess to bully at least one other girl with almost total impunity. For more than a fucking year. My god.

“Director Piggot,” the woman answered, picking her words with care, “if a member of Team Samaritan were to walk into my office and strongly suggest that I evacuate the school, how seriously should I take her?”

Emily nodded. I thought it was something like that. “Which member is it, and what has she said?”

“Ladybug. She's asked me to evacuate the school. Although she's taken care not to say it specifically, I've gathered that the Slaughterhouse Nine has escaped and may be returning to Brockton Bay. To Winslow. What I want to know is, do I take her seriously?”

The Director grimaced. She was on the horns of a dilemma; if she answered in the affirmative, then the school would be evacuated in time for the buses to get them out of there. But on the downside, Blackwell would be in possession of the fact that the Nine were on the way. If the knowledge gets out and causes a panic …

She sighed. There was nothing else she could do.

<><>

“Principal Blackwell.” Piggot's voice was clipped. “I strongly suggest that you follow her suggestions in the matter. However, do not under any circumstances even suggest that the Nine may be involved. Call it a fire drill, or a fumigation, or whatever. Send them home for the day, then get out yourself. Do you understand me?”

Carrie Blackwell felt a chill spreading down her back. She hasn't denied it. In fact, she's all but confirmed it. “I understand perfectly,” she replied. “Good day, Director.”

Carefully, she placed the phone down and looked at Ladybug. “How long do we have?” she asked flatly.

“Couple of hours, tops,” the tall girl replied. “After that … if I were you, I wouldn't be here.” She dropped a slip of paper on the desk. “Contact number, in case you need to reach us.”

Already shaken by Piggot's tone, Carrie didn't question her. Instead, she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a list of emergency-evacuation scripts. Scanning over them, she found the one that seemed to suit her needs. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button on her phone that patched her into the PA system. Lifting the receiver, she spoke carefully into it.

<><>

“Attention, all students and staff. Attention, all students and staff. A gas leak has been detected on the premises. Please evacuate the building in a safe and orderly manner. There is no immediate danger, but it is important that you leave the building via the nearest exit. Gather at your evacuation point. Attention all students and staff …”

“All right, everyone. You heard the message.” Mr Gladly clapped his hands twice. “Leave your books and bags. I want everyone lined up at the door now. We'll be making our way to the sports field. Come on, hup-hup-hup!”

Greg Veder stood up with the rest of them, but something didn't sit right with him about this. Gas stinks. The last time we had a gas leak, everyone knew about it before Blackwell told us about it. So what's really going on here?

As soon as he was out the door, while Mr Gladly was still occupied in counting the students out of the classroom, he ducked off in the opposite direction.

“Hey, dude.” It was Sparky. “They said get out of the school.”

“They also said there's no immediate danger,” Greg pointed out. “I gotta take a wicked leak. Cover for me?”

Sparky considered this, then shrugged. “Sure, whatever, dude.” He headed back to the World Affairs students. Greg patted his pocket to make sure his phone was still there, then moved off. Now to find a hiding place.

<><>

Missy looked up as the ancient PA system crackled out its message. “Gas leak, huh?”

Sparx grinned. “One way to get 'em all out of here.”

“So you guys actually go to school here, huh?” asked Athena, her hands in the pockets of her jeans. She looked around at the graffiti-stained walls of the otherwise empty classroom and wrinkled her nose. “Is it just me, or is this place a shithole?”

Already, the other classroom doors were opening and students streaming out, flooding down the hallway toward the exit doors. Nobody took any notice of the part-opened door.

“I've heard stories about Winslow,” Panacea offered. “None of them good.”

“You probably heard the nice ones,” Aerodyne replied. “Trust me when I say that this is indeed a shithole of the very lowest quality.”

“I have no doubt. Oh, by the way, nice going.” A friendly arm encircled Missy's shoulders in a half-hug. She looked up into Athena's grin. “You did good.”

“I can't believe I spoke to her like that.” Missy tried not to let her voice quiver too much. “You think she'll bring the troops in anyway?”

“Nah.” Athena shook her head. “You've told her that would screw our plans up. She's a bit arrogant and dislikes capes on principle, but she's not a moron. So, yeah.” She peered out through the slightly-open door. “Welp, looks like most everyone has gone. So, let's get set up.”

<><>

Jack pushed open the motel room door and looked around. Nothing had changed since he had left to strew pyrethrum bombs around the city. Engineered by Riley, they should be pumping out clouds of almost-invisible fumes, harmless to humans but inimical to bugs of all kinds.

His poppet was still working at the small desk. Like him, she had been restored to her original appearance. Wearing a disguise was all well and good, but he wanted people to know who was doing this to them.

Burnscar was lying on one of the beds, staring at the wall. She hadn't moved, either.

“Ready to go to work, poppet?”

“Almost, Mr Jack.” Riley finished adjusting the interior of the last spiderbot and snapped the tiny hatch shut. It came to life, dancing in place as all ten legs flexed and tested themselves. “I just need to load up his prion reservoir, and then we can go.”

“You know, I'm very impressed with these prions of yours, especially if they act as advertised,” Jack observed as she busied herself with that task. “Though it is reversible, right?”

“Well, you don't have to worry about that, Mr Jack,” she replied over her shoulder. “You're immunised, just like me and Burnscar. It'll never affect you.”

“I was thinking of how we can collect new recruits,” he told her absently, his mind turning over the possibilities. “Turn their powers off, take them someplace quiet, and have a nice quiet chat with them before we give them the antidote.”

“I can't guarantee that it'll turn off all power use,” she cautioned him. “Just the conscious uses. If the power is working outside of their deliberate control, it'll probably keep right on doing that.”

He nodded. “I can see how that could be a problem with some capes. But I'm sure we can work out ways around that, poppet.” He ruffled her blonde ringlets; she giggled.

“Okay, done.” She stood up; the spider-bot scuttled around in a circle then leaped up to cling to her back, four of its legs moving to lie along her arms. The others had roused as she got up, moving around a little then stopping to wait for her.

“Now, do you remember the plan?” he asked mock-seriously.

“Why does there have to be a plan?” she retorted, her tone playful. “I send my spiders in, they use prions on everyone, we walk in afterward without any problem.”

“Because there always has to be a plan,” he said. “And as good as your spiders are, we can't rely totally on them. Besides, what's the point in doing this if we can't have any fun?”

She huffed a sigh. “Okay, fine. We drive around the school. My spiders get off and converge on the entrances. Some go to the roof. They work their way through the school.”

“Which is likely to have been evacuated, if I know my heroes,” he noted. “Go on.”

“Mannequin goes in with them, to deal with anything that they can't,” she recited in a sing-song tone. “We go in afterward. The spiders will lead us to the heroes. If they haven't already been depowered, we depower or kill them.” She shot him a glare. “And I want at least one of them to play with. Maybe two!”

He rolled his eyes tolerantly. “Certainly, poppet. Just so long as I get at least one as a recruit. We can share, right?”

“I want to see if I can put insect mandibles on Ladybug,” Bonesaw decided. “Make her into a real bug. All scary, not cute and fluffy like a ladybug.”

Jack smiled. “She is kind of skinny, inside her armour,” he noted. “Maybe make her into a praying mantis?”

The young Tinker's eyes lit up. “Ooh,” she murmured. “Give her bladed forelimbs ….”

He chuckled and ruffled her hair again. “Let's save that for when we've got them in our hands. After all, we don't know yet which ones we're going to be able to capture and which ones we're going to have to kill.” He walked over to where Burnscar was still lying on the bed. “Come on, Mimi. Time to go to work.”

She rolled over and sat up. Her eyes held a deep-seated pain. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, Burnscar, we really have to,” he told her firmly. “You know what'll happen if the authorities catch you again. If they catch any of us. There'll be no mercy. No last-minute escapes.”

Something lit in her eyes, then. A fire, drowning out the pain. Holding up her hand, she watched as flames danced from fingertip to fingertip. “No mercy,” she murmured.

“That's the spirit,” he encouraged her. “No mercy.” Slapping her on the shoulder, he moved toward the door. Bonesaw followed; after a moment, Burnscar stood up from the bed and walked after them.

Jack went to the next motel room along and rapped on the door. “Finished in there yet, Alan?” he called out. “We're leaving. Don't want to be left behind.”

After a long moment, the door opened. Mannequin stood there, slightly hunched over so that his nine-foot height could fit out through the doorway. As silently as ever, he stepped out of the motel room, then carefully closed the door behind him. His 'head' bore no eyes, or even a real face, but his posture managed to impart a quizzical air as he turned toward Jack.

“Plan's the same as before,” Jack told him. “You've got the pyrethrin dispensers?”

The silent head nodded; vents slid open in the arms and legs, then closed again. Jack smiled. “Well, then. It looks like we're ready to go.” He gestured at the pickup. “Everyone in.”

“Dibs window seat!” Bonesaw called out. Burnscar looked at her, then at Jack.

He shrugged helplessly. “I'm sorry, but Bonesaw called it. You snooze, you lose.”

Pressing her lips together, Burnscar nodded. “Okay.” She climbed into the pickup.

At the same time, Mannequin climbed into the back, surrounded by spider-bots, and pulled a tarp up to cover himself and his travelling companions. There was a time to spread terror among the citizens of Brockton Bay, and a time to fly under the radar. The time for terror would be later.

<><>

Greg lurked in the storage closet, clutching his phone so tightly that he was worried that he might break it. This was the way to get real cred with his classmates. Whatever was going to happen in the school today, Greg Veder was going to get the full scoop. I'm gonna be the most popular kid in school.

It never occurred to him to wonder why the school had been evacuated without a real explanation …

<><>

Carrie Blackwell exited the school, leading the student exodus. She looked toward the parking lot … and beyond, where the first in a line of buses was just pulling up to the bus stop. Ladybug didn't tell me they'd called for buses. What's going on here?

Moving at a determined pace, she strode across the parking lot to the first bus. Its door opened as she approached, to reveal a regular driver at the wheel, with a man in plain clothes standing next to him.

“What's going on here?” she demanded. “What's all this?”

“One-time free bus service, ma'am,” the standing man replied blandly. Before she could ask any more questions, he opened his jacket just far enough for her to see the PRT badge pinned to the inside. “Care to get your kids on board before whatever's coming arrives?”

<><>

“Gladly!”

Mr Gladly turned to face Principal Blackwell. “Ma'am?”

“Do you have a proper count of your students?”

Gladly looked around. Friends had found friends, and people were mixing instead of waiting in neat groups to be counted. This caused the students of Winslow to be spread all over the sporting field. “Uh … one second.” He checked his clipboard. There were only a few names left to be ticked off. “Madison Clements.” Oh, wait. She took a sick day. He put a line through her name. “Uh … Keith Schreiber.” A frown crossed his face. “Ah, right, Sparky.” He raised his voice. “Sparky!”

The less than impressive visage of the would-be musician appeared. “Here, Mr G.”

Gladly crossed him off. “Taylor Hebert.” Another pause, as his brain caught up. Oh, right. Also sick. I'm going to have to talk to that girl. A line went through her name. “Greg Veder.”

“Oh, uh, he left. Said he had to go do something,” Sparky volunteered.

“So he's out of the school?” Gladly waited impatiently until the question permeated through Schreiber's consciousness.

“Uh, yeah. Guess so.”

Gladly frowned. He didn't know Sparky very well, but the kid spent most of his time in a daze or actually asleep. “Do you guess so or know so?”

He watched as Schreiber tried to think; it was a painful process. “Uh … I guess so?”

“Well?” That was Blackwell, at his elbow.

<><>

Gladly turned to face her, clipboard held defensively. “All out except for, uh, Greg Veder. I'm not sure about him, ma'am.”

Carrie took the clipboard and eyed the results. “You marked him out of the classroom, so he was present then,” she observed.

Gladly nodded. “Uh, yes.”

She sighed. “I've been checking with the other teachers. We've got ninety percent attendance here. This is better than the last time we held a fire drill. However.” She fixed the dull-looking student with a hard gaze. “Tell me exactly what you know about Greg Veder.”

The kid wilted after about three seconds. “Said he had to take a wicked leak,” he mumbled.

“Ah.” Carrie rolled her eyes. “Which means he's probably finished and out here already. But just in case.” She pulled out her phone, then retrieved the slip of paper from her pocket. Carefully, she tapped in the number.

“You've reached the Samaritans. This is Sparx. How can I help you?” The voice was young, female and brisk.

“This is Principal Blackwell,” Carrie said carefully. “We think there might be one or more of our students in the bathrooms.”

“One second.” She heard a muffled conversation, but could not make out the words. Moments later, Sparx spoke to her again. “All bathrooms have been checked. Classrooms and hallways have already been swept, but we'll do it again. No students have yet been found. If we do find any, we'll escort them out immediately.”

Carrie Blackwell felt a sense of relief wash through her. “Thank you.”

“Was there anything else?”

“Uh, no, no, there wasn't.”

“Well, we're a little busy, so I'm going to hang up now. Have a good day.”

The call ended; she took deep breaths, feeling just a little light-headed. With the Slaughterhouse Nine on the way, there was no way in hell that she wanted to go back into that school and search for missing students. Some will have wandered off already, or gone home, or whatever. So long as they're not in the damn school.

Gladly was still looking at her, like a dog expecting a treat. She smiled thinly. “He's not in the school.” With a firm hand and a clear conscience, she drew a line through Greg Veder's name and handed the clipboard back.

He took it, examining it, then finally nodded. “Yes, Principal Blackwell.”

She nodded curtly. “All right then.” Raising a loudspeaker to her mouth, she continued in a much louder voice. “Everyone, I would like your attention. Buses have been provided. You will now proceed to the bus stop and board the buses. Move. Move. Move.”

“Everyone's going?” asked Gladly. “Even you?”

“Even me,” she confirmed. She watched as he pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Ah, no. Leave your car. You're taking the bus. So am I. Tell the rest of the faculty as well. We leave our cars behind.”

<><>

Gladly had to raise his voice over the noise of the joyous stampede that was the exodus of Winslow's student body. “Leave our cars? Why?”

“Because I told you so, Mr Gladly.” Blackwell's tone was chilly.

“But why?”

She gritted her teeth. “There's a supervillain coming to the school. The heroes are going to trap him there. But he needs to think that nobody knows he's coming. So we pretend not to have evacuated. Now do you understand?”

Gladly understood, and he didn't like it. “I don't think my insurance covers parahuman damage.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “You've lived in Brockton Bay for how long?”

“Look, it just never came up, all right?”

He winced at the sharp look she gave him. “More like, you never thought it would happen, so you chose to spend the money elsewhere. Am I correct?”

He hated to admit it, but she was entirely correct. “Maybe. So we leave our cars behind. What guarantee do we have that nothing will happen to them?”

This time, she shook her head. “Mr Gladly, this is Brockton Bay. It's a cape battle. We've got no guarantee that the school will be there when they're done.”

<><>

The last of the students boarded the bus; Carrie Blackwell stepped up inside last of all. Each of them had been loaded to beyond its legal capacity, with people standing in the aisles, but nobody complained. While no-one had been told about the real reason for evacuation, the air of desperation had communicated itself among them, and they had filed on board obediently.

Until now. Some of the older teens, looking out the windows, seemed to notice for the first time that all the cars were still in the parking lot. “Wait!” called out one. “Our cars! Why can't we just drive?”

Carrie frowned; up until now, with the staff chivvying them along, the students had not stopped to think about their personal vehicles. “Because you can't,” she called out. Tapping the driver on the shoulder, she nodded. “Let's go.”

The door slid shut and the bus lurched forward. Blackwell didn't relax until the school was out of sight.

<><>

Fifteen Minutes Later

Taylor activated her two-way radio. “Ladybug here. I have a vehicle approaching the school. It appears to be a pickup with something under a tarp in the bed. I've also checked the school and surroundings over. I'm starting to get pyrethrin in the school grounds, but concentrations aren't too high as yet. There are no innocents in the line of fire that I can find. Uh, over.”

“Sparx copies.”

“Aerodyne, roger.”

“Athena, got it.”

“Panacea, understood.”

“Vista, roger.”

“Delta Hotel, understood.”

“Romeo Charlie, message received.”

“Alpha Bravo copies.”

She took a deep breath, then continued. “Leaf bugs are in position. Sparx, call it.”

Almost immediately, Emma's voice came back over the radio. “Stage one, go.”

<><>

The pickup made a slow circuit of the school, crunching over ill-maintained garden beds with barely a pause. Riley activated the last pyrethrum bomb and leaned out the window to toss it into the bed of the vehicle, where it began to gush out clouds of almost-invisible vapour. At the same time, the spider-bots launched themselves from the vehicle and scuttled toward the school. Casting the tarp off, Mannequin leaped from the vehicle – causing it to bounce on its springs – and followed them.

A random bug, flying through the noxious fumes, bounced off of the windshield and slid down to the pickup's hood. Jack grinned cheerfully. “Nicely done, poppet. Taking the bug girl's bugs out of the picture was the right idea.”

Bonesaw smiled proudly. “I thought it would be. She took us down with them so easily the last time, they probably haven't evolved any new tactics to deal with us. After all, the only other ranged delivery mechanism they've got is Sparx, and she can only deliver electricity.”

“Which is still dangerous,” he reminded her.

“Not against Mannequin. And if you or Burnscar sees her first, you can beat her for range.”

The pickup was almost all the way back around to the parking lot. “There's still cars here,” Bonesaw pointed out brightly. “I thought you said they knew we were coming.”

Jack had been trying to figure that out himself. “Maybe they didn't know exactly where we were going. Or perhaps they've decided not to warn the school.”

“Heroes wouldn't do that,” objected Burnscar. “They'd make sure everyone got away.” She lapsed into silence again.

Jack smiled. “Which means that either our so-called heroes aren't so heroic, or they got the staff and students to leave their cars behind to lure us in. Either way, this just got interesting.”

<><>

The biotinkered spider-bots scuttled up to the roof of the school, climbing the brick wall with ease. More were going to be forcing their way into the fire exits, or just via the front doors, but these ones were going in through the roof access. There was to be no escape for the heroes.

The first one approached the door, readying a drill-bit designed to bypass the lock mechanism. But as it did so, its sensors detected that the door was wedged open with half a brick. Had it a sense of humour, and the mouth to do so, it would have smiled wryly. Lacking both, it just went for the opening.

It approached the door and hooked one leg behind it, then braced and pulled the door open wider. As it did so, the first of its brethren scuttled up and over it, making use of the resulting gap.

There was a thunderous boom, and that spider-bot flew to pieces. The one holding the door tried to leap back, but a second boom sounded and its awareness ended abruptly.

The door closed again, but was halted by the half-brick. While the spider-bots were programmed with basic self-preservation, they were not permitted to retreat; waving pincers and syringes and spraying prion powder before them, they advanced on the door again. This time, they didn't open it, but instead began to wriggle through the entire length of the gap, all at once.

<><>

Being the union rep for the Dockworkers, Danny had long known, meant rubbing shoulders with less than savoury characters. And not all of these worked in the Mayor's office. Some of the time, such people caused more problems than they were worth. But at other times, having friends in low places really paid off. This was one of those times.

He racked the slide of his Mossberg pump-action shotgun and blew away the spider-bot at the top of the door. Alan Barnes, by previous agreement, hit the one on the bottom, while Rod Clements shot at the middle of the gap. With the exception of Rod, none of the Dads were very proficient with a shotgun, but at this range it didn't really matter.

Even with the ear protection, the shotguns were enormously loud in the confined space, but it didn't last long. The last of them made it all the way on to the steps before Alan Barnes blew it apart; Rod Clements racked his slide one last time and aimed at the door, but nothing else seemed to be coming through.

With Rod and Alan covering the door, Danny pushed the protector off of one ear and took his radio off his hip. “Delta Hotel here. We seem to be in the clear. Status of rooftop, over?”

A few moments later, Taylor's voice came back. Her voice was high and tinny, probably due to the ringing in his ears. “Ladybug here. There is zero movement, repeat zero movement on the rooftop. Lots of bits and pieces though. Uh, over.”

Danny chuckled. “I copy that, Ladybug. Sparx, this is Delta Hotel. No casualties. Moving to Stage Two now. Over.”

Emma's voice came over the radio. “Sparx copies moving to Stage Two, over.”

<><>

Jack's head jerked up. “Was that gunfire?”

“I think it was,” Bonesaw agreed. “It sure sounded like it. None of Team Samaritan carry guns, do they?”

“Not that I've seen,” Jack mused. “But if the rumours are correct, they've got at least one ex-villain on the team now, and she might be using a pistol. But that sounded like shotguns, and more than one.”

“And I've lost contact with my spider-bots on the roof,” complained Bonesaw. “You said they wouldn't cover the roof! You said!”

Jack sighed. “I said I was reasonably certain that they wouldn't. And I'm still pretty sure that they aren't. Which means they've got minions. With shotguns.”

Burnscar, flames flickering up and down her arms, looked around at him. “We still gonna go in there?” she asked, gesturing at the front doors that were only about ten yards away now. “Sounds like they're prepared for us.”

“Mimi, really?” he asked. “A few mooks with shotguns does not an adequate defence make. Sure, they made paste of the poppet's little pets, but Mannequin will have heard that, and he'll be going to check it out. And you know what minions with shotguns are called when Mannequin's around.” He bared his teeth. “Sushi.”

“What if the rest of Team Samaritan are waiting for him?” Bonesaw wanted to know.

Jack rolled his eyes. Do I have to think of everything? “If they were with the mooks, then your spiders would've sprayed their prion powder, and they're powerless. But even if they're not, Sparx can't hurt him with her electricity, Ladybug's bugs can't get close to him, and Aerodyne's powers won't do much either. Panacea can't affect him at all, and if it's Tattletale on the team, then what's she gonna do? Think at him really hard?”

Burnscar frowned. “What about Vista?”

<><>

Bugs tried to swarm around Mannequin as he took the stairs three at a time. The vents in his arms and legs were open now, pyrethrum boiling out in clouds all around him, driving them away. He knew the layout of the school, of course, and this way lay the roof access. Flush with their victory over the spider-bots, whoever had been doing the shooting would be easy prey. One more flight of stairs …

The steps abruptly distorted, twisting in odd ways, turning into a slide. He lost traction, skidding down backward until he shot one arm out and grabbed the rail, arresting his downward motion. Even as he worked to get his feet under him, shooting his other arm upward to assist in pulling himself to the top of the steps, he looked around for the culprit.

She wasn't hard to find; stepping up to the side of the stairwell, she looked downward at him. It was Vista, of course. Letting go with one hand, he began to retract that arm, ready to launch a blade at her.

The first problem came when he realised that the arm wasn't retracting because the chain links were five times as large as they should be. It wasn't an insurmountable problem; he had built launch-blades into his legs for just this contingency. But even as he began to lift his right leg, it shrank dramatically, becoming a misshapen ball attached to his hip. A moment later, he fell to the stairs as his left leg assumed the same proportions.

Vista looked almost bored as she shrank his arms as well; losing his grip on the rail, he fell backward and skidded down the stair-slide until he hit the landing. She walked down the steps as the distortion on them faded. His arms and legs were useless, the weapons in them impotent against her. She looked down at him for a moment. “Stay.”

As she trotted down the next flight of stairs, she was pulling a two-way radio off of her hip. “Vista here. Mannequin taken care of. Moving to Stage Two.”

Mannequin began to get the idea that this was not going to be the walkover that Jack Slash had anticipated.

<><>

Wha? What was that?

Greg jerked awake from the light doze he had slipped into. It had been so boring, hiding in the storage closet, waiting for something interesting to happen. He had worked it all out; all he had to do was open the closet door just a smidge and let his phone record whatever happened outside. Except that he had failed to take into account the fact that whatever was happening might not happen directly outside the closet. Or even anywhere near it.

Struggling to his feet, trying not to knock over mops and buckets and whatever else was sharing the closet with him, he cracked the door a little. Nothing was happening out there. Damn it.

For a moment, he considered waiting in the closet for a while longer, but his curiosity overcame his natural caution. I have to find out what's going on. This is gonna get me more hits than the Protectorate.

He thought he heard someone running. This is it. Opening the door, he stepped out to film the action. Unfortunately, he turned left instead of right.

<><>

The spider-bots swarmed along the corridor. Most scuttled along the floor, while some chose to skitter along the walls, leaving gouges in the plasterboard with their sharp legs. A few used the ceiling, ripping out chunks as they went, but they neither knew nor cared about that. Insects buzzed around them; these were detected, but they couldn't do much about it.

Up ahead was a corner; while the spider-bots were still some distance from it, a voice became audible. “Three … two … one.”

On 'one', a head popped around the corner. The head was adorned with a red and black helmet, as well as a clear visor. It was only in view for a few seconds, but the spider-bots got a good look at it; this matched the image of the Team Samaritan hero known as Ladybug.

Even as Ladybug let out a frightened-sounding 'eep', the spider-bots were surging forward. Her head vanished, and running footsteps could be heard. Swarming up to the corner, the bugs rounded it and gave chase.

<><>

Taylor didn't bother glancing behind her. The bugs she had on the ceiling told her exactly how far behind her the spider-bots were. The soles of her shoes were high-grip, and she was good at running. Rendezvous with Emma and Madison, meet up, and wipe 'em out.

She grinned as she sprinted down the hallway; with Mannequin out of the picture, the other three were going to be much easier to deal with. And with the leaf-bugs on each of the other members of the Nine, she could track them even through clouds of pyrethrin. I love it when a plan comes together.

<><>

Emma pelted down the hallway, then took a hard right, her shoes squeaking on the flooring. Behind her, the spider-bots chittered menacingly as they swarmed in pursuit. She heard rapidly approaching footsteps from a hallway to the left; as she passed it, Aerodyne dashed out and joined her. A similar swarm was following her; the spider-bots joined forces but kept up the chase.

“Where's Ladybug?” panted Emma.

“Thought she was with you,” gasped Aerodyne.

Emma put it from her head. They couldn't slow down now. Whatever was going on with Taylor, they hadn't heard a radio transmission and her bugs hadn't given an alarm. They had to trust that she could take care of herself, at least until the spider-bots were taken care of.

They dashed in through the doorway of the empty classroom that they'd been in before. Immediately, Athena slammed the door shut, leaving only the small window in the door itself – which had had the glass removed from it – as the most accessible entry point. She stepped back then, joining Panacea at the far corner of the room.

It only took the spider-bots a few seconds to arrive at the door; the first ones were clambering through the inviting hole just a few seconds after that. Clouds of prion dust were sprayed toward the young parahumans … only for a stiff breeze to whip up and blow the noxious material back at the spider-bots.

“Where's Ladybug?” asked Panacea, even as Emma extended her hair toward the spider-bots. It wrapped around them, enmeshing them even as it flowed onward. They actually made it easy for her, easy to wrap her tendrils around each and every one. If they'd hung back, even a little, she might have missed a few. As it was, that wasn't going to happen.

Concentrating, she let her power flash out through her tendrils. A sharp smell of ozone sprang up as dozens of pops and crackles sounded from the corridor beyond. The spider-bots convulsed, then fell limp as she cut the current.

“Oh, shit.” Emma didn't turn to look when Athena spoke. She was too busy trying to see if any of the spider-bots were still moving.

“What's the matter?” asked Aerodyne. “You're as white as a ghost.”

“It's Ladybug,” Athena said. “She's -”

Their radios crackled to life. “Hello? Team Samaritan? This is Jack Slash. I have Ladybug, as well as another hostage. Come out now, or I kill them both. Slowly. You have two minutes.”

“- been captured,” Athena concluded.

Emma met Aerodyne's eyes. “Oh, shit,” she agreed.

“What do we do?” asked Panacea.

Emma's lips tightened. “We've got no choice. We do what they say.”

Part 27