I, Panacea Pt 12 (Patreon)

Amy felt Michael take her body over, and inhale deeply; at the same time, he shoved Dinah behind her.

What - ?

Sorry -

He didn't even bother finishing the thought; the moment that he had finished filling her lungs with air, he expelled it all in a shout.

"EVERYONE STAND THE FUCK DOWN!"

But it was too late. Amy had a split second to consider the fact that if he had not used the expletive, they may have heard him in time. However, around about the same instant that Amy's front teeth were pressing into her lower lip to form the 'f' sound, Bitch gave a sharp command. Snarling and barking – and, incidentally, drowning the final two words out – the dogs leaped to the attack.

Regent lifted his arms to gesture; Grue started forward with blackness welling up around him. But even faster than Grue and the dogs was Vicky; taking to the air, she lunged at the woman. Amy saw the woman sway aside, removing her hat and placing it over Vicky's face in a perfectly-timed move; at the same time, she swung a fist. Blinded by the hat, Vicky went past the woman and hit one of the catwalk supports; the woman's fist struck her in the solar plexus just a fraction of a second later, dropping her to the metal grating with a groan.

The dogs were almost upon her; she darted into Grue's blackness. They followed, of course.

Christ. They'll tear -

Amy was still formulating the thought by the time that one dog came flying out of the black fog backwards and another sideways; each one dragged tattered fragments of the blackness with it. The first one hit Regent at about chest height, while the second struck Skitter in the solar plexus; her spider-silk costume did little to cushion the impact, and the breath whooshed out of her. Both went staggering backwards; Taylor lost her balance and fell heavily, striking her head on the floor. Regent went back against the guard rail; the weight of the dog flipped him back over it, and they both disappeared from view. The third dog, emerging from the cloud a moment after the other two, hit Bitch across the face; she went over backwards as well.

The blackness dissipated; Amy saw, as it did so, that Grue was down, at the feet of the woman. Tattletale had her small pistol out, but the woman was already moving toward her; Tattletale's eyes widened behind her mask and a shot rang out. But it ricocheted from concrete; the woman had swayed from its path. And then she had her hands on it, was taking it from Tattletale's hands as easily as a mother might take a toy from the hands of a baby. Tattletale was on her knees, the arm twisted up at an angle that had to be painful.

- her apart.

In less time than it took to think about it, the mystery woman had gone from being unarmed and at the mercy of half a dozen opponents, to armed and in control of the situation. Vicky was still doubled up on the ground, while Skitter and Grue seemed to be stunned or unconscious. Bitch was also out; the dog that had collided with her was whining and licking her face. And Regent – Regent went over the rail!

Fuck. I did not want this.

What are you going -

But Michael was already moving her body forward. As if in a dream, she saw the woman turning toward her, saw the flash of utter bewilderment as her wrist slapped into Amy's palm, preventing the pistol from coming into line. The woman struggled, tried to use her superior strength, but Michael was still moving, gripping, twisting. She was behind the woman now; one final twist on the wrist and the hand opened, the pistol clattering to the metal catwalk.

Amy was only moderately fit, and not overly strong for her age, but she now saw how a relatively weak person can overcome a stronger, unskilled opponent. Her arm laced around and through the woman's, her biceps under the elbow, her hand pulling the woman's hand down hard against the wrist. The pressure, she could tell through her powers, was moderately uncomfortable, unless the victim struggled, in which case it could become extremely painful.

Paralyse her!

Reflexively, she did what he told her; her power flooded into the woman's nervous system, disabling all voluntary control over her body. Autonomous and semi-autonomous mechanisms remained, of course; she didn't want the woman suffocating. The woman sagged in her grip, and Michael prepared to lower her to the ground.

The shots that rang out took them both by surprise; the woman jolted in Amy's grasp. They echoed through the complex, one after the other; at least five in total. One bullet punched into the woman's stomach, another into her chest. The rest had gone elsewhere.

Fuck. Shit. What happened?

Amy felt the strain in her shoulders as Michael lowered the woman to the ground. Blood covered her chest and her abdomen. It soaked into her clothes, dripped through the metal grating. She could feel the thin pulse of life, getting thinner by the second. Looking up, she saw Bitch holding the pistol, pointing it, the thin curl of smoke from the barrel.

Holy shit, Bitch shot her.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Stabilise her!

What? Why? I thought you wanted her dead!

No, I wanted her not calling for help! Stabilise her! He seemed almost frantic with the need to save this mystery woman.

Amy concentrated; blood vessels closed, the body scavenged fatty tissues for blood. The heart rate steadied.

Okay, she's stable. Now tell me why -

Bitch stepped closer. “Get out of the way.” She aimed the pistol.

Amy felt herself move into the path of the gun. I've been here before. The tiny muzzle, only a fraction of an inch, seemed even larger to her than the last time she had seen it from this perspective.

“Get out of the way,” Bitch repeated. Her voice was dead, flat. The pistol shook, very slightly. Amy was fairly sure that this wasn't due to fear.

“Why? Why kill her? She's not a threat any more.” Amy wasn't sure whether she was asking this, or Michael.

“She killed Brutus. She killed Regent.” Bitch gestured, off to the side. Tattletale was leaning, looking down. She looked back. Amy could read from her expression that the news wasn't good.

“It's only been a few seconds.” Tattletale's voice was urgent. “Amy can save Brutus. She can save both of them.” She stepped forward. “Just don't kill that woman.”

The pistol swung to point directly at Amy's face. “If you can save him, do it,” gritted Bitch. Amy knew she wasn't referring to Regent. “Now.”

“First, give me the pistol,” Amy heard herself say. “Now.”

“No.”

“Give me. The pistol.” She took a step closer.

Why are you so anxious to save her?

Bitch shook her head. “No,” she repeated.

Saving the world will be a fuck-load harder without her.

Saving the world?

Yeah, saving the world. When I grab Bitch, you paralyse her.

When you what?

Amy's eyes lowered, her whole body hunched. “Okay. You win.” She started to turn away, then lunged forward. Bitch was taken off guard by the sudden shift from submissive to aggressive behaviour, and Amy managed to grab her forearm. The pistol went off, a malignant flat crack, the bullet winging past her ear. And then Amy was into her nervous system, and Bitch was collapsing like a marionette with the strings cut.

Michael took a moment to lean against the rail, breathing heavily; Amy could hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears. “Fuck,” her voice muttered. “I do not need shit like this.”

Regent and Brutus. We have to save them.

Oh. Fuck. Yes. Here, have control back.

Jerking upright, Amy scanned to the left and the right for stairs down. Then she turned and grabbed Vicky, who was still suffering from the punch the woman had given her. “Vicky!”

“Ungh?”

Amy pushed her power into Vicky's body, reviving her, removing the bruising, bringing her back to normal. “You need to get me down to the lower level, now!”

“Shit, okay.” Vicky picked her up. “Did someone post the bank thing on Youtube, or does everyone just know my weakness now?”

She just knew it. It's her thing. She can do that to anyone.

“Michael says she knows everyone's weakness.”

“Oh. Well, I feel better now. Not much, but better.”

Over the rail they went, and down to the lower level. Regent lay there, his mask cracked in half. The dog lay half under him, its head twisted at an odd angle.

Falling to her knees, Amy checked on Regent. Alive. Unconscious. Mild concussion. Landed on the dog.

“Regent's alive!” she called out.

Can you fix it?

He'll be headachey and dizzy due to the concussion, but I can fix the bruising, wake him up.

If you can do that, do it.

Okay.

No, actually. If he's fine, then check the dog. I don't want to have to deal with a more-homicidal-than-normal Bitch.

Amy took a deep breath, and rolled him to a more comfortable position. Then she moved to the dog.

Broken neck. Crushed skull.

Is there brain activity?

Some, but -

Can you fix it?

I can, but -

But what?

I'll have to work on its brain. Otherwise it'll be like it's had a stroke.

Do you have a moral problem with working on dog brains?

I … they're pretty intelligent -

Fuck. Stabilise it, so it doesn't die while we're debating the matter.

I can do that, yes.

Drawing a deep breath, she fixed what she could. The crushed skull clicked back into place, the swelling went down, and the broken neck healed itself. She left the dog unconscious, and turned back to Regent.

Aren't you going to say something?

Such as?

That I should fix his brain? Maybe make him a little less sociopathic?

If you want to, go right ahead. You'd just be fixing pre-existing damage anyway.

What do you mean?

I mean that his father is Heartbreaker, and he inflicted horrors on his kids till they triggered. And he's still doing it, even today.

Christ. Amy looked more closely at Regent's brain. Now, she could see the neural scarring. He was terrified to the point that he could no longer feel fear.

Got it in one.

I could change that, but that would change who he is. Who people know him to be. That's not my right.

And that's why you don't do brains.

There's more to it than that. The body is simple; it's healthy, or it's not. It's injured, or it's not. It works, for a given definition of 'works', or it doesn't. The brain is a lot more complex.

I can just imagine.

You really can't. There's so much going on in there, all interconnected. It's biology; I can change it as easily as I fix a broken leg. But where a broken leg is fixed and done, you can't just 'fix' a brain problem like schizophrenia. There are many underlying causes, and you have to go and fix all them, and by the time you've done all that, the person's not really the same person any more.

Oh. Yeah. Ouch.

The worse bit is, I can see it all. I can see how it could be fixed. How I could get rid of this neurosis, and that personality disorder, and make the person a better person. And they'd never know it. Worse, even if they did know, they might thank me for it.

I can see where that could cause problems, yeah.

So the basic problem isn't that I can't do brains, or that I don't know what to do. I'm just scared that I'd always want to do one more -

And that was when they heard the shot.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuck!

Amy turned to Vicky. “Get me up there now!”

Vicky didn't even argue; she simply grabbed Amy, and they went straight up and over the rail.

<><>

Calvert tested his bonds and came up short, again. He had two timelines running, of course. In the first, he sat tight, evaluating the three girls left watching him.

<><>

In the second, he began to speak; softly, compellingly.

“Well, now,” he murmured. “We're all in a pretty pickle now, aren't we?”

“Shut up,” Tattletale told him flatly.

“No, no, what does he mean?” asked Skitter. She addressed Calvert directly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, dear Skitter, that the woman right there is the enforcer of the world's premier shadow organisation. She's struck fear into the hearts of more people than you can imagine. And now you've got her down and wounded. She might even die. There's going to be some very angry people over this. And these are people who don't just shrug and say, 'oh well, it was a fair fight'. These are people who obliterate the opposition.”

“And you've got a solution, no doubt.” Skitter's voice was just a little cynical. She's been spending far too much time with Tattletale and Regent.

“Of course I do,” he agreed. “Work with me on this one. If we combine our powersets – I tell you what to do, you do it – we might just come out of this alive. We may even prosper.”

“Shut up, I said,” Tattletale ordered.

“What's the matter?” asked Coil. “Scared I'll tell her the truth? My dear Tattletale, we're boned here. I know who this woman's allies are; you don't. Even with your vaunted power, you'll never see them coming.”

<><>

In the first timeline, the three girls were talking quietly.

“So you're really all right?” asked Skitter of Dinah.

“Uh huh,” agreed the middle schooler. “I feel all right. I'll feel cravings for a bit, but that'll fade.”

“So he was just going to keep you prisoner, keep you addicted, keep you using your power for him?”

Dinah nodded. “Yeah. Until you killed him and got me out of there.”

Calvert's head came up. He managed not to respond, but Tattletale caught the movement.

“Wow, that got you where it hurt, didn't it?” she taunted him. “I always kinda thought that I'd be the one to end you.”

“Your reach always exceeded your grasp,” he replied, stung. “Every day, part of my amusement involved dismantling your little plots before they could come to fruition.”

“Not all of them,” she shot back.

“Yes, all of them, you stupid little girl,” he retorted. “I could always out-think you. I was plotting my way around people far smarter than you before you ever -”

The shot interrupted him. He looked down to see the bullet-hole in the middle of his chest, slowly oozing blood.

“Plot your way around that,” Tattletale told him bitterly. “And don't call me stupid.”

As the world went dark, he ended that timeline.

<><>

In the second timeline, Skitter waved Tattletale to silence. “I want to hear this.”

Calvert split off another timeline, but this seemed to be working well. If I can get Skitter aligned to me ...

“You and I, we could work together,” he told the bug controller eagerly. “You, all of you, work well together. I can provide you with strategy that works. And afterward, after we deal with this problem, we can build up the city, make it work.”

“Fix the schools,” Skitter put in.

“Definitely fix the schools,” Calvert agreed, anxious to go with what seemed important to her. Something occurred to him, and he spoke without thinking. “Your father has a lot of civic pride. Imagine what he could do as mayor.”

Skitter's voice was very quiet. “You know who my father is?”

Calvert was suddenly aware that he had made a mistake; before he could rectify it, Dinah spoke up. “Eighty-seven point three six percent chance that he has your father assassinated before he finishes his first term.”

“I – that's -” began Calvert hastily.

“Because your father wouldn't play ball with him,” Tattletale went on musingly. “He wouldn't take kick-backs or bribes. Would he?”

“No,” Skitter replied. “He wouldn't. And Coil would have him killed?”

“No!” blustered Calvert. “That's ridiculous! I can work with your father! I wouldn't have him killed! Tell him, pet!”

“Ninety-six point nine three seven four percent chance your father survives his first term,” Dinah confirmed. Skitter relaxed; Calvert breathed a sigh of relief. If this went wrong, he didn't have any way out.

“Chances that Skitter survives the same term?” asked Tattletale.

“Eighty-nine point three seven two four percent chance that Coil has her killed instead,” Dinah noted.

“And no doubt you'd have my dad die afterward anyway. Once I was out of the way.” Skitter had the pistol in her hand. It was an untutored grip, but pointing directly at Calvert's chest.

He opened his mouth to protest, but he knew it would do no good. They weren't listening to him any more.

Dinah nodded. “Ninety-six point three two nine four -”

The pistol went off, and Calvert felt the pain in his chest. In both timelines at once.

“ - five percent chance of that happening.”

He clutched at life; there were no more timelines. I can't die like this!

But he did anyway.

<><>

The mystery woman still lay there; she had no new wounds, and she still breathed. It was Coil, still fastened to his chair, who slumped dead, his head hanging forward. A darker discolouration in the middle of his chest showed where the shot had gone in.

Skitter still stood, holding the pistol. Slowly, she let it fall, where it clattered once more to the grating. She turned as Amy approached.

“Why?” asked Amy.

“He was talking,” Skitter mumbled. “Making big plans. Talking about my Dad.”

Tattletale put her arm around Skitter's shoulders. “He talked about putting her dad in as mayor. Then Dinah mentioned the fact that he'd have the guy killed for refusing to take bribes. Even when he knew that we knew, he couldn't stop plotting, planning to kill one or both of them.”

“I didn't have a choice,” Skitter told herself, told Amy, hopelessly. “I didn't have a choice.”

He would have done it, Michael informed Amy. He was an arse. But I was hoping that we could use him. Fuck. Well.

Amy looked at the dead man, at the almost dead woman, at the figure of Grue slowly sitting up, at the limp form of Bitch. She looked at Skitter, sitting in the chair, staring at the floor, at the still, silent form of Dinah standing by her, then turned to Vicky. “Take me back down there. I've got to finish up.”

Not even going to try to save Coil?

If he'd have Skitter assassinated, he'd have all of us assassinated.

Vicky carried her over the rail, and set her down on the floor below.

Really weird the way things are turning out.

What do you mean? She knelt beside Regent, looking over the head injury. There were no broken blood vessels, nothing that would cause ongoing problems.

She would have killed him anyway, but it would have been months later. After she makes him come good on the promise to release Dinah, but then he goes back on it and tries to have her killed. She gets away, and ends up killing him later on.

Oh. I see. I think. She brushed her fingertips across Regent's forehead, waking him up.

Grue's voice echoed down from above. “What's wrong with Bitch? And who is this woman?”

May I?

Sure.

Amy inhaled and looked up to call back. “She wanted to kill the woman, so I had Amy paralyse her. It's fixable. But do not kill that woman. We desperately need her alive.”

His voice did not sound thrilled when he answered. “Okay, fine. We've gotten this far. We'll see it through.”

Control returned to Amy. Now for Brutus.

What do I do?

He's not human. You don't have to worry about taking away what he is. Surely you can just fix him.

But he's a thinking being. Not as intelligent as a person, surely, but -

Listen, you're going to have to draw the line between bugs and dogs, or dogs and people. Where is it? Where do you not cross over?

Amy felt herself shaking harder, until Michael stilled her hands. She caressed the dog's scarred head. The damage was bad, despite the fact that she had stabilised him. Some of his brain tissue was was totally disorganised from the rest; he would never have a normal life.

He didn't know any better. He doesn't deserve this.

I agree.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she sent her power into the dog's head, reforming the damaged parts. Fixing them. Making Brutus whole once more.

I swore I would never touch brains. Never.

Never is a big word, kiddo. If Vicky ever suffered brain injury from being hit on the head, would you still not fix her?

Oh god, don't ask me that.

If I don't ask it, what happens when you're faced with it?

Shut up. I don't want to hear this any more.

I'm sorry.

And I wish I hadn't told Vicky, hadn't spoken to her. At least then I could live in hope.

Amy. His voice was grim. That's dangerous thinking.

She knew he was right, but she ploughed on anyway. So what? It's a dangerous world. We nearly died, before. I could have died. Bitch could have shot me. Killed the both of us.

I had to do something. I couldn't let her kill Contessa.

“Ames?” asked Vicky. “What's the matter?”

Amy came to herself, realised that she was still kneeling between Regent and the dog. Regent was sitting up, somewhat dazedly; Brutus was still out cold. Reaching out, she brushed the dog with her fingertips, and he awoke.

<><>

“What I want to know is, who is this woman?” asked Grue. They were all now on the upper level. Bitch had been revived, and sat on the floor, holding Brutus close to her, shooting Amy suspicious glances from time to time.

Can I talk?

Yeah, sure, go ahead. Amy didn't care any more.

“Her name is Contessa,” Michael explained. “And she's a member of a powerful organisation that operates from the shadows. I didn't expect to get her attention, and I really, really didn't want to get it in this manner.”

“How did she take us down so easily?” asked Regent. “I mean, I missed some of it, but she was dancing between the raindrops, there.”

“More to the point,” Grue added, “how did you take her down? She was in the dark, and she was still ducking past my hits.”

Amy felt her hands rubbing over her face. “This is the part of the conversation that I wasn't looking forward to,” Michael muttered. He raised her voice. “She's a precog of sorts. She can look for a solution, and her power tells her the exact steps needed to reach it. All of them. So she didn't need to see you to beat you; her power told her what moves she needed to make. Perfectly and flawlessly.”

“Okay, so how did you beat her?” Regent persisted. “Are you a precog after all?”

“No,” Michael replied. “It's like I told you. I'm an extra-dimensional being. Kind of extruded into Amy's brain. It's why I can no-sell your power on her. I can't access her powers, but I can puppet her body. Contessa can't tell what I'm going to do, because the majority of me is outside the reality that her power can scan.”

Even Skitter's head came up at that. The pressure of the disbelieving stares was almost palpable in nature.

“And you're just … telling us that,” Grue stated flatly. “Like it doesn't matter.”

“Against you, it doesn't,” Michael assured him, via Amy's voice. “Your power works on Amy's senses just fine, and I can't go outside her body. About the only other person here who might be affected is Dinah.”

Dinah looked up at that. “My power can't sense you at all,” she assured Amy – or rather, Michael. “Every time you speak, it's a surprise, because I'm expecting silence. Or for Amy to say something different.”

“Okay, I'll bite,” ventured Grue. “What's so important about keeping this woman alive?”

“For one, she's a great way to contact that organisation I told you about,” Amy's voice told him. “For another, she's really important to keeping things from going to shit before the end of the world kicks off. And for another -”

“And for another,” a familiar voice intruded on their gathering, “she's a friend of mine, so I'd really rather have her back alive.”

<><>

Skitter raised her head. “Oh, shit,” she whispered.

Amy felt her head bow for a moment. “Fuck,” Michael announced through her. “It's Alexandria, isn't it? I'd know that tone anywhere.”

Slowly, she turned; Alexandria was indeed hovering there, arms folded, surveying the group coldly.

“You may consider yourselves all under arrest,” the Triumvirate hero announced. “If you run, I will catch you. I don't promise not to injure you.” She drifted closer. “What have you done to her? Is she even alive?”

Amy felt her chin being raised. “She was shot twice at close range with a low-calibre pistol. The damage was neutralised and she is stable.”

“How did this even happen?” snarled Alexandria. “How did you beat her power?” She scanned the group. “I've read your files; there's not a Trump among you.”

“It's because of who and what I am,” Amy heard herself say.

“Amy Dallon. Panacea.” Alexandria shook her head. “You could not neutralise her power. Not unless you got into contact with her. And she would not let you.”

Amy stood still. “Look deeper.”

Alexandria's scrutiny was almost a felt thing. She drifted closer again. “The voice stress patterns, the mannerisms. You're not Panacea.”

“Yes and no,” Amy's voice told her. “I'm just visiting. She's here, but she gave permission to talk to you. We need to talk, you and I. And Contessa. And the others.”

The older hero's lip curled, under the edge of the helmet that obscured half of Alexandria's face. “Whoever or whatever you are, you don't get to dictate terms to me.”

“No, I don't,” Michael agreed. “But I'm asking you to agree to them. Because I know.”

“Know? Know what?”

“About everything worth knowing,” he told her steadily. “The dirty little secrets. The dirty big secrets. About you, and Cauldron, how you go together, and why. And how to save the world. How to beat Zion.”

Alexandria was jolted, just a little, Amy saw. But she rallied, spoke strongly. “Anyone can say anything. Tattletale there could say more with just a few hints. You're trying to avoid your just punishment. There's no way you could know as much as you say.”

“There is, and I do.” Amy's feet moved, stepping her forward. “You're really good at reading people. Read me. Tell me I'm lying.”

“You spoofed Contessa's powers somehow.” Alexandria's voice was … wary? “You could be spoofing mine. You could make me think you're telling the truth.”

“You really think that's likely?” Amy's voice was sharp. “Or do you just not want to face up to the fact that there's someone standing in front of you with all the answers, and you didn't come up with them first?”

“That depends,” Alexandria riposted. “How did you get the better of her? I've never seen it done, and I've known her for years.”

“Since … oh, nineteen eighty-six, wasn't it? August, if I recall correctly.” Alexandria's head came up at that. “Doctor Mother visited you in hospital. You didn't take much convincing.”

“If you know that, you know why.” Alexandria's voice was sharp. “All right, you've convinced me that you know more than you should. How did you beat Contessa?”

Amy's shoulders shrugged. “I'm an extra-dimensional being, about as far above Zion as he is above you, plugged into Amy's brain. Fortuna had as much chance as reading me as one of Skitter's bugs has of figuring out who you are under that mask.”

“Whereas you already know.”

“I do indeed.”

“That's very dangerous information to have.”

Amy's lips made a rude noise. “It's the least of it. I know shit that you don't. That you'd sell your soul to get.”

“What do you know?”

“Where Endbringers come from. Why they exist. What's likely to happen if you ever manage to kill one. How to stop them. And that's just for starters.”

“Is this related to Scion – Zion – whatever you call him? Why did you call him that, anyway?”

Amy felt herself grin. “It's what he calls himself. The people who heard him speak got it wrong.” Michael paused, then asked another question. "How come you turned up here, anyway?"

"They'd arranged to meet," Tattletale supplied. "Contessa missed the appointment, so Alexandria came looking."

Ah. Makes sense.

“This information.” Alexandria seemed to get a grip on herself. “You'll share it?”

“Presuming conditions are met.” Amy found herself meeting Alexandria's gaze steadily.

“Define 'conditions'.” The older hero's voice was hard.

“The Undersiders get to go on their way. That's the first one.”

“Hm. Why did Contessa come here?” Alexandria eyed Coil's body. “Because of him?”

“Yeah. Someone asked him where he bought his powers. I'd say he was going to spill the beans so that Cauldron would take notice of these guys. He's a dick like that.”

“Who asked?” Alexandria's voice was steel-edged.

“Doesn't matter. They've learned the error of their ways.” Amy's voice was just as hard. “The Undersiders get to go where they want. Hell, you could bring them in as allies. They're pretty resourceful.”

“I'll consider it.” There was no give, no surrender, in Alexandria's voice. “Next?”

“Amy and Vicky get to keep being ordinary cape teens. No surveillance, no following, no abductions.”

Vicky turned to stare at Amy. Oh yeah, not me in the driver's seat.

“All … right,” acknowledged Alexandria. “Any more conditions?”

“Certain people need to die or be co-opted.”

Amy felt her heart lurch. What? No! Just casually ordering the deaths of people …

Sorry, but it's the way it's gotta be.

Alexandria didn't even hesitate. “Who?”

Michael ticked off fingers as he spoke. “Jack Slash. Crawler. William Manton. Shatterbird. Teacher. Saint and the Dragonslayers.” He paused. “That's that list for the moment. Then there's the ones who need to be gotten out of the situations they're in.”

“You're asking a lot.”

“I'm offering a lot.”

“ … I'm listening.”

“Canary needs to be pulled out of jail, for starters. Kill the court case. Bonesaw needs to be taken out of the Nine, cleared of all dangerous shit, and given lots of therapy. Purity needs to be offered a chance to make up for her crimes. Flechette needs to be transferred to Brockton Bay. Shadow Stalker needs to be booted into juvey as of about tomorrow afternoon.”

Alexandria was staring at Amy. “You're insane. You have to be. I can't pull all that off.”

“Sure you can,” Tattletale assured her. “You'll have Contessa back on her feet. She can pull off anything.”

“And doing all this will get us closer to being able to beat Scion?” Alexandria's voice was sceptical.

“It'll help lay the bare bones of the plan, sure,” Amy heard herself say.

Alexandria frowned. “Very well. You've made your demands. Now I'm going to make mine.”

“I'm listening.”

“You will tell us everything we need to know, at the earliest possible convenience. How to beat Scion. What you know about the Endbringers. Everything.”

“May fifteenth.”

“What?”

“Leviathan is due to hit here on May the fifteenth. We've got one month to stop that from happening.”

“No.” Alexandria shook her head. “You can't know that. Nobody's been able to predict an Endbringer event, ever.”

“Dinah.” Amy turned to look at the girl. “The Boardwalk, by May the twentieth. Useable, or utterly trashed?”

Dinah paused. “Ninety-three point four six one five percent chance that it is wrecked beyond use.”

Amy's hands dusted one another off. “And so.”

“You're coming with me, now.” Alexandria approached Amy. “This information needs to be verified.”

“No. We are not. I'm going to get Contessa back on her feet, then each of us here is going to assure you that we're not going to spread the word, then we're all walking out of here. You get to do whatever you want with Coil and the subdued minions around the base.”

“I don't think you were listening. We need the information. Now.”

“And you'll get it. At my earliest convenience. Which is not right now.” Amy heard herself fake a yawn. “I'm tired. I need my beauty sleep.”

“This is no time to play games!”

“And it's no time to come the heavy.” Amy's body stepped up to Alexandria. “You'll get the information in good time. And if just one of these people is inconvenienced in an attempt to get it out of me, I'll give you wrong data. So play nice, and you get all the cookies.”

If she grabs us, get ready to paralyse her.

I'm not sure if my power works on her.

Now you tell me.

I didn't think I'd be facing Alexandria.

Fair point. Well, do your best.

Alexandria was studying Amy's face. “I think -”

What she thought was never made clear, because at that moment, a phone went off.

Is that yours?

No. It's not Vicky's, either.

“Okay,” growled Grue. “Who forgot to put their phone on silent?”

“Him.” It was Dinah, pointing at Coil's corpse. A dim light could be seen, flashing through the thin cloth at his hip.

The Undersiders traded glances; you get it. No, you get it. Nobody moved, until Tattletale grunted in annoyance and stepped forward. Gingerly, trying not to touch the cooling corpse, she levered the phone out of what appeared to be a pocket set into the side of the costume.

Pressing the answer icon, she held the phone before Coil's dead face and schooled her voice into as masculine a grunt as she could manage. “Yeah?”

The phone lit up with an image that Amy couldn't see from her angle. “It's me. Noelle. No-one's put any food in for me. Could you tell someone to hurry it up? I'm getting really hungry in here.”

Tattletale made Coil's head nod, then she cut the call. She turned to the rest of the group. “I've got a really bad feeling about that.”

Oh fuck.

What?

Amy heard herself clearing her throat. “You're right to be concerned. Remember that Case 53 I told you about?”

“What Case 53?” asked Alexandria sharply.

Amy went to the rail, leaned over, and pointed at a largish metal door on the lower level; it looked to have been assembled in sections. “In there. She's pretty big by now. She absorbs capes that touch her – that does include you – and spits out twisted, evil versions. Just as powerful. And guess what – she's hungry.”

Alexandria absorbed this. “So, can that door hold her?”

“Not if she doesn't want it to.”

“How dangerous are we talking?”

Michael waggled Amy's hand. “A-class to S-class.”

“Fuck me,” muttered Grue. And that seemed to adequately sum up the situation.

In the silence that followed, the phone began to ring again. 

 Part 13