Another Way Pt 12 (Patreon)

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

"Max, we need to talk."

The utter banality of the words caused Max's brain to stutter to a halt for a split second, before he focused once more on the apparition hovering outside the window. Wind blasted in through the opening, while the flying beast's wings moved not at all.

Max Anders was not a stupid man, nor a naïve one. He'd been brought up at his father's knee with the full expectation that he'd take over both family concerns when the time came. To learn how to manage Medhall efficiently, he'd studied business administration in college. Running a criminal empire required a rather more esoteric skillset, one which Allfather had taken it on himself to teach Max—Kaiser, once he'd triggered—in their spare time.

A significant part of that education had to do with potential betrayal from within the ranks. Backstabbing, after all, was almost written into the villainous lifestyle. The conscientious supervillain not only learned how to deal with it effectively and efficiently, but also how to spot it before it became a problem. While Max didn't know what this thing was, he had a very strong suspicion that it wasn't friendly. Also, that Purity was on its side rather than his.

At a thought, metal blades sprang from the floor between him and Purity. One in particular, he aimed at her. Before the gleaming curtain walled off that side of the room, he had the grim satisfaction of seeing the shocked look in her eyes as the blade punched in through her lower abdomen. She was not the first person he'd done this to; once the blade burst out between her shoulder-blades, her remaining life expectancy could be measured in minutes. But he neither gloated nor took it on faith that the midnight-black thing would long remain outside the window. Nor did he blindly accept that his metal wall would stand against it for long.

Lunging for his desk, he threw himself over it to land on the floor beyond. The noise of a thunderous blow followed him over, and metal shards smashed into the sturdy wooden barricade. Ordinarily they would have torn clear through the desk, but Max had planned ahead and concealed heavy steel plates behind the decorative panels.

But this was only a temporary refuge, and he knew it. Up under the edge, right where a seated person might find it, was a prominently displayed button. He reached up and jammed his thumb on it. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours as the wall panel behind the desk slid aside with a low hum to reveal a cramped elevator. Giving the area around the desk another layer of razor-sharp blades, he lunged out from under the desk and into the elevator. Once inside, he slapped his palm on the lower of the two buttons, and the door slammed shut once more. The elevator dropped away, leaving him scrambling for a handhold, for there were no stops between his office and the sub-basement where he was bound. Had he more warning, he would've warned the pilot to warm up the helicopter on the roof, but no such luck. In any case, an unarmed helicopter had no chance against a hostile flyer, such as the tiger-thing seemed to be. On the whole, he judged it better that he take the underground route to a safe location. One that only his trusted lieutenants knew about. And to think I was considering Kayden for that position. Absently, he wondered what inducement she'd been offered to change sides.

Mere seconds before the elevator reached its destination, he heard the first explosions from above. This was a mixed blessing; on the one hand, it meant that the motion-sensors in the elevator shaft were working. On the other, it meant that the tiger-thing had fought its way through his blades and gotten to the elevator shaft already. Shaped charges, triggered by the sensors, would be blasting columns of molten metal across the shaft, destroying anything foolhardy enough to try to follow him. The elevator itself was safe from the explosions; while it wasn't Tinkertech, it had been designed to not need anything so failure-prone as a cable.

It juddered to a halt and the door whisked open just as metal fragments began to patter on its roof. Striding out confidently, he slapped the panel which would send the elevator upward as fast as it could travel. As satisfying as it would've been to have it loaded with explosives, that would make his initial trip in it fraught with peril, especially if his enemies had access to the detonation codes.

More detonations sounded from above, but he was still moving. A heavy set of blast doors barred his way, right up until he pressed his palm to the reader, whereupon they opened with a hiss. Stepping through, he traversed a short length of corridor, the raw concrete unadorned save for fluorescent tubes affixed to the ceiling. Behind him, the blast doors slammed shut once more. Ahead, another set of doors slid open and interior lights came on, illuminating a pair of seats situated side by side in a small capsule. Extravagantly padded, they were equipped with five-point restraint harnesses.

When he'd had this built, the possibility had crossed his mind that he would be bringing along an essential personal assistant, or even a wife or child, so he'd had the second seat installed. In the event, he was glad not to have someone else along; in time of crisis, so many people argued. If they'd all just do as he said and kept their questions for later, things would go much more smoothly.

Taking one of the seats, he swiftly fastened the restraints, then pressed the button on the wall beside the arm-rest. The capsule doors slid silently closed, fastening with a definite clunk. He felt himself being pressed back into the padding by the acceleration as the capsule started off along the magnetic-levitation track. It had been expensive for a section of sewer line to be written off the city council's books. Having an escape capsule built into that section of sewer line had cost a lot more, but he'd never begrudged the cost. As powerful as he was, as powerful as the capes he commanded were, he'd always acknowledged the possibility that someone would penetrate his secret identity and attack him when he was out of costume, despite the unspoken rules forbidding that very act.

Of course, he'd always thought Kayden too loyal to backstab him like that. A wry grin twisted his lip as he mused on the fact that I thought my minions were loyal could be placed on the headstone of many a deceased villain. The important fact of the matter wasn't that she'd led the enemy—whoever that was—to his very doorstep, but that she'd been punished for the crime. With any luck, the winged tiger-creature had either been sliced to ribbons by the blades in his office or immolated by the shaped charges in the elevator shaft. In any case, flyers rarely had a way to track their prey through solid earth, so he was almost certainly free and clear and ready to plan his return attack. Which reminded him; he had yet to contact his loyal minions.

Something he couldn't do without his phone. As he recalled, he'd left it sitting on his desk when he went over to open the window for Kayden. An unwise move, in retrospect. But then, if it were so easy to spot traitors in advance, nobody would have that problem. So be it. He'd just have to wait until he got to his destination before contacting the team.

It seems that the most careful of planning can still outsmart itself. He'd ensured that the capsule, although well underground and travelling as fast as a car on the streets overhead, could still transmit a cell-phone conversation to the towers above. Unfortunately, he'd assumed that he would still have a phone on him with which to hold said conversation. I should've had a phone system built in.

Still, no harm done. There was a perfectly functional landline where he was going, as well as a latest-model cell-phone in the wall safe. If his precautions had been carried out as planned (and if not, heads would roll) all the data on his phone's SIM card as of a week ago would be on it. Max Anders was a man who planned for every eventuality.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was beginning to analyse the events that had taken place in his office. Krieg said Marchioness was a Changer. What if that flying creature was her? Dispassionately, he considered the idea. If that was the case, then his actions had probably saved his life; the girl almost certainly held a grudge over his part in the events that led to the death of Marquis.

It didn't really matter. As powerful as she was, his four remaining loyal capes would almost certainly be a match for her and Purity both. They came at me through my civilian identity. I'll see them dead for that. Whatever identities Marchioness and Marquis had been using, he would trace back until he knew where the girl called home, then deal with her once and for all.

At least I put an end to Purity. He still found it hard to believe that she had turned against him so readily, until something occurred to him. What if Marchioness is a Master as well as a Changer and a healer? The disquieting thought made no kind of sense at all, but since when were powers supposed to make sense, even at the best of times? If this were true, Purity had never truly been disloyal, which he strongly wanted to believe. This would also make it a pity that he'd had to kill her, but a Mastered minion was just as dangerous as an actual traitor.

The capsule bumped to a stop. Max checked his watch; it was just twelve minutes since he'd hung up on Alabaster's call. He released the restraints and stood up as the doors opened automatically. Stepping out of the capsule took him into a squarish room constructed of the same raw concrete as the other end of the escape tunnel. Heavy metal doors faced him; he laid his hand on the palm-scan pad and watched it turn from red to green. The doors slid open, revealing the stairwell beyond.

Ten minutes later, he panted up the last flight of stairs to his destination. He liked to keep fit, but this was ridiculous. From thirty feet underground to eighty feet above, up a stairwell that was barely ten feet on a side, he was utterly sick of the endless grind of concrete steps.

It was a block of upscale townhouses, of which he was the ultimate owner. During their construction, he'd quadrupled the going rate to ensure that a relatively small square area of each floor was marked 'load-bearing' and not looked at too closely by the building inspectors. As a result, he had a secret stairwell from underground to the top floor, unsuspected by all but a very few. Krieg had known about it, of course, although nobody else did, not even Hookwolf. Max had planned to take Purity to this place once they became a little closer, but was now quite pleased that things hadn't progressed that far. And now they never will.

He paused to catch his breath, wishing now that he'd ignored Krieg's advice and installed an elevator instead of the stairwell. Never mind that this would've blown out the number of bribes that he needed to pay (and bodies he needed to hide), it would've been so much more convenient. A silk handkerchief sufficed to wipe the sweat from his brow, and he tapped in the code to enter the townhouse proper.

The doors hissed open and he stepped out into the master bedroom. This consisted of acres of fluffy white carpet, surrounding a bed that only escaped the designation of 'king size' by being even larger than that. Max looked back over his shoulder with satisfaction to see two sections of apparently ornamental carved oak slide back together. Hopefully I never have to use that goddamn stairwell ever again. The walk-in closet, he knew, held a selection of suits tailored to his specifications. There was food in the refrigerator, the freezer and the pantry. A single phone call would have the townhouse staffed to his satisfaction within an hour.

But first, he knew, he had to disarm the alarm system. Then he could contact his capes and inform them exactly how badly the situation had gone sideways. He started toward the bedroom door, then paused, sniffing. He made a point not to come here too often, and only a trusted few had access to the place … so why did he smell steam from the en-suite bathroom?

There was no way that this could be connected with what had just happened. Even if Purity knew about this place, and had survived being almost classically impaled, there was no way she'd fly here just to have a shower in his bathroom. Which meant that there was someone else in his bathroom. Someone who'd broken in, gotten past his top-of-the-line security system, and had just had a shower in his personal en-suite!

Almost unbidden, metal slid out from his Rolex, swiftly covering his hand with a flexible gauntlet of steel. From this, a foot-long blade sprang forth. Whoever this was, they'd made a very bad mistake by invading his personal space right at this time. Normally, he might have called the police, but now he had some personal issues to work through, and they were in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time.

He started toward the door to the en-suite, blade at the ready. Whoever was in there, if he questioned them in the tub, it would make it a lot easier to dispose of the blood. Two steps on, however, the door opened, spilling a wave of steam into the bedroom. The intruder stepped out, dressed in one of Max's monogrammed bathrobes, drying his hair with one of Max's Egyptian cotton towels. "Why, hello, Max," said Marquis. "I do like this place. Amazing bathroom facilities. Although I may have depleted your shampoo somewhat. Terribly sorry."

Max had seen parahumans do a great many strange things in his life. However, the only one he knew of who could recover from a decapitation was Alabaster—that had been a frankly stomach-turning power demonstration—and Marquis was no Alabaster. How is he even alive?

He never saw the tentacle that slid up behind him and coiled around his ankle …

Twenty-Three Minutes Ago
Claire

Purity stepped through the open window and powered down, her glow fading to nothing. Before her stood a handsome blond man, whom Claire assumed was Max Anders. He gave the order to kill Dad. Her power wanted to shred him, to make him die screaming in his own filth, but she held it back.

[Good girl. Self-control is a good thing in this situation.] Her father's mental 'voice' was calm and collected, in spite of whatever feelings he might have had about the situation.

Internally, she grimaced. [I really want to screw his day up.] It would be so easy. While she couldn't kill him or even mortally injure him from this distance, she could certainly slow him down until she got within killing range. But her father wanted to give Purity a chance to speak to Max, so she held back.

"Max," Purity said. "We need to talk." The wind-rush generated by Stormtiger's power was keeping them airborne, but it also threatened to drown out the spoken word. Fortunately, Cricket's power was able to overcome this problem, so they heard the woman's words clearly.

~Oh, fucking hell.~ That was Hookwolf. ~Can she get any cornier?~

~If it works, does it matter?~ Krieg sounded amused.

The flickering lightning-fast conversation—speech was much easier when transmitted over dedicated neural circuits—was interrupted by Max's next move; specifically, he sent a forest of blades lancing up from the floor, hiding him from view. Claire's life-sense didn't need line of sight to detect him moving away from them and leaping over something, possibly his desk.

That put him just on the edge of her range for temporary conditions, but she was distracted by something much closer and more dire; one of the spikes had punched into Purity's stomach and out between her shoulder-blades. The real problem was that some of the blades were blocking the window, so that she couldn't get close enough to give Purity the assistance she needed. ~Purity's been stabbed.~ She shared her life-sense image with everyone.

~Purity!~ That was Krieg. ~God damn it, Max.~

~Can you help her, Marchioness?~ Her father's voice was unexpectedly urgent.

~Yeah, but I have to get closer.~

~Leave that to me. May I have control?~ He sounded as though he knew what he was doing, so she passed the 'reins' of the shared body to him. ~Thank you. Stormtiger, Krieg, make sure none of the glass hits her. Hookwolf, more metal in our claws.~

~Of course.~

~Sure thing.~

You got it.~

She felt the massive body brace itself and swing its paw, even as newly strengthened razor-sharp claws extended outward from the appendage. The blow struck the glass and the metal behind it, shattering both into a thousand flying pieces of shrapnel. None of those pieces, however, hit Purity; they all either curved around her or fell short. Now that the main obstacle was out of the way, she clambered in through the window, pushing aside the few metal blades that got in her way. The woven nanotube composite making up her outer skin barely even dented before the metal bent and broke.

Now that she had access, she extended a tendril from her shoulder toward the stricken woman. It wrapped around Purity's arm and she started healing the damage as fast as she could diagnose it. Purity, who'd been slipping into shock a moment before, blinked her way awake and looked around. "Fuck," she said. "I never thought he'd do that." Then she looked down at herself, at the length of steel currently anchoring her to the floor. "Fuck!" Furiously, she looked around. "Where is that asshole?"

"He went over there." Claire gestured to the desk, where several shards of metal had embedded themselves into the wood panelling. "But—"

She got no farther as Purity raised her hand and fired off a helical blast that carved its way across the office, eliminating the desk and part of the wall. A secondary explosion shook the office from a cavity in the wall.

"—as I was about to say," Claire said, after the echoes died away, "he's taken an elevator downward. He just left my range." She made her tone severe. "Now, I need you to hold still. I've got your wounds closed, but that's still a very sharp blade inside you. Move and you could slice yourself open again."

"Right." Purity held very still. "What are you going to do?"

"Let me check something." ~Cricket, how solidly is the blade attached to the floor?~

~Give me a burst of sonar and we can find out.~ The pit fighter seemed intrigued.

~Okay.~ Claire opened her mouth and let the inaudible sound-waves strike the base of the blade. ~How's that?~

~Perfect. Not strongly attached at all. Figure you can rip it off the floor, no problem.~

~Excellent. Thank you.~ Claire turned her attention to Purity. "Okay, we've got good news. We can probably lever this blade off the floor. That'll make getting it out of you a lot easier." She made her voice upbeat, trying not to think about the penalties for slipping at the wrong moment.

~A suggestion, Marchioness?~ Even now, her father was unfailingly polite.

~Anytime.~

~Widen the wound channel, and I'll coat the blade with bone to dull the edge. That should make it somewhat less perilous for the young lady.~

Once it was suggested, the concept was obvious. ~Good idea. Let's do it.~ "Okay, just to warn you, I'm going to widen the, uh, wound channel. This might feel weird, but I'll be moving your vital organs to go around it." She pre-emptively lowered Purity's epinephrine levels, and flooded her bloodstream with endorphins to make her more relaxed and less jumpy.

Purity's initial nervousness began to melt away. "I'm good with anything that saves my life right now. Just so long as nobody makes jokes about long hard things sticking into me."

On second thought, Claire decided, she may have overdone it just a touch.

Even as she opened up the channel the blade had punched through Purity, making sure to keep blood vessels intact and organs functional, she could feel Marquis following through, layering bone on the steel to cover the edge and make it both blunt and smooth. In fact, the whole process took rather less time than it had to describe what she was going to do. "Okay, done. Now, power up."

Almost immediately, Purity began to glow with an almost intolerable brightness. Claire closed her main eyes and opened another pair designed to operate under this level of light. "Good." Extending the toes of her paw into fingers, Claire took hold of the blade and tore it free from the floor. "Now, lean back and just let yourself drift out the window."

"Okay." This was accompanied by a giggle. Purity, stoned as she was, followed orders perfectly. Claire tilted the blade to follow her movement, watching carefully as foot after foot of bone-coated metal emerged from the hole in Purity's abdomen. The process only took seconds, but it seemed like hours to Claire.

"Right," Purity said, now hovering outside the window sans blade. "Where's that murderous prick? I wanna shove that fucking blade so far up his ass he can polish it with his toothbrush. Or something." She started forward.

~That's a bad idea.~ Krieg spoke dispassionately. ~He's got the elevator shaft booby-trapped.~

"Purity, stop!" Claire called urgently. "Krieg says there's booby-traps."

"Well, how the fuck are we supposed to fuck his day up?" Purity stopped and came back to her. "Ask Krieg where he's going."

~That's easy.~ Krieg somehow managed to convey a cold smile. ~And the best bit is, we can get there before him. Provided that Purity doesn't slow us down, of course.~

Purity

"Woooohoooo!" Purity hung on for dear life as the flying tiger arrowed its way across the city. Even though she wasn't feeling quite as amazing as she had when Marchioness took the blade out of her guts, she was still rocking some serious adrenaline. Marchioness had formed a weird saddle thing on her back, along with hand-holds; these came in very handy, given that they were going a lot faster than her normal top speed. Apparently Stormtiger's power when combined with Krieg's and applied to a half-ton flying tiger equalled about three hundred miles per hour for airspeed.

It had felt very weird when Marchioness closed the wound through her torso, without so much as a lump of scar tissue to show for it. She was sure she should've been feeling more pain, but there hadn't been so much as a twinge. The girl … tiger … whatever … was good at what she did.

At some unseen signal, the tiger slowed dramatically and swooped down toward a block of townhouses. Flaring its wings, it came in for a four-point landing on an outdoor patio. Purity slid off to the ground, still grinning widely. "That was awesome!" A frown crossed her face as something occurred to her. "Though people probably saw us coming here …"

The tiger's massive head shook from side to side. "I used bio-pigmentation to paint our underside blue. We just looked like a little piece of sky moving really fast." It turned toward the keypad next to the door barring entry into the townhouse proper. "Krieg says the security code's five eight five eight five." It snorted. "Creative."

Purity rolled her eyes in agreement. The Empire Eighty-Eight's initials interspersed with Hitler's? Imaginative it isn't. She went over to the panel and tapped in the numbers; a moment later, the red light on the door turned green and it clicked open. Grabbing the handle, she pulled it all the way open, then looked at the bulky tiger. "Uh, you might need to fold your wings or something …"

The tiger—Marchioness—chuckled, a girlish sound which was extremely odd under the circumstances. "It's okay. We've got this." A moment later, the steel and bone 'feathers' fell from the wings and clattered to the concrete of the patio; the wings then melted back into the tiger's body. Then it began to stretch in a most disturbing fashion. When its shoulders were barely the width of a muscular man's, it eased forward into the townhouse. Purity followed, closing the door behind her.

"So, you sure Max is coming here?" she asked as the elongated tiger prowled through the living room. She watched as a massive paw reached out and delicately turned the handle of a door into what seemed to be a well-appointed bedroom. Marchioness began to enter, the odd layout of her current body form making the operation quite a protracted one.

"Sure," she called back over her shoulder. "He just showed up. Ten stories down. It'll take him a while to climb this far." There was the click of another door opening. "Oh, perfect. Just what we need."

"Perfect? What's what you need?" Purity followed Marchioness into the bedroom, her feet sinking almost to the ankle in the fluffy white carpet. She had to detour around the bed, which seemed large enough to host a volleyball game, along with the cheerleaders and the spectator stands. Marchioness was head and shoulders through the next door, blocking Purity's view into the room. "What's in there?"

"A bathroom." Marchioness' voice did have a certain echo to it, reminiscent of floor to ceiling tiles. "More specifically, a tub. A big one. Or maybe a small pool, I can't quite decide which. Anyway, it's perfect for what I need."

"Perfect for what?" asked Purity, frustration growing as she tried to peer past Marchioness' shoulder. "And Max is on the way up, so whatever you're going to do, do it!"

Marchioness chuckled. "He's not feeling so fit. The poor guy's gonna have to take a few rest breaks. We've got time. Oh, and if you've got a weak stomach, I'd go and turn the TV on. Just saying."

"Why? What are you doing in there?"

Purity didn't know what she expected, but Marchioness' answer wasn't it. "Decanting Dad."

This was followed by a sound both familiar and horrifying. Purity wasn't a cat person, but she knew people who were, and she'd once been subjected to the experience of having a cat bring up a hairball in front of her. At the time, she'd thought the animal was dying. Even being assured that it was going to be fine didn't make her feel any better. The sickly choking noises had haunted her nightmares for weeks afterward.

Marchioness' shoulders hunched and those same noises echoed from the bathroom, only magnified and enhanced by a factor of fifty. Purity stood it for about ten seconds, just long enough for another round of nausea-inducing noises to start up, then she fled into the living room, closing the bedroom door firmly behind her. Looking wildly around, she saw that Max had a well-stocked wet bar; better yet, it was unlocked. She pulled it open, then took a glass and a bottle of something that looked both alcoholic and obscenely expensive, and poured herself a generous shot. The first sip burned all the way down, but it wasn't too bad, so she took another one.

Whatever mess she makes in there, she told herself firmly, I am not cleaning it up.

Marquis

Marquis opened his eyes. He was curled in a foetal position on a hard cold surface, encased in some sort of translucent sac. Uncurling, he felt the sac tear; warm liquid ran out and cool air rushed in. The sac retracted, pulling back from around him as he opened his mouth and took his first breath of air in what seemed like days. Looking at the world with his own eyes, smelling the air with his own nose … it felt almost strange.

His daughter looked back at him with a jet-black tiger's face. She raised one eyebrow. "Now will you let me give you improvements?" she asked, a certain touch of asperity in her tone.

"Would improvements have saved me from decapitation, Claire?" he asked, carefully climbing to his feet. Belatedly, he realised that he was very naked. Grabbing the shower curtain, he held it in front of himself.

Claire chuckled. "Seriously, Dad? I just made that body."

"Irrelevant," he grumbled. "There are proprieties to uphold."

Of course, considering the number of times she'd reformed his body between Earl Marchant and Marquis ('the classic model', as he thought of that version) it would've been astonishing if she didn't have the wherewithal to recreate him cell-by-cell. Seeking to change the subject, he added, "About those improvements?"

"They would maybe have worked," she said defensively. "The subdermal armour definitely would've saved you from a lot more damage if I hadn't had to start from scratch about two seconds before the explosion."

He sighed, knowing when he was beaten. "Fine. Once we're done here, you may do it." His nose wrinkled, partly because of the smell of the fluid he'd been surrounded in. "Did you have to make that horrific noise?"

Claire giggled. "Nope. But it got rid of Purity so we could talk. Anyway, you need to shower, and Kaiser's about seven minutes away. And knowing you, you're gonna want to make an entrance. I'll make your left eyelid twitch when it's time to finish the shower." She began to withdraw from the bathroom.

"Claire—" he began. She stopped, looking attentively at him. He shrugged awkwardly. "Thanks. For saving my life."

Her grin was one hundred percent smartass teenager, for all that it was on a tiger's face. "Anytime, Dad." Then she was gone, the bathroom door pulled shut behind her.

Marquis shrugged, a wry smile of his own crossing his face. Every day, she rewards me for being her father. Someday, I hope to be worthy of that. Turning on the shower taps, he braced himself against the Niagara-like onslaught of water that blasted down at him, scouring his body of the lingering traces of whatever Claire had formulated in place of amniotic fluid. He reached for the shampoo. Kaiser's on his way up, hmm? Well, I'd better hurry if I want to be presentable when he arrives.

Marchioness

~I cannot believe that you used us—our bodies—to remake your father.~ Krieg was less than pleased. ~Could you not have consumed a side of beef or something similar before bringing him back from the dead? Max has one in the freezer, if you'd just asked.~

~Listen,~ Claire replied testily. ~The moment I ate you, it became my biomass, my body. Reclaiming it for you would've been like pouring a cup of water into an aquarium then trying to scoop that same cup of water out again. There's no point.~ She turned her attention to Max. He was puffing steadily now as she added lactic acid to his muscles and artificially induced a higher level of fatigue. Still, it looked like he'd be here in another minute or so; reaching out with her powers, she triggered the nerves in her father's left eyelid, making it flutter and twitch.

~Wait a goddamn second.~ That was Hookwolf. ~What about my ink? Those tattoos took days to get just right. You saying I gotta get all that shit done again? What if I forget something?~ He actually sounded legitimately upset, more so than when he'd been eaten.

~And my scars,~ chimed in Cricket. ~Scars are a badge. If you're not showing scars, you're not saying who you are. What you've done. Who you've beaten.~

~Okay, everyone shut up.~ Claire's patience was at an end. ~You'll get your tattoos and scars back. I can't guarantee everything will be perfect, but give me an idea of what you want and you'll get it. Geez.~

Crouched in the walk-in closet, she didn't move a muscle as the secret doors slid open. Concealed in the carpet, the fluffy eyeball on a stalk observed as Max stepped into the room. She made her father's eyelid twitch again, to let him know that it was time.

Max seemed to realise that something was going on, even before her father opened the door. By the time Marquis stepped out, the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight had a metal gauntlet on his left hand, along with a wicked-looking blade in that same hand.

As she snaked a pure-white tentacle out of the walk-in closet, she listened with half an ear to her father's words. He'd never been anything but on point. Presentation, he'd always told her, was the fine line that divided supervillains from mere powered criminals. Even back when his methods were somewhat harsher than they were now, he'd never ceased to portray himself as a cut above the common herd.

Kaiser managed to shake himself free from the stunned shock, and his brain started to show the same activity that she had noted a moment before, when he summoned the metal glove and sword. If Claire was any judge of matters, he was about to use his powers again. The smart money was on something to do with her father. Not on my watch.

The tentacle wrapped around Kaiser's ankle, latching on tightly. Even without the close contact, she would've been able to exert some influence over his brain; with it, her control was absolute. Every ounce of self-will he had dropped away, leaving him utterly suggestible and unable to even consider hostile action. He still knew who he was, and who Marquis was, but he didn't care. Claire could've put him before a table stacked high with delicacies and he'd starve to death before he took a bite … because he wouldn't care one way or the other.

In the back of her mind, Stormtiger stirred. ~Okay, that's just fucking terrifying.~

~Fuck yeah,~ agreed Hookwolf. ~If I'm gonna go, I don't want it to be like that.~

~He's not dead, you idiots,~ Claire told them with a little irritation. ~Just … on hold.~

Nudging the walk-in closet open, she stalked out into the bedroom. Kaiser stood there, eyes dull, sword drooping. He didn't react to her unexpected appearance, nor to Marquis' approach.

The older villain studied the younger for a few moments, then shook his head. "I have to say, that's slightly unsettling. Is he still alive in there?"

"Sure," Claire said cheerfully. "I've just got the part of him that wants to kill you locked away. I'll be changing it back before I release him." She turned to Max and said clearly, "Come with me to the living room."

Oblivious to the fact that he'd just been addressed by a jet-black tiger, Max obediently started toward the living room. Claire padded alongside him while behind them, Marquis entered the walk-in closet. Before she closed the door, Claire saw her father holding up a suit against himself in a speculative fashion.

Purity

Alcohol wasn't Purity's forte. In fact, she rarely drank. But in this case, she'd downed about half a glass of Max's really expensive stuff before Marchioness—a little reduced in size—accompanied a puppet-like Max into the living room. She didn't miss the white tentacle protruding from the tiger's shoulder and wrapping around her ex-boss' ankle. Nor was she oblivious to the blank look in his eyes and the way he moved at Marchioness' direction.

"What did you do to him?" She put the glass down, but not too far away. More alcohol might be needed at any moment, after all. "Is he dead?"

Marchioness rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone assume that? No, he's not dead. His higher functions are just temporarily suspended for the moment. Otherwise he'd probably be filling this room with razor-sharp steel. We've already seen how that goes." She sighed. "I'll turn him back on in a moment, but first we need to take precautions. Max!"

He turned his dull eyes toward her. "Yes?" he asked, with the barest inflection in his voice to indicate a question. Purity had to suppress a shiver from going down her spine. Max had tried to kill her—the blood-stained holes in her costume were ample proof of that—but now he looked empty. As if the man she had once harboured serious fantasies about had been cored out, and all that was left was his shell.

Marchioness fixed her burning yellow eyes on Max's. "Once you are able to think for yourself, you will follow my orders to the letter and the spirit. Do you understand me?"

"Yes." The word may well have been uttered by a zombie.

"First order." Marchioness's voice was harsh. "Don't use your powers. Second order. Don't attack anyone. Third order. Don't ever lie to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Again, the only part of Max's body that moved was his mouth.

"Good. I'm giving your mind back now." She withdrew the tentacle; for a long moment, nothing else seemed to happen.

Then, Max's body seemed to fill up from the inside. His eyes opened wide, then blinked, and he looked around. As his hands clenched together convulsively, he drew a deep breath of air into his lungs. "What the fuck did you do to me, bitch?" he grated harshly.

"Don't speak to me like that," Marchioness chided him; as gentle as the words were, he flinched back. His hand went momentarily to his throat as she spoke again. "Now, sit down."

Almost as if moving against his will, he sat down in a comfortable armchair, opposite where Purity sat on the white leather sofa. His eyes fixed on her. "What—how are you still alive?" The confusion in his voice was clear.

"Marchioness saved me," Purity said simply. "You're lucky I'm not blasting you into little tiny pieces right now." Part of her wanted to, very badly.

"You turned on me!" The animation and agitation she saw was all Max. "You led the enemy to my door! I had no choice!" He leaned forward. "What did they offer you?"

Purity shook her head, frowning. "Nothing. We spoke. They told me that you'd had Somers Rock blown up. You set a trap in a neutral part of town. This is all on you, Max."

"Seriously, Purity?" His voice rang with sincerity. "You chose to believe them over me?" His chuckle sounded almost natural. "They played you. But we can still—" He broke off, choking, fighting for air.

That was both a lie and an incitement to attack Marchioness, Purity realised. Wow, those orders are nasty. She took a deep breath. "You don't get it. She's subsumed Krieg and the others who killed her father. They spoke to me and verified the story." She pointed at Marchioness. "Tell her that it's all a lie. I dare you."

Max glared at her, furious, but didn't speak. A damning silence passed, broken only when the bedroom door opened. Marquis stood there, immaculately clad in one of Max's best suits. He strode forward with a nod toward his daughter, then seated himself on the sofa beside Purity.

"Now, it seems, we're getting to the nitty-gritty," he announced. "So, Maximilian, has my darling daughter outlined the terms of your surrender, or are we still in the process of beating around the bush?"

"Bush, I think," Purity commented when Max stayed silent. "Though I think we're about done." She raised her eyebrows. "Terms of his surrender? I'd think that terms were superfluous by now. He's defeated, well and truly."

"The rules of conduct—" began Max, before Marchioness silenced him with a shake of the head.

"Don't apply," she finished for him. "You struck first. You've forfeited your right to appeal to them. Be glad we're leaving you alive. As for what happens next, you'll obey Marquis' orders as you would mine."

Purity saw the fleeting smile cross Marquis' face before he began to speak. "Max Anders, otherwise known as Kaiser. You will dissolve the Empire Eighty-Eight in such a way as to make the dissolution seem natural and normal. You'll tell anyone who asks that it's your idea. Then you will leave Brockton Bay, never to return. You will never use your powers or influence to direct, assist or even suggest any hostile action against myself, my daughter, our associates or our holdings. You will never pass on to anyone what happened to you today, especially Marchioness' part in matters. Is any part of this not understood?"

Max shook his head jerkily. "I understand all of it."

"Good." Marquis' voice was like a razor hidden in silk. "Next. You will transfer ownership of all your properties in Brockton Bay into my name, or into holdings that I will name for you. You will likewise transfer all liquid assets into my control, save for … hmm. One percent. You can keep that much, I suppose."

Purity saw the pain in Max's eyes as every word went home. She'd thought her time in the Empire had inured her to the suffering of others, but this was the first time she had seen a man killed by degrees without a hand being laid on him. Any pity she might have felt for him was overwhelmed by the memory of his blade stabbing through her.

"I'll need a computer," Max replied, his words slow and reluctant. The compulsion to follow orders was pushing him, and his will was pushing back. Unfortunately for him, his will was nowhere near strong enough. "There's one in the study."

"Good. Be a good boy and carry out your orders, if you don't mind." Marquis rubbed his hands together as Max rose from his chair. "Next on the agenda. Krieg, Hookwolf, Cricket and Stormtiger. I'll be offering you a choice. Stay here in Brockton Bay under my command—and I will expect absolute loyalty—or leave forever." He looked expectantly at Marchioness.

There was a long pause, then the tiger spoke in Krieg's voice. "I believe I shall be leaving with my family. There will be too much to explain, otherwise."

"That's your choice." There was a glint in Marquis' eye. "The same prohibitions will apply to you as to Kaiser, of course."

The tiger seemed to choke slightly, then nodded. "Of course."

"Very well." Marquis looked at the jet-black beast expectantly. "Does anyone else have anything to say?"

When it spoke next, it was in Marchioness' voice. "The other three have agreed that they want to leave as well. To quote Hookwolf, Brockton Bay won't be the same without the Empire."

"Well, that's true," Marquis agreed. "Personally, I see it as an improvement, but that's only my opinion." He showed his teeth in a smile. "Fortunately, it is the opinion that counts at the moment."

"And what about me?" asked Purity, unable to stay quiet any more. "What happens to me? Am I to be given the same ultimatum; swear loyalty to you or leave Brockton Bay forever?"

Marquis turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "My dear, I had no thought of inflicting that choice upon you. You, of all the Empire capes, have shown that you are a person of integrity and honour. You may stay or leave as you will. I make no demands upon you."

"Oh." She felt somehow unbalanced, as if she'd been geared up for a fight that never eventuated. "So … I can just … go?"

"Well, if you wish, certainly." He smiled at her, then reached out and took her hand. "Or, alternately, there may be a place in my organisation for you. If you're interested in working with me, that is." The words were almost careless, but the gaze that accompanied them said much more. She felt herself flushing slightly.

"I, uh …" She swallowed. "Can I think about it?" The room was rather warm at the moment. She had been on the receiving end of charming offers before now, especially from Max, but she didn't feel as though Marquis wanted to conquer her. Or if he did, it would be very much a two-way street. Either way, she intended to take some time, and a cold shower, before she gave him his answer.

From his response, it was as if he'd expected nothing else. "Of course," he said at once. "Take all the time you need."

One Day Later
Claire

The breeze was a little brisk today; Claire put her hands into her jacket pockets and hunched her shoulders slightly against it as she stood outside the bus depot. She could've simply adapted to the cold, but she preferred to do it this way.

"So how does it feel?" Her father's question sounded slightly amused. She turned to him, to see the faint smile at the corner of his mouth.

"What, being back to normal?" She shrugged. "No different, really. It was kinda weird sharing my head with five other people for a while there, but I never actually felt that I was the wrong shape at any time. I guess my brain adapted on the fly or something?"

His smile became introspective. "That's a very useful capability, Claire-bear. Along with the rest of them. You got me out of a very bad place yesterday. Which only proves that once the time comes, you are definitely the person to take over my organisation." He put his arm around her shoulders, and she snuggled in to him. Moments like this made it all worthwhile.

"That's not gonna happen for a very long time," she said bluntly. "I'm happy being who I am for the foreseeable future. You aren't gonna get sick, and so long as I'm around the PRT's gonna be hands-off. And if anyone else tries the crap the Brigade pulled back before we left Brockton Bay, I'll send 'em back tied into pretzels." She hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but sometimes it just was.

"Well, granted," he agreed. "All of which is true. But at some later date, I may simply wish to retire. Or something else might happen to me, while you aren't there to save my life." He paused. "Ah, there they go." His smile stretched into almost gleeful humour. "I wonder how long it'll take them to realise what you did to them?"

"Oh, I set the mental blocks to gradually dissolve over the next few days." Claire let her smile match her father's. "About two days from now, they'll wake up, look in the mirror and realise exactly what I did." The reactions, she decided, would be epic.

Together, they watched through the glass wall as four people boarded the bus to Chicago. There was a Jamaican man with long dreds and an assortment of tattoos on his brawny arms, a diminutive Asian woman with several serious-looking scars on her face and neck, a broad-shouldered man of Middle Eastern appearance, and a tall handsome African-American.

As the bus door closed behind them, he sighed, sounding wistful. "I do wish I could see their faces when it happened."

"Well, I can give you the addresses where they'll be," she offered. "You've got a couple of days to arrange for cameras to be put in place."

He snorted with laughter. "I think I just might. And Krieg?"

"He'll be out of town in a couple of days." She shrugged. "Moving family takes longer. Who knew? I didn't change his face, but in a couple of days he's going to realise that he just doesn't have the same dedication to the cause as he used to. Maybe he'll find a new line of work." Personally, she didn't think so, but there was always a chance.

"We can only hope." He turned to walk away; she followed him. "And talking about our earlier subject, I notice that you haven't pushed me any more about installing improvements. Are you less worried about my safety than you were before?"

One corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. "In a manner of speaking." Figuring it out in three … two … one …

On 'one', the penny dropped. "Why, you sneaky little minx! You already did it!"

Her expression became a full-fledged grin. "Well, I was rebuilding you from scratch anyway …"

They reached the limo where it was waiting by the curb, with Jonas beside it. The big man opened the back door; Claire climbed in, but Earl paused. "I am shocked. Shocked, I say. That my own flesh and blood might sneak around like that. Jonas, do you have any idea what my daughter's done?"

"Yes, sir." The South African's voice was a pleased rumble. "And not before time, sir."

Marchant rolled his eyes as he got in. "I am beset from all sides. And you say that you don't want to run the organisation. You've already suborned Jonas away from me."

Claire giggled, highly amused at her father's ham acting. "Hardly, Dad. You know he'd die for you." Which couldn't be disputed, after the events of the day before.

"Hmm. Well. Yes." He gave her an exasperated glance. "Well played, Claire-bear. Well played, indeed."

Jonas got into the driver's seat. "Oh, and before I forget, sir. While you were out of the car, Miss Russel called, accepting your offer of dinner tonight. Did you want me to lay out your evening clothes when we get home?"

Her father leaned back in his seat. "That would be splendid, Jonas." He waved a languid hand. "Home, and don't spare the horses."

As the limo pulled away from the curb, Claire looked out the window at Brockton Bay. That's the Empire down. Now just the ABB to go.

She could hardly wait.

Part 13