A Darker Path Pt 26 (Patreon)

Part Twenty-Six: A New Can of Whoopass

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

Canada

Heartbreaker

Nikos Vasil did not get angry very often. He didn't have to; anyone making him angry learned very quickly why that was a bad idea. Terrifying them to the point that they didn't speak for six months was a simple matter for him, and considerably satisfying besides. The world, with a very few exceptions, existed to serve his needs, and he didn't mind providing reminders when necessary.

He was angry now. A member of his in-group, tasked with maintaining a watch on the doings of the world at large, had brought the Parahumans Online posts to his attention. Many were speaking about this new cape Atropos, but the subforum most closely followed by those in the know was the one that she herself had started.

Still, that would not have been enough to make him angry, even when he read the post where she arbitrarily banned him from ever visiting her city. A substantial number of other capes and organisations were also prohibited from intruding on her home town, some of them prominent enough that he would've been leery about drawing their attention. So it was, then; a small yappy dog barking at bigger dogs from what she considered to be a safe distance. Mere noise.

But then he read the post where she straight-up taunted him with the loss of no fewer than four of his children. Jean-Paul, whom he'd heard no word of since the ungrateful little shit decamped in the middle of the night; Cherie, who had followed her younger brother's example when he was distracted by the Sidney Saile debacle; and Guillaume and Nicholas, who he'd dispatched to find at least Cherie and drag her back to where she belonged by any means necessary.

One was dead and another in PRT custody, that much he knew. The fates of the other two, he had no idea of. The online commentator Bagrat, who claimed to understand Atropos as well as anyone, made it clear that he believed her implicitly but that he had no idea where the others were.

The most fury-inducing aspect of this whole thing was that he had no idea who had died and who had been arrested. Where the arrestee was being held and what charges were going to be levelled, the media either didn't know or they were being remarkably tight-lipped about the whole thing. As the latter would be an unequivocal first for any bunch of media outlets anywhere, he was leaning toward 'didn't know'.

This much he did know; once he had Atropos under his sway, if Jean-Paul was one of the survivors, the little traitor would never speak or act under his own initiative ever again. If he had to be hamstrung and his tongue cut out to achieve this, then so be it. But he—or Cherie, if it turned out he was dead—would serve as a permanent warning to the rest of his children that nobody ran from Nikos Vasil.

The car was packed and ready to go. He would be travelling mainly through the back roads at night, just in case the authorities were more alert than normal and anticipated this move. Nobody would be accompanying him; he needed no assistance to subjugate the will of one overconfident vigilante.

Standing tall in the middle of the main room, he surveyed his devoted flock, mainly women and children. "You will not leave the grounds. You will wait for my return." He exerted his will, burning the command into their minds. Turning, he made to leave the house, then paused and looked back at them. "If you hear of my death … end your own lives."

Satisfied that no matter what happened, his people would never belong to another man, he left the house and got into the car. For the purposes of this trip, he had shaved his beard and cut his hair, and was using a set of fake ID supplied by a cooperative law enforcement officer. Fastening his seatbelt, he started the car and moved off down the driveway.

His destination: Brockton Bay. His chosen target: Atropos.

If anyone could tell him where his living children were, she could.

And of course, he could never have too many women in the house.

<><>

A Hundred Miles West of Boston

"What the fuck?"

Animos looked around from the game of poker he was playing with Hemorrhagia and Spree. Vex was driving, which meant Butcher was taking some time to scroll through the local internet on her phone. He'd seen her browser history, but he wasn't one to judge. Whatever floated her boat, was his philosophy.

Though in her case, it was a derelict pirate ship that had been dredged up from the bottom of the ocean with some really fucked-up sea life still clinging to it.

"What?" he asked, mildly impressed that she'd actually found something worse than what she deliberately chose to look at.

"Who the fuck is this Atropos bitch?" she half-screamed. "Does she honestly think she can tell me to stay out of her city? Out of Brockton Bay? The Teeth used to run that shithole!"

"Oh, crap," muttered Hemorrhagia, sharing a glance with Animos and echoing his own inner monologue. They'd caught a few mentions of Atropos and what she'd been up to over the last week, but they'd decided by mutual silent agreement to not mention any of it to Butcher. What she'd done to Lung and Skidmark was beyond messed up, and that was from the point of view of someone who ran with the Teeth.

"Uh, hey," Spree ventured. "Maybe we should just leave them to their hometown shit and hit someplace where they don't stab people through the eye with swords, or shoot them in the face with their own gun?"

"Are you fucking kidding?" Butcher shook her head. "If I'm reading this right, Lung and Oni Lee are fucking dead. Kaiser's dead, and the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight just left town. I don't even know who Coil was, but he's dead too. There's basically no villains left in that damn city to stand in our way. It's wide open for the taking."

Animos realised as he opened his mouth that he was going to do something he'd never done before. Something that was against his entire state of being.

He was going to try to be the voice of reason.

"Except she's killing villains coming in, too," he said. "She fuckin' wrecked the Slaughterhouse Nine." The forty-three-minute clip had shown that no matter how fucked-up Atropos' previous murders were, they definitely weren't flukes. "Do we really want to go there?"

"Jack Slash was a one-trick pony with a big mouth," Butcher said dismissively. "He wasn't me, and he definitely wasn't all that."

"Didn't the Nine basically wipe out the Teeth, back in the day?" asked Vex from the driver's seat. "And she just killed off the Nine, like she was going out to buy groceries and they were in the way."

"Not that Nine, and not this Teeth." Butcher's tone was assured. "And that was a few Butchers ago, too. We got more powers, and we're a lot better at what we do." I'm a lot better at this than that Butcher, was what she was saying. She was probably getting yelled at right now by whichever Butcher she'd just dissed, but her expression never changed.

"Still, she killed Lung—" Animos began. The ABB cape had a reputation that extended beyond the city limits of Brockton Bay. Or rather, he had had one.

Butcher rolled her eyes theatrically. "What the fuck can she do to me? Nothing she's done to anyone else is going to even come close to hurting me. I'm bullet-proof and stab-proof, if she dropped me in front of a moving vehicle the asphalt would break before I did, I can teleport away from anything bigger, and if she does bring up something that can kill me I'll know about it before she tries! Also, I can fuckin' see her heart and arteries through walls, I can target her better than she can target me, and I can hit her with my powers from a distance! And even if by some fucked-up miracle she kills me, I still beat her. I. Fucking. Win."

She had a point, but Animos couldn't help wondering if the other capes Atropos had killed had thought the same way. "Okay, yeah, but—"

"But nothing. Vex, we're heading to Brockton Bay. There's a little bitch I've got a bone to pick with there."

Vex shrugged. "Okay. We're heading to Brockton Bay."

And so, the van rolled on through the night.

<><>

Hebert Household

Cherish

No clock chimed; Taylor didn't even glance at her watch. But between one moment and the next, her emotional music changed key from 'relaxed' to 'purposeful'. "Okay, time to commence Operation Drugs Are Bad, part two. Dad, could you give us a lift?"

"Sure." Taylor's father got up from where he'd been casually chatting with them, and stretched. "Where are we going?"

"The Docks, to start with." Taylor was on her feet as well, shrugging into the long-coat and slinging the backpack holding the rest of her costume over her shoulder. She was already wearing the suit and boots, though she'd unfastened the tie to hang loosely around her neck. Cherie had seen how fast she could don the rest of it, apparently without even having to think about it.

Cherie cleared her throat. "That's the, uh, that's the fortified drug warehouse, right?" Taylor had mentioned this over dinner. She wasn't being grim and gritty like some wannabe action hero; it was just another check-box to be ticked off before the city was cleared of all illegal hard drugs. They would be removed. It was as simple as that.

Taylor gave her a grin, her music dipping into happier strains for a moment. "That's the one. You're paying attention; that's good."

It felt weird to be praised for doing something, as opposed to being punished for not doing it. In fact, the entire dinner episode had been totally outside her experience. Mealtimes in the Vasil household usually involved the women subtly jockeying for the position of her father's favourite, and the children eating in near-silence, doing their best to not catch Nikos' attention.

Here, Taylor had chatted with her father, arguing good-naturedly over several minor topics, and even roped Cherie into the conversation to ask for her opinion on something. There were no pitfalls, no traps, no gotchas. Nobody tried to trick her into saying or doing something that would get her in trouble. Once she'd reached the astonishing realisation that she didn't have to watch every single word she uttered, it had become enjoyable in a way that she'd never thought possible.

The food had been as pleasant as the company. She hadn't been denied a portion; Danny had simply made more. While her experience of home-cooked lasagne was essentially zero, it had been tasty and filling. I could totally get used to this.

Whatever she'd been expecting when she decided on Atropos as a protector, it wasn't this. On the one hand, there was the skinny teenager who helped with the washing-up and stuck her tongue out at her father when he made a terrible pun; on the other, the black-clad avenging angel who had the Brockton Bay underworld terrified. There was no real way she could make the two fit together. They were almost literally night and day.

"Thanks," she said, giving Taylor a tentative smile in return. "So, how are we going to handle this?"

Taylor chuckled, leading the way to the back door. "That's where you come in. I'm not going to stop killing people who totally deserve it, but I've only got so much ammunition. The last time I did something like this, I got Grue to help out by clouding the place in his darkness. It worked well enough, but I like changing things up, so this time I decided to do things a different way. Tell me; if you were faced with a warehouse full of mooks armed to the teeth, how long would it take you to bring them to the point that they didn't even want to put up a fight?"

It was an interesting challenge, but Cherie found herself hanging up on a different topic as she headed down the back steps. "Wait a minute. We only met this afternoon. How long have you been planning to use my abilities to do this?"

Taylor waited for Danny to lock the back door, then followed him toward the car. "Oh, a couple of days now."

Cherie frowned. "But … I only got into town a day or so ago."

"Mm-hmm." Once Danny had unlocked the car, Taylor opened the passenger side door. Pausing before sliding into the car, she looked across the roof of the vehicle toward Cherie. "You seem to be assuming I didn't see you coming." Her emotional accompaniment was leaning toward sly amusement.

"But … but …" Cherie found herself talking to thin air as Taylor got into the car. Opening her own door, she climbed in as well. "But … how long have you known?"

"Long enough." Taylor pulled a mobile phone from her pocket. "I need to make a call now, mmkay?" She put her finger to her lips.

"Okay." Numbly, Cherie sat back and fastened her seatbelt. If Taylor wasn't somehow spoofing her power and pulling her leg, then Atropos' abilities were even scarier than Cherie had figured.

She knew exactly where I'd be, and when to grab me up. And I walked right into it. Of my own free will, even.

The epiphany should've been terrifying, but she found it somehow comforting. If Atropos had seen her coming and known exactly how to deal with her, then her father should stand no chance at all.

She hoped.

<><>

On a Bus

Damsel of Distress

As the bus trundled out of Stafford, Ashley leaned back against the seat and let her head loll sideways until she was looking out the window. She'd been here before; not on this bus, but in this situation. The last time, she'd seen on the news that the Boston villain population had been rolled up, leaving the underworld ripe for picking.

That had been four years ago; she'd taken the bus that time, too. For a while she'd done well for herself, but the scheming and treachery of the other villain gangs had undermined her until she'd had no choice but to retreat back to Stafford, her old stamping grounds. But her feet were getting itchy again, and this time it was Brockton Bay that was suffering from a distinct lack of villainous activity.

Edict and Licit wouldn't even know she was gone for a few days, though they probably suspected she'd make a play for Brockton Bay. All she had to do as soon as she got into town was start recruiting from the pool of disaffected teenagers that made up a significant portion of the population of any reasonably-sized city. The two heroes would follow her once they knew where she was, but her minions would give them pause. And I'll finally get the foothold I deserve.

She'd heard about Atropos, of course, and how she'd been the reason the previous villains left town. It didn't bother her; she was good at keeping her head down while she recruited. By the time Atropos even discovered she was in town, it would be a done deal. And if the cape killer wanted to face her off, then … well, Ashley had killed before, too. One more wouldn't matter to her.

Ready or not, here I come.

<><>

Stafford, New Hampshire

Licit

brrt brrt

brrt brrt

brrt brrt

He reached for the phone. Fumbled it into position. Not a number he knew. He swiped to answer anyway. "H'lo?"

"Good evening, Licit." The voice on the other end was a teenage girl, not anyone he knew, though it was naggingly familiar. "Are you aware that Damsel of Distress took the night bus to Brockton Bay? She's due to get here at three in the morning. I strongly advise you and Edict to meet me at the Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Or not; your choice."

"Wha …?" He tried to make sense of what the girl was saying. "Who is this? How do you know?"

"This is Atropos." Adrenaline sent a shot of wakefulness down his spine at that name. "I know because I'm very good at what I do. I'll be giving Damsel of Distress exactly two options; leave town, or die. With you and Edict there, she's less likely to do something stupid. Three AM. Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Don't be late."

The call ended, leaving him holding a dead phone to his ear.

Slowly, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Behind him, the girl he'd picked up at the bar only a couple of hours ago rolled over and mumbled something in her sleep. He ignored her.

For fuck's sake. Edict is going to absolutely kill me.

Her number was in his phone. They were superhero partners, so of course it was. Standing up, he padded into the kitchen and started the coffee-maker going. As it gurgled to life, he hit dial on her number.

The phone almost rang out before she answered. "So help me, if this isn't an earth-shattering emergency, I'm going to—"

"Damsel's on her way to Brockton Bay," he interrupted. "Atropos herself called and gave me the heads-up. If we're not there by three, Atropos is going to kill her."

There was a long pause. "Fuck. Okay. Can we take your car?"

"We can do that." Hopefully, the PRT would reimburse him for the fuel expenditure. "I can be around at yours in half an hour." Most of that time would be taken up with showering and kicking the girl out of his apartment; the drive itself would take five minutes.

"I'll see you then." She ended the call.

The first cup of coffee was ready. He took a mouthful of the hot, black brew, feeling the caffeine sparking his neurons to life. Now he had to drive to Brockton Bay of all places, just to save the life of a supervillain who didn't want to be saved.

And people wonder why I've got a drinking problem.

<><>

Cherish

Fully costumed up, Atropos leaned down by the driver's side window. "You've got that other address I told you about?"

"Right here." Mr Hebert held up the notepad.

"Good." The morph mask hid Atropos' expression, but Cherie could tell from the tone of her voice and the musical accompaniment that she was smiling. "Wait exactly three minutes before you drive away, then meet us there."

He nodded seriously. "Three minutes. Got it."

Atropos lightly slapped the car roof, then turned and headed toward where Cherie was waiting. "Okay, showtime. Let's get a little closer."

"Why did you want him to wait three minutes?" asked Cherie. "Wouldn't it be better to get there now?"

"Because there's roving patrols driving around," Atropos explained. "If he takes off right now, he gets the attention of a bunch of heavily armed assholes. Three minutes will put him between sweeps."

"Oh." Cherie raised her head slightly and concentrated on what she was listening to. "Ah, I see them now. They're trying to put on a bold front, but most of them are scared of you. More greedy than scared, though. Someone's throwing a ton of money at this." But even with all the money, there was a persistent undercurrent of fear that she wouldn't have any trouble at all magnifying.

"That's because the profits of being the only drug supplier in a city this size would be phenomenal." Atropos started off down the street. "The warehouse is a block thataway, and the waterfront's the other side of it. If you breathe deeply, you can smell the rotting seaweed."

"Oh, that's what that is?" Cherie caught up with her, lengthening her stride to keep pace. "I'd wondered."

"Well, wonder no longer." Atropos paused just short of a section of street, and nodded to her. "The closest sniper. I need him distracted for the next thirty seconds."

"Just him? Okay, then." Cherie concentrated for about thirty seconds, then nodded as soon as her target's attention was well away from that section of street. "Okay, he's totally spaced out. Not looking this way at all."

"Good." They crossed the road at a hustle anyway, and ducked into cover once more. "When we get a little closer, I'm going to need you to start pulling down their work ethic. All of them. Whatever's motivating them to do their best job today, I want you to erode that until they just can't give a damn."

"Okay." Cherie paused, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. Atropos had been a perfectly reasonable boss so far, but there were always limits.

"What?" Atropos asked. "I'm not going to yell at you for asking questions."

Cherie shrugged. Well, in for a penny … "Okay, they all know you're coming. Why don't I just ramp up their fear of you, so when you show yourself, they shit themselves and run for it?"

"That's plan B." Atropos gave her a nod, and Cherie heard the music signal her approval. "There's three reasons why it's not plan A. Firstly, some people react badly to fear. They attack whatever they're scared of instead of running, or before running. Secondly, I need to destroy the drugs, and some of these idiots are carrying the grenades I need to do it with. If they're running away, they're not waiting around for me to take the grenades off them."

Cherie blinked. "They're carrying grenades?" That sounded like a remarkably stupid idea, and she'd originally been planning to join the Slaughterhouse Nine. "What are they planning on doing with them?"

Atropos snorted. "They've got orders for if they see me in hand to hand with their buddies, to toss the grenades in anyway. It seems they're willing to lose men just to stop me."

"Jesus." Cherie shook her head. "And you're just going to take them and blow up the drugs?"

"There's a few more steps than that, but you've hit on the general idea, yeah."

"Wait, you said there's three reasons. What's the third one?"

Atropos tilted her head slightly. "Did you want people to know you're working for me?"

"Oh. Yeah. Good point." While Atropos seemed to thrive on publicity, Cherie had no desire to be any more visible than absolutely necessary. "So, what do we do now?"

"You wait right here." Atropos patted her on the shoulder. "When you hear the signal, start winding back their motivation. I'll take it from there."

"Signal?" This was the first Cherie had heard of a signal. "What signal?"

"Oh, you'll know it when you hear it."

<><>

Atropos

I left Cherie where she was and headed down the nearest alley. This region of the Docks was well away from any residential areas, and I knew the drug guys had cleared out the local homeless in case any of them happened to be me in disguise. Not that I personally cared about collateral damage, but it was the image of the thing. Also, the lower I was able to keep the incidental death toll (it was never going to be zero), the easier it would be for the PRT to rationalise cooperating with me in cleaning up the city and keeping it that way.

They had four snipers in place, each on top of a separate building around the actual warehouse. The snipers could see every approach road, and all of them had an 84mm anti-tank weapon standing by in case I came in with a chopper or a tank or something. However, they weren't the ones with the grenades. Those were the ones on the roof of the warehouse itself.

I had to admit, I was almost impressed. Gesellschaft (they still had people in the smuggling industry, even after the Empire had crumbled) had decided to go all-out, and they'd kicked the armoury doors wide open to do it. After what I'd done to Accord's warehouse, there was to be no holding back. There were more rounds of ammunition ready to be used in and around that one building than anywhere but the nearest National Guard base.

This was going to be fun.

Getting closer involved cheating like hell with my power to know exactly when the snipers were looking in the wrong direction, then choking out the guard who was guarding the sniper's building. (I could've stabbed him, but blood is horrible for corrosion on steel weapons, so I preferred to restrict it for when I absolutely needed to). Then I screwed the suppressor onto the pistol I'd taken from the gun shop, and climbed the ladder up toward where he had his sniper nest.

It took him a few seconds, as I climbed into view, to realise that I wasn't his buddy here to relieve him. At that moment, he had a choice to make: to go for the pistol lying beside him, to try to swing the rifle around, or to surrender. For my part, I'd already made my choice. While it was entirely possible to get a kill-shot with a thrown blade, it was messy and inefficient. Besides, I had a suppressed pistol. It was even in view, while I gave him the chance to give up.

He chose … poorly.

His hand was still inches from the pistol when I put a suppressed round through his head, the heavy THWACK of the shot just quiet enough to confuse anyone nearby as to whether or not that had been actual gunfire. Climbing up into the sniper nest, I holstered the pistol, feeding the suppressor through the hole I'd made in the bottom of the clip-on holster. He'd been carrying a nine-mil as well, so I dropped the magazine out of it and put it in my pocket; spare ammunition was always good to have.

Then I took up the sniper rifle. It had a very nice night-vision scope, but I didn't bother with that. Bringing the butt to my shoulder, I fired into the darkness three times in quick succession. The third sniper had just enough time to start turning toward me when my bullet extracted what was inside his skull and put it outside his skull; the other two didn't even have a chance to do that.

That got the attention of the guys in the ambush-position on the roof of the main warehouse. Their trouble was, they didn't know if the shooting was a good thing or a bad thing. While they were wasting time calling over the radio net to find out what the sniper was firing at (the sniper's two-way radio was going nuts), I picked out the ones who were starting to realise the truth.

There were six of them; unfortunately for them, I knew where they were and they didn't know which way to duck. It was almost child's play for me to take them out, barely pausing between shots. The last one survived a fraction longer than the others, but only because I had to put the rifle down and pick up the sniper's pistol. One more shot, and they were all down.

Discarding the now-empty pistol, I grabbed the AT-4, slinging it over my shoulder. There was still a high barbed-wire fence around the warehouse, as well as a bunch of armed guards inside. Also, Gesellschaft's highest-ranking non-cape in the United States. Taking him alive and handing him over to the PRT would probably count for a few Brownie points, I figured, but I wasn't married to the idea. If it turned out to be easier to just kill him, he'd die.

Cherie would've figured out that the signal had been given by now, so she'd be reinforcing the idea of, 'do I really want to die defending a bunch of drugs?'. Given my previous exploits, they had plenty of reason to be scared, and the longer I let them dwell on it (and the longer Cherie worked on their fears) the better the result I'd get. I mean, I could've done this anyway without her, but this way was a lot easier.

Leaving the sniper nest, I headed across the building roof to the gap between it and the main warehouse. There was a cable strung across the fifty-foot gap, covered in bird shit and probably slippery as hell. Any self-respecting high-wire artist, upon seeing it, would back away slowly.

To me, on the other hand, it could've been a paved walkway with a hand-rail. I just let my power take the reins and it walked me across with never a pause or hesitation. Just like when I'd been shooting the other snipers, I was just along for the ride, allowing it to guide all my movements down to the most infinitesimal of muscular twitches.

I'd expected a lot more commotion below as I was looting the guys on the roof of their grenades, spare ammunition and (in one case) the keys to a vehicle, but it seemed Cherie was doing her job just fine. Only one or two people seemed to be actually shouting and running around, including our friend from the Gesellschaft hierarchy. The rest were doing their best to look and sound as though they were just as enthusiastic, but for some odd reason their hearts just weren't in it.

It was time to move along to the last stage of the plan. Our man from Gesellschaft had—through careful detective work and the fact that nobody was answering the radio on the rooftop—deduced that I was up there. While I could have mimicked their voices, that would've merely wasted a little time. I was already well away from the dead men when he gave orders to fire up through the roof.

Toward the rear of the warehouse was a closed-in yard, containing the vehicles belonging to the warehouse guards. As those within the warehouse shattered the skylight (great going, guys) and set about turning that section of the roof into a reasonable approximation of a colander, I was already over at the corner nearest the vehicle collection point. The distance to the ground was a little farther than I really wanted to drop, especially on to concrete. I could do it and get away with only minor injuries, but I didn't want to if I didn't have to, such as when someone had thoughtfully left a rope secured there for rappelling down with. Say, for if an unstoppable black-clad killer was murdering all their buddies and they just needed to get away.

(If they hadn't, I would've brought my own rope. It's as simple as that).

By the time I kicked the coil of rope over the side there were men moving around outside, shining flashlights upward. I started rappelling down one-handed anyway. On the way down, two men spotted me. One went to shoot, so I shot him first. The other turned and bolted in the other direction; I let him go.

As soon as my boots hit the ground, I headed for the assembled vehicles. There was an armed guard on them, mainly to prevent any of the other guards from bugging out ahead of time. When he saw me, he froze, then screamed and ran for it.

I frowned, then shrugged. Cherie was clearly trying to help, and this time it had worked. If it screwed up, I'd have words with her, but until then I'd leave it be. Putting the matter out of my mind, I zeroed in on the vehicle I was looking for, a solidly built pickup with a massive bull-bar on the front and a light-bar on top. The keys I'd filched from the guy on the roof opened the door, and I climbed in. The AT-4 went onto the passenger seat, beside me.

If I were a 'car' person, the way the engine rumbled to life would've been hugely satisfying to me. As it was, I figured it would serve my purposes for the time being. Backing out of the parking spot, I aimed at the rear roller-door leading into the warehouse, revved the engine to a thunderous roar, and dropped the clutch.

The back wheels left a massive spray of gravel as I powered toward the roller-door, accelerating all the way. I had just enough time to flick the switches for all the lights before the heavy vehicle smashed headlong into the door and tore it clear off its runners. The steering wheel jerked, but I'd anticipated that and countered it; in the next instant, I was powering through the warehouse itself, all the guards still inside turning to look at me.

This was where Cherie's emotion damping came in handy. Instead of testosterone-fuelled aggression, virtually all the guards decided to back way the hell off when I came roaring on through. One guy with a rifle was trying to line up on me—I figured he just liked hurting people more than he liked living—so I shot him on the way past. The others backed up a hell of a lot more, after that.

The drugs were packed up on pallets spaced through the warehouse, with enough room for vehicles to drive between them. I decided to test that by not just driving, but drifting between the various pallets, the back wheels of my newly acquired ride howling and spewing grey-black rubber smoke. This added a certain amount of visual cover for me, and gave the already-demoralised guards a good reason to fall back even farther.

One of the few men there who had a good reason to oppose me was the Gesellschaft rep. He came running out toward me with a pistol raised, firing. Whoever had taught him was good; he put three holes in the windshield about where my head would've been if I hadn't already ducked. Then I spun the pickup around so the loadbed smacked him sideways into a pallet of heroin and fentanyl.

While he lay there groaning, I pulled up next to him and jumped out. Opening the passenger side door, I loaded him into the footwell, then slashed the side of the pallet wrapping and grabbed a single packet. Before the guards could pull together enough courage to see what was going on, I was back in the pickup and revving the engine again. Now was the time to go for gold.

Popping the clutch again, I shot out across the floor, then pulled a tyre-shrieking turn as though I were attempting to escape out through the hole I'd come in by. But I didn't go all the way. Instead, I pulled a U-turn and started back, weaving between the pallets.

This time, however, I was steering with my knees, pulling grenades from my long-coat pockets and yanking the pins free. Each time I passed a pallet, I tossed a grenade so it would land either on top or underneath it. Halfway through, I had to smack Mr Gesselschaft with his own pistol so he'd go back to nap-time, but I made sure every grenade found a good home.

I lacked the string I'd had the first time around, but then again, I really didn't think I needed it. I also didn't have a road flare, but I definitely didn't need one of those. By the time I was almost through, the first grenades were starting to go off, so the pickup was swerving and pitching ahead of a steadily growing cloud of various intoxicants and opioids. As soon as I got rid of the last grenade, it was too close behind me, so I aimed at the front roller-door and floored it.

Again, I tore the metal door clear off its runners; the paintwork was badly scratched, and I was pretty sure the lightbar was no longer of this world. I rocketed out of the warehouse just ahead of the (thankfully unignited) aforementioned cloud of liberated variably toxic substances. The barbed-wire wrapped gate didn't do the paintwork any favours at all either, but I honestly didn't give a fuck. All I wanted to do was to get out of the blast radius.

All the grenades I'd thrown, except the last one, had detonated outside the cloud, merely contributing to it instead of blowing up inside it. Just as I got to the road, the last one went off, and six point five ounces of Composition B struck a massive spark. This ignited the cloud.

If anything, the explosion was bigger than the last one, slamming the pickup sideways and (I found later) blistering the paintwork. The vehicle briefly went up on two wheels, but I fought it down again and regained control.

I didn't know who had gotten out, and I didn't care. The less motivated they were, the more likely they would've decamped as soon as I arrived. Which meant the ones who had stayed were those who were most determined to maintain the drug trade in my city.

Sucked to be them.

The pickup was still rocking on its wheels when I pulled it to a halt. I paused briefly to admire the massive fireball currently climbing skyward to form the second mushroom cloud that I'd ever made before I pulled open the passenger side door and dragged out the Gesellschaft rep. Just for being nearby, he'd be checked out by the authorities, but I made sure of it by using his own pistol to shoot him through the kneecap. Walk that one off, asshole.

As I got back in and drove off, leaving Hopalong to his richly-deserved fate, I could already hear the sirens approaching. They must've had every truck ready and waiting, after my earlier warning. I wouldn't even have to tell them where it was.

Cherie was still where I'd left her; of course, she knew it was me driving, so she came out to meet me. She frowned at the AT-4 and the packet of drugs when she climbed in, but didn't ask the obvious question.

"Drug dealers," I said. "They give out the best party favours."

"Okay." Her tone of voice very clearly stated that she was going to leave that comment well alone. "So, uh, where are we going now?"

I grinned under the mask as I put the pickup in gear. "One down, one to go."

Part 27