A Darker Path Pt 42 (Patreon)

Just Another Manic Monday

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

Relevant Side Story

(Still) Sunday Morning, January 16

Danny Hebert

"So, what are your plans for today?" Danny asked, after finishing off the scrambled eggs Cherie had apparently made. They were quite good, actually. "Is there anyone else currently causing problems for the city, or can you actually relax and take a day?"

"Problems are at a minimum." Taylor leaned back in her chair and stretched. "There's going to be a couple of things out of town in the mid-afternoon, but before that I was going to take Cherie to the Lord Street Market so we could pick out a few new outfits and browse for anything else she wanted. Afterward, maybe the Boardwalk and a movie."

Both Danny and Cherie looked at her. "A couple of things out of town?" asked Cherie. "Why haven't you told me about this yet?" She paused. "Just by the way, the market and movie sound like great ideas. But back to the other things."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "It's nothing, really. Some dealers from Boston got the bright idea to set up a pop-up of all things, exactly one mile outside the Brockton Bay city limits. They figure that means they aren't dealing inside Brockton, and can thus get away with it. At least, with me."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "That seems to be remarkably risky. Is this an Accord thing, testing the waters?"

"Hah, no." Taylor snorted. "Some freelancers, looking to make the big time. I'll just show up, destroy their stash, and explain to their customers that anyone who tries to pull this loophole to buy drugs isn't welcome back in my city. They want to keep feeding their habit, they can go elsewhere to do it … and stay there."

"If the dealers put up a fuss about you destroying their drugs, are you going to kill them?" Cherie didn't seem dismayed by this concept, merely curious.

"Only if they come at me with lethal force." Taylor shrugged. "Otherwise, it'll be a 'kneecaps are a privilege' situation."

"And the other thing?" asked Danny. "You did say 'a couple' of things."

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "Gesellschaft got told by Bastard Son that I was dead. One of them hasn't got the memo that I'm still alive. He's scraped together all the drugs he can from other contact points in the country, and it's all shipping together in one eighteen-wheeler. It'll be coming through just about the time I finish up with the drug pop-up idiots."

Cherie nodded sagely. "Right. So, nothing to worry about then."

"Not so as you'd notice." Taylor held up a finger. "Oh, and there is something else, Dad."

Danny eyed her cautiously. "Why do I get a bad feeling when you use that phrase?"

Taylor smirked. "Superior pattern recognition? Anyway, you're about to get a phone call from the police. It's about Paul King and Janice Templeton. Last night, I caught them trying their shit again, so I made examples of them. They're alive because you didn't want me killing them, but they are in the hospital."

"Do I want to know what you did to them?" He really didn't, but he supposed he should ask anyway.

"Well, it's unpleasant enough that nobody else on the Committee will be even tempted to try anything themselves, but it's survivable." She shrugged as she got up. "I'll let the cops fill you in. Help me with the washing up, Cherie?"

"Sure." Just as Cherie stood up and started stacking the plates, the phone rang. "I think that's for you, Mr Hebert."

Danny rolled his eyes, though he was secretly pleased that she felt comfortable with making jokes like that. "Thank you for that, young lady." He handed her his plate on the way to the phone.

Heading over to where the phone hung on the wall, he picked up the receiver. "Hebert residence, Danny Hebert speaking."

<><>

Taylor

Wrist-deep in suds, I scrubbed at the pan, enjoying the mindless effort. There was no second or third guessing, no juggling of the probabilities. It was either dirty or clean. The binary choice appealed to me.

"So, what'd you do to them, and who's calling your dad about it?" murmured Cherie beside me as she wiped a plate dry.

"Blinded them with my shears, then cut off their right hands with the axe I took away from Hatchet Face," I said, scrubbing away. "Then I left a packet of material beside each of them and called emergency services. The packet lays out exactly what they did, so once they get medical attention—and their eyes get fixed, just as soon as Panacea gets around to it—they can stand trial for attempted fraud and suchlike. The reason the cops are calling Dad is because I left his name as a primary contact, by way of the Committee. That way, he can plausibly know about it before Monday, and have enough material to ensure nobody else tries to pull this shit."

"Geez." She shook her head. "You'd think they would've learned by now."

I shrugged. "As my maternal grandfather used to say before he passed, some folks just gotta pee on the electric fence."

It took her a moment to get it, then her eyes widened, and I could see her struggling not to laugh. "He did not!"

"He totally did."

She was still giggling by the time we finished drying the dishes.

<><>

Monday Afternoon

Boardwalk

Sabah looked around the picnic table at the rest of the Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild and wondered when her life had become so complicated. First Bastet and Salvage, then Emily (possibly Spitfire) and Dinah (possibly Oracle) had shown up, and they were all looking at her for leadership. Well, maybe not Dinah. She was just looking for a responsible adult.

"Well, we got a good take on Saturday," she began. "People seem to like the Guild. We're nice, soft, fluffy, safe capes. But we can't depend on public goodwill to pay our way all the time, so I've been looking at job opportunities for everyone."

"I can probably help with that," Dinah piped up. "Give you the percentage chance of getting a particular job, so you don't waste your time where people are already set against you."

Sabah blinked. Dinah had already explained her power, but that was an application she hadn't considered.

"Huh," said Salvage. "If you can do that for us, kid, it'll help a ton."

"Totally." Dinah beamed. "I just have to be careful with my questions."

"Uh … guys?" Emily spoke up tentatively. "There's someone coming this way, and he's got PRT with him."

Along with everyone else, Sabah turned to look at the newcomer. Wearing a suit and tie and holding an electronic tablet, he was indeed flanked by an armoured (and armed) PRT trooper, who was carrying a large briefcase. As they got closer, she realised that the briefcase was chained to the PRT trooper's wrist.

Standing up, she went to meet the two men. "Good afternoon," she said politely. "We aren't bothering anyone, I hope?" Nobody had expressed any particular problem with their presence, but that didn't mean someone hadn't complained anyway.

"Oh, no. Quite the contrary." The man in the suit held his hand out. "I'm Harold Whittaker, and this is Trooper Kendall. I'm quite pleased to meet you. Your show on Saturday was inspiring."

Cautiously, she shook his hand. "I'm Parian, but you probably knew that already. What's this about? Are you a process server or something?"

He beamed at her. "Well, I do work as one, but this is different. If we can have the use of the table for a moment, I'll be able to show you. Trooper Kendall?"

With the air of someone who'd already done this a thousand times before, Kendall strode over to the table and placed the briefcase on it. Whittaker tucked the tablet under his arm and leaned over the briefcase for a moment. Sabah heard the clicks as the combination was entered, then he flicked the latches. "Now, your colleagues would be Bastet, Salvage, Spitfire and Oracle, correct?"

Sabah eyed the briefcase suspiciously. "Those last two might be subject to change, but yes. Why?"

Deftly, Whittaker removed five small envelopes from the briefcase before snapping it closed again and passing them out. They literally had faces printed on them, Sabah realised. More to the point, hers had her mask printed on it, while Emily and Dinah's envelopes had their current domino masks. "I've been employed by the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee. These contain your stimulus cards, plus the relevant bank details for the accounts. Each card has a PIN attached to it. Memorise this, then destroy the sticker. Each card has one thousand, two hundred dollars on it. You may also use it as a standard savings card. Further stimulus payments will go into the same card. Any questions?"

"Uh, yeah." Salvage left off staring at the picture of himself in his improved armour. "I'm pretty damn sure I'm not in the system. Howcome I'm even getting this?"

Whittaker shrugged. "Someone put you into the system. I've learned not to question this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" asked Bastet. "And how did you know we were going to be here, in costume?"

"That's the sort of thing I'm talking about," Whittaker confided. "This morning, we each got a list describing exactly where to find everyone due to receive a stimulus card, and when they would be there. Including pictures." He retrieved his tablet and tapped the screen. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with a gentleman just down the way."

Sabah watched them go, then slowly sat down again. "Did … that just happen?"

"It just happened, alright." Salvage opened his envelope and examined the card within. "Damn, this is sweet. What's this Betterment Committee and stimulus thing all about, anyway?"

"It's Atropos," Sabah explained. "She's funding improvements to Brockton Bay with the money from the Slaughterhouse Nine, and apparently the money is part of it."

"Awesome." Salvage looked at Bastet. "Go you halves on one of them fancy motel rooms, with the room service and stuff?"

She grinned and high-fived him. "You're on."

<><>

Around the Same Time

Brockton Bay Betterment Committee

Danny was standing at the head of the table as the other committee members filed in. By the time everyone he expected was there, two seats were still empty.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them. "Before we get started, I have a few announcements. First, the stimulus payment rollout started this morning, and is on track to be finished within schedule. Well done, people."

There was a light smattering of applause, which he allowed to die down before he continued.

"Second, the drug rehab clinics are still working well. People are coming in and getting treatment, and everyone is behaving themselves. God willing, this will continue."

"You mean, Atropos willing," snarked one of the union men in the committee, sparking a wave of laughter.

Danny grinned as well. "I don't care who's in charge, so long as it all keeps working. Now for the third thing." He tapped the two Manila envelopes on the table in front of him. "This is a bit more serious, and it involves Janice Templeton and Paul King."

"Yeah, where are they?" asked one of the women from the Mayor's office, looking around. "They should be here for this."

"They can't be here for this, because they've both been attempting to skim money from the fund." Danny spoke bluntly, bringing all eyes back to him. "I suspected it, then Atropos brought it to my attention."

"Geez, you talked to her?" It was the union man who'd spoken again.

Danny nodded. "I did. She came to my house and said that something was going to be done about them if they didn't stop trying. I asked her not to kill them, and she agreed. But they did keep trying. So …" He took up the envelopes and opened them. "She acted."

From each envelope he pulled a colour glossy eight-by-ten, and a sheet of letter-sized paper. The photos he dropped on the table. Those closest to him leaned over to look, then recoiled violently.

"Christ, what did she do to their eyes?" demanded the union guy, looking on the verge of retching. "And their hands?"

He'd already looked at the photos; forewarned, he was able to maintain his equilibrium. "The medical reports say their eyes were surgically removed with an extremely sharp instrument. She also hacked off their right hands with, I suspect, an axe. Emergency services were called immediately afterward. They are both in Brockton General Hospital, in a stable condition."

"Okay, we get it. Put those away." The woman from the Mayor's office closed her eyes and waved in the general direction of the photos. "You've got proof they were trying to skim?"

"The police say they do." He slid the photos back into their respective envelopes. "As soon as they're well enough to stand trial, charges will be laid." Pulling out his chair, he sat down.

"If Atropos had proof, why didn't she just take it to the cops and let them deal with it?" demanded Tyrone Stansfield, one of the other committee members. "She didn't have to do that to them as well!"

"Because she's not a hero." Danny's voice was quiet, but everyone shut up and listened. "She's not here to be nice and wave to the crowds and save kittens from trees. Her aim is to make Brockton Bay a safe place for everyone to live, and she doesn't care who she has to hurt or kill if they ignore her warnings along the way." He tapped the closest envelope with his fingertip. "Janice and Paul forgot that. Let's not make the same mistake."

From the looks on the faces of the other members of the Committee, it seemed a few of the others had let that slip their minds, and the reminder was not to their taste.

"Goddamn, you're a cold one, Hebert." That was Stansfield again. "You can't sit there and tell me you approve of this."

Danny shook his head. "No, I don't. But I don't pretend for a second that I can actually prevent it from happening, either. If I hadn't advocated for them, they would've died, I'm certain of it. As it is, they'll have some sort of life after all this. Also, she can be reasoned with, just not tricked or gotten around. Which I have to admit is a step up from a few of the people I've faced across the negotiating table in the past."

The union guy nodded in grudging agreement. "So, what's her endgame? What does she get out of this?"

"You're asking me?" Danny shrugged. "My best guess is, exactly what we see. A safer, more prosperous Brockton Bay. Lower crime, more jobs, reduced poverty, no drugs on the streets, improved infrastructure, maybe enough money to do something about the ferry and the Boat Graveyard at some point. It's not like she's been secretive about her goals. We even got a literal guideline for how to get it done." He slapped the table lightly with both hands. "So, we've wasted enough time second-guessing our not-so-mysterious benefactor. We're going to need to put out feelers for replacements. Bring me suggestions at the next meeting. Just make sure they understand that playing by the rules is essential."

"Yeah," muttered Stansfield. "No shit."

<><>

Monday Evening

Taylor

"So where are we going again?" Cherie straightened up from where she was leaning against Dad's car beside me, and looked around. "And where is your dad, anyways? We've been waiting forever."

I grinned, knowing it irritated her. "One, you'll find out. Two, he's about thirty seconds away. Three, we've been waiting four minutes and thirty seconds."

She rolled her eyes. "It feels like forever. And why are we dressed up?"

I could understand her distaste for 'dressing up'—the only time her father had put pretty clothing on her was to parade her for men he wanted something out of—but while we were at the Market I'd made sure to steer away from the types of revealing outfits he'd forced her to wear. This time around, I knew she understood there were no ulterior motives going on. "Because we're going out in public, among a lot of other people who will also be dressed up, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to draw attention."

"Ah. Okay." Not being in the public eye was something she was definitely fine with. "And you're not going to tell me what's going on?"

"I'm curious about that, too." Dad rounded the corner of the building and came toward us. "Hi, Cherie. That's a nice outfit. What's the occasion?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, if you don't know, and I don't know, then the only one here who knows is Taylor. Who won't tell me."

"Don't look at me." He spread his hands. "All I know is that Taylor asked me to be finished by seven."

If the hint had been any broader, it could've served as a landing strip for a 747. I cheerfully ignored it. "And now we need to head to Arcadia." I gestured at the car. "Teleporting might draw too much attention. So, shall we get going?"

"Arcadia? What's at Arcadia?" But he was already unlocking the car.

I got in the back seat with Cherie. "You'll see."

All the way to Arcadia, they tried to wheedle it out of me. Cherie told me I was mean and she wouldn't be my friend anymore, and Dad threatened to just drive us both home, but I held firm (though highly amused).

When we pulled up in the Arcadia parking lot, Dad's eyebrows rose when he saw all the other cars already parked there. Then Cherie spotted the purple-striped vans and it stopped being funny for her.

"Taylor," she said carefully. "What's the PRT doing here? And why are we here, where the PRT are?"

"Relax," I said airily, passing her a cloth cap I'd bought her. She hastily stuffed her hair up under it, including the red-dyed lock. "They're here for site security, nothing more."

"Yes," Dad chimed in. "But site security for what?"

I sighed. It seemed the time for secrets had run its course. "They're debuting a new Ward. Because Arcadia already has a security setup for the Wards who attend here, they let the PRT use their auditorium for this kind of event as well."

"Oh." Dad looked enlightened. "But why are we here?"

"Well, I thought I'd bring Cherie along because it could be fun, and I'm bringing you along so you can see a positive outcome for something you helped me out with, a while ago."

He frowned. "A Wards debut? How did I help you out with that? And what have you got to do with it?"

I kept my voice down as we joined the crowd moving in through the doors. "Remember the passenger we took away with us, the day Jack came to town?"

It took him a few seconds, then his eyes opened wide. "She's the Ward? How ...?"

Cherie was looking between us like a spectator at a tennis match. "What passenger? Who's Jack? What are you two talking about?"

I leaned in close to her. Even though she was older than me, I was taller, so it wasn't hard to get my mouth close to her ear. "Before your time. But the new Ward's name is Miss Medic."

We managed to claim three seats next to each other, and sat down. Arcadia's auditorium was nicer than Winslow's, but that was kind of a given. Cherie's expression was intensely focused, as she thought over the hints I'd given her. Just as Director Piggot of the PRT finished up a short speech—I got the distinct impression she wanted to be anywhere but there—Cherie sat bolt upright in her seat, her eyes widening in the same way Dad's had.

"You have to be shitting me," she hissed as we stood and applauded briefly.

"Does this look like the face of someone who's shitting you?" I retorted, just as quietly, once we were sitting down again. Armsmaster was now at the podium, giving his own speech. Where Piggot's subtext had been 'oh god get me out of here', Armsmaster's was 'I once read a book about giving speeches'. I was about ninety-five percent sure he was reading it off the HUD in his helmet, and ninety percent sure he hadn't actually written it.

"But B- uh, her?" Her expression was that of extreme disbelief. "How does that even work?"

"You'll see." I stood and applauded with the rest of the audience. When we sat down again, Armsmaster walked offstage (I fully expected to hear his bike leaving within seconds) and Miss Militia came on, escorting Riley.

I had to admit, they'd done a damn good job with her costume. Nowhere to be seen was the Alice dress, or any hint of one. Even Vista, the most powerful Shaker on the hero side, had been stuck with a skirt, but with Riley they'd bolted in the opposite direction.

They'd settled on 'combat medic' as a basic theme, but softened the camo uniform with pastel colours to remind everyone there was a kid in there, and kind of make them look like scrubs. She had a military helmet, kid-sized, with flower decals on it, with a tinted visor to act as a mask while still allowing her broad smile to be seen by one and all. And boy, was she smiling. We were all standing and applauding as Miss Militia shepherded her to the podium, the parallels between the two costumes clear for all to see.

Miss Militia took the microphone first. "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for. Allow me to introduce our newest Ward: Missss ... Medic!"

We applauded, of course. While that was happening, Riley climbed up onto a step that was hidden behind the podium stand, and Miss Militia adjusted the height of the mic for her. I got the impression this wasn't the veteran hero's first rodeo, when introducing Wards.

"Thank you, Miss Militia," Riley said, and those of us still clapping fell silent. "Thank you, everyone. It's great to be here. It's great to be a hero, so I can help people who need it."

She paused for breath, so of course we clapped again. Cherie took the opportunity to learn over to me. "She means it. She wants to be a hero!"

"Uh huh," I replied, but then the applause died down again.

"When I was younger," Riley went on, "we travelled around a lot. There was no place I could call home, nowhere I could put roots down. We'd just get somewhere, and it seemed we had to move on again. But now I'm here, and I feel more welcomed in Brockton Bay than I ever have before. I want to be the best darned hero you wonderful folks have ever seen!"

We applauded again, and I couldn't help grinning at the double meaning of her speech. Sneaky, Riley. Very sneaky.

Miss Militia stepped forward and took over the mic in what had to be a rehearsed move. "And that's our Miss Medic, ladies and gentlemen. We'll take a few questions before we wrap this up."

Predictably, the first few were softball questions, seeded into the audience to give Riley some confidence. What are your powers, how do you like the Wards, do you think you'll ever work with Panacea, and so forth. Someone asked if she and Miss Militia were related, and Riley raised a laugh with, "No, but I've been meaning to ask her about her stance on adoption."

Then came a question that I suspected they'd been waiting for: would the two of them be teaming up together? Miss Militia fielded that one by saying, "It's always good to have a medic handy, but Miss Medic will be working with all of us. Beyond that, I can't talk about our tactical dispositions in the field."

That was when she started wrapping it up. There would be a supervised meet-and-greet with the press (which we weren't), but I'd seen what I needed to. Riley was officially a Ward now, and the brain work Amy had done on her was holding up just fine.

"Okay, we can go now," I said, getting up. Dad and Cherie were okay to leave as well, so we made it to the exits before the crush.

Nobody spoke much on the way to the car, but once we'd gotten in and the doors were closed, Cherie turned to me. "What the fuck?" she demanded. "What the absolute fuck? If that was Bonesaw ... I mean, I've seen just how bullshit your powers can be, but how in the ever-living hell did you pull that shit off? If I hadn't known, if you hadn't spoon-fed that to me ... there's no way I would've ever picked it. Not a hope in hell."

I leaned back in my seat, now more satisfied than ever. Cherie's patent incredulity was the icing on the cake. "Same way I stopped those guys from mobbing the drug rehab clinics," I hinted, watching her face.

"But you didn't stop them," she protested. "I stopped ... them ... from ..." She stopped talking. "Oh."

I nodded encouragingly. "Exactly. I got someone who was not me to do something I needed doing."

"But who?" She frowned again. "Couldn't be Panacea, for two reasons."

I batted my eyes innocently at her. "And what two reasons might those be?"

"Two reasons I'm all of a sudden not so sure about." She mock-glared at me. "Everyone knows she can't do brains, unless she can and isn't telling anyone. And I was damn sure that whatever you asked her to do, she'd do the exact opposite out of spite, but now you're smiling in that way that says I'm missing something important."

"Mm-hmm." I grinned. "So, you know how I've got a fan club?"

She nodded. "Which is still not the weirdest thing about this town, but yeah."

"Okay, then. Back before the Nine came to town, I was meeting with the head of my fan club and her brother in a park ..."

<><>

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♦ Topic: Finding Out

In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)

Posted On Jan 18th 2011:

Hello to the citizens of my favorite city!

(Brockton Bay, if you were wondering).

So, this is only going to be a minor post. I have not killed any villains in the last few days. In fact, I haven't killed anyone. Though there has been a large amount of grievous bodily harm, so I suppose you'll have to be satisfied with that.

Who have I performed grievous bodily harm on?

Well, let's see now. There *were* some people who decided they would open up a loophole by setting up a drug dealing point outside the Brockton Bay city limits. I paid them a visit, explained that why yes, I *can* actually travel outside the city, then torched their stash. And their car. And their shoes (I made them take the shoes off first, because I'm nice like that).

One of them actually pulled a knife on me. My good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun then had a brief conversation with him about how Kneecaps Are A Privilege. He might walk again someday. I hear they're making great strides with artificial knees. (Pun totally intended).

There were also a few would-be customers hanging around. I explained to them that if they wanted to come out of town to buy their drugs, then they could just keep on going. They buy drugs, they're not welcome back. I did not go to all this trouble to get rid of the illegal drug trade to have shit like that happen.

After that, I waylaid an eighteen-wheeler full of Gesellschaft drugs. It shortly thereafter became a furnace full of drugs. The drivers didn't put up a fight. They even stopped when they saw me. It's like people are learning or something.

Gonna have to do something about that idiot in Stuttgart Sud, though.

And then there's Janice Templeton and Paul King. They aren't villains. Hell, they didn't even have police records before yesterday. But they *were* doing their best to skim money out of the Betterment Committee, by sabotaging the drug rehab and stimulus programs.

This and this happened to them, on Sunday night.

I am *not* playing, folks. These people were entrusted with the well-being of Brockton Bay as a whole, and they betrayed that trust. The only reason they're alive is that the chairman of the Committee politely asked me not to kill them, after I had a chat with him about their second warning.

(I also may have beaten the crap out of a bunch of Mr King's criminal associates, but that hardly counts.)

On the upside, I understand that the stimulus program is kicking along really well. Someone had the bright idea to ask Director Piggot to assign PRT troopers to assist with security in the matter, and what do you know, it worked. So that's a plus.

Oh, and I've got one more name for my 'not allowed in Brockton Bay' list: March.

I'll get back to you when I've got more thrilling news to recount.

Toodles!

(Showing page 1 of 27)

►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

... huh.

She's right. It *has* been a quiet couple of days. The stuff she mentioned? Barely even got the PRT's attention.

I almost miss the days when you couldn't go twenty-four hours without hearing about some villain's hilariously ironic death.

Almost.

The last two weeks have basically been an insanely accelerated demonstration of natural selection in action.

Kind of reminds me about an old joke I saw floating around online, with a new punchline:

"Evolution is a fallacy. What we have today are the creatures Atropos has only given two warnings to."

Anyway, like Atropos, I'll get back to you when I've got something to report.

►CBDR (Constant Bearing Decreasing Range)

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

Committee members skimming?

In a normal world, it would be seen as business as usual.

Too bad for them, it's not a normal world anymore.

►5051rice

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

Did you see why the gun exploded? Because I think Atropos put her last bullet *up his barrel*.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

5051rice - after she shot his previous three out of the air.

That wasn't a fluke. That was *precision*.

►BrickFrog

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

Did she have to blind them and cut their hands off? Really?

►Searching4theLord

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

Is it just me or is that punishment more than a little Biblical?

Matthew 5:29-30: "If your eye offendeth thee, pluck it out/if your hand offendeth thee, cut it off".

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

It's more Atropos 1:1.

"If thou screweth with Atropos, she will make sure you can never do it again."

End of verse, end of sermon.

►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)

Replied On Jan 18th 2011:

I'm pleased to see you left them alive.

The offer to talk still stands.

No recruitment, just an exchange of views.

The lady and her son are doing well, by the way.

You did good.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 25, 26, 27

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Relevant Side Story

[A/N: There's going to be a few minor timeskips over the next few chapters. Just so you know.]

Part 43