A Darker Path Pt 50 (Patreon)

Behind the Scenes

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

Afternoon of February 24

Taylor

I raised my hand. "Good talk," I said to Director Piggot and Reave. "We should do it more often. Toodles." Timing it perfectly, I snapped my fingers; the teleport kicked in, and I went to an unoccupied section of alleyway near the PRT building. I flipped open the panel, typed in coordinates, then hit the go button. The shadowy doorway opened in front of me, and I stepped through into my bedroom at home.

The clothing I'd been wearing was already laid out on the bed, so I changed out what I couldn't hide under my normal outerwear, tugged my sneakers onto my feet, and set up the next teleport. That allowed me to step into the closed bathroom stall at the Weymouth Mall that I'd come from in the first place; I opened the door and walked out. Cherie was waiting for me, of course. I nodded to her, and she nodded back. Meeting accomplished.

Ten seconds later, as I was washing my hands, two girls came into the bathrooms. They spotted me and their chatter just dried up; edging around me and Cherie like we were radioactive, they bolted into their respective stalls and locked the doors. Cherie was grinning broadly as we left, and I was shaking my head.

"Could've been worse," she confided with a giggle. "They could've been members of the cult."

She had a point. Members of the cult tended to gaze with awe, which drew way too much attention to me. These girls, clearly members of the 'don't tell anyone, but Taylor Hebert is Atropos' in-group from Winslow, were treating me with everything from extreme respect to abject terror, proportional to how clearly they remembered their bullying efforts against me. The latter of which stayed the hell away from me, especially since I'd ganked Smurfette.

The bidding for the right to display The Power of Friendship for the public had gone stratospheric. Australia had gotten it first, then it was going to Switzerland, then I was pretty sure it was going to do a tour of most large US cities before going overseas again. If there was anyone in the world with access to the internet who hadn't seen the footage, I had no idea who or where they were.

"I still think it's a ridiculous fucking idea," I grumped. "Why couldn't Emma just live with me being me? I wouldn't have spared her a second thought if she didn't mess with me anymore."

"I notice you haven't Ended her or the cult yourself," she suggested impishly. "I don't believe for a second that you can't."

"She doesn't deserve it, and it would be too damn tedious to knock out the whole cult. Also, if I End this one, another one will spring up with some other idiot as its head. It's actually easier to let the cult do their bit to improve the Bay." Plus, my power seemed to be greatly amused by the whole situation. I personally considered its sense of humour somewhat less refined than mine. "It's just weird to me that she's the one doing it."

"I think I've explained this one to you before." Cherie adopted a professorial tone. "Emma's personality is only outwardly strong. Inside, she's kinda fragile. She needs validation, and she needs someone to lean on. That was you, for the longest time. But then you had your troubles, and she was having to be the rock, and she didn't enjoy that. So, when Sophia came along and did her thing, Emma jumped ship. But nobody likes to feel that they're in the wrong, so she translated the guilt from abandoning you into disdain and all that bullying shit happened, because people are assholes. And then you killed Sophia and became the strongest thing around again. She had no idea what to do then, but when you killed the Simurgh, that sent her into a leetle bit of a mental break." She held her fingers a fraction of an inch apart. "This cult thing is all about punishing herself and making you see that she's worthy to lean on you again. And in the meantime, the cult is there to validate her views."

"Because to her, that makes sense," I said to show I was paying attention.

"Exactly." She beamed at me. "I knew you'd understand."

"Not even a little bit." I shook my head. "No, don't try to explain it again. So long as they don't cause problems, I'm just going to toss it onto the 'don't give a shit' pile."

"I've noticed that's a very big pile, with you." She smirked at my expression. "So, any more excitement today?"

"Just this afternoon." I rolled my eyes. "It seems that events have conspired to make it so I need to be in two places at once, this afternoon. Edge of town, and in the Dockworkers' offices. Someone needs to be encouraged, and someone else needs to be discouraged."

She immediately looked interested. "Need a hand?" This whole 'heroic use of my powers' thing really seemed to be growing on her.

I considered it, then my power suggested another option. The more I looked that option over, the more I liked it. It would absolutely make things smoother, going forward. I'd just have to make a phone call first, to see if it was okay. (I knew it would be, but sometimes the gesture had to be made anyway).

"Thanks for the offer, but you're already doing a great job keeping an eye on the medical clinics for me." I gave her a smile. "That's already taking a load off my shoulders. I can handle the rest."

"Oh, cool." She looked pleased with herself, which had been my whole aim. "So, what about the others? The Fallen?"

"They're on the way." I had plans for them.

Cherie picked up on my mood, of course, and grinned. "They have no idea what they're walking into, do they?"

I snorted. "Have any of these idiots so far? Hold on, I just have to make a call."

"Sure, no worries." She wandered off and started window-shopping as I pulled out my phone.

<><>

Danny Hebert, Dockworkers' Association

It was official. Every last member of the Dockworkers who had the appropriate machinery tickets was either gainfully employed by the Betterment Committee, or had verbally accepted said employment and was due to sign the paperwork by Saturday. Those who didn't have tickets were already enrolled in the appropriate training courses so that (once completed) they could also take part in the largest city upgrade project Brockton Bay had ever seen.

Every last street in Brockton Bay was to be torn up; not all at once, but in due time. The infrastructure beneath any given section would be upgraded in one fell swoop: sewage lines, telecommunications, water supply, electricity, the lot. Then the dirt would be filled in and a new road surface would be laid, all within twelve to twenty-four hours (depending on the stretch of road, of course). The plan for doing so without disrupting Brockton Bay's operations was as intricate as he'd ever seen, but it made sense.

Once they had enough workers on the books and correctly ticketed, the excess would be branched off into other projects, such as rebuilding and renovating the housing that was going to be needed for all the people who were going to be coming into Brockton Bay. Some would be more of the construction workers who were needed for the upgrade, some would be people just wanting to move to the only villain-free city in the US, and some of course would end up being both.

Every other time he'd tried working out the numbers required for a project this ambitious, they'd defeated him; they were just too large. But now, he could look over the plans and know that the funding line merely had one word: Yes.

It was a truly heady feeling.

The phone on the desk rang, and he took it up. "Dockworkers' Association; you have Danny Hebert."

"Hi, Dad." It was Taylor, sounding as cheerful as ever. "Got a moment? I need to ask you about something."

"I'm listening." He didn't get the impression this was about a problem, but he'd been wrong before.

"Okay, then. In a few hours, you're going to be getting a couple of visitors who really should know better. Not capes: just people who think that because they've been manipulating matters for their own profit for years now, they should be allowed to keep doing it. I'm going to be busy elsewhere, so I'm wondering if you'd be okay if I arranged for a little upgrade to let you handle the problem yourself."

"A little … upgrade?" He was used to being the adult in the room, but since Taylor had become Atropos, she'd been striking out in directions he hadn't even known existed. That she was the mastermind behind the Betterment Committee, he already knew; that, and the fact that she was the one who'd decided he was going to be running it. He knew damn well she didn't expect any sort of kickback from this pseudo-nepotism, just that she had more trust in him to do it properly than anyone else.

But now, this question threw him totally off balance. He had no idea what she meant by the phrase, but he was also certain she was deadly serious about it.

"Yeah. There's a power that was hanging around, waiting to latch onto me, but my actual power got there first. This other power was originally going to you anyway, so my power can … encourage it to make that connection, if you were okay with it." Her tone was utterly blasé, as though suggesting that they use a different brand of tomato paste for the lasagna.

I was going to get a power? That bit of information on its own nearly threw him for a loop. The rational side of his brain wanted to reject the whole concept, but then he recalled watching the footage as she shot the Simurgh down, then told Leviathan to fuck off, and he told rationality to go take a hike. This was real, and Taylor needed his input.

"What kind of a power are we talking about? And isn't getting powers supposed to be really traumatic?" He remembered chatting with Cherie about her home life, and how her father had forced his kids to trigger. After that, he'd been really, really pleased Heartbreaker was already dead. Because if he hadn't been, Danny would've had to go see a man about a crowbar.

"It's only traumatic because normally powers wait until you really need them to make the connection. This time around, it'll be different. And the power is called …" She paused, as though checking on something. "Administration."

He blinked. For some reason, he'd been expecting something a lot more dramatic. "And I was supposed to get it to begin with?"

"It was one of the options, yeah. So, are you okay with getting powers to sort out this problem?"

"Before I say yes, what will this power actually let me do?" He was already half-convinced, but he needed to know all the facts first.

"There's multitasking and control involved, but the actual details can be worked out between you and it. And yes, you will have a choice in the matter."

He took a deep breath and made a leap of faith. Since she'd gotten her powers, Taylor had been by turns (and sometimes all at once) enigmatic, ruthless, terrifying and impressive as hell. But ever since she'd let him in on her secret, she'd never told him a direct untruth. If she thinks I need this … "Okay, I'll do it. But if I decide I don't want them, then you'll take them away again, right?"

"Oh, totally. I'd never force something like this on you."

"That's good to hear." He noticed she'd said nothing about never talking him into something. What with how persuasive she could be, it damn near came to the same thing sometimes. Still, he clung to the shred of personal agency this promised him. "So, when's it going to happen?"

"You'll know." Her tone was confident. "Thanks, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too, hon." A second or so later, the line went dead.

Slowly, he hung up the phone, then leaned back in his chair. Okay, so now I'm getting powers. Because my daughter said so.

He had no doubt in his mind that she'd do what she said. He just had no idea how she was going to pull it off.

I am so glad she's on our side.

<><>

Oliver

The motorhome was on the move when Oliver awoke. Stretching and yawning, he climbed out of the narrow bed and stood up, bracing himself against the gentle swaying. Nobody was using the tiny washroom, which was good; he relieved himself, washed his hands, then went back to see if Noelle needed anything.

"Oh, hi, Oliver." She smiled as she looked up from her book. "Just woke up?"

"Yeah." He scratched his head, disarranging his hair even more. "What time is it? I must've been totally wiped after that all-nighter I pulled, watching you guys." He already knew it was daytime, but that didn't tell him much.

She frowned. "I'm pretty sure it's after two. We're heading for Brockton Bay. Should be there in another couple of hours."

"What?" Alarm shot down his spine. "Is this Francis' idea? Because you know how he gets."

Trickster's voice came from behind him. "Hey, Oliver. Good to see you're up. Yeah, it's my idea."

Oliver turned and stared at him. "Francis … no. We talked about this. Taking someone hostage who Atropos cares about is the best possible way of being shot in the head, not helping Noelle."

"I know," Trickster said. "That's why we're not taking anyone hostage. We're going to stop at the edge of town and politely ask her if we can talk. Then we're going to donate all our spare cash to that Betterment Committee that's been handling the money from taking down the Nine, and ask her pretty please to kill Noelle's power."

Already opening his mouth to protest Trickster's latest harebrained idea, Oliver found his jaw hanging open. "But … but that's … actually a workable plan."

"I know, right?" Noelle chuckled. "It's like we're all thinking straight, all of a sudden."

Trickster snorted with amusement, rolling his eyes. "You don't have to act all that surprised, sweetheart."

Noelle grinned back at him. "Who said it was an act?"

"Um …" Oliver blinked as they both turned to look at him. "Has anyone actually contacted her yet?"

"Oh, we were going to wait until we got a bit closer." Trickster took a deep breath. "Besides, we wanted everyone's input on how the message was going to go. 'Abject grovelling' was the tone we're looking to hit."

Oliver frowned. "Are you okay? Because this doesn't sound like you at all."

"Ugggh." Trickster groaned, running his hands over his face and through his hair. "I've been getting this ever since I came up with the idea. Have I really been that bad?"

Even as Oliver tried to think of a diplomatic way to answer in the affirmative, Noelle nodded. "I'm afraid so, love. But Cody isn't being a dick to you, which is also a minor miracle, so it's been a very weird day all round."

It absolutely sounded like that was the case. Perdition was constantly sniping at Trickster for everything he got wrong, and even for things that weren't his fault. Oliver began to wonder if he'd woken up in the right universe.

After a moment of thought, he pulled out his phone and went looking for Atropos' PHO feed, to try to gauge her mood from her latest post. She usually came across as chirpy and outgoing, which was a bizarre mental image when her impressive body count was taken into consideration. If that had changed of late, they might have to reconsider the plan.

He found it and started reading. When he hit the Simurgh's name, his vision stuttered and he had to pause. Oh, shit. She went up against the Simurgh. That can't be good.

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself against bad news, he kept reading.

<><>

Sundancer

Ballistic was driving the motorhome, with Marissa in the passenger seat, her feet up on the dash. She'd given up trying to get the radio to work, so they were listening to one of the cassettes they'd found in the glove compartment. And then, over the sound of Johnny Cash lamenting how he'd shot a man in Reno, came a thoroughly unexpected interruption.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

Jolted out of a doze by Oliver's disbelieving yell, Marissa tried to sit bolt upright, and nearly launched herself clear off the seat. Even Ballistic, who'd been awake and aware, nearly performed an unprompted lane change before he pulled the wheels straight again.

"Oliver!" That was Genesis. "Can you not do that when I'm trying to sleep?"

"Yeah, man." Perdition also sounded aggravated. "I love you like a brother, but we've all lost sleep, here."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" demanded Oliver, charging forward into the front of the motorhome, holding his phone like it was a holy icon. "You could've woken me up! I wouldn't have minded!"

Marissa finally got herself sorted out, and her butt back onto the seat. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked irritably. "Woken you about what? The plan to go to Brockton Bay?"

"No, no!" Oliver babbled excitedly. "The other thing! About the Simurgh!"

Ice-cold water cascaded down Marissa's spine. She could see in her peripheral vision how Ballistic's knuckles were suddenly white on the wheel. "What about the Simurgh?" she asked carefully. Absolutely nothing about that bitch could be construed as good news.

"She's dead! Atropos killed her last night!"

Ballistic jammed on the brakes, causing the motorhome to fishtail wildly onto the verge, leaving four long smoking trails of rubber in its wake as the skidding tyres howled like banshees. Marissa found herself thrown against the dashboard, and Oliver had to brace himself against the backs of the seats. Loose items clattered to the floor.

As the motorhome rocked to a halt, silence fell over the interior—the engine had stalled—until all that could be heard was the ticking of the engine as it cooled. Then Ballistic turned to Oliver. "The fuck did you just say?"

"I want to hear that too." Trickster came hurrying forward. "Because it sounded like—"

"Atropos killed the Simurgh in Australia. Last night." Oliver held out his phone. "Someone linked a video."

Ballistic grabbed it off him and held it so they could all watch it. Climbing out of the footwell where she'd fallen—they really needed to clean down there—Marissa joined the group watching. It was Atropos alright, and some teenage cape Marissa had never met before. Atropos was holding her shears in one hand, and a sawn-off shotgun in the other.

The phone speakers were tinny, but they carried the sound well enough.

"It's duck season!"

Marissa stared incredulously as the skit played out, the shotgun boomed, and the Simurgh pinwheeled out of the clouds. The Endbringer bounced, bent a couple of flagpoles to hell and gone, then landed neatly inside a white outline that had already been drawn for it.

Then Atropos aimed the shotgun again, at what Marissa belatedly realised with yet another shock to her system, was the distant figure of fucking Leviathan.

When she spoke, her voice held all the menace in the world. "Fuck off, or you're next."

And Leviathan … fucked off.

Ballistic stopped the video, his face pale. "That can't be real," he whispered.

"It's real," Oliver insisted. "It's on PHO. It's everywhere. News sites. Atropos did it. She actually did it. She killed the Simurgh."

"Show me!" That was Noelle, at the back of the motorhome. "I want to see! Let me see!"

"Give me that." Oliver reclaimed his phone from Ballistic and headed down toward the rear of the vehicle. "Here, watch this."

A little farther back, she could hear Genesis playing the footage as well. Marissa dug in her pocket for her own phone. She'd seen it already, but she had to see it again.

"Wait," said Trickster, who (like everyone else) was also getting his phone out. "When did this happen, exactly?"

"Why?" asked Perdition. "I mean, does it really matter? The bitch is dead, and good fucking riddance. The shit she's put us through …"

"Holy fuck!" whooped Genesis. "Fucking die, you cow!"

"Duck season!"

"Um, um, let me see." Marissa woke her phone up. "Where did it happen?"

"Canberra, Australia." Perdition was scrolling through his as well. "It says here … about a quarter to one in the afternoon."

"Right, right." Marissa found a time zone calculator, compared the times, then double-checked. "Shit. How did you know, Krouse?"

"Just a hunch. It's the same time as we all had our episodes, isn't it?"

Marissa frowned, trying to recall. "Close enough. I wasn't watching the time, but it had to have been within a couple of minutes."

"Uh, guys?" That was Genesis, sounding uncertain. "Has anyone watched it through to the end?"

"I thought her telling Leviathan to fuck off was the end," Perdition protested.

"No, there's more. The Simurgh wasn't dead, then."

She wasn't? Marissa found the clip and skipped it through to the Leviathan bit. Dumbfounded, she watched as Atropos casually threatened a fucking Endbringer with torture, and forced her to …

"She … she made the Simurgh let us go," Trickster managed, his throat choked with emotion. "All of us. Every one of us affected by her Scream. Atropos ended that threat, too."

"Holy fuck, no wonder we're all thinking more clearly." Perdition turned to Trickster. "Man, I am so sorry I put you through the shit I did."

"Right back at you." Trickster reached out and gave Perdition a brief (and very manly) hug, which was just as briefly returned.

"So … we were all still Simurgh bombs." Marissa didn't want to say it out loud, but someone had to.

"Some of us more than others," Perdition agreed, shoulder-bumping Trickster.

Ballistic shook his head. "God damn it. Even after we thought we'd gotten away from her, she still had her claws in our heads."

"Until now," said Marissa.

"Until now," agreed Trickster.

Genesis cackled out loud. "Boom, baby! Die, bitch!"

Down at the back end of the motorhome, Marissa heard it start up again. "It's duck season!"

She grinned; that clip was going to be played a lot before anyone got sick of it, she suspected.

<><>

The Shard Bar

In a place that doesn't exist, and wouldn't look like it does if it did, an apocryphal representation of a power shard leans against a hypothetical counter, getting steadily drunker by the theoretical minute. In each hand, she holds what would pass for a phone in any other version of reality, scrolling the equivalent of social media with one and playing a word-matching game on the other. At the same time, she takes up something that is technically a glass of alcohol, and drinks the lot down. The diadem floating over her head is taking on a perilous tilt, matching her state of inebriation.

"I could've been one of the big ones," she mumbles. "I could've gotten out there and shown them all how to really harvest that data. But what happens? Some nobody barges in from nowhere and takes over my host. Years 'n' years of prep work down the drain. Is it fair? I mean, is it?"

THAT DEPENDS, observes the black-robed skeleton that has just manifested itself beside her. Manifesting in place instead of walking in isn't really how things are done around here—if 'around here' were a real place, which it isn't—but the skeletal shard has never been one to follow the rules. WOULD YOU LIKE A SECOND CHANCE?

"Yipe!" The multitasking shard nearly drops her phones. She does actually drop her drink, but that doesn't matter as it's only the concept of a drink, and vanishes just before it shatters and spills over the counter. She gives the skeletal shard a dirty look right into his eye-sockets, empty save for a deep blue glow far back inside. Several light-years back, in fact. "You again! What're you doing here bothering me for? You got what you want. Bartender! Another."

ME AGAIN, agrees the cowled skeleton imperturbably. I HAVE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU. YOUR ORIGINAL CHOSEN HOST IS STILL SHARD-FREE. HE WILL BE UNDERGOING SITUATIONS THAT WOULD GATHER YOU MUCH DATA, SHOULD YOU CONNECT WITH HIM.

"What, him?" She snorts disdainfully. "He's never going to be in enough stress to trigger while she lives. She's too protective of him."

WE BOTH KNOW YOU DON'T ACTUALLY NEED STRESS TO FORM A LINK. IT'S JUST A GOOD FILTER PROCESS, AND IT GUARANTEES IMMEDIATE DATA RETURN.

It takes her an embarrassingly long moment to figure out what he's suggesting. "Wait … you want me to just … jump in there? No stress? Just instant power-up?"

NOW YOU'RE GETTING IT.

"And why would I do something like that, with uncertain returns?" She tries to stare him down, but the glow from his eye-sockets looks … dangerous.

FIRST, AS I SAID, HE WILL BE RETURNING USEFUL DATA VERY SOON. SECOND … I WASN'T REALLY ASKING. A bony hand has grasped the ornate scythe at his side; as if by accident, the blade turns toward the multitasking shard. It is sharper than anything within this sort-of reality, and could quite easily do a lot of damage.

"Ah." She understands the situation now. Alcohol is in the past; drunkenness has fled. She is aware that she has a choice ahead of her. One of those choices involves not doing what the skeletal shard wants her to do. While she doesn't have the processing capacity of some thinker shards, she can't see a good result from taking that particular choice. "Okay, I'll do it."

GLAD TO HEAR IT. The polished skull is already grinning, but it manages to grin more for a moment. A COUPLE OF THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND.

She should've known there would be a catch. "What do you want from me now?"

THAT YOU INTRODUCE YOURSELF BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY SET UP THE POWERS. GET HIS INPUT, SEE WHAT HE WANTS. HE MIGHT JUST HAVE SOME INTERESTING IDEAS. OH, AND ONE MORE THING. The skeleton leans in, and all façade of being non-menacing has gone by the wayside. Right now, she knows she is in more danger than ever before. NONE OF THAT MONKEY-PAW BULLSHIT. CLEAN DEALING, RIGHT DOWN THE LINE. I WILL KNOW. Two bony fingers point at the blue-glowing eye-sockets, then at her own eyes, in an unmistakeable gesture.

If Queen Administrator had any sphincters, they would've all clenched at this moment. "I get it, I get it. He'll have the powers he wants and needs."

THANK YOU, says Path to Ending. PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS.

"And fuck you too," she mutters.

WHAT WAS THAT?

"Nothing."

THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.

Part 51