Agrippa
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Wake-up Call – Chapter 51 – Fall
🕑 Added 2022-08-24 03:10:10 +0000 UTCCrusader—Left Behind
“She isn’t there, boss,” I tell the infuriating man on the other side of the phone, my words echoing in the empty staircase.
“… Any traces of violence?” Kaiser tells me after a slight pause that is suspiciously close to the time it would take me to mutter, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ under my breath.
Yeah. Kinda been doing that for a while now.
So I focus on my ghosts and let their shared vision of Kayden’s apartment fill my mind.
Fifteen angles. About my limit before it feels like my head’s being cooked from the inside out—and not something I can maintain for long.
There are some clothes left behind, but none of them are Aster’s or Theo’s. No suitcases in the apartment, neither in the wardrobe nor beneath a king-sized bed I’m pretty sure she never shared with anyone other than her baby. Kitchen appliances are untouched, and the TV is still there, but some drawers in the office have been left open.
No papers anywhere.
And I’m looking for traces of a violent kidnapping in the apartment of the most powerful Blaster in the city.
… Boy, do I feel like an idiot.
“I’m pretty sure if there were traces of violence from Kayden defending her daughter from a kidnapper, we would’ve seen it on the news,” I finally answer, as if I had been contemplating the sheer stupidity of the question rather than acting on it.
“My daughter,” Kaiser immediately says, not even acknowledging how ridiculous his request was.
And pissing me off in a way that feels almost deliberate.
“Your daughter, sure. That divorce settlement was very generous for the mother of said daughter, wasn’t it?”
“You are testing my patience, Crusader.”
I close my eyes.
The ghosts of me send me their impressions of the apartment of a woman who is no longer there.
The empty living room, with no baby toys.
The ransacked office, without a computer.
The open wardrobe.
And the kitchen.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon. She always tried to bake cinnamon rolls. Insisted they were a family recipe that her mother had made sure she perfected before getting married.
They tasted like shit.
Nobody ever told her.
“Boss… Go fuck yourself.”
Kaiser won’t yell at me. Too undignified.
Instead, he’ll come up with something scathing, something that will make me wish I’d never showed him any disrespect.
The thing is… it takes time to come up with those lines, the ones that linger in the back of your mind, that make you look behind you when walking down a street at night. It’s not something you can say as quickly as you can yell a simple ‘No, fuck you!’
Which means I’ve got plenty of time to hang up my phone and chuck it down the stairs before I walk out of Kayden’s apartment building for the last time in my life.
Good luck, babe. You’re gonna need it.
***
Krieg—Hierarchy
“This is war,” I tell Max.
After all, I know war. That’s my name.
Damn it. I must be about to panic if the bad jokes are already coming up.
“War with whom, James?” he asks me, leaning back on his leather chair in front of me, his far too large desk a barrier between us as a city filled with enemies looms behind him.
War against whom? I’ll be damned if I know.
“Everyone? It’s a coordinated strike on all fronts. Taking Victor away gets them information on logistics, recruitment, ongoing operations… He was too useful, and we never realized how screwed we would be if—”
“I did. It was a gamble, but one I made sure to stack. Victor has the accumulated anti-Master and interrogation resistance training of four special forces and an intelligence agent. He will likely resist long enough for us to rescue him before leaking anything.”
“Victor may, but Othala? She also knows far too much and vanished without a trace while looking for him. Now our foot soldiers no longer can—”
“I also know what Othala brings to the table,” he says, leaning forward, his elbows on the glass, his steepled fingers beneath his chin.
It’s far more comfortable when I’m by his side while he does that to someone else.
“All right, yes, you do, but… Cricket and Storm Tiger get in a fight to the death right after we lose our healer? Alabaster disappears? So does Rune? Purity? This… About the only thing they’ve failed at is their attack on Hookwolf.”
Max leans back, glaring into my eyes, his mouth a thin line as I try very hard not to grasp the armrest of this office chair hard enough to warp the metal.
I’ve often wondered if his power would be enough to go past my defenses. Then I remember how many tons of metal he can summon with a wave of his hand, how obscenely powerful his abilities truly are, and I banish the question from my thoughts.
I used to console myself by thinking we were on the same side. Except we aren’t, because he’s the leader, and a leader can’t afford to show weaknesses.
Which means someone else must be made to look like the weak link.
“Let’s start there. The Undersiders. About the only thing we know for sure is that Rachel Lindt attacked Hookwolf not long after Cricket was given her orders to attack Storm Tiger.”
True. We may actually be able to get somewhere by following that thread.
“They have a Thinker, don’t they? A girl who claims to be psychic,” I tell him, eager to get someone else to be blamed for this whole mess.
“Juvenile as the claim may be… It could explain some things. If she coordinated the attacks…”
“Who else? Faultline? No, they don’t take contracts inside the city. Coil? The Merchants?”
“Could be. But… whoever it is…” Max leans farther back on his chair, reclining on it.
And then he slowly turns it around and looks over the city as a slow smile tugs at his thin lips.
“They’ve picked us out one by one,” he says, the tone incongruent with the words as the smile grows wider. “Because they can’t face us. Because they need to pick at the weak links rather than mount a frontal assault. No matter how many of them there are… They aren’t heavy hitters.”
He raises his left hand and clenches it into a tight fist in front of his eyes, and then the leather of his chair tears apart as spires of twisted, silvery metal bloom around him, a spike rising right in front of his elbow and following the line of his arm until the glittering blade extends past his fist.
“Not like us,” he says, finishing the impromptu speech.
Then he looks at me, cold eyes over a cruel smile, and I know that ‘us’ may not include me.
“Gather everyone, Krieg. Tonight, we march. Tonight, there will be war.”
***
Tagg—There’s a Method to It
“Oh? You’re very welcome, Armstrong; I’m sure your new recruit will be very useful!” I cheerfully say to my empty office.
And to the man on the other end of the phone set on speaker, of course, but talking to disembodied voices is a bit crazier than talking to oneself.
“Tagg, this is one of your city’s villains! I can’t—”
“Precisely! Aren’t you glad of the generous gift we just sent your way? Macrokinetics are very sought after in the parahuman market. Why, even if Rune doesn’t work out, I gather you could exchange her for… I don’t know, a good quarterback and—”
“For fuck’s sake, will you stop messing around?! I can’t take in a known neo-Nazi!”
I cock an eyebrow at my mental image of Armstrong. I know he can’t see me, but I’d like to think it carries in my tone.
“No, you see, that’s where you’re wrong: I can’t take her. Not if it means she remains in reach of any of her family or friends who will keep her as radicalized as they damn well please. You? You can change her identity, cut her off from her previous social ties, leave her completely adrift and in dire need of any kind of human connection, and then mold her into someone who will hate Nazis as much as any red-blooded American should.”
“… Have you been watching the news—”
“I said should. Now, start thinking about my Christmas present for this year. I expect plenty of gratitude to be shown as a tasteful yet obviously expensive present. Merry Christmas!”
“Don’t you fucking hang up on me—”
I hang up on him.
Then I smile the smile of someone whose reputation precedes him, and that reputation is ‘Don’t bother arguing with him when he gets like that.’
Heh.
And then I look at the spread of documents on my desk.
The details of Armsmaster’s little sting operation regarding the Empire.
I’ve been in this city for less than a fucking month.
Brockton Bay. America’s capital of crazy cape town. With more egregious crimes per capita than anything that isn’t a containment zone, a colorful cast of characters that included a rage dragon, a teleporting suicide bomber mime, a black man who thinks it’s a grand idea to compete in the drug dealing business with superpowered Nazis, and the literal Nazis who haven’t, somehow, murdered said black man despite him being regarded as a joke to parahuman crime the world over.
Well, maybe not the whole world, but that’s only because some countries are still too touchy about censoring swear words.
And right before I got here, it was discovered that they also had a mastermind-type supervillain who had infiltrated the PRT in its entirety. Who was promptly dealt with in the fallout of someone (Armsmaster) conveniently taking down the dragon man right before someone else (Armsmaster) was instrumental in the fall of the said mastermind (who was part of a coverup that, for some reason, didn’t end with Calvert with a bullet between his eyebrows—I’ll have to look into that and see who needs to get fired or shot over the whole thing).
And now, yet another mysterious benefactor (Armsmaster) is bringing me a chance to take down the Nazis once and for all after some villains turned heroes for hire have dealt a very opportune first strike.
A plan that means we either finish them off today, or we’re forced to wage urban warfare against the bastards.
The smile that hadn’t quite left my lips since I hung up on Armstrong redoubles, and I call a certain phone number.
“Yes?” the beleaguered voice of my wife answers.
“Honey! Great news! I’ve got a monumental erection that doesn’t have anything to do with me taking too many blue pills!”
“Oh God, have you killed anybody?”
“Not yet!”
“Honey… please, you—”
“Prepare your camera! Tonight, I’ll show that pool boy who’s boss!”
“For the last fucking time, I’m not cheating on you—”
“Not after tonight! You’ll be too exhausted to!”
She starts to scream incoherently, and I hang up.
I need to buy Colin a beer.
***
Armsmaster—Headache
“Tagg’s onboard,” I mutter into my communicator as I lean hard to the left to take the next curve with the Armscycle.
“Told you he would be. He’s basically allergic to letting problems take care of themselves,” Lisa says, the pain in her voice quite obvious.
“Go rest,” I tell her before I can think of anything else to say. Because Thinker migraines are dangerous.
As if they needed any more danger…
“Don’t worry, Taylor threatened to tie me to the bed if I don’t let go of the phone after this one call, and not even in the sexy way.”
I make a mental effort not to picture the two convalescent teenagers tying one another in my apartment in the sexy way.
Dodging the disguised PRT van in front of me by a hairsbreadth helps me focus.
Also, just in case I forgot to note it: goddamn teenagers.
“I’m still astonished you convinced her not to take part in this,” I tell her as I see the tint of my visor shift to the adequate absorptance for the decreasing light levels.
Narrow streets and the setting of the sun.
I switch my headlight on.
“I tricked her into thinking she’s my bodyguard.”
“… Is this a ‘the best lies have some truth in them’ scenario?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line that’s filled by someone obviously being shoved around on my sofa.
“Yes,” Taylor’s hoarse voice finally tells me.
“Ah. Obviously.”
“Yes,” Taylor remarks.
And I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.
“Very well. Take care of her; I’ll instead take care of the Nazis she promised to take care of for me.”
“I served them to you on a silver platter!” Lisa yells indignantly before groaning in pain.
My smile grows wider as I hang up, pretending not to have heard her.
She’ll stew on not having had the last word for hours.
“That wasn’t nice,” Dragon’s voice chuckles in my ear.
I look down the road, at the superposed route Lisa sent to my visor leading me to the best place to ambush the Empire rally from.
“I don’t feel like being nice tonight,” I tell her.
And she giggles.
“You’re such a poor liar…” she says.
And my smile grows.
***
Kaiser—Captain
I look at the gathered forces of the Empire 88, the best of the best, the most loyal followers.
They are a joke.
Fenja and Menja are, as always, by my side, an uncomfortable reminder of my dead wife. Krieg is behind and to the left, Hookwolf to the right, my lieutenants making their presence known and keeping a symmetry Purity made impossible.
Silver linings and all that.
As for Night and Fog…
They really make me wish Purity was here. I don’t know how she handles the two sociopaths.
And we’re putting up a front.
Less than half our previous number. Maybe Krieg swallowed my earlier performance, but what we’ve lost is far worse than if Hookwolf had vanished. Yes, brute force is needed, but…
Victor. Othala.
Either we recover them, or the current Empire is dead.
But…
Either we make a show of force, or that won’t even matter.
So I’ve gathered them. Every single one of the rank and file who hasn’t been crippled by the new independent, every sympathizer with a gun. Every last bit of cannon fodder I could get my hands on.
They are all here, in this warehouse at the edge of Merchant territory, just beside where we suspect the Undersiders to work from. Gathered in front of me, below me, fidgeting on their feet, breathing concrete dust as I and my chosen stand on a dais of gleaming metal.
Presentation. It matters.
So I take one step forward that lands on a rising platform that takes me just above Fenja and Menja’s enhanced heights, steel roses and thorns growing beneath me, each petal razor sharp, each stem crafted in delicate filigree.
And then I speak.
“We have been dealt a terrible blow.”
They mutter, shocked at the admission of weakness.
“Our enemies have taken our comrades from us. Today, we have bled. Our strength has been diminished.”
They are now restless. They expected me to reassure them, not to point out the obvious.
Good. That means they are out of balance. And so, they can be nudged.
“But how have they done this? How have they struck against the might of the Empire?”
Ah. Now they look up at me in search of answers.
Pathetic.
“By treachery! Taking our friends, our allies, our families, without ever facing us! Striking from the shadows—”
“You know, the last time I did this, at least I got to see a magic trick. I’d say this is a very disappointing follow-up, and I bet nobody ever said that about someone going after Coil’s World Famous Coin Toss,” Hookwolf’s rough voice drones on behind me.
It takes me a moment to turn to face him with dignity rather than the sheer shock I feel at the… the impudence—
And then the world explodes.
***
Hannah—Grudges
“Go, go, go!” the troopers beneath me rush out of the van and toward the warehouse where Lisa’s contact told us the rally would be held.
Me? I don’t rush.
Rather, lying prone on top of the van, I take stock of the situation.
Colin has burst through the wall with some kind of explosive ram (a shaped charge? I want one) mounted on the Armscycle, and has immediately stabbed Fog with his anesthetic halberd, taking care of the most immediate threat to our agents. The mastered Hookwolf is currently demolishing the steel construct Kaiser’s cowering behind, and everyone else aside from him (including, thankfully, Fenja and Menja) is writhing in agony at the flashbangs we just flooded the building with.
That is, everyone except Night, who’s about to throw a flashbang of her own. At least we have confirmation that her monster form resets all of her injuries, because she shouldn’t be able to move yet, much less try to take cover.
It’s a pity she’s hiding from the people in the warehouse.
Because, as soon as she takes a flashbang out of her coat, I shoot through her hand.
I don’t even need a proper sniper rifle, not from not even half a block away.
But I still use one.
Two shots, one for each hand, and the monster who sometimes looks like a woman kneels on the floor, staring at her ruined extremities in incomprehension. I can’t even get satisfaction out of it, just…
I know she’ll get them back. As soon as she transforms, as soon as she’s not watched, she’ll be fine. This isn’t even a fraction of the danger Taylor went through.
“Come on, Hannah. You don’t want to miss this,” Dragon whispers in my ear in a way that’s not too dissimilar from the last time she did, from when she held me with Colin’s tools, presenting my body to him and forcing me to—
“You’re dangerous, you know?” I tell her as I grab the bar at the edge of the van’s roof and jump down, running to where most of the fighting is already done, barely sparing a glance at the confoamed lookouts and definitely not looking at anybody who was too close to Kaiser when the assault began.
Having Hookwolf as an ally is… bizarre. But very, veryuseful.
“I am the most powerful Tinker in the world,” Dragon says with not even a hint of modesty.
“You spend too much time with Lisa.”
“I just want to get to know our future stepdaughter,” she answers with a tone so utterly matter of fact that I almost stumble on my way to the hole Colin exploded through the wall.
My power shifts to a pistol, and I recover my balance.
“Dragon… I think I need to focus on the fight rather than risk choking on my spit.”
“Oh, you think you’d rather choke on something else?”
The tone’s laughing. Teasing.
The situation anything but appropriate.
“Only Krieg is standing. Everyone else is either foamed up or crippled,” she says, explaining her levity to me.
And making me grin.
Because, just as I step around the rubble on the ground and through the hole in the wall, my power shifts yet again as I face Krieg for what I hope will be the last time.
And, with my worst German accent, I yell:
“This is a flammenwerfer! It werfs flammen!”
Krieg turns to me in utter, blind panic with maybe a hint of PTSD.
And I grin at him before setting him on fire.
***
Max Anders—Defeated
“Mister Anders, you can now make your call,” the PRT drone tells me as he opens the door.
And I, still having trouble walking, still with a pounding headache, still half-blind, stand up and go to the open cell door.
He guides me by taking my arm, and I pretend not to plan to murder him.
The taser collar that activates as soon as I try to use my power will make the proposition… somewhat complicated.
And then I’m in a room with a phone, and, counting the numbers on the keyboard by touch, I call my lawyer.
“Denise, this is Max; I want you to deal with an issue—”
“I’m trying!”
What?
“I’m trying, Mister Anders, but… Medhall is in shambles! Every news outlet is reporting the links to the Empire 88, money laundering, drug dealing, blackmail… I don’t even think I’ve got a full list of alleged crimes. The stock has dropped so much that—”
“Denise. Calm down. Breathe. We’ll get through it. We’ll just weather the storm, call in some favors, make sure everybody knows this was a completely unfounded—”
“We’ve got an offer, Max, for the whole company,” he says, forgetting his formality in sheer panic.
“What?” I say, forgetting my composure after one too many shocks. Literal and otherwise.
“Three million dollars. Three fucking million dollars!” he says before laughing hysterically.
And I…
I remember an insolent young man who called me yesterday from Salem. One I vowed to murder.
One who sent me on a witch hunt.
And that asked me for three million dollars.
Soon enough, Denise isn’t the only one laughing to the point of tears.
Comments
Agrippa
Thanks! I admit I was laughing like a hyena when I reached the part with his wife (and the rest of the chapter was a slog to go through after that high point).
Nick Russo
Maybe, but Tagg as you write him is hilarious!
Agrippa
... If I ever tell you I'm planning to write a whole fic from Tagg's POV? Please, shoot me. It will be a mercy.
