Worm

by wildbow

  Foil shot her crossbow, but it did surprisingly little damage. Hatchet Face pulled the bolt from his shoulder with no difficulty.

  “Behind us!”

  The camera swiftly changed direction. A Murder Rat had landed opposite the Hatchet Face, sandwiching the group between the two villains. The camera panned, taking in the area, and I could see the silhouettes of other villains on nearby rooftops. More Murder Rats and Skinslips.

  Hatchet Face threw the last dog aside. It collapsed in a slurry mess of loose skin and muscle. The dog fought its way free, shaking itself dry. Bastard was already free.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Imp said. “My power’s gone.”

  “Mine too,” Crucible said. “Turned off like someone flipped a switch.”

  I closed my eyes. I was too far away to help, couldn’t think of advice to offer.

  “We’re not powerless,” Grue said. “We’ve got strong costumes. We know how to fight.”

  Tattletale’s voice came over the comms, “He’s strong enough to swing that axe through a car, tough enough you could flatten him with a steamroller and he’d get back up when you were done.”

  “We run then,” Grue said. “We deal with Murder Rat and then we scram. Make some distance.”

  “He’s not fast, but he’s not a slowpoke either. You don’t have muscles like that and find yourself unable to run.”

  “Be constructive,” Grue said. “Solutions? Options? Any ideas?”

  “Yeah,” Rachel said. “This.”

  She wheeled around, pointing. Both of her dogs bounded towards the Murder Rat.

  I couldn’t see Hatchet Face with the directions the cameras were pointed, but I could see the groups converge on Murder Rat, bull-rushing her as a mass.

  Murder Rat swatted at the dogs, slashing Bastard along the ribs, but Rachel stepped in the way, blocking the follow-up attacks with the sleeves of her silk-weave jacket.

  Murder Rat, about to be surrounded, leaped up to position herself on a wall, slamming her claws through a plate-glass window to grab the inside of the windowframe. Blood ran down her wrists.

  Foil took aim and fired, and Murder Rat leaped before the bolt made contact.

  “She tagged the dog. Mouse Protector’s power,” Tattletale said. “Watch out.”

  A camera, Vista’s, focused on the dog.

  “Hatchet Face incoming!”

  Clockblocker, Crucible and Toggle turned around, but Vista remained fixated on the animal.

  The moment the group was distracted by the incoming titan, Murder Rat appeared. She drove her elbow into the side of Crucible’s throat, bringing one foot up to rake the side of his leg, but didn’t get any further.

  Vista fired her gun straight into the villain’s back, then wheeled around and shot Hatchet Face in the chest.

  Grue blanketed the area in darkness a moment later, the monitors going silent and dark.

  I realized I’d been clenching my fists. I loosened them, then opened and closed them a few times to ease the strain.

  Escalations, I thought.

  The situation outside was worsening, but the Azazels had mobilized. They laid down the metal poles along the tops of the wall, opening fire with their lasers. That done, they joined the fight against the dragon-gargoyle thing that was continuing its suicidal attack against the defending capes. Chunks of it were being blasted and torn away, but it was doing a little damage to the defending capes.

  The metal poles blossomed into the branching ‘gray blur’ nanotech barrier that would disintegrate on touch.

  On the set of screens to my left, the Chicago Wards were joined by others as they ventured into what seemed to be a warzone. Civilians were fleeing in a panic, while the heroes advanced against the press of the crowd with a steady, wary caution.

  The nature of the threat became clear. Rounding the corner, a single entity trudged forward. It was tiny, and it bore a large white cube on its back.

  To look at it, I almost thought it was an Endbringer.

  It wasn’t. It was only the second-scariest member of the Nine, xeroxed.

  Eight Siberians.

  One carried the cube, no doubt a container bearing the Mantons within. The other seven followed a pattern, lazy loops that brought them back to the cube every few minutes. They plunged through walls and into apartments and businesses, they returned with blood wicking off of their hands, feet and faces like water off a duck’s back.

  I opened a communications channel.

  “Weaver here. Don’t fight.”

  “Wasn’t going to, but what the hell are we supposed to do?” Tecton asked.

  Eight Siberians. Even without any other members of the Nine on the sidelines, it was an impossible fight.

  “You need to run.”

  “Run? The civilians—”

  “Will have to run as well,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do. Accept it. You can’t slow her down, you can’t deny her what she wants.”

  “We have to be able to do something,” he said.

  “There are options,” I said. “But it’s not worth it.”

  “What? Saving civilians is—”

  “You’d die,” I said. “It would be a distraction, but you’d die. The civilians would die all the same.”

  “What is it?”

  “She’s still subject to gravity. Far as I know, she can’t fly. You drop her into a hole, she’ll climb out.”

  “No point,” Grace said.

  “No point,” I agreed. “Unless you get lucky.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Drop the one that’s carrying the cube into a fissure or pit, if she falls far enough and the cube gets wedged in the crack, you’ll separate her from the cube. You’d have to destroy it before another Siberian makes contact with it, kill all of the Masters that are generating the Siberians.”

  “It could work,” Wanton said.

  “Unless she moves fast enough to avoid the fissure,” I said. “Which she can. Unless she’s digging her claws into the outside of the cube for a handhold, which she might be. Unless another Siberian returns before you manage to break into that cube, which is very possible, considering that cube looks like something a Mannequin made.”

  “We have Grace, and we’ve got Cuff. We have Cadence and Enforce here, too.”

  Enforce? Oh. N-Force.

  “I don’t think it’ll be enough,” I said. “There’s too many maybes. You become a target of the Siberians the instant you try something, and you die if this doesn’t work out perfectly, which it won’t.”

  “You want us to let civilians die.”

  I stared at the screen. They were backing away swiftly now. A Siberian hopped onto the top of the cube, then looked directly at the group of heroes.

  A moment later, she leaped off to one side.

  Flaunting their invulnerability. Taunting.

  “Walk away,” I said. “We’ll send others in. Others who can do something.”

  “Who?”

  I thought of how Rachel had changed tacks, ignoring the biggest target to go after the Murder Rat. It hadn’t been much, but it had caught the villain off guard, baited the Hatchet Face into an aggressive charge rather than a slower, more strategic advance.

  “Switch it up. Go to Redfield. You guys specialize in containing and crushing the enemy. The Undersiders and Brockton Bay Wards can head to your location at the first opportunity.”

  I didn’t wait for a response. My console was displaying an incoming message.

  “Gotta go,” I said, closing the comms channel, hanging up on Tecton. I responded to the message.

  “Defiant here.”

  “Was just about to contact the Undersiders.”

  “I heard. I’m already giving orders for them to back out. Sent a helicopter in to pick them up, hoping it gets to take off again.”

  “Helicopter?”

  “A.I. suits aren’t cooperating. I’d send one against Hatchet if they were—”

  “Defiant?”

  “One
suit just took off. Reinforcing the Undersiders.”

  I could sense the fighting outside. My bugs were doing precious little against Nilbog’s rioting army. The capes were whittling them down, killing them in droves, but it was time and effort taken away from containing the Nine. Which was exactly what Jack wanted.

  In the same instant Defiant had talked about the suit taking off, one of the Azazels had gone still.

  Something was seriously wrong.

  “What do you need, Weaver? I have things to handle.”

  “Two years ago, I was told we couldn’t go after the Nine, because we can’t decode the portal without knowing the exit point. They just used one.”

  “It’s in Ellisburg.”

  “It’s our fastest route to Jack. How long does it take to tap into the portal?”

  “Depends on the means we use. It doesn’t matter. The portal isn’t accessible.”

  “We’re losing, Defiant. We’re winning the fights but we’re losing in the long run. We need to act decisively. End this.”

  “You want to use the portal entrance, knowing where it is?”

  “Yes. We just… we need capes that we can count on, on a lot of levels. And I need your help. Can you arrange for a sturdier ship? The Dragonfly won’t cut it.”

  “Yes,” he said. “That can be arranged. I’ll have to pilot it myself.”

  “If this doesn’t work out, if we get overwhelmed, then that’s it. We can’t afford the losses at this juncture. I get that. But we can’t afford to not take this opportunity.”

  Another pause. Was he typing something?

  “What’s the status?”

  “We’re losing containment in Ellisburg. Siberians are racking up casualties, and Redfield isn’t doing great either. Your Undersiders will be evacuating if they can make it another two blocks to the helicopter without getting intercepted… I’m not sure what they can do against eight Siberians.”

  “More than the Chicago Wards can. But that’s not enough on it’s own. We need to call in the big guns. We know Jack’s nowhere nearby. It’s a safe time to put them into play.”

  “We have people on call, but we’re holding them back,” Defiant replied. “Jack will hold his strongest cards in reserve for last. Chevalier advised that we catch him off guard.”

  “There’s no point anymore. Stop holding back. Jack’s escalating when we do. We established a tempo, he’s matching us. Let’s go all-in. We’ll get him to play every card he has on hand, and maybe in the process, we’ll see him make a mistake.”

  “He’s not one to make mistakes.”

  “We lose nothing, and we gain time,” I said. “Which big guns do we have?”

  “The Thanda. Cauldron has volunteered the services of their two elite members. The Las Vegas Capes offered help, as did the Ambassadors. The Alcott girl has her ability to foresee the future, but she’s trying to reduce the strain she experiences so she can offer more assistance at the most critical juncture.”

  “The fight with Jack.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. That… probably makes sense. Listen, I’ll handle what I can from here, take some of the load off your hands. I’ll see if I can’t get recruits from among the capes I trust to handle their own.”

  “Do. And I would appreciate it if you would consider me one of them. I’ll be there with the Pendragon in twenty minutes, I just need to pick up the technology for hacking the portal.”

  “Bring me some bugs when you come.”

  “Yes.”

  That said, he hung up. No pleasantries.

  It was a relief. Down to business.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes to go.

  I waited impatiently for the capes in question to gather. We needed good capes, powerful capes. Too many were occupied elsewhere.

  A whole contingent had deployed to Hyde Park. None of my teams. Dragon’s Teeth, the New York teams, the Texas teams.

  I picked Jouster’s point of view. I knew him, and it would afford me the most opportunities to see other capes and figure out their identities.

  Population of three thousand five hundred, and the place was empty. No victims, no members of the Nine. No blood, no violence, no signs of any disruption.

  But the first wave of capes had been whittled down, going silent on the radio before disappearing entirely.

  Now, as the teams moved through the city, there was nothing on the video, which ruled out Nice Guy. That left only a few options.

  “Stranger protocols in effect,” the captain of the Dragon’s Teeth reported. “We’re going full dark. Eyes on the lightning.”

  “Eyes on the lightning,” I responded. For the moment, I was filling in for Dragon’s absence and Defiant’s preoccupation. I knew about the Dragon’s teeth, had studied their operations book. I wasn’t an armchair general, but I’d have to settle for being one here.

  They were using those full-face helmets to block off all sight, to shut out all sound. Their uniforms offered full coverage. The only things they would rely on were video cameras on their helmets and the battle computers that were wired into their helmets.

  It wasn’t enough, apparently, to see anyone or anything. Things seemed eerily quiet.

  Jouster jumped as one cape cried out. The man’s back arched, first one way, then the other.

  “Psychosoma,” I reported. “Stranger four, master seven. First squad, get guns trained on him, everyone else, scan the area. Master protocols. Confirm everything.”

  “Don’t shoot without confirmation,” someone warned, off-camera.

  “How the fuck are we supposed to confirm? Let them attack us?”

  Nobody responded to that.

  Still, they obeyed the instructions. Jouster was among the ones who turned to search the surroundings. The point of his lance was visible in the corner of the screen, as he held it ready.

  Nothing.

  The man screamed louder.

  He twisted, his ribs distending, his mouth yawning open.

  It’s an illusion, I thought.

  Kind of. Sort of.

  Not really.

  It was really nice to think of it as a really convincing illusion. That was a reassuring way of handling it.

  Because the alternative was that Psychosoma was doing the sort of thing Labyrinth did, pulling otherworldly things into our reality to replace objects and people.

  When killed, they’d revert back to how they’d been before.

  The man continued to twist and distort until he wasn’t recognizable anymore.

  The thing whirled around, reaching back with one claw, preparing to strike at a comrade.

  A cape incinerated him before he could get any further.

  The illusion was dispelled. The wrong illusion. Purple smoke flowed out from around the corpse of the young hero.

  “Nyx!” someone spat the word.

  Jouster swiftly backed away. Every cape in the group was wearing a gas mask, but that was not an absolute guarantee.

  Two more people in the group began changing.

  A mix of Psychosomas and Nyxes. Who else?

  “She’s covering the area with her smoke,” I spoke, over the channel. “You need to clear it.”

  “On it. Cover your eyes!” Jouster hollered.

  Jouster raised his lance, then struck out at a light pole. Lightning flared out, impossibly bright, and the camera briefly went on the fritz.

  Somewhere in the midst of that, reality became clear. Bloodstains everywhere. Corpses were draped over every surface where the investigating capes weren’t likely to step—on car hoods and roofs, on light poles and in trees.

  And in the midst of the crowd, there were the enemies, simply standing and observing. Nyxes, Psychosomas and Night Hags. The Nyx were women with pale red skin and black eyes, fog bleeding out of the vents at their arms and backs. The Psychosomas were men, tall, bald and narrow, with pencil-thin mustaches and beards, spidery fingers and clothing that hung off them like it had been draped on. The Night
hags, by contrast, were women, dark haired, dressed in black, with skin as white as chalk. Their dresses seemed to bleed into the surrounding landscape, so that everything within fifteen feet of them was covered in that crumpled-looking black cloth.

  The Nyx clones and Psychosomas ran for cover. The Night Hags were the cover. D.T. soldiers and Wards opened fire. Hoyden struck a car with literal explosive force, and sent it flying. Ninety percent of the offense was directed at the Night Hags.

  The women practically disintegrated as the bullets, flames and other projectiles made contact. Their bodies shattered into thousands of black shards.

  Moments later, they emerged from the landscape. One park bench distorted and reconfigured into a new Night Hag. That Night Hag was summarily slain, and reformed herself out of a nearby patch of grass.

  Location possession, in a way, but it was shallow. She was most effective with materials that stood above the ground’s surface.

  In the midst of dealing with the approaching Hags, the D.T. officers and heroes were left to handle the victims who had appeared to be transforming. When the smoke had burned away, one had been revealed to be fine, crouching with his hands over his head, the other was still afflicted. They shot the victim and broke the effect.

  More smoke was flowing in with surprising speed and quantity, erasing the images of blood and bodies. The Night Hags were turning translucent, nearly invisible—

  And they were gone.

  Jouster moved to strike the light-post again, only for black hands to grab him and pull him into darkness and illusory fog.

  The image on my screen distorted, then went utterly black.

  There was a sound, like a slow, wet grinding sound. Chewing, as if from a dozen mouths at once.

  I changed camera perspectives.

  “—break up the fog!” someone shouted. Two more of their allies were starting to change.

  Someone threw a flashbang. It didn’t disrupt the smoke.

  “What do we do!?” one of the capes shouted. He was almost more frantic than the Dragon’s Tooth soldiers around him.

  The sound of a gun being cocked turned heads.

  The camera turned as well.

  It was Contessa, accompanied by the Number Man. Both held guns.