Worm

by wildbow

“Me? I’m flattered. Let’s see… Scion isn’t human. All of our powers stem from the same source. It’s this big alien bastard that we keep seeing when we have our trigger events. Except each of his cells is coded with just a fragment of his brain and a technique he uses to manipulate his environment, protect himself or attack others. He spread powers around Earth as part of a way to stress test them. He wants to leverage our brains and imagination to figure out ways to make the most of these abilities or innovate new ones. With me so far?”

  “No,” Gully said, from her spot beside Weld, “Not at all.”

  I nodded my head in silent assent. Not that I didn’t understand. It was just a lot to take in.

  “Okay, well, it gets worse, so follow along. After distributing all of the powers he could, he left a chunk of himself still active, still alive, and he kept all of the good powers, the abilities he needed to ensure this whole process continues. Except something went wrong, and the process is fucked. How am I doing?”

  “Minor errors,” the Doctor said, “But roughly on target.”

  “Great!” Tattletale’s grin was visible in the gloom. She rubbed her hands together, clearly enjoying herself, despite the circumstances. She wanted a scene where the detective reveals it all. This is just… a little weirder. “Okay! Let’s see. The process is fucked, and he’s a daddy with no little ones to take care of. They’re dying or dead or something else went wrong and he’s been looking for a purpose. He got that purpose when a guy called Kevin told him to go help people. He got a new purpose when Jack told him to start murdering.”

  Murdering.

  My dad’s face crossed my mind.

  The dead I’d had to ignore while rescuing others were a jumble, too numerous for me to even piece together in my mind’s eye.

  “If it were mindless destruction,” the Doctor said, “It would be acceptable. We could convince him to abandon this, or hope he burns himself out on this Earth’s remaining inhabitants, after we evacuate everyone we can. There’s another problem.”

  She touched something on her desk, and the various panels behind each booth changed. They were video screens, three times as tall as they were wide, and each showed the same clip of Scion’s rampage.

  “United Kingdom, first target struck. Obliteration,” the Doctor said. “Eastern coast of Canada and the United States, damaged, but casualties were a third of what they were in the initial strike.”

  She paused. Faultline took the opportunity to interject, “Not following.”

  “The third attack was against Mali, followed by Burkina Faso, Ghana, Togo, and all down the coast of Africa. In this attack, he selectively murdered specific individuals.”

  I watched the scene. Scion flying with a speed like an arrow shot from a bow, narrow lasers blasting from each hand. He came to a stop a short distance from the camera, canceling the laser assault. The image panned over to look at the city as Scion hovered there in the sky. A major population center. Capes were already taking flight to stop him. No, not capes. People in civilian clothes with powers, many heavily tattooed.

  He glowed, and the glow flared.

  The camera dropped a short distance and struck something solid.

  “That blast we just saw,” the Doctor explained, “Was a calculated strike. The city was left mostly intact, but Scion killed specific people, targeting anyone who had already hit puberty.”

  “How?” Tattletale asked.

  “His perceptions are finely tuned,” the Doctor said. “He’s aware of his immediate vicinity, and in absolute control of how his power is expressed. He left… what was the number?”

  “An estimated four hundred and thirty thousand,” the Number Man said.

  “Four hundred and thirty thousand orphans.”

  He didn’t kill them all.

  Why is that scarier than the alternative?

  “In Russia, his beam started fires. He cut off every escape route, then began setting fires from the outside in. It took him thirty-five minutes to start the fire, and he waited for fifteen minutes while the flames spread and everyone within was cooked. Heroes that attempted to stop the attack were killed.”

  “He’s experimenting,” Tattletale said.

  The Doctor nodded slowly. “Following a very distinct formula. He’s reversing what he did at the outset. Saving children, stopping fires. The man who initially gave him the orders is hospitalized, or we’d ask about the instructions he provided. It might give us an idea of what Scion is going to do and the patterns that might emerge in the course of this… experimentation.”

  Experimentation.

  He didn’t have to learn to be dangerous. He was capable of obliterating us all in a matter of days.

  “We’re bringing the girl who was in contact with Scion here,” the Doctor said. “Provided she survives. Scion is too close for us to access her at the moment.”

  “I only want to know two things,” the Dog King said. “What do we do, and how do I protect my people?”

  There were nods from around the room. I found myself joining them.

  At the simplest level, that was what we all wanted.

  Those of us that weren’t monsters, anyways.

  “We run,” the Doctor said. “Save as many people as we can. Muster your forces. Strategize, think outside the box. If you have ideas, run them by the group.”

  “Let me start, then,” Faultline said. “Simple answer. Talking to him got him to be a hero before, and talking to him made him do this. Let’s talk to him again.”

  “And say what?” Tattletale asked. “Stop, pretty please?”

  “No,” Faultline retorted. “I want to find another option. We’ve got a planet full of thinkers and tinkers, let’s gather intel, figure out just what it is he wants, and see if we can provide it. Get him to leave.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Tattletale said. “That faerie kook who’s going on about queen administrators and all that crap? She was a big hint in me figuring this stuff out, and she’s under the impression that this all ends with this Earth and every other Earth being obliterated. We don’t want to give him what he wants.”

  “Then we trick him,” Faultline said. “Before he gets too clever and before he wipes us out. Tell him to, I don’t know, fly to the edge of the known universe and back?”

  “You try that,” Tattletale said, injecting a note of sarcasm into her voice. “That sounds brilliant.”

  “Any idea is a good thing,” Chevalier said. “We’ll emphasize protecting and preserving the people we can save. Can you give us access to your portal network?”

  “Yes,” Doctor Mother answered. “Of course. We’ll be observing you at all hours. You only have to ask for a door and we’ll connect you to our central hub, provided you aren’t on the same continent as Scion.”

  She took a deep breath, then sighed audibly.

  “I don’t ask you, any of you, for your help. I don’t ask for your assistance or cooperation. I only want us to share resources, provide solutions. Contessa, if you’d please ungag Bonesaw?”

  Contessa nodded, then strode across the room. She worked something away from Bonesaw’s face, then returned to Cauldron’s booth.

  “Hello,” Bonesaw’s voice was eerie, childish in a way Dinah’s wasn’t. She craned her head around, clearly unable to move anything below the neck, looking at the panel behind her. “I’m not with them. Honest to gosh.”

  “There’s no reason for her to be here,” Defiant said.

  “There is,” the Doctor said. “Contessa believes it is the most economical way to get what we need. Tattletale?”

  “I’m really having mixed feelings about that whole ‘Tattletale’ thing you keep doing,” Tattletale responded. “It’s like calling for your dog, which is irritating, but you keep giving me chances to do awfully fun stuff. You want me to dismantle Bonesaw?”

  “Feel free,” the Doctor said. “Our goal is a remote.”

  “I’m playing nice now,” Bonesaw said. “Promise.”

  �
��Gotcha,” Tattletale replied to the Doctor. She turned to the little girl. “So.”

  “This is cheating,” Bonesaw said. “I’m not trying to be tricky or anything. I just want to stay alive, help out. I don’t want the world to end. The remote’s just collateral. Once I give it up, you have no reason to keep me around.”

  “Which is,” Defiant commented, “exactly what you’d say if you were Jack’s sleeper agent, biding your time to deliver the worst possible attack at the worst possible moment.”

  “No,” Tattletale said. “She’s being honest.”

  “Honest?”

  “The murderous little tot had a change of heart. A partial change of heart. Let’s be honest. You’re not going to turn away from the art of your powers that easily, are you? You’ll still crave to do something interesting, and maybe that interesting is at the expense of others.”

  “It can be at the expense of bad people,” Bonesaw said. “Does that work?”

  “No,” Chevalier said, Defiant echoing him by a half second.

  “Besides,” Tattletale said, “the only bad person that concerns us is Scion, and you can’t touch him.”

  “Phooey.”

  “Drop the act,” Tattletale said.

  There was a pause.

  A voice that wasn’t nearly so childish, so perky, sounded across the room. “Okay.”

  “Better,” Tattletale said. “You’re in the middle of a metamorphosis. Something triggered that change. Love? No. Friendship? Friendship. Someone outside the Nine.”

  “Yes. It’s not that big a deal. I realized Jack’s been playing me because that woman,” Bonesaw jerked her head in the direction of the Doctor, “fucked with my head.”

  “Which is why I’m handling this and not her, I guess. And because this little show builds the idea of solidarity between our factions. Multiple goals, I’m sure.”

  “An illusion that’s strained when you mention it to everyone present,” Doctor Mother commented.

  “Whatever. Bonesaw. Boney. Bones.”

  “Riley.”

  “Riley. You’re going through some changes. Let’s—”

  “Can we cut the jokes?” Chevalier asked. “There’s a lot going on out there. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “Then go,” Tattletale said. When he didn’t budge, she added, “I’m having a conversation with Riley here. She’s figuring out who and what she is, and we’ve got a bit of a snarl. Her art.”

  “My power. That’s all it is,” Bonesaw said.

  “You’re attached to it. You feel a bit of pride in what you’ve made, even now that you’re apparently turning over a new leaf. I’m afraid I’m going to have to tell you to get real.”

  “I’m not that attached. Or proud,” Bonesaw said.

  “Sure you are.”

  “No. I mean, like, I think about my friend and I imagine messing with him and it’s like… I don’t want to do that. I enjoy his company. So I think about the other people and put his face over theirs and—”

  “And you still do horrible things. Let’s not pretend you weren’t screwing with Nilbog or palling around with the rest of the clones. You made them possible.”

  “I had to. I—”

  “Chevalier was right. We don’t have a lot of time. Stop equivocating and listen. You’re a monster. Maybe the worst one out there. But when it all comes down to it, you’re just like that big golden bastard out there. You’re Jack’s pawn. Everything you ever made, everything you ever did, the strongest parts of you, the little vulnerabilities, custom tailored by him.”

  “No,” Bonesaw said.

  “Yes.”

  “The friend I made, this new me, it’s—”

  “Calculated. By Jack. Don’t tell me he doesn’t plot things for down the road. Hey Golem, talk to me.”

  Golem’s voice sounded from the other end of the room. “What?”

  “You thought Jack had a thinker power. Why? What?”

  There was a pause.

  “Because he’s like Weaver. He reacts like someone that is way too aware of what’s going on.”

  Acts like me?

  I’d made the comparison myself, but I’d tempered that, held back as I formed that conclusion. Hearing it in such a blunt way stung as much as a slap in the face.

  “And you sent in the D.T. guy because—”

  “Because Weaver surrounds herself with bugs, and Jack surrounds himself with capes. The non-cape is the only variable we haven’t seriously tried. The competent non-cape.”

  Tattletale nodded, “Thought so. So let’s think about that. He’s got a thinker power that lets him manipulate parahumans, or read them, or gauge how they’ll react. He uses it, probably unconsciously, to constantly maintain the edge. And he gets bored. You’ve seen him get bored, haven’t you, Riley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes. And when he gets bored, he sets up scenarios like the game in Brockton Bay, the test with Golem coming after him, whatever else. It usually falls apart before it comes to a head, because Jack is chaos incarnate, people cheat, Jack cheats, and so it goes. So tell me, do you really think he wouldn’t let you have a little slack to see how you’d operate?”

  Bonesaw didn’t respond.

  “Yeah. Exactly,” Tattletale said. “Your art? It’s his art. Your power and everything you do with it, it’s stuff he’s shaped.”

  “That’s not true. I come up with my own ideas,” Bonesaw sounded almost defiant. She’d also, I noted, forgotten the original message, saying her art wasn’t important to her.

  “His ideas. Everything’s tainted with Jack. And you know it better than I do. You can think of all the little scenes and conversations. How your favorite projects were the ones your family applauded. The ones Jack praised, above all.”

  Again, Bonesaw was silent, unable to retort.

  “You want to face the new you? Here it is. It’s not an easy change. It sucks, even. The magic’s gone, now. Your power won’t be quite so fun. Just the opposite, maybe.”

  Still, there was no response.

  “This is the real change,” Tattletale said. “Being reduced to nothing, starting anew. And you get to carry all the shit and all the hate that you earned being an unholy terror before. You deserve to carry all that shit and deal with the hate. You’ve got a steep uphill climb, before you even get a trace of respect or trust. You understand? Putting your buddy’s face on possible victims isn’t even close to redemption.”

  I could see Bonesaw’s posture change, even in the midst of her restraints, her shoulders drawing forward, head hanging a bit.

  Fuck me, was I feeling a pang of sympathy? My feelings were still off kilter, undefined, unpredictable. It was scary, like stepping off a ledge with my eyes closed, not knowing what was on the other side. Except the feeling recurred constantly.

  Be rational.

  Let’s not push the lunatic too far, I thought. That’s rational.

  But Tattletale had let up a fraction. Her questions and attack were calculated, based on cues from her power. “You want trust? Give us the remote.”

  “Fuck that,” Bonesaw said. “Fuck no.”

  “You have to trust us before we’ll trust you. Give us the remote.”

  Bonesaw didn’t move.

  I saw Contessa lean close to Doctor Mother.

  “It’s done,” the Doctor said. “We’ll have the remote shortly. Thank you, Tattletale. Next order of business is the Birdcage…”

  I looked at Tattletale, who was still staring at Bonesaw.

  I could see Grue as well, tense, the smoke tendrils churning around him.

  And Parian, her hair and frock stirring as if there was a wind blowing. She’d lost her entire family, either to the Nine or to Bonesaw’s warped plastic surgeries, making their faces identical to some of the most hated people in America.

  They had derived satisfaction from this. An attack on someone who’d attacked them, fair and just, acceptable, not quite torture.

  Not physical torture, a
nyways.

  I’d had my head cut open. I’d seen Grue change, becoming a shell of his former self. Hell, I’d been traumatized by what she’d done to Grue. I wasn’t about to begrudge them that.

  But I still felt a measure of sympathy.

  “To be clear,” the Doctor was saying, “We didn’t invite the Birdcage residents here tonight because we knew it would be hard to impossible to send them back, all things considered.”

  “And because you’d lose our cooperation,” Defiant said. “Saint hamstrung us at a crucial juncture, he abandoned a number of people in this room to die when we were going after Jack, effectively delaying us, and he’s supplanted Dragon, doing a criminally ineffective job at managing her duties. He’s done all of this to free one man from the Birdcage. For selfish ends. If you accommodate him—”

  “You’d intentionally obstruct us?” Saint asked. “Out of spite?”

  “I promised I would kill you,” Defiant said. “I will. Anyone who allies themselves with Saint gets the same treatment.”

  “I’m terrified,” Saint said. “Not of you, but of your shortsightedness. The end of the world is nigh, and you have a vendetta.”

  “I’m inclined towards tunnel vision,” Defiant replied. “For now, a great deal of my focus is turned towards one task. Denying you what you want. There are six blocks on the Birdcage that Dragon set in place. Dragon is incapable of opening them, because she didn’t want to be coerced into doing so. I imagine Saint is here because he wants the keys to the blocks.”

  “Yes,” Saint said.

  “Then if everyone here accepts that the Birdcage should be opened to let a select few prisoners out, I will give you the key.”

  Slowly, hands raised around the room. Countries all around the world had prisoners in the Birdcage. Countries all of the world had stories, horror stories about the people who had been sent there and what they’d done before.

  But things were dire, and we needed firepower.

  I raised my own hand.

  “Then I’ll provide the keys. Two stipulations.”

  “I can guess what these stipulations are,” Saint said. “You want to wake Dragon up?”

  I saw Tattletale tilt her head at a funny angle at hearing that.

  “No. You’re as singleminded as I am, and you’ve turned that focus towards being her enemy. We need the access you stole from Dragon as much as we need my keys, and you wouldn’t give the access if it meant helping her. Two things. You step down, and Teacher remains in the Birdcage.”