by wildbow
Saint snorted.
“No?” Defiant asked, his voice level.
“Hardly a fair bargain. Give me time, and I can find the keys. It’s just a matter of time before I dig through the code and find it. You want to goad me about the lives I’ve cost? Know that your stubbornness is doing the same thing here.”
“You and everyone else here just agreed we should open the Birdcage,” Defiant said. “But you’re the only one here who wants to be in charge, the only one here who wants to free Teacher.”
“We need information if we’re going to fix this, and he’s our best source of thinkers.”
“Weak thinkers,” Tattletale said.
“Thinkers, all the same.”
I could see Saint’s head turn, the cross on his face glowing as he scanned the room, searching the shadowy figures for signs of body language or gestures, for signs of agreement or disagreement.
I could see just as well. Nobody was jumping to agree.
His only chip was his monopoly on Dragon’s technology, and he now had to choose between agreeing to Defiant’s terms or refusing and making an enemy of everyone present.
“A compromise,” Saint said.
“No,” Defiant cut him off. “You’re unable to use Dragon’s full complement of resources, and many people in this room are aware of the fact. Many came close to losing their lives.”
“All I want is Teacher free. I’ll step down, if you have someone to replace me.”
“There are options,” Defiant said. He looked to the Undersiders.
“Then that’s settled,” Doctor Mother said. “Select the people you want, and we’ll create the doorways.”
“That would greatly simplify matters,” Defiant responded.
“Any other business? Suggestions? Options?”
“Yes,” Faultline said. “Again, being pretty simple here, but you guys are going way over our heads here. If we’re opening the Birdcage…”
“There’s less dramatic measures,” Defiant said. “Amnesty?”
“In a time of crisis,” Faultline said.
“I’ll talk to my superiors,” Chevalier responded.
“Good,” Doctor Mother said. “Many of us have things to see to. Do what you can. Use the doorway or ask for one of us if you require it. We’ll see you all have a means of communicating shortly.”
People began preparing to leave, gathering stuff together.
“No,” I could overhear Contessa saying, “I ask myself several questions before I go anywhere, and one pertains to strangers. Stay behind.”
Imp appeared next to her. She walked back to us with a very dejected appearance.
My eyes turned to Bonesaw. She hadn’t moved or spoken.
I felt another pang of sympathy.
But not quite enough to act on it.
Not enough to forgive her, not this easily.
Not her.
* * *
It was strange to enter a prison as a visitor and not an inmate. Very similar in some ways, down to the pat-down, different in others.
Free to leave. Free to wear clothing.
The place was ramshackle, an ancient building of stone slabs that had been modified to serve as a prison. Ten inmates to a room. Innumerable guards.
I took a seat and waited. I didn’t feel calm. I didn’t feel confident. My feelings were still in a state of flux, and I couldn’t pin them down. I felt like I could scream or cry at any moment.
But, more than any other time, I wanted to appear confident here.
The door opened, and four guards led a prisoner to the chair opposite mine. We were separated by a pane of bulletproof glass.
Her eyes glared at me, cold. Not the eyes I’d known, no act, no hiding behind a mask. This was her.
“Hi, Shadow Stalker,” I told Sophia.
“Taylor,” she replied.
Extinction 27.3
Back to the beginning.
“Emma’s dead,” I said.
Sophia nodded. “Her dad told me.”
Not a trace of emotion on her face. Not a flicker of a change in expression. Did she not care, or was she wearing an exceptional mask?
Funny, just how easily those masks came to people. Costumes were nothing in the grand scheme of things. Cloth or kevlar, spider silk or steel. It was the false faces we wore, the layers of defenses, the lies we told ourselves, that formed the real barriers between us and the hostile world around us.
Looking at Sophia, I found myself instinctively reaching for that mask. I was using my bugs to channel my feelings, even with my concerns about my passenger and how it might be merging with me. I was wearing that aura of indomitable calm, even though I wasn’t sure I liked the Taylor of this past year and a half, who had been doing just that as a matter of both habit and necessity.
The two of us, in this shitty little makeshift prison. Tattletale had had this place built ahead of time, with the idea that we might need secure storage or a prison for anyone who made trouble in Earth Gimel. Too little, even with the measures being taken. Those with less than six years in their sentences were being given a limited release and kept in a more isolated location, with family and friends free to join them. The only exceptions to that early release were the parahumans.
Maybe there was a human rights violation or a lawsuit in there, but the people in charge had other concerns.
My phone buzzed. I picked it up and looked at the screen.
Japan hit. V. little left. Most evacuated. 22m est. dead. Total est. toll 500m.
“PRT issue phone,” Sophia commented. “Newer model than the one I had.”
“Yeah,” I answered. I put the phone down on the little ledge beneath the bulletproof glass.
“Big bad Weaver. That’s what you go by now, isn’t it?”
“I prefer Taylor.”
“Taylor. Made it pretty big, as capes go.”
I shrugged. “Wasn’t really a priority, in the grand scheme of things. I only wanted the power so I could do what needed doing.”
“Never appealed to me, power in the greater sense,” she said. “Personal power? I always paid more attention to power on a one-on-one level.”
I let myself relax a little. We had something to discuss. It wasn’t going to be a fight, a series of attacks.
“I guess,” Sophia said, “you took my lessons to heart. Used what you learned from our little… what’s the word? Lessons? Made something of yourself after all.”
She’s taking credit? I was a little stunned, the mental gymnastics she must have managed to do that… what?
A small smile touched her lips. Smug, superior. I’d seen it enough times in my interactions with her.
“Mark on your cheek is gone, where I gouged you.”
“I think it disappeared at some point when I got healing or regeneration. Grue or Panacea or Scapegoat. Don’t know.”
“Mm,” she said. Her eyes were studying me, and the look wasn’t kind. “Your family make it out okay?”
Just the question was like a slap to the face.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know. Haven’t bothered double checking or asking.”
“Me either,” she said. “Not that I’m really in a position to go look for answers. But they weren’t visiting much anyways. Token visits, you know?”
“I don’t, really,” I said. “My dad was pretty cool after I joined the Wards. We didn’t see each other as much as I maybe wanted to, but it didn’t feel like token visits.”
“Difference between you and me,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at the guard behind her, then planted a foot against the little ledge beneath the bulletproof glass. Her hands, handcuffed, settled in her lap. “Your daddy cared. You know, that meeting where you tried to get us that in-school suspension? I was more pissed at the fact that your dad was there than the suspension.”
“Then the woman was—”
“A PRT twit.”
I nodded, but I was distracted from my response by another vibration of my phone. I
picked it up to look at it.
Mordovia bubble hit. Sleeper has been roused, last tracked en route to Zayin portal. Casualties unknown.
“World’s really ending?” Sophia asked.
“Yeah,” I said, putting the phone back down. “Scale, damage, repercussions, all worse than any Endbringer attack. They’re predicting that maybe five hundred million are dead already.”
The mention of half a billion people being dead didn’t affect her more than the mention of Emma’s passing. Not visibly.
“Too bad,” she said.
“There’s no going back,” I said. “We’re preparing for a counterattack right now. We’ll see what works, what doesn’t.”
“He beat Behemoth,” Sophia said.
“I know. I was there,” I said.
She looked annoyed at that. Her eyebrows drew closer together, and she shifted position, putting both feet up on the little ledge, one ankle crossed over the other. It was only after she was settled that she responded, “He beat Behemoth, and nobody could manage that. He’s stronger.”
“We’ll try anyways,” I said. “I don’t think any of us are prepared to roll over and die just yet.”
“Dumb,” Sophia said. “Throwing your lives away for nothing.”
“The alternative isn’t any better,” I said.
“What? Not fighting? Finding a good spot in another dimension to hide out? It’s a thousand times better, Hebert. We’re like cockroaches in the face of this asshole. You know what happens if we line up and march off to die single file? The strongest of us die, there’s nothing left to protect the others and humanity gets wiped out. No. Fuck that. Cockroaches survive because no matter how hard you try, they’re numerous enough, tough enough, and spread out enough that a few of them always survive. They survive the predators, the poison, the fire, the radiation, and a few generations later they’re back in full strength.”
“Yet you fought Leviathan.”
“I fought Behemoth too, few months before. Kind of. Mostly did search and rescue. Difference between that and this is that we’re more like rats when going up against a fucking Endbringer. We’re vermin in comparison to them, but we’re vermin that can take bites out of them. Get enough rats together and they’ll take down a human, no matter how well equipped that human is.”
“But cockroaches can’t?” I asked, with a note of irony.
She gave me a look that people typically reserved for when they’d been spit on. “Don’t try to be clever, Hebert. It doesn’t suit you.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m speaking metaphorically. It’s a… what’s the word? Like a ladder.”
“Hierarchy.”
“Hierarchy. Yeah. Scion’s one step above the Endbringers.”
“Couple of steps,” I said.
“A couple of steps. Whatever. So you’ve got to evaluate that shit, understand? Where the fuck do we stand in relation to him? Rock bottom. How do we deal? We scatter. Spread out far enough apart. One guy can’t murder all of us if we can find a way to spread out over a million different earths. Stick to villages and shit. Whatever.”
I was somewhat caught off guard by that. It wasn’t a bad plan. Defeatist, but not bad. Something we’d implicitly settled on in the meeting, though we’d also agreed to keep our mind open for options. I was getting a chance to see how she parsed the world, if maybe she had been influenced by her passenger like I was by mine, and I was seeing a philosophy that she seemed to value.
It was an insight into Sophia, and it wasn’t one that matched up with my expectations.
I ventured, “And here I thought you were more focused on being superior to others.”
Sophia shook her head, her lip curling up a fraction. “I acted superior because I was superior. Still am superior to most. That comes with perks. Do what you want, get away with shit, get people to look past the stuff you want them to look past. What you’ve been up to, I bet you’ve done that. Leveraged power?”
“Leveraged power,” I said. “Yes, I have.”
“Because you’re better. You’re a little arrogant, maybe? A little less forgiving of mistakes?”
“I was,” I said. “Thing is, when it came down to it, I wasn’t stronger or cleverer because of it. It wasn’t an advantage in the critical moment. Maybe the opposite.”
She dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward, folding her arms on the ledge, her face not even an inch from the glass. “But it got you that far. Others there, and they couldn’t fix it either. Not a reason to change your mind.”
“It was a pretty important moment,” I told her. “The most important moment. But I wasn’t in the right place, wasn’t in contact with the right people. More than anything, I wasn’t asking the right questions.”
She looked profoundly disappointed. “See, now you’re just being a whiny bitch again. Negative.”
“Retrospective,” I said. “Figuring out what I did wrong, changing.”
“Your biggest problem, Hebert, is that you never realized your place. I almost had respect for you. Hard not to, when you’re pretty much copying me. But you’re still waffling on shit you shouldn’t be waffling on.”
Copying her.
I’d admitted to taking lessons from Bakuda, from Jack. I’d picked up some of Purity’s protectiveness, only I’d turned it towards my territory. I’d learned from Coil, from Accord, and yet Sophia saying this nettled me.
I knew why, and it wasn’t because I felt like she was eerily on target. No, it was because it was an out for her. An excuse, a justification that let her keep her tidy little worldview.
The best revenge was supposed to be living well, but maybe there was a petty fragment of my psyche that wanted to rub it in her face. Not that I was living well. The situation was catastrophic, my dad was dead, and I wasn’t sure where I stood.
I looked down at my gloves. They were dark gray, but they’d been caked in blood, and even a good washing in cold water had failed to get them thoroughly clean.
“Sophia,” I said.
“What?” she asked. She leaned back in her chair.
“They’re opening the Birdcage. Letting some of the scarier criminals out, in the hopes of getting some assistance against Scion. There’s a lot of good firepower in there.”
“Uh huh.”
“Doesn’t make sense to go that far if we don’t extend the same concept to a smaller scale. Not sure what the numbers are, but there’s a hell of a lot of possible recruits there.”
“And you’re here because, what, you’re going to recruit me?”
I ignored her. “Problem with this situation is there’s no good way to keep track of all of this. In the chaos, it’s hard to manage records, and time’s tight enough we’re not going to be able to pull a review panel together. So how do you decide who gets to go free?”
“What a good question,” Sophia said. She met my gaze with a level stare. Not a glare anymore.
“Capes interact most with other capes. Smaller pool of people to find, contact and question, versus trying to hunt down civilians who might know so-and-so. It’s not a perfect method. It’s flawed, even. But we’re asking the victims. Teammates who were inconvenienced, enemies of the capes in question, all of that. Is this cape in prison worth letting free? Knowing what’s at stake, are you willing to put the past behind you and give them a second chance?”
She smirked. “And you’re my victim?”
“Me and the Brockton Bay Wards,” I said. “The Undersiders were asked, too, but they gave their votes to me, with only a few words of suggestion.”
She’s fucking useless, Imp had said. And she shot my brother. Bitch isn’t worth having to worry about being shot in the back with a crossbow.
“Moronic,” she said. “Making it a popularity contest.”
“Doing what we have to,” I responded.
“Moronic,” she said, again. I might have missed it, if it weren’t for the repetition of the same word. Slightly different. A hint of emotion? Di
sdain? Disappointment?
Maybe she cared more about being freed than she was letting on.
Maybe, on a level, she grasped that she was reaping the consequences of earlier actions.
Well, I’d been there.
“I suppose this is the point where I’m supposed to beg? I give you some satisfaction, you get some…”
“Closure,” I said. “No. I’m not going to make you do that.”
“Because I won’t,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
It’s not in you, based on what you’ve said here. That personal pride, the security she’d apparently found in knowing what her niche was in the world and how she fit into it, it was her mask, the barrier she erected against the world.
“You hurt people,” I said. “And the way you reacted to me, on that night where the Undersiders kidnapped you, trying to slash my throat… you’ve killed.”
“Yes. So have you. You might have a body count higher than mine.”
“I might,” I said.
“You hurt people too.”
“I did,” I agreed.
“A lot more than I did.”
“Probably.”
“And you weren’t even subtle about it. Taking over a city, robbing banks, attacking the fundraiser, attacking the headquarters…”
“Extorting the mayor,” I added. “Unlawfully imprisoning people, a lot of other stuff.”
“Yet you’re out there and I’m in here,” she said. Then she smirked. “Funny how that all works out. It all comes down to strength in the end. Power. How useful are you to others? I was useful, strong, even marketable on a niche level, and they pulled strings for me. Pulled your strings, even.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“But I became more trouble than I was worth. They throw me in jail, say it’s because of a probation violation. But why are they really doing it? Because I’m more trouble than I’m worth. I’m not useful, am I, Hebert? Regent got me, I was a liability. Couldn’t be used to fight the bad guys. They sacked Piggy for the same reason.”
