by wildbow
“Which means we start by preparing more vials.”
* * *
Ten vials, to start. Five hours to prepare each vial. To saw off the body part, to find a way to break it down, then to package it. Each vial correlated with a specific map coordinate and they took photos to record every step of the way, to ensure no clue was missed.
Then they’d found ten patients, who had downed vials in separate rooms. People who’d been terminally ill.
Six made it out.
Contessa watched them, saw the beaming smiles on five faces.
The Doctor kept her back straight as they approached. “Satisfactory?”
A blond man offered a little half-laugh as a response. He was looking down at his hands in amazement.
“As the contract stipulates, this is free, which won’t always be the case, but we’ll need forty hours of testing with each of the abilities any of you have received. In addition, we would like your assistance for a period of time totaling five hundred hours of active duty or five years, whichever term reaches its limit first.”
“Does anyone else feel amazing?” the blond man asked.
“I was afraid to ask,” a young girl said. “Yeah.”
“Amazing?” the Doctor asked.
“Hey,” the blond guy said, “I spent my entire life with this heart problem, you know? Heart going a little too fast, reedy, thin heartbeat. Reminding me it could pop at any moment. Organs are garbage, diabetes at twenty-two, liver problems turn me yellow if I’m not careful, throwing up bile every morning and every night. Every moment of every day, there’s something making me miserable. Except, right now, I’m sort of feeling every part of my body, and the heart’s good, no headache, nothing in my throat, nothing in my gut. No tremor in my hand…”
“You’re better,” the Doctor said.
“I’m better. And my brain is, I don’t even know. I’m picturing stuff really vividly. Really vividly.”
“I feel better too,” another man said.
“I’m not sure I do,” A woman chimed in. “Sorry.”
A man who can invent, a girl who can teleport… she could go down the list and figure each of them out, by posing it as a challenge to her power. Only one was a little harder to figure out, coming with a fog around him.
She left the group behind.
One by one, she checked on the other patients.
Dead.
A monster, furious with rage, slamming her hands on the door.
Another monster, crumpled into a ball in the corner, murmuring something to himself.
And the last… a boy, staring off into the distance.
She asked her power, and she got her answer.
He could make doors.
He could also close the other doors, the gaps left around the other entity. It would minimize the chance that the golden man could find them.
“I can’t… too much to look at,” he said. “So many worlds at once.”
“I know. We’re going to do what we can, okay?”
“I’m… I’m pretty scared.” There was a tremor in his voice.
“I know,” she said. “I need to look after a few things, but I’ll be back. We’ll figure this out, alright?”
He nodded.
She closed the door. She paused, standing beside it.
It’s a step forward, she told herself.
A step forward, in a long series of steps.
She rejoined the others.
The Doctor was touching a block of stone that had risen from the floor. “—a complex, for our labs and research.”
“Most definitely,” a woman answered her. “If you can do this for more people, I’d forget about the limit on how long I have to work.”
The Doctor allowed herself a smile. Her eyes met Contessa’s.
One step forward.
“You’re heroes, as far as I’m concerned,” the blond man said.
* * *
“Monsters!” the word was howled, reverberating through the building.
Fog approached. A wall of it, moving down the corridor. She could see normally, but the effect on her powers was absolute. It was impossible to make out any steps that moved within the fog.
She turned and bolted. Not a run, but an efficient jog, preserving stamina while still keeping ahead. She could see from the way the wall extended forward that it was being carried or it was emanating from a person.
There was another power at work, somewhere here.
“Custodian,” she said.
She felt the Custodian’s presence.
“Alert the Doctor.”
A brush against her left hand. Negation?
“Is the Doctor dead?”
Negation.
“Hurt?”
Negation.
I want to find out how the Doctor is.
There was only fog. She was blind, which meant the Doctor was somewhere beyond that wall.
I want to find where Number Man is.
He was on the east end of the facility, with the Harbingers.
I want to stay out of this fog.
The path appeared before her. She fell in step with it, moving in perfect sync with the individual movements in the sequence.
Until a figure appeared behind her A man with yellow skin, with bruising in the areas where his skin stretched or folded, giving him an artificially gaunt appearance.
A teleporter.
Path: taking him out of action.
Fog.
Path: hitting that target.
Three steps.
She drew her knife, spun, and threw it.
He teleported away before it made contact.
She could hear his voice echoing through hallways as he hollered. “She’s heeeeeeere!”
It was all going wrong. Eidolon had been their trump card, but he wasn’t supposed to be the only one. None of the others had worked out. Now Eidolon was dead.
The deviants they’d planned to use against Scion, a way of breaking up the metaphorical scent trail, were now attacking the complex. The entity was winning every engagement.
He was getting more ruthless, more cruel.
They had five major tools left to deploy. Three armies, two of which were roughly the same size as any of the defending forces, Khonsu, who was a stalling measure, and a hail mary in the form of the three vials with the special element inside.
She could hear footsteps behind her, running. They were heavy.
Escape route, she thought. Get back to Number Man.
No option was clear. Every possible escape through the complex was blocked by that damnable gray fog.
She could move down a floor, run through the fog, but she’d be blind.
Call the Number Man, keeping myself alive with an escape route afterwards, she didn’t even form the phrase as a complete thought. It was an idea, formed in a fraction of a second.
The path appeared before her.
She changed direction. The heavy footsteps followed.
Weld. The leader of the Irregulars. He didn’t tire, and however heavy he was, he had some power to his movements.
She ducked into an office.
The phone still had a cord. The offices here were one of the first they’d set up. She picked up the phone and pressed two keys to contact the Number Man directly.
“Yes?”
“Facility under attack,” she said. “Doctor somewhere in the east section, possibly injured, captured or dead. I’m in the east section as well. Not far from your office.”
Weld appeared in the doorway, catching the frame with one hand. The momentum splintered the wood.
“She’s downstairs, using one of Teacher’s subordinates with Doormaker and Two-six.”
“I see. You’ll need to get to her. They—”
Weld attacked, slashing out with his other hand, a long blade.
She ducked. “—have a perception blocker, beware.”
Weld struck again. She stepped back. She saw the paths available, and kicked the cha
ir so it slid into him, binding with his skin. He stepped forward and she put one foot against the chair, causing wheels to skid, and Weld to fall to the floor.
“Good to know. Are you alright?”
“Cornered. They’ve got a thinker, I think, they planned this ahead of time, knowing I wouldn’t pick up on their presence.”
Weld drew his feet back and kicked the desk. Not to hit her, but to put it between her and the door. Contessa caught the phone-rest before it could clatter to the ground.
Thinking ahead, barring my way. The fog wall was steadily approaching.
“I’m going. Tips?”
She thought, modeling the situation. The distance he had to travel…
“Best route would be to move further downstairs. Intercept instead of going right to her. They’ll reach her before you do, in any event.”
“Noted. You have an escape route?”
“No. Like I said, cornered.”
“Maybe you’re asking the wrong question. My window.”
The Number Man’s window. He had a doormaker portal to another world, constantly, for a view and for light, deep underground.
She dropped the phone, making a dash for Weld.
For his part, he put himself between her and the door, using his bulk and the desk to bar the way. Buying time for the fog to approach. Spikes extended from his body. No doubt razor-sharp.
Cute.
“I just want to talk. We’re here for answers.”
“Ask me after we defeat Scion,” she said. She used her power, plotting a path.
Two steps.
“I don’t—”
She ran straight for him, her eyes falling on an air conditioning vent.
His sword-arm slashed out, piercing the floor and blocking the vent.
She changed direction, leaping. One hand placed on his head, vaulting over his other shoulder, her legs together. A space that was only just wide enough to pass a toaster through. He tried to right himself, but his arm was bound to the grate, costing him a half-second.
Spikes scraped against her belt buckle and watch.
She found her footing just a half-foot in front of the fog wall, then dashed away.
Number Man’s office.
The teleporter appeared behind her. She glanced behind her shoulder. He had guns, and he was inside the fog.
Modeling scenario… not getting shot.
She ducked into a side hallway.
The teleporter was following. Appearing at each intersection in time to open fire.
Getting closer, closer, moving faster than she did. Weld was already catching up, too. She wouldn’t be able to outrun them.
Moving faster than whoever or whatever was broadcasting the fog was.
A little further, and…
He teleported to a point beyond the fog wall.
One step, and she had both of his guns.
He was bulletproof, but one shot point-blank to the eyeball served to delay him.
She fired down the corridor, hitting doorknob four times in succession.
Path: faking my own death or escaping.
Gray fog. Not happening.
Contessa kicked the door as she passed through. She was inside Number Man’s office.
She shot his window. It didn’t break. But she could loosen the frame which held the bulletproof glass in place.
She was working on the next when the teleporter appeared. He struck her, driving her through the one pane of glass that remained, through the portal.
She found herself on an alien landscape, tumbling down a hill.
He teleported to follow her. He struck her again and again.
She tumbled. She had a glimpse of others appearing. Weld and two more parahumans hopping over the windowsill, holding on so they didn’t follow her down the steep cliff. They weren’t shrouded in fog.
Whatever the reason, it was more variables to work with.
Path, she thought, again, faking my death.
She turned in the air as the teleporter delivered another hit.
She raised the gun, and she fired three times.
Two shots, missing.
A third, hitting one of the Irregulars in the chest, a lethal shot.
“Whore!” one of the others shouted. “Yellow, get the fuck away!”
The yellow parahuman disappeared. Contessa hit the hill. She rolled, and in the doing, she managed to grab a stick.
Weld grabbed at the shouting deviant’s arm, but it was too late to convince him to stop. He opened his mouth and a flood of magma cascaded down the hill, an impossible amount.
She rolled and came to a stop. She pushed herself up off the ground with her hands, moving too slowly to get out of the way of the onrushing magma, or the plumes of smoke.
But the moment the smoke had risen high enough, she kicked a rock to get herself moving and threw the branch. She moved until she couldn’t feel the oppressive heat.
The branch burned quickly, but it, coupled with the rock, made for a well positioned image of a head and a burning hand, when glimpsed through the smoke.
She kept moving until she was at the base of the hill, off to their right.
“—go down and check,” Weld was saying.
“She burned,” one of the others said.
“I’d like to check.”
“You want to check or you want to get Tater Tot to a healer?”
“I’m not sure a healer is going to help,” Weld said.
“Look. Mantellum’s right here. She had to have been in his range. Let’s go. Healer, then the Doctor.”
“…Right,” Weld said. “Healer, then Doctor.”
The sounds of conversation faded. Contessa consulted her power. They were most definitely gone.
She remained where she was, tending to the wounds she’d received in the course of selling her ‘death’, waiting for them to get far enough away that she could make her way back indoors.
This ‘Mantellum’ had been close enough that he should have been able to block her power. He hadn’t.
Because he’d been on the other side of the portal. The power didn’t cross dimensional boundaries.
She’d been lucky.
Minutes passed before she found her feet. She made her way up the hill. Easily. Always easily.
Until she reached the top, and found only the view in front of her. No doorway.
Not so lucky.
* * *
It was almost an hour before the portal opened again. She made her way into the facility.
Lights out.
She strode through the hallways, wary of the fog, but moving at as good a clip as she could. Things were damaged, vandalized.
She asked herself questions as she went.
The Doctor was dead.
Doormaker was alive but he wasn’t here, meaning she was limited to any doors he’d left open.
Number Man was alive, but he wasn’t here.
The vials were all gone. The ability to make more vials was gone. At best, they’d be able to collect a few stray vials here and there, in evidence rooms and the like, but nothing beyond that.
The plans had failed. Only Khonsu and the Indian capes were still active. Capes brainwashed with a deathwish, working in coordination with an Endbringer who could move them to any location instantly, and who could theoretically block some of Scion’s attacks.
She made her way to the nearest portal, finding her way with her power.
And she came face to face with a large group of capes. Protectorate capes, the ones too minor to help against Scion.
“You were reported dead,” a man in a horned viking-styled helmet and heavy armor said.
“Did anyone really believe it?”
“No, I suppose they didn’t.”
“How do things stand?”
“Standing may be too optimistic a word,” the man in the horned helmet said.
A cape in wizard attire spoke up, “The Doctor is dead, I believe?”
Contessa nodded. Odd, th
at she couldn’t bring herself to feel badly about it. Was it because she’d spent so long trying to achieve something and she’d failed, or was it because she’d lost respect for the Doctor like she’d lost respect for herself?
If she were an outside party, she was forced to admit, any outside party, she wasn’t convinced she would be able to be upset over her own death.
“We need your help,” the wizard said.
She nodded. “Whatever I can provide.”
“First, we need information.”
“Yes.”
“Were there any other plans Cauldron had in the works?” he asked.
“Nothing substantial. I can show you the tertiary plans.”
“Please do. Did Cauldron have plans for if humanity failed?”
“Of course.”
“We’ll need to see those as well.”
She hesitated.
“A problem?” the wizard asked.
Path: identifying strangers and deception.
Her eye moved to the man in the horned helmet, then, after a pause, to the wizard.
“I’m not entirely sure. Teacher, is it?”
The wizard nodded. “The Protectorate is just on the other side of the portal, collecting Satyr’s teammates, Nix and Spur. If you could be discreet, it would be appreciated.”
“Why? What are you doing, Teacher?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked. He reached behind his back and withdrew a disc, roughly the size of a trash can lid. He placed it on the ground, and then kicked it into an empty room off to the side.
“I could stop you,” she said. There was a flash in the other room.
“Most definitely. But will you?”
She hesitated. She watched as a pair of young men in white stepped out of the room.
“Find an empty office,” Teacher said. “If I’m not here, and another student of mine looks lost, tell them to do the same. I assume there’s documentation?”
Contessa paused, then nodded.
“Something this big, it has to carry on somehow. I’ll need a second in command.”
“Me?” she asked. Her eye moved to the man in the horned helmet.
“He’s his own man. A wild card.”
“I see,” she said. More kids in white were streaming from the room.
“Trickster, stop. You’re with me. We might need help navigating some of the trickier areas, if the damage to this place is extensive enough.”
