Work Book 2

All right. First thing, now that Punk-head was disabled, at least for a short while, was to call in help. I clicked my communicator, only for silence to greet me. I tried it again, only to hear something rattling loose inside its casing.

Punk-head. She must have broken it, or overloaded it. I suppose now I know how they cut off communications. Not just temporarily jamming, but more permanently. Clever, if highly annoying. That would make this harder. I've dealt with worse situations... but in fairness, I usually had some backup to shore up my own weaknesses. Or at the very least some help in disabling my opponents.

A quick look confirmed that Jack wasn't where I'd left him. I have no idea where Breed is, and Crimson would probably have to take a minute or two to help his clown friend. I did spot some of the murderbugs heading in one direction. Since I was flying above the city, they hadn't noticed me just yet. More of the bugs skittered around, and I spotted one bursting its way out of a corpse. It was small compared to its more mature siblings, about the size of a large cat, but that was large enough.

It wasn't the most disgusting thing I'd seen. It did make the top five, though.

I considered setting up a ring of fire around the town to keep the murderbugs contained, but I'd need a lot of gasoline to keep the fire going. Even that probably wouldn't last long. I took a moment to look for other signs of movement, and smiled grimly as I noticed the muderbugs converging on a church. Likely a Mormon church, if this area was anything like its counterpart on my Earth.

I spotted the blur of the clown moving around below me, dragging one arm around. Crimson likely helped free him... or perhaps he could just reach over and hit the hoist with his other, absurdly-long arm. I stayed floating overhead, waiting for an opportunity. Eventually the clown paused at the trailer park, moving through them quickly. He let out a cackle as he found a first aid kit, and started digging through it. I noticed his intact arm was moving slower relative to the rest of him.

So while his hand was busy trying to make up a splint for the section of his crushed left arm, I dropped down on his right, crushing a good amount of his arm under my feet.

He almost immediately started thrashing. "Heyuck kaiclikiuthuck," came from his throat. His other arm tried to wrap around me, but I just grabbed his neck and squeezed.

His eyes went wide as the smell emanating from him abruptly got worse. Then I slapped him across the face, pulling the blow enough that it wouldn't pulp an ordinary human. Still hard enough to slam him to the ground.

The clown didn't even try to get up.

Wrapping him in yet another trailer-side special, I took a minute to dump the clown with the other two in the cattle-car. With his arms broken it was less likely he'd be able to get out, and hopefully he'd be stunned long enough for me to finish up here.

I flew over the town once more, watching for activity. The remaining murderbugs seemed to have gone to ground, and it was unlikely I'd find their maker very easily. Once again, I was missing the full capability of my Byte, much as I hated that fucking thing.

I spotted Crimson stepping out of the church I'd spotted earlier. Maybe these guys thought holy ground would repel me, or something? It wasn't the worst idea villains had tried. Never really worked, even on Trigon's own, but that's because you needed some actual magic wards to repel them and the knowledge for that was a tad rare. At least it was before the Exobytes just shotgunned it all over the planet.

Crimson brandished his sword, a snarl on his face as I landed in front of him. "C'mon girlie. You're a lot more than I expected, but let me tell you how it's going to go down. We're going to fight. Then I'm going to chop your head off, drink your blood as it fountains from the stump, then I'm going to-"

Yeah, no.

I rammed into him with both fists, making him fall back onto the ground. Recovering admirably, despite holding a two-handed weapon, Crimson rolled to his feet. He charged at me with a roar, bringing the blade down in a mighty arc. An astounding amount of power, something I'd have trouble stopping in my current condition. At least, if I had tried to stop him. I just stepped aside, letting the sword hit the concrete. Dust and debris sprayed up from the impact, and I struck with an uppercut.

Right at Crimson's elbow.

He let out a high-pitched shriek as his right arm suddenly bent the wrong way, the sound of the crack of his arm breaking almost lost in it. I'd used more of my strength this time, and my finesse was shit, but I still knew enough about joints and soft spots to take advantage. Even on a tough one like this guy. His sword fell from his hands, and he staggered backward, his eyes widening in fear.

I seized him by the neck, then slammed his face into the ground. Once, twice. Three times. Concrete sprayed upward with the impact, and he groaned. He was still conscious, surprisingly enough. He tried to swing at me with his left arm, but I just grabbed his wrist. His eyes widened as I flipped him over, kicking up more concrete dust with the force of the slam. Then holding his wrist with my left hand, I struck with my palm at his elbow. Despite his resilience, the joint popped out of position, he let out a howl of agony, and started rolling back and forth on the ground.

I dusted off my hands. "Okay. Fight's over."

"You fucking bitch!" He howled at me, bloody tears running from his eyes. "You can't do this to me!"

"Pretty sure I can." I said mildly. I noticed his feet were digging into the ground despite his current condition. All-over superstrength, then. He'd be harder to restrain than most of the rest. I grabbed his right leg, his eyes widening as I lifted my fist.

"Please, no!" He screamed.

I brought my fist down, popping his knee joint out of place, forcing his leg to bend the wrong way. His scream was louder this time. He struggled weakly as I grabbed his left leg, twitching feebly and whimpering as I popped his left knee as well.

I smiled sweetly as I picked him up, carrying him toward the nearest trailer park. "Now what were you going to do to me again?"

Incoherent crying and wailing was all he responded with. Landing next to one of the already-damaged trailers, I ripped off the remaining long side, wrapped Crimson in it, making sure it was tight, then went back to the cattle-car. At this rate the whole thing was going to be full of scrap metal and murderers.

Plus, of course, one idiot civilian.

After putting in the husk of metal containing Crimson into the cattle-car, I went back to the church. Something tells me Jack would either want a grand showdown... or he'd be running for the hills, letting his group take all the attention. Likely the latter, actually. He'd probably settle for a grand showdown if he thought he couldn't get away. Realistically he could only head either east or west, as while there were quite a few back roads out here they were long and winding, with nothing to shield from the sun or anywhere to hide.

Still, if he was in the church, that would be a decent location to spring a trap. Instead of going through the front doors, I slammed through the roof, and on reaching the floor I was immediately mobbed by the two dozen or so remaining murderbugs. I sheathed myself in flame and... well, they tended to explode when I hit them, so it didn't take long to stop them. To most people these would have been dangerous, but even Ginger using her first set of gear could have taken these out. It would have been hard, and dangerous, but she could have done it.

Right. Now this LDS church looks utterly disgusting, like a Trigon worshipping site. Especially since there's a bunch of bodies in the pews, which I wasn't able to really notice when I was in the midst of a fight. Growling with annoyance, I flew out of the hole in the ceiling and went to the highway.

From Joseph City to Holbrook to the east was about eight miles, at least in a straight line. Closer to ten with the actual route. Heading to Winslow to the west was around twenty-five miles. If I was trying to escape from me, I know which way I'd be going.

I burst my way out of the church's ceiling, using the same hole I'd made when I entered. I reached the highway, then flew east, looking for any sign of movement. I found a red van speeding along the road, doing what was probably around twenty over the speed limit. There wasn't anything else on the road, which made checking this rather easy.

I dropped down in front of the van, careful to not crack the pavement, and grinned as I saw Jack's face through the windshield. It looked like he'd shed his jacket, and wrapped his right arm up in gauze, but he still had both hands on the wheel. On spotting me in front of him, his eyes widened, but the van still accelerated, aiming right for me.

I was tempted to just stand there, brace myself, and let it slam into me at full speed. The van would probably stop dead, and Jack would go right through the windshield.

No. Too much of a chance he'd die on impact.

Just before the van reached me, I lifted into the air and pushed myself backwards. I still allowed the van to meet me, but instead of just splatting on the windshield I put one hand on the hood, the other on the side of the roof, and pushed against the van with a slowly-increasing force. The van slowed, then halted, the engine squealing just below my hand.

Jack looked bewildered, the van's front wheels starting to smoke as they continuously ran against the same bit of ground. Tiring of the display, I punched my way through the windshield and grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt. He tried to draw a long, serrated knife and stab my arm above my gauntlet, but the blade just snapped off at the hilt.

He looked stupidly at the broken knife and muttered. "Now that's just not fair."

I lifted an eyebrow. "I don't think you care about fair."

As he opened his mouth, I just pulled him forward, slamming his face against the steering wheel. He let out a grunt of pain, his nose bleeding heavily. While he was trying to recover himself, I tilted the van to its side, leaving the wheels spinning fruitlessly as Jack, and another voice in the back, grunted.

As Jack started struggling to extract himself, I simply pushed the roof of the van downward, compressing the space he was in rather significantly. It was a good thing I did as a moment later the back of the van burst open, and I saw a huge seven foot tall man extract himself. He was heavily muscled, bare-chested. His skin was covered in scars, his face was misshapen and scarred as well, one eye bulging out of its socket. He carried a huge axe in his right hand, the head of it larger than my torso.

He looked at me, floating near the front of the van with a grunt of confusion. "What the fucking hell?"

I shrugged. "You guys have been pissing me off."

"Not that," he growled. "Don't you know who I am!?"

"No, not really. Don't really care either. I'm taking all of you in right now, because you've fucked with my vacation. I haven't had one in years."

An ugly sneer twisted his misshapen face. The big man charged at me with the axe, a scream on his lips. As he brought the axe down, I floated forward and deflected the axe blade with my left gauntlet, gauging his strength as I did. Beyond human, but not more than a fully-enVenomed Bane. His gray eyes widened as I met his face with a powerful punch. He stumbled back, instinctively holding his nose, his axe dropping from his fingers.

Before it could hit the ground, I snatched the axe out of the air. Tested its heft, its weight. It was a nice weapon, if a bit crude. I smirked as I saw the big man's horrified expression. "Not so fun on the other side of things, is it?" I snapped the head from the haft, then threw the weapon pieces aside. "I suggest giving up now. Should we talk about this like adults?"

With a roar, he tore up the roof of the van, wrapping his fist in the metal. He charged forward, swinging the improvised metal fist at me. I braced myself in place, and as the fist came in I caught his hand in my left hand. He tried to pull his hand back, but I just clenched my hand around his fist. Bones cracked, and he yelled in pain. To his credit, he tried to yank me forward rather than sinking to his knees, but as he did I just brought up my feet and kicked him in the chest.

He went skidding up the road, wheezing. Before he could get to his feet I'd dashed forward, grabbing his left arm. His eyes widened as I gave him the same treatment I gave Crimson, his scream echoing as I pushed his arm to bend out the wrong way.

With a howl of rage, he rolled to his feet, using his right arm as a brace. He tried to charge at me, but I stepped aside at the last moment and grabbed his leg. Turning with the motion, his feet left the ground, and I threw him right at the wreckage of the van. He slammed into it with a mighty crash, shards of metal going everywhere. I approached carefully, letting out a soft sigh as I caught two groans of pain.

"Good talk."

----------

I set the wrapped-up Jack and the gray-skinned bastard down next to the other members of the Deli House Seven. Or something.

Yes I remember their actual name, I just don't care.

"You'd better let me go." Jack said, struggling in the ruins of the van I'd used to restrain him.

I pulled his hair back to look him in the eye. "Now why would I do that?"

He smiled, blood staining his teeth. "Because I left Breed with a whole bunch of hostages. You'll never find them before he kills them... unless I tell you where they are."

"Uh-huh." I nodded. "And you'll tell me where they are if you get to go free."

"Precisely!" Jack said with a wide smile. "So refreshing, to see someone who knows how the game is played."

"Yeah, I know exactly how the game is played." I stepped out of the cattle-car, closing and locking it.

"Wait, what are you doing!?" Jack yelled.

"Not dancing to your tune." I spoke as I bent down, examining the side of the bottom of the cattle-car.

"But he's going to kill them if you don't stop him! What kind of hero are you!?" Jack's voice came out, rather desperate.

"I know how it's going to go." I said with boredom. "You send me off on a wild goose chase, using the time it buys you and yours to escape and murder another day. Meanwhile Breed is off in the next town already, and your 'hostages' are already dead. There's a guy back home with the same style, Jack. He's much better at it than you are, and he still got the electric chair when we forced him to play to our tune rather than to his."

Silence came from the inside of the car. Only for panicked yelling, not just Jack's, to echo above me as I lifted the entire thing above my head.

"Quit cutting us off!" I heard Crimson say. "We can get her together!"

"I can't stop it!" Gray-skin shouted.

"Then stop her!"

"She's not getting cut off! I don't understand it!"

Wait a second. "You, big gray guy, you neutralize powers?"

Gray-skin's voice was harsh, desperate. "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST FAIL LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!" He shouted as I lifted the whole cattle-car into the air, turning south, toward Phoenix. "WHY WOULDN'T YOU DIE!?"

I spoke with some amusement. "Cause I don't wanna. Well, you better hope I don't lose my powers while we're high in the air. Not going to end well for any of you." Then suddenly something seemed to click. "Hey! You wrapped up in the belts! You tried to shoot me in the face deliberately, didn't you!?"

"Uhh..." The voice of the 'civilian' just barely managed to reach me.

"Do something Hatchet!" Winter spoke, her voice panicked.

"I can't! Bitch broke my arms and legs!"

"Mine too!" Crimson yelled.

"Guys, shut up, my head is pounding..."

"And you smell worse than usual, Chuckles." Punk-head said, her voice raspy.

The bickering kept me fairly entertained as I carried them southward. At this rate I was going to need a vacation from my vacation. Because there still was work to do.

...and it just occurred to me in all this fighting I might have burned up my paperwork, my ID, and my spare set of clothes. I'd have to redo the whole set of certification paperwork again.

Fuckers.

Well, at least I still have my armor. It needed a severe cleaning, and I needed about twenty showers, but at least I wasn't going to arrive naked this time.

Phoenix was usually fairly calm on the cape scene. 'Usually' being the operative word. The Protectorate had a presence, but it was a small team of six to eight, usually rotating in and out as new heroes came to Phoenix to train. Often they would end up leaving for problematic spots later. That was the nature of a post-parahuman world. The calm locations would provide for those in crisis. The only problem was any place could become a dangerous location at any time.

Still, for the moment, Phoenix was a rather calm location, as the city was large and warm year-round, there were plenty of PRT boots on the ground, and response to incidents was usually quick. There was always some trouble, of course. Mundane crime, which was out of the PRT's jurisdiction, sometimes created Trigger Events. That was usually the point where things became a mess of jurisdictional issues.

For Lieutenant Daniella Ramirez, that grated on her somewhat. She signed up for the PRT five years ago. Undertook the gruelling training courses. Learned how to shoot, how to field strip and reassemble her rifle in just over a minute. She learned field tactics, how to clear a room, the radio codes. She kept herself in top shape, running, lifting weights, keeping her body fit and limber.

None of that changed the fact that she'd signed up to make a difference, and all she was getting here was guard and escort duty. Phoenix had a few celebrity capes outside of the Protectorate itself, those who were more interested in living extravagantly than actually doing anything helpful.

That was tomorrow's problem. Right now, Daniella was on her break, snacking on a protein bar. That was one good thing about this job. The food was both good quality and healthy. Probably one of the reasons why the PRT managed to retain their troopers. The other reason for the food, of course, was Director Stevens' pushing to keep up morale among the rank and file. The lunches tended to be... well, not the most amazing food she'd ever had, but a hell of a lot better than army grunts used to get.

Then the PA system crackled, the director's voice echoing throughout the PRT building. "Ramirez, Kane, Thompson, Schaefer, Snow, and Wilburn, suit up and get to the helipad."

Daniella grumbled, but she still felt some excitement. Finally, something happening! She just hoped she wasn't about to die from said excitement.

----------

I'm going to fucking die. At least I'm just going to fucking die.

"Say again Captain?" Thompson spoke, his voice filled with nervousness.

Captain John Schaefer was as American as they come, despite the name. His arms were as thick as his legs and he tended to favor the heavy weaponry, carrying a heavy rifle loaded with armor-piercing rounds in addition to an M79 grenade launcher.

His voice was harsh. "We read from a hero that just happened to be travelling on unrelated business of a murdered man in Joseph City. She then reported back everything was fine... however, we have not been able to raise her, nor have we been able to contact anyone in Joseph City. We also just got word of a sighting of one of Breed's creatures in Flagstaff, which is seventy-five miles away on route 40. Considering the Slaughterhouse Nine is known for isolating and wiping out small towns, it's possible the Nine are present, or have recently left Joseph City. We're heading out, we're going to get some reinforcements as we go in. Our hope is we're going to find Sunstorm, the hero who reported in, however if she is alone against the Nine, we have to assume the worst."

No shit. The Nine weren't the worst of the threats that were out there, that dubious honor belonged to the Fallen. At least for the moment. In their heyday, however, the Nine had caused a horrific amount of death, and worse, in the case of Gray Boy's victims. They suffered to this day, and would until someone managed to either break the power effect or...

Rachel, screaming as a line slowly carved up her chest, gray blood spilling from the hideous wound. Rachel, screaming as-

Dani blinked, before clenching her teeth. No, no. She'd signed up to help keep that from happening to anyone else. She'd hoped to be able to try to put monsters like them down. Just... now faced with that actual prospect, came a fair bit of terror.

Relax, Gray Boy's dead.

They needed to be stopped. If they managed to get the right new member, or if things just went a little bit wrong, they could go right back up to the top of the list of threats. They might even reach worse heights, given the right bit of luck, and they seemed to be very, very lucky indeed.

Schaefer's voice was harsh. "Our mission is as follows. We are to reach Joseph City, recon, look for signs of Sunstorm or the Nine, and report back. If all goes well we won't even land, but we are to be prepared. Other choppers are being loaded up as we speak, and the Protectorate is sending a strike team to head to Joseph City in case the Nine are still present. They are coming from Las Vegas and Denver, so despite Mover assistance we may get there first. If we encounter the Nine, we are clear to engage, but do not chase. Screamer has the means to give us conflicting orders. Stay together, use hand signals, but stay with the chopper and use our weaponry to defend yourselves. Leave the capes to fight the Nine, we're here to see to civilians."

If there are any left to save. Went unsaid.

The door swung open behind Dani, and she swallowed a little as she saw the figure. A man wearing power armor, polished to a faintly blue shine. Servos whirred as he strode up to the team, the lower half of his face was exposed, showing him to be clean-shaven. Attached to his back was a halberd. It looked fairly crude by Tinker standards, but who knew with Tinker work? The damned thing could probably not only stab the enemy dead, but make a great sandwich while doing so.

Schaefer spoke, giving a nod. "This is Armsmaster. He's a new recruit, but promising. He's volunteered to assist in the operation. He's the only one from the Phoenix branch to volunteer. Glad to have you with us."

Armsmaster gave the team a nod, his voice a little rough. "Glad to be here. I've been studying the Nine, I've got countermeasures for some of them. I'll take point against the Brutes, if it comes to that."

"Better than us squishy mortals." That got a bit of amusement out of the team. "It's time to move, people. We're burning daylight." Schaefer said, resting his rifle on his shoulder.

----------

Within ten minutes of Dani's chopper taking off, her unit's chopper was flanked by two others. One bearing the markings for the Tuscon PRT, the other being the secondary one from Phoenix itself. Tuscon was small, however, and their PRT teams wouldn't have a cape with them.

Armsmaster was silent during the ride, instead of conversing with the team, he had his head down, busily scribbling notes on a pad.

"So what do you think Ramirez?" Thompson spoke, his voice nervous behind his opaque helmet. "Think we'll get to fight the Nine?"

"Not get to fight them." Dani spoke, grimacing behind her own helmet. "We may have to fight them. It'd be good if we can wipe them out, but fighting people who commit horrors for shits and giggles shouldn't be a fun prospect. Even if we don't see them at all, we're going to see the shit they left behind, and that is going to be horrible. I hope you got a strong stomach."

Armsmaster looked up, his voice quiet. "Speaking from experience?"

Dani nodded. "Sadly, yes."

When it was clear she wouldn't elaborate, Armsmaster simply nodded, then returned to the notepad.

Their radios crackled. "All teams, be advised, Protectorate members Firehawk, Orinthopter and Iron Sights are on site over Joseph City. Definite signs of the Nine having been present, but currently no sign of movement."

Thompson's voice was now even more nervous. "What does that mean?"

Schaefer's voice cut in. "It means either the Nine are laying a trap for us on arrival, or they've already fucked off for some other town to massacre. Probably both, considering Breed. Prepare for a bug hunt, kid."

The noise of the chopper roared on, until the chopper slowed. Schaefer checked his watch, then frowned. "We should be only halfway there. What's...?"

Their radios crackled again. "This is Spider, we've got a flying... metallic object approximately one mile north our position. It's flying low, about one hundred feet above the ground. Ready for drop, we're going to take a closer look."

It took only a few seconds for the chopper to turn, and then Schaefer slid open the chopper door. Dani managed to see what the fuss was about. It looked like a shiny cattle-car, being carried by something red and black underneath it. The cattle-car slowly lowered to the ground, a cloud of dust being kicked up by the chopper's rotors and the impact on the sand. The cape, and it had to be a cape, then turned and waved at the chopper with both hands. She either had a lot of crimson in her costume, or red skin. When it came to a cape, who knew?

The cape had her hands up as the choppers landed, then cautiously the PRT Teams exited the choppers and brought out their weapons. Dani had to give a small start as she recognized the cape, her fingers tightening on her rifle. The cape who caught Flight 197. The demonic-looking woman from another Earth. Holy shit.

She looked pretty worse for wear, with her hair filled with gunk, her armor scorched and blackened. Her gauntlets were dented, and even from twenty feet away something reeked, but she seemed unharmed.

"I'm Sunstorm!" The cape said, looking not even slightly nervous despite the guns pointed in her general direction. "Code one-four-three-seven-six. I've got my ID, though I'm fairly sure it's at least somewhat melted."

Armsmaster walked in front of the group, though Dani noted he was careful to not get directly between Sunstorm and the guns. "Provide it, please."

Slowly, Sunstorm reached behind her back, making no sudden moves. She unclipped the rather small pack that had rested on her lower back, then opened it, fishing through. She did, eventually, pull out a mess of melted plastic that might have been, once, multiple cards.

Armsmaster took a step closer, then nodded slowly. "Sunstorm."

"The fuck is going on out there!?" A harsh voice bellowed from the cattle-car. Guns snapped up, pointing toward the container, nervousness suddenly back in full force.

"Shut the fuck up, Crimson." Sunstorm spoke with annoyance, giving a bang to the side of the cattle-car. The metal vibrated with the blow, ringing for a few moments.

Armsmaster spoke with a bit of trepidation. "You captured Crimson?"

Sunstorm shrugged. "No. I captured six of these guys, and possibly a seventh." She frowned as she looked into the cattle-car. "Some of them are probably unconscious from pain... or me rattling them around when they started insulting my mother. Still, long as they're near the gray guy, they can't use their powers, and they'd have trouble moving around even if most of them weren't wrapped up in metal. Sorry, got a bit rough with them."

"Such a lost opportunity... you'd have been glorious on our side." A rasping voice managed to exit the trailer, sounding tired.

Sunstorm rolled her eyes. "I'd be fucking bored on your side, Jacky-boy. Plus, I'm not an asshole, so joining you wouldn't appeal anyway."

"Fucking bitch! I'll kill you!" A female voice hollered, only for more voices to start echoing from the trailer. Dani was privately glad the lurid threats overlapped each other, making it hard to take any single one disgusting description too seriously.

Schaefer spoke, his own voice harsh and just somewhat nervous. "You're telling me you captured seven of the Slaughterhouse Nine?"

Sunstorm nodded. "Uh-huh. Saw the aftermath of what they did to Joseph City, I wasn't about to let them just get away. Also, they've got one more member, but I didn't see him in the town. Not sure where he is, but he left a bunch of murderbugs. There might be more in the city, so I'd suggest killing them off."

"But the Nine have Kill Orders!" Thompson blurted out, his voice filled with disbelief.

Sunstorm slowly blinked. "They do? I honestly have no idea who these guys are."

Armsmaster nodded, his hands noticeably tight around his halberd. "Yes, they do. They got their Kill Orders in 1990, not long after they went public. Being a member of the Nine carries with it an automatic Kill Order. They started out as mercenaries but they quickly became just a wandering group of murderers. They seem to be competing for the worst place, though after losing Gray Boy they haven't been as dangerous as some other groups."

Sunstorm slowly folded her arms. "You're telling me... I went through a whole lot of effort taking these guys alive, when I could have popped their heads like a grape and nobody would have cared?"

Schaefer let out a harsh laugh. "They'd probably give you a medal for that, actually."

Sunstorm clucked her tongue. "Right. Can I borrow a radio from one of you guys? I do believe you, but I want to confirm before I do anything."

Dani quickly stepped forward, handing over her radio. Sunstorm gave a smile of thanks, before she floated over top of the trailer and started talking. "This is Sunstorm, I have this group of bad guys here, the... Butcher Shop Five, or...no, wait. Something something Nine, captured. Well, seven of them. Can I get patched through to Legend or Director Wilkins in New York?"

Cautiously, the PRT troops looked through the sides of the trailer. Five figures wrapped up in metal siding, one punk-rocker hog-tied, another man wrapped up in seat belts. It was, indeed, the Slaughterhouse Nine. Dani had seen enough pictures of their lineup, though never quite this beaten-up or helpless.

Jack Slash himself gave Dani a leer, and she couldn't help but feel an instinctive shiver go up her spine.

Wait a minute...

Sunstorm was hovering right above the group. Hatchet Face was right there, next to Jack. Well within Hatchet's range and she still had her powers. She was trumping the Trump. She was chatting with someone over the radio, and Dani couldn't hear what was being said, but Dani did see Armsmaster's lips turn up in a twitch that could almost be a smile.

A few minutes later, Sunstorm landed next to the trailer, handing the radio back to Dani. "Right. Since the gray one's disabling these guys, and the rest are nullified for the moment, we've got a rare opportunity. I'm not going to kill them. I have killed before, I don't like doing it. These guys have had a pretty big impact on ordinary people, though. So it seems to me that everyone needs to see this is done. Do you guys have cameras on you?"

Schaefer nodded, turning toward the chopper. "Spider, you have eyes on us?"

"Affirmative, sir. Recording as we speak."

Sunstorm nodded, looking grim. "Right. I'm sure you guys can handle the messy part from here."

Jack's voice echoed out of the trailer. "I won't be killed by some two-bit jackbooted-"

Sunstorm ripped open the trailer, Jack's diatribe being lost in the sound of tearing metal. Armsmaster stepped back, keeping a cautious but ready distance. In under a minute, the seven captives were lined up against the side of the trailer, each of them visibly squirming under the gaze of the PRT officers.

Schaefer turned toward the chopper. "Here we have the Slaughterhouse Nine. Jack Slash. Winter. Crimson. Screamer. Chuckles. Nice Guy. Hatchet Face. For crimes against the people of the United States, Canada, and Mexico, using parahuman powers to inflict suffering and murder against innocent people, you have been consigned to death by Kill Order, tried in absentia."

Jack was breathing heavily, but he still managed to crack a smile. "Isn't the condemned entitled to a final request?"

Schaefer nodded. "Yeah." Then he immediately lifted his rifle and shot Jack twice in the face.

The rest of the Nine started screaming, hollering, trying to shuffle away in their panic and fear. At a gesture from Schaefer, the rest of the PRT troops, including Dani, lifted their guns and started shooting. Bullets rent through bodies, doing a horrific amount of damage. Cries of pain were quickly silenced.

At the end of it, Hatchet Face was the only one still moving. His face was even worse off than before, and he was jerking spasmodically. Armsmaster strode forward, unsheathing his halberd. With a flick of a button, the edge of the halberd blade glowed white-hot, and he lopped off Hatchet Face's head. The head rolled on the sand before it rested at Schaefer's feet.

Thompson's voice sounded shaky. "His final request sir?"

Schaefer sounded satisfied. "Yes. I made it quick."

Dani lowered her rifle to look over at Sunstorm. The demonic woman seemed to be somewhat troubled by the act, though not upset. She looked terrible, covered in ashes and gunk, her armor blackened by soot. Her black hair even had some ash in it, and her yellow eyes were dim. Still, she was inhuman, and yet beautiful.

Rachel, screaming as-

Dani blinked, suddenly feeling somewhat dirty, despite the necessity of the act. All that was left now was for them to find Breed, and that would be easier. Breed wasn't the type to be able to gather people around him. Not with a power as disgusting as his. Another PRT team would likely pick up the pieces from here, finishing the job. This was the end of the Nine.

So why did Sunstorm look as if something precious had exited the world? Worse... why did Dani feel the same way?

At the Protectorate building in New York, Director Wilkins and Legend were currently rapt with attention.

"Here's what we got about Flight 197." Mike Gonzales spoke as he hit the projector controls, bringing up the first slide. "We already know the big points. Both engines failed, at different times, and the aircraft hatches were sabotaged. The fuel cutoffs were also sabotaged. We didn't have any mechanism for the damage, but with all the factors together the plane should have slammed into the ground, killing everyone on board. If the impact didn't, the resulting fires likely would have."

Legend nodded. "Sheer luck it didn't, especially with an unknown showing up to help the plane. I could have helped with part of the issue, the burning engine, but not with the other engine exploding."

Mike nodded. He brought up the next slide. "We went digging to look as deep as we could, once it was clear we wouldn't find the obvious. We found something interesting. During 197's flight from Seattle to Minneapolis, there was a three percent fuel inefficiency. It took just slightly more fuel for the plane to hit the expected airspeed than it should have. Now that's small, and planes carry extra fuel in case of changing weather conditions, crosswinds, and enough to reach a secondary airport in case of problems with the primary. It didn't raise any suspicion in flight. These things happen. The fact it was steady from Seattle to Minneapolis would just mean the plane might need some maintenance to fix up an engine, worst case scenario."

Clicking to the next slide, Wilkin's eyebrow went up. "From Minneapolis, no issue?"

"None." Mike nodded, a grimace on his lips. "Engine checks were fine. Fuel efficiency was within one percent of expected, going up and down as the winds changed and as the flight hit the right currents. It was actually one percent above expected efficiency for a good chunk of the flight. Then the flight is moving just as expected, going over the Canadian border just because it's the most efficient flightpath to Brockton Bay. Then the port side engine had a major failure, as if something struck it from outside. The interesting bit is exactly when the landing gear went down, after you and Sunstorm showed up to help, the starboard engine went up catastrophically. There's no system linking the two."

Legend curled his fingers as he thought it through. "A power that has conditionals, perhaps?"

Wilkins nodded slowly as he tapped his chin. "We've seen some things like that before... isn't there a villain who might be able to do something like this?"

"Madcap." Legend nodded. "Doesn't fit his power, or rather his speculated power. Madcap's a Striker. He'd have to touch the engine to make it explode, and I'd have noticed if he was there. Last time I checked he can't fly, either. That being said... if there was a similar power, with different limitations... store up the energy during the first leg of the flight, release it on different conditions?"

"Even one percent of the energy during the first part of the flight being released all at once would probably disintegrate the entire plane." Mike spoke. "I'd have to calculate the numbers, but why not just hit the entire plane in that case?"

Wilkins nodded, humming in thought. "Hard to guess without the parahuman in custody. Perhaps they simply can't, or the energy given is much less efficient than that. Or they used what they thought would be enough to doom the plane."

Legend grimaced. "Which means we might have someone out there with the ability to... rip through a bank vault. Or flip over a tank, if they can store the energy for a long period. Break a bridge, perhaps? There's a lot of things you could do if we're anywhere near correct. We'd have to start looking. Hell, picking up this is only possible because of how much information planes store. Storing energy from a car would be a lot harder to notice."

Mike nodded as he hit the next slide, showing thirty names and pictures. "These are the people that got off the plane in Minneapolis. Once we figured it was probably a parahuman action, we decided to leave the investigating part up to you. We're just not equipped to go after them, and, well, ordinary cops aren't either."

Wilkins spoke, his brow furrowed. "How much would someone need to know about a plane to sabotage it this way, even assuming a power could do it?"

After a moment of consideration, Mike spoke. "A fair bit. You'd need to know how the engine was designed, how the hatch mechanisms work. The fuel cutoff systems alone you'd need to know a lot about the design. At least on the blueprint level."

Legend nodded, but his voice was skeptical. "Powers sometimes come with secondary aspects. They might be able to figure it out just by touching a part of the plane. That said, you're probably correct, it's just we can't rule out an interested layman who figured out what to look for. It'd probably be best to cast as wide a net as possible, before we narrow it down to a potential parahuman terrorist."

Wilkins nodded, his voice grim. "I'll make some calls, inform the Chief-Director. Thank you, Mister Gonzales."

----------

"Max, my boy!" Richard Anders spoke with a wide smile, his voice filled with cheerfulness. "It is good to see you."

"Father." Max nodded respectfully, with a small smile. "I'm glad to see you're doing well."

Richard waved his hand dismissively as the pair walked toward Richard's study. "It will take a bit more than a bit of unpleasantness to rile me up, Max." Richard ambled around his desk, pulling out a decanter filled with scotch and two glasses. "It's not as if the Teeth haven't been a problem before. I'm more concerned about Marquis, honestly." He poured the scotch carefully, offering one to Max.

Max took it with a smile, though Richard noted Max didn't drink until his father had. At twenty-three years of age, Max Anders looked very much like a younger version of his father. There was some evidence of his mother's contribution to his genes, of course. Max's eyes were a brilliant blue to Richard's green. It made a slight ache in Richard's heart.

Taking a seat behind his desk, Richard smiled warmly, rolling the glass between his hands. "How is Theodore?"

Max's face twitched with a slight bit of annoyance. "He's doing well. Smart boy. But not wise. He's a little too free to make friends, regardless of their sort."

Richard nodded, taking a moment to stroke over his chin. "It does take some time to learn the right way of thinking. That is your responsibility, however."

Max grimaced, but nodded. "I know. It's not exactly easy. All I can do is remember what you did and try that, but Theo isn't responding the way I did, father. Ever since Heith... he misses his mother, and I think he blames me for it on some level."

Richard's eyebrow went up. "He's four, Max. He doesn't know very much."

"He is a bright boy, though. Smarter than I was at that age. Though I don't remember much." Max said wryly.

Richard chuckled. "I suppose not." He refilled the glasses, taking a moment to enjoy the companionable silence. Taking a sip from his glass, Richard spoke thoughtfully. "When you were four, I remember taking you out to the factories. You were so fascinated by the machinery that filled out the drug bottles, so interested in seeing them at work. I could see then you had a knack for figuring out how things worked. Systems. Push the right lever, and change everything."

Max nodded with a smile, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. "I don't remember that, but I do remember spending a fair bit of time building some contraptions at home. I don't remember the name of the toyset, but I do remember building an elaborate thing in my room, watching the steel balls slide on rails all the way to the end. I also remember the train set in the basement. You had it large enough, and complex enough, that it needed a dozen switches to control all the tracks going all over the set."

Richard grinned, his own eyes going a bit distant as he recalled. "My own hobby. It wasn't seen as respectable for a CEO, but I could get away with my own eccentricities. It was rather harmless compared to some of the other things those in our circles got up to. Your mother always humored me. Both my work and my hobbies. She didn't mind as long as she was able to manage her own."

"She was good, wasn't she?" Max asked softly.

"Indeed, the best." Richard nodded, his voice filled with fond remembrance. "I could see you and Heith had the same kind of relationship. I am sorry it ended the way it did, Max."

Max's face darkened, taking a moment to squeeze his hands around the glass. "Can't even take proper vengeance. Not with the Butcher."

"No. Not yet, anyway." Richard nodded in agreement. "It might take the right power to take care of that particular thorn. It would be unwise to simply attempt the direct approach. Functional immortality at that price would be a very unwise bargain."

To be the host of the Butcher meant to be driven mad. To become part of the hive, to be driven by the will of other minds. A few went mad by the voices of the previous Butchers rather quickly, others more slowly, but the slide was practically inevitable once it had begun. At the moment there were seven known previous hosts to the Butcher, and neither Max nor Richard was very eager to become the next one.

Richard watched his son muse over the situation, the younger Anders watching back with caution. A tenseness in his shoulders. A few furtive glances around the room. It was so very subtle, Richard might have missed it if he hadn't been looking.

"There's another matter, Max." Richard spoke with some softness. "We need to advance our interests. It wouldn't do to have an unmarried prince, after all."

Max's lip twitched in repressed amusement. "I do have my eye on someone. She's young, but strong. If we can bring her on board she'd be very useful for both business and hobbies. She's yet to see things in the proper light, but she's alone. Can be molded into what we need."

Richard nodded with a smile. "I'm sure you have the proper means." He sighed, finishing off the shot of scotch in his glass. Putting the glass back on his desk, Richard gave Max a smile. "There's also the matter of ten million dollars to discuss, Max."

There was a momentary pause, a slight widening of the eyes. Max moved to bolt out of his chair, even as a blade formed from the ceiling to attempt to impale Richard. He was almost quick enough.

A sword speared through Richard's desk, catching the younger Anders through the stomach. Wood splintered throughout the room, even as a second sword caught Max's own manifesting blade edge-on. It didn't stop its momentum, but it did give Richard just enough time to shift out of the way.

Max rolled on the floor, screaming in pain, shock. Blood flowed from him, staining his immaculate suit. With hatred, he locked eyes with his father, gasping for breath. Blades erupted from the walls, the floor, trying to impale the elder Anders with their sudden existence. They broke as they impacted with swords manifesting around Richard, who casually strode through the shattering metal without a seeming care in the world.

Richard's voice was hard, ruthless. "Ten million dollars suddenly transferred out of your account, just a week before I was to board my flight in Seattle. I had to do a fair bit of digging... you hired Mayhem, didn't you?"

Max chuckled weakly as he tried to pull the sword out of his belly, only to groan as the blade moved on its own, resisting his efforts. "What the fuck are you...?"

"The little rumor in certain circles, Max. 'Mayhem can solve your problem.' Without trace. Without the target being aware. Just drop a little coin in the right place and time and your issues will be solved. In fire, in accident, in such a way that none can know. Only this time it failed. And so did you." A dozen more swords emerged around Richard, circling around him. Seven more surrounded Max, their tips pointed directly at the bleeding young man on the study floor.

"Dad, please..."

In a second, all seven blades struck, impaling Max through his body, one striking through his neck. In moments, Max's eyes dimmed as death overcame him.

Almost gently, Richard strode forward, closing his son's eyes. "For what it's worth, my son. I am very proud of you."

----------

On a small island off the coast of Greece, an island that appeared small and hostile, unworthy of note, a near-silent vigil reigned.

After Sunstorm had left on checking the location for the Amazons, the Greek government had taken the advice of the American Protectorate and placed a set of monitoring equipment within the small chamber at the center of the island. Seismic sensors. Heat sensors. Geiger counters. More traditional cameras. Nothing too extravagant, as it was considered mostly a wild story, but it was better to have some kind of warning in place rather than none.

Thus the cameras managed to get a good view of when the sound of breaking glass screamed through the air, and a white shimmering sheet rippled its way over the ground. It spread further, beyond the walls of the small chamber. The heat rose, triggering those sensors, and the island itself rumbled.

Ghostly figures strode back and forth in front of the cameras, seemingly taking no notice of them. They were transparent, beautiful, fading in and out of sight as they walked through the walls or simply fading in the air. Women in armor marched. Trained with bows, with spears, making wild leaps beyond human capacity. They fought each other with swords and shields.

The rippling sheet faded away, and so did the ghostly Amazons. However, left in their place was a hovering sphere of burning blood-red energy. It was the size of a fist, and boiled with malice. The monitoring equipment screeched in their remote warnings before they warped into uselessness. Not from heat or damage, but simply from the properties of spacetime being warped into something utterly different for a single moment.

Still, the equipment had done its job, sending warnings back to their human masters. They would return, and investigate.

Meanwhile the Gate to Tartarus would wait for the appointed time.

"Come now, little sister. Don't be so naive."

I growled as I floated toward Jacob, trying my best to focus my anger so the aura he was emitting would have less of an effect on me. "I'm not one of you."

"Your lovely gaze says otherwise."

I ground my teeth, realizing quite quickly that yes, I was seeing things through my extra eyes, and yes he was stupidly handsome...

"You could be my daughter. In a sense, you already are. You smell of lust, of desire, of my blood. All you need to do is relax, let me in. Let us be the family your other father failed to be. It comes with many benefits, being one of us." Jacob strode toward me, and I could feel my mouth water as full, rampant desire rushed over me. It was hard to resist. Not just the sheer lust, but the idea of belonging.

I opened my mouth to answer when my alarm blared right next to my ear, rousing me back to full wakefulness.

Fuck. That fucking dream again.

I needed a shower. A very cold shower.

----------

The Phoenix PRT wasn't exactly the most elaborate base I'd seen. That had to be the Watchtower, and as nice as this place was, it certainly couldn't compare to the alien technology, the view of Earth, and the sheer uniqueness of everything the Justice League could bring together. Still, it had its benefits. Such as the shower. And the gym.

Jacob was... a bit of a sore point, for me. Ever since we'd fought when he was trying to raise his father from the Hell dimension that had his father sealed within, my own fears had become much more real.

The Sons of Trigon were six. Each either embodying or consumed by one of the deadly sins. Whether that was some mystical significance or just a private joke of Trigon's, I just didn't know. Probably the latter, considering what I knew about demons. Which, unfortunately, wasn't much. My Byte gave me a lot, power, abilities, but it didn't give me knowledge and in order to truly understand demons, you had to have a lifetime of experience. Most of my experience was in simply punching them in the face.

On the gym mat, I tried to go through the forms of my martial arts style. It was frustrating. Strike, move, duck, twist, strike... and my finesse is shit.

Instead of the smooth flow of muscle over bone, my movements were jerky, rough. If I messed up an actual blow against an ordinary human, I could easily destroy them. If I struck someone in the ribs with even one-tenth my full strength, they'd be turned into a fine paste. Yet if I had to take on something as strong as I was, or stronger, what was going to happen was I wouldn't be able to keep up. They'd beat the crap out of me and my return blows wouldn't accomplish much. I'd have to rely on my powers to see me through such a fight. Not a problem in theory.

In practice? A fight like that never took place in a white room. The longer I spent beating on the stupidly-durable, the more likely there would be collateral damage. Either in the form of my allies, helping with such an emergency, or innocents in the general area. Considering some of the threats I was used to fighting, 'general area' could also be defined as 'continent.'

I'd have to get better. Get more controlled, for the lower end of things, and be more capable for the higher end. The Endbringers were going to attack again, and all I could do was wait for the call.

My blows against the Nine were mostly against their Brutes. The rest I managed to disable. The problem? Those were weaker than me, so I didn't need technique. But I couldn't be complacent. Back home I was relatively weak compared to a lot of opponents, and I could only keep up with skill, being smart, and knowing when to dodge. Also sometimes knowing when not to dodge. It helped being stupidly tough.

"Why do you not fall, filthy mongrel!?" Zod snarled, even as he struck with a blow that rippled the air with its passage, his fist striking at mach speeds.

I grabbed his arm, using his own momentum against him, and flung him into the crystalline wall. "Because I'm not alone, unlike you!" I struck a chop across his face. While my hand protested with the pain of it, still, his lip bled.

"Not so fun now, is it?" I snarled.

Zod roared as he struck. This time I went smashing into a wall, and I certainly felt that more than he felt my blows.

Right now, Zod would probably break me in under a minute. It would only take that long because of the fact I can heal. Well, technically everyone can heal, but not as quickly or as completely as I can. It also helped being just plain harder to injure in the first place.

Palm out, strike. Twist, turn, dodge... fuck.

I stopped and panted, not from tiredness but from sheer frustration. I clenched and unclenched my fists.

The gym door swung open, and a trooper walked in, her voice somewhat nervous. "Sunstorm? There's a call for you. It's the Chief-Director."

----------

"Well. Shit." I said.

On-screen, Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown nodded. She looked to be an attractive, if severe woman, her eyes piercing even through the old CRT monitor. Though I suppose it wasn't that old at this point in time. "A rather crude way to put it. You're the closest thing to an expert we have in this event. Do you have any idea what happened to this 'Themyscira?'"

I sat back in my chair, wincing a little as I felt my wings compress against the back. "Judging from the video, it looked like the Themyscira I know overlapped with here, somehow. It looked like the Amazons were there. Or at least a shadow of them. We saw them, but they didn't see the equipment. At least not yet. Maybe they couldn't because..." I frowned as I tried to recall the images the government gave me. "I'd have to review, but I don't think we saw anything there that wasn't on or being held by an Amazon."

"Why is that important?" Costa-Brown spoke, furrowing her brow.

I sighed. "Metaphysics. It's rather hard to explain without showing, and in order to really have any proof of what I'm saying you'd have to go to a place where you could see a soul. In various afterlives, a soul is shaped by how it thinks of itself. A dead king may wear a crown and robes, a hero may wear his armor and hold his weapon, and a dead soldier will have a rifle and uniform. A business man will still be wearing his suit, even if he didn't die in it. It depends on their identity. It extends to the living, to some degree. I think we saw the Amazons using their gear because they practice with them so much their favored weapons are part of them. It's part of how they think of themselves."

The Chief-Director paused for a moment, before she tilted her head, her voice filled with curiosity. "Can someone see a soul?"

I shook my head. "Technically yes, there's rituals that can let you do that, but I don't know them and have no idea about how to start teaching that kind of thing."

It was one of the annoying things about my particular situation. Even years afterward, it wasn't exactly easy to tell just what was the basis for my Byte's template. Every Exobyte had access to data from many of the prominent heroes and villains. The mentors tended to teach the new heroes by just how they accessed their powers, rather than their ultimate root. Through technology and skill? Batman. Through magical rituals? Wonder Woman. Just doing things? Superman.

Before I'd arrived here I had been able to manifest a temporary copy of the Lasso of Truth. It only lasted for five seconds at a time, unlike the real deal, but for those seconds it had all the same properties. But without my Byte's assistance, getting that to work was likely never going to happen. It was one of the few things I had that was definitely magical and I just didn't have any idea how to make it work.

I shook my head, licking my lips. "Anyway, my guess is the overlap made a small tear in things. The Amazons guarded the Gate to Tartarus, both from anyone who wanted to go into it and from things coming out. The gate itself actually should be a lot larger than the one on video. I honestly don't know why this has happened, but the result is something we need to try and deal with, anyway."

"What do you recommend for countermeasures?" Costa-Brown spoke, folding her fingers beneath her chin.

I took a moment to consider that. "The best options are... just not available, here. Amazons had mystics, sorcerers to be specific, that could help regulate and bind the gate. They couldn't close it permanently, but they could keep it shut. Without them, the best bet is to make the exit point hazardous. Bombs, guns, flamethrowers. Forcefields if you've got them. Any physical monster that breaches that gate still has physical substance. They can be pushed back, or slain. Human heroes took a lot of them down, back in history."

Costa-Brown was silent for a moment. "You're claiming magic is real? Not simply power expressions?"

I sighed. "Yes, it's real. It may be part of my powers, actually, though I don't know how much. Thing is, I don't expect you to believe me, as I have no proof. I can't even teach anybody, because of how my own powers work. Wonder Woman probably could teach something, or at least show someone interested the right direction. Until you're dealing with countermeasures and the like, the source of someone's powers tends to matter less than the fact they have the powers to start with." I smiled wryly. "Besides, most mages tend to go down with a good fist to the face like anyone else."

There was a hint of a smile on Costa-Brown's face at that. "I'll keep that in mind, should the situation arise. What kind of threats might come out of the portal?"

I rubbed my chin. "If Hades is stable, nothing. Cerberus will tend to keep things back from the other side. If things go wrong, then we might see Gorgons, Minotaurs, maybe shades of the dead. Though that last one can't normally do too much on their own. They need to either possess a dead body or manifest one by gathering ambient matter, like air. They're pretty fragile. Weaker shades can't do either, they're just highly annoying. In their own realms they have some substance, but it's one of the things that keeps them trapped. There's a reason why it's hard for someone to escape the Underworld. I'll put together a package of everything I know about this specifically. What's more concerning are some of the larger threats. If a Titan gets out of its chains in Tartarus... well. They shouldn't be able to, but they're still gods, just not Olympian. They can do a lot of terrible things given the chance. It has happened before, but I was an ordinary person at the time, so I don't have first-hand details."

"We'll keep that in mind. I'll put you on the top of the list for contacts if this 'Gate' acts up. In the meantime... get settled somewhere. You're running out of leeway time, and we need every hand on deck."

I nodded. "That is the plan, Chief-Director. Thank you."

----------

"Right. Where the fuck am I going to go?"

Before me lay a map of the United States, as well as a small overview of problematic locations. Despite my current condition, I wasn't going to look for a cushy assignment in some small town with no issues. I also wasn't going to go to somewhere like Houston, which was Eidolon's city and thus my largest issue was going to be what product I would endorse.

That was a whole new headache, mind you. The PRT was federally funded, but to make up shortfalls in funding, heroes leant their names to products, action figures, memorabilia, video games. Some even gave their likenesses to animated shows. I'd caught an episode of 'Protectorate Pals' and while it was cheesy, it wasn't any more cheesy than the wartime stuff the Justice Society put out during World War 2.

The idea of lending my face and name to such products was... disquieting. Such things existed back home, of course. Some companies had tried to use Superman's shield for profit. He had rather sternly insisted that all profits had to go to charities. Once that happened, the enthusiasm for making the merch slowed a fair bit. Until they realized the profits were up by selling other stuff along with it.

I took a moment to rub my eyes. Focus, Tracy.

Right. Where to request to go?

Well, the first place to go would be 'Themyscira' only that was a tiny monitoring station now. That would probably change now that activity happened in place, but there just wasn't enough room on that tiny little island, Not without a rather massive undertaking. That and it wasn't the business of the United States, either. It was Greek territory, and thus under the protection of the equivalent agencies over there. Probably Interpol or some branch built up after the advent of parahumans. I just didn't know because I had a lot of reading to do.

My eyes were drawn to the East Coast of the United States once more. Posting in Delaware would probably mean little. Metropolis wasn't there, and the state was rather boring without it, apparently.

More importantly...

"Holy shit." Ginger spoke, her power armor whirring as she looked upward.

"Yeah. Shit." I agreed, my voice faint.

There was a gray tear in the night sky over Gotham. The tentacles of an eldritch god were extended outward, tentacles the size of skyscrapers, and all across the city I could hear the screams of people dying. Above that was the laughter of thirsting daemons. Not like me. Something else entirely. Daemons from Lovecraft.

"I think we need to get to work." Stormlord spoke, sounding subdued for once.

I sucked in a breath. "Right. I got point. Try not to let them bleed on you. Nothing good is going to happen from that."

If this kind of 'overlap' thing could happen in one place, it could happen in another. Gotham, even when I originally got my powers, had weak points. A section of one of its parks had rocks floating in the air while the more typical Trigonic demons ran around. When Mordru had attempted to take advantage of the weakness of the dimensions there, he nearly doomed the planet to the hunger of the Devourer.

The only reason why that thing wasn't on the top of the list of threats was because it took specific magical artifacts for its dimension to be breached. It couldn't come to us, stupid people had to go to it. I still had made a note of it to the briefing package I left in New York, but back home we had sealed it.

If the timelines for our universes were in sync, then the breach would occur in 2019. If they weren't, though, and another overlap occurred...

The last time it took the combined might of Shazam, Zatanna, Doctor Fate, Phantom Stranger and a very stupid John Constantine to close the rift. Here?

Here there wasn't anybody with the mystical knowledge. Maybe something could be whipped up. I was the closest thing to an expert these people had and I knew jack and shit about the mechanics of magic. The only thing I knew was my own fire, and there were plenty of examples of both heroes and villains who could do similar things without a lick of magic.

So I put a mark on the map where Gotham should be. Brockton Bay.

If a Hell was going to invade, based on what I knew, it would probably be there. If not, it would still serve as a decent location, at least based on my reasoning. Things on the ground might be different there, but I had to stay somewhere. Since it was on the coast, if I had to suddenly fly off to get to the Gate of Tartarus, that was as close as I could be and still be on American soil.

Right. Now I just had to... do all the paperwork that my fight with the Nine destroyed.

Joy.