by wildbow
It was a reminder of what my line was supposed to be. I’m not proud, I’m not happy that it came to this…
“It’s not a happy day, but it’s a good day,” he said, skipping ahead two or so minutes. “It marks change, and it marks a step forward. A chance to fight Endbringers and other threats without sabotage, without worrying who stands beside us, or whether our leadership is compromised.”
Dragon’s ships descended from the sky above. My hair and the hood of my sweatshirt flapped as the vessels landed to either side of us. Eleven vessels. The ones we’d destroyed had been rebuilt, updated. Others, old Dragon suits, had apparently been set up with A.I. to fly on their own. They gleamed, various shades of chrome and gunmetal, with trim in different metals and colors for decoration and highlighting.
She had more made, I thought.
“A chance to fight Endbringers without as many casualties,” Chevalier said. “And hope. We’ve investigated the portal to another world, and confirmed that there are resources and even shelter, a possibility of escape in a time of emergency.”
I stared at the van where the Undersiders were.
“And new allies, as unlikely as they might be.”
His hands dropped from my shoulders.
I reached up to the zipper of my sweatshirt. I pulled it down, then shrugged out of it. Chevalier took the piece of clothing in one hand.
I bent over and stepped out of the loose-fitting prison sweats as well.
Defiant handed me my new mask, and I pulled it on. Electric blue lenses, the opposite of the yellow I’d worn before. They helped with the glare, though they weren’t so good against it as my old lenses.
Light gray fabric where I’d had black. Armor panels in the same dark gray as before, albeit with cleaner lines, less bulk, and less in the way of edges. I had no points at the tips of my gloves, and both the mantle around my shoulders and the cloth that hung around my belt were marked with an electric blue border, with my gang emblem in miniature at each corner, flipped upside down so they faced skyward, altered to match my new color scheme.
“I admitted to reprehensible things,” I said. “I won’t challenge that, or pretend I didn’t say or do those things. By all rights, I should go to jail. I may serve a sentence, if the courts will it. I won’t challenge that.”
I paused. For a terrifying moment, I thought I’d forget what to say again. Then I fixed my eyes on the windshield of the van, at the far end of the crowd.
It struck me that I hadn’t suffered stage fright. It had been something else entirely. I hadn’t wanted to speak, because there would be no going back.
When I finally spoke, I didn’t follow the cues I’d been given. My eyes didn’t leave the spot where the Undersiders were watching from.
“I seized a territory in Brockton Bay. I led the local villains, and we defeated all comers. I was secure in my position. I had wealth, friendship, love and respect. People depended on me. It was everything I’d ever wanted, if not quite the way I’d initially imagined it. I could have stayed and been comfortable.
“Except there are bigger things. More important things.”
The eyes and cameras on me made me feel like I was deep in the ocean, a crushing weight pressing down on me.
“I believe in the idea of a new PRT that Chevalier is talking about. I believe in it enough that I was willing to turn myself in and take action to bring it to fruition. That I was willing to leave everything I had behind. If I have to serve time in jail first, then so be it. If I face the Birdcage… I hope I don’t. But at least I could tell myself that seeing the supervillain step up might convince others to come back. Change the minds of heroes who gave up on the PRT for one reason or another.”
A lump welled in my throat. I knew I didn’t have many more words left before I wouldn’t be able to speak.
“This is what I want to do, above all else,” I said, and I said it to the Undersiders. “Given the chance, I’ll serve the people. As I fought Leviathan, the Slaughterhouse Nine and other evils, I’ll fight to the last gasp to protect all of you. When—”
A howling in the distance interrupted me.
Moments later, others took up the cry. Ten dogs, then twenty. Others took up the cry around the city, from various shelters and homes. A hundred, two hundred dogs, and the wolf cub that had started them off.
“—When and if I do take up the job,” I finished, speaking around the growing lump in my throat, “You can call me Weaver.”
Chevalier set a hand on my shoulder.
“That’ll be all,” the hero said. “We’ll have another statement and a conference to answer questions early tomorrow, when we know more for sure.”
The reporters were already calling out questions. Is this the first time you’ve recruited a villain? How did Alexandria die? What crimes did she commit, exactly?
More questions, until it was a jumble.
He led me away, one hand steady and firm on my shoulder, and Miss Militia, Defiant, Dragon and my lawyer fell into step behind us.
I cast one last glance at the van, then entered Dragon’s ship.
“You stumbled,” Defiant said. “Improvised. But that was good.”
I didn’t respond.
“You know you can’t stay here. There’s a conflict of—”
Dragon reached out and pressed an index finger against the ‘mouth’ of his mask.
Then she folded her arms around me. She was cold to the touch, hard and unyielding, but she still managed a motherly embrace.
My face pressed against her shoulder, I found myself glad that my mask hid my face from view.
Interlude 22
“…you can call me Weaver.”
The broadcast ended. A hush took hold of everyone present, a silence that deepened when someone muted the television.
The spell was broken by one of the kids. Ephraim. “She’s going to be a hero?”
“She’s going to try,” Forrest answered.
Charlotte looked around at the collected residents of the Boardwalk. It was customary, now, to have a block party every third night of the week. A mass-barbecue, a bonfire on the beach, or some other big meal that would bring everyone together. Community.
Skitter’s community, though Skitter was gone, in more senses than one.
Taylor had turned herself in, early in the day, and word had spread. They’d hooked up a television, the biggest they could get their hands on, and set it up beneath a waterproof tent for good measure.
For the better part of the day, they’d watched. People had stopped by, glancing at the latest news. Any update, however large or small, was met by shouted alerts, by hollers and speculation.
Charlotte had taken the day off school, taking only the time necessary to see the little ones off and to bring them back. She wouldn’t have been able to focus, anyways, and the schools were still being lenient.
And now, finally, this.
“It’s done,” Charlotte said. “For better or worse.”
“For better,” Forrest said.
“I’m not so sure,” Charlotte said, lowering her voice so others wouldn’t hear.
“She’s a hero,” Forrest said. “This is where she’s supposed to be.”
“Maybe,” Charlotte answered. She couldn’t help but think of how scary Taylor had been when she’d dealt with the ABB thugs. How easily the girl had slipped into her role as a leader of the territory. “But even if it’s where she’s meant to go, they won’t necessarily accept her.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Forrest said. “It’s out of our hands. We’ll wish her the best, give her some moral support if they let her get fan letters, and handle our own business, so she doesn’t have to worry about us. And speaking of handling our own business…”
Forrest directed a pointed look at the kids who were sitting around Charlotte.
“Right,” she said.
“I’ll be along to see to the lads,” Forrest said. “Just have to clean up first.”
Charlotte nodde
d. Bed time for the littlest ones. She rose from the bench. “Show’s over, come on, it’s time to go to bed.”
There were groans and grumbles here and there. Charlotte knew who it was without looking. She identified Mason, set a hand on top of his head, and pulled him closer to her as she walked back to their place. “Be good.”
Mason mimicked the exact same groan he’d given a moment ago.
“So dumb,” Kathy was saying. She was one of the older children, looking after Jessie and Aidan. “I never had to go to bed this early before.”
“It’s easier,” Charlotte said. “And we can all use an earlier bedtime. It leaves us in better shape to face tomorrow, don’t you think?”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Kathy said.
Kathy and Mason were the most likely to fight, to challenge her. When she was hurrying to get them out to the bus stop for school, it was Mason who would decide he’d suddenly forgotten how to tie his shoes, or who would drag his feet to force her to seize his hand and pull him along. He needed that attention in moments of crisis, however small. Kathy was the opposite. Charlotte hadn’t uncovered the details, but the girl had been burned by someone in authority, and rebelled against it as a matter of habit. Kathy wanted to be independent, but she was too young.
“You were complaining about something I said.”
Kathy glared at her. “I could stay up, watch TV for another hour or two, and then go to bed. I’d be quiet.”
“And what if you were too tired to look after Aidan and Jessie?”
Kathy scowled, but she didn’t reply.
Jessie wet the bed most nights. She never came to Charlotte to let her know. More than once, Charlotte had found the girl sleeping on the floor when morning came. Aidan had nightmares that left him screaming and wailing well after he’d woken up, refusing to listen to her. More than once, he’d actually had the nightmares while sleepwalking.
It was hard to deal with, frankly. She’d taken to setting her alarm for one, three and five o’clock in the morning, rising from bed and checking in to make sure the kids were alright, that Jessie’s bed was dry. It was embarrassing to admit, but there had been four occasions when she’d been terrified as she had run into Aidan, standing in the bathroom or sitting at the table in the kitchen. Each time, he’d been gripped by whatever terrors it was that found him at nighttime. Half the time he fought her, the other half the time he just screamed, bloodcurdling.
Kathy, a little more than half Charlotte’s age, took it in stride, almost thrived on looking after the younger ones. She had endless patience with Jessie’s nighttime accidents, and virtually every time Aidan’s screams woke her, Kathy was already at his side, speaking calmly, waiting until he’d relaxed enough that she could hug and cuddle him.
They made their way inside, and Charlotte was sure to close the shutter just beyond the front door. Aidan watched carefully as she fed the chain through the ring at the base of the door and the small gap in the floor. She locked it, then tugged it for good measure, demonstrating how secure it was.
“Safe,” she said.
Wordless, his forehead creased with the sort of worry he shouldn’t have for another fifteen years, Aidan turned and walked away.
“Girls in the bath first, snacks after,” Charlotte said. “Boys, cookies and milk before your bath.”
The O’Daly clan had collected their kids, most of their kids, finally. It left the number more manageable. Kathy, Mai and Jessie made their way to the bathroom. Aidan, Ephraim, Ethan and Mason found stools at the kitchen counter while Ben, the oldest of the boys, got the cookies, glasses and milk out.
Charlotte checked on the girls to make sure that they were getting along okay, then shut the bathroom door and got her laptop out.
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♦ Stickied Topic: Alexandria Discussion (July 14th) Goes Here
♦ Topic: Alexandria Dead
♦ Topic: chevalier’s ‘new PRT’ vs. endbringer
♦ Topic: What the fuck happened?
♦ Topic: Skitter
♦ Topic: The Endbringers, Thread XXXIV
♦ Topic: Dragon Suits: Continued Escalation of Cape Militarization?
♦ Topic: Weaver
♦ Topic: Undersiders
♦ Topic: Alexandria died
♦ Topic: Issues with recruiting villains
♦ Topic: Portal confirmed ok by Chev 2011-07-14
“She’s famous,” Charlotte said aloud.
“Because she was on TV?” this from Aidan.
“Because she was a bad guy, and she turned around and decided to be good,” Charlotte said. “And because she helped beat Alexandria. It’s controversial stuff, and I think people are going to be arguing about it for a long time.”
“She’s not a bad guy,” Ben said, taking a seat beside the other boys.
“Was too,” Ephraim said.
“She was scary and mean,” Ben said. “But she’s not bad.”
“They’re the same thing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Charlotte says.
“She got us pizza,” Ben said. “That’s all that matters to me.”
“That’s sound enough reasoning,” Charlotte said, smiling a little.
She left the laptop to visit the bathroom, calling through the door. “Five minutes, then out!”
She could hear another grumble from Kathy.
They’d do better if left to their own devices. Kathy would be happier with something to do, even if it was washing the hair of the younger girls and ensuring they brushed their teeth.
She returned to the kitchen, collecting the plates and glasses and putting them in the dishwasher.
A car horn outside caught her attention. It wasn’t easy to get cars in and out of the area, with the streets still under repair, and the vehicles that were around were construction vehicles, which didn’t work this late at night.
The horn sounded again, and there were shouts in response.
She was still staring at the door, straining to make out something telling, when Ethan approached her.
“Do you need me to run an errand?”
“No, Ethan. Now might not be a good time.” There was more noise outside. Voices.
“Okay,” he said. He looked disappointed.
“If you want some fresh air, I can let you upstairs. You can sit on the balcony.”
Ethan frowned. “No. No thanks.”
“Just give me five minutes,” she said. “Ben? Lock the shutter after me. I’ll come through the door downstairs when I return. Let Kathy and the girls know I’ll be back.”
Ben nodded.
She didn’t raise the shutter all the way, stooping beneath and holding it partially closed. Ben wasn’t strong enough to lower it on his own, and the outside didn’t have any real handholds.
With Ben’s help, she still managed to press her hands against the broad strip of metal and push it to ground level. There was a sound of the chain rattling through the gaps.
People were active, gathering in clusters and crowds. The focus of attention? A news van.
The news crew was surrounded.
“…word out,” the reporter was saying. “People are going to make a lot of ugly assumptions.”
“Just go!” someone shouted.
“Turn the camera off and leave!”
The reporter, a tall, blond man with a broad jaw, only smiled. “I’d almost think you guys had something to hide.”
“We want to be left alone,” Charlotte said.
“Not going to happen,” the reporter said. “This is blowing up. People are going to want to investigate every last scrap of dirt. Even if I left, others would come.”
“We’ll tell them the same thing we told you,” she said. She saw Forrest approaching, making his way through
the crowd. “That we had school and work all day, that everyone here is working on rebuilding, and we’re tired, we’re not interested in the scandal of the moment.”
“Working hard?” the reporter asked. “What if I offered, say, two hundred bucks, to whoever gave me the most information?”
“We’d tell you to fuck off,” Forrest cut in, before anyone could take the deal.
“World wants to know. What is she really like?” The reporter asked. “Two hundred dollars, your face on camera. If you love her, don’t you want people across America to hear something good? Best support you can give. If you hated her, well, the opposite’s true, isn’t it?”
“You’d twist our words around,” Forrest said. “Edit it to take the choicest bits.”
“That’d be dishonest. It’s not the way we work at channel twelve.”
“No,” Forrest said. “I think that you’re primarily interested in what gets viewers and ratings. Maybe you’d stick around for two hours, interview everyone you could, and then take the most controversial and extreme statements. Only way we don’t play into your hands is if nobody opens their mouth.”
He raised his voice a little at that final statement.
“That so?” the reporter asked. “Three hundred dollars. That’s, what, two or three days’ pay, with the kind of wage you earn here?”
Forrest didn’t respond.
“Okay,” the reporter said. “Well, there’s nothing stopping us from sitting around, is there? And if someone decides that they’d like to earn a little cash…”
“They’d have to be pretty stupid,” Forrest said. “Property values are set to soar here, and the way things are organized, just about everyone here is slated to earn a property or a share of a property somewhere down the road.”
“And you’re saying that has nothing to do with the fact that you all worked for a supervillain.”
“I’m not saying anything one way or the other,” Forrest said. “Except that the numbers don’t add up. Three hundred dollars now, or get a share of a place that could be worth millions, a few years down the road?”
“People are enterprising,” the reporter said. He smiled. “And I can be discreet. The public needs to know who’s protecting them.”