by wildbow
Amelia frowned.
Teacher shook his head. “There’s holes in your logic. The Endbringers?”
“I don’t see how they fit in,” she admitted.
“A developmental step forward?”
“No,” Amelia said.
“A step backwards, then?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. Something else entirely.”
“To be frank,” Teacher said, “I don’t know whether to hope you’re right or wrong.”
“It’s both,” Amelia said. “It’s bad, but at least we know how bad.”
“With nothing we can do about it until someone lets us out,” Teacher said.
Amelia frowned. She rested her elbows on her knees, as she sat on the edge of Marquis’ bed. Plastic crinkled with the movement. The tattoo artist who was working on her arms had scrounged up plastic sheets from the meals that came down the shafts, sterilizing them and then taping them in place. The freshest tattoos and the irritated flesh around the markings were blurry just beneath.
Panacea had complained about how idiotic it was, because she couldn’t get sick, but any artist had their rules and peculiarities, and Marquis had told her to accept them.
“Well,” Marquis said. “It’s food for thought. I’d suggest a breakout attempt, given how grave this all seems, but we know how that tends to go.”
“Yes,” Teacher agreed. “Our deal stands? You won’t replace my dentists or doctors?”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Marquis chided. “We’ll price match. A little competition will keep your employees honest.”
Teacher frowned.
“It’s the best deal I’m willing to—”
Marquis stopped short. Lung turned to see Spruce at the entryway into the cell.
“Hey, boss,” Spruce said.
“What is it?” Marquis asked.
Spruce gave him a curious look before turning back to Marquis, “Big news. TV.”
Lung took his time walking down to the televisions. Marquis, Spruce and Amelia made their way down, where a crowd had gathered to watch. It was rare, that the same thing would be on all of the working televisions.
“It was due to a concerted effort this evening that we were able to stop Alexandria before more damage could be done.”
“What’s this?” Amelia asked. She gave Lung a nervous glance as he approached.
“Alexandria bit it,” Cinderhands said.
With that, each of the new arrivals turned their attention to the screen.
“…will recognize Taylor Hebert, revealed to be Skitter in a controversial confrontation at the school just a week ago, a confrontation Alexandria ordered. Taylor Hebert played a crucial role in stopping Alexandria in a moment of crisis, ending the fight.”
“No shitting way,” Panacea said.
Lung remained quiet.
“She’s the one who arrested you, isn’t she?” Cinderhands asked, looking over his shoulder at Lung.
“No,” Lung said. “We fought twice, I was arrested by others.”
“But she beat you?” Cinderhands asked.
“Shush, C.H.,” Marquis said.
“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.”
“Anyone else thinking that we really should get a chance to appeal our cases?” someone in the crowd asked. “If the organization is this fucked up, the arrests can’t count.”
“Yes,” Marquis said, his tone condescending, “I’m quite sure the Protectorate will be apologizing to the public, then they’ll throw open the Birdcage’s doors and let us all loose.”
“…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…”
“And new allies, as unlikely as they might be.”
Panacea stared as the girl on the television stepped forward at Chevalier’s bidding, She removed the black sweatshirt and pants the PRT had issued her, revealing a costume of white and gray beneath.
Amelia’s hands went to her mouth.
Marquis glanced at Amelia. Lung took that glance in all it’s import. The two girls were opposite sides of the same coin.
Lung’s eyes fixed on the new heroine, then narrowed.
“I admitted to reprehensible things. 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.”
“Is it reassuring?” Teacher murmured.
Lung turned, realizing that Teacher was talking to him. “Why would it be?”
“You lost to her, but she’s strong enough to defeat Alexandria. Less of a wound to your ego?”
“I lost once,” Lung said. “An underhanded trick, but a loss. I’ll credit her that.”
“Mm hmm,” Teacher replied, wordlessly.
The girl continued, “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.”
“She was stronger before,” Lung spoke his thoughts aloud.
“More powerful? Likely,” Teacher said. “Stronger? I wonder.”
Lung shook his head.
“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.”
“Noble,” Marquis said. “Foolish at the same time, but the line between the noble and the fool is a thin one, or even a matter of perspective.”
“On this, we may agree,” Lung rumbled.
“I’ll endeavor to see that as something other than a veiled insult,” Marquis said.
“This is what I want to do, above all else. 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—…When and if I do take up the job, you can call me Weaver.”
The broadcast ended, with news reporters discussing the fallout, reiterating details.
The noise of it was broken down by singing, echoing through the Birdcage. A dirge.
The yellow feathered girl who was in the truck, Lung thought to himself.
“That’s for Alexandria, I imagine,” Marquis said aloud. “Undeserved, I think, but I imagine Lustrum gave her cell block a very good reason to honor the woman.”
“I wouldn’t have imagined you’d care,” Teacher commented.
“I don’t, really,” Marquis answered. “But I have a lot of respect for people who keep to a particular code, whatever that code might be, and very little for traitors and wafflers.
“Like this new ‘Weaver’?” Teacher asked.
“I would defer to my daughter’s opinion on that. She knew Weaver.”
Amelia frowned. “She’s… both? She’s stuck to her own personal code, even when it made her a traitor.”
“I see,” Marquis mused, rubbing his chin.
Lung frowned. All nonsense, and none of it mattered. That was out there, this was here.
“A word, Lung?” Teacher asked.
Lung nodded. Anything to get away from this intolerable talk of morality and this singing. His cell wouldn’t afford much relief, but it would be a touch quieter.
They departed, but Teacher led the way out of Marquis’ cell block, rather than to Lung’s cell.
“You have nothing to give me,” Lung said. He bristled at the implication.
“You know how my power works, yes?”
“You make others smarter.”
“I turn others into lesser thinkers, into tinkers.”
“At the cost of their independence.”
“Yes.”
“Not something I want,” Lung said.
“You have strength, good instincts on a primal level, and all the potential in the world. Yet you’ve failed here and there. You’re here, after all.”
“And so are you,” Lung said.
Teacher nodded. “Exactly my point. Think on that for a moment. We’re almost to my cell block, now.”
“You were captured because you lacked muscle,” Lung said. “I was captured because…”
Lung didn’t like the implication. Of a lack of brains?
“Because of your incompetent underlings,” Teacher finished for him. “Who escalated the feud with the heroes into a war while you were incarcerated, leaving you to sustain what they had started. And, more apropos to our conversation, because your power has a drawback. It requires a certain mental state.”
“Yes.”
“Amelia, Marquis’ girl, she won’t fix that.”
“I wouldn’t let her,” Lung said.
“Because it involves tampering with your brain,” Teacher said. “My offer is… less invasive. We can break down that barrier, give you the ability to control when you change.”
“At the cost of my identity,” Lung said. “No.”
“A temporary cost to your willpower,” Teacher said. He extended a hand, welcoming Lung into his cell block.
There was no conversation in Teacher’s cell block. The residents were neat, tidy, and well groomed. Some seemed functional, reading on their own or watching television. Others were more disabled. Lung could see one individual rocking in place, tapping something out on a table. Another was walking in small, tight circles.
“My groupthink,” Teacher said. “Rest assured, I wouldn’t subject you to something this grave. We would dig deep enough to discover the true nature of your power, fast enough that you didn’t feel the side effects at their worst. Then we would use what is effectively a hypnotic state to unlock your power as it truly should be, effectively a second trigger event. If Amelia is right, the entity that grants you your power will resist… but we can get around that.”
Lung frowned. “There is no point.”
“There is every point! Come. I’ll show you. But first you need to tell me, are you and Marquis friends?”
Lung shook his head.
“Peers, then.”
Lung considered the word. There were some that came up in English that he still wasn’t quite familiar with. “Yes.”
“Then you’ll keep a secret?” Teacher asked.
“I will keep a secret,” Lung answered.
“Good, good.” Teacher led Lung to one TV in the row. “Trickster?”
Lung arched an eyebrow. Trickster… the name rung a bell. It didn’t matter.
“Connect,” Teacher said.
Trickster reached up to the power button on the television, then began a sequence of turning it on and off, with very specific pauses. A code.
The sequence was still going on when Teacher said, “Stop. Leave it on.”
The screen showed a face, the image grainy, flickering. The face had a tattoo of a cross on it.
“Lung, meet Saint,” Teacher said.
Lung didn’t answer.
“He speaks when we give him something to say,” Teacher said. “But I may have been too eager to find a way of contacting the outside world, and I’ve irritated him. Saint explained what happened. The PRT showed him Dragon’s equipment, asked if he could commandeer it, and Saint found an opportunity to insert a discreet backdoor. He has a channel in, a way to observe, but our channel out is poor at best.”
“This matters nothing to me.”
“It matters a great deal,” Teacher said. “Saint can see what Dragon sees, even if he’s blocked off from the Birdcage itself, while Dragon is occupied elsewhere. It buys us a window of opportunity to communicate something, a message in code. The program that Dragon has observing us with every moment tracks the activity of our televisions. Turn it on, turn it off, and do it in a systematic enough way, and patterns emerge in a way that Saint can observe. This allows us to coordinate. He can’t rescue us, or empty the Birdcage, but, we could do something. We could communicate with the outside world, and with the hypothesis that Amelia has posed… well, that’s a world changing set of information, don’t you imagine?”
Lung didn’t speak.
“The alternative, Lung, is that we unlock your power, and we use other information that Saint has collected through his backdoor. We use it to leave the Birdcage.”
“To escape?”
Teacher shook his head. “We wait, and we let things devolve to the point that they are willing to open the door and let us go, for the assistance we can give. Dragon has files dictating scenarios in that vein.”
“They will not let us go free,” Lung said. “Not the true monsters.”
“Most likely not. It’s a question: do we gamble, or do we take a modicum of comfort in knowing we’ve perhaps saved the world a great deal of grief and maintained the status quo? The way things are, if you’re not familiar with that particular phrase.”
Lung folded his arms. “I have no attachment to the current state of things.”
“Then you agree? I should tell Saint to bury the information, maybe push events here and there, if it means we could go free?”
Lung nodded.
“And your power? If I—”
“My power will be left alone,” Lung said. “It is enough. If you want a bodyguard for a time after we’ve walked free, you will have it. I will keep your secret about this Saint for now.”
“Alas,” Teacher said. “But I’ll take the offer. By the time this comes through, I’ll have a small army of parahumans at my disposal. Some will be… under my sway, but I’d rather have your feral instincts to offset my own wit than have you as a slave.”
“I would kill you for trying,” Lung replied. “You use your power on me, I will see you dead for it.”
“Very well,” Teacher answered. He smiled. “I’ll have Trickster pass on a message to Saint, then. We’ll scrub Dragon’s records of this conversation, and any cases Amelia has talked of the power-granting entities, and we’ll leave a request, perhaps. I have large sums of money stashed away. That should be enough to convince Saint to perhaps set some events in motion, in the hopes that things sour just enough that they might open the Birdcage’s doors.”
Lung nodded. “Do what you must. I only care for our deal. I walk free, I will assist you for a time thereafter. The other things do not matter to me.”
“Very well.” Teacher extended a hand, and Lung shook it.
Lung turned to leave.
As with the Yàngbǎn, he would stay with Teacher until he had what he needed: freedom. Then the man would die.
The woman in the black suit, the Yàngbǎn, Skitter, and now Teacher. People he would have his revenge on, at a later date. People who had looked down on him, who had tried to manipulate him.
He could feel his power rippling under his skin. Against Leviathan, he’d waited hours before engaging the beast, had fought longer than he ever had. Now that he knew he might leave… this would be a two year buildup.
The scale of the event Teacher had spoken of? That Amelia had alluded to? Fear and power beyond anything he’d ever experienced, freedom without limits. That very idea gave Lung a taste of that exhiliration he hadn’t experienced for so long.
Lung returned to Marquis’ cell block. Marquis and Amelia were sitting at one table, drinking green tea and conversing with one another.
Marquis glanced at Lung, then poured out another mug of green tea without asking. He gestured t
o the bench opposite, slid the mug in Lung’s direction.
Acceptance, the idea caught Lung by surprise. He had a place here, odd as it was, as different as he and Marquis were.
Bakuda had taunted him over how he’d sought a kind of connection to others, how he’d recruited his gang to fill a void. At the same time he found himself thinking of the restrictions he’d faced in school as a youth, the joys of rebellion, the Yàngbǎn and everything they’d threatened to take from him.
If there was a middle ground between acceptance and conformity, was this it?
“Marquis,” Lung spoke, carefully.
“Hm?” Marquis quirked an eyebrow.
Teacher is working to undermine everything you and your daughter are striving for, Lung thought.
“The tea is good. Thank you.”
“Quite welcome,” Marquis replied, absently.
And Lung fell silent.
Drone 23.1
“Weaver,” the voice had a slight digital twang at the edges, to the point that I thought it was Bakuda for a second, even if the two voices were entirely different.
I lowered my book. Defiant stood in the doorway to my cell, flanked by two of the prison guards.
I swung my feet to the ground, simultaneously sitting up. “If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I’m not sure I would have believed that I’d actually be happy to see you.”
“You’ll be coming back,” he warned me. “This is a temporary leave.”
“I know,” I said. I marked the page in my book, placing it in a corner, where it joined twelve others.
“And yes, I’m not surprised you had hard feelings. We weren’t on good terms then, and even now…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Even now, we aren’t friends?
“A lot of books,” he noted the stack of prison library books. “You’ve read them all?”
“Yeah.”
“In seven days?”
“Lots of time to myself. I don’t have classes, but I have homework and self-study, and that cuts into reading time, or I’d have read more. But it’s kind of nice, if you ignore… pretty much everything else. I’ve had time to think for the first time in months.”
“I know what you mean,” Defiant said. “I remember worrying every day if that would be the day innocents were caught in a crossfire between Coil and Kaiser, or the day a member of Empire Eighty-Eight was initiated into the group, with the requisite assault of an ‘acceptable target’.”