27.2

Summary of Parahumans: Worm, Chapter 27.2:

(Compression Goal: 5/5, Target Word Count: 1392)

The meeting room was different, yet the setup was the same. Thirteen panels, each with a team’s symbol, illuminated the booths. Rachel stood beside me, Tattletale led, and the Undersiders assembled. Grue’s darkness signaled his agitation.

Every booth was crowded, faces obscured, teams lit only by their panels. This secrecy during a global crisis enraged me. I channeled the emotion into my swarm, barely containing my fury.

Cauldron, the Protectorate, the Guild, and others were present. Defiant confronted Saint, blaming him for millions of deaths due to his mismanagement of Dragon’s technology. Every major player was there, minus the Birdcage. Faultline’s crew included Dinah, and the Nine’s panel revealed a restrained Bonesaw. The implications for Grue were clear.

The Yàngbǎn, South American capes, the Suits, the Blasphemies, and Weld’s Irregulars completed the assembly. Weld confronted Doctor Mother, who admitted Cauldron’s awareness of Scion’s impending rampage. I was furious; they had known and done nothing. The Number Man explained the necessity of this timing, citing the increasing instability of the parahuman population.

Chevalier intervened, stopping Doctor Mother’s justification. Faultline suggested they try to negotiate with Scion. Doctor Mother revealed their portal network, offering to aid in evacuations. Bonesaw was ungagged, revealing a desire to help but also a deep-seated attachment to her “art.” Tattletale confronted her, exposing her “change of heart” as a product of Jack’s manipulation.

The discussion turned to the Birdcage. Defiant offered the keys in exchange for Saint stepping down and Teacher remaining imprisoned. A compromise was reached, and the idea of a general amnesty was raised.

I visited Sophia in prison. Her cold glare was a stark contrast to the persona she’d projected before. “Hi, Shadow Stalker,” I said. “Taylor,” she replied, the start of a new, uncertain dynamic between us.

As each group took their place, a heavy atmosphere settled. The symbols on the panels represented not just teams but ideologies, histories, and grudges, all brought to bear in this desperate moment. I felt a surge of anger at the absurdity of maintaining secrecy when the world was ending. It was a trivial thing, but it gnawed at me. I let the feeling flow into my swarm, a silent, crawling expression of my inner turmoil.

The faces in the booths were a roster of the powerful and the infamous. Cauldron, with Doctor Mother, Contessa, and the Number Man, their presence a reminder of their manipulations. The Protectorate, led by Chevalier, showed the wear of recent battles. The Guild was incomplete without Dragon, her absence a testament to Saint’s betrayal. Defiant’s fury at Saint was palpable, his words sharp as he detailed the consequences of Saint’s actions.

The other groups filled the room with a mix of capes I knew and those I didn’t. The Thanda, Moord Nag, Faultline’s crew, each with their own agendas and histories. The sight of Dinah with Faultline and Bonesaw with the Nine was jarring, each detail a piece of a larger, unsettling puzzle.

Weld’s entrance with his Irregulars was a defiant challenge to Cauldron. His confrontation with Doctor Mother laid bare the deep-seated distrust and anger many felt towards them. The revelation that Cauldron had known about Scion’s impending rampage and chosen to let it happen ignited a fire in me. They had manipulated events, allowed countless deaths, all for a calculated “best-case scenario.”

The Number Man’s explanation did little to quell the rising tide of anger. He spoke of parahumans as “chain reactions waiting to happen,” of a world teetering on the brink. His words were cold, logical, and utterly devoid of empathy. It was a stark contrast to the raw emotion that filled the room.

Faultline’s suggestion to negotiate with Scion seemed like a desperate grasp at a solution, any solution. Doctor Mother’s offer to use their portal network for evacuations was a small concession in the face of their larger plan.

The scene with Bonesaw was a twisted play of manipulation and revelation. Tattletale, ever the strategist, used the opportunity to expose Bonesaw’s “change of heart” as another of Jack’s games. It was a brutal dismantling of a monster, a stripping away of pretense to reveal the horror beneath.

The discussion shifted to the Birdcage, a desperate bid for more power. Defiant’s conditions for releasing the keys were a strategic move, a way to gain some control in a chaotic situation. The compromise reached, the agreement to open the Birdcage, felt like a necessary evil.

Amidst all this, I found myself in a prison, facing Sophia. Her cold stare was a challenge, a reminder of our shared past. “Hi, Shadow Stalker,” I said, the words heavy with unspoken history. “Taylor,” she replied, her voice flat, devoid of the venom I’d expected. It was a moment of uncertain truce, a pause in a conflict that had defined so much of our lives.

The meeting was a microcosm of the larger conflict. A clash of ideologies, a desperate search for solutions, a confrontation with past sins. It was a reminder that even in the face of annihilation, the old grudges, the old wounds, remained. And as I looked around the room, at the faces of allies and enemies alike, I knew that the fight ahead would be as much about confronting our own demons as it would be about facing Scion. The weight of it all settled on me, a heavy cloak of responsibility and regret. And in that moment, all I could do was take a deep breath and prepare for the storm to come. The room was thick with tension, a gathering of powers and personalities under the shadow of impending doom.

I watched as each group settled into their booths, the glowing panels behind them casting long, distorted shadows. The symbols on the panels – Cauldron’s tilted ‘c’, the Protectorate’s shield, the Guild’s spear, the Nine’s stark numeral – each represented a story, a history, a reason for being here. I felt a surge of anger at the pettiness of their secrecy, the absurdity of hidden identities when the world was crumbling. This wasn’t the time for masks, for games. But the anger, like so many other emotions lately, was difficult to control, difficult to direct. I channeled it into my swarm, a crawling, buzzing manifestation of my inner turmoil.

The faces around the room were a mix of familiar and unknown. Allies, enemies, and those I couldn’t quite place. Doctor Mother’s calm demeanor was infuriating, a stark contrast to the chaos Scion had unleashed. The Number Man’s cold, calculated explanations did little to soothe the rising tide of anger in the room. He spoke of statistics, of acceptable losses, as if human lives were mere numbers on a page.

Defiant’s fury at Saint was a raw, tangible thing. His accusations, his detailing of the lives lost due to Saint’s actions, resonated with many in the room. The absence of Dragon hung heavy in the air, a reminder of what had been lost, of what Saint had taken.

The other groups were a varied bunch. The Thanda, their robes a symbol of their unity and power. Moord Nag, her skull-ringed icon a testament to her grim reputation. Faultline’s crew, with Dinah standing among them, a detail that gnawed at me. The arrival of the Nine, with Bonesaw restrained yet still a threat, sent a shiver of unease through the room. Grue’s reaction was a palpable thing, his darkness churning with barely suppressed rage.

The Yàngbǎn, the South American capes, the Suits, the Blasphemies, each brought their own unique presence to the gathering. Weld’s Irregulars, with their mutated forms and defiant stance, were a direct challenge to Cauldron’s authority. His confrontation with Doctor Mother was a highlight of the meeting. Weld laid bare the deep-seated anger and distrust many felt towards Cauldron. The revelation that they had known about Scion’s impending rampage, had planned for it, had allowed it to happen, was a blow to everyone present.

My own outburst, my accusation that they had done nothing, had stood back and let this happen, was met with Doctor Mother’s chilling admission. They had known. They had prepared. This was their “best-case scenario.” The Number Man’s explanation, his talk of a “breaking point,” of increasing parahuman instability, did little to justify their actions. Their acceptance of this outcome, their willingness to sacrifice millions, was monstrous.

Faultline’s suggestion to talk to Scion, to try to negotiate, seemed a desperate grasp at a solution. Doctor Mother’s offer of their portal network for evacuations was a small concession, a way to maintain some control in a situation spiraling out of their grasp.

The scene with Bonesaw was perhaps the most disturbing. Tattletale, ever the manipulator, used the opportunity to dismantle the girl, to expose her “change of heart” as another of Jack’s twisted games. It was a brutal, calculated attack, a stripping away of pretense to reveal the monster beneath. And yet, amidst the horror, I felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. It was a confusing, unsettling feeling, a reminder of how warped my own sense of morality had become.

The discussion turned to the Birdcage, a desperate bid for more power in the face of annihilation. Defiant’s conditions for releasing the keys – Saint stepping down, Teacher remaining imprisoned – were a strategic move, a way to gain leverage. The compromise, the agreement to open the Birdcage, felt like a necessary evil, a deal with the devil.

Amidst all this, I found myself in a prison, facing Sophia. Her cold glare was a challenge, a reminder of our shared past. Gone was the bravado, the cruelty, the mask of Shadow Stalker. This was Sophia, stripped bare, her hatred for me a raw, tangible thing. “Hi, Shadow Stalker,” I said, the words heavy with unspoken history. “Taylor,” she replied, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. It was a moment of uncertain truce, a pause in a conflict that had defined so much of our lives.

As the meeting drew to a close, I looked around the room at the faces of allies and enemies alike. The weight of the situation, the enormity of the task ahead, settled upon us all. We were a disparate group, united only by the common threat of extinction. And as I prepared to leave, to step back into a world on the brink, I knew that the fight ahead would be as much about confronting our own demons as it would be about facing Scion. The road ahead was dark and uncertain, but we would walk it together, for what else could we do?