30.3

Brockton Bay, Delhi, Los Angeles, Bucharest, Madison - cities shattered, eroded. Roads, once routine, now uneven slabs. Buildings, once homes and workplaces, leaned, folded, their innards exposed. A sweet, unpleasant feeling, a kind of familiarity. Home. A place central to her, rooted in her. The height of her growth, her strongest moments, in graveyards and tragedies. Not her best, but the choices that shaped her.

She was slipping, losing her mind, losing grip. The Faerie Queen’s words echoed - anchor yourself. She’d done it for a long time, compartmentalizing, a priority, devotion. Survival, missions, tunnel vision, successes and failures. She functioned best with a mission, something beyond the singular goal. Stopping Scion was key, but… She shook her head, focusing. Smaller anchors, tying herself to reality, abandoning them in order of size and priority, a gauge of her slippage.

Experimenting with Doormaker’s power, portals. They couldn’t move, but she opened and closed new ones, a fraction of a second apart, surrounding herself, a shifting array. Like donning her costume, Skitter the Warlord, power in the gesture. Altering the portals, a loose three-quarter circle around her, Doormaker, and the clairvoyant, reconfiguring as she turned. Streamlining, overlapping half-circles, then hexagons, a honeycomb of one-foot doorways, extending her range, camouflage.

Teacher’s squads, men and women in white, scouting, talking business. Teacher, his project, his students scavenging, a different control, more human, a society. The majority active, tasks, men with metal and electronics, women with wire and clothing, children with finer work. Selfish motives. “Better to be fast than perfect,” he said, touching a girl, “Follow the blue prints, or use the hub stations.” Hub stations, rally points, a loose ring. One brought a car door, touched the man, “Metal and fiberglass design.” Teacher touched him, four seconds, then he collected a crowbar. A barn raising, steel and electronics, a Dragon-craft from scratch. “Eight costumes,” Teacher said, “Not so flashy. Substandard, C-list.”

Regent’s games, a base, villagers, independent squads, patrolling, massed attack. Organized by ability, thinker and tinker powers. One tinker per group, soldiers with an edge, two or three unidentified. “Scatter!” a woman shouted. Trouble? She was the trouble. A precog. Portals, catching her teammates, two tries for her, a fast runner, eerily calm. Teacher’s systems kicking in, men and women on their knees. “Amber district, team B-six,” a student reported, “Out of action.” “Change focus. All observation teams, identify our target,” Teacher ordered. Heads turned, seeing through blocks. “Weaver,” a young man said. A computer, specific operations, efficient communication. “Tinker group H, defensive measures, micro-scale drones. Group N, to me. Groups F and J, anti-clairvoyance duty. You’re looking in, aren’t you, Weaver?”

A barrier, a dead zone, blocking clairvoyant and Doormaker, relay bugs too. Portals around the perimeter, none facing her. “This is new,” Teacher said, “Have I done something? I assure you, I’m benign. My students volunteered. A deal, powers for a year, no strings attached.” Frowning, shifting, a need to move fast. A group close to the perimeter, hyper-acute senses, enhanced aim, x-ray vision, danger sense. Tattletale, boasting to Coil. No triggers here, but a need to disturb Teacher’s operation. A grenade, handed over, a hand raised to throw, a danger-detector, a portal, a blob of energy. “You’re full of surprises,” Teacher said, “Not your enemy. I was there for the Elite, understand why you did it. Your mission, a universal task. Peace and prosperity, am I right?” His crowd backed away. “I’m working towards the same end. I’m not a warrior, my students are prone to indecision. I know where I need to be, I’ll be of far more use.”

The borders were at the same point, not a person generating the effect. The perimeter of the clairvoyance-blocking power, irregular, factoring in obstacles. “For the books, I was inviting you to ask where it is I was planning on going.” Her squad fired on the center point, a box exploding. The clairvoyant’s power worked. Portals, cutting off groups, working from the outside in, leaving Teacher for last. A portal, stepping through, guns aimed at him. Teacher spoke in an unknown language. No better way to show a lack of understanding, shaking her head. “No?” he asked, “A shame.” Bugs flowed over him, thread encircling a gun, Teacher helping, lifting his jacket. An underling pulled the gun free. “I’m not unfamiliar with robbery,” Teacher said, “But this isn’t you. I’m working towards stopping Scion, or mollifying the damage. A turnaround, you’re closer to the Elite, I’m working towards a fix.” A hard look, another language, a code word, a trigger? Nothing happened. “Well then,” he said, “Scratch that.”

Definitely scratch that. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I can still be blunt. You seem different, not for the better.” Weapons, tinker gear, browsing. “Can I ask why? Second triggers can be mortifying.” A hand flat against her mouth. “Mute. I see. Came to me for help with that? Want to communicate again?” A shake of her head. “Then you’re looking to refine this ability. I can do that. Give capes control over abilities.” Again, a shake. “What did you come for, then?” Boxes, detonators, a single button, an LED, ports. Gathering them. “Sock one for me?” A shake, gathering all, then guns. “This is inconvenient, for the books.” You don’t need these against Scion. “Again, my power is available, if you should need it. Anything that helps against our reciprocal enemy.” An annoying habit, difficult words instead of simpler options. Approaching Teacher, a startle, nowhere to run, surrender in his body language, falling into her power’s range.

Memories, announcing herself as Weaver, coordinating teams in New Delhi. His power, his awareness of the people he’d affected, no constant connection. Moving another over, using his power on them, a connection, focus, a frailty, a weak point, a duality. Letting go, the frail point lingering, decaying. An option, no. A phone, thrown to Teacher, a ‘net’ with his sweater. Backing away, releasing him. Teacher staggered, a swear word. “Karma, I suppose,” he panted, “A little nerve wracking. You didn’t pursue with yourself, while you had me in command.” No way to use the power without leaving herself open, no voice this way, not if it affected decisions, a lingering window. Misled, those who’d taken his promise. “Nothing, then?” A shake. “A disappointment.” Not that disappointed, a speed bump, weapons, information, pointing at the phone. “The C.I.U.,” Teacher said. A nod, holding up a device, choosing members, arming them, not in her cloak of portals. “Ah… you guessed?” A nod.

“Understand, it wasn’t spiteful,” Teacher said, lapsing into the other language, “…I gave them the switch in the hopes it would stop the incursions and curb honesty. They were supposed to lock themselves away, but they held on to it, apparently intending to use it if anyone retaliated. An ingress, a portcullis, if you will. A way to raise the drawbridge and prevent passage into their castle.” His students gestured with guns. “The one with a white button.” Finding it, repositioning it. “Skeleton key, Weaver. I could make you force me to give up any of this detail, but I won’t. I want to get back to work, so I can help.” A funny look, driving home his point. A roundabout plan, infiltration, working against them. Gesturing to the phone, throwing it back, a hand raised, pointing left. He got it, finding the page. “I assume you’re not looking to find me, which leaves only the Birdcage. No. I haven’t provided any devices to the Birdcage, or anyone alleged with it. But you’re going to find entering is difficult, regardless. There are security placements in measure.” A nod, soldiers in place. “If I grasp your intentions, Weaver, I can speculate you’ll be back for me later?” No response, no need to telegraph plans. Running out of time, a leap of faith.

Using the clairvoyant directly, dangerous, debilitating, a toll on Doormaker. Functionally blind and deaf, only so many senses to suffer. She’d suffer far more, a forced break, things would be over. A squadron, slaves anyway, simple abilities, weapons, hopefully not needed. Taking Doormaker’s hand, hooking it through her belt, taking the clairvoyant’s. Awareness unfolding, damage to Earth Bet, Washington, not New York, why had she thought that? Distant from herself, worse with enhanced vision. Once comforted by perspective, not this, not at this scale. The entirety of the world, atmosphere to ocean floor, wind, rain, heat, frost, day and night. Detached, if the Doctor used this regularly. Teacher said something, couldn’t make it out. Other worlds, damage, a fifth fighting, others retreated. Collections of people, hundreds, thousands, starting over, tired, scared, no news, no media.

They carried on in her peripheral vision, growing. A set of blind spots, a way to avoid looking, searching, bringing into sight. Another anchor, another tie to Taylor. A cabin, three days from a settlement, Grue’s. Weak. Didn’t want to look, see him with Cozen, curled up, the world ending. Fixing the location, watching from a distance. Her house, shattered Brockton Bay. Charlotte, Forrest, Sierra, authoritarian, familiar. Tattletale, helping the wounded, talking with Rachel and Panacea. Imp, giving CPR, probably dead, Grue couldn’t get her to take first aid. Parian and Foil, on a stuffed animal, Foil not shooting. People she cared about. Her mom’s grave, cracked earth, insect life, a portal, relay bugs, clearing the area. Vanity, stupidity, a little better, cleaner. Her dad… Hesitation. Lost so much, forgive me, dad. I need the hope you’re still alive more than I need to know either way.

Little anchors, tying her down. The mantle, the costume, secure. Her goal, her mission. Still her, managing. Scion, screaming, eerie, unsettling, pain and anger, volume. Winning, tearing into the crowd, people she cared about. “Pose?” Teacher asked. Raising her head, a telescope, not owning it. Zoned out, too much. Needed to move. Omniscient, an Achilles heel, making do. The last known location of the C.U.I. portal, a door to it. Leaving Teacher behind, no goodbye, karma, no revenge for Dragon, inconvenienced, recovering. Twenty parahumans, a dirt road, the portal’s location. The C.U.I., killing refugees, moving in. The clairvoyant, the device, the white button. Teacher, sealed off, technology to the C.U.I., securing their position. Breaking in.

The C.U.I.’s empire, three hundred million, migrating, separating, disaster relief. Ziggurat, stone walls, a palace, three walls, three towers, the palace at the center. The Yàngbǎn, three groups, sixty to one hundred and thirty capes, square platforms, facing outward, tending wounds, gaps in their number. A kaleidoscope, mirrored rooms, moving in unison, nine iterations, copies of the imperial family, a fourth squad, concentric circles, jade masks, bodyguards, thirty, the scariest. A young man, fourteen, on the throne, family members, a child at their feet, his sister. Pictures, the new emperor, his older brother killed. Shén Yù, a young man, a tablet computer. Jiǎ, the tinker, the kaleidoscope. Tōng Líng Tǎ, painted face. Null, One, and Two, key components, dividing powers, controlling squads, strength.

An attack, targeted. An infiltration, a raiding party, the Simurgh’s attack, four groups remaining. Cavalry, blitzers, flight, teleportation. Vicious counterattacks, Shén Yù’s work, equal and opposite, targeting leaders. Overconfidence, ruinous. Sundering their confidence. Two hundred parahumans, defense, counterattacks, ominous. Tensing, a stray attack, wiping out a building, six people. A portal, Gimel to the hospital. Tattletale, Panacea, almost wiped out. Her house, the graveyard, ex-employees, teammates, Scion. No right answer, no perfect plan, no time. Exhaling, relaxing. Opening portals, gathering bugs. Ten quintillion, eighteen zeroes, couldn’t control that many, couldn’t afford the time. Fourteen zeroes, a dozen worlds, swamps, rainforests, relay bugs, doable. Fuck it all, a time for strategy, a time for brute force, a strategy unto itself.

Shén Yù’s power, seeing attacks, every direction? Nine portals, a tenth into Earth Bet. A reaction, a counterattack, a hundred capes, teleporting, flying. A hand clenching, the clairvoyant’s. A tenth of the bugs, an impenetrable cloud, portals as shields. Consuming, shooting, moving to a different world, closing the door. Other defenses, red hot, torching bugs. Capturing the group. “If you little fucks had any sense, you’d know that getting the upper hand on me, just for a moment? It’s something you should be fucking terrified of.” Not her voice. “Oh? The ineffectual little girl with the bug costume is awake.” Confusion, pain, helplessness. What would my mom think to see me now? Capturing other groups, scattered. Turning them against the palace. Ziggurat, closing windows and doors, the Yàngbǎn on alert. Power, manipulation, turning on them. Anger, not hers, a feeling to ride, to carry her forwards. Fuck them, fuck it all, shouldn’t have had to go this far.

Tearing down a wall, a mirror image fading, traps, poisons, vacuum, bugs. Attacking different walls. Two more shares fading. Another contingent, red masks, throwaways. Controlling them too. The last mirror images falling, ensnaring the remaining Yàngbǎn, fighting stopping. Adding Zero, One, and Two. Alexandria, choking on bugs. Hated her for arrogance, for what she was. Exhaling, more aware. Two’s power, enhancing, clarifying control. One, a hand, closing it, range of motion. Not perfect, but better. Not sharing, couldn’t afford to. Shén Yù, a question, accusatory, a power to make sense of it. Five layers of hexagons. An army. Not enough. On to the Birdcage. Passing through, ruins. Using the clairvoyant, searching. The structure, partially intact, devastated, a testament to its solidity. Not the Birdcage. Gardener. My old jail. Disorientation, reaching for anchors, checking, double checking.

A second try, the Birdcage. A peak, cool air, sweating, drained. Their fear, indistinct. A head move, a crick. The ones in the Birdcage, less predictable, less reliable, more of a danger. The last large group of experienced capes. A portal, a prisoner. Containment foam, sealing him. Dragon. Waiting, expecting this. A hangar, opening. An armored suit, fast-moving, weapons primed. A voice, clear, the same language, English. Meeting Dragon’s eyes, a shock, collapsing, numb, the clairvoyant, Doormaker. Anger, a glimmer, a feeling, all along, wanting everyone to do what they were supposed to do, to be good, to be fair, to fix things, to band together, to save the world, to make sense. Chuckling, displaced, not-quite right, off kilter, bad acting.

Couldn’t stop, turning her face to the sky, eyes streaming, her voice insistent, gentle, concerned. Not the last injustice, a front runner, the biggest. The most decent damn person, not even human, helped without selfishness. Couldn’t negotiate, couldn’t trust her to give the benefit of a doubt. The only way forward, to destroy her.