Taylor POV

  Taylor crouched atop a dented shipping container at Dock 17, the wet metal chilling her thighs through the spider?silk. Brockton Bay’s rain had a way of finding any seam. Tonight the drizzle seeped beneath her hood, tickled her scalp, and carried the industrial stink of diesel, kelp, and distant chemical fires. She exhaled slowly, fog ghosting her tinted goggles, and shifted her weight to stop a shiver.

  There were no plans to go out again tonight, not after just returning from a patrol. But then Danny had shown her the USB when she got home.

  It showed footage of the fight between Oni Lee and an unknown vigilante in a warehouse. The same fight that was recently covered by the news.

  And there was the message at the end: Proof the ABB is stockpiling illegal tech. Share if you want help.

  The kitchen had suddenly felt too small to breathe. Someone sent this to her father. Someone had known to send this to her house, addressed to Danny Hebert. Someone had broken the rules and now, her dad was dragged into her world.

  She had immediately texted Lisa, typing only the bare essentials: Need to meet. Urgent.

  Lisa replied with a place and time along with terse instructions. Come suited. Bring burner.

  That had been twenty?three minutes ago. Danny had initially refused to let her go, but after arguing that she was just going to ask for Tattletale’s opinion on the matter, he had acquiesced. She also told him that they could go to the PRT afterwards, if she got nothing out of this meeting.

  Naturally, that was a bald-faced lie. The cold rage that settled in Taylor’s chest spurred her to do something reckless in answer to this blatant transgression.

  Taylor’s phone now hummed silently in her palm, the casing slick. She flicked a glance at the lot below: cracked tarmac, weeds growing through seams, a lone streetlamp casting a jaundiced circle.

  Hundreds of beetles scurried under pallets, along gutters, bearing her restless tension on skittering legs.

  A purple?and?black form materialised from the darkness, moving with controlled grace across the edge of the lamp’s circle like a dancer testing stage lights. Tattletale wore her skintight lavender bodysuit with black lines forming a stylized “Tt” across her torso, accented by matching black?lined arms and legs, and a barely?visible dark gray eye emblem on her chest.

  Her hair was plastered to her cheeks by the drizzle, and her purple domino mask reflected the lamplight as she scanned the rooftop lines before waving. Taylor hopped down, knees flexing to absorb the impact and closed the distance.

  "You look like death warmed over," Lisa said by way of greeting. Her grin flickered, didn’t catch. Eyes, sharp and sea?green, studied Taylor’s posture. "But better than last week. Something come up?"

  Taylor moved to a covered spot that provided at least some protection from the drizzle before producing the burner. She thumbed the gallery and passed the device to Lisa. It shows the fight, the capes involved, and the message.

  Lisa’s smile fell off her face and handed the phone back to Taylor. "Where did you get this?"

  “Someone sent it to my house. Addressed to my dad.”

  A small part of Taylor took pleasure in seeing Lisa, who seemed to pride herself in knowing everything, snap her head in surprise. That pleasure was quickly smothered by the look of absolute horror that came over the normally unbothered girl’s face.

  “Then whoever it was just shat all over the Unwritten Rules,” she whispered before suddenly glaring at Taylor. “You can’t possibly think I did this?”

  "Who else could it be?" Taylor tried and failed to keep the edge from her voice. “You’re the only one who knows who I am.”

  "Considering it was addressed to your dad," Lisa murmured, "someone who wants you rattled."

  Taylor tasted copper. Calm. Interrogate. "Lisa, I need to know if this is a game."

  Lisa’s face smoothed over and replied in a dull tone, "Not my play. I wouldn’t involve your dad if I had anything planned for you."

  Their staredown lasted for nearly a minute before Taylor forced a breath, letting the swarm widen. Thirty metres, then forty, mapping every shadow, every crawlspace. Clear. Still, unease pooled in her gut.

  "Then who?"

  “I don’t know,” the blonde shrugged. “But I did notice something interesting about the clip.”

  Interesting?

  “What?”

  Lisa opened her mouth to answer but then shut it with an audible click. Her head then snapped left. Something unseen pricked her Thinker senses?

  "We need to go–"

  She didn’t finish. A sonic whipcrack shredded the lull of rainy cadence. Taylor reacted first, throwing herself sideways. Lisa followed half a heartbeat late, a blossom of red sprayed from her upper arm. They hit the pavement hard.

  All of a sudden, Taylor became hyperaware: Lisa’s hiss of pain, the metallic drone of rain on corrugated roofs, and within her head the sudden, furious orchestration of ten thousand insects swirling into a living blanket.

  "Sniper," Lisa gasped, clenching her bicep. "Block away, maybe two."

  Block and a half, Taylor calculated, triangulating beetles pinging against vertical brick. No vantage higher than four stories, likely a rooftop crane mount southwest. She yanked Lisa by her uninjured arm, dragging her behind a steel dumpster mottled orange with rust. Thick chemical odour clawed her nostrils.

  Lisa tried to staunch the flow with her cape, blood seeping between her fingers.

  "Through and through. Exit’s clean." Her voice wobbled but carried an undercurrent of steel. "We need to get out of here.”

  Taylor flicked her awareness outward. She felt the thrum of diesel engines, the vibration of tires, three sets of each. That means three vehicles and they were all heading towards their location. The swarm obeyed her anger, condensing into an almost solid curtain between streetlights, a false wall of wings and chitin.

  The rain made it difficult, but easier than it would have been a month ago. The improvement was still new, however, and was not instinctive in any way.

  “We’ve got vehicles incoming. Three of them. Not sure how many they’re carrying. I can’t find any bugs inside them.”

  That last bit was especially disconcerting for the insect mistress.

  "Coil," Lisa spat.

  Who?

  "Focus, bug?girl." Lisa winced. "Get us out first."

  Van doors slammed within range and four men spilled onto the asphalt with rifles raised.

  Taylor’s jaw locked, her heart thumping in her chest and her adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She guided Lisa into a side alley, the walls slick with algae. They sprinted, the blond holding her arm close to her chest. Bullets sparked on bricks, ricochet chipping walls. The close proximity of imminent death spurred both girls on.

  Down the adjacent street, a second van screeched, cutting perpendicular. Boxing us in. Lisa tugged Taylor right, through a gap on a chain?link fence. They scrambled over cracked footpaths, puddles erupting underfoot.

  After rushing through another alley, two more vans awaited them at the end of the street, forcing a backtrack to find a different path. This happened three more times and Taylor was beginning to feel frantic.

  "How are they doing this?!" Taylor practically shrieked above the noise of gunshots.

  "Part of Coil’s power," Lisa panted, nearly drowned by the storm. "I don’t know how he does it, but he can affect probabilities."

  "That’s–"

  Taylor was about to say ‘impossible’ but thought better of it. As a relative newcomer to the world of capes, she wasn’t in any position to say what was and wasn’t possible. More importantly, the answer made her already freezing body feel even colder.

  How the fuck do you fight against something like that?

  Another corner, another dead end. A freight door was padlocked and a third van fishtailed into view, blocking their retreat. Muzzles flashed and a round clipped Taylor’s hip.

  The sensation was indescribable. Searing heat, quickly followed by numbness that then transitioned to blinding pain. Taylor was already angry before meeting with Lisa, but getting shot finally pushed her over the edge.

  She unleashed hell.

  Hampered as her insects might have been by the rain, this means absolutely nothing to an enraged swarm bringer. A tsunami of buzzing fury was gathered from a diameter of several blocks. Hornets targeted areas of inadequate protection. Beetles flooded muzzles. Centipedes wriggled under collars before biting with extreme prejudice. The mercs’ disciplined firing line dissolved into chaos. Shouts, blind spraying, and panicked stomps.

  Lisa tugged her sleeve. "Left! Service stair!"

  They veered into a stairwell and cut between brick buildings. Taylor’s lungs burned but they couldn’t stop. At the third landing, Lisa stumbled before Taylor caught her.

  "You’re losing blood."

  "A quart, maybe two." Lisa grimaced. "I’m fine, keep moving."

  The swarm relayed new positions: mercenaries regrouping, but slower now, fearful of the crawling night. We can outrun them. Taylor guided Lisa across a roofscape of tarred gravel and puddle mirrors.

  A hum, a hiss, and disorientation. The world yawed beneath Taylor’s boots. In one heartbeat, she held Lisa’s elbow and the next, she stood on a rooftop she didn’t recognise. Cold air slapped her face.

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  Opposite her, three capes waited.

  The tall man’s red mask gleamed under his top hat. Beside him, a lanky figure flipped ball bearings, each arc smooth as scripted CGI. The third was a teen her own age, in a red?and?black suit with a blazing sun motif.

  Fear punched the breath from her lungs.

  "Welcome, little bug," the red-masked man said, voice languid.

  Taylor’s reply came out as a raw whisper. "Where’s my friend?"

  He smiled, baring white teeth amid paint. "Elsewhere. For now."

  Black dread surged and she immediately reached for his swarm, but they couldn’t get to her. Something was keeping them away. How was that possible?

  Her mind flew to Lisa, alone, wounded, cornered.

  I have to get back.

  She stepped forward, but the capes barred her way.

  "Not yet," the man crooned.

  Taylor’s pulse thundered. She sucked a shaky breath, desperate for any resource, any angle to leverage. Below, gunfire echoed faintly, swallowed by the rain.

  Hold on, Lisa…

  Lisa POV

  Lisa Wilbourn’s world shrank to just blood, rain, and the metronome of her own curses.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  She hissed each word under her breath as she ducked beneath a sagging fire?escape at the mouth of Strawberry Lane. Cold water sluiced from the rusted metal, soaking her ponytail, but she didn’t dare slow. Taylor—gone. Sniper—somewhere. Mercs—everywhere. And her arm—God, her arm hurt like someone had jammed a branding iron through the muscle, then iced it just to be cruel.

  Phone!

  She yanked it out again and thumbed Brian’s speed?dial. The screen showed zero bars. She tried Alec. The mock?signal triangle pulsed tauntingly.

  Jammer’s riding shotgun in one of the vans.

  She pocketed the useless brick and pressed her left hand to her right bicep. Blood squelched between her fingers, sticky?warm despite the chill.

  "He’s killing us," she muttered.

  The words tasted rusty in her mouth. Coil, master manipulator and budget megalomaniac, had always played long games. Routing money through shell corps. Using the Undersiders as disposable yet photogenic assets, the kind the media loved to hate just enough to distract from real corruption.

  Killing his own pawns wasn’t good business.

  So what changed?

  Seraph, her power whispered. Taylor. The arrival of two wildcards who didn’t read their cues. She smelled panic on the board, Coil’s panic. Panicked masterminds weren’t masterminds for long.

  Her boots skidded on algae?slick pavement as she cut left between two stacked dumpsters. The smell of rotting produce slammed into her sinuses. Beyond, a chain?link fence rattled in the wind, half toppled. She scrambled over, her good arm bracing on the steel mesh while the wounded arm was tucked tight between her breasts. It hurt and caused more blood to flow the wrong way.

  The Docklands blurred into colourless slabs of corrugated tin and graffiti?scarred brick. Sodium lamps glowed sickly orange, some blown, others flickering like dying fireflies. Every shadow felt like a gun barrel.

  She paused in a doorway alcove, pressed panting forehead to cold brick, and forced mind to web connections: Isolation—check. Jammed comms—check. Arm bleeding—check. Merc teams herding—yep, two squads, one jammer van, one sniper pod.

  The goal couldn’t be any clearer: separate her from Taylor, either for capture or elimination.

  Lisa snorted. Considering how free the assholes were with their live rounds, she’s probably not meant to live past tonight.

  She took inventory. Her small?calibre pistol wouldn’t be much use. It’s basically a pea-shooter and she was up against trained professionals with fucking assault rifles.

  Her phone was jammed, she was alone, and while it galled her to admit it, her brain was inconveniently failing to come up with a brilliant escape plan.

  A distant buzz of engines drifted on the wind. She peeked past the doorway: headlights crawled along Riverfront Drive two blocks south, moving slowly, methodically.

  Search pattern.

  Whatever Coil’s power was, if he was this desperate, it clearly wasn’t infallible. Probabilities hinged on patterns and static data. What if she did something even she wouldn’t predict? It was a hilarious catch?22.

  Lisa couldn’t out?Think a Thinker if her own power sabotaged every improbable option. But maybe chaos could.

  She bolted across the alley into a derelict fish?packing plant. Inside, footfalls echoed off tile slick with scales and grime. Broken conveyor belts sagged under dust. She ducked under a rusted pipe, boots splashing through ankle?deep water that stank of ammonia. The corrosion flaked under her fingers.

  Halfway through the processing floor, she slowed, ears straining. Rain hammered the collapsed roof. She saw no movement behind, but her power itched.

  She picked the far door and shoved but it resisted. Swearing, she slammed it with her shoulder again, the pain from her other arm almost causing her to black out. Finally, the hinges screamed and the wood frame splintered. Lisa tumbled through into a corridor. Ahead, a rectangle of night opened: loading dock exit.

  She ran.

  The corridor ended at a metal ramp sloping into the yard. As she burst out, floodlights snapped on, blinding white. She hastily shielded her eyes, but it did little to mitigate the impediment to her vision. What little she could see, however, shattered whatever calm she managed to scrounge together. Four mercenaries on one side of the loading area and another four on the other, carbines raised.

  Lisa’s heart thundered and her throat constricted, denying the passage of air. Panic roared in her ears and her stomach twisted in knots. The world almost slowed to a crawl, but her power showed zero escape routes.

  Now way out. No Way Out! NO WAY OUT!!!

  Then a blur dropped from above like Thor’s hammer.

  Something or someone landed in the middle of the squad to her right. From one eyeblink to the next, bodies were flying. Lisa, still dazed, absentmindedly counted each hit from the rapid staccato of impacts that themselves sounded like gunfire.

  Before she could even process what happened, the newcomer barrelled past her in a blur. By the time Lisa turned her head, only one member of the remaining mercenary squad was still standing. And even that didn’t last.

  One final elbow strike that she could have sworn caused a shockwave and the merc just collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

  Lisa’s ears were ringing and she wasn’t completely sure of the cause. The deafening report of guns? Her rapidly worsening bloodloss? Or was it the absurd scene she just barely witnessed?

  Eight mercenaries sprawled unconscious across the yard.

  How…?

  She blinked, vision swimming, and forced her feet to plant more steadily on the concrete ramp.

  Concentrate, dammit!

  The new arrival’s intervention has given Lisa a brief reprieve and she took this chance to properly observe her savior. Wearing all black (hoodie, jeans, shoes, and cloth face mask), they weren’t particularly tall. Though on the verge of a splitting Thinker migraine, she chose to engage her power anyway.

  Male. Well-built. Extreme training, it whispered. Reflex patterns beyond baseline human, possible parahuman enhancement but no overt power expression.

  Looking closer, something about him was familiar. Before she could think about it further, the figure turned, eyes locking on hers. At first, there was confusion, then it slowly morphed into recognition, before finally settling on an expression of acute, overwhelming alarm.

  "Where’s Taylor?!" he all but roared.

  Just like that, it all came together. And Lisa Wilbourn, formerly Sarah Livsey, also known as Tattletale of the Undersiders, wondered what she did in a previous life that would warrant running into motherfucking Seraph at the worst possible time.

  Alfred POV

  The instant I said her name, dread pooled in my stomach.

  What the fuck, Alfred! I thought we were past this shit!

  Lisa stared at me, eyes narrowing despite the pain flaring in them, no doubt already using her Thinker power to figure out my real identity.

  As rain cascaded around us, soaking through my hood and jacket, my mind frantically searched for a way to keep the girl’s mouth shut. That would take a miracle, considering her cape name is literally Tattletale.

  Before I could consider it further, however, Lisa swayed where she stood and started to sag.

  My body moved without my input, catching the blond and lifting her in a bridal carry. Looking around, I spotted the exit she came out of. It’ll have to do.

  After laying Lisa down in a dry spot, I knelt beside her, forcing myself to stay steady while checking her wound. It was practically gushing blood, though, no artery was nicked. She’d already be dead, otherwise. Though if I don’t do something soon, she’ll bleed out.

  Despite my misgivings about her character, I couldn’t let that happen.

  With no convenient first-aid kit lying around, I ripped the sleeve of my hoodie and used it as a makeshift bandage. She whimpered when I tightened the wrap but didn’t voice any complaint.

  Good. I didn’t want to deal with her infamous mouth right now.

  “How bad?” I whispered.

  Lisa grimaced, shaking her head slightly. “Superficial. I'll live. Taylor's the priority.”

  Ah, fuck. This isn’t good.

  Saying the name without hesitation means Lisa already knows more than I’m comfortable with. The worst part is that she’s right. I had to find Taylor. Worrying about what’s in the blabbermouth’s noggin will have to wait.

  “Tell me what happened. Just the essentials.”

  Her skin was getting paler by the second and she looked moments away from passing out.

  “Coil baited Taylor with a fake video. We both got caught in the trap. Was supposed to die. She was captured. Teleporter switched her with a garbage can. Don’t know where she is.”

  Everything Lisa said was bad enough, but when she got to how Taylor was taken, my blood froze. A cape that can switch two objects around from afar? There was only one character who fit that description and he was part of a group containing an honest-to-god proto-Endbringer.

  “Travelers,” I seethed.

  How the fuck could I forget the group of displaced nomads that was coming to the city? They played a huge role in shaping Taylor’s early experiences. Fuck, Leviathan targeted Brockton Bay because of Noelle! Or was that a fanon thing? Does it even matter anymore?

  I was snapped out of my spiralling thoughts when Lisa asked, “You know them?”

  What the hell am I supposed to tell her? The truth certainly wasn’t on the table. But I had to say something. Her power is literally Sherlock Holmes on steroids and I was a shit liar. With my time constraints, I couldn’t afford to dither around, either.

  Finally, I settled on just stating facts without elaboration.

  “They’re called The Travellers. The leader’s name is Trickster. He’s the one who took Taylor.”

  Judging by her expression, Lisa had a ton of questions she wanted to ask. In the end, though, she settled for one.

  “Are you going after them?”

  I didn’t answer right away. Rescuing Taylor is non-negotiable, of course, but I couldn’t just start busting down doors. For one thing, I wasn’t even sure where Coil’s base is. I could ask Lisa, but what then? Do I hold myself back? Do I transform and damn the consequences?

  This wasn’t how I expected this night to go. I’d been focused on tracking down ABB movements, hunting for signs of Bakuda plans. The sight of a huge bug swarm a few blocks from my position completely derailed that. I was expecting to run into Taylor, maybe even take the opportunity to team up.

  Finding Lisa being cornered by Coil’s mercs was the last thing I expected.

  Speaking of which…

  “Why were Coil’s mercenaries trying to kill you?”

  The question earned me a baleful glare, which…fair. Still, she did answer, after a deep and tired sigh.

  “The asshole’s been acting pretty erratic the past few weeks. Had me hunting for everything I could find about Seraph and how to kill him. Guess he finally snapped.”

  So it was my fault. It felt like my stomach dropped to the floor. As if I didn’t already have enough to answer for. Clenching my fists, I pushed any feelings of guilt and remorse down to focus on what’s important: rescuing Taylor.

  Getting on my feet, I paced, trying to collect my thoughts. Transforming into any of the Dragoon forms I have access to should allow me to succeed easily enough. However, that could lead even more unexpected consequences.

  On the other hand, going as I am wouldn’t work, either. I’m not bulletproof, as my encounter with Oni Lee had proven without a shadow of a doubt. Coil still has a lot of mercenaries at his disposal. Not to mention all the traps waiting for me at his base.

  What did that leave me? Asking for help from the other heroes. But that would take too long and would involve the PRT. New Wave’s certainly not going to be accommodating, what with only recently getting discharged from the hospital. Independents? I haven’t got the first clue how to find them! Mercenaries? Should I go to Faultline? How do I know she’s not already contracted with Coil?

  “Hey!”

  Lisa’s voice snapped me out of what was building into a fugue of indecisions.

  “I can help you get Taylor back.”

  Oh, I knew that smirk. So many heroes and villains have been subjected to that smug expression to their detriment. And now she was turning it on me. The worst part was that I didn’t even consider her and the rest of the Undersiders. Why didn’t I? Oh, right…villains.

  Time’s up. Make your choice, Alfred. Taylor’s life is on the line.

  “What do you have in mind?” I finally asked, feeling very much like I’m about to make a deal with the Devil.

  Her smirk, against all known laws of physics and reality, got even more smug. The bitch has me by the balls and she knows it.