25

Chapter Text

"This is it. Phase two," Bayleaf said. "The Seminar is going to make waves even the big movers and shakers can't ignore. Let's start getting our pieces in play… get our most important targets in out of the cold..."

New York was a hell of a town. At least Flechette thought so. The social scene was hopping, the night life was fabulous, and the view of Times Square was absolutely fantastic.

Even when you were viewing it from forty stories up.

Or maybe especially, the arbalist-wielding heroine thought to herself as she adjusted her perch on the art deco gargoyle high up in the city skyline. She knew she was supposed to be out on patrol, and grapple-lining her way up this high was kind of excessive for someone supposed to be keeping an eye on the comings and goings in the streets far below. But really, could you really call yourself a New York Cape if you didn't go line swinging across the skyline up here at least once? Or perch heroically atop a gargoyle and brood dramatically over the city below?

Okay, so she wasn't feeling particularly broody at the moment. Actually she was taking a break for lunch (the little lunchwagon on the corner of 5th and main had the most slamming Gyros in the city) But it was the thought that counted.

She could count on people in the building to leave her be. They might not have as many Capes per square foot as Brockton Bay, but they definitely had a hefty share of them running (or leaping, or flying, or line-swinging) around. The sight of a teenage girl in tights having a nosh on the outside of a skyscraper to be practically mundane.

Plus… it was New York. And New Yorkers took it as a point of pride to act like they'd seen everything. Heck, hardly anyone below was reacting to the purple-rimmed, man-size portal that was opening in the air not ten feet in front of her…

"Bala'dash, Flechette. We bid you greetings," it said.

The gyro dropped from nerveless fingers-- much to the aggravation of a bald-headed businessman walking below-- as she whipped her arbalist around and cocked it. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the voice coming through the portal said. "We come in peace!" Someone on the other side of the portal stepped out of the shadows; it was a tall slender man in ornate robes with floor-length blonde hair, slanted jade eyes… and pointed ears. He looked like he could have walked off the set of Lord of the Rings. He drew himself up, every inch the mystical being of lore.

"My name is Shar'Din Belore. I'm contacting you on behalf of the-- whoa, whoa..." he interrupted himself as the portal slowly began sliding West. "so much for making a fricking dignified impression...Just gimme a second..." the portal reversed direction. "Whups, hold on, darned vertical hold is-- oh now what?" The portal began drifting upward. "Oh come on! Frag..." The portal wobbled randomly in several directions. "frickin' portal-- whoa, we control the horizontal, we control the vertical--" and then began spinning. " whoOAAoh, the power of Christ compels you, the power of Christ compels you—Oh, I'm gonna yark-- rrrARGH!"

With a twitch and a jerk the portal snapped back to its original location. The blonde elf-man was standing there, flailing his hands about in random directions as sparks trailed from his fingers. "Okay, this runic arrayis getting a little weebley, so I'll make it quick. I'm from the Alliance---"

"The guys who saved Canberra?" Flechette said. She hadn't attended the fight but like most of the world's population she'd been riveted to the news channels and the webfeeds since the day it happened. A single team of rogues had come out of nowhere with miracle devices that had saved a city, then just as mysteriously disappeared…

"That's us," Shar'Din agreed. "And we need YOUR help!"

"With what??"

He looked away from whatever he was flailing his hands at and gave her a surfer bro-dude grin. "Savin' the world, of course!" He pointed at her; her eyes crossed as his fingertip came within an inch of her nose. "And your power is the key."

"What, how?"

"Long story, and I'd rather not talk about it here, 'kay?" he said.

"Why didn't you just contact me through the Protectorate? Or wait till the seminar Dragon announced?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why go through all of--" she waved her hand at the rippling portal in front of her. "All of this?"

He got a bit more serious. "Because this is like, top super ultra secret project," he said. "We're tryin' to do an end run around the Simurgh herself.

Flechette felt a chill run down her back, and almost involuntarily glanced up. He didn't have to say anything more. The mythos of the Simurgh was ingrained in the mind of every single Cape, every single human on Earth. The ultimate Thinker, the ultimate Precog. The Hopekiller, the monster who was three steps ahead before you even knew the game had started. It would take extraordinary measures to get past her.

But if anyone could do it, it would have to be the capes whose tinkertech had left the Hopekiller bleeding, she realized.

"I see you get it. Yeah. So like the heroes gotta assemble, but we gotta do it kinda irregular and random--- so unexpected like even WE don't know for sure when or where we're gonna pick folks up. Our Thinkers figure that's the best way to keep Ziz guessing. So we made a list, and spun a wheel, and rolled some dice… and your name came up." He shrugged. "So?"

… and this pack of rogue tinkers had already pulled a fast one on her, sent her running, crippled and bleeding… if they said they needed her, she believed it. "All right, I'm in," she said.

The surfer elf gave her a wide grin. "Excellent! Just hop across!" he stepped back to give her room. He saw her hesitate and glance down. "Oh yeah, bit of a long way down-- hold on---" he disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a plank of wood. He duck-walked up and slid it out till one end rested on the ledge, the other on the floor just inside the portal. "Here, take my hand... best hop across quick... don't worry about the edge of the portal, they're sorta rounded off..."

She took his hand and gingerly made her way across the bridge. The moment she stepped through, the plank was dragged back and the portal closed. She took a moment to gape around her in awe. She was in a huge chamber of stone and oaken beams, filled with a mishmash of walls, dividers, and workspaces, with doorways and hallways leading off in all directions. Glowing ghostly vines with palm-wide leaves climbed everywhere. Brass, steampunk looking robots tinked and clanked their way about. Shelves filled with jars of exotic, glowing ingredients lined the walls. She heard the clamor of blacksmith hammers and the hum of electricity, and smelled… she took a second whiff...chinese takeout?

Her elvish host noticed "Heh, you're just in time for dinner," Shar'Din said. "You're in luck, Shen's an absolute demigod in the kitchen-- oh, hey, I guess I get to say it myself this time." He struck a pose in the middle of the room, arms cast wide.

"Welcome to the Lost Workshop!"