butcher

Chrissie and I rolled our eyes but followed the pair along. As we walked, I was keeping a running tally of everything happening at the fair. Pickpockets were quickly dissuaded with a simple wasp sting to the wrist. That two of my own Teeth needed that reminder was particularly galling. I'd be having words with them later, the entire point of this was to have the Teeth visible, yet not causing a single problem.

We'd even given everyone attending a hundred dollars to use however they wanted just to avoid the temptation for them to steal. Given the potential PR boon, it was hardly a major expense for us at this point. Hell, Lisa was investing my mattress fund and it was set to double in value by the end of the summer between the stocks for Fortress Construction and Medhall rebounding.

Pity she wouldn't let me remove the Nazis still clinging to power within Kaiser's former kingdom. Lisa insisted she had it under control and I was trusting her to handle it. Plus, she enjoyed the irony of making Nazis listen to her, as her relationship with Amelia was hardly private at this point, by design.

Up ahead, I could feel the crowd around Rachel's booth where she was telling a group of younger kids how to hold the puppies as well as basic care and responsibility if they decided to adopt one. A few adults were showing interest as well and I found myself chuckling when I finally saw the scene with my own eyes.

"Figures they would have heroes out in civvies," Chisel murmured.

"Shit, did Assault ever tell you his civilian name or was it just me?" Marauder asked.

"Doesn't matter, he's met me out of costume before," I said aloud. "I'll stick to my own rules, don't worry."

"Ah, there's an unmasked hero up ahead," Lisa reasoned. At my sharp glare she put her hands up in a placating gesture. "I'll be nice."

"Please do, we actually like this one." I said, taking the lead as I walked right into the crowd and made my way to the pen where the puppies were extorting cuddles and belly rubs from several kids. To my surprise, Madison had deflated and was here in civvies now, and currently had one of the puppies asleep on her lap as she talked with Charlotte.

In the pen, a woman in her early twenties was pinned by a pup who was having a staring contest with her before both sides erupted into sudden kisses. Assault laughed at her misfortune while at the same time recording it for future teasing.

"Having fun?" I asked, stepping up beside him and leaning over the fence. It was funny how he tensed up for a moment, glancing between me and who had to be Battery. "Relax, Ethan. I'm not here to cause trouble and I'm not high either. Or did you not recognize this was a Teeth booth?"

"Madison wanted to see the puppies, but she's still on probation at the moment and I volunteered to keep a discreet eye on her."

I glanced down at Battery who was being soundly defeated at the hands of the fuzzy warrior. "Discreet… Riiight."

"They do this shit all the time, especially in PR events and press conferences," Chisel said.

"Oh fuck off," the hero replied, smacking my shoulder only to pause in shock that he had just hit the Butcher. When I didn't make an issue of it, he let out a sigh. "She's gonna cry if I don't let her keep him."

"Rachel didn't want to actually let anyone adopt any of them on the spot," I said, giving Madison and Charlotte a nod now that they had noticed me. Amelia and Lisa had gone over to Rachel, where they had been claimed by Rachel's two dogs for the requisite head scratches they were due. "Though, I could ask her to make an exception."

"She doesn't listen to you?" he asked.

"I told her outright: I defer to her judgment when her dogs are concerned. I can vouch for you, but it's still her call in the end."

"Christ kid, you just destroy all expectations people have," he said, shaking his head as his voice turned forlorn. "You would have made an amazing hero…"

Shut it. I'm not giving up what I have so don't even start.

"Perhaps," I said softly. "I meant what I said on PHO — I'm not immune to the inheritance, I just have a leg up. If the me from March saw the me I am now, she would probably be horrified. I'm still Taylor Hebert, but I'm also an amalgamation of all my predecessors. I barely even mute them anymore, to be honest. I like their company."

"You're saying you would have returned to the Teeth regardless?"

"I have no idea," I answered, ignoring the complaining from the others. "That choice was taken from me, so I've done everything I could to make the most of the hand dealt to me. I can still be Taylor, but there is no denying that Weaver is every bit as much a part of me as any other part."

"Don't listen to her," Chrissie said, snaking an arm around my waist. "Taytay is nothing but a cuddle bug when she's not cracking skulls."

Butcher shoved the memories of my cracking Holdout's skull forward. It had only been a day, but in my anger I had done that. There was no denying that I was the Butcher — violence came easily to me and I could only wonder how much was me and how much was them. I'd probably never know the truth, but this was who I was.

A fair was not exactly a prime location for philosophizing.

Lisa whispered something to Rachel, which got her a sharp look from the least social member of the Teeth, but after a few more words she walked over to Charlotte. I wasn't actively listening in, but I had a feeling what was coming and waited as Charlotte scribbled out something on a paper and held it out. Rachel snatched it and carried it over to me.

"You're sure?" she grunted.

I met her eyes for a moment, then looked away. "Your decision, but they're good people."

Rachel was still watching me before she huffed and pushed the paper into Ethan's chest. "He's yours. Take care of him or I'll kill you."

Ethan stared dumbly at the mostly filled out form certifying that Rachel's Canines was releasing one Tobias to a blank name and that the document would serve as proof that the dog was up to date on vaccinations and was already fixed. Down in the pen, Battery still hadn't noticed, she was too busy cradling the pup like a baby as it yawned and drifted off to sleep.

"Ha! He got his puppy a puppy!" Pyro exclaimed.

"Congratulations. Don't go crying to Amelia after your wife shows her appreciation tonight." I simply patted the still dumbstruck man on the shoulder and moved off to check on Charlotte.

"Hey boss," Charlotte said. "Thanks for that, I really didn't want to be the one to tell her that we weren't adopting any of the cuties out today."

I huffed. "Come on, I might be a violent monster, but tearing her away from that puppy was beneath even me."

"Oh cool, you found the shop," Charlotte said suddenly. At my questioning gaze, she pointed at the Skull Throne shirt sitting atop my bag. "Cody from World Issues has family that makes novelty shirts for the Market vendors. I put in an order for a bunch of Teeth merch and this fair was perfect for moving it."

Lisa looked up at that, glancing between her and the shirt. "Goodie, that's one mystery solved."

"What, but I…" Charlotte trailed off as a look of horror crossed her face. "Oh shit, I forgot to kick it up the chain."

Lisa laughed, patting her on the back. "No harm done, though Taylor did leave a message with the guy running it that might give someone a heart attack."

"Speaking of, who hired the stoner to run it?" Chrissie asked with a chuckle.

"Dammit Leo!" Charlotte cursed, pulling her phone out and tapping furiously. "I told him to not leave Mike unsupervised!"

I smirked at how indignant she was getting. "Someone bribed him with a fabled Pandemic blunt, he was well and truly baked."

She was cursing under her breath as she typed, and my enhanced senses let me pick up something about skinning the offending minion alive if needed. The Teeth really were horrible influences and honestly, I was kinda proud of Charlotte. She had come a long way from the scared girl I'd met in the hall.

"Ha! Even the humanitarian is picking up our bad habits!" Sabertooth exclaimed.

"Eyes up, Tay," Fester said, drawing my attention back to Ethan. "Get your phone out and record this shit."

Sure enough, Battery was carrying the puppy over, her own eyes looking decidedly like a puppy's to the point it wasn't hard to figure out how she had gotten the nickname from her husband. Ethan arched an eyebrow at her approach, but slipped the paper behind his back while fighting down a smile.

"I know we talked about this, but…" Battery began.

"Carly, you know we're too busy to take care of a dog," he said softly.

"What the fuck kind of name is Carly?" Marauder hissed.

"I know, and they aren't doing adoptions for these guys anyway," Carly said, tears building in her eyes.

Ethan sighed, pulling the paper from behind him. "I suppose we'll just have to figure it out."

Carly's eyes lit up at the adoption papers, and for a moment, I was worried that she would fling the puppy aside to hug her husband. Thankfully no puppies were turned into ballistic projectiles as he wrapped his now sobbing wife in a hug.

"Aww, ain't that some sweet shit," Chrissie said, resting her head on my shoulder.

I hummed in agreement as I leaned into my girlfriend. "They've been in my corner when they didn't have to, and it's not easy to do something nice for a hero that doesn't look like an attempt at bribery."

After some whispered words, Carly spun around in surprise, looking directly at me like an animal that just saw a predator. She clutched the pup protectively but I just smiled and nodded before turning my attention back to my people, keeping my phone well hidden. I'd send Ethan the video later. The bugs I had watching her observed that she stared at us for several long moments before finally turning back to her husband.

Charlotte growled, nearly throwing her phone before composing herself with a few deliberate breaths. "Fucking Leo! That bastard fucked off just so he could go flirt with the girl working the Gyro cart."

"Want me to run him through the pits tonight?" I asked with a smirk. "Amelia could probably stand to vent some frustrations."

Amelia frowned but Lisa leaned in and whispered something that set her cheeks ablaze. "Maybe…"

"Alright you two, save it for later," Chrissie teased. "We've only got a few hours of daylight left, are we gonna crash the main event or not?"

I smiled and linked my arm with Chrissie's. "Lead the way then."

Waiting in line to talk to the Protectorate leaders was a surreal experience for me, and not just because the Butcher had never politely approached a hero like this before I came along. I had grown up with posters of these heroes on my wall, and for a brief instant, I was back in the hospital as I resolved to use my new powers for the greater good.

"Did you really want to be a hero, or just to escape?" Alkaline said. "I mean, I started as a hero too, but it's not like anyone wakes up and says 'well, time for some villainy!'"

"Butcher did," Sanguine said. "Fester, too."

"Only because I wasn't stupid enough to buy the patriarchal party line," she snapped. "It's obvious to anyone who looks that the PRT —"

"Chevalier is staring again," Reflex cut in, and indeed, the knight-themed hero was holding an autograph in a negligent hand as he focused on me. On my right, Lisa cocked an eyebrow, but I shook my head slightly.

Ok, which of you has fought him and not been on a drug induced bender? Any ideas?

"Buncha times," Knockout complained. "He's the heaviest hitter on this coast, but he's not just some big, dumb brute."

"Unlike you," Chisel retorted.

I cut off the argument with a quick, Stay on topic — what's his power?

Stratego answered in his usual basso rumble. "Manipulates the properties of his equipment, taking things like 'size' or 'shape' and moving them around. He also has a reputation for his investigative work."

"And for the size of the stick up his ass," Quarrel said. "Can you please kick his ass for us? Last night you only got a fucked up hand out of it."

Only if the heroes are stupid enough to start something.

Naturally, the Butchers suggested that I start something instead, so I pushed them away and tried to figure out which persona to adopt here. With Chevalier's oddly good intuition, they likely knew who I was anyways, and it wasn't like I was here to drop any specific ultimatum.

"Just be yourself," Lisa murmured from next to me. That seemed reasonable, but I did pull my hoodie all the way on to match the others. Likewise, Amelia pulled down her hood.

Then it was our turn: Butcher XV and the Teeth versus the East Coast Protectorate leaders.

Amusingly, Armsmaster and Myrddin both recognized Amelia first, but to both my and the Butchers' surprise, the heroes didn't do anything with the information. In fact, they let the four of us walk right up to them, appearing to all the world like a bunch of edgy teenagers who wore gang colors to a PRT event.

"Literally edgy teenagers, with Damascian's power," Alkaline pointed out, and a small smile curled on my lips. The heroes visibly tensed at that, which set off a chorus of laughs in my head.

"You have them scared shitless!" Knockout declared. "I take back what I said about you not being a good Butcher!"

Pretty sure I'm not supposed to be proud of that.

Ironsides snorted. "Kid, reputation is everything. I'll admit I didn't think you would manage it, but…"

"Your power helps," Sanguine said. "Hell, I find it terrifying and I'm in your head."

Ok, shut up now. Several of them complained, but some light shoves got me the relative peace that I wanted. There was very little chance — I hoped — of things going wrong here, and truth be told I still kind of wanted to meet Legend in a non-combat setting. So, I let the little grin grow into a full-fledged smile and spread my hands. "You know, if someone told me that I would one day get to meet my childhood heroes in person, I would have called them crazy."

"And now it's those same heroes calling you crazy, Taylor," Amelia said before the heroes could muster a response. Chrissie and Lisa immediately devolved into poorly-controlled giggles at the comment, and I chuckled a bit myself before drawing the heroes' attention back to me.

"Thanks," I muttered. "Anyways, what brings the top heroes of the Protectorate to our fine city?"

Chevalier and Myrddin shared a look, as Legend frowned. "Officially, we're here to muster relief for Boston."

"And unofficially?" Lisa asked, her grin growing by the second.

"No comment," Chevalier said, though I could feel him staring. Even the Butchers seemed ill at ease under his watchful eye.

"Right, right," I said with a wave of my hand. "Since I have you here, mind signing some stuff for me?"

I held up a cluster of postcards featuring each of the heroes with a wide grin plastered on my face. I put on my excited teen persona in full as I bounced up to each of the heroes and handed them a card.

"Ha! The PRT goons are about to piss themselves!" Butcher declared with a roar of laughter.

"This shit is great!" Sabertooth agreed.

"They are looking to the capes for direction," Damascian noted.

Each hero was hesitant signing their cards, though Legend actually chuckled at the PR Blank we had obtained. Though, that didn't even compare to the final card in the collection, one I was getting signed by all of them if possible. Lisa had paid a pretty penny online for that one, having it custom ordered from their own print shop by bribing a worker who had been well worth the price.

The look on Legend's face when I handed it to him: priceless. He stared blankly at the card, bloodsight telling me that he was quickly coming to a panicked state. It wasn't really a surprise given the card did feature the Birdcage entrance in the background along with some cheery vacation slogans pulled from the New York branch's own PR brochures.

I could practically taste the unease in the air as I continued with my fangirl facade. Behind us, the next in line were getting agitated at our group holding things up, but they weren't fools either — they saw our jackets, they could do the basic math needed to figure out they weren't for show.

Carefully, Legend began writing, and it wasn't his usual signature. When he handed it back, he nearly whispered, "I'm sorry, for all of it."

On the card, he had written 'Get out of jail free' and signed it with his usual flourish. I was so gobsmacked that I missed him calling up the next group as we were gently guided off the stage.

Once we were back in the lair, Chrissie and I made a beeline for her room and set the beanbags in place around a small table. Our relationship hadn't been built upon a stable surface; in fact, it may as well have been founded upon sand with how I latched onto her as someone who showed me a hint of human decency, and she was just looking to shove it in the other's face that she nabbed the newest Butcher.

Healthy was the farthest word to describe what we had at the start. It was only natural that it all came tumbling down at the first sign of friction, and if not for Chrissie's near death, as well as my own, that could have easily been the end of it. That revelation was why we were now sitting down three times a week to just talk and get to know one another. We wanted to make what we had work, to inject a bit of health into what was otherwise a toxic relationship.

It was very much a work in progress.

Today, I set two sodas down on the table between us and flopped onto the beanbag, Chrissie doing much the same on her own across from me. I kept all the voices suppressed during these conversations, since they had no say in any of this. Chrissie was dating me first and foremost, not the Butcher collective.

"So, what's your favorite color?" I asked, getting the ball rolling.

Chrissie rolled her eyes. "You always start off with that question."

"I do, and you always give the same answer."

"Crimson," we said in unison.

"Because it is the color of your family. I know, but what I want to hear is reasons you like other colors. Like the azure blue of the clear skies, the deep green of a forest…"

"I prefer the emerald of your eyes, to be honest," she muttered.

I grinned around a lot of blush. "See, stuff like that. I want to hear more things like that, learn about what brings you joy in life."

She grinned, holding her bottle of soda out. "Besides dismembering Nazis and wearing their bones you mean."

"We've nearly driven them to their rightful extinction, so yes."

Chrissie leaned back, grabbing a book off her nightstand. "You've gotten me into reading this fantasy shit you like so much. Not my first choice in hobbies, but it's been fun, especially when we cuddle together while reading it."

I looked away, feeling the heat rushing up to my cheeks again as my control on the voices slipped, though none took advantage of it aside from Fester and Alkaline cooing from the depths.

"The fair was pretty fun too," I added, "I wish it was going on longer so we could have gone, just the two of us."

"That would have been fun," Chrissie agreed, "though seeing everyone's reaction to Amelia in Teeth colors was great."

"I think we broke a lot of peoples' brains," I said with a matching grin.

We sat in silence for a moment, just gazing into one another's eyes, matching smiles on our faces. I would have been content to stay like that for the remainder of the evening, but I did have an appointment in a few hours and this talk was extremely important, more so than any other that I would have today.

"What colors bring joy to your life, Tay?"

I reached out and let my hand brush her hair even as she leaned into the touch. "I too could claim crimson, but it goes farther than that." I let my hand trail down until I brushed my fingers along her chin, gently guiding her gaze back to me. "I'm a fan of your gray eyes that shine a brilliant silver in the moonlight, with just a touch of blue in the light of day."

"Sweet talk me more," she said as my fingers trailed off, my hand dropping to the table.

"Your skin is as soft as silk, and your touch infinitely more desired than any treasure I could claim." My fingers brushed against her own and Chrissie didn't even hesitate to grasp them in her hand. "I love you, Chrissie Dawson."

My girlfriend leaned forward, I matched her motion until we were nose to nose. "I love you too, Taylor Hebert."

Then our lips met, soft and tender with no pressing need to take things further. We were together and that was what mattered.

Meanwhile:

"D'awwww!" "Cheesier than that damn Mouse!" "Shut the hell up!"

Author's Notes:

Pen: This one was a lot of fun to work on. The intro and ending scenes came later as inspiration struck. (4.2 was a post first draft of the arc addition after all) Next up is an Interlude to show things from the other side once more. Also, new longest chapter, beating out the Missy Interlude by about 80 words!

Now for the breakdown of my NaNoWriMo and general November statistics since I actually tracked that this month. (All I can say is whew, what a month!)

Sunday May 8th, 2011

As Clive stepped out of the PRT-issued inconspicuous car — this one was actually beaten up, which seemed par for the course in the Bay — he would ordinarily have been more concerned about the state of the local neutral meeting place. Every city had at least one, but few were as obviously run down and seedy-looking as Somer's Rock. Peeling paint, bars on the windows, pockmarked sidewalk… he understood immediately why Ethan stressed 'extremely casual.'

Instead, while his brain filed all of that away, Clive was paying attention to the flickers of power only he could see. Those visions rarely held anything positive, and it wasn't the glimpses into his friends' trigger events that were the worst. Even inadvertently discovering Rebecca's identity and being read in on a frankly disturbing collection of secrets didn't unnerve Clive quite as much as the wrongness he felt from certain agents… and their hosts.

"Oh thank god, she's not here," he muttered to himself as soon as he pushed open the door. There was only the normal collection of auras clustered around the people seated at the big table in the corner — Karl's multicolored aura that somehow reminded Clive of pockets, flickers of images of bodies on the ground around Ethan, and Carly's chair that was common with anyone who imbibed a Cauldron vial beyond those initial few, like Keith's or Becca's.

Years of practice let Clive ignore those glimpses and focus on the people as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Meetings like this ran the whole gamut from somber and depressing to wild and raucous, but like the others, he didn't feel like celebrating right now. He certainly didn't need to ask why everyone was staring into their drinks like they held the secrets of the universe. A hopefully deaf waitress (and wasn't that a horrible thought…) took Clive's scribbled order, and once she was away he leaned onto the table. "So, that was a shitshow."

"Which part?" Carly said bitterly. "The fight? The cleanup? The corruption of our Wards and New Wave, or the fact that they're willingly fraternizing with the enemy?"

Karl shook his head. "All of the above, but especially the realization that Weaver's leash on her minions is far looser than we expected. This whole mission was predicated on helping rein in a sane, stable Butcher, and determining if a concerted effort to flip her would be viable. In retrospect, things were quiet."

"Too quiet," Ethan agreed dramatically, which earned scowls from the rest. "What? I thought it was pretty obvious that something like last night was going to happen. It could have been a lot worse, and we all know it."

That was the ultimate kick in the teeth for Clive and the others — last night really could have been a lot worse. "It's more worrying that she seemed to be fighting for fun," Colin said to general murmurs of agreement. "While it's hardly unheard of for parahumans to get a thrill out of battle, one has to wonder if Weaver feels that effect more strongly… perhaps fifteen times as strongly."

"She was also on drugs," Carly pointed out, elbowing Ethan. "And you said she was more responsible than that."

"Our Wards suspected that she was more responsible," Ethan retorted. "But you know, she has the whole 'fourteen murderers in her head and no good influences' problem that we definitely did not exacerbate by trying to have her send herself to the Birdcage."

Colin's expression turned sour. "We are aware of your objections, and I even agree with most of your points. But a world in which we try to contain the Teeth and control the narrative cannot have episodes like last night, especially if we hope to eventually eliminate the more problematic members of the gang. At best, it makes us look incompetent."

"To be honest," Clive said slowly, "given Weaver's vast destructive potential, I am tempted to think of the skirmish last night as a best-case scenario. She didn't even bring in her swarm or use the rage aura until we were away from civilians."

Carly shuddered at that, prompting Ethan to pat her on the back. "We need to find a way around that."

"I have several ideas for devices," Colin said. "But that is a discussion for later. If we are to make the most of this meeting with Weaver, we need a coherent plan."

That drew all eyes to Clive, though the dramatic moment was ruined by his beer arriving less than a second later. "It's as we said in the debriefing — we want assurances that loss of life and property damage will be kept to a minimum, and that the Teeth will not try to undermine the rule of law in the city. But… I think we should talk about our Wards."

Official debriefings were just that — everyone involved had avoided commenting about the Wards' fraternization with the enemy on the record. And while Tecton had been unfortunately accurate when determining the heroes' ultimate goals in the city, even Clive had not suspected the influence the local would-be supervillain warlord had on the younger generation.

Then again, the Wards had caused Weaver's trigger event — Clive and the others had been briefed extensively before showing up — so it was encouraging that Browbeat and Shadow Stalker were alive and able to work with Weaver. On the flip side, those same Wards were engaging in unsanctioned vigilantism that the program was designed to control in the first place.

"Our Wards or your Wards?" Ethan leaned back in his chair, some of his usual levity creeping back in. "Yours are great, don't get me wrong, but I don't think they were totally ready for Weaver. Which makes sense, given that Weaver took all of our expectations out back and shot them, then decided that the Unwritten Rules should actually be enforced as, um, unwritten?"

Karl huffed in amusement at that. "I brought Tecton and Cuff exactly for that reason. As absurd as the thought is, dealing with the Teeth going forwards will likely revolve around the sorts of backroom deals common with the Elite. And speak of the devil, hello Keith."

"My apologies," the leader of the Protectorate said as he walked up to the table. Clive found it strange to see Keith in civilian clothes, especially those as casual as a t-shirt and jeans. "I don't usually travel by car, and I misjudged the timing."

Keith's power shone as a prism of light waving in the breeze, an oddly fitting expression given his history. Cauldron had found him on an alternate earth, assuming Becca was speaking the truth, dying from a disease they couldn't treat, one that never struck Earth Bet.

The table went silent as Keith perused the drinks menu, not that there was much on tap. Upon finally submitting his order, the senior hero put his elbows on the table and leaned into his palms. "So, Weaver."

"She's awfully friendly with our Wards," Ethan continued.

Keith considered that. "I doubt we can order them or Weaver not to interact out-of-costume, given the latter's view on the Unwritten Rules. But we need to impress upon her that hell will rain down on the Teeth if she gets one of our kids killed in some stupid, villainous scheme." That earned a round of enthusiastic nods. "But I also think that we should encourage her to spend time with heroes, both for her own sanity and ours, because she is clearly lacking in good influences. Even just asking 'are you sure' could tip the balance on a bad decision."

"The media would lose their minds if they heard you say that," Carly pointed out.

"I find it unlikely that they will want to unmask Weaver," Colin said in a dry voice. "But I agree with that assessment. And as much as I loathe having a Ward be our off-the-books liaison with a group of murderers, Browbeat is capable of taking care of themselves quite well."

"Still, the warning will be good," Clive agreed. "And New Wave?"

The table went silent again, this time in concern. Everyone knew what Clive was really asking — should the Protectorate do something about Panacea's entanglement with the Teeth? The healer was considered far too valuable to lose, given how versatile her power was, and the Protectorate had already drawn up some plans for enticing both her and her Thinker girlfriend out of the city and into the Wards.

Just as long as it wasn't Philadelphia — her power gave Clive nightmares.

"I will admit that I find Panacea's situation worrying," Keith said eventually. "The last thing we want is for her to defect publicly, given her last PR disaster."

And what a disaster it was — Hannah was a great hero, but Clive was having a hard time taking an objective view on the recent slip-ups. Her accident with Weaver's pain blast was a cautionary tale, certainly, but he found himself blaming everyone but his ex-girlfriend for her relocation to a punishment duty.

That included Panacea herself for being involved with the Teeth to the point that she was in the Butcher's fucking house, but the rational part of Clive's brain pointed out that the onus was on the heroes to hold themselves to a higher standard. He still wanted to strangle the PHO mods for letting the teenager post that damning thread.

He also wondered what Rebecca would say about all of this, behind closed doors.

"And yet, she is clearly moonlighting," Colin replied, drawing Clive back into the conversation. "I find it highly likely that any attempts to pressure her will provoke… disproportionate response from the Teeth. Technically speaking, as Panacea's civilian identity is known, she is covered by the Unwritten Rules from the other side."

Ethan barked out a laugh at that, earning a glare from his wife and the others. "What? It takes guts to pick a villainous name that is a joke on your heroic identity!"

"Shut up, this isn't funny!" Carly hissed.

"Dunno, we found it kind of amusing."

The new voice from the door was so out of place that Clive twisted around reflexively, only to immediately regret his momentary impulsiveness when he saw the aura of malice and power surrounding the otherwise normal-looking teenager in a hoodie and jeans walking towards the table. The Butcher was always surrounded by flickers of their and their predecessors' trigger events, overlapping one another so that it was hard for Clive to tell them apart.

But where prior Butchers had an aura that was a shifting mess of their powers (made all the more confusing by all of the passive abilities), Weaver's aura was dominated by her own. Her agent seemed to hang in the air above and behind her, a monstrous spider-like creature with an unknown number of legs and far, far too many eyes.

If it were just the spider — that didn't disappear, which Clive suspected was because the girl's power never turned off — he would have been unnerved, but fine. Few parahumans had such persistent imagery, but Clive could handle that. What disturbed him on a profound level was what those legs were doing.

Some were curled protectively around Weaver, wrapping around her waist or stroking her hair. Clive had never seen an agent with that much humanity, for lack of a better word; given that the agents were literal aliens, he found the almost familiar contact disturbing on a fundamental level.

Other legs seemed to vanish abruptly halfway down, but Clive somehow knew that those legs stretched through interdimensional holes. Those holes, in turn, emitted dark tendrils that extended towards Weaver and tried to wind around her body. As he watched, one of the spider's legs swatted at a tendril, sending it reeling back into its hole.

Then some of the tendrils reached towards Clive instead, and he felt the weight of something terribly far beyond himself bearing down upon him. What began as faint whispers became loud enough for him to hear, and only many years of facing down horrors let Clive keep a straight face.

"He doesn't just hear us, but sees us as well," an impossibly complex voice said, echoing through his mind.

"Fascinating," a distinctly different but no less unfathomable voice added.

"One wonders what this insignificant peasant would experience, were he to be shown the Queen."

"Surely his head would explode."

"See how he trembles — he can barely handle our attention!"

"Perhaps the Destroyer wishes for a new host."

A symphony of laughter filled his every sense as his brain tried to comprehend just what he was hearing. Clive could taste and smell each word as they were spoken, see the sound move around the tendrils, pulsing with color. The way they brushed against his skin. If this was how the Butcher heard the voices of their predecessors, how the hell was Weaver able to hold herself together? Just a few moments of exposure to that madness were almost enough to break him, the sheer weight and volume of each word almost unfathomable. It was as if Clive had gazed into the void and this is what looked back.

It was too much.

Then the tendrils withdrew and Clive seemed to snap back to the present. Weaver had taken a seat and was passing off her written order to a waitress; the others were glancing between her and Clive. He belatedly realized that he was covered in a cold sweat, and forced himself to avoid looking at her power further.

Had that just happened or was it some power induced illusion? No — the apparition matched his experience the prior day when Weaver had asked for his autograph. The tendrils had noticed him then too, but never graced him with their attention. Small mercies, it would seem. Seeing her power like that, he could see why she was different.

While he hadn't been active when Reflex inherited, he was almost certain that introducing a vial cape to the collective had an impact on the Butcher instability that followed. Sanguine hadn't demonstrated any signs of the insanity the Butcher became known for, not like those who followed, aside from the anomaly that was Weaver. That none of the Butchers had revealed Cauldron's power selling secrets was a minor miracle.

Weaver — no, Taylor, they were in civvies and that actually mattered here — sent off her written order along with a quick flurry of what seemed to be sign language before studying the room. "Is it just me, or do all neutral meeting grounds end up on the bad side of run down?"

"The bar we use in Chicago is actually quite nice," Karl said, sounding surprised that he was answering at all. "But it is concealed in a decommissioned, underground bank vault, so it is easier to keep safe."

"I would have figured a speakeasy would be more in character," Ethan said.

Karl shook his head. "Tried that in the nineties. It got demolished during an unrelated fight nearby, but people were spooked."

"To be honest, I'm surprised Somer's Rock is still standing," Clive found himself saying. "Granted, it's worse for wear, but given that the Slaughterhouse Nine supposedly visited…"

"They did," Taylor and Ethan responded simultaneously, and she waved for him to continue. "Things didn't get really violent until they attacked the Protectorate."

Taylor glanced around the room again, her eyes going distant. "Does anyone ever think about what we lose, destroying our own homes and neighborhoods? How many places like this have been leveled, taking all of their history with them? There's an amazing diner not too far from here that has been around since before my parents were born. I used to go as a kid, but what if some asshole had firebombed it for no other reason than to make a point?"

Clive traded glances with Colin and Karl, but before they could respond, Ethan cut in with, "Oh, Marleighs? With the fried everything breakfast?"

"That's the one," Taylor agreed with a smile. "I could eat my weight in their sourdough toast and not regret it."

"My ever-dutiful wife only lets me have one slice." Ethan nudged Carly goodnaturedly, but the other hero's expression turned stony. "Oh, come on, even you would be pissed if someone knocked the place down."

"Yes, someone," Carly said, eying Taylor. Clive followed her glance, only to turn away when a spider leg started caressing Taylor's cheekbone.

The teen might have missed the glare due to her own drink arriving, but Clive wouldn't have bet on it. Given everything they knew about Taylor, it was far more likely that she ignored the barb. She took a long pull from her beer, setting the quart glass down with a thump. "I'll make a note to drop by sometime so that everyone knows not to fuck with the place."

"You know, it's called the Protectorate for a reason," Keith said warmly, cutting in before any of the other displeased heroes could make a snide remark. Taylor opened her mouth to respond, but the leader of the Protectorate bulldozed right over her without deviating from his leadership voice. "I am hardly unaware of the issues you have with our organization, but this is why we were founded in the first place."

"Breakfast food?" Taylor asked, quirking an eyebrow.

How Keith managed to chuckle at that, Clive would never know. "If that were the case, the cafeteria food would be much better. But no — the Protectorate exists to safeguard all of those memories and history in the age of parahumans."

"And yet, didn't the first Boston Games prove that, for all of your power, the Protectorate can never truly win? For as long as there is inequity, there will be crime, and the government is either unwilling or unable to take the necessary actions to end it. Personally, I think it's the former, as I have too many memories of fighting strong heroes to believe that you are incapable."

"You sound like Lustrum," Karl said, voice flat.

"Obviously," Taylor replied, leaning back in her chair. "I would blame my mother, but we didn't talk about that stuff much before she died. Luckily, she did talk about it with her girlfriend, who is stuck in my head."

She tapped her temple for emphasis, and Clive had to bite back the first retort that came to his lips. It was surprisingly easy to be lured into the trap of seeing Taylor like any other intense, moody teenager, only for her to drop lines like that and remind everyone that she was fucking Butcher XV. Here, the park, with their Wards…

Clive knew what she was doing, of course — the PRT's inability to see past her title had given Taylor the perfect opportunity to carve her own path as the Butcher, only slightly less literally than her predecessors. But despite all of the meetings and briefings, Taylor still managed to trick Clive and the others into trading small talk with her.

"The Teeth are hardly the most efficient way to achieve those goals," Colin said. "While I do understand the frustration of working inside of a system that does not align with your own objectives…" He trailed off, looking to Keith for confirmation. Keith nodded once, and Colin took a deep breath. "We are willing to look past, well, everything if you were willing to work with us under a more formal arrangement, including your friends."

For the first time since he had met her, Clive was treated to the sight of a poleaxed Taylor Hebert. He personally wasn't holding out hope that the supervillainess would take the offer — the Butcher, a hero? Absurd — but getting Butcher on the back foot during these 'negotiations' was a high priority goal.

Unfortunately for Clive, the offer seemed to rile up the previous Butchers something fierce, and he was forced to watch shadowy tentacles exploding from their hidden sources, accompanied by a hurricane of shouted whispers that threatened even his sanity. The whole torrent cut out a moment later, and Clive risked a glance to see Taylor's power furiously grappling with the darkness. The fight was brief; Taylor's power simply had too many legs.

"I'm perfectly happy where I am," Taylor replied eventually, voice completely flat. "Maybe if you had made that offer a month ago, things could have been different. But you probably would have crawled up my ass if I had killed Kaiser —"

"You can't just kill people!" Carly blurted.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I can," Taylor retorted. "What?"

"A month ago, you were doing your damnedest to avoid killing people," Carly spat. "Do you… do you seriously not see how much you have changed?"

Taylor scoffed at that. "What difference does it make? The Bay is a hell of a lot nicer compared to a month ago, at least now that the Nazis and sex slavers are gone. Given how long they had free rein around here, maybe I misjudged you when I claimed you were capable." She lolled her head sideways, staring at Keith. "Oh wait, you have Legend on speed dial. Unwilling it is."

A sudden boom made everyone jump, but it was just Karl banging his hand on the table. "It is not that simple, Taylor, and given the Thinker powers you have access to, you should know that. There is a bigger picture in play, bigger than any one of us — including you."

"Given present company, I'll take that as a compliment," Taylor said, lips quirking into a smile. "But feel free to go to my high school and tell the gay kids there about the 'bigger picture.' I'm sure they'll forgive the stabbings because of the PRT's oh-so-important image."

Keith sucked in a breath at that, and to her credit, Taylor winced. However, before anyone could say something else that they would all regret, Ethan cut in. "Okay, okay, let's cool down a bit, yeah? If I had wanted to trade insults all night, I would have invited Jouster. Smarter people than us have been debating the whole 'greater good' thing for hundreds of years, so let's try to discuss what we came here to discuss."

"Which is?" Taylor asked, leaning back in her chair and flashing the group a toothy smile. "I'm just here for a drink."

"Taylor," Ethan said seriously and with far more force than Clive would have dared. "Knock it off with the supervillain overlord shit. Posturing is for dealing with other supervillains, not three of the top six heroes in the country."

Taylor froze for a moment, then Clive nearly dropped his drink in shock when she rocked forwards and put all four of her chair's feet on the ground. "You're right. Force of habit… it's not like we usually get invited to this sort of meeting."

"We're aware," Clive replied. "Look, Taylor — we're all aware that you are effectively the only criminal power left in the city. The PRT obviously would like to see your entire organization dismantled, but the Protectorate is taking the more pragmatic view that Butcher XV is dramatically preferable to her predecessors."

"I'm sensing a 'but,'" Taylor said slowly.

"We obviously can't just let you have free rein in the city," Colin said, grimacing. "As much as I find the idea distasteful, there is quite a bit of precedent for working with the less objectionable criminal groups to maintain order in cities on the west coast."

"Less objectionable," Taylor quoted sarcastically. "Such as the Elite, who you are letting run rampant in the city despite the fact that…" Her eyes narrowed in thought, and the whispering (that Clive was ignoring) increased dramatically. "Please tell me that you are not seriously hoping that the Elite will push us out. The Bay is my home and we have no intention of leaving, and if we have to fight the Protectorate and Elite both —"

Clive cut her off. "Last night was a clusterfuck, no one will deny that. But the bigger picture is that the PRT would vastly prefer to deal with the Elite than the Teeth. The Protectorate, on the other hand, recognizes that the Elite would be unable to control the criminal element here."

Taylor stared at him for a long moment, and since he couldn't look away, Clive was forced to watch as her power toyed with her hair. "Let's cut the bullshit. If the Protectorate does its job, then the Elite will be caught and shipped out of the city. Otherwise, we're going to kill them if they don't leave by their own volition. The Teeth are done playing games."

Based on the annoyed grumbling from the rest of the table, Clive wasn't the only hero who was pissed off by the supervillainess's attitude. From most villains, such threats would be hot air and posturing, but the Teeth were exactly the right combination of vicious, bloodthirsty, and tactically superior to make that threat into reality. Worse, it was exactly that sort of mentality that they were all here to dissuade in Butcher XV to begin with.

"If the Protectorate does its job, all of your friends would be in the Birdcage," Karl pointed out. To his credit, he didn't so much as twitch when Taylor turned a baleful glare on him. "What? We all know the truth of the matter — heroes are numbered nearly three to one. We could just storm your lair, but our duty is ultimately to keep the peace. You'll notice the absence of the Elite."

"Put another way, you don't actually have the cape power to stop me," Taylor retorted. Then she leaned back again, crossing her arms, and her expression turned contemplative. "Luckily for your heroic sensibilities, I also want the Teeth to be less objectionable. I'm not particularly pleased about last night, myself, and I've taken some steps to avoid a repeat performance." Her gaze snapped to Karl. "And while we're on the subject, how are the capes formerly known as Rune and Othala doing? Somehow I doubt that the Elite would have just let them go."

"Scribe is doing about as well as I could expect," Karl hedged. Both of the ex-Empire capes, in Clive's opinion, needed to be sent to Alexandria's camp to get their attitudes adjusted.

"Thank Browbeat for that," Taylor said with a nod, then her eyes turned wistful. "I wish my own Changer ability was that potent again." She blinked in surprise, then ran a hand over her face. "Yeah, no."

"Dare I ask?" Ethan drawled.

Taylor's façade cracked for a moment, and Clive noted that she really was just a teenager. "They're yelling at me for killing Quarrel too fast and not picking up Lung along the way. Personally I'm glad we didn't — the guy was a human trafficking prick. It's bad enough I have memories of what human tastes like."

"I was always morbidly curious on how Marauder went on that particular rampage," Clive said.

Taylor chuckled to herself. "Bath salts are a hell of a drug, as Spree recently demonstrated. You think I should have learned, but even mild hallucinogens are apparently off-limits."

"Even still, Mouse complimented your swordswomanship," Clive admitted with a groan. His old friend had been very insistent that he pass that along. "But your puns need work."

That got a snort of laughter out of the teen. "If only you all could hear the complaining from the others. They cannot stand Mouse Protector, for obvious reasons."

"Presentation," Karl murmured, and Taylor nodded in his direction.

"What he said." Taylor took a steadying breath. "I set up this meeting so that we can avoid an actual war breaking out before the rest of you need to go clean up the mess in Boston. Last night was a mistake, and I'm going to avoid things more powerful than weed for the time being — for my own sake, not yours." She gestured to the table, arms pulling free of the dark tendrils. "But clearly you had more nefarious plans… so, what do you want?"

Keith's response was instantaneous. "I want to go back in time and reverse the complete idiocy that saw you turned away from joining the heroes."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Mhm, and while we're at it, let's have the Brigade target the literal Nazis instead of Marquis. Then I would feel a little less bad about joining an organization whose inaction would just leave mobsters instead of World War II relics."

"It's not that simple," Colin growled.

"Maybe," Taylor allowed, "but the fact is that I took them out and you didn't. Actually, now that I have you here, Keith — why didn't the Protectorate do something permanent about the Empire? You certainly could have used the good PR."

Clive had known Keith for a long time, and thus recognized the tightness around his eyes when he answered. "Believe me, I wished we could have done something sooner, but as much as I petitioned, I was overruled each time." Colin's head whipped around at that, and not for the first time, Clive hated the secrets that his power had revealed to him.

"So, Washington? Surely the Protectorate has enough money from all of those plushies to buy a few senators." The supervillainess smirked at that. "Heh, how's that for a slogan? 'The Teeth — at least we're better than Congress!' Thank Chisel for that one."

"Careful," Ethan laughed. "That sounds awfully like treason, and antagonizing the feds is dangerous."

She snorted. "I'm the Butcher, just living is dangerous. For example, see that cut?" Taylor hooked a thumb over her shoulder towards a long gash in the wall. "I remember when Jack Slash put that there, attempting to cut off Robbie's head after Marquis told Jackie to fuck off." Clive noted, with mild horror, that the gouge did indeed look like it had been made with an impossibly long butterfly knife.

"Interesting," Colin said, peering at the mark.

"I guess," Taylor said. "Well, we didn't actually agree to anything, but this has certainly been… enlightening." Clive wasn't alone in bristling at the insinuation in those words. "But we all want the Bay to be better, so even though the Teeth are definitely not heroes, that doesn't stop me from using them as a force for good."

"For GOOD!?" Carly yelled, leaping to her feet. "You! You—"

Taylor simply rolled her eyes, sipping at her drink. "You yap more than the puppy you got from Rachel."

"That's enough," Keith said in his 'command' voice, staring at Carly until she sat back down then turned his attention back to Taylor. "Though I do find myself agreeing with her. You have so far been able to hide behind the flimsiest shred of justification in the public eye, but the Protectorate cannot stay silent if you continue to use lethal force. Nor can we look the other way if you continue to poach our Wards."

Taylor just shrugged, taking a long sip from her beer. "Feel free to get to our enemies before we do, if you can. And in case it wasn't obvious, the protections of the Unwritten Rules extend to the heroes, too."

"How kind of you," Clive deadpanned.

She ignored the sarcasm. "You're welcome; at least someone is protecting our families. Finally, I haven't poached any Wards — any associations are of their own free will."

Conversation stalled after that, and they drank in un-companionable silence for a few minutes. Clive took the opportunity to reassess Butcher XV in his head — she was far more reasonable than her predecessors, as he had expected, but he was surprised to the degree which she was willing to admit that the Teeth were a means to an end. Anecdotal evidence suggested that the Butcher saw the Teeth as their twisted legacy, so Weaver's departure from that notion was stark.

He certainly sympathized with her firebrand attitude; she reminded him of himself before Rebecca had kept him on the straight and narrow. But where Clive had received the full support of the PRT, Taylor was cast back to the depths to fend for herself. He wondered how much of her attitude towards the Teeth was pragmatism and how much was a genuine desire to keep the gang running, or how much of each of those were her own or the other Butchers'.

Of course, finding romance among the Teeth capes was likely intermingling the two, given the Wards' description of Taylor's pre-Butcher life. Clive had been incensed to learn about the abuses of power that had led to Taylor's trigger, but ultimately his mission here was to ascertain if Weaver could be trusted to keep the details to herself in the interest of the public good.

Clive still did not know the answer to that question.

He was interrupted in his musing by Carly setting her glass down with a clink. "Panacea."

Taylor nodded. "Girl needs a break something fierce."

"You need to leave her alone," Carly continued.

"If you really are interested in the public good," Karl added, "then you must recognize the good work that she does."

In lieu of a response, Taylor took out her cell phone, tapped at it for a moment, then dropped it on the table. On the screen was a picture of four girls sleeping practically on top of each other in a tangle of limbs; it took Clive an embarrassingly long time to identify Panacea in the group.

He recognized Vex immediately from the briefing packets.

"Her sister took that picture of us earlier," Taylor said. "Do you know what it takes to get Amelia to be comfortable around people? Do you have any idea how hard Lisa works to keep her out of ingrained, destructive habits? Amelia is far more than a little healing robot, no matter what New Wave has gaslit her into believing."

The heroes shared several worried looks; Taylor's lips turned up in a smile. "Yeah, I thought so. The Teeth actually treat her like a person — at this point, she wouldn't be caught dead in an organization who only wants her for her power."

"And you don't?" Karl asked.

Taylor burst into laughter at that, but it wasn't the manic cackling of an old-school supervillain. No, it was just a teenage girl who had heard something funny. "You really don't understand us, do you? Even if you offered all of us pardons, I have no intention of leaving the Teeth. Oh, and here's some parting thoughts from the other Butchers."

The heroes braced for an attack, but Taylor just stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at them.

Then she vanished.

The meeting wrapped up not long after Weaver's… uncharacteristic exit. Clive had not expected Weaver to take the offer to join the Protectorate, but she was far more attached to the Teeth than the heroes had expected. Her attitude would inevitably cause further clashes with the PRT and Protectorate, but the one thing they were able to confirm was that she wasn't a bloodthirsty maniac. Even last night had been… subdued, for the Teeth.

Those thoughts and more followed Clive as he drove away in his inconspicuous car, and it wasn't until he opened the doors to his temporary apartment and found the lights on that he was shocked back to the present.

"You're late," Rebecca said, sitting on his couch in her director's suit like she owned the place.

Her power stood behind her as it always did, indomitable, implacable — fitting for who she was when she donned the mask. Rather than jump at her whims, Clive took the time to hang up his coat and place his keys in the bowl as was his habit. He didn't need to wake up at three in the morning and wonder if he had forgotten something.

Just to help even out the casual display of her ability to enter wherever she pleased, he started a pot of coffee. He could feel the vibrations in the floorboard where her foot was tapping away in irritation, but it was all part of their game. She was breaking their own rules, Director of the PRT and Alexandria alike, so she could deal with a touch of rudeness as recompense for entering his home unannounced.

He poured two cups and added the cream and sugar that Rebecca preferred to hers before returning to the living room. She accepted the cup, but set it aside immediately, not that he minded.

"Becca," he finally said in greeting after lowering himself into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

"Are you quite finished?" she replied, though she was more exasperated than angry.

Clive just smiled as he sipped the bitter brew.

"Completely insufferable," Rebecca muttered. "I want to hear how your meeting went with Weaver, so either stop wasting my time or I'm leaving."

"Such hostility, Becca," Clive said with a chuckle. "Careful, it may lead me to believe you don't enjoy my company. Besides, it's not like you have to travel much to get back to your office."

Rebecca shook her head. "We can rehash that argument later. I know that Endbringer fights hinge on attendance. I also know that you know that we can't tip our hand. You know better than almost anyone how malicious and dangerous our foe is."

Clive scowled at her, then angrily took a sip of coffee. "At this point, I would settle with just evacuating the civilians, but fine." He sighed, setting down his coffee next to Rebecca's. "I don't know how you knew, but I was able to get more information from Weaver's agent this time around. I wish I could truly communicate how disturbing her power is, but…" She just quirked an eyebrow at him. "I could hear the voices."

At that, Rebecca sat forwards and gave Clive her whole attention. The absolute focus was unnerving; Clive knew that she used this to great effect with the other Directors. "Elaborate."

"They knew I could perceive them, and were responding to my, ah, unease," Clive replied, fighting the urge to shudder at the memory. "It was hard to understand them. Even calling them 'voices' doesn't do justice to the sheer presence they had."

"Did you recognize any?"

"One reminded me of Knockout, from what I remember of the man's boasts, but again, hard to tell. More importantly, they referenced a 'Queen,' which I can only assume meant Weaver's own agent." He would rather not have to remember that abomination. "It appears as a huge spider with uncountable legs, some of which swat at smoke that pours out of invisible holes; those are the influences of the Butchers, I'm sure."

Rebecca nodded slowly. "And the others?"

"They, uh, caress Weaver. Play with her hair, hold her in some sort of twisted hug, stuff like that."

Under more ordinary circumstances, Clive would have been proud to have stumped Rebecca to the point that she just sat and stared at him for close to a minute. "Disturbing indeed. That will be of great interest to my associates. But what of the girl herself?"

"She's definitely the Butcher," Clive replied. "Yes, she's mostly sane, but it turns out that the insanity was only ever part of the picture." Rebecca nodded absently, and he continued. "Butcher XV takes refuge in audacity in a way that only she can, using the inheritance as a shield to do whatever she wants. The big difference is that Weaver isn't out for her own glory, she seems to genuinely want to use her power and gang to improve her home. The worst part is, I can't really fault her attitude."

"You wouldn't," Rebecca murmured, finally sitting back and picking up her coffee. "It is apparent to even some of the most blockheaded directors that she represents an entirely different kind of threat to the PRT — legitimacy. She will need to be steered very carefully once the Teeth's dominance is established in the city. I also believe that Panacea may be a stabilizing influence on her."

Clive groaned. "I think that is a mistake."

"Nonsense," Rebecca said, waving her hand. "Miss Lavere is an S-Class threat, and she narrowly missed a meltdown that could have endangered life on the east coast. Our unlikely savior was Tattletale, but Miss Lavere is stubborn enough to face down both Butcher and heroes at the same time. The hospitals will simply have to go without their healer for a while."

"Aren't there better influences? What about, say, transferring Weaver to the school attended by the other Wards?" Clive asked.

Rebecca shrugged. "You are welcome to try. I am more concerned with ensuring that Weaver does not make any gross mistakes while solidifying her power base."

Clive scowled again at the reminder of Cauldron's nonsensical attempts to experiment with parahuman feudalism. He thought that the whole idea was dead on arrival, given that the Bay was not completely isolated from the rest of the country. Unfortunately, Rebecca had been her implacable self when he objected, and he counted himself lucky that they were allowed to go forward with the current operation.

The cynical part of him knew that they only did so because of the hypothetical threat to the PRT's veneer of stability posed by Weaver forcing the issue of the Unwritten Rules. Butchers came and went, and while losing another hero would be a tragedy, there were protocols in place for that. Wide-scale internal-turned-external strife over whether or not the PRT really separated capes from their personal lives was something even Rebecca did not want to deal with.

That reminded him. "Where's your Thinker friend?"

"Staying far away from this mess," Rebecca replied immediately. She drained her coffee in one gulp, then stood up and adjusted her suit. "This has been very informative, but we have confirmed that Weaver is well-behaved enough to be left mostly to her own devices."

Clive sighed. "And just like that, we sign over the lives of nearly half a million people to the whims of a dubiously sane teenager with more power than she knows what to do with."

"Oh, she knows what to do with it all right," Rebecca said with a smile. "The same thing that we are all doing — making hard choices to ensure a better future. It is good to see you. Door to Cauldron."

"And you too," he replied distractedly, staring at the spot where the hole in space had been.

Clive found himself sympathizing with Taylor Hebert. She had been heartfelt and genuine in her interactions in civvies, and part of him hated the fact that those hard choices would eventually rob her of that enthusiasm. Dealing with her was playing with fire, and Clive only hoped that none of his friends signed their own kill order by poking that beehive.

Worse, though, was Cauldron's attention. Clive himself felt dirty every time he kept one of their secrets or learned about their machinations, but the pragmatist in him demanded that he work with them to avoid the literal end of the world. Playing the hand he was dealt was not much different than Weaver and the Teeth, though a tiny part of him resented that she was at least offered a route off the path of good intentions.

Then again, with Rebecca in charge, it was just picking one's poison. Clive shook his head, only to discover that his other coffee cup was missing. "Really, Becca? Stealing my china now? Haven't we sunk far enough?"

Shaking his head, he moved the dirtied dishes to the sink, and just as he was done washing them, another golden iris appeared and deposited the cup in his dish rack. He couldn't help but chuckle at the casual abuse of such a useful power.

"Only you, Becca…"

Author's Notes:

Pen: Whew, we made it fam. Hopefully this shows things from the other side and what's going on. With this arc having been drafted in advance, it has led to a lot of new issues we're still learning to deal with, like edits rippling down the line and necessitating changes. This chapter was almost completely reworked by First, and damn did he do a fantastic job while maintaining almost every one of my original beats. Kudos are deserved for the modest man.

Inheritance - 10k written

Time Flies - 12k written (Check my snip thread for a preview!)

(Original) Gay Crime Drama - 52k written (NaNo project)

(Original) Lost Dog - 3k written

Grand Total = 77,000 words written this month.