butcher 21

Chapter 19

New facets of my abilities are opening up. I can't make the Butcher in my head shut up, but I can pay more attention to my insects, not giving him access to them. After a brief drama, Edward, the former hero, the cape with the so-called "danger sense," decided to cooperate with me. He was the first hero to kill a Butcher, became Butcher Three himself, and lasted almost three and a half weeks, before going insane from the voices in his head and launching a suicidal attack. At the camp of the Teeth, where he was killed by a girl who can cause rotting wounds with her willpower. What's her name? For myself, I decided not to call them by their cape aliases and nicknames. It would remind them of who they are in cape guise. And now I need to reach out to their human core. So, either by their names, by regular human names. Or by numbers.

So, for me, the girl who killed Butcher Three is simply the Fourth. And that's it. She is as aggressively tuned as the original Butcher, so I no longer listen to her or the First. In turn, I allocated a personal tablet to Edward, entrusted him with two ants, and barely controlled him. I couldn't completely ignore what was happening, after all, it's my power, but I tried not to pay attention. It wasn't a transfer of control; no one could control the insects without me. It was more like if I sat a child on my lap while driving a car and put their hands on the wheel while still controlling it myself, but considering their movements.

Edward's first ordered of business was to search for the names of his relatives and loved ones. Fortunately, modern social networks allowed him to find his relatives, their photos, and videos. I tried not to look, or rather, not to pay attention and not to focus on it, but apparently, he found them on the first try. He looked at their photos and videos, at first, there were not many of them, but then his daughter entered Boston College, they bought her a good phone with a camera, and she discovered social networks. And there were already a lot of photos and videos. Cute photos on campus with friends and some kitten. Alarming photos from parties, where she hugged some guy, photos from home, where she came for Christmas, videos of participating in some carnival (didn't know they had those in Boston), and here's a kayaking trip on rivers and lakes in North America, camping in tents. The first sad post about relationships. Breakup. Black and white photos with the night sky and "if dad were alive"... no, stop, what am I doing? I can't spy over his shoulder; Edward should have at least the illusion of privacy. I promised him I wouldn't spy. And I won't. Okay, back to gold mining, selecting Japanese hornets from vicious and horribly venomous creatures into even more vicious and more venomous ones. I'll call them "Stingers." Additionally, I increased the potential target for grenade ants. They proved to be excellent in the fight against the Butcher, simply not interfering and, without my control, finding a safe place and going into hibernation. Good job. After all, the instincts of a barrel ant, a storage ant, and a queen ant are initially different. The "Medici" and "Kunoichi" are attacking creatures; they don't hesitate before pressing the trigger, but the barrel ants were created for storage, not attack, and it takes a special command to make it release everything at once. Not to mention that a burst barrel ant dies. So, everything is fine, bring more of those ants. By the way, what happened made me reconsider my concept of "let's have more violence and escalation" and try to develop two new lines of grenade ants, the first ones filled with capsaicin, an analogue of pepper spray, and the second ones with a sticky, rapidly hardening substance in the air. Of course, after a fight, you don't wave fists around, but it's necessary to learn from your own defeats. Yes, there isn't much sticky substance in each specific barrel ant, which spiders supply to me at my underground sewing factory named after Clara Zetkin, but I have an advantage in using any chemicals, from poison and acid to capsaicin and spider silk. I can deliver everything very precisely. Poisons and capsaicin - into a specific nostril or air filter hole. Acid - on the thinnest and closest to the skin surfaces. Spider silk - joints, soles, weapon safety locks, and, of course, glasses or visors on helmets. Those who receive information only through their own senses will be neutralised fairly quickly. Even Glory Girl, this Mini Alexandria, won't be able to attack if she can't see anything.

And it's my fault that I didn't anticipate this, didn't think ahead, focused on the deadliest options instead of at least considering flexibility. It's all because of fear. I felt vulnerable in the cape world, where monsters like Lung or Siberian roam. But forget Lung, practically every one of the 88 could have either shredded me to ribbons or worse. In fact, you didn't need to be a cape to turn Taylor Hebert into minced meat. You just needed to be a strong man... or three strong girls. And all my bugs wouldn't save me from a precise gunshot or even a thrown rock. Not from a knife or a fist.

And that scared me—my own vulnerability. So, I reacted to what was happening very sharply, cultivating the deadliest weapons for myself, and in the end, it turned against me. I have three weeks, and if I don't go crazy during this time, then... what? Okay, fine, I'll hold out for four weeks, five weeks... and then what? If at the end of the sixth, the Butcher still takes control of the body—what's the point? To set a record? To later boast in this hell of other people's personalities, saying, "Hey, I lasted longer than any of you!" No, wrong. Completely wrong. This isn't a sprint, it's a marathon, Taylor. I don't just need to hold out for a few weeks, months, or years. I need to learn to live with them in my head, to keep calm, to remain myself, and even to enjoy life.

And I have an advantage over all the previous personalities—my terrifying multitasking. Yes, if you constantly drip water on someone's forehead, they'll go mad. But what if you keep changing the spot where you're dripping it? If I can divide my attention, it means I can alternate it like in a spinning revolver cylinder, not allowing myself to go completely insane. Can I, based on my multitasking, create sub-personalities within myself? Probably. By the way, this is called schizophrenia. Wait, right now—am I the only one who's growing queens, breeding wasps, bringing a column of cockroaches to the anthill under the house, collecting golden sand deep in the mine, and reading forums on PHO all at the same time? No, no, I couldn't do it alone. Someone or something takes on the function of control, helping me to feel millions of bugs simultaneously. But what's important is that I'm not controlling them like in computer strategy games, just assigning them and directing them toward the enemy, no. I feel and control each (!) bug individually. It's as if my ability sliced my personality into millions of sub personalities and gave me the ability to be all of them simultaneously. And...

I exhaled. Turned my mental gaze inward. Bite my lip. It's true, I feel everything—smells, tastes, numerous images in all different spectrums of visibility, tingling on the antennae, swollen abdomens of the grenade ants, the angry buzzing of the killer wasps from the newly formed "Stingers" squad. I see through their eyes, feel their bodies. I'm everywhere and nowhere. As if my usual human brain were connected to a huge quantum computer capable of anything. It's hard for me to even imagine the amount of information that passes through my perception simultaneously. Billions of terabytes, no, more. Here it is, the true power of Taylor Hebert!

Amidst the entire flow of information, I simultaneously feel Edward, who is watching a video from his daughter's prom night and... crying? Ants don't have tear ducts, but the ants he controls... are contorted and barely moving, dying. Part of me is surprised that insects can feel human sorrow, while another part cynically notes that they're just following the command for self-destruction, the same suicide that Edward wanted when he launched a suicidal attack on the Teeth camp. Only he can't die... now he's integrated into the Butcher collective, like all of us.

And also—somewhere in all this information, there are the other Butchers. They're arguing, yelling, begging... but it's so little. The stream of information from the Butchers is negligible compared to the others, and I sighed with relief. I can't shut them up, can't move their personalities into insects, but I can cut off their access to these streams of information. Unfortunately, they'll still be in my head, but... I have an idea.

"Edward?" - I addressed the paralysed-in-grief half-man, the first hero who killed the Butcher and the Third Butcher. "Are you okay?"

"No..." - he responded after some time. "No, and I never will be." His voice sounded... weary?

"Thank you, Taylor," he said. "I always wanted to know what exactly... how exactly... what they're like now. But no one gave me the opportunity."

"You can text to them," - I said. "Get yourself an account on social networks, write to them. It's a rare opportunity, Edward. Few are given the chance to talk to loved ones after death."

"What's the point in that?" - there's a bitter smirk in his voice. "I'm already gone. And never will be. And they have another life. If Sheila finds out... she'll be upset. And I've already caused them enough trouble. If only then..."

"Well, whether there's a point or not—it's up to you," - I replied. "I'm giving you this tablet on a permanent basis, when we're home. And I assigned ants to be under your control. Around the clock. Do what you want."

"These creatures won't leave me alone..." he started, then suddenly fell silent.

"Silence..." - he said, astonished. "Silence... what did you do with them?"

"Nothing," - I mentally shrugged. "Nothing. It's just that you're now focused on controlling the insects, human abilities are limited. There's a thing called Uhtomsky's dominance. When you're busy defecating, you don't even react to electric shocks."

"What?!"

"There was this wonderful scientist, Uhtomsky. Alexei Alexeyevich. A prince, by the way. And a monk. But most importantly—a scientist. So, he proposed the theory of dominance. Simultaneously in a dog's, human's, or any brain—only one thing can dominate. The wonderful scientist shocked a dog, and it reacted as a dog should when shocked—whined and jerked. However, at some point, the dog felt like taking a dump. And at that very moment, it got shocked. But the dog didn't react, although it received an electric shock. Our brains are limited, Edward. You can only do one thing at a time. And controlling insects—is a completely new experience. And when I assign ants to you—you stop noticing the Butcher. It's very simple here, you've long been in a situation where you have neither arms nor legs, nor your own sight. Where you constantly hear voices. Let's be honest—you've been insane for a long time, and I would never let you out into the world without therapy. But no one's releasing you into the world. I'm just giving you the opportunity to be alone, in silence, with a tablet and internet access."

"Wait. And... if you leave home and lose connection with these specific ants—can you pass control to me over others? Not necessarily ants! Flies, butterflies, even rats!" - he started, stumbling over his words, hastily, as if afraid he'll be interrupted. "I don't want to go back to... them! I'd rather have silence! Complete silence!"

"I promise to think about it," - I nodded. A plan is forming in my mind. As the ancients said—divide et impera (divide and conquer (latin)).

Of course, I won't entrust Edward with "Medici" or "Kunoichi", but fruit flies or ordinary flies—why not? After all, what he wants most is silence and peace. There was a story by Ray Bradbury about a man who wanted silence above all else. He put earplugs in and enjoyed complete silence. Rested. Edward hasn't had such luxury in years. He existed in hell, because it couldn't be called life. If hell is other people, then I hold the keys to paradise. How many of the Butchers will refuse the luxury of choosing their own interlocutor and time for communication? They themselves didn't notice how they turned into a flock of crows, which can only squawk, caw, and unleash all the ugliness inside on a person. Because they can't do anything else. Because it's their only way to have any influence on what's happening. Helplessness and a closed space with those you hate but can't do anything about... a terrible afterlife indeed. And truly, complete silence is much better.

"What about this?" - I fitted three more ants to the tablet to replace the deceased ones. "And try to handle them gently. Otherwise, you'll drown in ants..." I joked, and he knows it. Hundreds of ants die every minute in the anthill, some from old age, some from accidents, so three ants in two hours are peanuts for me. Evolution thrives on corpses, indeed.

"Thank you, Taylor," - he replied, gently taking control. "I... I don't even know how to thank you. I haven't had a chance to sit in silence for so long."

"If you tell me exactly what happened to you—how all this happened—it'll help me a lot," - I admitted. "I don't want to end up like all of us, a crazy bitch with a machine gun and a thirst for destruction. I have a father and... perhaps even friends. A girlfriend. And I have quite big plans for life. A normal life."

"Well, you're certainly ambitious about a normal life," - Edward chuckled, and for the first time, I heard a smile in his voice.

"I've figured that out already," - I replied dryly. "Right from the start."

"Yeah. You shouldn't have killed Lung. As soon as Swara heard about it, she immediately jumped into her car. She screwed all her own people from Teeth gang so hard, they were smoking afterward. And that's it," - he paused and continued, "it's hard to believe. It feels strange in my head, like the fog has lifted. It all felt like a nightmare. I... I think I'll go, sit in silence a bit more, okay?"

"Of course," - I said. I need information about the Butcher, details about his influence on the psyche, how exactly all this "I'm the new Butcher now, ha-ha, die, bitches!" happens. And about the Teeth, where their camp is, because I haven't destroyed all of them, they're probably somewhere in the city, quiet, waiting for Butcher Fifteen to show himself, to pledge loyalty, poor bastards. But... the mental health of the patient is the most important thing. If Edward is truly capable of recovering from all this nightmare—it will mean a lot.

So, for now, I won't insist. He deserves peace. And, by the way—this will already cause a split among the Butchers. Oh, yes, divide and conquer—nothing stirs up so much anger as privileges among equals in status. He's just like us, but he has the ability to use internet access and, most importantly, privacy! The ability to close the door behind him and breathe out.

"And another thing. Pay attention to Muramasa and Swara," - Edward said. "They may not be heroes, but Swara got into a fight with the Butcher to protect civilians. And Muramasa is noble by nature. And there may be Tok. He's a Tinker and he simply doesn't have a moral compass set, violence isn't as interesting to him. He just wants to tinker. I'm sure he'd sell his own mother for access to ants, a notebook, and materials."

"Thank you, Edward. Good night. Enjoy the silence."

Chapter 20

They say history doesn't have the subjunctive mood. Because in hindsight, everything seems simple and understandable, and now we can only shrug our shoulders and wonder: how could you not foresee the iceberg, and why were there so few lifeboats on the Titanic? Couldn't they see that you couldn't trust Cao Cao at his word? Who built the Maginot Line to the Ardennes? Did they really want wealth so badly that they had to execute Genghis Khan's envoy delegation? And so on and so forth.

If you think about it, everything is explainable in hindsight. Of course, the Titanic was unsinkable with watertight compartments, but what if they all got punctured? It's clear that you can't trust either Cao Cao or Lu Bu because there's no place to put them to the test. In hindsight, we know that the Ardennes Forest turned out to be passable for armoured vehicles and supply trucks, and Genghis Khan could move his troops so fast that Khwarazm Shah couldn't even blink before the black riders besieged Urgench. But that's all in hindsight.

Now I understand that my ability to multitask is the strongest defense against sensory overload, and it was through such overload that the Butchers drove their new hosts insane. Constant shouting, arguing, insults that never left you alone for a second... and as soon as it starts to get to you (and it will sooner or later), that's when this very Uhtomsky's dominance comes into play. You can't concentrate on anything else but this constant turmoil in your head. However, even with all its passion and truly brilliant proficiency in profanity, all this constant swearing in my head is just a stream of information. And yes, if you concentrate only on it, or (here's the trick! Watch my hands!) – try as hard as you can not to focus on it – it will eventually drive you crazy. Well... as if. It pushes you towards impulsive and uncharacteristic actions. What everyone around will, of course, interpret as "The Butcher has finally revealed their true essence," no matter how much of a hero you are. That's what drives you crazy – the desire to stay within bounds when you're bursting from the inside. You need a pressure release valve, you need to process, experience feelings, not deny them. Even so, if it weren't for my multitasking ability, the Butchers would most likely have driven me crazy too.

However, now, in hindsight, it becomes clear that for every clever screw, there will always be a clever bolt. My ability – to receive, accept, and digest a gigantic amount of data without damaging my own psyche. The human brain is not capable of that. Remember, when you sleep, your brain often can't even imagine complex geometric figures, distant landscapes in a dream are shrouded in fog. The brain lacks computational power. When we look at a cityscape in the distance, we don't see it. We see a simplified picture, adjusted for the capabilities of our brain. In my case – I simultaneously receive information from millions of insects. Millions! And damn it, with receiving information, the brain can label and archive. No, I'm making millions of decisions at the same time! Right now, I'm sitting at the table with my father, poking at macaroni and cheese with a fork, while simultaneously rejecting hundreds of Japanese hornets and ant queens, conducting field tests comparing the speed and manoeuvrability in the air of new hornets – they are much faster and more enduring than ant queens. At the same time, I'm listening to the cries and scandals in the noble family of the Butchers about Edward's privileges, who is engrossed in some simple browser game. Simultaneously, I'm conducting private negotiations with Swara, Muramasa, and Tok (Tinker), separately with each one. Swara is stubborn; her own death from the "Medici" poison is still fresh in her memory. Tok agreed immediately, and we are discussing the equipment he needs for his workshop and the number of insects; he is learning to control ants and is thrilled with the opportunities that have opened up. Muramasa... it's more complicated here. He demands the creation of a sword-wielding insect and that's it. It turns out he has thoughts on how to use the second pair of "hands" during fencing. I'm trying to explain to him that I'm not a biotech engineer; I can only control insect behavior, accelerate metabolism, and select necessary genetic traits.

"…and they let us go right away. But, you know, the firefighters and paramedics showed up, and even the Protectorate and the PRT, and of course, the police. - I'm also having a casual conversation with Danny, who are pretending to listen attentively. He was tired from work, and he was really worried about me as soon as he found out that the Teeth and Butcher were practically fighting in the yard of Winslow High School. Well... almost on the opposite side of the street. So, he rushed to the school in his old pickup truck, but of course, everything was cordoned off and no one was being let through, and he was even more worried. And when they finally let him through - he found out that I had long since left and then drove home. He only breathed a sigh of relief when he burst into my room while I was sitting there sorting out the orderly rows of psychopaths and killers, barely managed to remove the blindfold and earplugs. He saw me, whole and relatively unharmed, and he breathed out. He hugged me, though, in a way that for a while I even wondered if he would've broken my ribs if it weren't for Butcher's strength. Still, that incredible regeneration power, okay, the intoxication passed like smoke from apple trees. But my hand was aching, I must have pulled it somewhere, but it passed. And most importantly - my vision. Now I only need to wear glasses without diopters because of perfect vision. And there's even some sort of zoom built into my eyes, if you look closely and strain a little - it's like it slightly magnifies.

"And one girl felt unwell, they even took her away in an ambulance." - I said, somewhat cowardly hiding the fact that this girl is Taylor Hebert herself. However, in the hospital, they quickly figured out that I'm healthy beyond measure and just switched to medications. They even offered to deliver me home, but I preferred to go there... on my own feet. Interestingly, I can disable unnecessary sensory channels. Rather, not disable, but... not pay attention to them, mark them as 'not priority'. Very convenient. Need the ability to see blood through walls - please. Don't need it - you turn it off and you can see your father's face, not a skull covered in bloody veins. The same goes for other abilities, apparently because they're not my abilities. My ability to control insects - I couldn't turn it on and off at will. Well, whatever.

"And I even saw Armsmaster! And he, by the way, is the seventh-ranked hero in the whole country!" - I said: - just like that! Directly on the street, live. It's one thing when he rides past on his motorcycle, and quite another when he's standing nearby.

"Before, you liked Alexandria more," - Danny said, carefully hiding a yawn: - you had so many posters of her and a lunchbox. And T-shirts.

"Those were the days of yore," - I waved my hand: - my love now is Armsmaster. He has such strong, sturdy arms... and a beard!

"Mmffh!" - Danny choked on his evening Budweiser: - what?!"

"I even have underwear with his face on them," - I confided in him. Indeed, among all of Taylor's clothing (no lace or anything, it's all either sporty or cotton, purely tomboyish) - there were such things. Of course, made of cotton.

"Ha-ha!" - Danny burst into a coughing fit, and I graciously (but carefully measuring my efforts) patted him on the back. He stopped coughing, wiped his mouth, and looked at me respectfully.

"You've really grown stronger," - he said. "Got some strength in those arms. Well, done, not skipping gym. And stood up for yourself at school. But it's better not to tell me about your underwear, I'm still your father."

"Understood. I'll only talk about underwear with other men," - I mentally noted. "I wonder, if I brought some to Armsmaster? To get an autograph?"

"Taylor! You're..." - Danny shook his head. "Enough teasing me already. Just remember, I'm still the older man in the family and I can very well cut off your pocket money."

"Alright, alright!" - I raised my hands in surrender to such a solid argument. "I'll shut up. Not another word about underwear with Armsmaster. By the way, it's his mask, not his face."

"I don't understand what the PRT PR department thinks," - Danny shook his head. "Their kids could buy them."

"The size is actually for kids," - I agreed with him. "They'd be a little tight now. I should go to the PRT, they have a souvenir shop for visitors. Dress up, so to speak."

"And what am I doing?" - Danny shook his head. "Discussing underwear with Armsmaster's face on it. Let's change the subject already. Henry McCallister, our lawyer, called me about work. He said he can bring the case to negotiations and settlements from the school over the previous incident. He's ready to meet with the school administration and Alan at the same time. I told him it's a trap and they'll be presenting a united front, but he just laughed. And I believe him. You know the Heberts are half-Irish?"

"And half-Italian, as well as a third Scandinavian. If there's such a thing as a third." - I nodded. It's an old paternal yarn he uses every St. Patrick's Day to go out carousing all night with his friends from the longshoremen's union. The longshoremen's union, where else could there be Irish and Italians?

"In any case, there are two options - he can sort everything out without your involvement, so you don't necessarily have to attend," - Dad continued. "But he thinks you'll want to be at the meeting."

"I'll want to," - I nodded. "How could I not want to? With someone like Henry, you could call to hell and he'd sort it out. I feel like if the earth split in half and Satan crawled out, all I'd have to do is call Henry McCallister and he'd negotiate with him. And Satan would pay compensation. No, I'm not going to miss such a spectacle." - I said, tracking the culling of wasps, reading about today's incident on PHO, and checking on how the next batch of Type A botulinum toxin is maturing. Busy girl, what can I say. Oh, right, and Tattletale is texting me something on my phone... and I've dropped it screen-down, I'll pick it up and read later.

"Well, that's good then," - Danny said, finishing his Budweiser and getting up from the table. "I'm tired today, Owl, I'll go sit in front of the TV for a bit before bed. They're showing a rerun of the 'Lakes' game tonight but I doubt I'll make it to the end."

"Of course. I'll clean up the dishes," - I replied. "Rest up."

- And... I was thinking today. He stopped halfway to the couch in the hall: "You probably need to buy a mobile phone. I know you don't like them, but this incident at your school almost drove me crazy. What if something had happened?

- Daaaad! Not at school, but nearby! The heroes of the Butcher and his henchmen from the Teeth two streets away from us braked and rolled into the asphalt. I rolled my eyes.: - we haven't even heard anything really. We sat in the shelter for two hours, it was boring.

- It doesn't matter. - Danny frowned: - tomorrow I'll give you money, buy yourself a mobile phone. You have a day off tomorrow anyway; everything is blocked off there for school. And the ads are hanging.

- I will not refuse. I quickly agreed: - I'll go buy it. Will it... hit our budget too hard? They offered me a part-time job here... - Yeah, they did. Tattletale suggested it. Kill the Coil, get millions. A simple sentence like that. Who does she take me for? A manipulator. I found a killer for a part-time job. Hell, the Coil didn't do anything wrong to me personally, but it's somehow even indecent to kill people for money. Especially since I don't need the money yet. While. The stream of consciousness that I use to communicate with Tok, Cape, the Butcher Tinker, began to understand how expensive it is to be a technician. Materials are needed, devices are needed, machines are needed, spare parts are needed, and many of the above are very, very expensive. Massaraksh.

I'm not going to kill Coil anyway. I don't baptise children with Tattletale, I like her, so what? I like the Armmaster over there too, strong, muscular arms and a beard... eh. So, he's not asking me to kill anyone, he's ready to just give... or are these the remnants of Taylor's adoration? Or the desire to pull the tiger's moustache? Or... is it a terrible revenge on Butchers to seduce an Armmaster and let them spit during sex? No, well, I don't hate Butchers that much, really.

My father settled down on the couch and opened another jar of Budweiser. I put the dishes in the sink and went up to my room, got my phone, see what is Tattletale is doing. Because who else can write to me? I've blocked the advertising services, and that's all that remains. Well, there is also an emergency PRT line in case of an attack by parahumans, but there has already been an attack by parahumans today, a projectile does not fall twice into one funnel, right? So, she's a Tattletale. Now it's going to start, "let's meet and discuss what an unhappy young lady I am in trouble and how I am exploited and raped every single day, save me, my knight in chitin."

I must say that I like Lisa, but more as a person, she is so bold, always on the verge of walking, such a vixen-sister from an adult fairy tale. Cynical, charming, smart, a bitch bitch. If she could keep her mouth shut, she wouldn't be worth it at all. Interestingly, Tattletale is just like me in this regard – she knows that you don't need to get into the bottle, but she can't help but run into it. I wonder if she just needs to get into a conflict, as an option – to get to know the person better. How is an echo sounder a short ping to determine personality, way of thinking, behaviour, type of stress response? If that's what she needs in order for her power to work? Then everything falls into place, she just can't help it. For me, everything is simple in this regard – Taylor's troubles sometimes just push me by the arm. And ... there is some kind of underlying desire to smash someone's face so that it's easy to get into the blood, into the meat. Where did the fragile girl get it from? Yes, everything is from the same place – suppressed needs. You can't keep this to yourself, Taylor, you'd sign up for the boxing section, start playing sports or carry a razor in your pocket, make friends in a gang... oh, what now. Hopefully, after I got a Butcher in my skull, it won't get worse. I have already lost hope that it will pass, that nirvana and enlightenment and forgiveness will descend on me, but at least stay within the boundaries of the previous reaction. Although... remembering Lung, and the previous reaction was overkill, too much and three aces in his hand.

I went into the room and picked up the phone, in hindsight I think that simple ants can't turn it over, but if you take a few Medici, they would definitely turn it over. I'm removing the lock. How many messages. Several at once – from PRT. Explosions in the city, please keep civilians calm. A new message. Responsibility for the bombings was claimed by a certain Bakuda, a cape from the ABB, a henchwoman of Lung. Now she is at the head of the ABB. She blows up buildings and makes some absurd demands - to extradite Lung, allegedly he is alive and is in a secret PRT prison. Another message is a request to remain calm and not go outside, a list of neighbourhoods where it is unsafe. Residents of these neighbourhoods are advised to proceed to the shelter. The last message is indeed from Tattletale.

"Where are you?! At home, I see. I need help, urgently! Bakuda will kill us! Please, please, please!" - looking at her message, I understand that the matter is really serious. For the first time since we met, Tattletale didn't put on a smiley face.

Chapter 21

Interlude

His legs cramped, his breath was short, his chest was pricked with a thousand small needles, his left arm hung like a whip and did not obey at all. But it was all nothing, it was all such nonsense compared to the situation they were in. She glanced at the Regent, who was barely on his feet.

A burst joint shoulder bursa, cracks in two ribs, accumulated fatigue and stress. Fear. But not death. He is not afraid of death; he is afraid of leaving without having fulfilled his mission. Now he is capable of running into trouble, you can't let him provoke Bakuda.

-Regent. Do not. She said, besieging Alec, "Don't. We are... She played with us. All this time she was playing with us, that's why her people didn't shoot."

"You're absolutely right," Bakuda's voice said, and she raised her finger and slowly moved it from side to side, like a stern teacher from a Sunday children's TV show.

Triumphant. He genuinely thinks she's smarter than everyone else in this place. Wants to show off your strength? No, not just strength, but superiority. All this is a game, a theatre of one actor and thousands of spectators. So, she needed Uber and Elite. She plays, her image is important to her. It's not enough for her to be strong. She wants to demonstrate intellectual superiority. Successful planning. A good mine in any game? No matter how it goes, she'll pretend she's going to do what she planned. If you play along...

The Tattletale opened her mouth, but Bakuda shook her head, "And now, I think you're the one who should shut up. Guys?"

She put her hand on the head of the thug standing in front of her jeep with a gun in his hands, as if he were her pet. It was as if she were in possession of him, and he shuddered at the touch.

Fear. He is afraid of being killed. No, he is afraid that she will kill him in a particularly cruel way. No, not even that. He fears that she will kill his family members and all his loved ones in a particularly brutal way, and force him to watch. And then she'll kill him too. This has happened before. Today. In front of his eyes. He will do everything to prevent this from happening. Unable to think critically due to fear.

- If the blonde opens her mouth again, shoot them all. I don't care what anyone else says, but she has to be quiet. Bakuda said, and her men immediately grabbed their weapons.

Grip for attacking, for firing in bursts. They'll actually open fire as soon as I open my mouth. Even if I just stick my tongue out or sneeze. They are intimidated and will do anything. She intimidated them. She needs fear, she is the new leader of the ABB, she needs to grow out of the shadow of Lung. Lung was a real threat to the whole country, he was a cape villain on a global scale, the Dragon of Kyushu, a parahuman who could fight on equal terms with the Leviathan. To outgrow Lung, you need to install fear.

"Yes," - Bakuda straightened, put her foot on the roof of the jeep and put her hands on her knee, leaning forward and looking at the Undersiders in front of her, "You're the only one I don't understand. I don't know what abilities you have. But after seeing you and the skinny guy harassed my useless mercenaries, I decided to avoid a lot of potential problems and make you shut up. Maybe you can influence on mood with your voice, maybe it's something else. I do not know. But you'll be silent. Okay?

Agree! Don't argue! Now she is ready to demonstrate what it is like to be disobedient! Keep your mouth shut and nod! Be sure to nod!

The Tattletale nodded. It's very difficult for her to remain silent, her strength, her ability to speak up, to joke, to tease Bakuda, but right now it's a very, very stupid idea. The guns of nearly a dozen Bakuda fighters are pointed at them, and about twenty more civilians are standing there with improvised weapons in their hands—pipe clippings, baseball bats, kitchen knives, and wrenches.

"I'm in a predicament right now," - Bakuda said in a bored tone, looking at her own fingernails on her right hand as if she's a fashionista fresh out of a beauty salon, "You see, Lung has taught me a lot, but the only lesson I've really learned is that the only real power you can have over people is fear. Such are our chosen careers that we can only get people to be faithful if we intimidate them. Fear is necessary for them to stop worrying about their own interests, stop wondering if they can overcome you, and dedicate themselves fully to fulfilling your desires. Or at least they would do everything not to displease you.

She jumped down from the jeep and grabbed a tall, long-haired Japanese man in his twenties by the hair. Holding his hair, she made him bend over until his right ear was directly in front of her face.

"Isn't it?"

He muttered something in response, and she let him go.

"But let's move on. You see, even though I inherited the ABB..."

Lie. There was no legacy, it was a seizure of power. Lung would never trust anyone else with his creation, and if he did, it would never trust a woman. Lung considered women to be inferior, hence all these underground brothels on the territory of the ABB and sex trafficking, practically a slave trade. He believed that women were weak and stupid. It is vital for Bakuda to prove to herself and the rest of the ABB, first and foremost. They're Lee – that's not the case. That she's strong and smart. Hence the desire not just to demonstrate strength by winning. Not just by demonstrating toughness and even cruelty, but by showing that she is smarter. That's the reason we're still alive.

"But I've also inherited Lung's enemies. So I'm faced with a choice. What can I do with you to convince them that I shouldn't be messed with? What gesture would be effective enough to make their people flee in fear when they saw me? Bakuda pretended to think and even lifted her head up, folding her arms over her chest.

"You!" - Bakuda shouted, causing everyone to flinch. She pointed her finger at the crowd. A young guy of Korean descent in the uniform of a private school, Impeccable High School, from the best part of the city, cowered in front of her. The crowd slowly retreated, leaving an empty space around the two of them.

"Y-yes?" - the teenager replied.

"Park Chi-hoo, huh?" - have you ever held a gun before?

"No."

"Have you ever hit anyone?"

"Please, I never... No."

"Have you ever fought? I mean, really fighting, biting, scratching, grabbing at the first objects that came across to use them as weapons?"

"N-no, Mrs. Bakuda."

"Then you're perfect for my little demonstration." - Bakuda shoved the pistol into his hands. "Shoot one of them."

The boy took the weapon as if it were a living scorpion, holding it with two fingers at arm's length.

"Please, I can't."

"I'll make it easy for you," - Bakuda may have tried to coo, or to calm him down, but the mask didn't allow for that. "You don't even have to kill. You can aim at the kneecap, elbow, shoulder. Ok? Wait a second."

She left the weapon in the boy's hands and stepped back, pointing at one of her thugs.

"Grab your camera and start shooting."

As ordered, he walked over to the jeep and took out a small portable video camera. He fiddled with it for a few seconds, then lifted it up so that the crowd wouldn't obstruct the view, and stared at the flip-up screen on the side of its body, making sure the camera was shooting what it wanted.

"Thank you for waiting, Pak Ji-hoo," - Bakuda turned her attention to the guy with the weapon. "Now you can shoot someone." Shoot this blonde boobs. Didn't you want to kill a pretty girl, at least once in your life? Damn, I'll even let you fuck her corpse. Or get out, big guy. You don't like big guys like that"

He said something in Korean.

He is asking me to stop. He began me to change my mind. He said he'll do anything but that. Ready for a lot, won't be able to pull the trigger. He'd rather die.

The Tattletale had time to think about the fact that such people are very rare in this city, however... Good school, elite neighbourhood, private security... The kid just didn't face reality.

"Really?" - they're bad people if you're worried about morality. Bakuda tilted her head to one side. The young Korean tried to hold back his tears by looking up at the sky. The weapon fell from his hands and rattled down the sidewalk.

"No. Disgrace. As a soldier he is useless," - Bakuda kicked him in the stomach so hard that he collapsed to the ground.

"No! No, no, no! The boy looked up at her. "Please!"

Bakuda half-retreated, half-jumped a few paces. People standing nearby took this as a prompt to get away from him.

She is planning to make an example out of him! Activation... Bombs?!

She didn't do anything, she didn't say, she didn't give any signal. There was a sound like the vibration of a cell phone lying on the table, and Pak Ji-hoo turned into a bloody mess in a second.

The Tattletale looked at the bloody mess, at the human minced meat that was a young guy a second ago and can barely contain her gag reflex.

Tinkertech. A bomb was implanted in the boy's head. No. All these people have bombs planted in their heads, that's why they obey her. Bakuda had a busy week, operation after operation. She herself did not expect such an effect, she herself does not remember who and what bomb she implanted, she works on intuition, on inspiration, does not keep notes.

Out of the corner of her eye, the Tattletale saw the Regent's widened eyes and the way his hand twitched.

He decided to act. He will provoke Bakuda to aggression, draw fire on himself, want to "play the Tattletale", make a good old push-pull. He can't do it; he can't do it! Forestall!

She can't speak, she's forbidden to open her mouth, and she casted a pleading glance at the Regent, "Shut up, Alec!" Shut up, you can't do it!"

Bakuda is laughing, resting her hands on her hips and towering over us, standing on the roof of the jeep.

"It was pretty cool." - the Regent said, folding his arms over his chest, his voice sounding indifferent and even a little bored. This is the voice used to talk about a cup of tea or a new T-shirt. No one says that when standing over a pile of minced meat that has just been a living person. To do this, you need to be a complete psychopath.

"I know." - Bakuda turned to him and tilted her head to one side. - I used an idea from Tesla's work on oscillations. He assumed that if you choose the right frequency, you can destroy any matter. Basically, all matter is vibration, have you heard of String Theory? It is based on...

"No offense," - said the Regent, "well, I'll put it another way: I don't really care if you are offended or not. Just don't shoot me, I just want to stop your chatter because I'm not interested in all the scientific bullshit and abstruse explanations. It's boring. It was just fun for me to see what a person looks like turned into mush. Rough, creepy, just a real star, and yet elegant.

He flaunted cynicism and indifference, trying to build a line of mutual understanding, the artist is an admirer of talent. The first step is to express admiration. To give compliments, but such as the artist himself bestows on himself. "Rough, creepy, but elegant," she wanted to hear such praise. A start has been made. The next stage is casual communication, if Bakuda answers and starts a conversation, half the job is done. We'll have to hold out for a few more minutes, just a little bit, and Ladybug will come to the rescue. She will definitely come; she has a passion for the idea of mutual assistance and decency in long-term relationships. She does not believe in the labels of "hero-villain", she prefers to evaluate people on her own.

"Yes!" - Bakuda exulted at the attention: "It's like answering a question you didn't even understand how you asked!"

"How did you do it?" - planted bombs in these civilians to make them obedient? The Regent drawled out the words deliberately carelessly, putting his hands in his pockets and pretending to make small talk. The Tattletale saw that it cost him dearly, his ribs hurt, his arm hurts, his shoulder joint hardly moves, but he is like a dandy on a walk outside Buckingham Palace.

"All!" - Bakuda said, her eyes shining, you can see it even through her mask. She jumped off the roof of the jeep and stepped forward, jumping like a schoolgirl who runs out of school with good grades. She is relaxed and content. Bouncing and spinning slightly, she walked through the crowd and snuggled up to one of her thugs, stroking his cheek.

"Even the most faithful ones. It's terrible how much work there is. And it's not about the procedure of placing devices in their heads. After the first twenty surgeries, I was able to do it with my eyes closed. Literally. In fact, some of them I did." - she said, running her fingertips over her fighter's head. She pouted her lips like a naughty little girl.

She is showing her power. Showing affiliation. It shows that she owns each of them. Can kill each of them with barely a finger. She shows that in all this crowd she is the only one – a person, all the others are just her property. She likes to be feared. Lung! Yes, Lung is the source of her fear. He... Rite of Passage! When joining the ABB, Lung humiliated and trampled on Bakuda's dignity and honour in the mud, hurt her physically... rape? No, the gang does not tolerate sexual violence against their own people. Everyone who is raped becomes a prostitute in his underground brothels. Just a beating? No, that's not enough. Something related to physical and mental suffering, humiliation and torture. He broke it. Now she's taking revenge. Revenge on everyone.

"I had to put the first dozen to sleep and operate on them while they were unconscious, so I had the hands to get everyone else to me. One by one. As soon as the feeling of novelty disappeared, it became extremely tiring." - Bakuda said, casually pushing her fighter away from her, who immediately took a step back.

She frightens her people. Now need to continue to talk to her on neutral topics, and then need to speak critically, so that don't get the impression that everyone agrees with her on everything just to survive. It should be a conversation between equals, and then maybe it will be possible to direct it in the right direction. The Regent can't. He'll overdo it.

The Tattletale gritted her teeth. Where are you, Taylor? A few more minutes and we'll all be corpses, the Regent can't talk, he's a social invalid, he confuses politeness with fear, he's too turned-on independence to play the whole game correctly.

"Ahh, I'd be too lazy to do such a thing, even if I had your abilities," - the Regent remarked. "Can I approach closer to the corpse? To get a better look."

He wants to come closer. He is tuning in to Bakuda's body wave to affect her. He can control several people at once, but after that he will not be able to do anything. He is calculating the option of escape.

"No. Don't think I don't understand that you're trying to do something. I'm a real genius, okay? I can think of twelve moves ahead before you think about your first move. That's why you're standing there and I'm here." - Bakuda replied, tossing her grenade launcher from her back to her chest and taking it more comfortably.

The Tattletale watched as the Regent opened his mouth and shrank in anticipation of imminent disaster. She'd give her right hand to warn Alec right now! Shut up, you fool! Don't mind her! Play along a little more, sit on the ground, show that you respect her, but not as a woman, but as an equal. As a creator, an artist, a parahuman, a specialist. That you value your fellow cape in skills, recognise her as an equal, and give her due credit to the degree of her danger, and then... Maybe then... but now, Alec, shut your mouth.

"I don't give a shit," - the Regent said, "honestly, I don't give a shit." - I just asked. Bakuda is frowning under his mask, the Tattletale rolled her eyes. That's the end of all of us, you stupid idiot, she thinks, don't you understand that she's just been waiting for this? Reason. Now she will raise her hand, command "fire!" and we will all turn into a sieve. Taylor, you should have made it!

The Tattletale looked around the crowd of ABB fighters and civilians, and her eyes widened. Is it...

A bass hum was hitting the ears and black masses of insects were hitting the ground, immediately forming humanoid figures rising here and there. One, two, three... Five, ten! More and more!

People looked around, first in bewilderment, then in panic, someone in fright were pressing the trigger, a shotted thunder, but the dark figure of buzzing insects did not even notice the hit. Really, what can a bullet do to thousands of wasps and ants? Kill a couple?

"What's that?!" - Bakuda raised her voice, throwing up her grenade launcher, "Who are you?" Show up! Who are you?!"