41

I got up from the bench and am walking towards the house. In the elevator, I pressed the floor button and am listening to the hum of the tense cables. Crickets have settled in the elevator shaft; it is sleeping now. I woke it up from a prank and tried to bring out a cheerful melody. It doesn't work out very well, after all, it chirp, not sing. But if you do it "a cappella", then it's quite tolerable. Here's another talent, Taylor Hebert, conductor of the Insect Symphony Orchestra! And what? I'll be like in "Apocalypse Now" by Frank Francis Copolla - I'm not visible yet, and already "Flight of the Valkyries" is thundering from all sides, a psychic attack.

"Ta, ta. Ta-ta-ta-ta-Taaa!" I said, stepping out of the elevator and pressing the door handle without bothering to knock or ring the bell. Damn Lisa probably knew and... to my surprise, the door is closed. Well... I knocked on the door, I hear a yell from inside and "I'm coming, I'm coming!". The door opened and Lisa appeared on the threshold, dressed only in a terry-cloth white robe and with a turban of towels on her head.

"Taylor!" she said and smiled, but I can see how tired she is. Circles under the eyes and dark skin. Yes, the steep slides drove the sivka (small horse) or better to say - they put her through the wringer...

"Lisa!" I answered in time and go inside: "how is our defendant? Have you tried needles under her nails yet?"

"Ugh. I never stoop to that. I have my own methods." Lisa raised her head.

"Yes, I remember. That's why I hope you managed with humane and red-hot needles under her nails. I'd rather have needles than "your methods."

"Pfft... you're just jealous. Put yourself in my gentle arms, and you won't recognize yourself." Lisa twisted the corner of her mouth in her sarcastic smile.

"Okay, jokes aside, Lisa. I really need your help. Which means I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine. What do you need? Is it necessary to kill this Coil? I can just talk to him... convince him to leave you and the Undersiders alone."

"If I were him, I'd prefer red-hot needles under my nails."Chapter 39

"…and Mr. Grivens, stage four lung cancer, inoperable tumor, metastases, and… yes, thank you," the voice sounded very dry, and mentally I already pictured a slender, wrinkled figure in a white coat, oddly with a pen on his nose, counting his fingers in a repulsive manner. Why in a white coat? Because that's Dr. Smith, one of the curators at Panacea in St. Benedict's Hospital. Why do I have to imagine what he looks like? Well, because my connection with Panacea's surroundings is very one-sided—I only hear what reaches my worm-in-the-pocket beacon; it doesn't transmit images, it has no eyes. I suppose Amy could grow eyes for it. However, I also suppose she could grow it eyes, horns, a plasma cutter, and claws that could cut through tank armor.

I don't like how Dr. Smith treats Amy, or rather, Panacea. There's a sort of… disdain in his voice, isn't there? If you think about it, here he is, a doctor, surely, he studied for a decade, if not more, residency, internship, refresher courses every two years, if not more frequently. A diploma, the status of a practicing oncologist of the highest category, all just to point a finger at a girl with superpowers and say, "now please cure this." And… if you think a bit more, it becomes clear why he's the one walking alongside her in St. Benedict's Hospital. Panacea is unique, there aren't that many capes who can cure stage four cancer, but cancer is cancer. People slowly and painfully die before their loved ones' eyes, loved ones sign up with Panacea by hook or by crook, and Panacea herself primarily takes on the seriously ill, the hopeless, the dying.

There's always work in a hospital, sure, but there are no hopeless cancer patients left in Brockton Bay. And Mr. Grivens was brought here from Boston, precisely hoping to get an appointment with Panacea. It's not rocket science; just transfer to St. Benedict's Hospital in Brockton Bay, and on Thursday or Tuesday, Panacea will definitely examine the patient. And a patient with stage four cancer and metastases—she will definitely cure them. Panacea doesn't let people die; she has no medical errors or cases where she throws up her hands and says, "sorry, medicine is powerless here." Locals have already gotten used to it, but I still find it wild. Don't you understand?! I want to shout. She's really Panacea! Everything humanity could dream of—immortality, eternal youth, the ability to regrow a lost limb, beauty, and body modifications—from tails to wings—she can do it! Panacea… the cure for any disease? Hell no, she can do so much more! Much more! My head spins at the thought of her capabilities. Somewhere deep inside, the Butchers are scratching, discussing possibilities and probabilities as usual—arguing among themselves.

I am lifting my head and looking at Gossip, who's sitting opposite, tilting her head back and pressing a wet towel to her nose. Red stains are visible on the edge of the towel.

"How are you? Everything okay?" I asked her, and she nodded.

"You'll be okay here," she is muttering, pressing the towel to her nose and lowering her head to meet my gaze. "First, you became a Butcher, then you brought Bakuda home to me, and now… Amy Dallon, unbelievable! She's like the biblical plague compared to what she can dig out of her nose, without much effort—like a mild cold! If there's a cape who could wipe out all of humanity with one sneeze, it's her! Damn."

"You're not exaggerating, are you?" I am asking cautiously. Actually, I share roughly the same opinion, but I want to hear her out. Lisa's strength, her ability to analyze and produce results, confirms my fears.

"I'm more likely downplaying it," Lisa said. "She only needs a sample of your DNA, and she can create bubonic plague that will only work on you. Well, maybe on your dad too. And if you had an identical twin sister. What?!" Her eyes are widening, she is lowering her hand with the towel, staring at me in amazement. Blood is spurting from her nose, and she hurriedly tilting her head back, pressing the wet towel to her nose.

"Great. She already has your DNA. You gave Victoria Dallon your tooth." she said it with an overly calm voice, looking straight at the ceiling. "Just great. Sit tight, I'll go get you a pen and paper."

"What? Why do I need…"

"Writing a will," Lisa explained and lowered her head again, still pressing the towel to her nose. "Please pass me the painkillers. That box over there. Thanks."

"...urgh…" she is struggling with the pills, washing it down with water from the glass I handed her, then tilted her head back up.

"Although you know, pen and paper won't help you. You know why you're still alive? Because Amy Dallon, despite her monstrous power and abilities, is still a little fool. She's afraid to kill you, and you're a Butcher. She wants you to suffer," Lisa said, still staring at the ceiling and pressing the towel to her nose. "My head feels like it's splitting!"

"Well, sorry," I said. "Let me come back later then. Dad and I were just going to have dinner together and…"

"Nowhere!" Lisa has commanded, not taking her eyes off the ceiling. "You're not going anywhere! Do you even realize what mess we're in?! The longer we drag this out, the more likely it is that the little avenger loses it and sends the plague your way. You know, something that removes voluntary impulses altogether. The personality remains, but there's no capacity for action. I've seen it, horrifying. She just can't think beyond 'immobilize and make suffer,' but you have teleportation and insects, you'll still wriggle out of it, and you can inflict damage on her. You and her are like two nuclear powers before Zion destroyed all the atomic bombs—on the brink of mutual destruction. And the longer this goes on, the worse it gets. You know why my nose is bleeding and my head is splitting? Try looking at your face and simultaneously reading what's going on with Panacea on the other side of town, and listening to all the dialogues of your Butchers, and your abilities—it's damn cheating! So, sit tight, we've got a crisis on our hands, and a big one… until we figure it out, you're not going anywhere."

"Uh... Okay," I agreed. Arguing with Lisa in this state… I've never seen her like this before. Usually, she's all refined and sarcastic, with a mocking smirk and a posture that says she's the smartest in the class and she knows it. But now…

"Is the bleeding stopped?" I asked sympathetically, looking at her tilted head.

"It has," she answered and pulled the towel away from her face. "I just don't want to look at you. Your Butchers are sending me so much information that my head feels like it's splitting! You're lucky; you can't overload with information; you have this bottomless ability to absorb and digest it… I wish I had that."

"Yup," I have nodded in response. I don't mention that it's only thanks to this ability that I'm still relatively sane and haven't gone crazy from the voices in my head. What do I care about voices when I can feel hundreds of thousands, even millions of insects simultaneously? Not just knowing where they are, not just seeing through their eyes, but literally feeling everything, they feel. Every morsel of food, every broken leg, the scent of pheromones, the sound of vibrating wings from each one of them. Yes, one beetle will give me sensations three times greater than a Butcher's rant. And I have it round the clock, twenty-four seven; it's not like Seven-Eleven. But Lisa knows all this already; she's Tattletale for a reason.

"And this too. Mrs. Lepinski. Stage four. Cancer. Inoperable tumor…" Dr. Smith's voice is echoing in my head.

"Mrs. Lepinski, my name is Panacea, do you give me permission for your treatment?" Amy's tired voice repeated the mandatory formula for obtaining consent to intervene in a patient's health using paranormal abilities. I've been eavesdropping on Amy all day, and I'm already sick of this phrase.

"Nod if you can't speak." The tracker in Amy's pocket is dangling as she is bending over and healing another patient.

"And why does she hate you so much?" said Lisa, who is continuing to carefully examine the ceiling: "she can't eat right now. It's clear that you beat up her sister in front of those Leet and Uber jerks, but... stop! She lowered her head and looked at me. Broken ribs and internal hemorrhage?"

"Oh. And I made tea..." a voice is heard from the open door to the kitchen. Bakuda. In her black T-shirt with some kind of skulls and hieroglyphs, in leather pants and barefoot. A cultured girl, took off her shoes at home.

She still feels out of place. Or rather, she is terrified, that's what my worm-a beacon under her skin transmits. I wonder if I am violating with these little worms of mine the imperative right of a person to mandatory consent before performing an operation with his body and health without his prior, informed consent? I am immediately shaking my head, I've been eavesdropping on the Panacea for only half a day, and already such thoughts come into my head. It's simple for me, I have situational ethics here, if I don't do this, I'll die. They'll kill me and that's it. And even this short but sturdy Asian girl is actually a psychopathic killer, a crazy bomber. And I remind myself not to start torturing her here, but in order not to forget about it when I see her shudder and look away when I'm in the room.

"So that's it." I said "Bakuda, do you have a human name?"

"Tomoko." She replied and cringed again.

"And... that's not her real name." the Tattletale slapped her in passing "she is afraid to give the present, she is afraid that you will come for her family."

"N-no! I…"

"And fuck it. Tomoko is so Tomoko. I can't call you Bakuda all the time. So, Tomoko, you're with us now. With me. I don't have much choice, either to kill you or to subdue you." I am speaking in a language she understands. After all, she's been to the yakuza, knows how much.

"Hi." she bowed her head and even calm down a little. Yeah, I think uncertainty scares more than the usual pattern. A new boss has come, everything is clear, now we walk under him. It immediately became calmer. Back in the gang, back in the team, and she didn't spend much time at the head, she was more used to being a subordinate and not asking stupid questions, no wonder Lung appreciated her.

"I can kill you at any moment, at any time of the day or night – you understand, right?"

"Hi, Taylor-sama."

"Well, that's it. So now you're at ease, you're changing into civilian clothes, Lisa will give you something from her wardrobe. Don't make such eyes, Lisa, I'll restore everything to you later. And you, Tomoko, are lying low. I have your phone, don't make me call you back or look for you around the city, okay?"

"Hi, Taylor-sama." Bakuda bowed her head. Everything is clear and understandable to her. She tried, she failed, she's back in the gang, back under the boss. Nothing has changed. Unless the new boss is unlikely to rape her. I glanced at Bakuda. Short, stocky figure, strong legs, wide nose. You can't call her ugly, she's more of a... exotic appearance. A typical young Japanese woman, with strong hips and calves, slightly club-footed feet and long, straight hair. But Lung wasn't doing this to her because of her attractiveness. He needed to assert his dominance over her. In general, he hardly understood the concept of a woman as an equal subject. I don't feel sorry for him at all. And yes, I'm definitely not going to rape Bakuda.

"That's great. Lisa, give her something so that it doesn't scream "I'm a Cape villain, please call the PRT" and send her on her way. Tomoko – as soon as you get to the place, text to me where you are and what you are going to do. I'm going to need your workshop... and it would be worth talking about engineering. I have a couple of thoughts.…"

"Hi. Taylor-sama?" The questioning intonation in her voice made me raise an eyebrow.

"Taylor-sama. The ABB (Asian Bad Boys) still exists. And there's another cape there," she said, "I don't know if he's going to run the ABB like... the old boss. Oni Lee is not the most... intelligent person. He is ready to follow orders, but no more. However, he will not accept defeat either. He's capable of... stupid things."

"She's right, you know." Said Lisa, who put the bloody towel aside: "Oni Lee won't leave you alone. And if there is someone among the ABB who will point him in the right direction, then given that your civilian identity is no longer a secret in the PRT, but what does the PRT know…"

"What two people know, a pig knows..." I sighed, remembering the old Gruppenfuhrer Muller: "damn. He can…" A picture immediately appeared in my head of Oni Lee throwing a grenade through the window of my house with Danny. Nothing will happen to me, he can shoot at me with a cannon, but with Danny.

"Well, I've already got two corpses planned for this week." I have grumbled: "and I promised my lawyer that there would be no more than one."

"hm. I knew you'd agree." Lisa has chuckled, getting up and taking things out of the closet, sorting through in search of something that does not attract attention: "but we'll talk about it later. I can wait a week with my case. The Coil is not going anywhere."

"Come on, it's still empirically verified." I am waving my hand: "we'll see there. And where does this Oni Lee stay for the most part? Where is his den?"

"Unwritten rules, Taylor..." Lisa is warning me. "Yes, I know you didn't want to give a damn, but I really have to tell you. And if you're going to anyway, then hide the corpse. Let the insects eat it."

"Yes, I mostly wanted to talk first. Maybe he and I can end this whole stupid war. I have no special complaints about the ABB. Let those who are forcibly detained be released from their brothels." I said: "it's always better to talk than to fight."

"Very funny." Lisa is throwing Bakuda clothes: "here, here is a normal T-shirt and jeans. You can keep your shoes; I don't have your size. And so... the unicorn jacket."

"Really?" I have raised an eyebrow: "Glory Girl told me that wearing such a thing with a face like hers is only to attract people."

"Glory Girl said it correctly. Except she was talking about your face." Lisa is chuckling: - put it on, put it on. No one will recognize you."

"Hi." If Bakuda wanted to say something, she kept it to herself. She quickly took off her clothes, not even thinking about going to the bathroom or hallway, and I barely restrained the urge to turn away. After all, I'm a Butcher XV and generally scary and terrible, what the hell are the decencies? Didn't I see any boobs? I haven't seen these specific ones, but I watch it in the mirror every day. Although Bakuda has more, yes. Well, she's older and broader in the shoulders, she's supposed to be.

Bakuda put on jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket and became some kind of ridiculous parody of herself. The same crazy bomber, only in a ridiculous pink jacket with a unicorn and a T-shirt with a Nice Girl print on the chest.

"Well, yes." I said: "so she'll get to the first policeman and …"

"Amateurs are not shown half of the work." Lisa took a step forward and carefully placed her sunglasses on the bridge of Bakuda's nose. But what! Huge, cartoon-like, as if cut out of Disney cartoons. She walked around Bakuda and deftly grabbed her long straight hair in two ponytails on the sides of her head. She is admiring her work with satisfaction.

"Well, how is it?" she asked me: "before the first policeman?"

"Uh..." I am squeezing out of myself. Bakuda has completely transformed. Now in front of me is a girl fan of the Capes, who came to Brockton Bay to look at the Armmaster and Glory Girl, walk along the Embankment and take photos against the background of the PRT tower.

"I am looking stupid." Bakuda is complaining, but caught herself and glanced at me briefly: "Hi, Taylor-sama."

"I haven't said anything yet." I'm surprised.

"No, that's right," said Lisa: "this is a preventive hi. Let it go already, and you and I will resolve the crisis."

"I... could help, Taylor-sama." Bakuda said, "My ability... I can stop time with a bomb. If you take a Panacea and …"

"How small can you make bombs?" Lisa immediately has asked her and winced from the headache: "Yeah, I see. Taylor, she'll have a great synergy with you, otherwise you were riding for botulinum toxin. Now you have your bombs… she implanted them under the skull, and there's not much free space there. As for the miniaturization of bombs, it will even give the Armmaster a head start."

"I can make any bomb. Anything that explodes, I can do it." Bakuda said, "There are no restrictions. Almost. I... don't know. There has never been a time when I wanted to make a bomb with a certain action and it didn't work out for me."

"Oh, yes, we have a new challenge here." - the Tattletale responded: "really, let's leave her, Tay-Tay?"

"I have a couple of ideas," I said.: "if we take and …"

"Don't even think about it!" Lisa interrupted me: "No way. Forget."

"But…"

"That's not a bad idea. We'll try that."

"You are a show-off."Chapter 40

Interlude: Coil

Alpha Probability

"The subject has been captured and brought to base," the transmitter clicked, and Coil nodded satisfactorily.

"Prepare the interrogation room," he said into the selector. "And disconnect the external lines. I'll be occupied."

"Yes, sir," came the brief response from the other end of the line. Thomas Calvert stood up and popped a couple of headache pills into his mouth. Perhaps many in his position would relish the thought that he could do anything he pleased with the young blonde. There are people who enjoy that sort of thing. He doesn't enjoy torturing people. And he's sure to get a headache from her screams. Besides, the Tattletale they're torturing—she's tough. She hits all the sore spots, bombarding the psyche with carefully crafted insults, trying to destroy self-esteem, even capable of driving her interrogators to suicide right there in the interrogation room. There have been precedents.

So, unfortunately, he can't trust anyone else to interrogate her. Besides, he already knows most of what she's hiding from him. He knows she's been waging her guerrilla war against him for a long time, finding out the location of his accounts and access codes, picking the locks to his mercenaries and delving into the heart of his operations along the coast and inland.

So, this won't take much time. His power allows him, on the one hand, to shift the probability line, choosing between Reality A and Reality B, where in Reality A he committed some act, and in Reality B he did not. At the same time, he retains memories of what happened in both realities. In simpler terms, suspecting the same Tattletale of double-dealing and betrayal in one reality, he could question her to death, while in another reality, she would remain alive and well, but the memory of her confessions would still remain.

With the rest of his employees, Thomas could manage without resorting to these medieval methods; most of them couldn't cause any harm anyway, just well-armed mercenaries with their own code of honor, knowing only what they're told, skilled only in killing and maiming. Yes, they were good at what they did, but that's all. It was a bit trickier with the Strangers, but their motives were simple. However, the Tattletale... he had to coerce her into cooperation through force. Otherwise, she rebuffed any attempts to recruit her. And she was a top-notch Thinker, the kind he needed on his team.

Thomas Calvert knew there were certain types of people who were difficult to earn loyalty from, and the Tattletale was just such a person. He would have preferred her to cooperate with him voluntarily, for the money perhaps, or for career advancement, but... the Tattletale's power made material requests irrelevant. She could earn any conceivable sum on the stock market, multiplying her capital at hand, and even if she started with ten dollars, she would double her investments every few days without much effort.

So, money was of no interest to the Tattletale, Lisa Wilbourn, or Sarah Livsey. She could earn enough on her own. Just enough; she wasn't foolish, and she didn't need billions, that would attract undue attention, but in reality, she didn't need funds for living expenses or to buy a car or a house.

Unfortunately, Thomas Calvert couldn't offer her anything but money. So, in the moment, he had to react quickly, try different methods, promise safety, career growth, opportunities, power, and... of course, threaten. In the end, only threats worked, and they had to be real threats. The Tattletale could see through bluffs from a thousand miles away and ignored such attempts.

However, Thomas Calvert had a plan. He needed the Tattletale and the newly minted Prophet, the mayor's niece, Deena Alcott. He needed his own Thinker Tank, just like the one the United States government had and the one in the PRT, perhaps even better. The arms race among capes didn't depend on the number of capes involved but rather on their quality, so he had a chance. As for his plan... he had created a team of Undersiders from nothing and fed them with small tasks, keeping them on a stipend. Of course, it's true that he needed a third force, people who would carry out certain tasks and who wouldn't be directly linked to Coil. However, only an idiot would think that he needed the Undersiders only for that. He had mercenaries, he already had the Strangers working for him, several times he had brought in the Faultline's team and even capes from the outside—most capes couldn't make money out of thin air, most of them still needed them.

The Undersiders were needed by Thomas Calvert only for one purpose—to bind the Tattletale to him. To gather a team of failures who would go through trials together... a soldier in a trench doesn't fight for a distant homeland or a political leader. He fights for the comrades sitting next to him in that same trench.

Tattletale's ability to analyze and draw conclusions from the outside looks almost miraculous, and Tattletale herself seems incredibly wise. However, her ability cannot do anything about her emotional sphere, she is still just a young girl, even if she is very informed. She receives information like a gold prospector, but what to do with her and how to dispose of her – these decisions are not made by a wise goddess, but by an ordinary girl with her hormonal mood swings and childhood traumas of the psyche. Sarah Livsey is an older sister who could not protect her younger brother, who is not appreciated and disliked in a family that has been cynically used since childhood, she is a runaway. Most of all, she needs a family. A strict but loving father... or rather, a fatherly figure. A significant adult. A soft and kind motherly figure. Younger sisters and brothers. Then Sarah Livsey, aka Lisa Wilbourn, will be stable. Stability is important for work. However, more importantly, then Tattletale will be loyal. She is loyal to her family.

Undersiders people are like a family, people with whom she spends most of her life, involuntarily begins to get into their problems, become emotionally attached to them, share successes and failures together, rejoice and grieve together… She becomes one of them. Already at the last interrogation session, Lisa showed a high degree of loyalty towards her teammates, refused to give them up to the last, even beyond the threshold where she usually broke down – she held on only for their sake. He specially set up his beacons, his vulnerable points for Undersiders, gave everyone his secret, his reason to rebel against him. And when Lisa started hiding these dots for the sake of her teammates, it was an indicator.

So, his plan was working. Lisa Wilbourn began to perceive these losers as members of her family. This already gave him extra leverage over her. However, everything was ahead, and later he himself should become a figure for her, personifying paternal care. In those lines of probabilities that he left, he never touched her with a finger, always treated her with exaggerated consideration, letting go of all sorts of liberties. However, in the future... he was going to save the Undersiders. To put you at a disadvantage first, but not on your own, no. Tattletale will understand. In this city, it's enough just to exist as a team of independent capes and trouble will definitely find you. And when they are pinned to the wall, when they are crushed and smeared on the asphalt, and it is also desirable that there be a tragedy, that someone from the main cast die, preferably it was a Bitch or Alec, they are uncontrollable enough - that's when he will appear on stage and save Tattletale. And her surviving companions.

Of course, Tattletale will suspect, of course she will think, analyze ... but despite all her intelligence, she cannot control herself to the proper extent. The first is PTSD, when the battle is thundering around, when your comrades are dying in your arms, when bullets are whistling and you are sitting with your helmet pressed to your head and silently shouting into space – then all the arguments of reason and logic do not work. What does logic mean against feelings? People never act logically, it's only from the outside that Tattletale seems rational, but he knows what she really is. For example, it would be logical for her to immediately give him all the Undersiders and their pathetic plans against him, hand them over without taking things to extremes. Of course, he would have continued to torture her anyway, but it would have been logical. But Tattletale did it only the first time. So, everything is going according to plan.

The only thing that really bothered him was the involvement of Tattletale in some kind of incomprehensible relationship with Taylor Hebert, the current Butcher XV. The girl turned out to be so stupid that she immediately killed the Butcher and received his entire legacy in a single package. It's a pity that Toxic Ivy had a lot of potential, but since she's a Butcher now, no cooperation with her is possible. Calvert decided to temporarily suspend operations in the city, after all, it is unlikely that the Butcher will stay here for long. However, Lisa somehow made contact with this Hebert, and as a result, when his mercenaries had to save her team from Bakuda, this girl came out with her insects.

The mercenaries had a command not to interfere until at least one of the Undersiders was killed... and then it was too late. It would be extremely... irrational to mess with an angry Fifteenth.

He opened the door and went into the interrogation room. Everything is ready, the tools are laid out on a table in metal cuvettes, a drain for ... liquids is open in the floor. A naked Tattletale is securely fixed on a dental chair, her eyes are blindfolded, plugs are inserted in her ears, and a gag is in her mouth. Everything is ready. He walked to the wall, removed an apron made of waterproof fabric from a hook and put it over his head. Ties the ties at the back. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled on latex gloves. He looked thoughtfully at the lying Tattletale. He knows everything about her. She is afraid of electric shocks. Especially when the electrodes are attached to the head, for her, the head is her refuge. Needles under her nails, burns, incisions, rape – she endures all this with amazing resilience, apparently her ability allows her to abstract from the pain. But the electric discharge works well. Especially if you insert electrodes into your ears, for example. Eyeballs. Drill through the skull in several places without touching the frontal lobes. In this reality, she won't need the ability to walk anyway.…

He is walking over to the chair and taking the earplugs out of her ears. Tattletale immediately began to turn her head and mumbled something through the gag. He took the gag out of her mouth, removed the blindfold from her eyes.

"Ugh! What... ah... that's it." said Tattletale, blinking in the bright light: "is this an interrogation room, boss? Why, really, I would have done it anyway. Or do you like it when a naked girl can't resist?"

"Lisa." He folded his arms over his chest. Her ability works fast, even faster in critical conditions. He doesn't like to torture people, even if he knows how to do it. But he still allows himself to enjoy one moment – the moment when Lisa understands.

Understands what's going on. What exactly awaits her. Understands that she will not leave this room anymore. She understands that no matter what she says, no matter what she does, no matter how she pleads, she won't get out of here. But this is only the first layer of awareness. Then Lisa realizes exactly how his ability works, and that's when real despair grips her. Because she understands that everything she is going to experience now will be in vain. This reality will be reset and the memory of it will remain only in his head ... but this does not mean that she will not suffer now. And she has no way to warn herself in another reality.

He looked closely into her eyes so as not to miss the moment when the pupils dilate with horror and understanding.

"This isn't the first time I've been here, is it?" Lisa said, trying to smile, but her lips just twitched and frozen. She understood.

"Boss... please don't. A pleading voice. Thomas Calvert took out the electrodes. You need to start from the bottom. Toes. Groin, an electrode with penetration inside, emphasizes helplessness and causes humiliation, the electrode is made in the form of a phallus, symbolic rape. Steel clothespins on the nipples. And of course – on the head, fortunately it has already been shaved. No blood today, although it's going to be very dirty soon anyway. The smell of burnt flesh mixed with the ammonia smell of urine... it's good that he has a drain in the floor and a hose with cold water.

"When exactly did you plan to betray me, Sarah?" – he asked the first question, attaching the last electrode.

"I'm not getting out of here anyway, boss, am I?" Her lips trembled and her voice broke. Another confirmation of the fact that it is not enough just to have information. How exactly to dispose of it is what is important. He put a gag in her mouth and applied a low voltage to the electrodes. Her body immediately arched, she mumbled something furiously, tears flow from her eyes. He flicked the switch. She settled into the chair, and he took the gag out of her mouth. He hates her screams.

"You speak only when I ask and only about what I ask." he said dryly: "nod if you understand. Don't open your mouth until I ask. So, I'm not going to repeat my question, Sarah. You're a smart girl, remember what question I asked you at the very beginning. If you don't answer correctly, I'll increase the tension."

"I wasn't going to betray you, boss!" Really, don't! Don't..." he gagged her again. He flicked the switch. The average voltage. At this stage, Tattletale, as a rule, could no longer hold the contents of the bladder, it will be necessary to prepare a hose.

"Boss, we have a problem!" an insistent voice sounded in his ear: "I recommend an urgent evacuation!"

"What's the matter?" he frowned, his hand hovering over the switch: "Dmitry, is there any reason for such advice?"

"We're under attack, boss! And... you don't have much time! The first and second posts have already been destroyed. And judging by the speed... Aah!!" gunshots and screams were heard in the earpiece. The connection was cut off.

Thomas Calvert lowered his hand, which he had raised over the switch. He took the gag out of Tattletale's mouth.

"Now tell me what's going on, Sarah." He said: "You don't have much time. With the next discharge, I will increase the voltage to high. At this power, the flesh starts to burn... and a couple of electrodes are attached to your head. So don't hold back your abilities, you're a smart girl."

"You know what, Thomas Calvert? Fuck you!" Tattletale spitted out the words, looking him straight in the eyes and for the first time in all this time he sees triumph in them.

"You…"

"Do you want to know what's going on? Do you really want to? You're dead, Thomas Calvert. A corpse in this probability, in the next, and in the next one after it! There's no way you can hide anywhere. What's happening? Your mercenaries are dead. The first post, the second, the video surveillance post, the security system... what else do you have there? Oh, yes, Leet mercenaries. They died too... but no, they're dying. But they were lucky, because the neurotoxin acts quickly. It immobilizes a person instantly, and then, within a few minutes, a person painfully dies of suffocation, but these are seeds compared to what awaits you." She licked her dry lips and smiled. That smile stopped him for a moment, its unnaturalness. It's like a crack in a tortured face. He resolutely presses the earpiece.

"Oscar Romeo, Victor Alpha is here. Requesting India Echo," he dropped into the air. "India Echo – immediate evacuation." He is not going to let everything go to chance, it is clear that this line of probability will collapse anyway, but the longer he lives here, the more information ... he irritably slapped his hand on his neck killing a mosquito that… A mosquito?

He raised his palm, on which a crushed insect was writhing. The queen ant?

"You must think you're lucky, don't you, Thomas?" Tattletale's voice is heard: "one bite and that's it?" No, you underestimate her. You all underestimate her."

The world turned upside down and the floor hit him in the face. When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the floor, and the metal door to the interrogation room had been uprooted and thrown aside. He tried to stand up, but couldn't. All he could do was move his lips, making indistinct noises.

"Lisa!" a tall dark figure appeared on the threshold, followed by thousands of insects rushed into the room! Hundreds of thousands! The air was darkened by their number. The girl rushed to the tied Tattletale, hurriedly freeing her from the bonds and electrodes.

The XV. That's it, thinks Coil, lying on the floor, she's the Fifteenth, who would have thought. Of course, he will have to reset this time line, he will have to change tactics. However, he had already learned enough. But it's worth staying here a little longer to find out more.

"Miss Hebert," he croaked from the floor, "you seemed like a sensible young person to me. What a pity that…"

"I do not know who you are." A voice is heard. A tall girl is standing over him with her arms folded on her chest: "and I don't want to know. I know enough. You dare to lay a hand on my friend. I don't have that many friends that I can afford to spread them out."

"His ability is to divide reality into two probabilities." – the voice of Tattletale is heard; she has already got up from her chair and wrapped herself in a spare apron hanging on the wall: "in one he tortures me about once a month. He finds out everything. No matter what I say, in this reality he's killing me anyway. Can you imagine? That bastard. And then he just discards reality and lives in another one, where none of this happened. And I was wondering how he knew everything! He talks to me on the phone, I didn't even know... because this didn't happen in our reality! For me, it's... well, like strange dreams or thoughts, everyone has them. But he's..." she stood on tiptoe and whispered something in her tall friend's ear.

"Miss Hebert... as long as no one is hurt, we can make arrangements and …"

"Fifty-four bodies. All your mercenaries are on their way down." said the girl: "I guess I shouldn't have promised Henry that I would hold back after all. And you..." she tilted her head, and a painful impulse pierced his body! She was aiming for the head! A horde of insects are beginning to devour his body, if he were able to scream, he would scream, but his mouth suddenly turned out to be filled with a living, biting, stinging, devouring mass.

Reset reality? Of course. He's not going to be tortured! But... it doesn't work! He is trying to do it again and again. Tattletale, he is realizing, it was she who told the Butcher exactly where to hit with a painful impulse in order to temporarily block his ability to reset the probability! Nothing, nothing, it won't last forever, the ability will work again, well, or he will die and then automatically reset the probability line. How much? A minute? Five minutes? Hundreds of thousands of small mouths teared him to pieces, covering him with bleeding wounds, crawling inside, rotting ulcers open on his body, insects immediately attack the exposed flesh... five minutes! Just five minutes and that's it! He will reset this line, he only needs to concentrate... but he cannot do it while the pain impulse turning his brains out, rotting ulcers are covered with thousands of carnivorous creatures while he is being eaten alive!

"If he discards this reality anyway, let him learn his lesson well first." Ms. Hebert said, folding her arms across her chest, "You're able to track PTSD, aren't you, Lisa?"

"All I need is a good moral injury." She answered, and Miss Hebert nodded her head.

"OK." she said: "it means a good moral injury. I'm not an expert, but I know almost a dozen who can... it's convenient when you always carry them with you. Can you hear me, Coil? As one of my friends says, only creatures with a highly developed nervous system can suffer. Insects don't suffer, they just feel pain, that's all. You're lucky, you'll experience both. Lisa! Lisa, are you okay already, I see? Get dressed and get out, there's a car at the entrance, and in the meantime... I'll be late. I assure you; you don't want to see what I do to him."

"Oh, I really want to see this. I would even participate, but I admit that I cannot match your skill. Give him the pain here again..." she pointed and the pain impulse again prevented Calvert from concentrating and dropping the probability line.

"Miss Hebert..." his mouth is swollen, full of chitin and small creatures that slowly devour him, tearing off a piece: "please... is this all because of Lisa? Take her... she's yours... I have money…"

"I don't understand a damn thing. Fifteen tilted her head: "What's he mumbling about?" His mouth is full of ants."

"He said, "hurt me because I'm a dumb asshole who raised his hand against your best friend." the Tattletale answered and stroked her freshly shaved bald head with her hand: "honestly, honestly. That's what he said."Chapter 41

Interlude: Coil

Probability: Bravo

Thomas Calvert opened his eyes. He was sitting in his chair behind the desk in his office at the PRT. The Alpha probability line had just been severed with his death. Well... it wasn't the first time he had died in other probabilities. Not the first, and judging by everything, not the last. And this death was no better or worse than any other death. Ultimately, there were very few ways for one person to painfully kill another within the span of five to ten minutes. During that time, he could either reset reality or die in that reality. And after a certain threshold, pain ceased to be a factor; the person simply fell into shock, after which reality reset itself. And everything before the pain shock couldn't break him as a person.

Did those girls want to break him? Thomas Calvert was an operative back when the PRT believed it could change things by force. He was in Johannesburg in ninety-six when Behemoth left nothing but smoldering ruins of the city; he gathered with his own hands what was left of his team's members, bits no larger than a handkerchief. Burning human flesh. He evacuated in one of the last groups in ninety-nine with Kyushu when Leviathan and Lung practically destroyed the island. Nine and a half million deaths, Japan no longer exists as a nation; he remembers clutching in his armored hand a little child's palm. A girl he saved from the ruins of a shopping center, with big frightened eyes, tears streaming down dirty cheeks... All the while he ran to the helicopter, praying that they would let her go, swearing that if they didn't take her, then he would stay; all that time, he felt the child's palm in his hand, heard her breathing behind him. He rushed through the door, dragging the girl with him, ready to defend her in front of the commander, but... he didn't even look at him. And only inside did he realize that the child's palm was no longer in his hand. Of course, no one let him back out, it was too late to search. It was too late to scream. It was all too late.

Looking through the armored glass of the heavy military helicopter, he saw Kyushu being flooded, and it seemed to him that somewhere amid the chaos, fire, and water, there was a lonely child figure with raised arms.

Then... then everything turned into hell. Twenty-twelve - Bogotá, Behemoth. Twenty-thirteen, Seattle, Leviathan; twenty-thirteen - London, Simurgh, the most terrible of the Endbringers. Twenty-fifteen, Leviathan flooded Newfoundland. But Thomas Calvert caught his trigger not in twenty-thirteen, not in twenty-fourteen, not in London, not in Seattle, not in Bogotá, not even in Madison, which became a quarantine zone. No. He caught his trigger on that very day when outside the heavy military helicopter, the island of Kyushu with nine million inhabitants was sinking, and he still felt in his hand - the little child's palm.

That was when he ceased to be just Thomas Calvert and became Coil. He gained the ability to navigate probability lines and reset them. After that, he began returning alive from any missions. He knew how to act to stay alive, and preferably complete the mission and get all the guys out. Time after time, his unit was sent where no one returned from, they were given impossible tasks, but they coped and returned again. Time after time. And then they were sent to Ellisburg.

Thomas Calvert stood up and walked to the table, poured water into a glass, and brought it to his mouth. The water spilled on the floor. He put the glass on the table and stared at his hand. It was trembling slightly.

Ellisburg, he thought, that's the problem. Damn memories. Emily. By then, he was already a veteran, a unit commander, with the best record of completed missions, they even called him "Invincible K." He always completed missions and always got everyone out alive. Not always intact, but always alive. And one of those who ended up in his unit was Emily Piggot, then still young, with wide-open, admiring eyes with which she devoured her commander. No wonder – a legend, that Calvert who pulled his group out of a sinking ship during Leviathan's attack on Newfoundland. That "Invincible K" who single-handedly held off the onslaught of the Butchers Dolls, standing behind a heavy machine gun and covering his group's retreat, and then – got out himself.

Young people like to create legends out of reality and believe in it. Emily and her friend, Margo from the one hundred second, were just like that. They weren't meant to be soldiers; they were meant to dance with guys in clubs and kiss in secluded places. But... Emily Piggot chose an assault rifle and the heavy armor of a PRT strike team operative. She was always more than just an operative, always ready to go the extra mile, to put in more effort, always demanding of herself. And she adored her commander.

Thomas Calvert had no intention of starting a romance in the workplace. And Emily Piggot herself, at that time a junior operative in the strike team, operator of a heavy backpack flamethrower, also didn't allow herself any liberties. It's just that Thomas Calvert knew how she felt about him, and she knew that he knew. He could have altered the probability line and tried to see what it was like... but he wasn't going to do that. His abilities weren't for indulgence or allowing personal matters. His abilities were for saving people, for making this world a better place. That's what he had always believed, and that's what he still believed now.

He exhaled and took the glass in his hand again. His hand stopped trembling. He took a sip, not tasting the Perrier mineral water. Ellisburg. Those two girls, Sarah Livsey and Taylor Hebert, Tattletale and Butcher XV – they couldn't break him, no. But Ellisburg...

He could have lied to himself, could have said that he had no choice, but he did have a choice. He instinctively divided realities before the assault, and only then realized that he had done it too late. He was the leader of the assault group, and he had the authority to give the order to start the assault or postpone it, and he was valued for his intuition, for his ability to avoid losses among the personnel. And of course, he could have postponed the assault, explained it with objective reasons, they would have believed him, but... it was already too late. Ellisburg began its assault on its own. The Birnan forest went to the Dunsian castle – that's how it seemed to him. He led his probability lines, shooting, retreating, helping comrades retreat, throwing grenades, shouting hoarsely... and both probability lines were the worst. In one, everyone died except two people. In the other, everyone died except two people. It's just that in each reality, they were different people. In one case, it was Thomas Calvert and Emily Piggot. In another – it was Ricardo Santiago, his deputy in combat, calm and confident, always reliable and supportive of the commander's orders. And Sandra Rozinski, the best sniper in the unit. Did he have a choice? Of course he did.

From a rational point of view, if you make a choice based on logic, - he did everything right. Two people and two people – the numbers are equal. Two lives anyway. So, it comes down to quality. The quality of people. In one case – his deputy Ricardo, a man who actually surpassed Calvert in everything except his famous "intuition," which was actually an ability. And Sandra Rozinski, the best shooter, cool-headed and brave, a real special forces fighter, known as "Snake Rozinski." On the other hand – there was this Piggot, a rookie, a junior operative, brave, yes, but inexperienced. Without experience, without proper education and training. And of course – himself. And his ability to split probabilities. Anyone would say that there was no choice here, you have to choose the cape, the cape will then bring more benefit, a cape of this level outweighs a hundred ordinary people on the scales, right?

Thomas Calvert didn't think so. He didn't believe that he made the right decision that time. As he had said before, people rarely choose with their minds. And that time, he was just scared. He reset the line where he was clutching his torn throat, writhing on the ground and watching his people trying to save him, and a helicopter descending from the sky, and he knew for sure – they wouldn't make it. He would bleed out in seconds, and... he reset the Bravo reality.

He put the glass on the table. Loosened the tie that was choking him, unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his shirt. Stay calm, Thomas, stay calm. What's done is done, he thought, that's when you decided that enough was enough, and that the damn bosses didn't know anything and simply sent good guys and girls to slaughter, and that if you want something done right – do it yourself! And he – did. He became Coil, he began to assemble his PRT, his special service, his strike teams from the best. Former strike team members who, like him, realized that the PRT was sending them to slaughter, mercenaries from other countries, anyone who had enough qualifications and courage. His cape teams, and it's not just the Wards and the Undersiders. His Thinker Tank. Sarah Livsey wouldn't understand this; she just wants to live her quiet life, enjoying existence. With her abilities, it's a crime. Ragnarok is coming, the end of the world, the Endbringers tearing the planet apart, the geniuses from the Thinker Tank in government closed labs giving the world five to ten years before the changes become irreversible, humanity needs to be saved, and Tattletale dreams of her cottage in the suburbs and scrambled eggs with orange juice for breakfast!

And this, Hebert... it's clear that Tattletale manipulates her, offering herself as a reward. And she fell for it, drooling over her. Saving Tattletale to earn her attention, not realizing that she's being manipulated, led like a donkey with a carrot tied in front of it. The world is in danger, the PRT is run by a bunch of incompetent idiots, and Miss Hebert wants only one thing – to get into Lisa Wilbourn's panties, who is actually Sarah Livsey.

And yes, a bunch of idiots running the PRT is sabotaged by Director Costa-Brown, who won't handle a night pot by herself at night, she'll spill everything. And not because she's stupid, she's actually not stupid at all, but because she's doing it intentionally. The top of the PRT is effectively undermining the control over capes, sabotaging operations to capture and eliminate villains, facilitating their escapes from containment, refusing to issue Kill Orders or orders for confinement in the Cage.

Behind all this stands a mysterious organization, a certain Cauldron. Dealing in Vials of Power. But Thomas Calvert wasn't an idiot, and he understood perfectly well that those who have access to Vials of Power don't need money. If they were giving abilities away for free, questions would arise, but like this... ordinary folks sincerely believe that those who can give anyone the power of Alexandria or Legend – want money. No, they have a different goal. What is it? Whose side are they on? These are questions that can't even be asked in the PRT; a couple of times Calvert was forced to collapse a reality when, out of nowhere, the barrel of a pistol with a silencer pressed against his temple. The woman in the broad-brimmed hat didn't hesitate, didn't pause, she just squeezed the trigger. Click.

The Cauldron's assassin always appeared when Thomas wanted to share his research with the world but made no effort to stop him when he researched alone.

So, he thinks, we have the Endbringers, who kills humanity, we have villainous capes who help them in this, we have the PRT, which sabotages the fight against both, and there's the mysterious Cauldron, which for some reason increases the number of capes, most of whom become villains again. And at this moment, Tattletale thinks only of herself and her peaceful life. Idiot, she doesn't understand that you can't shut yourself off from the world at such a moment, that if the world collapses – her peaceful life will definitely collapse too. You can't hide from the apocalypse, cover your head with a blanket, close your eyes and think it will pass.

Tattletale... you're still just a girl, he thinks, you have all the information at your fingertips, but you make the wrong decisions. It's your Thinker ability, not you. You're just a regular idiot. And your friend, Butcher XV, is also a fool. What do you think – kill me and life will start going smoothly for you, like in a fairy tale? The Endbringers will disappear, the Slaughterhouse Nine will cut themselves off, the PRT will start doing its job, and Cauldron will come out to the people with a repentant speech and a bowed head? Oh, it won't be like that at all! Without me, you'll only attract unnecessary attention to yourselves, and if I can still understand the aplomb and self-assuredness of Fifteen, after all, she's Butcher, then where are you going, Tattletale?!

He sighed and pressed the earpiece into his right ear.

"This is Victor Bravo. To all teams. Sierra Delta. Alpha Oscar. I repeat, Alpha Oscar."

"Received. Sierra Delta. Alpha Oscar. Received Lima Kilo," was crackling a voice in the earpiece. Thomas Calvert approached his chair and collapsed into it. His legs were trembling unnaturally. After all, you're not killed every day, he thought, especially like this... ingeniously. That sadistic girl, she'll be easy. This Hebert is one-dimensional, predictable, and straightforward. It'll be easier than pie to lure her to his side. The difficulty will be with Tattletale. He'll have to work on her. But Thomas Calvert never shied away from work. Like any special forces soldier, he's always ready to go the extra mile. And as a commander, he always knew in which direction exactly to take that mile.

As for his people... they're the best of the best and won't ask questions. Sierra Delta – stay down, stay put, do nothing. Alpha Oscar – full cessation of operations. No one will burst into Sarah Livsey's cozy apartment and bring her here with a bag over her head. That would be foolish. Fifteen showed zero tolerance for threats to her close ones. The girl's a psychopath; she values human life like trash underfoot. In this world, there are plenty of monsters and beasts, and only he, Thomas Calvert, the senior operative of the PRT's strike team "Cauldron Breakers," the crime boss Coil, and a consultant to the PRT by contract – opposes chaos and lawlessness. Yes, he can't fix the whole world, but he can make his contribution, go his mile, make Brockton Bay a safe city. Safety means control. Brockton Bay under his control will be safe, but first, he needs to deal with these two brats who keep sticking sticks in his wheels.

"Will have to change the plan," he said aloud. He smirked – wickedly, at the corner of his mouth. Brats, he thought, thought they could torture me. Me! If my mouth weren't full of bugs, I'd spit in their faces. I've seen things that would make your hair stand on end and turn white. I've endured deaths that you couldn't even dream of. What do you know about pain, you fools? Unlike this Hebert, I'm not a sadist. I know how to inflict pain, real pain, but I don't enjoy it. Sadists get too carried away; they don't know how to torture properly, it's too personal for them. That's why I died too quickly. The only thing that still annoys me is the rustling of little wings, buzzing-rustling, buzz, buzz, buzz... That annoys me. And everything else... in one reality, you managed to outplay me. Or rather – just overpower me with brute force. Butcher – she's Butcher, a tank in the guise of one person, fast, practically invulnerable, instantly regenerating, always hitting the mark, and now with a taste of bugs on her tongue... she's dangerous. But only with brute force. Intelligence-wise, this girl is just like Tattletale – thinks she knows everything and can already pass judgments and make decisions on her own. She doesn't know a tenth of what's going on.

"Young idiots," had grumbled Thomas Calvert. "Not spanked enough in childhood." He stood up, buttoned up his shirt, tightened his tie around his throat, and threw his jacket over his shoulders.

"Buzz, buzz, buzz!" was echoing in the air, and he was startling, jumping in place, pushing the table and knocking over the glass in surprise. A cricket, he thought, looking around, just a cricket...