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Worm
The Bobhouse Nine (S9 SI)
Thread starterFrickin Fedora
Start dateSep 25, 2022
Tagsmultiple si si/oc worm
The Bobhouse Nine (S9 SI) RSS
Created atSep 25, 2022Index progressOngoingWatchers534Recent readers0Threadmarks2
Someone gets reincarnated into Worm.
Nine times.
Oh wait it was actually eight times. My bad.
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Frickin Fedora
Sep 25, 2022
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#1
They were a bit of a motley crew.
Their ages ranged anywhere from preteen to late forties. Their membership consisted of a few boys, slightly more girls, and one boy pretending to be a girl. While the majority of them were white, two of them didn't actually have skin and the boy pretending to be a girl was also pretending to be both black AND white. So you couldn't really say they weren't inclusive.
With no place to truly call home, they wandered the country on a whim as they searched for others like them. Don't think it was an easy life though. Everywhere they went they were shunned and hated. No one ever welcomed them when they visited, and the governments of the land tried to kill them whenever they showed their faces.
It was understandable really. Unfortunately, their reputation wasn't the greatest. Their show was a bit controversial, and most people who attended one agreed they weren't interested in a repeat performance. Online they were review bombed over and over everywhere they visited. Nobody ever wanted to be their friend. True, sometimes they would force the issue, but they often left town without much compensation. Bridges burned and betrayed by their audience.
Nevertheless, this eclectic group of artists didn't let that discourage them. In fact, it was just the opposite. When one knows everyone else hates you, it makes life a lot simpler. They didn't have to worry about being polite, or paying their taxes, or even going to school. It was them against the world. There was no reason to hold back. So they just did what they wanted, when they wanted, all the time.
Sometimes members had to be let go. Either from coworker disagreements, or rival organizations, or workplace accidents, or any of the other various hazards a career in such a competitive industry inevitably developed. Safety was not guaranteed. It was a steep tradeoff for such a flexible work schedule and lack of oversight. On a scale of one to ten, with one being a hairstylist and ten being a kamikaze pilot, the risks of the job rated about a nine.
But even so, the group carried on. Their team members had each other's backs most of the time and let nothing get in their way. They were a united front. In spite of their wildly different skill sets, appearances, ambitions, and personalities, they stood together. Comrades in arms against the world, come what may.
Some of them even liked each other, but that wasn't required. Their leader had a knack for bringing people together whether they liked it or not.
Ever since their foundation, after a brief rocky start with a disagreement in leadership styles, their fame only grew. Their name carried a weight only a few others did. They were still hated, of course, but with that hatred came a healthy helping of fear. People refused to talk about them in polite company, as if speaking would summon them to their doorstep. It was somewhat of a privilege, actually. While Babe Ruth and Elvis Presley were inducted into the halls of fame along with the few talented people who manage to make that cut, this troupe of eclectic individuals were invited to join an even more exclusive—and quite frankly more relevant—group.
The S-Class threats.
The Simurgh, angel of death and master of Rube-Goldberg machine precognition plots. Leviathan, terror of the seas and sinker of Newfoundland. Behemoth, titan of the earth and slaughterer of thousands of heroes. Sleeper, conjuror of storms and impossible to get close to. The Three Blasphemies, living tinkertech collaboration and destroyer of Europe's governments. The Machine Army, brilliant in adaptation ever since a tinker decided a self-replicating robot army was a good idea. Nilbog, powerful biokinetic and delusional king of a small town filled with goblins and fairies.
These were the likes in which this motley crew fit right in. Amidst the impossible to kill monsters and murderers of hundreds of thousands, they made their place. Little was known about them, not because they were good at hiding their abilities, but because most of the witnesses were dead before they could start running.
They called themselves the Slaughterhouse Nine, and were the most dangerous and unhinged group of serial killers the world had ever seen.
There were two problems with that though. First, there were only eight of them, and second, all of their minds were currently being invaded by the personality of a random middle aged guy from Madison Wisconsin.
—
Crawler fell over with a crunch as the 1999 Toyota Corolla Silver crumpled beneath his weight. The airbags deployed only to get crushed and pop with loud bangs under his spines.
Bonesaw's eyes rolled up into her head and her limbs went slack. The Siberian, currently giving her a piggyback ride, flickered and disappeared. Gravity asserted control and Bonesaw's head hit the corner of the bedroom dresser before she collapsed onto the floor.
Jack Slash's hands relaxed and let the newspaper fold up in his lap. His eyes closed and fell back onto the headrest of the recliner he was sitting on.
Cherish's back dropped onto her stolen body pillow with a floof. Her earbuds continued playing before her phone fell off the bed and tore out the audio jack, releasing her song to play at an obnoxiously loud volume in the background on loop.
Burnscar and Mannequin didn't move at all. The former was already fast asleep next to the empty fireplace, and the latter had locked his joints and was resting against the wall next to her.
Finally, Shatterbird, who was in the middle of trying to do a handstand, tumbled forward and got her leg stuck by smashing a hole in the flimsy divider wall with her foot.
The elderly couple whose home had been invaded stared in shock at the completely unexpected turn of events. One minute they were being forced to watch a disturbing parody of family life. The next their captors toppled down around them like their strings were cut. Honestly, their reaction was understandable. Others might have tried to escape immediately, but that's hard to do without any limbs or vocal cords.
There was silence for almost a half an hour before the first people began to stir awake. All of them were no longer the same though. Well, technically they were, depending on how you thought about it.
And just like that. The Slaughterhouse Nine had been defeated.
—
Contessa
The fog was gone.
Contessa's typing cut short. The screen, which she had not bothered paying attention to, displayed a spoofed message to a minor villain in Chile. The email was part of a twenty-six step path intended to interrupt a scandal prompted by a recent trigger event.
Simon Adams Byrial had triggered with the ability to generate large clouds of highly acidic gas, and was going to drench the headquarters of a local villain group to avenge his deceased sister, who had been caught up in one of their robberies and used as a demonstration to show they weren't bluffing. By impersonating an old friend of the leader of that team, Contessa would warn them of the impending attack and give them time to escape unharmed.
While Contessa would normally not interfere, the third member of their group had a minor teleportation ability that teleported anyone he touched to himself or himself to anyone he touched. A powerful, if somewhat limited, power that could be of some use in the fight against Scion.
Which might not matter anymore, because the fog was gone.
She began frantically running paths to determine what had changed, and it turned out that wasn't quite accurate. Path to killing Scion was still blocked. Path to convincing Scion to leave without endangering the earth was also blocked.
But the end? The fog in the future that hinted at billions of people dying to someone who was out of the Path's reach? That ticking clock Contessa had been preparing for all her life?
It was gone, and Contessa didn't dare move.
Cauldron had theorized about this, of course. There were several things the Path simply couldn't register. Scion wasn't the only blindspot. Contessa herself technically counted in that she couldn't Path to determine what she was going to Path. Eidolon and the Endbringers also qualified.
So did trigger events.
The conclusion was obvious. Someone–or something, Contessa supposed–just triggered with a power that guaranteed Scion's death without destroying the earth in the process.
It was completely absurd. Everything Cauldron had fought for, an increasingly hopeless battle against an unbeatable opponent fought over the course of decades, was overturned in an instant. Contessa couldn't help but laugh, an incredulous, light huff of air that did nothing to convey the sheer magnitude of what just happened.
Humanity had just been saved.
The procedure, in what was considered at the time to be an unrealistically optimistic scenario, was simple. Do absolutely nothing. If any Path, no matter what it was, had the slightest chance of changing the future, then Cauldron couldn't take that risk. Contessa didn't know if anything she did would be considered interference.
But she did know if she did nothing, Scion would die.
Then she realized she really needed to go to the bathroom.
—
Cherish
The music woke her up first.
♪ Until you figure out. Just where you're at. ♪
Six musicians played the exact same song around her. A seventh echoed it in the distance. Slow beats of lethargy. Discordant tunes of confusion.
♪ Cause you're emotion in motion. ♪
"What?" She sat up with a groan and rubbed her eyes. "Why is it so loud?"
Then she froze. Her voice was wrong. Alarm shot through her as she looked at her hands.
Her small hands with bright purple painted nails.
"What the heck?" She stared. ♪ My magical potion. ♪
The musicians nearby began to diverge. The one outside rapidly cleared their sleepiness with a spike of alarm and fear. Panic began to creep in and it lunged to the left. Cherish jumped as the house shuddered from the impact.
The rest of the songs soon followed. A series of people saying "What the heck?" repeated across the house. Alarm and confusion took over each of their melodies.
In exactly the same way.
Cherish thought fast.
Different body. Small hands with painted fingernails. Probably a girl. She quickly reached back and grabbed a fistful of hair. Yep. Definitely a girl. Damn it. I've been transmigrated or body swapped. This isn't supposed to be a real thing. Panic later. Think now. Come on! You've thought about this enough times! Is this a dream? No, shut up. That's an unproductive train of thought. Assume this isn't a dream. If it's a dream it doesn't matter. Holy crap. Who am I? Who are they? Priorities. Threat assessment before identity crisis. Go go go.
On instinct she focused on the people around her. Two were next to each other unmoving. Despair, confusion, surprise, anger, dread. Not a threat. Another was outside. Panic, fear, horror, panic, disgust, panic, panic. That was who shook the house. Where am I?! How is this happening?! No! Focus on threats. Next. Four were in the living room. Jack Slash had just shot out of his chair-
"Wait what? Who the f- oh." Cherish sat still on the bed, eyes wide. It was at that moment she realized what she had been doing, and just how dangerous of a situation she was in. ♪ Until you take it all in stride. I'd hold on to you. ♪
Ok. That's Jack Slash. I just read everyone's emotions. Girl body. I'm in Worm and I'm Cherish now. Panic later. Think now. Holy crap. Holy crap. Jack is the priority. He has the intuition thing right? And I'm a parahuman now. Holy crap. Holy crap. That's great but REALLY BAD right now. Has he noticed? I'm just dead if he's noticed. Quickly she focused on his tune. Panic, fear, confusion, confusion, surprise! Realization! He just noticed something!
She scrambled off of the bed, stuffed her phone into her pocket, and bolted to the door. No time. Have to kill him! It banged against the wall as she flung it open and raced through the hallway.
There they were. Jack was out of his chair with a knife in each hand, facing away from her. Across the room was a… white robot? Crap. That's Mannequin. Cherish didn't have time to see anything else and jumped, reaching for Jack Slash's neck.
Without looking he threw himself to the ground. Cherish sailed overhead and smacked into the wall, having flown way further than she thought. One of the knives twitched from where he lay and extended, slashing across her back. "Holy crap!"
She was still stunned from the impact, but that was fine. In a fraction of a second she grabbed his emotions and pulled.
He gasped as dread slammed into his gut. "Waitwaitwaitwait! I'm not Jack Slash! Holy crap!"
Cherish's mind paused. He's not? But what about- no wait! That's his Thinker power! He knows what to say! She kept up the dread and pushed calm and apathy into everyone else.
Outside in the garage Crawler's emotions were the last one to thrum with realization moments before her power hit him. Mannequin had begun to move from his spot on the wall. Burnscar was awake and stared at the ceiling. She assumed Burnscar was used to feeling nothing, so maybe this wasn't the best strategy.
She could feel Crawler adapting while she hurriedly got up and ran towards Jack again. He was already back on his feet despite the emotional onslaught, which was NOT GREAT. Steel flashed and two blades extended to cut a deep gash across her legs. "I'm serious! This isn't his power talking!" She tripped and sprawled onto the gray carpet, her blood staining it red. "My real name is Robert Rugger! I just took over this body literally five minutes ago!"
That stopped her in her tracks. Metaphorically. She was already quite stopped literally.
Cherish canceled the dread and analyzed his emotions carefully. Not a hint of deception. Was that because of Bonesaw's false nerve system counterplan thing Tattletale snitched on in the Slaughterhouse Nine arc? She closed her eyes and thought back. Her memories—and wasn't that weird, she was already thinking of herself as a girl—told her she had just finished the Nine's tests two days ago. So it was possible. Bonesaw made Hack Job in four hours right?
This whole situation made absolutely no sense. Not just because of the whole Worm is real thing either. Jack Slash couldn't be Robert Rugger because she was Robert Rugger!
Jack was still talking. "Yes, I know I know! The false nerve counterplan thing Tattletale snitched on in the Slaughterhouse Nine arc. If Bonesaw had put that in me your artificial dread wouldn't have made me want to puke my guts out." He took a deep breath. "I'm not Jack Slash, and I have a hunch you aren't Cherish either. So stop trying to kill me! I'm not going to set off Scion!"
"You can't be Robert Rugger." A young girl's voice said. Both Jack and Cherish flinched and looked around for the source. With bright blonde curls and wearing a bloodstained dress and apron, Bonesaw glared from the living room doorway. Her backpack unfolded into two of the most disturbing parodies of spiders Cherish had ever seen. "I'm Robert Rugger!"
Clearly one or more of them was lying, and so began the Slaughterhouse Nine Robert Rugger Mexican Standoff. Cherish got ready to-
"Don't be stupid." A woman called out from across the house. "Clearly some ROB thought it would be funny to put the same guy into the bodies of the Slaughterhouse Nine. We're all Robert Rugger. I know I'm good at the whole 'don't panic, move move move mindset', but this is absurd. I can't believe I'm such an idiot."
Jack blinked and relaxed. "Ok. That makes a lot of sense."
There was a loud clinking sound, and everyone turned to see Mannequin tapping the wall. He gestured toward himself and then to the rest of them, nodding his head. Then he pointed at Bonesaw and then Cherish, making a 'get on with it' gesture.
Bonesaw finally noticed Cherish bleeding out slowly on the floor. "Holy crap! Hold on! I'll fix it. You guys keep talking." She rushed over and brought out a syringe. "Hold still please!"
Cherish groaned and rested her head on the floor, not bothering to get up. ♪ That's just about anything. ♪ "Can someone turn the music off? Somehow my phone survived this mess and I think the song is on loo- OW!"
Bonesaw frowned and pushed the syringe's plunger down into Cherish's thigh without bothering with anesthetic. One of her spiders handed her some flesh colored string and reached over to power down the phone. "I said hold still."
Burnscar turned her head and just looked at them, not saying a word.
Shatterbird called out again from the bedroom. "So there are two old people torsos in here and my leg is stuck in the wall. Can one of you guys help me out?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure." Jack said sheepishly and put his knives away. Another crash sounded from the garage. "Um, Burnscar? You're one of us right?"
Burnscar slowly nodded, absolutely expressionless.
Jack pointed at the door. "I'm just going to assume all of us are then. Can you get Crawler? He's probably freaking out right now."
"Why bother?" Burnscar turned back to staring at the ceiling. "We're all dead anyways. The heroes want to kill us. The villains want to kill us. The Endbringers want to kill us. Scion's going to want to kill us eventually. No point."
"There's no need to be so depressing." Bonesaw chimed in over Cherish's screams as her leg began to be sewn up by robot spiders.
Burnscar shrugged. "Then send someone else. I don't give a crap about anything right now. It's probably this body's fault, but I just don't care."
Jack sighed in exasperation. "Bonesaw is busy with Cherish. I'm going to go help who I assume is Shatterbird-me. The Siberian is in a van a few miles out and Mannequin can't talk. Go help Crawler."
Burnscar rolled her eyes. "Fine. Whatever."
—
Burnscar
I should probably be feeling something right now.
Burnscar trudged her way to the door leading out to the garage and glumly fiddled with the doorknob. Twist. Untwist. Twist. Untwist. Simple. Back. And forth. Twist. Untwist.
Doorknobs had it easy.
Twist. Untwist.
Nobody told them what to do.
Twist. Untwist.
They didn't have to worry about expectations.
Twist. Untwist.
Or saving the world.
Twist. Untwist.
They had a pretty good life.
The house shook as the living room wall exploded. The sound of Jack yelling something about also being Robert and how it would be nice if people stopped trying to murder him probably should have been disturbing. She figured he would be fine. Manton could definitely hear out of his projection in canon, so things would get sorted out. Twist. Untwist
Burnscar wished she was a doorknob. It was probably better than being Burnscar.
Twist. Untw-
SCREEEEEETCH!
Oh. Right.
The sound of metal being torn apart reminded her of what she was supposed to be doing. Begrudgingly, she opened the door. Peeking her head out, Burnscar saw the weirdest animal she had ever seen. Not that she really cared.
A massive van-sized monstrosity was weeping in the middle of the garage. He looked like a- well, a lot of things. Black armor completely covered his form, with scales protecting what needed to be flexible. Dinosaur spines rippled across his back and six oversized legs. Glowing red eyes and tentacles erupted from any space that wasn't already occupied. Acid dripped from an enormous maw of mismatched teeth. Together it was incredibly intimidating, like you knew that if that decided to eat you, you were lunch. And there was nothing you could do about it.
He was also crying in the corner.
"My body! What happened to my body!?"
Burnscar rolled her eyes. "Hey. Dude."
"I look like a monster! How am I going to go outside like this?! My life is over! I am so-"
"Hey! Crawler! Stop moping and listen when people are talking to you."
Crawler flinched in fright and whipped its head towards her. A few globs of acid flew out of his mouth and drenched what was left of the car. The pile of airbag material and scrap metal began to disintegrate with disgusting bubbly sounds that would have made Burnscar want to hurl if she could feel anything at the moment. "Crawler?! Who is- Oh no! Crawler! Am I-"
Burnscar interrupted with a loud explosion of fire around her fingers. "Yeah. We know dude. We're in Worm. All of us have the personality of Robert Rugger. We're all going to die. Get over it. Jack Slash Robert is probably going to call a meeting. That's what I would do. So stop being such a crybaby and suck it up."
She dismissed the feeling of being a blatant hypocrite and closed the door on him before he could answer.
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Frickin Fedora
Sep 25, 2022
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Frickin Fedora
Sep 30, 2022
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#16
Mannequin
Mannequin Robert Rugger felt conflicted.
Obviously, he didn't have a mouth anymore. This body's previous owner had taken his brain and vital organs and stuffed it in a tinkertech torso, sealing everything off. A perfect closed system. It was supposed to be a metaphor for how Alan Gramme decided to emotionally seal himself off from the world after the Simurgh killed his family, and while that was a compelling way to characterize a great villain, it was an entirely different story when you were the one stuck in the robot suit.
Out of all the people he could have been dropped into, Mannequin was one of the worst. Not the worst, mind you. Crawler Robert had that honor. At least Mannequin had hands instead of… whatever those tentacles were supposed to be. Mannequin doubted they were designed by Crawler's power for anything except combat, which likely meant typing or using chopsticks was out of the question.
No, being Mannequin wasn't that bad. It wasn't like he didn't have options. He was a Tinker, and building an artificial voice box wasn't that hard with his specialty. Enclosed systems gave him all kinds of ideas. Little balls that could transmit and receive radio signals to imitate vocal ranges, allowing him to literally throw his voice and the voices of others. A complicated engine made up of chains that could wrap around metal and project sound through it at extremely high volumes. Even running a series of crystalline wire constructs around the outside of his shell, converting the entire suit into a speaker. It wasn't that he couldn't do it. The problem was Mannequin had a reputation.
Mannequin never talked.
It was his whole thing. It made him so much more interesting than the thousands of other Tinkers who inevitably had the bright idea to make themselves power armor. Mannequin didn't wear power armor. He was the power armor. Not only did he have detachable hands, but detachable legs, arms, feet, and head. It was awesome.
But if Mannequin showed up to Brockton Bay with a new voice, it would break his whole theme. Like giving Princess Leia the Force in those crappy Star Wars sequels, or Arya Stark somehow surviving getting shanked and thrown off a bridge in Game of Thrones. Sure, it would confuse the crap out of people, and the PRT would flip out and point their Thinkers at him to figure out what was going on. That would be pretty funny, but it wouldn't be funny in the right way. Mannequin communicated with exaggerated body language, and he couldn't bring himself to change that. It just didn't work.
That didn't make him miss it any less though.
"Gather round! Gather round! Welcome to the first annual meeting of the Roberthouse Nine. First thing on the agenda today is-"
"I like Bobhouse Nine more, actually."
Mannequin wondered if putting eight copies of himself in the same room was a bad idea. He was leaning toward yes.
Jack pouted at the Siberian, who was sitting next to him. "You're just trying to be contradictory for the sake of contradiction." The Siberian started to speak again and Jack wagged his finger in her face. Personal space was an iffy concept when you were all the same person. "Don't try to deny it! Our preferences are literally identical."
The Siberian went to bite his finger off but he'd already pulled it out of the way, then booped her nose. What followed was an intense game of what could only be described as cannibal finger tag, as Jack booped her nose over and over while she did her best to catch him between her teeth. Mannequin thought it was quite interesting. His perception was enhanced as far as his specialty allowed, and he could see the finger already pulling out of the way before the Siberian had even started moving.
"Uh." Crawler flinched when everyone jumped at his low, resonant tone and turned to look at him, but pushed through his hesitation and continued. "I think Bobhouse Nine is better too. Should we put it to a vote?"
Bonesaw raised her hand and brought out a small chunk of brain to begin integrating it with some pieces of a disassembled robot spider. Thin wires flicked out from the device and wormed their way into torn off parts of their own accord. Mannequin would have raised an eyebrow if he had any. Was she making mini-spiders? "I second that motion!"
The Siberian smirked and Jack threw up his arms in exasperation. "Fine! Bobhouse Nine it is. Slaughter and Robert have two syllables and at least rhyme a little bit, but far be it from me to stop you guys. It's not like it matters."
They had assembled in the garage. Crawler couldn't fit in the house, and nobody was sure whether or not the wall the Siberian had added an extra doorway to was load bearing. By this point the car had completely dissolved, so they had enough room to sit down in a wide circle. Except for Crawler, of course, who took up the rest of the space by himself.
Cherish tapped a finger to her chin in contemplation. "That raises a point we should address before anything else. Who's going to be in charge? Democracy is fine when nobody's attacking us, but we need a leader no one's going to question in combat. Like a pirate captain. Wait. I'm an idiot." She pointed at Jack. "Thinker power."
Everyone else nodded at the same time, and then laughed a little at the same time (except Mannequin), and then started talking at the same time (except Mannequin again, who was starting to feel left out) before Cherish pulsed hesitance at everyone else and took charge. "Crap, that's going to be a problem. Jack leads the meeting. Otherwise we'll get stuck trying to do the same thing as each other."
Jack slumped. Mannequin sympathized. Being the leader always sucked. "Right. Okay. I'm sure you all agree, but I think we need to write everything down before we can start planning how we're going to derail canon. Mannequin?"
Mannequin tilted his head at a ninety degree angle.
"Do you mind scratching this stuff on the wall for us, me, us, however you want to say it? These people don't exactly have a whiteboard, and we can destroy the wall later to cover our tracks." Mannequin twirled his head around back to an upright position, nodded, and flicked out a finger blade. It made sense. He couldn't participate in the discussion without context, and this would give him something to work with.
He got up to start carving and Jack took the time to narrow his eyes at the Siberian. "Can you put on some clothes? You're being distracting."
The Siberian continued to smirk. "I do have clothes on."
"I meant on the projection and you know it."
"Hmm." She stared up at the ceiling and put her fist under her chin in a mocking thinker pose. Then she smiled. "Nope."
"You can share invincibility with the clothes!"
"Not gonna do it."
"For the love of-" Mannequin banged on the wall to get their attention and waved his arm at what he wrote.
Bob's Bucket List
Scion
Jack frowned. "I wanted the list to be in order of urgency, actually. Can you erase it and start over?"
Mannequin didn't move. He was in charge of the list. No one else.
Sighing, Jack massaged his forehead. "I didn't realize I was such a jerk. Whatever. I guess we'll just randomly throw stuff up there. Off the top of my head… Bakuda's suicide bombers. Dinah. The Travelers. Leviathan." The sound of metal slicing wood echoed in the room. "Eidolon's need to be challenged. Ascalon. Uh… the Gray Boy loops… was that it?"
Mannequin shook his head and tapped the last point he'd just finished writing.
Bob's Bucket List
Scion
Bakuda Head Bombs
Dinah's Kidnapping
Noelle and Trickster
Leviathan
Eidolon Needs Therapy
Ascalon
Grey Boy Loops
Shadow Stalker
Everyone seemed confused for a bit before Shatterbird snapped her fingers. "I get it. Sophia tries to kill Taylor at some point and the Undersiders end up kidnapping her. If she finds out Taylor has powers, she'll go after her out of pure spite because Taylor is 'supposed to be prey'." Shatterbird made finger quotes while Mannequin nodded in confirmation. "The only reason she isn't more violent is because she got press ganged into the Wards. She's just waiting for an excuse."
"There's also all the stuff from the sequel we didn't read." The Siberian pointed out, and the rest of them grimaced (except Mannequin). "Too late now, but I remember some stuff from the wiki. Something about March popping bubbles? Or balloons? I only remember that because I looked her up on the wiki after reading that celestial forge fanfiction."
Jack flipped a knife around in his hand. "She was freaking insane. Sting will get her out of any restraints or prison we put her in, so we might have to kill her, even though she hasn't done anything yet."
"No we don't!" Bonesaw piped up, putting the finishing touches on her creation. She tossed it into the center of the circle, and the contraption unfolded like a Transformer to land on four segmented legs. "I'm way ahead of you guys. Behold! The Parahuman Invading Mind Prison!"
Everyone immediately scrambled away from what looked like a cross between a Metroid and the spider baby toy from Toy Story.
"Holy crap!"
"Holy crap!"
"Holy crap!"
"Holy-" Cherish came to her senses and hit everyone with hesitation again. "Stop! Bonesaw, what the frick is that?!"
"I told you guys. It's a Parahuman Invading Mind Prison!" Bonesaw shouted gleefully, bouncing in her spot on the floor. "This girl's power is awesome! The P.I.M.P can burrow in the target's head and puppet both their body and their power. It might be a little hard to remove once it's in there though."
The rest of them sat in silence as they realized Bonesaw had just made herself one of the most powerful Masters in the world in less than thirty minutes. Crawler was the first to speak. "Am I the only one not bothered by this?"
"Yeah. Besides wanting to keep it from infecting me, I don't really care about it either." Jack rubbed his goatee in contemplation. "Personality bleed-through from the originals I think. Nothing we can do about it. I'm more concerned with the name. Pimp? Really?"
Bonesaw shrugged. "It's a joke the real Bonesaw would never make, so I figure it will screw with any Thinkers who hear it. Also, it's funny and descriptive of what it does. I couldn't help it. Don't know why past-Bonesaw never thought about this before. I mean, she was twelve years old, but it's pretty obvious. She already had the power-negating prions."
Mannequin thought this had gone on for long enough and banged on the wall again to get their attention. There were a few things they had been too distracted to remember, and one in particular was something they could fix right now.
Bob's Bucket List
Scion
Bakuda Head Bombs
Dinah's Kidnapping
Noelle and Trickster
Leviathan
Eidolon Needs Therapy
Ascalon
Shadow Stalker
March popping bubblewrap
Bonesaw doing something stupid
The Fallen
Nilbog starving
Whatever the other S-Class threats are doing
That atmosphere cannon thing
Old people torsos
Jack looked confused. "I don't recall old people's torsos being in the story."
"No, you idiot." The Siberian tried to hit him and he absentmindedly dodged it. "The owners of the house we're squatting in."
Shatterbird glanced back towards the house. "Oh. I forgot about those. Why are there two geezers with no limbs or vocal cords in my room again? I wasn't paying attention when it happened."
"That's my fault. I ate them." The Siberian said, licking her lips. "Bonesaw wanted to test the difference in taste between cooking arms raw and cooking them alive as a family bonding exercise." She shrugged. "It was about the same. Then their screaming annoyed Cherish because she could hear it over her music, so… Yeah."
"Wow." Burnscar remarked, talking for the first time since the meeting started. "My power's constantly drugging me, and I still think that's messed up. Welcome to the Slaughterhouse Nine I guess."
They all took a moment to go through their body's previous owner's memories, and at around the same time realized that was a mistake. Apparently Mannequin had been a regular serial killer long before he'd join the Nine, and had done some pretty gruesome stuff. Mannequin didn't really want to know just how many pieces he'd cut up Epiphany Girl into before stringing her across her roof like Christmas lights, but he did now.
"Okay." Jack took a deep breath. "Okay okay okay. Bonesaw, can you regenerate their limbs or something?"
"Hmmmmmmm. Technically yes." Bonesaw replied, glancing away in thought. "It would take a while though, and we'd need to constantly cram food down their throats. Also, if I did that it might attract attention. Showing mercy isn't exactly what the Slaughterhouse does. Once we let them go they'll call the PRT and say we were here. We put a Siberian-shaped hole in their wall and melted a car, so the cops will believe them. Can't exactly hide that."
"Then give them weird cyborg limbs. Say it's a gift for being great hosts or something suitably ironic like that." Jack reread the list and raised an eyebrow. "Also, I don't remember anything about an atmosphere cannon. What's he talking about?"
"I remember." Nobody flinched this time when Crawler spoke. He shifted to a more comfortable position, his armor plates rubbing against each other with a quiet grinding sound. "A shard took over someone's body and is going to make him build a tower that shoots the earth's atmosphere into space. That starts two years from now though. He's still in the planning stage."
Cherish raised her hand. "I could maybe find him."
Jack thought about it and shook his head. "That probably won't be necessary. Something that big will attract a lot of attention once it gets high enough. Searching the planet sounds like a waste of time if it'll be that obvious eventually. Anything else we need to worry about?"
The Bobhouse Nine glanced around at each other, and Shatterbird spoke up. "Speaking of stuff that happens in Ward, isn't there a girl named Kenzie something who should have triggered by now in the timeline? The surveillance Tinker."
Jack nodded. "That's a good idea, but we don't know what her last name is or where she's at. Unless someone else remembers?"
"It was B something, but it wasn't Brockton." Bonesaw straightened up her posture. "Boston? Brooklyn? I dunno."
"Then we'll come back to that later. Anything else?" Nobody said anything. "Cool. Now we can plan. Cherish, you've got a phone right? What's the date?"
"It's not mine. Cherish stole it." She turned it on. "April eighth, two thousand eleven. As expected. Seven ten pm. Also, since we are obviously not in Brockton Bay…"
The screen lit up her face as she opened up an app. "Do-do-dodo. Let's see. Let's see... Oh. Ha! Damn it. That's hilarious." She grinned and turned the phone around so everyone could see. "We're in Taylorsville California. A bit less than a two day drive from Brockton Bay."
The entire room cracked up in laughter. Except for Mannequin.
—
Dinah
At first it had been headaches. She'd be feeling fine. No fever. No cough. No symptoms at all. Then a teacher would ask a question and a kaleidoscope of images and experiences would explode in her brain. Dinah had thought she might be like Valerie, the girl in the wheelchair that was pushed around by that nice nurse with the ponytail. Valerie was normal for most of the day, but sometimes she would just stare off into space with a vacant expression, or even worse start shaking in the middle of class, and the nurse would wheel her away so she could help with Valerie's 'special needs'.
Some of the boys called her retarded, but Mrs. Wickersham said that wasn't very nice.
Dinah didn't need a wheelchair, so it couldn't be that. Her friends didn't know what it was either. Ciara guessed it was pencilepsy, which was Dinah seeing bright lights because she was looking at pencils too long. Emily said that was stupid and flicked a piece of pepperoni at her. Ciara called her stupid back and threw a grape in retaliation. The lunch table quickly got distracted and everyone got detention for starting a food fight again.
Her parents didn't understand what her problem was. They sent her to doctors, and Dinah complained about the headaches to them. She described the lights and images she kept seeing, but the doctors didn't understand. They gave her something called ass-prin, which Dinah was pretty sure was a swear word, and she was supposed to eat a pill whenever her head hurt. It wasn't enough. Her head hurt all the time.
She began to ignore the teacher's questions when she could, quickly focusing on the Mouse Protector theme song whenever they asked the class something. It helped. Dinah thought she was dumb for taking too long to try that. Of course that would work. Mouse Protector protected the small, and she was small.
It wasn't until this morning, watching Mouse Protector and Detective Eyespy vs Professor Chill before going to school, that she'd figured it out.
Detective Eyespy was a superhero that teamed up with Mouse Protector. He had all of these cool gadgets his Tinker friend gave him which he used to run faster and swing around on grappling hooks, but he also had his own powers. When he touched the empty display case at the museum, he saw pictures of the past. That was how they knew Professor Chill was behind the robbery, because Detective Eyespy could see the bad guy freeze and shatter the glass to steal the diamond. Then by seeing which way he ran, they could track him down to his base and beat him up. It was so cool.
Dinah thought she might be like Detective Eyespy.
She got off the bus and ran back to her room. Her mom called out to her. "Hi Dinah, how was school?"
"Good!" Dinah barely paid attention to her response. She was going to become a superhero!
She slammed the door behind her and grabbed the first thing she could think of, her tiger stuffed animal. Sitting down on her bed to get comfortable, Dinah focused. Come on. Come on. Please! I want to be a superhero!
Mr. Stripe stared back.
…
Nothing.
Dinah flopped back onto her bed, still clutching him. What am I supposed to do? Detective Eyespy just touched where the diamond was and it worked. I'm touching it! Why isn't it working?
She glared at him some more.
…
Nothing.
Dinah laid there for what seemed like forever. She tried everything. Shaking him. Abracadabra. Kissing him. Thinking about when she won him at the fourth of July fair. Throwing him up in the air. Holding him up like Simba in the Lion King. Everything. Mr. Stripe's beady eyes looked almost disappointed in her as she began to lose hope. It wasn't working.
She threw him off the bed and started to cry. I'm so stupid. I'm a seventh grader, not Detective Eyespy. I'm never going to be a superhero. I wouldn't even be good enough if I did have powers, would I?
That was the wrong question to ask.
She sat at a computer, yelling advice through a microphone as the Siberian tore through flesh and bone.
She ran through the streets, cutting into an alleyway only to see men in black suits point their guns at her.
She shivered in the cold, flinching away from the needle in her arm as a man in a snake costume watched.
She tried to escape, but a spider leapt from the ceiling and pinned her to a wall, "Yeah. You saw me coming. Sorry Dinah, this is for your own good."
She looked up at the receptionist, who raised an eyebrow at the kid who'd walked into her building.
She yelped as the wall exploded, the Siberian emerging from the dust and rushing towards her.
She ducked under the cover of the swarm, but a beast of eyes and teeth leapt through without flinching to capture her with a tentacle.
She huddled in Glory Girl's arms, glass flying through the air and cutting off their escape, "Nice try budget Supergirl, but I know you aren't really invincible."
She curled up underneath the covers, not daring to answer the knock at the door.
She pleaded with her, but the lady in the welding mask shook her head, "Newter. We're leaving."
She jumped up onto-
She hid inside-
She knelt before-
She aimed-
She fell-
She-
She-
She-
The mosaic of images and smells and sounds and worlds flew around in her head, bringing her focus away from the individual scenes and to the whole. They organized themselves. A few flew to one side while the rest crammed together on the opposite side, all of them different but meaning the same thing. The query was vague, even by its standards, but it did its best to satisfy the spirit of the question.
7.20330885055178090206% chance of being good enough to use your power's information when you next need it the most.
Dinah whimpered. She could feel the blood rushing to her head as it throbbed in the worst headache she'd had yet, and she curled up in a fetal position on her blanket. She understood now. She wasn't Detective Eyespy, but she was close. He could see what happened. Dinah could see what might happen, and her power beat her up whenever she asked. The possibilities, each one a pixel in the grand display of what might happen, stretched out in her mind and she could see it all. It looked amazing, but what it meant was scary.
She didn't know who the snake guy was, but she'd recognize the zebra lady anywhere. Everyone knew the face of Hero's murderer. Dread welled up and she sobbed into her pillow. This can't be real. Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming. Dinah pinched herself. Hard.
A jolt of pain went up her leg, but she didn't wake up. She was awake.
The Slaughterhouse Nine were after her.
What can I do? What can anyone do? I just got my powers! It was almost funny how quickly the situation had changed. Before, she just wanted her headaches to go away, or at least be a superhero with them. Now she was going to die. Can the heroes save me?
Mouse Protector stood in front of her with her sword at the ready as Jack Slash chuckled, "Well this is unexpected."
Armsmaster swung his halberd and Mannequin fluidly twisted around it, white gas spilling out into the air.
A girl in a torn up red dress flicked a fireball at Kid Win and vanished into the flames, reappearing behind Vista with her arms wrapped around her neck in a chokehold.
Alexandria floated above them, but Jack just grinned triumphantly, "Seven words. I know how to kill him, Rebecca."
She tried to shout a warning but was too late, the first shard of glass shattered on Glory Girl's skin and the second drew blood, hovering under her throat.
Men in black suits burst into the room and grabbed her, pulling her towards a van before they froze and started shaking, "Kill yourselves you pedophile fuckwads."
The mosaic swirled and shifted before settling on an answer. 4.66089321103472347032% chance of the heroes protecting you from the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Dinah took deep breaths through the pain and pressed her hands on her head in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure. She was doomed. It didn't matter what she did. She laid there for a while, waiting for the headache to subside. It hurt. It really hurt. But she had to know. Shuddering, she asked her last question. Will they hurt me?
A girl brushed away the red streak in her hair and smiled at the question, "I don't think you're old enough for tattoos."
Jack Slash set the plate of mac and cheese in front of her.
Bonesaw snapped her fingers and horrifying metal brains with legs unfolded from her backpack, her grin stretching wider than Dinah thought was possible, "You sure? Last chance to back out."
The Siberian put a hand on her shoulder and pointed at the rock, "Here. You try."
Panacea's eyes widened in surprise, "You're still alive?!"
The girl in the dress shrugged, "As long as you don't leave the house."
Glass and sand rearranged itself into a statue of Mouse Protector.
The beast settled down as low as it could go, "Watch the spines."
The Siberian jumped, and Dinah laughed in delight as they soared through the sky.
Mannequin towered over her, not moving from his position by the door, and pointed to the refrigerator.
9.4436077344460629019% chance the Slaughterhouse Nine will hurt you.
…What?
Then she leaned over and vomited all over the carpet.
Last edited: Sep 30, 2022
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Frickin Fedora
Sep 30, 2022
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