Chapter 1973 - 20

Chapter Text

"Now the first thing to remember is that even though you're a hunter and not a mage, you're still channeling arcane energy to do most of the cool things that Azeroth hunters can do," Bayleaf said. "In fact that's pretty much true of everyone using Azeroth powers."

"I got that," Regent... Fennek... nodded. "That scans with what I 'remember' being taught." He made quote marks in the air with his tiny paws.

"In your case, and, er, Lok'tara's," he went on. "Your main focus are these." He handed Fennek the stout little recurved bow and quiver the new Vulperan had received on his 're-entry' into the mortal plane. He pulled one arrow out and held it up. It was a simple, almost crude-looking wooden arrow with plain brown fletching-- and a quartz tip. "The quiver uses the same space-folding trick as our haversacks... well, a little more limited, since it only holds arrows." Bayleaf poked around in the quiver. "Looks like they gave you a full load out. You got about 200 of these things. I don't know how these are made--"

"I do," Fennek said. " He paused, blinking in surprise and swiveling his oversize ears. "Hey, yeah. I do. Cool."

"Not too expensive I hope?"

"Nah. So long as you use some kind of quartz for the tip. Flint, chert, agate..." He counted them off on his fingertips.

"Great. That'll make things a lot simpler. I'll set up the parts-o-matic to crank you out a few hundred more. For now though--" Bayleaf gestured downfield. "Let's see how good you are with that."

Bayleaf, Fennek and Lok'Tara had availed themselves of the use of the local school sports field. A hundred yard football-slash-soccer field (Winslow High had, in better days, commissioned the thing. Before the decline of Brockton Bay had set in, the influx of refugees from other countries had finally boosted the popularity of the sport of Pele' to a level Americans had been actually willing to spend serious money on it) surrounded by a clay running track, framed by bleachers on either side, gave them more than enough room to stretch their legs and test their abilities. The dead of night, and the twelve-foot hedge line and fence surrounding the whole facility, gave them plenty of privacy as well. While the stadium lights were out, the lights from the parking lot were more than enough to keep the grassy field illuminated.

Not that the three of them needed it much. Worgen, Vulperan and Orc had far better night vision than any human.

As to practice-- Adrian had set up hunting targets-- various animal silhouettes, a handful of human ones-- at intervals down the field. The farthest one was at the fence line; immediately beyond the fence was a six foot earthen rise out of which the concealing hedgerow grew, Bayleaf had judged it more than sufficient as an earth stop for a simple archery test.

Fennek gave a half-nod, half-shrug, and shrugged his way out of his hoodie.

Going out disguised had been less of a challenge than Bayleaf had expected. It was Brockton Bay; most people had learned not to look too closely or stare too long, especially after dark. Rachel's green skin was easily covered with a can of spray-on tan. And while Fennek definitely looked odd in his oversized hoodie-- at less than three foot tall, it wore on him more like a floor-length monk's robe-- noone had taken notice of him, or them, or had at least pointedly ignored them. Once again it was Brockton Bay after dark, and few people wanted to see why a leather jacketed thug, a giant bodybuilder lady with three rangy mutts, and a midget dressed as a Jawa were running around in the middle of the night.

He stripped out of the hoodie and took the bow. Bayleaf had a moment of eyebrow-raising surprise; even under the Azeroth tunic Alec still wore underneath the fox-boy was startlingly broad across the back and shoulders. His arms were corded and thick for his size, especially his hands and forearms. Small or not, this was a creature built for pulling a bowstring.

Almost carelessly, Alec nocked an arrow, drew and fired. The split second before he released, Bayleaf saw a ghostly hunter's arrowhead form around the tip-- an Arcane Arrow, his memory supplied. The arrow shot across the field in a nearly flat arc and hit the first target with a thwack, making it bounce briefly on its wire stand.

Bayleaf whistled. "Fifty yards!" Bayleaf knew little about real life archery but in the game, that was the maximum range an archer could reach. He was clearly working with certain misconceptions about bowmanship. Even while he was squinting through binoculars to confirm the bullseye, Alec was nocking another arrow and sending it thwacking into the fake deer standing at the seventy five yard line.

In short order he nailed the inner ring on the target at the hundred... then the one out past the goalpost. Then the one past the running track. He sank a final arrow, the first that was NOT a bullseye, into the target leaning against the far fence. Bayleaf lowered his binoculars and whistled. "That makes it close to two hundred yards," he said soberly.

Fennek's ears perked. "Seriously? Wow. I wasn't even trying..."

"Lemme see that bow." Fennek handed it over. Bayleaf tested the pull. He grunted in surprise. "It's got to be at least thirty pounds," he said, shaking his head. "I would have thought a bow this size couldn't be more than ten."

He handed it back to Fennek. Fennek grinned, the expression on a vulpine face looking very uncanny. "Mind if I try out some of the fancier shots?"

Bayleaf shrugged. "What we're here for."

Fennek nodded and nocked another arrow. This time he took a moment to aim, concentration on his face. The arrowhead glowed briefly golden. He fired.

ThunkThunkThunkThunkThunkThunkThunkThunk

A volley, a storm of glowing arrows shot across the football field in a fan-like spray. Every target in range was hit, some of them multiple times. Alec whooped. "Did you see that?" he said. "That was awesome!" Even as he spoke, the dozens of arrows skewering everything in sight slowly faded from existence.

"Didn't go as far," Bayleaf noted, pointing. "Looks like the furthest arrow went about forty feet. Which is a good thing, probably-- you don't want a few dozen stray shots sailing off for a mile, labeled 'to whom it may concern.'"

For some reason Fennek flinched, but then he nodded. "Yeah, I see that. More of an area-denial thing, that one."

"So what else you got?" Bayleaf said.

Fennek thought for a minute. "Well... a lot of 'em require a living target," he said. "I got several that disorient or stun or the like. I've got a flare arrow... hmm, might draw attention if I fire that one. A firework arrow-- sounds fun. A binding shot-- but without anyone to bind, not much point... hmm...." His expression cleared. "Ooh, this one sounds good-- a Sidewinder." Thought and deed were one; he nocked an arrow, drew and fired.

Bayleaf watched in slack jawed surprise as a whizzing, buzzing something zigzagged back and forth across the field, striking through target after target in a spurt of straw before finally embedding itself in the last one and sputtering away to nothing. When Fennek lowered his bow, a half-dozen targets were now leaking stuffing onto the grass through nasty looking double punctures. "Whoah."

"That's cheating." This came from Rachel-- Lok'tara-- who was sitting over on the bleachers, idly playing with her dogs.

"It is not...!" Fennek protested.

"Not if your power did everything," Lok'tara said matter-of-factly.

"Hey, I had to aim and everything--"

"I'm... not sure what the advantage is of the second one over the first," Bayleaf admitted, scratching his head.

Fennek shrugged. "The first one is pretty much 'spray and pray,'" he said. "the second one, I have to focus on which targets I want to hit."

"So you could pick a group of gunmen out of a crowd of hostages," Bayleaf said.

"Yeah, I suppose I could," Fennek admitted. "But it'd be tricky. It's a whole different thing between picking what you want to hit-- and picking what you want to miss."

Bayleaf thought about that for a minute before he got it. He winced. Just because you had an arrow that could turn corners didn't mean you could make it turn all the right ones. He wouldn't have wanted to wager on the safety of anyone walking out into the middle of the field when that last trick shot flew. "Still, sounds like something worth practicing," he said.

"Still cheating," Rachel said from her bench.

Alec turned and glared at her. "Look, I don't see YOU pegging bullseyes from a thousand feet away," he said. "Fact is, I don't see you doing anything at all!"

Rachel didn't look up from her book. "Don't want to." she reached over her shoulder and rapped the blade of the war-spear on her back. "I'm sticking with the spear."

Bayleaf frowned a bit. "You're rated on bow, spear, and gun," he said. "You really ought to at least--"

Still without looking up from her book, Rachel reached behind her and picked something up, holding it over her head. It was one of Bayleaf's handmade guns: a Huntmaster's rifle-- double barrel, underslung bayonet, scope, handcarved oak stock, brass and iron fittings, and all the gnomerigan steampunky goodness one would expect. A gun aficionado who clapped eyes on its bastardized, neither-fish-nor-fowl design would have a conniption fit. A gun aficionado who actually fired one would have to have it pried out of his grasp with a crowbar. Combined with a full load of Azeroth ammunition, and powered with a Hunter's natural arcane affinities-- well, simply put Rachel could probably kill buildings with the thing.

"Not stupid," she growled. "I got one. Just don't wanna use it much." She looked up. "And people will hear gunshots if I test-fire it here."

Bayleaf realized she was right and facepalmed. He'd been fixated on the school sports field because it would make it easier to measure all the physical abilities: how far, how fast, how high, how long. Naturally his tunnel vision had kicked in again and he'd completely forgotten that said while it was fairly distant from any houses, the sports field wasn't exactly located in the remote hinterlands either. Gunshots would bring people, namely cops, running.

The more important point at the moment was that Rachel, aka Lok'Tara, had obviously dug her heels in. She'd carry a gun, but as a Hunter she intended to be a hands-on girl, and that meant the spear. He held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. We will be testing your marksmanship, though. I'll feel a lot more comfortable knowing everyone on my side can at least send all the bullets in one direction." He looked over at Alec. "You wanna try out the spear?"

Alec snorted. "Forget it. I ditched the pigsticker the Agents gave me. Let Sparky break it down for enchanting ingredients." At Bayleaf's appalled look he said, "Hey, I'm three feet tall! The thing was as big as me! Besides, who do I look like, Scrappy Doo? Tiny person plus melee equals squashed tiny person. I'll stick to my ranged attacks, thank you!"

"Good point," Bayleaf conceded reluctantly. He rubbed his chin and grinned. "Though as for the Scrappy Doo thing--"

"Shut it." Alec pointedly turned his back and nocked another arrow.

Grinning, Bayleaf left him to his practice and went over to the bleachers where Rachel and her dogs were sitting. She didn't even look up from her book at him as he fished through his haversack--

With a start he realized that she was reading. Just a few weeks ago she had been functionally illiterate (and a bit hostile about it, for that matter.) Now here she was nose down in reading material. "Good book?" he asked casually.

She held up the book so he could see the cover. "Charlotte's Web," she said. "My Mom used to read it to me... when I was real little." 'Before she abandoned me' went unsaid. "I borrowed it from Taylor. Wanted to see if I remembered the story right."

"It's a good one," Bayleaf nodded. She apparently took that as a cue to return to her book.

When Rachel's Agent had made her deal, she had undergone many changes, both physical and neurological. Her borderline autism was gone; she could understand people again, make sense of their expressions and emotions.... But the one change that had made the most unexpected difference, almost a side-effect of the skills she had downloaded, had been her sudden literacy. The transformation had been extraordinary. She'd begun reading anything and everything she could get her hands on-- books, magazines, it didn't matter. If a scrap of newspaper was left within arm's reach she'd snatch it up and pore over it like she had discovered the Voynich Manuscript. The delight was clear on her face whenever she set eyes on a road sign or a poster in a window and was reminded again: she could read.

The world had opened up to her and she was never letting it close again.

Bayleaf regarded her. He listened to the thwip, thwip of Alec practicing his archery, interspersed with the occasional curse as a shot was flubbed and a target missed. He should be feeling proud that they were growing and thriving.

Instead, he felt… uneased.

Why?

"That's easy to answer," a voice said behind him. Bayleaf nearly jumped out of his skin. As it was he leapt into the air and spun around, knife and staff at the ready. It was Tattletale trotting up behind him. She was in civvies-- Jogging sweats and sneakers, earphones and fanny pack. She flicked the earphones out of her ears and tucked them away.

"What do you mean by that?" Bayleaf said, a little irritated at her using her cold-reading power on him again.

"Why you're feeling so uneasy," she said matter-of-factly. She plunked down on one of the bleachers. "You know all about us, or think you do; our pasts, our futures, or whatever our futures were supposed to be. But you got so caught up in 'saving' us all--" she made quote marks in the air with her fingers. "and now it's sinking in what you've done, and you're wondering if that was a really smart thing to do." She smirked. A smirk seemed to be her default expression.

He started to say something, stopped and started to say something else, then gave it up for a lost cause. He sighed. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, was it?" He said. His gaze didn't waver.

Her smirk fell away and she got serious. "You're smart to worry," she said. "Hell, we're all damaged goods. But it's Alec that worries you most. Truth? He worries me too. Did even when we were just the Undersiders."

"I know. His dad... broke him in a dozen different ways." Bayleaf's stomach roiled as he recalled some of the things Alec had described to him during one of his breakdown jags. Things his father had done to him; things his father had made him do. "The Agents healed the damage, put his brain back in proper order… but…

"But he also got every indulgence, too. Let him try every vice, taste every forbidden fruit in the freaking orchard. And after all, his dad doesn't lead that sort of life himself without enjoying the hell out of it. And Alec… Fennek…

"I'm worried that once he gets all the pieces of himself back together, he'll decide he liked it." he muttered.

A recurve bow flew past his head, clattering against the aluminum seats. Bayleaf jumped to his feet and spun around; Fennek was standing at the foot of the bleachers, fists clenched and trembling with rage. "Is that what you think of me??" he shouted. "You think I'm just waiting for an opportunity to turn into that sonuvabitch?"

Bayleaf felt guilt pierce him. "You heard that?"

Fennek cupped his hands behind his overlarge ears. "You think these things are for picking up HBO?" he snapped. "You really think that of me? That I want to be another Heartbreaker? I hate him! I hate everything he did! I have nightmares about the things he made me do! Where do you get off thinking that about me, just because I'm not some sunday school choir boy? Is that it?"

"I have to think that about everybody, Fennek," Bayleaf snapped back. He ran his massive pawed hand down his muzzle. At some point in the argument he'd shifted back to worgen without thinking. "I'm basically trying to gather a team of heroes to save the world," he sighed. "And look what I've got! Half of us were, or were going to become, supervillains. You were a custom-made sociopath. Rachel was a half-feral autistic with a murder rap hanging over her head. Lisa is a crook with chronic Riddler Syndrome--"

"Riddler Syndrome?" Lisa said.

"You couldn't just commit a crime, you have to prove how much smarter you are than the good guys," Rachel said. "Like the Riddler always having to leave word puzzles for the Batman."

Lisa stared nonplussed at the orc girl, her jaw working silently. "I HAVE taken up reading, you know," the orc muttered sullenly.

"Lei Ling is an ex nazi villain. Aisha was a petty thief and juvenile delinquent on the express track to juvie hall," Bayleaf went on. "And her brother-- Brian is the most serious and responsible of us all and he was dumb enough to think he could buy a better life for them both with a life of crime." Bayleaf laughed humorlessly and dug his fingers into the ruff of fur on the back of his neck.

"And the rest of us? Shar'Din is an ex-junkie, Shen is the son of a Nazi warlord, and had the self-esteem crushed out of him. Greg, he's got a good heart but he's so socially clueless he makes Armsmaster look like a sophisticate. Glory Girl and Panacea… let's just say that the Dallon clan has more issues than a lifetime subscription to TV guide. and Taylor-- Taylor was so traumatized by the abuse she suffered that she was left borderline suicidal."

He realized he was pacing back and forth and stopped. "Did I ever tell you about what Taylor did in baseline? In baseline she soloed Lung on her first night out as a hero." The others went wide-eyed at this. "She fought Endbringers. She became a criminal warlord who controlled several square miles of Brockton Bay. She took on the Slaughterhouse nine. She even killed Alexandria, single-handed. And on Golden Morning, she telepathically enslaved every cape on the planet and used their united powers to kill Scion."

The others gaped at him. "What kind of freaking powers did she have?" Lisa said in disbelief.

Bayleaf grinned at her. The lupine smile didn't reach his eyes. "Bugs," he said. "Baseline, she had the power to control bugs." He waved his hand. "Within six blocks, I think it was, at her peak."

"She did all that with bugs?" Alec said faintly, somewhat horrified.

"And now, thanks to my influence, she's traded in her bug-power for the powers and skills of an invisible, teleporting, superhuman assassin," Bayleaf said bleakly. "That can't be good for her headspace. Heck, between the Agents and the Tinker devices, I've upgraded ALL of you to levels that should be absolutely frightening to anyone with common sense." He gave the vulperan archer a stern look. "Alec, do you realize that right now you could kill a stadium full of people with a bow and arrow? You, all by yourself, in less than a minute. With nothing but a bow and arrow."

Fennek looked up at the bleachers, pictured himself unleashing one of his volley-of-arrow shots into them, and swallowed, looking a little green.

"So yeah," Bayleaf went on. "I'm thinking like that. I kind of have to. A lot is riding on this. Everything is riding on this." His shoulders slumped a little. "I'm sorry, Alec. It's not personal, it's just… inevitable."

"... I don't care," Fennek said. "I don't care what you think or what you're afraid of. I'm not my father. I'd rather die than become him," Fennek said, sullen and defiant. "I felt that way before I turned little and fuzzy-wuzzy, and I still feel the same way after. So keep your suspicions to yourself."

Bayleaf nodded, relenting. He realized that, in a strange way, 'Regent' probably had a more steady ethical and moral keel than the rest of them. In the original timeline he had remained loyal to the Undersiders, had avenged them against their enemies, had even finally sacrificed himself to save their lives-- not because he was motivated by some obscure emotion like gratitude or guilt, but because he had decided, coolly and unemotionally, that it was part of his moral code: that he was supposed to be loyal to his friends, and so he would be…. Even to the death. High functioning sociopath, indeed.

Rachel snorted. "If we're all so unworthy," she said, "why'd you help us anyway?"

"It's not about being worthy." Bayleaf sat down-- picking up the bow and throwing it back to Fennek first. The vulperan turned his back and began plunking arrows into targets again, the set of his shoulders all but shouting 'I'm ignoring you.'

Bayleaf grunted. "You know, when I first decided to help Taylor, I had to ask myself, 'What if I mess things up? Shouldn't I just let things play out like they did in the main timeline-- at least till she triggers?' After all if I had, she'd end up with her bug powers, she'd still be able to become Khepri and defeat Scion…If I just went in and tried to do the right thing, then I might throw everything off-track."

"But then I decided 'screw it. I'm not here to play it safe. I'm here to help people, and to hell with the consequences.' If I only did the right thing when I was absolutely sure it'd turn out the way I wanted, I'd never do anything. In which case I might as well not even be here." He looked away. "The same way, If I only helped people I thought 'deserved' it, I wouldn't help anybody.

"You might take the help I gave you and go on to become good people and great heroes. You might take it and throw it back in my face. But that's on you, not on me. What IS on me is to do the right thing, no matter that you don't know how it might turn out.

"Either everybody deserves help or nobody does;the final equation works out the same either way… so you might as well help." He tapped his knuckles to his chest. "That's MY code. It's not much but I'll stick to it as best I can."

Fennek huffed in disbelief. "What, so if we all get sane, decide 'screw this save-the-world thing' and run off to hide in some deep dark hole till its all over?"

"Then the job gets a whole lot harder and the world probably dies," Bayleaf said simply. He shrugged. "The world might probably die anyway. All we can do is keep trying to tip the odds further in our favor."

"You're counting on the fact that this is the sort of problem you can't run away from to keep us from ditching you," Lisa said knowingly.

"I'm counting on the fact that nobody runs around leaping from rooftop to rooftop dressed up in silly longjohns because they think they can't change anything," Bayleaf said, giving her the side-eye and a knowing smirk of his own. He tossed her a Gatorade from his haversack. "As bad as your choices were, you still all chose to get up off your duffs and do something to change your fate." He flipped another Gatorade to Rachel, and one to Alec. He followed up with a couple of water bottles for the dogs. "So here's to kicking your heels against Fate." He cracked open his own bottle and chugged it down.

"You're a strange man, Bayleaf," Lisa said.

"Thank you for noticing," he retorted.

Rachel rested her chin in her hand for a moment. She spoke up. "We need pets," she said.

Everyone blinked at the non sequitor. "Pardon?" Bayleaf said.

"Me and him." The orc girl nodded at Fennek. "We're hunters, remember? You're worried about us being out of balance? Well if we're hunters we need our animal companions to be properly balanced. So we need our pets."

Bayleaf grunted at the reminder. It was true. Azeroth hunters all had animal hunting companions-- sometimes several. The hunter bonded with the animal, and could even channel some of their power through them. "But what about your dogs?"

Rachel looked down at Judas, Brutus and Angelica, who were noisily slurping water out of bowls she had procured somewhere. "They're too small now," she said a little sadly. "Without my old Power, I can't change them anymore. They couldn't keep up." She patted Angelica on the shoulders; the scruffy little stray stopped drinking long enough to shower her hand with doggy kisses. The dog looked absolutely tiny next to her massive hands.

She was right. Her scruffy pets, brilliantly trained as they were, were no hunting animals. They wouldn't last five seconds in a serious fight. "Yeah. If you're going to get your companions, we'd better start looking now."

"So where do you plan on looking?" Lisa said. "I don't think you're going to find anything suitable at the local PetLand."

Bayleaf grimaced. "Well, I have a couple of ideas-" he stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Will you stop shooting for a minute, Fennek?" he said, irritated. The irregular thwip-thunk, thwip-thunk was getting on his nerves. To say nothing of the random pops, crackles, and other random noises that the arcane arrows emitted when they struck home.

"You gave it to me," Alec snarked. "Ooo, 'explosive shot?' Not tried that one yet." Almost idly he flicked off another shot.

"No WAIT--!"

Whatever Alec had been expecting, he clearly hadn't been expecting what came next. There was a startlingly loud VISSSSsSSssSSHHH, and a slow moving streak of fire leapt from his bow, shooting down the football field. There was a brief pause, then a thunderous BOOM as several of the makeshift targets they set up disappeared in a ball of flame. Alec crouched there, his frizzed out tail curled around him, ears laid back and eyes round as saucers as the sound echoed through the neighborhood and the red glow lit up the sky. Bits of straw and styrofoam deer rained down. "Holy--"

"Well, I think this conversation needs to continue someplace else far away from HERE," Bayleaf said, his voice unnaturally high. He grabbed his bag.

"Ya think?" Lisa snarked.

As police sirens rose in the distance, the quartet skedaddled.

"You're thinking of going to BLASTO??"

Bayleaf winced. Amy Dallon's voice could get seriously piercing when she was upset.

It was late, and twilight had set in. Bayleaf had made his way out to the Pelham home to meet with Panacea, in hopes of consulting with her on their little pet problem. He had been lucky to catch her outside, working in the oversized greenhouse out behind her aunt and uncle's home. He felt a bit less lucky, though, when she'd decided to tell him what she thought of his plan.

"Are you out of your mind? Blasto is a HACK!" She punctuated her sentence with jabs in the air from the garden tool in her hand.

"He's… unpredictable, I'll give you that," Bayleaf said. "But he's not overtly malevolent at least. And he's willing to do contracted work..."

"Why do you even need to go to him?" Amy demanded. She poked at several of her plants in distracted agitation.

Bayleaf rolled his eyes. "Because several of the… abilities… that Azeroth hunters use require a bonded animal companion," he said. "A hunter going out without one bonded animal is like going into a boxing ring one-handed and with one eye covered."

She paused in her garden hedgehogging. "Seriously? Wait, you're saying they form some sort of-- psychic bond?"

"Limited Master ability," Bayleaf confirmed. "They can sense their animal partner, see through their eyes, issue commands-- even funnel some of their arcane power into them to heal them or increase their defense or attack abilities.

He sat down in a nearby folding chair. "Problem is, your average Terran pet species isn't as hardy as an Azeroth one," he said. "Not as strong or tough or smart… remember what happened to the last K-9 dispatch that tackled Hookwolf?" Amy cringed. "Yeah. That's just dandy if you don't mind using dozens of animals for woodchipper fodder, but I don't think either of us would be too happy with that."

"So you need a biotinker to custom-build a couple of animal companions for your teammates," Amy concluded.

"Or upgrade them," Bayleaf said. "Make them strong and smart and tough enough to at least have a fighting chance."

"So you came here first, so you could emotionally blackmail me into doing it," Amy said, heated. She stabbed her trowel into a nearby pot of earth and left it there.

"Pretty much," Bayleaf confessed. "I'm sorry, Amy. But my choices are kind of slim. The options boil down to you, some unprincipled biodork like Blasto, or letting them bond with a baseline animal that will be torn to pieces the first time we run into a supervillain." Amy only growled at him.

Bayleaf let her stew a bit and looked around them. The greenhouse was packed with flora of every possible size and shape. "...What is all this, by the way?" he said. "I recognize the healing tree saplings, but everything else--" he shot her a quick look and grinned. "You've been experimenting a little bit, haven't you," he said, pleased. "With your powers."

She nodded, pleased. It was almost startling how her mood changed. "I managed to get tentative approval for the healing trees from the PRT," she said happily. "Not to make them self-reproducing yet, but saplings grown from cuttings are clear. They're going to be going into hospitals all over the United States. I was surprised at how quickly they approved them!"

It didn't surprise Bayleaf quite as much. It was a rough and dangerous world, which was why any super with any form of healing power got so much extra leeway. Trees that shed a continual "healing aura" year round, and only required a little bit of dirt and water? They were bound to jump on that with both feet.

"… And, well, since the trees got such good reception, I've started trying other things," she babbled on. "Mostly silly stuff, but I've never had so much fun..."

"Silly stuff?"

"Yeah, well--" she stopped and picked up a small, oddly mottled pumpkin, still attached to the vine. "Turn off the lights?" Bayleaf obliged, hitting the nearby switch on the greenhouse post. He blinked in surprise at what the dark revealed. "a glow-in-the-dark pumpkin?"

"A self-illuminating jack-o-lantern!" she said gleefully. "The glowing blotches make a face, see?"

"I think the glowing roses are more impressive," Bayleaf said, pointing. A small rosebush stood in one corner, covered in glowing blossoms in a dozen colors. The edges of the petals glittered like burning embers.

"Oh, yes, Aunt Sarah loves those," Amy said. "I did a lot of bioluminescent projects first, as you can see." She waved a hand, indicating the rest of the greenhouse; it was lit up like a fairy wonderland. "It seemed the safest to start with, a way to get my toe in the door-- even baseline geneticists are fooling around with that. They use it as a genetic marker in bigger experiments, actually..."

Bayleaf nodded. It was a sensible plan: start with areas the public and the PRT were already familiar with, get them used to it before moving to more daring stuff.

"Of course I did a few other things too-- my cousins have had all sorts of 'suggestions.' She flipped the lights on and pointed to another rosebush, this one with blossoms the size of cabbages. "Would you believe Aunt Sarah requested that one as a gag gift? She said she wants it just so she can see the looks on the neighborhood Garden Club's faces..."

Bayleaf snickered. "I can just see it," he said. He stepped over and cradled one of the head-sized blossoms to his cheek and pretended to take a selfie. "Hey, Ingrid-- guess who's NOT winning the rose growing competition THIS year, bitch!" he cackled in a nasal falsetto. "Nyaahhaahhahaha!"

Amy nearly folded double laughing. "She'd do it, too!" she said. "But it's Crystal and Eric--"

"Laserdream and Shielder?"

"Yeah. Ever since I started… well this…" she waved at the greenhouse again. "it's like they're having a contest to see who can come up with the craziest ideas. Some of the stuff sounds like it came straight out of Willy Wonka."

"What, like, edible chocolate flavored roses for Valentines day?" Bayleaf guessed.

"Oooh, that'd be a good one. But… no, stuff more like this." She held up a half-grown watermelon. Bayleaf noticed that it had pips all over the outside, almost like a strawberry. "A watermelon with the seeds on the outside!" Amy said gleefully. "Even 'seedless' watermelons have those little white things in them-- this way you can have your seedless watermelon, and plant for next year's crop too. Just bury the rinds!" She looked briefly crestfallen. "Of course this version is still sterile. I haven't gotten approval for self-reproducing ones yet… Oh, and then there's this." She reached over and plucked what looked like an orange off a climbing vine. She set it on the shelf next to her elbow, pulled a knife out of her work belt and cut it in half.

Bayleaf didn't need anyone to identify the scent that hit his nostrils and his mouth watered. "Is that steak??" he said in disbelief.

Amy nodded. She peeled the rind off a slice and flipped it over; a perfect inch thick cut of what looked like grade A beef, blood raw. "Tender as filet mignon, too." She looked up at him. "Grill you up a slice?" she said with a knowing smile.

To his embarrassment the wolfman realized he was licking his chops. "Ahem. I'll hold off for now." Chuckling, the healer threw the sliced Steak Orange into the minifridge she had set out in the greenhouse. His eyes suddenly went round. "Say, if you can make meat grow on a plant like that, what about--"

"Straight blood or plasma? Bone marrow, spare kidneys, eyeballs, that sort of thing?" She finished for him. "Well, I can do it, but there are drawbacks." She grimaced. "It's a lot more involved, for one thing. And the 'plant' is more finicky, has more fickle nutritional needs and care requirements. And, well," she hesitated. "The plants inevitably come out looking… meaty. "

"Like an H.R. Giger art project?" Bayleaf suggested, his imagination filling in the gaps. She nodded, grimacing all the more. "Ew. Though, come to think of it, that 'finicky' and 'needs special care' issue might be a selling point." At her puzzled expression he explained. "It reinforces the idea that they can only grow under laboratory conditions."

She made an 'I get it' sound, nodding. "Not something you want growing out in a cornfield, anyway. But still better than having to wait for an organ donor… yeah, I think they'd be more comfortable with something that could only grow in a clean-room."

Bayleaf took note. The change from the girl he knew from just a few weeks back was astounding. That girl had been tired, listless, and constantly stressed. This one was actually cheerful and energetic, and obviously happy with what she was doing. Just spreading her wings this small amount, power wise, had worked miracles. "You're a lot more confident with your powers now," he said.

"Yeah, I..." she seemed to withdraw a bit. "I always knew I could do this sort of thing-- and so much more." She looked down and away as if she were afraid to meet his eye. "I was afraid to… if I lost control, or went too far..."

"And now?"

"I dunno." She hopped up and planted her jean-clad backside on one of the wooden shelves, leaving her feet dangling. "It's kind of like riding a bike the first time without the training wheels. You're scared spitless when Daddy finally lets go of the seat, but the next thing you know you've pedaled all the way to the end of the street and you turn around and come back and you stop without falling off, and bam!" she clapped her hands together. "You're a bicycling master. You never have trouble getting up on a bicycle ever again. You even wonder why you were ever afraid."

"And the next thing you know you're doing all this, right?" Bayleaf nodded at the almost-alien greenery all around them.

"Yup." Amy nodded and gave him a wry grin.

Bayleaf paused. "And how are, you know, family things going?" He rubbed his hands on his hips awkwardly.

Amy sighed. "Not perfectly," she admitted. "It looks like my move is pretty much permanent." She waved at the greenhouse around them. "As if the greenhouse sitting in my aunt and uncle's back yard wasn't evidence of that." She shrugged. "And Vicky... well, she's still staying in that little apartment or the Lost Workshop-- is she paying you rent? I told her to pay you rent. She hasn't got a job, but she's got a trust fund and a huge expense account from merchandising through New Wave, so--"

Bayleaf waved it off. "It's no problem. And your Mom and Dad?"

Amy crossed her arms and sighed again. "Carol still blames me for Vicky moving out," she confessed. "After a couple of nasty scenes at our 'family meetings,' Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil had to read her the riot act. She's... civil, now. Though I will say she's not taking it out on my bio-tinkering; she goes to bat legally for everyone in New Wave, same as always, and that includes me. She's the one that actually arm-twisted the PRT into letting me set up the greenhouse, in fact. I guess she's finally convinced I'm not going to go Bonesaw or Blasto on everyone. At least not THIS week."

"Well, that's good. It's a start, at least, I suppose." Bayleaf rubbed his hands together. "Sooo… What I was asking earlier, when I asked whether you'd help us-- was all that a yes?"

Amy huffed, blowing a lock of hair out of her face, and glared at him. "Look, it's a big step, going from fiddling with plants to fiddling with animals. Biologically, and ethically. I'm, I'm going to need a little time to think it over."

"And to maybe to order some white mice to test some ideas on?" he said, cocking and eyebrow and giving her a doggy smile.

She growled at him. "Rrr. Yes, darn it. You knew I was going to end up saying yes, didn't you," she grumped.

"I kind of guessed," he confessed. "Going by what I know about Powers-- especially yours. Above all else they want to be used."

She looked unhappy at the reminder of the terrible truth about the origin of parahumans. "Wish you didn't bring that up," she complained. "I spend so much time trying to forget that my powers aren't really 'my' powers; that they're some—some alien, hyperspace living-computer thing hooked to me by my corona pollenta... " she scratched at the top of her head as if she were trying to get at the connection with her fingers. "--and some evil space whale thing could just yank it out of my head any moment like he was pulling a cartridge out of a game console--" She looked seriously discomfited at the idea.

"Actually I think it's more complex than that," Bayleaf said. "I think that once the Shard connects to you from its extradimensional pocket it...merges with you to some extent. Becomes a part of you, like-- I dunno, like a download expansion for windows Or maybe an app… anyway. You incorporate it, but it incorporates some of you in return." He laced his fingers together. "Integrated."

"Really?" Amy looked skeptical.

"It would explain why the Shards got damaged-- destroyed-- when they were disconnected from Taylor and the Undersiders," he said, shrugging. "Probably also why the Space Whales have to wait until the Shard hosts die-- or till we're all killed in the Golden Morning--- before they can gather the Shards back up. And why the Shards Glastig Ustaine steals from dead capes look and act so much like the Capes they used to belong to." Both of them shuddered at mention of the terrifying 'Fairy Queen.' Years ago she had surrendered herself to be imprisoned in the Birdcage, and never a happier moment had been celebrated in the Cape community.

"I'm not sure whether that's a comforting thought or not," Amy admitted. "But like I said: give me a few days, okay?"

Bayleaf nodded. "We'll need that time to decide exactly what we need anyway."

"Where are the rest of the crew, anyway?" Amy asked.

Bayleaf smiled and ducked his head. "Sort of scattered to the four winds at the moment," he said. "Everyone had something to take care of tonight-- personal or family or the like." His ears flicked a bit in the canine equivalent of a blush. "And, ah, Taylor and I are doing a, uh, little patrolling-slash-errand running together. Her first night out. Er, well, since that thing with Lung. Hopefully it'll be a little less exciting. She's waiting outside. She didn't want it to seem like we were pressuring you."

Amy made an "aha" sound in the back of her throat. "Well, you two have fun now," she said. "And try not to get into any trouble out there." She waved her trowel at him. "I don't want my next gardening project to be growing either of you a new spleen."

Bayleaf chuckled. There was a faint flash of octarine light, and a giant horned owl flew out through the open skylight.

Up on an office rooftop, two men stepped out of the shadows. They weren't in costume, save for some cheap halloween masks, but it was obvious by the way they moved that there was armor of some sort under their trenchcoats and they were both wielding guns-- ridiculously huge guns that wouldn't have looked out of place among the cosplayers at a comic book convention. It was highly doubtful that these particular BFGs were rebuilt out of spray painted Nerf launchers. Uber was carrying an oversized gym bag along with his BFG. The skinnier one-- clearly Leet-- was wearing some sort of high tech goggles. They had to be infrared goggles of some sort, as he was looking straight at the shadow Bayleaf was hiding in. "Come on out," he said. "You wanted this dance, no point in being a wallflower now. And I mean BOTH of you. Don't bother bluffing about your partner up on the air conditioner," he added, pointing to where Taylor crouched, cloaked in stealth. "I can see their thermal shadow just fine."

Bayleaf calmly stepped out into the moonlight, his cloak swirling around his feet. Taylor did as well-- but only after she had teleported to stand right behind him. Leet started visibly when she stepped around from behind Bayleaf, seemingly out of nowhere and several yards from where he'd been watching her heat signature. Bayleaf smiled to himself. Clever girl. She was making it clear to all present that Leet's anti-invisibility goggles weren't as big an advantage as he thought they were.

Of course, Bayleaf wasn't going to mention he in turn could easily see Uber and Leet's supposedly invisible hovercam, or that he could spot the camouflaged robotic gun turrets covering them from the shadows as clearly as day. Always keep a card up the sleeve.

Uber and Leet were probably Brockton Bay's most famous… or infamous… outlaw capes. Uber had the Shard of Mastery; he could master any trainable skill all but instantaneously; how long he retained those skills, if at all, was an open question. Leet was a Tinker with the Prototype Shard… given the right materials he could build one of literally anything. ONLY one, and once it broke down (and usually rather quickly) he could never replicate his work. But it still left him with an absolutely staggering array of options. The two were obsessed with video games, and made their semi-ill gotten gains by committing pranks and crimes using a video game theme, recording them with their hovercam, and then posting the resultant videos online. While their success-to-failure ratio for heists leaned dismally to the latter end of the scale, they more than made up for it with the revenue their illicit videos pulled in. What loophole they used to keep from being pulled off the web was an utter mystery, but it was hard not to be impressed by how they'd managed to beat the system-- for them, crime really DID pay, mostly in ad revenue and viewer donations.

Adrian wasn't about to lower his guard around these two. Fans of the Worm-verse were wildly fond of Uber and Leet, seeing them as wacky, light comic relief. What got glossed over was that canonically the duo were in fact criminals who weren't above armed robbery, kidnapping, assault and battery and possibly worse crimes. In baseline they had willingly done things like mugging streetwalkers for a Grand Theft Auto reenactment, and mercenary work for homicidal lunatics like Bakuda and Coil. Just how ruthless these two, in THIS timeline, actually were was yet to be determined.

Bayleaf squinted at the two. This first meeting was just tossing out feelers. Whether Uber and Leet could provide the resources he was after-- and whether they were themselves salvageable or not. He held out hope. But if they crossed the line, they wouldn't make two steps past that line before Bayleaf was all over them like a wolverine on a raw steak.

They apparently didn't take well to having a werewolf squinting at them; they shifted on their feet and hefted their weapons in agitation. "You got the stuff?" Bayleaf said.

Uber unexpectedly snorted. "Si, senior, wee got thee stuff eef you got thee moneys," he said in a passable Speedy Gonzales. Bayleaf heard Taylor groan as Leet started snickering.

"Just set it down there," Bayleaf said, pointing to the rooftop halfway between them. "Let's take a look at it." Uber shrugged the strap off his shoulder and dropped the bag to the rooftop, then backed away. Bayleaf stepped forward, kneeling down by the bag. As they'd practiced, Taylor silently stepped away and to the side. She had one of the Gnomish long guns in hand and was keeping both Uber and Leet covered. She might not have been able to do any of the arcane tricks with it that Lok'Tara or Fennek could, but blowing large holes in things was still within her skillset.

Bayleaf sat down cross legged and started unzipping the bag. "Hey, back off now, where's the money?" Leet said impatiently.

Bayleaf looked up at him. "This is a test run for this little arrangement, remember?" he said. "I told you on PHO I'd need to test this stuff to see if it was what I need. That's why I only told you to bring a bagful of your old busted stuff." He opened the bag and looked in, then up at Leet. "This IS just your old busted stuff, right?"

"Yeah..." Leet said, uncertain. It wasn't surprising he was confused. It was definitely an odd sales pitch.

"Well then, if this is a bust the worst you can say is that I helped haul out some of your trash," Bayleaf muttered, fishing around inside.

Uber snorted again. "You'd need a backhoe to make a dent in his piles of crap," he said.

"Hey--!"

Bayleaf grinned. Already his enchantment senses were telling him this was promising. He pulled out what looked like a cyberpunk frisbee with a melted bite taken out of it. "Okay, what was this?" He asked.

"Tron fighting disk," Leet grumbled, not looking at him. "Made to ricochet indefinitely until it hit a living target, than disintegrate in a burst of sparks and teleport itself back to the user." He almost sounded wistful. "It was cool while it lasted..."

"And this?" Bayleaf set down the disc on the roof and held up a burnt out cube with wires sprouting out of it.

"Solid light hologram projector. It only projected in blue, but that was enough for making the holograph girl from HALO..."

"And this here?" the cube went next to the disc. This time, he held up what looked like a red and white mushroom.

"Mario growing mushroom. It turned you twice your height once a day if you bopped it. It worked on principles similar to Fenja and Menja's Power… you know, Kaiser's insta-grow bimbo bodyguards? At least what I can remember. It worked about twice before it crapped out." Leet's voice was as sour as that of a child being forced to review his homework after a failing grade.

"Hmm." Bayleaf pulled a thin copper rod out of his pack. It was about as long as his forearm and thick as his little finger, and was covered in what could either have been ancient runes or futuristic circuitry. Muttering, he tapped the end of the rod to the broken disc. There was a loud, musical and oddly familiar "DING", and the disc disappeared in a cloud of sparkles, leaving behind a strange chunk of stone half the size of his palm. It almost looked like obsidian, save it was colored like the midnight sky and glimmerings like stars could be seen in its depths.

"Hah! An ethereal shard," Bayleaf gloated in triumph, snatching the stone up and dropping it into a glass jar he procured from his haversack.

Leet shook his head and wiggled his finger in his ear. Uber gawked in shock and almost dropped his gun. "The hell was that?" Uber demanded.

"Exotic matter," Bayleaf said. "Very exotic." He repeated the proceedings with the cube, then with the mushroom, yielding a greenish glowing chunk of something that refused to keep the same number of sides and corners, and a pile of glowing pinkish powder that he carefully scooped up on a sheet of paper and poured into a jar. "Temporal glass and mystery dust! Gentlemen, I do believe we have a deal!"

Leet suddenly slumped sideways into the air conditioning unit next to him, the barrel of his BFG scraping the roof. "Leet!" Uber exclaimed, leaping to his partner's aid. "What is it, man?"

Leet shook his head and thumped the heel of his palm against his temple. "Whuoh, that was bizarre--" He blinked, then his eyes went round. "Holy. Holy CRAP. I remember!"

Everyone present stared at him. "Remember what?" Uber said for all of them.

"I remember how to make the Tron Disk," Leet said. "Heck, I know how to make it BETTER. And the holo-Cortana? And… yeah, the growing shroom… Holy crap, Uber, I remember how to make some of my inventions again!"

"Holy crap!" Uber said.

"What? What what?" Bayleaf said. He looked over at Hemlokk.

She shrugged, just as confused. "Don't ask me," she said.

Uber was busy helping Leet lower himself to a sitting position on the roof. The Tinker was cradling his head going "Oh Em Gee" faintly over and over again. "You don't understand," Uber said over his shoulder. "Leet's Tinker Power has really bad limits--"

"Uber--" Leet protested.

"Hey, it's not like everybody doesn't already know your powers are borked, bro. They might as well know the details." Uber faced them. "Everybody knows that Leet, well, he can only make one of anything. Well part of the reason is, once he builds something, most of the information gets… well… redacted."

"It's like vital parts of the blueprint get erased," Leet chipped in. "And yeah, even writing everything down doesn't do any good. I've tried. I come back later and the notes might as well say BANANA BANANA POTATO POTATO. The know-how… just isn't there." He blinked, rubbing his head. "But the instant you turned those busted bits into whatever-that-was…. Well, it was like the blueprint in my head for a Tron Disk just popped into focus, and all the black ink blotting out the instructions vanished. I've even got new ideas, how to improve it…"

Bayleaf scratched his head, baffled. Then suddenly he dope-slapped himself on the forehead. "Of course!" he yelped. "It makes perfect sense!"

"What, what what what?" Leet said.

Bayleaf rolled to a crouch, his hands gesticulating wildly. "Leet, if your power had a name it would be "PROTOTYPE," he said. "So think about it. What do inventors and researchers DO with a prototype?"

"Mothball it so that the adventurer can find and uncrate it just in time for the big boss battle?" Leet replied, puzzled.

Bayleaf facepalmed. "Not in games, in real life! You make a prototype, you don't keep building more and more prototypes-- you take the first prototype and test it to destruction."

"Of course!" Hemlokk said. She at least saw where he was going, Bayleaf thought with pleasure.

"That way, you find all the flaws, the defects, the points of failure and places for improvement," Bayleaf went on. "Then when you've run the prototype into the ground you go back to the beginning and build a new prototype. Lather, rinse repeat.

"Except you've not been doing that, have you?" Bayleaf said, pacing in a circle as the thoughts tumbled out. "You've been holding on to everything-- either hoping you can fix it someday, or out of sentimentality--"

"Uh, yeah, actually," Leet confessed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"We have two secret lairs," Uber cut in, his voice dry. "One for us, another for all his broken crap he just can't bear to throw away." Leet growled but didn't deny it.

"But your Power's been keeping track, and it won't let you redo anything until the prototype is destroyed." Bayleaf leaned in, making Leet lean back in surprise. "That's what your Power's telling you. That's why more and more of your inventions blow out sooner and sooner. Your Shard-- your Power-- is trying to tell you that you have to completely finish with a prototype. You have to clean the slate before you start over." Bayleaf grinned at him, tongue lolling. "And now that you've started doing that-- accidentally, mind-- you can start going back to the drawing board again."

"Really?" The hope in Leet's voice was almost woobiefying. "Are you sure??"

"One way to find out." Bayleaf dove back into the gym bag. Six more broken, burnt out or outright blown-up trinkets, and Leet's corona pollenta was bubbling with six usable concepts he never thought he'd see again. The hard-luck Tinker was practically weeping with joy.

"So why does this work?" Uber asked as Bayleaf continued converting broken Tinker toys into exotic matter. "Breaking or smashing the things wasn't enough?"

"Leet's Shard is probably keeping inventory," Hemlokk said, speaking up suddenly. "Or just Leet's subconscious is betraying him. So long as he has his prototypes in some form he thought of them as "to be repaired...." But destroying the prototype so thoroughly as we do probably crosses the threshold. His power probably doesn't trust him to let the things go otherwise. Um, so to speak." She fell silent again, but her little speech garnered a few stares-- and a few nods of agreement.

"So let's talk turkey, gentlemen," Bayleaf said with a toothy grin. "Our opening offer is this." He plunked a stack of hundred-dollar bills as thick as his fist on the duffel bag. Next to it he dumped a handful of melted down gold and silver ingots. It worked; it was making the two drool greedily and pinning their attention on him. "You feed us Leet's old junk, and we recycle it-- and clear his Shard's buffer in the process. We also give you a monthly retainer to do odd jobs for us. Heck, we might even slide you some Tinker gear of our own." He shook one of the jars, making the glittering tesseractines inside jingle. "Stuff you won't find anywhere else on this plane of existence.

"In exchange for that? You work for us now exclusively. No taking contracts from other capes." His smile vanished. "Especially not from villains. You go working for Lung or Kaiser or Coil or Bakuda… well, I probably won't have to track you down because those psychopaths will probably kill your stupid behinds. If you're lucky. If you're not-- I WILL be after you." His glare said the rest quite succinctly. Uber and Leet gulped. Clowns they might have been, and far more ruthless than most thought, but they weren't stupid. They knew what the Warcrafter had done to the Merchants, and they already knew they didn't want to be on the wrong side of his ire.

"Second---No more video crimes. We can pay you more than you'd make doing that crap anyway. But you're on the Light Side of the Force from now on, get it? You can keep on running your video pranks-- but you vet them with US, first. No more robberies, no more heists--"

"No more beating up hookers for some Grand Theft Auto reenactment," Hemlokk growled in a sinister rumble.

Leet held up a finger. "In our defense those were pre-paid stunt doubles!" he protested. Hemlokk glared. "Uh. Kinda." he added weakly. Hemlokk continued to glare. "Okay, so we basically bribed some ABB hookers to take a dive."

"They figured a black eye and a couple of bruises was worth splitting the take with us instead of their johns for once." Uber said. "We offered a better percentage."

Bayleaf relaxed a bit at that. "Take a dive?" he repeated, inquisitive.

Uber snickered. "We had to. The last time Leet got in an actual fistfight with a hooker she punched him out."

"UBER!"

"Dunno what he said to her but she spun around and-- BAM!"

"UBER!!"

"Laid him out for like, five minutes..."

"ARGH."

"So gentlemen," Bayleaf said, raising his voice over the growing squabble. "Do we have a deal?"

The two gamer capes looked at each other. Then they each held out a hand. "We'll want it in writing though," one said.

Bayleaf crossed hands and shook with them. "That we can arrange."

"So what do you need this stuff for anyway?" Leet said, picking up one of the enchanting jars and watching the contents swirl in non-euclidean patterns.

Hemlokk crossed her arms under her cloak and gave him a wry half-smile. "Nothing much," she said casually. "Just preventing the end of the World."

"Wait. What."

Greg… No, Vindicator when he was in armor… swallowed nervously and stepped through the rusting double doors and into the warehouse. The room was dusty and cobwebbed but bare, cleared out to the walls as requested. The only things there were a few folding chairs, a collapsible table with a few cups and bottles on it, and-- yes, there they were. Faultline's crew. Faultline stood dead center, kitted out in her welding mask. Gregor the Snail stood to one side, Newter and Spitfire to the other. Seated in front of them, Faultline's hands on her shoulders, was a blonde haired girl in a green robe with a mazelike pattern drawn on it--- that had to be Labyrinth, Greg guessed.

Holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, Greg walked over to where the group sat. The welding-masked woman looked up at him-- up! Greg was never going to get used to being tall-- and regarded him. "You Vindicator?" she said.

Too nervous to speak, and VERY glad that his helm completely covered his face, Greg simply nodded. He poured out the small bag of one-ounce gold ingots on the nearby table as proof of payment. Faultline looked it over and nodded; Gregor moved in and whisked the meager bag of gold away. "Your partner-- or boss, or whatever-- arranged this with us," Faultline said. "six hours max down the rabbit's hole. Ten grand in gold up front, one tenth of your take afterward, whatever 'the take' is. Agreed?" Greg nodded his understanding. "Good. Hook him up, boys."

Gregor and Newter stepped forward and began setting up the one other thing in the empty warehouse: a giant motorized winch. Newter pulled out a climber's harness and began fitting it over Greg's armor, while Gregor reeled out a few dozen yards of cable-- along with a length of rope. "Once you go in, the rope will be your only line of communication, if you'll pardon the pun," Gregor said. "Two tugs for more slack, three tugs for less. Be warned, if Labyrinth starts having trouble, we'll have to reel you in fast, and without warning."

"And, ah," Newter interjected as he hooked the end of the cable to the carabiner on Greg's harness. "We're not sure but we think some of Labyrinth's worlds are inhabited." He paused meaningfully. "Leastways, we've seen things in the distance that look like eyes..."

"If in the extremely unlikely event you do encounter any, er, inhabitants-- just pull on the rope like mad," Gregor reassured him. "We'll reel you in tut suite."

"If I encounter any 'inhabitants' the cable motor will have to race me back up out of the hole," Greg muttered nervously. The two men chuckled and slapped him on his armored back.

"Ready?" Faultline asked.

"Ready as he'll ever be," Newter said.

 "Wait--" Greg turned and clanked over to where Labyrinth sat, seemingly staring into space. He took a knee in front of her, wincing internally at the clumsy clang of metal on concrete, and carefully took one pale hand in his own. "M'lady," he said sincerely as he could manage. "You... render us all a great service with this. You have my deepest thanks."

To his surprise and delight her eyes seemed to focus on him, and her face dimpled into a smile. It was brief but it was there. Then her eyes focused in the distance again, looking beyond him, a faint shadow of the smile lingering on her face.

He got to his feet and turned to face the far wall. "Okay, honey," he heard Faultline say to the enigmatic girl. "It's your show now."

Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, the far wall faded away in jagged blocks, revealing a strange and startling vista beyond. Jagged rocks in strange, twisted formations-- jutting up out of the ground, or in some cases floating detached above it-- dotted with odd glittering outcroppings. The horizon was filled with distant stony peaks, bright ribbons of grass trailing between monoliths of stone, all under a sky too blue to be of Earth. In the furthest distance, the shattered remains of a vast mountain hovered in midair, as if parting faith with the fickle earth and rising to meet the pale moons overhead. A breeze, faint, cool, and sweet, blew through the storeroom, making all of them lift their heads and breathe deep in spite of themselves.

Greg pulled his pickaxe out of storage, walked resolutely to where the normal world demarcated into this alien landscape, and stepped across.

He marched a few hundred feet out and looked back. The real world-- or at least the warehouse in it-- was still there, a jagged hole in the air through which he could see Faultline's crew watching his progress.

He trudged to the nearest glittering outcrop shining in his Mining Sense, raised his pickaxe, and brought it down with a crack.

Joey was leaning on the counter at the local Pet Megamart ("Open 24-7 for your Pet's NEEDS!") watching the clock stand still in boredom, when he was accosted by a pair of ears.

Two fuzzy triangles appeared over the countertop. "Yo," they said to him. "I hear you got pets for sale?"

Joey stared for a minute. He slid forward, looking down over the edge of the counter to see what the ears were attached to. He stared some more. There appeared to be a bipedal fennec fox (he felt inordinately proud of being able to identify the species) in a hoodie staring up at him. "Um," he said brilliantly.

"Look, you do work here, right?" The fennec scowled. Yes, it was speaking; Joey saw its lips move.

Joey sputtered a few moments, then managed to get out; "Um, okay, please, I'm not up for any cape weirdness--"

"Look I'm not robbing the place or heralding an army of super-short werewolves or whatever it is you think capes do," Fennek snapped. "I just wanna know if you have pets for sale here, and can I see them?"

"Yyeah, sure," Joey finally gave in. "Just… all in the back of the store… that way..." he waved feebly. "If you need any help--" he almost managed to say it without his voice cracking.

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever," the fox-midget grumbled, trudging on past. He left Joey standing where he was, debating fiercely whether it would be wiser to lock himself in the managers' office or just hide under the register.

Alec prowled through the aisles of pet food and chew toys to the back of the store, vexed. It was almost disorienting sometimes, going from who he'd been to who he was. Things that wouldn't have made him turn a hair before were setting him off all the time now. Fits of anger, crying jags-- he'd kill Tats if she told anyone about those-- even the giddy highs could be exhausting…

Hopefully finding an animal companion would help him, he didn't know, level out?

Rachel-- "Lok'Tara"-- had been right. He knew it. He was a hunter, an Azeroth hunter. Bonding with a hunting animal, or even several, was second nature. Well, second nature to his new nature. Whatever. Bayleaf had been making noises about having Panacea or Blasto custom make some hunter pets, or maybe upgrade something (like what? A couple of hunting hounds, or something?) to be strong and tough enough to run around with a bunch of Capes.

He didn't know about that. But he did know something… he didn't know if it was some sort of new hunter-instinct, or just him being himself…

...but he was lonely. Maybe a pet would help fill in that gap inside him.

He got to the pet section of the store and found himself surrounded by cages, terrariums and pens. What would be a good match, though? He considered the dogs in the glassed in displays. Lotta puppies, all sorts of breeds. But considering what he saw in the mirror every morning now, that'd be kind of weird. And considering his own size, he didn't think it'd be particularly smart to buy a pet that when it was full grown could use him for a chew toy-- or a snack.

And Toy breeds? Ugh. Any breed small enough for Alec to control easily was exactly the sort of dog that earned his disgust: ratty little psychotic purse-dogs, deformed mutant horrors, the lot of 'em. As entertaining as having a horde of shrieking chihuahuas and pugs nibbling nazis to death would be, he didn't think he could stand having even one of the shaky, bug-eyed things around him otherwise. There was a reason Alec thought of combat boots as "poodle squishers."

He considered the terrariums. He had a brief vision of him flinging a turtle like a frisbee into battle. "Attack, Donatello!" --nah. Snakes? Oh heck no. Even the iguanas didn't seem to have much on the ball…. And didn't reptiles need warming lamps and stuff? He didn't think he could get much use out of a hunting companion that needed to be pre-heated an hour ahead of time.

A parrot would be an interesting idea. He wondered if his hunter-bonding powers would let him teach it to deliver spoken messages? Or maybe he could just teach it to cuss in French…

Jump jump jump POUNCE sister!

Fun! Jump jump brother jump gonna catcha!

Catch YOU!

No, catch YOU!

He was staring into the soulful eyes of a basset hound pup when he heard it… or, more like felt it. Things halfway between thoughts and feelings and words, almost like an echo or a faint ringing in the back of his ear… he turned in place, scoop-shaped ears swiveling, trying to pinpoint the source. It was coming from an open pen at the end of the aisle. He trotted over. Inside were a pair of ferrets, a male and a female, tumbling over each other and rolling about in the excelsior as they played. Their squeaks and chitters were accompanied by bursts of the sounds/thoughts/feelings he'd been sensing-- not hearing-- before.

He grabbed one of the store workers' step stools and rolled it over to the side of the pen, and climbed up. The moment he could look down inside, the two ferrets stopped tussling with each other, sat up on their haunches, and looked up. Looked up at him.

Friend friend newface friend play?

Friend play? Play play play!

He could hear/sense/feel what they were saying/emoting now, as clear as day. Fascinated he stuck his arms down into the pen. The two obviously recognized an invitation-- or saw an opportunity--- and leapt onto his arms, rapidly climbing up his sleeves to his shoulders. As small as he was there was hardly room for the both of them on his shoulders; they soon ended up diving down in the hood of his sweatshirt, squirming over each other for room and popping up to rest their forepaws on his head or lick and nibble at his ears. "AGH haahahahh! Stoppit!"

He danced around in a circle, making several fruitless efforts to grab the two, till suddenly they climbed out of his hood and down to rest in the crooks of his arms. They were both suddenly perfectly still, staring up at him with shiny, shoebutton eyes.

Friendnewfriend?Newkin?

Newlitter?Newfamily?

He froze for a moment. It was like having a question answered before he asked it. "Yeah." he said, with what felt like the first genuine smile in days. "Yeah. You two are perfect." He held his hand over their heads and cast the bonding cantrip.

There was a flash of octarine light, and the Bond snapped in place, sharp and crystal clear.

FamilyUS!

BrotherSisterMasterUS.

Newfamily.

Fifteen minutes later he was pushing a cart loaded down with ferret food, ferret treats, ferret toys, ferret medicine, ferret grooming tools, ferret leashes, ferret beds, several books on ferret care and a jumbo two story deluxe "ferret suite" cage, oh, and two happily hyper ferrets, for the front door. Joey the Cashier was alternating between greedily fondling the two solid-gold one ounce ingots he'd received as payment, and rattling off all the last minute New Ferret Owner Advice he'd memorized in training. "Okay, they're brother and sister, from the same litter-- it's really good you got them both; ferrets do okay solo but they're better off with a playmate--"

"Uh huh."

"--they're both neutered and descented, and they have all their shots--"

"That's good."

"--You will need to teach them to use a litter box--"

"Important tip, thanks."

"--And if they take to chewing on anything, use the bitter apple spray to deter them--"

"Great, yeah, thanks, enjoy your gold G'BYE!" Fennek rolled the cart out the door. The door swung shut behind them with a jingle; freedom at last. He reached behind him and scritched Fidget's ears. Fidget (the male) and Gidget(the female.) Perfect names. He looked around the parking lot.

"Dang. Now how do we get home..." His hand fell across the hearthstone in his pocket. "Oh, right. Fidget, Gidget, hold on." He eyed his cart full of ferret boodle. "Man, I hope this thing takes cargo..."

Karl didn't like driving through Brockton Bay. The traffic was killer. The roads were a mess. And any long haul trucker worth spit knew that driving through anyplace with a Cape-to-luckless-bastard ratio as high as Brockton Bay was begging for grief. Even when you were hauling legit cargo, that was begging for some villain with a master plan-- or a stroke of stupid-- to hijack your rig and steal your cargo. But when you were on the wrong side of the law like Karl usually was, that just meant the cops were worse than useless and heroes were as big a threat or worse. When you hauled contraband, you were on your own.

There was a reason Karl rode with a shotgun under his dash, a revolver on his ankle, a knife sheath down the back of his pants and Tank in the truckbed.

Normally he'd be delivering a load like this to a harbor further South. But somewhere in the chain some jackass had gotten the usual drop point raided, so they'd had to hash out an alternate route. Through Brockton Bloody Bay. How they were going to get contraband-- live contraband-- past the squeaky-clean Brockton Bay Dockworker's Union was beyond him. Not his problem though. He'd just drop the trailer at the docks, collect his pay and get the heck outta dodge before it all hit the fan.

He was tooling through downtown (thank God it was after dark, otherwise he'd have been stuck in a traffic jam till he was old enough to be Carbon dated) when he caught a glimpse of a couple of PRT Capes out on patrol. As casually as someone driving a sixteen wheeler could, he promptly took a side road down the back streets and alleys of the city. Now there was a chance he might have been driving right into their patrol route…. But he doubted the PRT would let its little fashion-plate heroes go anywhere there was, you know, actual CRIME. Capes were tourist attractions for rich people. So he cursed the luck and took a more roundabout route to the harbor.

There was no sense taking chances. This town was freak central. Hell, a few blocks back he'd spotted some enormous green chick in a local park, feeding the squirrels--

Before he even finished the thought there was a rattling of chain, a whistling noise and a gigantic spear with a blade the size of a shovel fell from the sky, skewering his engine block like the lance of a wrathful God.

His peterbilt jerked to a halt as if it had hit the end of a chain, smoke and steam boiling back over the cabin. Karl cursed and coughed, trying to wave the smoke reeking of diesel and antifreeze out of his face as it started seeping through the air vents. "What the f--" he choked.

Then an enormous, eight foot tall green woman with TUSKS slammed down on the hood of his truck and roared through the windshield at him.

Karl, he would feel no shame in admitting later, screamed like a little girl. Before he could grab for one of his weapons the gargantuan green woman grabbed hold of the edge of his windshield and cab roof and ripped them off like she was peeling a banana, leaving him exposed to the night sky.

He screamed again and grabbed for his shotgun-- she had the barrel in her massive fist before he could bring it to bear and bent it double. "I HEARD THEM," she growled.

He grabbed his pistol out of his ankle holster and raised it up. Her fist closed over it. The gun made a weak popping sound like an exhausted firecracker. She grunted in pain, blood-- green blood-- leaking from her fist. Then she squeezed. Karl shrilled as she crushed the gun and his hand both. "I could smell their pain from across the STREET," she snarled.

Sobbing in fear he reached behind him with his free hand and went for his knife. He brought it around in a clumsy right-handed stab… only to have her slap the blade away. It went spinning off into the dark, never to be found. She grabbed him by the front of his sweaty, grease stained shirt and hoisted him out of the ruins of his truck, then leapt down to the pavement.

She marched to the back of the trailer, dragging Karl along one-handed like he was no more than a particularly ungainly suitcase. She held him up in a loosely standing position at the back gate and shook him. "OPEN IT!" she bellowed.

As Karl whimpered and fished around with his good hand in his pockets for his spare keys, his lizard hindbrain was giggling in glee. Once those doors opened, Tank would show this mutant cape bitch a thing or two--

After a dozen fumblings he managed to unlock the back gate. The green giantess threw him aside scornfully as the doors swung open… only to roar in surprise when an enormous snarling pair of jaws came lunging out of the dark at her face.

Karl looked up from where he lay bleeding in the road and saw Tank's jaws clamp down on the green bitch's arm. "That's it, Tank, eat 'er up!" he yelled gleefully. Tank was a full-grown by-the-Almighty Mastiff-- a cross between a bull mastiff and a motherloving English mastiff, and more massive than either. He weighed in at nearly three hundred pounds and Karl had seen him tear up and pull down some of the biggest, baddest meanest men you could imagine, from would-be border cops to Hell's Angels.

But to his growing horror, the green giantess was NOT going down. She was just standing there, her feet spread to anchor her, a gigantic snarling mastiff the size of a small horse latched onto her bleeding forearm, and snarling right back into its face like it was an annoyance.

They held that pose for several seconds, seconds that felt like minutes. Even a lunk like Karl could sense something odd was happening. To his bewilderment, Tank's thrashings were stopping, his snarls and growls fading away as the green monstress glared him in the eye. Finally, he let go of her forearm and dropped to all fours, docile as you please. He whined and gave the monstress' bleeding arm a perfunctory lick, as if apologizing for attacking her. The she-beast actually smiled and ruffled his ears.

"Yeah," she said in a deep gravelly voice. "You'll do."

Karl watched in mind-fried shock as she climbed up into the truck, with his dog tagging along at her heels obedient as a well-trained puppy…

Rachel hoisted herself up into the truck and looked around. It was too dark to see at first; a few punched holes in the walls and ceiling let enough light in to see around. What she saw made her growl with rage. Inside were over two dozen cages, varying sizes, twelve to a side. Inside the cages, beaks and wings bound and claws tied to keep them from making noise, were two dozen wild raptors.

Rachel had always been a dog person. Not that she had anything in particular against other types of animals (people, on the other hand… well.) But she'd never really reached out past man's best friend. But once the Outer Space Lights had… fixed her, she'd noticed that she could start to understand a little bit of what people meant when they said "seeing the world through others' eyes." She could finally "get" human emotion and interaction; she could "get" that other living things felt and feared and suffered and loved. She could see the world through others' eyes.

And what she was seeing through the eyes of these poor birds was ugly indeed. Her first instinct was to tear the cages open, snap the restraints, let them all fly free… but she could see that they had been trapped back here in these cages for days, in the cold and heat and dying of thirst--- they wouldn't last five minutes trying to fly off on their own.

No. She'd have to fight down that impulse, and do the smart thing. Call the authorities, they'd bring people who could care for the birds and nurse them back to health.

She was about to back out of the truck when something about one of the cages caught her attention. Carefully, she opened the cage. Inside lay a massive bird of prey, its dark golden plumage ruffled by its poor treatment. It's eye, though, was bright and alert and never left hers.

Gently she lifted the bird out and undid the fastenings binding it. It made no move to resist her or to attack her, just watching her with one golden eye. She pulled a bottle of water out of her bottomless pack and carefully dribbled water into the birds panting beak. It swallowed, swallowed again, seeming to revive with every sip. Soon it was rustling its wings, trying to right itself. She let it try to stand. Even as weak as it was, it stood on her arm and tried to mantle its wings.

Sky

Free

Nest

Home

Sky

Home

Your name is Sky," she said to it. "And you are perfect."

For the second time, she triggered the Bonding cantrip.

Several minutes later Karl saw the giant green woman climb down out of… what was left of his truck. She had bandaged her arm (the hell had she found bandages?) put some sort of leather gauntlet over it, and now had one of his mother-frickin' Golden eagles perched on her arm. He started cussing and swearing up a storm.

He choked it off when she came marching over to him. She looked down at him. "Who were you taking these to?" It was an idle question, asked in curiosity.

"The hell do I know?" Karl snapped. "Some rich oil sheik somewhere wanted a bunch of birds of prey for the aviary in his palace. I don't sell 'em, I just ship 'em."

She held out her hand. "Phone," she grunted. Meekly he handed over his smart phone. She dialed briefly and held it to her ear. "Police," she said to whoever picked up. "Got a smuggler here, fourth and Vine in a busted truck. Send Animal Control, tell them to be ready to care for a couple dozen sick birds." She glowered at the phone, obviously not pleased at the response. "You heard me! Endangered birds. Raptors. Hawks. Eagles." She paused again. "Good. Oh, and send an ambulance too." She crushed the phone in her fist like a packet of soup crackers and dropped it to the pavement. She turned and began walking off into the night, his eagle in her arms and his dog at her heels.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Where are you going with my bird?? With my DOG??"

"My bird and dog now," the answer came back. She left him alone to cradle his bleeding, maimed hand and wait for the cops.

Boss?

Rachel looked down at the massive mastiff plodding beside her. "Yeah?"

New Boss? New Boss Good Boss?

"Yeah." A smile formed around her tusks. "I'll be good to you both. Promise."

No more Dead/Dying stinky box? She caught a mental image/sight/sound/smell of the back of the tractor trailer, reeking with the ground in stink of countless dead and dying creatures smuggled over the years. Of a dog's memory of countless dark and lonely days spent in the swaying trailer with no companionship but other, dying, animals...

"No. No more." She thought for a minute. "Is your name Tank?"

No. No Tank. Tank BadDog. She caught a flash of guilt over the bite still on her arm.

"Then what?…. What do you like?"

Truck!

Truck good! Truck Zoom! --A flash of memory, happier days, sitting in the passenger seat of the big rig rather than the trailer, sights and sounds and smells whipping past the open window. Truck make happy! Baroo!

"Fine. I'll call you Truck."

Baroo!

She smiled as her thumb rolled over the hearthstone in her pocket, triggering her ride home.