>>6472479
Tell Grit it feels like a trap. Take a second to really focus our enhanced senses before entering. If we decide to continue consider making entry through an unexpected route like an upper window.

>>6472534
+1
>>6472479
Thread 17
>It was a struggle he lost.
>He looked for Dusk, for Hotspur. For help.
>Dusk fought a horde of flaming bio-ghouls like a wild cat.
>Hotspur had his tongue in the Japanese tomboy's mouth.
>"Fuck you dude," Grit spat, his shield a stone hammer again. No more fucking favors for Hotspur.
This will always be incredibly funny for me to remember. Grit should suffer more.

>>6472479
>>6472534
+1, good plan.

>>6472541
The fact that he still did us another favor with Wet Work makes him a real bro. He deserves no suffering.

>>6472554
>>6472541
>>6472534
locking that in

"A snitch was it?" I said, "You trust the snitch?"

"He's a snitch, course I don't trust him," Grit said, "But I done some homework and seen who pulls up at this location. It checked out."

"Still could be a trap," I said, "Triads have a bounty on your head, don't they?"

"Could be," Grit said, "Part of why I wanted back up on it."

"Lemme just try something first," I said, "Wait here."

My ability to emhance my senses wasn't unlimited. I did need to get a little closer to the house. Grit slunk back into the shadows while I took the quiet path, up over rooftops keeping my weight light, moving from one to the other until I was a house down from the end of the street. There I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and drew on my fire.

The sounds around my roared into frequency. The distant flap of a bat's wings, the bounce of a car as it hit a pothole, the groan of a pipe as it brought up water. People walking a street over, talking, their voices audible but words indistinct. The slow grind of a van pulling up down the block. I focused it down to what I needed, the house Grit said was storing Triad cash.

It was dark but it was past midnight. It took a second before I heard it. A chair pulling out from a table, downstairs. The clunk of a fridge door opening. Hiss of a soda bottle cap being opened.

"Fuck this," someone muttered. Poured out the fizz of the soda. Took a long drink. "No kinda fucking job." The voice sounded Black. He sighed. Hard the hum of a call going out. "I know its late," he said, the voice on the other end not quite clear. "Yeah, one more week than I swap out for Jaiden. Pays okay. I know. Yeah, I know. I'm bored. Motherfuckers don't even let me keep an xbox. This ain't bein' a gangster. This is some housesitter bullshit. I'm not whining. Okay. Okay. Fuck, okay! Yeah, got an AK for trouble and some bangers couple houses down will come running. I shouldn't even be callin' you, they're that strict. For real, for real. Yeah, Brody put it together. Maybe he can sit his ass on a midnight shift. Yeah. So, what you wearing?"

The talk turned in that direction from there, a conversation involving his hand on his dick. I stopped listening.

I looked back to Grit hiding in the shadows at the far end of the street. A house with some strapped up thugs for security probably also meant surveillance. Nothing Grit wouldn't have had an idea about, he wasn't stupid. Intel was checking out. Still, my skin prickled with a bad feeling. Maybe it was being so far out from Chicago, got my nerves up. Maybe it was something else.

I put my hearing out for those other houses, trying to scope out the bangers. Most the houses were empty, abandoned. Until I heard a sneeze.

"Like a cartoon mouse," someone said.

"Fuck you nigga," the sneezer replied, "Weather's turnin', catchin' a cold."

"Woke me the fuck up is what you doin'. Anything going on?"

"Nah, nothin'. Go back to sleep."

"Aight, wake me up for the shift change."

There it was, two houses down. Could have been a white picket fence family home if it wasn't boarded up, the lawn more weeds than grass. Just like the other lots in this forgotten corner of Calumet City. Good a place as any for a stash house.

I skirted the roofs back to Grit, dropped down beside him.

"One guy in the house," I said, "At least two in that one there, ready to pop off if they see any trouble."

Grit nodded, gripping the handle of his hammer. "Aight," he said, "You cool?"

"If you're cool, I'm cool."

"I'm cool," he said, "Let's do this."

>we knew the lay out, no need to be subtle, just charge on in and make some chaos
>better to be careful anyway, take out the security team first then hit the house
>maybe we should back off, this bad feeling just won't go away

>>6472562
>better to be careful anyway, take out the security team first then hit the house

>>6472562
>better to be careful anyway, take out the security team first then hit the house

>>6472562
>we knew the lay out, no need to be subtle, just charge on in and make some chaos
What could possibly go wrong?

>>6472623
>>6472569
locking that in

"We take out the watch house first," I said, "Then roll on to the stash house. Fast and quiet."

"Fine by me," Grit said, "You on point for that."

I nodded. I was faster than Grit. If we bungled this, someone was going to make a phone call and this street would be swarming with hired muscle. Had to be careful.

A lot could go wrong.

-

>roll 3 x 1d100+15 dc 60

Rolled 34 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6472761

Rolled 88 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6472761
this nat 1 caused the bad feeling Hotspur had

I don't mind people throwing out another roll if it keeps things moving

Rolled 94 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6472797

nice. that's a pass

Go time.

I left Grit behind, skirting up to the fence of the watch house. I killed the cold around me with a burning rush of fire, heart thumping. Adrenaline kept my concentration tight as I vaulted over the fence, landing on the dry weed covered lawn without even the crunch of a stalk of grass. Didn't matter how many times I did this, the adrenaline always spiked, mind for a second considering what could go wrong.

Fire killed those dark thoughts, sharpened my mind. Everything outside the moment ceased to exist.

Up against the side of the house, I felt along the boarded up window. A loose panel, fake for appearance but easy to remove for the gun fighters inside. A careful hand, fingers working their way underneath it, and I lifted it aside, setting it down.

A living room sparse as a crack den, just a couch set up. Someone had left a 9 on the cushion.

There was a light on in the kitchen. The crunch of someone eating. The guy on watch. I crossed the dark floor of the empty frunchroom, coming up to the open door to the kitchen. He stood over the sink, door of the fridge open, eating cinnamon toast crunch by the handful straight from the box before taking a swig from a pint of milk. Keeping his attention out the kitchen window looking across the dark street. Fuck knew how he was meant to see anything, but I didn't know their system.

Fact was he didn't see me ghost up behind him in the light of the kitchen, crossing the cracked linoleum.

Now here I was lucky for the BJJ classes I'd been taking with Ayesha. I'd learned a quick and easy choke hold. One arm across the neck, the other pinning it with a hand cupping the back of the head. From there it was just a gentle squeeze. was it that easy though? When I grabbed him he gave a shocked jerk, the box of cereal knocked to the ground. We stumbled back but I was too strong for him to shake off, and he couldn't get out more than a frightened wheeze before I was craddling him to the ground.

Chokeholds were one of those things you had to be careful about. Be off by just half an nch and you went from knocking them out by cutting the blood flow to their brain, to straight up choking them to death, crushing their throat. I got it right the first time. He wouldn't be out long.

I went and let Grit in through the back. He threw me a couple zip ties and I had the first banger tied up. Scotch tape had to do for a gag, a couple loops over his mouth but leaving his nostrils to breathe.

Upstairs we found the second guy still in bed, a military style cot with surplus blankets. Grit woke him up with a hand over his mouth and the word 'boo!', then put him back to sleep with a hard headbutt. He zipped the guy up same as the one in the kitchen.

They'd had a couple shotguns and automatics, kind of firepower could hold off the police or any other strapped up crew looking for trouble, and little two way radios to call out to anyone waiting to charge in if things got really wild. Didn't do them any good tonight.

We left the way we came, heading down for the stash house, ghosting across backyards. We got to the fence and I cupped my hands to boost Grit over. he grabbed the top of the fence and swung himself over. I leapt after, grabbed the edge of the fence and landed in a crouch next to him.

That guy inside was still talking to his girl.

"Oh yeah, I like that," he said, hand stuffed down the front of his pants, seated in the couch facing the window. It was dark out enough he couldn't see shit through the glass. Kinda wish he could because I didn't appreciate the show.

We moved to the back door. Grit on one side, me on the other. Grit raised his hammer, nodding to me. I nodded back.

One swing took the door off its hinges and I dashed in.

"Oh shit!" the guy said, dropping his phone in one hand, dick in the other, scrambling for a gun he'd left in another room. Two steps closed the distance and I hit him hard in the gut, doubling him over with a wheeze. Then I took a leaf out of Grit's book, grabbed his head and drove my forehead hard into his, knocking him out cold.

"Fuck!" I regretted it immediately as the pain flashed through to the back of my head. Coach always said head butts were both dirty and stupid, if you did them wrong you could just knock yourself out.

But the thug dropped and I stayed standing, even if it was while rubbing my head. I stamped down on his phone, crushing it with a hard snap. Grit tied the thug up.

Other than the throb in my forehead it had all gone smooth as could be hoped.

"So what now?" I asked.

"Now we torch the bitch," Grit said, fishing a lighter out of his pockets, one of those heavy old army lighters with the nickel casings.

"What?" I said. Arson hadn't been on my bingo card for the night.

"Every damn dollar hidden in this place is going up in flames," he said, "We do it quick, before an alert can go up."

>No way man, I'm not cool with that
>It's your show, Grit, do what you do
>(write-in)

>>6472828
>>(write-in)
End the guys call and check his phone for pictures of where the money is stashed

>>6472833
Eric stomped his phone

>>6472834
Whose got the phone repair parapower

>>6472834
Wait I've got it!

>Check his pockets for a second phone
Sometimes its the simple solutions you see

>>6472828
>No way man, I'm not cool with that
Aren't you from here? We're not doing a Chicago fire 2.0. Shit, some of my friends are firemen..The yard is overgrown and dry. It'll spread. We find the money fast and do a targeted burn. Make a burn enclosure with your powers. Smokey the bear approved.

>>6472828
>No way man, I'm not cool with that
Possible spread is real bad. Use Space Prince vision.

>>6472844
I'll support that. Its probably very dirty money. Blood money even. Should become very apparent where its hidden.

>>6472844
>>6472845
>>6472843
we'll lock those in

"No fucking way, man, you'll burn down half the block," I said, shoving him in the chest for emphasis, "Poor folks live here got nothing to do with this shit."

"You want to what, dig out every brick of cash and burn it? Motherfucker we'll be here all night!" Grit shoved me back, "Lighting it up sends a message too. We don't play."

"We're called Fire Watch, not Fire Starters," I said, "Look, just let me use my powers. I can find the money. Then we do a controlled burn, out in the yard. It won't take much longer. Once we're done we book."

"A dollar bonfire? Man, you got five minutes then I'm sparking up this bitch."

It was a compromise at least. I closed my eyes. Tuned myself to that other place. That other world. If it was Triad money it would be dripping with sins. That stuff left a mark on that immaterial world my powers let me peek into.

When I opened my eyes it was dark all around, bad vibes. Even Grit, who had that silver spark that spoke of goodness, had darkness threaded through it too. The dude unconcious at his feet almost had nothing left to glimmer through that haze. No one I'd yet peeped was all one or the other. Not even Houndmaster, who had been the closest I'd met to pure evil.

But I wasn't looking for people. Dark vines twisted across the sparse floor, climbed the grimey walls, and disappeared upstairs. I went up, Grit sighing as he followed. Further up from there, too, into an attic. The vines converged in a curtain across a wall, thick and plump with thorns rich and red. bad vibes. I nodded to the wall.

He hefted his hammer and brought it across, smashing into the fake plaster. Dust fell from the rafters, showering our shoulders. One more hard whack and it crumbled apart.

Fat bricks of cash wrapped in cling film, and plenty of them. Grit reached in and pulled out one, weighing it in his hand. Heavy, and heavy with temptation. He flicked a glance to me, thinking, before throwing it over. I caught it. Shit was heavy, and it stank. Not the real stink of the here and now, but an unsettling stink of the other world. Is this the smell Shark talked about? It was something between the stink of gasoline and rotting meat. No wonder it drove him made.

"Every dollar here came from something bad," Grit said, "A junky fencing stolen shit for drugs. A fat pedo-fuck pervert trading dollars for too young girls. They ship 'em in from Canada you know. The Great White North. Drugs and girls. Little girls snatched up out of Vietnam or Indonesia or even the Phillipines. Pack 'em in blind into containers, then chuck 'em in the back of trucks 'til they can get 'em out to massage parlors an' shit. Most is eighteen or whatever, but you got other ones. The Epstein kinda thing. All wrong either way, but there's the bad and the worse, and none of those Triad bastards give a fuck."

He said it all while digging out brick after brick. Chucking them down on the floor. A pile growing into the millions of dollars. Millions of dollars in dark trade.

"Every dollar burns," Grit said.

I didn't disagree with him. He found a bag downstairs, an old gym bag we loaded up. Carted it out into the yard. It took five trips and the bag was heavy each time.

He stacked a small pyramid. A ring of stone rose up to encircle it. Went inside found a can of gasoline he splashed all over it. Flicked out his lighter, touched it to an edge.

It went up in a powerful 'whoosh', the sudden burst of light killing the dark, the heat chasing away the chill. It was almost cozy, a little camp fire at the end of Fall.

That guy we'd knocked out had come to. We had him outside with us. He couldn't say much through the gag he on but he was letting us know how bad we fucked up through it, mumbled curses and panicked noises. Odds were he'd be held responsible. That's just how it goes. No one forced him to be a gangster.

Grit reached out a hand, warming it over the fire.

"Tell your bosses, this is just starting," he said, "If I got to go to Toronto or Macao or any other place, I'll come for them. Tell them that. Or they can spare themselves the headach and back off Chicago, they can do that instead."

The words were muffled but I picked up a distinct 'fuck you'. The guy started getting onto his feet, cussing through the gag. Then, out of the blue, fell back. Dropped.

We both frowned, peered over. And then backed up fast. A red dot in the middle of his forehead and a hell of a mess splattered out the other side across the grass.

"Oh shit," Grit said, looking around.

I dived for him, knocking him down, not knowing why but I did. The bullet bit into the burning cash pile, sending up a puff of torn notes.

Sniper. Night vision. So far away the only sound was the slightest crack of the bullet through the air.

The Triad? My skin tingled. I searched with enhanced vision, the light of the stars and the fire at my back turning night to day. Where? Eagle eyes searching.

There. Through the screen of the trees on a grassy slope of prairie. A man on his knees, packing up his rifle. He wore dark tactical gear, like what SWAT wears, and underneath it something tighter than a normal shirt, a dark swimsuit maybe? He took apart the rifle, half his face hidden under the heavy night vision array game devs loved to through on special forces in their over-dramatized games. Was he alone?

He finished packing the rifle, then from his belt drew his knife. A smile ripped across the exposed bottom half of his face. He pointed the knife at me. I couldn't hear him but I could tell what he said.

'Hotspur'.

Then he started to run. Straight toward us.

>run, get Grit out of there and run
>he wants a fight? he gets a fight
>(write-in)

>>6472890
>run, get Grit out of there and run
Bad bad bad. Gut wasn't wrong.

>>6472890
>he wants a fight? he gets a fight
2v1. Latest military tech AIN'T SHIT.

>>6472890
>he wants a fight? he gets a fight
he killed that guy for no reason. if we draw this out he'll probably do it again

>run, get Grit out of there and run
This guy is way too confident to be taking on two superhumans while being "just a human". The jobs done lets get out of here

>>6472890
>he wants a fight? he gets a fight.

Whatever meta ability or equipment this hired gun has, he brought a knife to a fire sword fight.

>>6473093
>>6472913
>>6472904
locking that in

Grit got up, spat, hefted his hammer.

"Motherfucker," he said.

I squared up. No way was I running from some GI Joe type shit.

The motherfucker himself had hit a dead sprint, so fast I had trouble tracking him. There was the burst of speed took him through the screen trees and he exploded out the other end in a crash of dry branches, through and into the yard before I could blink. All in dark combat armor carrying some kind of dark knife.

He slashed that knife right for my face. I ducked back, the line of the tip flashing before my eyes. Grit swung his hammer, earth shifting beneath the soldier's feet.

Motherfucker did a flip. The hammer swung through empty air and he bounced back off the unsteady earth, roling midair to land on the edge of the fence. Dude was breathing like he'd been huffing something, full chest billowing as he knelt on the edge of the fence like an oversized crow.

He put a hand up to his ear, a voice whispering to him through an ear piece. "Acknowledged," he said. Then raised up his knife.

Something about this guy made my skin crawl.

"I don't know who you are, but you fucked up tonight," Grit said.

The soldier rose to stand, perfectly balanced on that thin fence line. He did have a gun, a pistol strapped across his chest. He made no effort to reach for it. That array of cameras and lenses that covered the top half of his head swirled, changing from one to another.

He tilted his head, looking from me to Grit.

"And the other one?" he said. He wasn't talking to either of us. "Acknowledged. Clear to proceed? Okay. Yes, ma'am."

Then he dove from the top of the fence, knife in hand.
-
>roll 3 x 1d100+10 dc 80

Rolled 66 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6473143
Dang that dude is fast, maybe Grit could mud slide this dude's feet. Or gunk up his cameras.

Inb4 this guy has a suicide vest. Tooth pill? Or a blow up your head implant.

Rolled 68 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6473143

someone roll another dice please

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>6473143
NO WHAMMIES

>>6473176
nice, that's a pass

you guys worry too much about bad rolls

>>6473179
RNGesus gives and takes

The edge of the knife sheared through the front fabric of my jacket in a bright white arc, the tip scraping over the stab proof vest sewn in beneath it. I skidded back, the heat of the roaring bonfire blazing behind me. The firelight caught in the lenses of his head gear setting the dark lenses on fire, played off his cheek, his jaw twitching from unnatural stimulants.

Grit swung his hammer right for his head, whistling fast.

Two against one were odds we liked.

The soldier ducked the hammer blow, kicked a leg out to knock grit from his feet. Grabbed him by the plate carrier across his shoulders, and with little effort hurled Grit at me. I caught him across my chest, Grit cussing. Then the bastard drove a kick into Grit trying to force us both back into our own bonfire. I took the force of the kick through Grit, then instead of falling back, leapt back far and high. Flames licked the bottom of my boots before I landed the other side of the fire, dry dead grass crunching beneath my feet.

Grit dropped to his knees before getting up, hand to his gut. He'd left his hammer behind. The soldier began to stalk us, circling around the fire, knife flicking from hand to hand.

This guy was no slouch. But neither were we.

"Punk ass," Grit said, reaching out his hand. His hammer responded, launching up from the grass to catch the soldier in the side, right beneath the ribs. It staggered him but just for a second. The hammer arced through the air, around the bonfire to find Grit's waiting hand.

Without hesitating, the soldier leapt through the blazing fire, taking the fight to us. He threw his knife and it caught Grit straight through his thigh.

"Fuck!" Grit dropped, taking a knee.

In the same motion he'd flung his knife, he drove a knee toward my face. Both my fists came up to block it, peekaboo style. It hit hard enough it drove me back a foot, but didn't knock me down. The soldier's hand twitched to that pistol strapped to his chest, but stopped. Moved away, but not by choice. A decision made for him. He drew another knife from behind his back, a smaller one shaped like a bird's talon.

Licked the inside of his mouth, washing his tongue over his teeth.

"Taste's like...nitrous oxide," he said. Not to me. To whoever was in his ear. Then he sprung again, punching out with a hook that carried that blade as a deadly extra.

When you box and you need to dodge, you don't move your head, you pivot off your feet up through your hips. Hinging, swerving, through your whole body. This guy was fast. I had to weave to avoid that knife and even still he cut the outer fabric of my jacket. Couldn't cut through what was underneath though. Merriweather had me fit for stab proof and bullet proof enough to stop anything 9mm or less. But whatever was making this guy taste nitrous put some doubt into how protective that all would really be.

He wasn't going to have it all his own way. I weaved back, then weaved forward right into the wake of his knife, open space to drive a haymaker at that exposed chin. I caught him flush, followed it up with a left hook into his well-defined jaw. It didn't knock him out but it knocked him back. I didn't ease up, throwing a combination with enough force it was felt right through his plate carrier. Now he was on the back foot, and leapt backward through the fire to buy himself time.

Of course, he forgot Grit. My pal might be hurt but he wasn't out. We called him Grit for a reason. He put a hand to the ground and the earth rumbled. A hand of dry soil rose up to grab at the soldier before he landed.

"Fucking freaks!"

First thing he'd said right to us. He kicked away from the reaching hand, rolling back, but Grit just brought more grasping hands bursting out from the ground to grab him, soil dripping from thick reaching fingers.

Asshole flipped his way back up onto the fence. He was bleeding from the lip and spat up a glob of plegm and blood. Before he could orient himself the fence buckled over a swell of earth, mound rising up. He leapt up high, up for the roof of the stash house, landing on the slats. No normal human could move like he did.

Now he did go for his gun, renching it from the chest holster. He levelled the sights on me, swivelled them to Grit. But he paused. Someone was in his ear.

I honed my hearing.

"-not to kill, I repeat, not to kill!"

I knew the voice, strained with tension and age. Dr Auken.

"This is a field test, Lt Nixon. If you cannot subdue Hotspur with less than lethal means, the test has failed!"

He lowered the gun, slid it back into its holster. His jaw kept twitching.

"The colonel wouldn't-" he said.

"The colonel is irrelevant! Withdraw to extraction," she said.

"I want a name," he said, "A callsign, like these freaks."

"You get your orders and those orders are to withdraw."

"Yes ma'am," he said. Nixon glared at me, blood dripping from his chin. Raised a finger, then tapped it twice to the dome of his helmet. Double tap. Then he turned, and ran across the rooftop.

Grit limped up to my side, knife still stuck in his thigh.

"You going to let that fucker get away?"

>no fucking way (pursue)
>he can go, you need a doctor
>(write-in)

>>6473189
>he can go, you need a doctor
>>6473184
It's cuz ayane ain't here

>>6473189
>no fucking way (pursue)
Grits a big boy and probably has someone to patch him up. This military guy is a killer who's gonna come back with upgrades.

>>6473189
>no fucking way (pursue)
Grit seems capable enough that he'd be asking for help if he needed it.

>>6473197
>>6473249
locking that in

"Not on your fucking life," I said.

Grit grinned despite the knife in his thigh. "Get that mother fucker."

Didn't need to tell me twice. I bounded after the enhanced soldier. Had to make a point. I landed on the roof, saw him dart away across the rooftops. Some Temu Hotspur shit. I chased after.

He looked back in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Did he think I'd let him slip away like some kind of comic book vilain? Fucking jagoff. I caught him at the end of the block, right on the corner of Burnham Ave. A mid-air tackle that sent us both bouncing across a flat shop roof.

He rolled to the edge of the roof, rolled onto his back grasping for that pistol. I kicked it out of his grip, the gun going over the edge and banging off the roof of a car bellow.

"Asshole," I kicked him clean in the jaw, nearly knocking him down after it. Grabbed him by the front of his tactical vest. Hauled him up to bust a jab in his face. Cracked a knuckle on that jawline. He grabbed me back with one hand, gripping his little talon knife in the other, tried to slice me across the face.

"Disengage, Nixon," the doctor's voice crackled.

"Trying!" he whined.

The arc of the blade forced me to let him go. Didn't want to lose a couple of fingers.

"Shit head, you think this is a game?" I said, squaring up, "You don't get to stab my friend and dip. Not without me splitting your wig."

He had that knife up, nothing behind him but the wind. If he had back up it wasn't here yet.

"Punk kid," he said. Blood and spit ran down his chin from that busted lip, turned into a thick gruel, teeth dyed pink. "Think you're some kind of hero, just a punk kid playing dress up."

Talking. Buying time. I bounced foot to foot, one fist high, the other low. Then I moved, a quick snap step forward with a simple jab all in one motion. Kinda technique would have made Coach Jackson proud. By the time he had his knife up to slash my knuckles crunched up that nose some more. But I didn't throw the one, my right fist followed it up with a gut shot, then an uppercut right up under his ribs with the same fist, and another left jab to the face just to keep him guessing.

Most soldiers and cops don't have that much hand-to-hand training. Just enough to whoop some guy in cuffs. Ain't no cuffs on me.

He might be fast enough, he might be strong enough, but this Nixon cat was not tough enough to go round for round with the real deal. He was dazed on his feet, snorting snot and blood through a broken nose.

"Come on, super soldier," I said, "Be all you can be."

He yanked the helmet and its complex camera array off his head and threw it at me. I ducked aside, the helmet clattering across the roof behind me. Credit to him, he put up his fists.

"Nixon!" Dr Auken kept yelling, "Nixon, withdraw!"

He snarled at me. He had dark hair cropped down into that jarhead kinda cut, pale slavic kinda eyes burning with a very real killing intent. These feelings were starting to get personal. He charged, thinking too much with his knife. I let him.

The sky burst open with a spotlight and the whump-whump-whump of a helicopter. It arced around us, circling the roof. Just about blinded me with its flash.

Standing half out of the helicopter, suit flapping in the storm of the propellers, wearing sunglasses at night, hung Xenia, dark hair billowing around her shoulders. Face as blank as ever, a long metal slug ejected itself from her arm, slopping out to dangle a good three feet in length from the joint of her wrist.

A van squealed in the street beneath us, door snapping open.

Here was his back up.

"Now's your chance to run again," I said. His lips twitched around his bared teeth.

"Lt Nixon!"

Not Auken this time, some other scientist. A white man in a coat standing in the door of the van. Was the mad scientist herself not on site?

"This isn't over," Nixon promised, "I'll show you what a real war fighter is."

"Get the fuck outta here," I said, not hiding my contempt. I put my arms out for the spotlight, for Xenia and the other Cauldron soldiers. Daring any of them to step to.

Nixon slunk away. Bitch.

"You tell your boss!" I shouted, "You tell them all! This cheap knock off shit? You can't fake me! Ixion, Cauldron, any mother fucker! You tell 'em!"

I was really feeling myself. Can you blame me? It was Xenia kept staring, staring as the helicopter pulled away.

Fuck them. My blood was pumping, my anger high. Watching that helicopter disappear as the van skidded away. It took a hard second before I remembered Grit.

Fuck. I ran back the way I'd come. He was limping back to the ol' Grit mobile, his beat up lincoln continental. He'd left the knife in. We'd all learned one way or the other, if something impales you, get the doctor to pull it out.

"Shit on me, Spur," he said, sitting hard on the side of the driver's seat, feet dangling in the gutter. He didn't want to touch the handle of the knife, sticking up out of him.

"Think you can make the drive to Doc Ramsey?" I asked.

"Not going to let you carry me," he said, "You coming?" He was sweating from the pain.

"Didn't get hurt," I said.

"Course you fuckin' didn't," he said, "Thanks for the back up though. Favor paid."

>I should go with him, make sure he gets there
>Grit's a big boy and can take care of himself

>>6473383
>I should go with him, make sure he gets there
At some point Hotspur needs the lowdown on that stolen thumb drive from remix

>>6473383
>I should go with him, make sure he gets there
real missed opportunity to call Nixon Lt. Shapewear

>>6473383
>>I should go with him, make sure he gets there
I think his name will be Checkers, after Nixon's dog

>>6473446
we sonned him so hard his name should be junior

>>6473446
Tricky dick can't beat Big Dick Rick

>>6473446
Call him Mildspur

>>6473446
>>6473385
>>6473384
locking that in

We loaded into his car, heading back up north to Chicago. I was feeling the afterburn of the fight, almost falling asleep in the passenger seat. Grit put on some drum and bass to keep his attention sharp. Driving with a knife in his leg couldn't be fun.

Half way there he said, "My baby mama doesn't want me around the kid."

His newborn baby son. They'd had it a few months ago and had broken up since.

"Says this shit is too dangerous for me to be around."

Grit was barely eighteen. It was easy to forget, he carried himself like a man.

"Makes sense," he said, with a heavy snort said everything else. "Been a dad already, kinda. Raised my baby sister after our parents went a car wreck. Fifteen years old at the time. Went and lived with a tita but she didn't work out. Had to put it on my own back. You met my sister one time."

I had, at a Jollibee. She'd seemed tired, too young to be that worn out.

"Doesn't want me around, got another guy already, some older guy she met at her job," he said, turning up a street. "Who my kid going to call 'Dad', huh? Some shift manager at a Jewels?"

"That's fucked, man," I said. About all I could say, trying not to nod off after all that adrenaline burn.

We came up the back street to Doc Ramsay's clinic. It was almost sunrise, pre-dawn gloom. Parked in the back. I helped grit out. The long drive had drained him of the pain numbing rush of excitement and now he was cussing at every step, not willing to put weight on his leg.

"We got those fuckers tonight," he said as we limped into the clinic, "We got them."

"Fuckin' A," I said.

We were met at reception by Ramsey's spider-faced nurse, Vanessa. She was never easy to look at, that tarantula mouth always moving like it was eating a fly. Which wasn't fair, she was a sweet natured a person as could exist. She came right over to us, helping take Grit's weight.

"What happened?" she asked, "Never mind. No. You don't have to say."

We got Grit onto a chair, his punctured leg stretched out. Doc Ramsey came in looking tired, lab coat flapping. He always looked tired.

"Hotspur, Grit," he said, his foul mood written on his face, "I can't go a week without someone crashing in on my place bleeding half to death."

"Keeps you sharp, hey doc?" Grit said. It didn't amuse Doc Ramsey.

"Nurse, take him to the back of the clinic."

"Yes sir," she said, getting Grit back on his feet.

Ramsey didn't follow. His glare caught me. "You," he said, "You need to tell your friend Misfit to take it easy. I saw that bank robbery on the news. She should still be resting. A gunshot to the chest takes months of recovery."

"We heal quick, Doc," I said.

"Not that quick," he said, "She'll be back here with internal bleeding before she knows it. You tell her from me. Bed rest. For another month at least."

He didn't know Misfit well if he thought she would listen.

"And another thing," he said, "I heard you came into some money."

Oh here we fucking go. "Who'd you hear that from?" I said.

His smile was missing any humor. "It's true, isn't it?" I didn't try lying. "This clinic costs a lot to keep going. Half my clients pay in enchilladas and home cooked meals. I let them because otherwise they'd go into medical debt at the bigger hospitals. The other half pay extra for discretion. Concierge services, things like that. It pays for the other half. But that was before I started taking on your type."

"You really trying to pump me for money, Doc?" I said.

He pointed to the ceiling. "You like having all this any time you end up on the wrong side of a fight?" he said, "Taking care of you people isn't cheap, and brings other risks too."

He wasn't wrong. "I can do a lot with a hundred grand," he said.

>One hundred grand? Fuckin' no!
>Look, you can have 50 grand, all right?
>He's right, I did owe him. Give him the hundred
>(write-in)

>>6473506
>He's right, I did owe him. Give him the hundred
It's just money. What are we gonna do with it if we're dead?

>>6473506
>He's right, I did owe him. Give him the hundred
The Doc honestly deserves a lot more. 100k is cheap considering how much a normal hospital would cost.

>>6473508
>>6473510
going to lock that in

He was right. I didn't like it, but he was right. Goddamn my money was disappearing fast. Two hundred gone already between him and Remix. Boo-hoo I only had about three hundred grand left. Not a lot of Qatari billionaires in need of rescuing though.

"All right," I said, "I'll make out a check or something."

"That's appreciated," he said.

Doc Ramsey might be a prickly guy on a good day but he did a lot for the local community. Not just giving out cheap care to poor families, he'd stuck his neck out employing Vanessa despite the threats he'd received for doing it. He'd hid me and Misfit both from cops sniffing around and had sewn us all up on more than one occasion. Without him a lot of ordinary people would be pretty fucked.

But it was still a lot of money to hand over.

A couple of those unfortunates he looked out for came stumbling in. A couple of guys living rough, wearing layers of rags against the growing cold of an advancing November.

"Thanksgiving's coming up," he said.

"Shit don't remind me," I said. The whole family was coming up. Auntie Liz and Uncle Tony and all the cousins. TJ and Esther were flying in from NYC and we all had to deal with whatever wierd shit was going on between them. Jude wanted me to show him around. Take him to the Bean, introduce him to my friends. Kevin and Aaron just wanted to hole up with the playstation. Hell knows what was going on with Molly.

It would be good to see Grandpa though. Word was he was sick but didn't want to talk about it.

"I'm saying that because I have plans," Doc Ramsey said, "Don't ruin them by needing emergency surgery. Don't blow anything or anyone up. Try to stay out of trouble."

I signed the check. He folded it, slipped it into his pocket, and went back to check on Grit.

"Trouble finds me, Doc," I said to his retreating back.

I ducked out. Sun was coming up, starting to melt the frost on the ground. Wet cement, nice and slippery, fun times.

Trouble. Trouble was a motherfucker.

The run in with that Cauldron jagoff had been an ugly surprise. My knuckles were still cut up from the fight. Always some kind of trouble gunning for me. And now Thanksgiving and family all crammed into the one Air B'n'B with all this trouble around. It was stress I didn't need.

Didn't want to get caught on the backfoot. Had to take the initiative here.

>Both Ixion and Project Cauldron wanted Time Piece, time to play them against each other
>Foxtrot had info I could use against Ixion, maybe it was time to track her down
>Maybe it was best to let things cool off, until after Thanksgiving at least
>(write-in)

>>6473519
>Both Ixion and Project Cauldron wanted Time Piece, time to play them against each other
Can Hotspur text Remix for info?

>>6473519
>Both Ixion and Project Cauldron wanted Time Piece, time to play them against each other
Had to go back and see what I even had in mind for this if anything, not great but I think workable ideas.


1. We need to leak info through a credible source to either Cauldron or Ixion, or both, that the other side has run out of patience so they'll take Time Piece by force. Goon squads deploy and they duke it out hopefully starting a war between them.

2. If we can't do above get a third party involved, maybe get a three way war going. The DPA? This German Duke of Luxembourg? One of the criminal organizations who I'm sure would want to get their hands on Time Piece just so they could extort money and feel immortal. The gang Salamander is part of. Vanguard. Humanity First.

>>6473519
>Both Ixion and Project Cauldron wanted Time Piece, time to play them against each other

>>6473519
>Both Ixion and Project Cauldron wanted Time Piece, time to play them against each other
Corpo wars NOW

>>6473548
>>6473535
>>6473530
>>6473527
locking that in

time for shenanigans

What I needed to do was get my enemies to start fighting each other. Ixion and Project Cauldron both wanted Time Piece for their own fucked up self-interest. Maybe he was the key to getting them to start killing each other. It's a strategy that had worked for me before, in the New years Day War. The trick was just getting the bastards to take the bait.

I had these thoughts while jogging home from my hideout. Guts boiling with hunger, I took a pit stop at Luis'. Turkey signs in the window, fake fall leaves strung up, he was getting into the season of selling almost expured goods for the coming weekend feast.

"Rico," he said as I came in, reading his tablet, "Hungry?"

"Always."

He slid me a pack of expired donuts, those krispy kreme types all packed with sugar. A half dozen disappeared before I was even down to the back of the store, looking for a protien shake or something to wash it down with. My hands still hurt from battering that dimestore super soldier.

Dr Wu had warned his old mentor Dr Auken about their interest in Walter Morganfield. I'd met Morganfield myself and found a nasty old man with a chip on his shoulder, kind of guy who said 'so what?' when they heard someone else's problems. If it weren't for what he could do I'd have nothing to do with him. Let him rot in his little corner of the world. But if I could use him some how to do some good, or at least do some harm to some bad people, it was worth doing.

The front door chimed and a black guy in a hoodie slid in. "You got your rent?" he asked Luis. Luis sighed, took an envelope from behind his counter and handed it over.

Then pointed a fat finger at the black guy. "Don't count that shit in front of me," he said, "Have some damn respect."

The black guy opened the envelope and flicked through the stack of cash. Slipped it away. Slipped out himself.

Luis had folded. It was understandable. There weren't a lot of small business owners like him left in the neighborhood. He had to do what he had to do. But the attitude of the thug doing the rounds clearly hurt his pride.

I picked out a protein shake, downed it.

"You heard DeMarcus quit?" he said as I came back the front, "Started training to be a firefighter. Finally gave up on the rap dream. Proud of him, doing something with his life."

"Who you got working here instead?" I asked.

There was flush and Smokey came out from the bathroom, buckling up his pants. "Toilet's clean," he said, "Can I go on break?"

"Sure, Smoke, sure," Luis said. Smoke pinched a rolled up cigarette out from behind his ear, sparking it up as he went out the front. On my way out Luis called, "Say hi to that pretty lawyer friend of yours from me, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah!" I said, waving bye as I stalked the last block home.

It wasn't cold enough for snow, not yet. Might not get that cold at all until Christmas. Cold enough though to be annoying, crisp in the air that it cut a bit when the wind picked up. Some were bitching about it like it was already arctic temps.I liked it though. I like the cold.

An ad for Ixion Energy had gone up on a billboard overlooking an apartment building. Libery, the youngest and most fresh faced of the Chicago Protectors, gave a big thumbs up next to a picture of the Ixion building itself.

'Ixion - Here For You!'

They were theoretically employed by the city, but everyone knew they worked for Ixion and Ixion barely tried to lie about it. Most people were fine with that. They occasionally did good. Corporate capes.

Cauldron had their own super powered soldiers. And not all of them willing. Xenia had a way of producing these slugs could latch on and puppet someone, force them to do her bidding. Thunderchild had been a victim of that once, and I'd rescued a parafolk criminal, Stallion, from similar conditions. It had been a long enough time since I last fought those bastards I had no idea if they had more.

Who was likely to make the first move between Ixion and Project Cauldron? Who would fire the first shot? I had to get them both in the right place at the right time.

Thoughts bounced around my skull as I bounced up stairs to home.

>work on Ixion first
>work on Project Cauldron first

(feel free to suggest plots and plans. I may be gone for a day or two)

>>6473594
What if we tipped off the DPA to get him charged for what he did to his wife? Neither of them would have access to him at that point right? Or would Cauldron still have access to him?

File: Rodney_Dangerfield_1972-1.jpg (108 KB, 432x552)

108 KB JPG

>>6473660
I don't think they have a law against stealing years of her life or we'd see a lot of ex-wives with a hot case, lemme tell ya.

>>6473660
I figure Cauldron would try to get control of him if the DPA put him in custody, both being government and all, if they even could.

Heres what I'm thinking if we work on Cauldron first.

Credible Informant X Sells DPA a tip about Time Piece's location, using his powers on his wife, and that Ixion is prepared to grab him.

DPA can check it out and maybe some stuff on the stolen flashdrive can make the Ixion claim more believable.
(Would Mechs be believable if we include the stuff on that stolen flashdrive? Time Piece can't steal years off a mech.)

DPA doesn't have the muscle and pull to confront Ixion? They'll probably have to make a report anyways

Cauldron being a higher government group presumably catches wind of the DPA report on Time Piece, if they believe it they'll have to respond.

Does kind of hinge on Cauldron having access to DPA reports or enough spies but I don't think thats too big a stretch for them

>>6473594
>work on Ixion first
I feel like Dodd is far more easily baited.

>>6473706
One issue i could imagin is the old fuck if captured talking about the people who last saw him. People like Eric. Otherwise this plan sounds fun so 1+

>>6473706
+1

>>6473718
Thats true, and he did seem pretty angry about Cauldron when it was brought up...Do we know someone who could sell info to both sides lol

>>6473877
Thats actually a really good point i change my vote to fuck whit todd

Important caveat for this: >>6473660

Because of the deal Penderose made with Hotspur, parafolk prisoners are no longer fed to Project Cauldron so they wouldn't have instant access to Time Piece. However, they are still both government agencies so it wouldn't be super difficult for Cauldron to take custody of him, even though Cauldron doesn't officially exist. They'd probably have to do something illegal like a snatch and grab, as the DPA wouldn't willingly surrender him.

And Ixion would have to act similarly to grab him off the DPA. Perfect storm to get them shooting at each other.

So tipping off the DPA first (which is a group that leaks like a sieve, so everyone else would find out pretty quickly) would be a solid set up and Hotspur has people he can tip off there without having to go out of his way, like Bohauer and Penderose.

Otherwise I think the vote is tied? I'll give it another little bit of time with this added context before locking anything in.

>>6473660
I'll back this plan

>>6474111
Alright I can back a DPA turnover, it even gets us points with Penderose as an added bonus. Just hope our secret identity holds up.

>>6474111
Yeah i'll change my vote again this time to the dpa plot.

>>6474244
>>6474204
>>6474124
>>6473660
locking in the DPA plan

>>6474204
If by points with Penderose you mean giving him a massive deadly shitstorm to deal with then sure

Maybe I was thinking about this all wrong. Maybe the trick was to go at them in the indirect route.

The DPA had ties to Project Cauldron, ties I'd partially severed. But if they picked up Time Piece, both Cauldron and Ixion would have to act before he was shuffled off into the depths of the criminal justice system. What he'd done to his wife had to count as some kind of assault. Robbing her of twenty five years of life with the touch of a hand. It was cruel and strange either way. If I tipped off Penderose or Bohauer they'd make an arrest. It would get back to both interested parties, they had their contacts, then the fight would be on.

My only job after that point would be to make sure neither of them actually got their hands on old William Walter Morganfield. The only question now was how to tip off the DPA without blowing my cover. Time Piece could mention the kids who came to see him, and Penderose had already accussed me of being Hotspur once already. It was a risk I might just have to take.

Or I could ask someone else to make the tip off. It didn't have to be me.

Lots still to plot out, I hit the couch rather than the bed once I got inside. We had the week off from school, Thanksgiving break, but Dad was still working and Carmen had gone to the obstetrician. It didn't take me long to tap out, and I only woke to the sound of Carmen coming home from the doctor.

It was lunch time and she'd brought back some Little Caesar's pizza. Pepperoni.

"I had a craving," she said, starting on a slice.

"How'd it go?" I asked, taking a slice for myself.

"Good! The kid's looking healthy so far," she said, "Your thing went okay?"

I shrugged. She didn't often ask about the hero stuff and it was awkward to talk about. A rooftop fight with a black ops super soldier was hard for normal people to really picture, and I didn't want her to worry. Thanksgiving was going to be stressful enough.

"Did Dad mention Grandma is a bit..." I started. This was also awkward to bring up. Grandma wasn't the biggest fan of Mexicans. Carmen's answer was a flap of her hand, she could handle it. "Everyone else should be cool though." I said that, but I didn't really know Auntie Liz or Uncle Tony that well except that Uncle Tony could be a bit of an asshole.

"It's nice of you to be worried, Rico, but I can handle an uncomfortable dinner," she said, "My parents weren't much better, though that was more, you know, the age difference." Carmen was 27, Dad was 40. One time a waiter had asked if they were father and daughter, which had been real awkward. "And you're the one that's going to have two dates for dinner, aren't you? We can share the awkwardness."

True enough.

Speaking of, I was meant to meet both of them and the others later today. Ayesha wanted to do an escape room, and had some how convinced everyone else to give it a shot. Make use of our school break and have some fun. I had to get changed and get over there.

I folded up a slice of pepperoni and hauked it down. Had a quick shower and changed.

"You want a ride?" Carmen asked as I ducked out. I ran down the stairs, nearly knocking down Mrs Valdez on the way out.

I caught a bus in then took an L transfer to get out to Streeterville. I'd never done an escape room before. Whatever other plans I had were on hold.

It would have been really nice if it was just us, but jogging up Wabash I saw Hunter hanging around on the street corner, pulling on a vape while talking to Ben and Rufus. Hanging off to one side, frowning to herself, was Ayesha. She wore a home knit sweater and a long pleated skirt. When she saw me the frown eased.

"Hey," I said, slowing to a walk, "We still waiting on Ivy?"

"Not long though," Ayesha said, pointing behind me, "I swear you two are as bad as each other for getting anywhere on time."

Ivy strode up in tight black jeans and her red jacket, wearing her own band t-shirt. She slid of a pair of sunglasses.

"Always nice to see the two most beautiful people in the world," she said.

Cornball was putting it nicely. It didn't help when Ayesha grabbed a hand of both of us and we made a little circle. Corny, cheesey, but fuck it. I liked it. I squeezed both their hands.

"Escape room, huh?" Ivy's glance skidded over her former classmates. Hunter waved. "We waiting on anyone else?"

"Nope," Ayesha said, "You guys ready to go in?"

No sense standing around in the cold. Between them, I hooked an arm over either shoulder and we started in.

We split into two teams. Ben, Hunter and Rufus took one room. Me, Ivy and Ayesha took another. It was themed around the 1940s, WW2.

A radio crackled with an old FDR speech: 'The only thing we need to fear, is fear itself'.

Wouldn't that be nice. Fact as Ivy and I didn't do much, this was Ayesha's kind of thing. Her intellect blazing, she set to on solving the puzzles.

About five minutes in I got a text.

From Ms Grant.

Grant - How busy are you?

I typed back 'Busy'.

Grant - We might have a break in the case. Can you get here asap?

I thought about that. Looked to Ayesha and her glowing excitement as she picked through the puzzles, looked to Ivy's proud little smile as she watched her. We hadn't really had time just to ourselves in a while. But a break in the Ixion thing? Damn it.

How urgent was it?

>Split from the puzzle room to go meet with Grant
>Tell Grant it would have to wait

>>6474320
>Split from the puzzle room to go meet with Grant
We wouldn't be able to focus on it anyway

>>6474320
>Split from the puzzle room to go meet with Grant

>>6474324
>>6474332
going to lock that in

Me - Be there asap

I slid my phone away and went to break the bad news to the girls.

I took Ayesha's arm by the elbow. The way she turned her head with a glowing smile made this suddenly a lot harder than I'd expected.

"Something came up," I said. The way her smile died on her face was a kick in the gut. "Sorry, I wouldn't pull this if it wasn't important."

She didn't say anything. She bit her lip and turned back to the puzzle. "Fine," she said in a way that clearly wasn't fine. "No, its fine. You're right."

I get that she was disappointed, but come on. Before I could say anything though, Ivy caught my eyes and said in a glance' don't say another word, just go'. I took the advice, closed my mouth and nodded. But before I left I gave Ayesha a kiss behind her ear that made her sight, then gave Ivy a kiss on the cheek. I managed to argue my way out of the escape room and booked out.

On the way down wabash to catch the train I nearly tripped over a homeless man. "Help for a brother?" he said, holding out a cap. "Ain't cold like it used to be, no sir, but still cold enough."

"Here," I dropped him a couple dollars, ran the rest of the way for my train, up the L Station stairs.

Caught a transfer from near the station for a bus rest of the way to the neighborhood, and from there snuck out to my hideout.

The whole area was being developed, upscaled for the gentrifcation set. A for sale sign had gone up on the abandoned lot I'd been basing my double life out of. If it sold and got torn down I'd need to find some other place to stash my shit. That was looking likely. A problem for future me.

Once changed I had the freedom to move, and made out to the townhouse Grant had set up camp in, Rafferty's digs. I got there to find Rafferty himself standing on the second floor balcony in the failing light, misty breath mixing with the steam from his coffee cup. There'd been problems with the paralegal, Jank, catching a beat down. I didn't know the specifics of that just yet.

Rafferty raised his coffee cup in great, his wooly hair looking in need of a fresh cut and his droopy eyed face in need of a nap. When I got in I found the others about the same.

Grant was down to a crumpled white blouse and suit pants. Even away from the office she dressed for work. Exhaustion suited her though. Not a lot of people could pull off the tired eyed look, but then she was blessed like that. She was standing, reading a print out. Behind her Domingo-Cruz had her head in her hands, rubbing sleepy eyes on her badger-like face.

Grant florished the paper at me.

"The 13th amendment," she said, "What do you know about it?"

Not much. "Something to do with slavery?" I said.

"More or less," she said, "It specifically prohibits slavery and involuntary servitude, unless as a punishment for a crime. Effectively banning slavery."

'Except in prisons' I heard Ayesha's voice mutter in the back of my head.

"What's this got to do with Ixion?" I said, "Are they keeping slaves?"

"Effectively, yes," Domingo-Cruz said, "Their cloning program. Cloning of humans isn't specifically illegal in the state of Illinois, but if Ixion has successfully cloned human beings, they have all the rights and protections of any other person born in the United States. Which means if they are being kept against their will, and forced to work-"

"It would be a violation of the 13th amendment," Rafferty said that skipping down the stairs, "Bit of a long shot though, don't you think?"

"The files from Remix effectively proves the existence of the clone program," Grant said, "Eye witnesses have seen their 'behemoths' escape containment and attack civilians. You were there for that, correct?"

I had been. So had Ayesha. It had been a school field trip to the Ixion building for anyone on the honor roll. Some how I'd managed to get my name on it. Chad, Ben and Annie had all been there too. It had been an awful day. There had been a lot of awful days since the Explosion.

"According to our information those behemoths are clones, failed ones," she said, "Failed clones of someone we all know very well."

"Who?" I said.

Rafferty played the trumpet with his mouth. "Badababa! You, Mr Superhero!"

Me? They'd been clones of...me?

"Oh that motherfucker," I said, my blood running cold.

"They collected your 'material' after a skirmish with someone called 'Redacted Asset', even their closed files don't want to name them, and have been working on it since," Grant said.

"Houndmaster." Grant nodded.

"Failed clones, with one partial success," Grant said, "Codenamed: Nightshade."

The masked up ninja psycho. Oh fuck. My head was swimming. I had to sit down. Rafferty got me a chair.

"The hell does this mean for me?" I said.

"The failed clones are barely intelligent," Grant said, "But Nightshade operates as part of the Chicago Protectors. He's volatile, but has a clear conscience and will of his own. If he could be convinced to file suit against Ixion and Julian Dodd, it would be enough to-"

"To what, put them out of business?" I snapped. No one here was naive enough to believe that. I felt sick to my stomach. 'We know almost exactly what you look like'. He'd said it to my face.

"Hurt them, at least," Grant said. She put down the print out and sat across from me. Put a hand to my shoulder. "Sorry, this is a lot to dump on you at once."

Nightshade. My clone? My twin? Me? I remembered the footage of him killing the giant attacking sears tower. The way he'd pummelled him into the concrete. Screaming as he beat that guy to death. Volatile was the right word for it. Dr Wu had talked about 'cracking' my powers, building an army of soldiers who could do what I can do. Said there was a genetic component to it. So clones were their solution. A clone army? It was absurd, stupid even.

"If you could make contact with Nightshade," she said, "Talk to him. Convince him turning against Dodd was within his best interests."

"Every time Nightshade sees me he tries to rip my head off," I said.

"It's tricky," she agreed.

How do I even draw him out? Would he listen? If he listened would he agree? I didn't know. I don't know.

And there were the others too, the rest of the Ixion super-thugs to worry about. They wouldn't just let him walk away.

>I'll try, but I can't promise results
>Can it wait? I don't know if I can do that
>It won't work. Find another way.

>>6474384
>I'll try, but I can't promise results
Tell Grant about Time Piece.

>>6474384
>I'll try, but I can't promise results
Oh shit, clone saga. We're gonna need Firewatch backup for this. Start a full scale fight between the two groups. Pull him away from the rest. If he's not already aware we'll have to show him our face to make it clear he's our clone and talk him down. Surely there's some common ground to find.

>>6474384
>I'll try, but I can't promise results
Put the Spur Signal in the sky! I kid.

1 Wait for the Ixion goon squad to get called out to some emergency to approach him, using like a shitty drone with a walkie talkie to lure him away for a chance to settle things.

2 Red Wizard astral projection style talk to him in his dreams. Maybe thats more dangerous? Less? At the very least we wouldn't have to risk fighting the entire ixion goon squad.

File: pratfall cartwheel.png (635 KB, 2805x2854)

635 KB PNG

>>6474402 >>6474405

in the meantime, I had a crack at doodling pratfall

>>6474401
Will you put all the character art into a single place for folks to view?

don't know, probably not

>>6474401
If they did kiss how different would the Dr Wu meeting have gone?

>>6474405
Not too different. It would have been an awkward kiss that would have Xiang definitively say Eric isn't her type and vice-versa. Not every vote has a big story consequence.

>>6474384
>I'll try, but I can't promise results
Not sure we even want to hurt Ixion too badly now if we’re relying on them to mutually take out Cauldron

>>6474408
Fair enough

>>6474417
>>6474399
>>6474387
>>6474386
locking that in

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything," I said, "Everything I know about Nightshade, and it isn't much, says he's kept in the Ixion building. Ironsight's mentioned he needs medicine or something? When he freaks out." It had happened a couple of times, and it had been Ironsight who always collared the psycho, and not in a particularly friendly way. The only member of the Chicago Protectors I'd ever had a half-way civil conversation with had been Haymaker, and he was technically a convict on work release. "Dude doesn't like me, but I promise I'll try."

"All we can ask," Rafferty said, "Ask me though we should be focusing more on the money. This 'Waingro' name keeps popping up, but hell if I can find out who they are. Investors of some kind."

"We take every angle we can," Grant said, "Have you heard from Jank?"

"He's going to be in hospital another week," Dolmingo-Cruz said, "Whoever jumped him cracked his skull, broke both his arms, half his ribs. We're lucky he's still alive, and didn't quit."

"Tough kid," Grant said.

"Ask me, I think he has a crush on you," Dolmingo-Cruz teased.

"Who doesn't?" Rafferty shot back. Grant rolled her eyes.

"You be careful getting home, Maria," Grant said, "Don't think the housewife thing will stop this flavor of scumbag."

"I got two boys play triple-a hockey, they'll pick me up, drop me off, let 'em try," Dolmingo-Cruz said.

"Joey make the Wolves this year?" Rafferty said, both surprised and impressed. Dolmingo-Cruz launched into a passionate and proud run down on how her boys were both doing in hockey and how the oldest had the attention of the majors. I kinda blanked out on it, my mind churning with thoughts of clones, black ops soldiers, and my plans to pit Ixion against Project Cauldron.

I said my goodbyes and took off. Half way to the north side I got a text.

Ayesha - Sorry. That wasn't fair.

I typed back.

Me - I get it.

Ayesha - No. It wasn't cool. You got big stuff to handle and don't need a bitchy girlfriend.

Me - No. No. You aren't a bitch, I get it.

Ayesha - Just feels like every time we make plans an asteroid flings in out of no where and smashes them up. I want to be with you, both of you, without the other stuff some of the time.

I did get it. I felt the same way.

Ayesha - Thanksgiving. Dinner's with yours but can we do lunch with mine?

Me - Sure.

Ayesha - Bet. Sorry again. Stay safe.

Me - You too.

I put the phone away. Half a weight off my shoulders.

Now I had to sit down and really think.

Did I go ahead with contacting Penderose, set up the business with Time Piece, or take a minute and deal with Nightsjade first. Did I have to pick one over the other?

>keep it simple, tip off Penderose
>Penderose could wait, try to flush out Nightshade first
>mix the plans, try to isolate Nightshade during the Time Piece set up
>(write-in)

>>6474463
>keep it simple, tip off Penderose

>>6474463
>mix the plans, try to isolate Nightshade during the Time Piece set up

>>6474463
>mix the plans, try to isolate Nightshade during the Time Piece set up
What could possibly go wrong?

Also, anyone think it might be better to submit the tip as Eric rather than Hotspur? Not sure we have a direct line to Penderose as Eric, but this way if he talks about those two kids that just visited him it's not implicating at all. He's directly talked to us as Eric before, so we could potentially call the DPA and ask to talk to Penderose with a tip on a dangerous para criminal and bring up what he did to his wife.

>>6474532
>>6474541
locking that in

Two birds, one stone. Why not? The only problem I could see is risking blowing my cover to Penderose.

But then, he had met me as Eric more than once, the same as Time Piece. Whatever suspicions he had about whether or not I was Hotspur, a concerned tip off from a citizen wouldn't prove anything. It was a risk, but then everything was. And taking down an enemy as powerful as Julian Dodd meant risking everything.

The important thing here was timing. I had to get everyone in the same place at the same time, and be ready to move myself. The DPA, Ixion, Project Cauldron. I could reasonably assume both would want to snatch Time Piece off the DPA, and try to beat each other to the punch. So they would either hit Time Piece at his address before the DPA could get there, or in transit after letting the DPA make the arrest.

My money was on before, pre-emptive strike. A brawl with law enforcement was never a good look no matter how much money they had. So I could assume they'd strike soon after making the phone call.

I wasn't ready to move just yet. There's no way I could solo the entire Chicago Protectors and whatever kill team Project Cauldron had put together. I'd need to get the rest of Fire Watch on side.

Which gave me an idea. I made a call.

"Dog Brother?"

"Y-yeah?" he stuttered, picking up right away.

"I need a favor. Can you put some of your friends on surveillance? There's a bad guy needs keeping an eye on."

"S-sure thing," he said.

I sent him Walter Morganfield's home address.

"Let me know as soon as you can if any strange people roll up," I said.

"G-got you, b-brother," he said.

That would tell me when. Dog Brother was good at keeping watch, tracking, that kind of stuff. If he wasn't the best fighter he more than made up for it in his canine network that covered the city, and his coyote network for the countryside beyond. Keeping watch through a thousand eyes, keeping watch over the city, not a thing happened he couldn't find out. And he was dependable, whatever else he was he didn't have a deceptive bone in his body. Dogs are sacred creatures after all.

Whatever I was going to do, it wasn't going to be tonight. Tomorrow night at the earliest, before Thanksgiving at least. Before the year was out I planned to put at least one nail in Julian Dodd's coffin. The only question was which one.

"As I told you before, colonel, the military approach will not work," Dr Auken said.

The debrief had been humiliating. Lt Nixon sat with his head down, glaring at his boots. The best of delta force, thoroughly humiliated by a powered individual they suspected was no more than a boy. Colonel Vandieman was unimpressed, worse, he was angry. The nanofibre enhancements were intended to be the cutting edge in infantry development, capable of making an untrained weakling a killing machine. It should have made a trained killer like Nixon an unstoppable force. Millions of dollars of investment, years of training. The best the US military could produce.

He should have been unstoppable.

He had been stoppable. Conclusively so. By some Chicago street punk.

Things had been easier in the desert. Dealing with jihadis and Russian mercenaries. Back before he'd recieved a tap on the shoulder, and been introduced to this smiling old woman in a cardigan sweater. Back when he had been in charge of proper military operations, however top secret. Before he had run a nursery of the bizarre.

"Take these shackles off my hands," the colonel said, "Give me a proper special operations command and I could grease every paranormal threat in the country. I could have Hotspur's head on my desk tomorrow. Instead we watch, we assess, we report. For seventy years we've sat back and watched, and what has it got us?"

"A wealth of information," Dr Auken said.

"Information. Information!" he spat the word, "Information without action is just trivia. We have a brief, doctor, to protect the nation from threats both known and unknown. These parafreaks are a threat. The fact even a kid like Hotspur was able to take down one of our country's finest soldiers, with every technological advancement, speaks to that threat."

He leaned back in his chair. Glaring at nothing. He had been a patient man, once.

"Sorry," Nixon muttered. The colonel raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, sir. I'm sorry. I failed the mission. Give me a second chance and it won't happen again. I'll take down the kid. You can mount his head on the wall."

Before he could talk, the old woman interjected. Who ran this damn command, him or her?

"Your mission was not to kill the boy," Dr Auken said, "Only to best him in hand to hand combat. If we wanted the boy dead, it is as your colonel has stated. It would be no great task."

"Then why don't we?" Nixon asked, then added a respectful, "Ma'am."

"There is a purpose to all this, one we have not yet deciphered," she said. The colonel sneered. "We are in the world of the unseen, gentlemen. We have stepped beyond the threshhold of the rational into a land of the absurd. Military logic will not win this fight for us. I fear a hard response to this paranormal erruption will only leave us disarmed for the larger threats still on the horizon."

This again. He was threatening to crack a tooth it made his jaw clench so much.

"Spare me the occultist babble," the colonel said, "Those hippie intellectuals that ran this program in the 70s wasted years looking for UFOs and spirits that didn't exist. Half their findings are LSD laced nonsense and the rest what any good old fashioned intelligence agency could have discovered."

"Occultist, colonel? I am a scientist first," she said, "But when you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Sherlock fucking Holmes," the colonel said, "Arthur Conan Doyle believed in fairies, and was duped by any fraudster could catch his eye. Don't quote that idiot at me. Phantoms and fucking fairy tales."

"Do not disbelieve your own eyes, colonel. Whatever you may want to believe, we now see the impossible every day."

It cut him. It cut him to the bone. God, she was right. Infuriatingly right. Give me Jihadis any day. At least it was an insanity he understood.

The colonel fell into an unhappy, glowering silence. Then he said, "As the chief scientific officer of this task force, what do you advise?"

"Patience," she said, "However difficult that is. There are forces at play we do not yet understand. Unknowns, as you said. Uncertainties. And uncertainty has a fat tail. Continue to develop our responses, our soldiers, our weapons. Bullets will be needed. But we must have more than bullets. Physical enhancements are not enough. We will need spiritual enhancements as well."

The colonel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you suggesting we reopen the Stargate Project? Parapsychology? Remote viewing, psychic abilities?"

"In light of recent developments, is that so absurd?" she said.

"It was a dead end the first time," he said.

"The first time," Dr Auken said, "We did not have the right key. Or maybe, the right lock."

The colonel sighed. It wasn't his job to understand. It was only to act, or not act, at whatever presented itself before him.

And sitting deep beneath an Illinois cornfield, he had a desperate need to act.

>>6474541
>Also, anyone think it might be better to submit the tip as Eric rather than Hotspur?
I think it might be a bit too risky. Considering they do have Nightshade, who has Eric's face, and DPA is a leaky sieve. Doesn't seem too far fetched that if Ixion is interested they will look into the informant, see the face, and put two and two together.

Whatever else I had planned, the start of the next day was about family.

Dad drove us out to the rental Auntie Liz had crammed the family into. It was a nice place up in North Center, right by Roscoe Village and off Hamlin Park. Everyone had the week off for Thanksgiving so htey'd made a vacation of it, crammed everyone in the car and driven up to spend a week in the oh so scary and dangerous Chicago. North Center at least was about as dangerous and wild as Martha's Vineyard. The trees were Fall stripped though the evergreens as ever hung on, and a wind chill picked up the dead leaves in their piles and scattered them out in a dry brown and orange carpet across the streets. Those leaves crunched under tire treads as we rolled up to the two story house with the white picket fence, the house painyed a pleasant shade of blue.

Waiting on the porch, Grandpa talked to Uncle Tony. Both were big men. Grandpa had a look of an aged cowboy, beard gone full white with a thick mane of silver hair that ran to his shoulders. He had a preference for an old navy jacket and blue jeans. When he saw me his wrinkled face split into a grin. He still had all his teeth. About all that had changed since I'd last seen him was a small liver spot on his cheek.

Uncle Tony was about as tall, his size gym built. He was going gray but still had a dark Italian look about him. He raised a hand as the car jerked to a stop.

Dad helped Carmen out. She wasn't that far along in her pregnancy, but appreciated the attention.

"Good mornin'," Grandpa said.

"How goes," said Uncle Tony, "We just got in about an hour ago. Got some coffee on."

Out from the front door bustled grandma. "Oh!" she stopped, eyes wide on Carmen. We all tensed, wondering what would pop out of her mouth. "My God, girl, get off your feet! Come here!" She ushered Carmen up onto the front deck, toward a seat. "Sit, sit! Look at you. Glowing. Do you know the gender yet? Oh don't tell me. Joe! Why are you just standing there? Chop chop. You just stay there, dear, I'll deal with my boy."

Dad frowned as Grandma hustled him into the house. I exchanged a glance with Carmen. She shrugged. So far so good.

"My baby brother told me all about you," Uncle Tony said, "I'm Tony." They shook hands. "How you doing kid." When he shook my hand he made a real effort to squeeze it. Uncle Tony was that kind of guy. "The kids are around some place. TJ is flying in tonight."

But when I went to Grandpa it was straight into a hug.

"Come here, baby bear!"

He lifted me off my feet. No easy thing. I'm not the tallest guy, but I'm no light weight. Grandpa knew who I was. Knew for real. But damn if that changed how he treated me. He clasped my face in his leathery mitts and grinned down at me.

"When are you getting taller? No Miller man was ever shorter 'en six feet," he said, "That's your mother's side. Shame you didn't inherit her brain."

"Nah, just her good looks," I said. Grandpa burst with laughter, hugged me again.

Speaking of six feet, that proved annoyingly true when my cousins emerged. I'm the same age as the twins, Jude and Molly, but since I'd last seen them Jude had shot up to six feet tall, with long limp arms that hanged down his side. He gave me a sheepish grin. Despite his dad he didn't have the Italian look. He'd grown his light brown hair out so that a long front lock fell over his face, had pierced his ears. He looked more comfortable and relaxed than last time, where he had confided in me about his sexuality, coming out of the closet. Wasn't sure if his parents knew yet.

He wore a brown tweed jacket with a tie and a pair of slacks ended in loafers. Why he was dressed like a mid-century accountant I didn't know. But he could bullseye a deer from 100 yards and dress it for dinner.

"Eric!"

"Jude!"

A quick hug. It was good to see him.

Behind him, his twin sister Molly said, "Yo."

Molly wore a green bomber jacket and dark jeans. She hadn't changed much in height, but she'd thickened out all over. Muscle, not fat. Her thighs were shaped and muscular, her shoulders broad and set. Her hair was a crown of shaggy waves that didn't quite reach her shoulders. She had a lazy tomboy grin that set her cheeks pink.

"Molly is the number three ranked high school wrestler in Indiana," her dad said, proud as can be, "She even competes against the boys."

"Only at 50kg freestyle," she said, shook my hand. She didn't try the kind of squeeze her dad did, but her grip was strong. She wore a necklace with a grenade pin. A trinket from Uncle Karl.

They both said their 'hellos' to Carmen.

Aaron and Kevin were both out next. Kevin was catching up to me on height at only thirteen, but Aaron still looked like the baby. He was just starting middle school.

"So you going to show me around?" Jude asked, "Introduce me to these mysterious girls of yours?"

"The harem," Molly said, wiggling her fingers.

"Don't call them that," I said. Jude elbowed his sister in the shoulder.

"Can we take off?" Jude asked his dad. Uncle Tony looked uncomfortable. "I already unpacked."

"Only if you stay in the Loop," he said, "No going south of it, okay?"

"Okay," he said.

Where the hell did he think I was going to take them, the Wild Hundreds? O Block? Back-of-the-Yards?

"Can we see the Bean?" Jude asked, grabbing my arm.

I didn't know what fascinated people so much with the damn bean. Ask me it was low key kinda shit.

"We can see the Bean," I said.

"And your friends?" Jude asked. I didn't know if I wanted to turn this into a whole day out.

>just take my cousins to the Bean for now.
>arrange to have my friends meet us at the Bean too

>>6474692
>arrange to have my friends meet us at the Bean too

>>6474692
>arrange to have my friends meet us at the Bean too

File: grant 2.jpg (476 KB, 1267x2052)

476 KB JPG

>>6474727

And here's an attempt at Grant

>>6474692
>arrange to have my friends meet us at the Bean too
Party!

>>6474709
She seems perturbed. Probably all the assassins after her.

>>6474727
>>6474700
>>6474696
locking that in

Did it annoy the shit out of the lady who made it that we all call the damn thing 'the Bean'? That's what it looked like. It was a big metal lump, big enough to walk under, the top half practically a mirror reflecting the mood of the sky, the city skyline showing across its sides. Today was overcast, so it wasn't gleaming with any kind of brilliance.

We'd made our way in to Millenium Park courtesy of an uber. Molly had hitched along for lack of anything else to do. I'd sent a text out to my friends telling us to meet us there if they were free. I told them to be cool. I told them not to do anything to make shit awkward.

"Yo, Big Dick Rick!" Hunter said, crossing the plaza, a big fucking smart ass grin on his face.

"Lord," Rufus said, covering his face with his hand behind him. It got me a shocked look from Jude but a respectful nod from Molly.

Hunter, Rufus, Tim and Duncan had all made it out. It was cold enough we were all in jackets, but there wasn't much need for scarfs yet. Still, Hunter had on a beanie. Ben had tagged along the way he'd been doing lately, maybe hopeful for the sight of Peony. But the only girls who had come out had been Ayesha and Ivy, with of all people Ayane.

"I was hanging out at Ivy's. Sorry for tagging along," she said.

"It's cool," I said, not liking the awkward flush in my chest. "These are my cousins, Jude and Molly."

"Twins, right?" Ayesha said.

"Unfortunately," said Jude, whose eyes kept darting over to Tim. Tim scoped him out, then looked away.

"H-hey," Ayane said, awkwardly shaking Molly's hand.

"Sup," Molly said with a head nod. Ayane let out a funny little sigh, checking Molly up and down. Molly noticed. "Yeah sorry, bad news there. Unlike lurch here, I'm straight as an arrow." She fired off a finger gun at her brother.

"What?" Ayane said, "No, uh, I'm, no. I didn't mean." She was all tumble-tongued and flustered.

"It's cool, just nipping it in the bud. I don't like it anymore than you do. Lot of gay girls in wrestling, I could be cleaning up," she said.

"Smooth," Ivy said at Ayane, patting her on the head, "Going to kill yourself again?"

"Oh eat a dick," she whined, retreating behind Ayesha.

"So that makes you the gay one then?" Hunter asked Jude.

"It's not exactly my twitter handle, but sure," Jude said.

"Tim's a fag too," Hunter said. Tim punched him in the back of the head, and not lightly. "Fuck! Ow, what the hell?"

"No pass for you, Hunter," Tim said, "F-word or n-word."

"Sorry! Fuck! You know you can kill people hitting them there? Saw a clip on it. One punch to the back of the head. It's like a ninja thing."

"You'll live," Time said, "Sorry about Hunter. I promise he's the harmless kind of bigot."

"I've heard worse," Jude said, his shock turned into pure amusement.

"So that's the bean," I said, pointing. Yep. That was the bean. Lot of tourists milled around it taking photos. "Lake is over there." I pointed east across the park. "That's about it."

I'm underselling it. There were bucket boys out playing a small drum line on the city side of the park, over by the ice rink. Tourists watched, some throwing down a dollar or two. They had the rthymic precision of a marching band, beat rolling from one bucket to the next. A drill kinda beat. Jude went to listen, bopping his head along, while Molly idylled around.

"So cool," he said, like they didn't have buskers in Indianapolis. Maybe they were a bit higher quality up here.

Ayesha took one of my hands, Ivy the other. That made the guys uncomfortable, and had Molly's eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh I get it now," she said, nodding sagely, "Big Dick Rick."

Cousins I think were genetically predisposed to making shit awkward. It didn't help that Ivy had the instincts of an internet troll, and mouthed the word 'huge' at her. Fuck me.

"So Jude, what have you been up to?" I said, desperate to get the subject off me and my manhood.

He looked back. "Me? Oh nothing too interesting. School, life. I started taking a film course. I think I want to make movies when I graduate. Go out to California, you know."

"That's cool," I said.

"Atlanta is where its at these days," Tim said.

"Or where ever, maybe England, I don't know," Jude continued, "But behind the camera only. I learned the hard way acting isn't for me."

"The school play," Molly sighed. Jude shuddered.

"Do you guys ever see any super heroes?" Jude asked, "This is Chicago, right? Freak city. You guys have to have seen some heroes. Like Kid Vigilance, or Misfit, or Hotspur. Ironclad, now that guy is hot."

"Cape chasing huh?" Rufus said, "Man, its a bunch of whatever."

"Don't you have heroes in Indiana?" Ayesha said, "Like Power Bomb."

"Sure, we got a couple," he said.

"I've met Hotspur," Ayane said, putting up her hand.

"We've all met Hotspur," Rufus said, dismissively. Ayesha's grip tightened on my hand. "He cleared out this creep from our school, invisible guy stalking girls."

"He rescued me from a supervillain too," Ayane said, "If that's the right word for what he was."

"That's right, you're parafolk right?" Duncan said, finally chiming in. Duncan didn't talk much. Ayane nodded.

Both Jude and Ben perked up. Ben sliding closer.

"Oh that's cool!" Jude said, "What can you do?"

"It's more what can't I do," she said, "I can't die. The Living Dead Girl. I just come back to life."

"Really?" Jude said.

Ayane nodded. "Eric can tell you, he saw it the other week."

That I had, when Ayane'd had her arm ripped off by Snapdragon.

"Died in my arms," I said, too much like it was no big deal. "Ah! It was pretty freaky!"

Everyone gave a nervous laugh, but it was Molly did nothing but watch me. Her head cocked to the side.

"Chicago is wild!" Jude said. The rest of us weren't so enthusiastic about it.

"You've seen the Bean. What do you want to do now?" I said.

"Man, I don't even know," Jude said, "Find a superhero? I really want to see one irl. Are there alerts or something? I'd love to meet one. Any of them, even those Chicago Protector phonies." Again, his enthusiasm wasn't shared by the group. Superhero sightseeing had become a viral thing recently. A thing I really wished wasn't a thing. Everyone with their phones out trying to snap a candid picture.

It made me a bit queasy thinking about it.

>I mean, we can try, no promises though
>Better not, those heroes only show up around trouble

>>6474739
>I mean, we can try, no promises though
Ayane death counter increase. I wonder if nightshade would like her being a princess clone

>>6474739
>I mean, we can try, no promises though
I just so happen to be a big fan of Nightshade right now.

>>6474739
>Better not, those heroes only show up around trouble

>>6474747
>>6474741
locking that in

maybe no updates today. I'm pretty exhausted. Will cook up something to make the wait worth it.

If he wanted to meet superheroes I'm sure we could find some. It's no like the Chi had any shortage. For that though I looked to Ben.

"Didn't you guys used to have a discord group that tracked that stuff?" I asked, "Any alerts?"

Ben looked around, a little self-concious. "Yeah, I mean, we do. I'm the only one really active in it anymore. Chad and Annie have both been afk." Yeah, actually I hadn't seen the three of them hang out the way they used to. Not at school or outside of it. He got out his phone. "There's bigger groups though. I'll see what I can find."

Jude buzzed with excitement while Molly rolled her eyes.

"So you're a wrestler or something?" Duncan asked, looming over her.

Molly flexed a bicep. "All State," she said.

"Oh yeah? What's that like."

Ben scrolled through the discord groups before ending with a nod of his head.

"Updated this morning," he said, "Kid Vigilance is having a meet and greet over at North Bridge, and people are saying a couple of the Chicago Protectors have been seen around Jim's." The hotdog place. Molly looked over more excited at the idea of hotdogs than superheroes.

"Oh man, Jim's is good though," Hunter said, "If you guys are in town for a vacation, you got to try Jim's."

"Jim's does slap," Rufus said.

"And there's something going on over at Sears Tower but no one's sure what. Something about Ironclad?"

My skin prickled at mention of the Chicago Protectors, thinking of Nightshade. To think I had a clone, another guy running around wearing my face.

"There's other stuff but its way too far out," Ben said, "Unless you guys want to join the protestors at the Farm." He snickered at that while everyone else looked uncomfortable.

"Jim's!" Molly said.

"Sorry, what's going on at the Sears Tower?" Ayesha asked, but Ben just shrugged. It was worrying. Ironclad should still be taking it easy after getting riddled with arrows. He wouldn't be up and around for no reason. I looked to Jude. What did he want to do? He was chewing on his bottom lip, waiting for someone else to decide.

"Your call, they're your cousins," Ivy said.

>hit up the meet and greet
>go to Jim's
>check out Sears Tower
>if I wanted to play it safe, I could always call in a friend (who?)

>>6475151
>go to Jim's.
I wonder what nightshade looks like when we use our super senses on him?

>if I wanted to play it safe, I could always call in a friend : text thunder child asking him to see what's going on at the sears tower.

>>6475151
>check out Sears Tower
A tad worrying

>>6475151
>go to Jim's

>>6475151
>Jims

>>6475203
>>6475201
>>6475152
locking it in

Jim's was always a good place to eat, and I could eat. We made up our minds but on the way I fired off a text to Thunderchild.

Me - Yo something's going down at the Sears building. Can you scope it out?

Thunderchild - Can't you? Fuck it. Aight.

"Two phones?" Jude said as I slipped the burner phone into my back pocket. "What's that about?"

"Don't you know?" Tim said, "Eric sells weed. Won't sell any to me though."

"I thought he was a rentboy, sucks and fucks for change under the Dan Ryan," Hunter added.

Those old rumors never really died. I gave them both my best frown.

"Very mysterious," Jude said, waggling fingers in my direction.

"It's a work phone," I said, and left it at that.

Making our way over to Jim's, Jude kept peppering me with questions while Molly ambled along behind us, hands in her pockets. He wanted to know all about the thing with the Qatari prince, which had made the news back home, and about the craziness with Snapdragon attacking the museum. It was getting uncomfortably close to a glazing the way he was going on. God knows how he'd act if he knew about the other stuff. When the topic got to basketball, and he found out most of the rest with us were the team, his interested waned a bit. Jude wasn't too big on sports.

We took a couple transfers to get there. I taught my cousins a bit about how to use the trains and buses. Outside NYC, Chicago had one of the busiest and most effective public transport systems in the country, and the damn thing was a godsend for getting around in a group. Know how to use it and most shit wasn't more 'en half an hour away, at least in the city proper. The further out you went the more bullshit it got.

Walking the rest of the way, there was a line up at Jim's already, crowded around the service window out the front of the yellow brick building. Guys picked up group orders before hopping into cars to skid out, frustrated doordash drivers crowded around to one side waiting for their number to be called. The food was the attraction here, but Jude was scoping for the superhero set.

"Polish sausage and an all-beef for me," Molly said as Tim took our orders.

"Girl can eat," Duncan said, ordering about the same. Ayesha made do with nothing, the fries she wasn't sure were cooked in animal fat or not. I put up the cash for the group since everyone knew I had the cash to spare. Tim went up to order.

Coming out the side of the building was Fat Dominic from school, already enjoying a dog. He saw us and his chubby face lit up, wandering over.

"Oh hey guys," he said. I'd never bumped into Dominic outside of school before, "Getting a dog?"

"If there's any left," Rufus muttered with a glance at Dom's gut. Dom's face fell at the barb. Ayesha shot Rufus a curdling look actually made him mutter a 'sorry'.

"Hey Benny!" Dom said, "How are you, dude? Haven't seen you on the server lately. You still play Apex?"

"Yeah, man, sorry," Ben said, "Say, you seen any parafolk around? Heard the Chicago Pretenders were around."

As if on cue they strolled up the street. Haymaker was obvious off the bat. For one he had to wear that prison jumpsuit, but also his powers had left him disproportionately larger than the average guy, oversized shoulders and chest clearing the next tallest man, and his shock of red hair would be visible a mile off. He was chatting with a younger woman might only be eighteen, whose feet never touched the ground. Liberty didn't walk when she could fly, and it ruffled out both her brunette hair and the pleated skirt of her white dress as she playfully swished around the bruiser. Behind them both and not looking happy about it was the brawny Barbaric, dressed like a female Conan the Barbarian and muscled like she snorted creatine for breakfast.

They got plenty of fan attention from the hungry locals waiting for their orders. Liberty flashed her starlet smile while Barbaric crooked an eyebrow and flexed an impressive bicep. Haymaker for his part looked bored, eyes over the crowd.

"I jus' want a goddamn hotdog," the former criminal muttered.

"You want some privacy, send an intern next time," Barbaric said. A kid came up for a selfie and she dropped to one knee to take it, her scowl transfirming into a bright white grin. She gave the kid, a skinny black kid with a big ol' egghead, a high five before sending him back to his parents. "Public engagement is part of the contract."

Jude grabbed my arm. "Eric, could...could you ask them for a photo or something?" he said. He was actually trembling over these phoneys.

>ask them yourself, Jude
>fine, but you owe me

>>6475214
>fine, but you owe me
Chili dogs are good. Voice recognition

>>6475214
Am I misremembering or wouldn't they basically recognize Eric because they've seen his clone up close? I suppose minus the broken nose and a few scars, his accent, etc.

>>6475225
something to consider, isn't it?

>>6475214
>ask them yourself, Jude
>>6475225
shit you're right. changing my vote

>>6475214
>>ask them yourself, Jude

>>6475227
Indeed lol

>>6475232
>>6475229
locking that in

>>6475227
Was busy earlier and had a bit to think. I suppose it could have been a risky opportunity to approach Liberty who I think doesn't have the full picture and they take advantage of her trusting nature? She could be convinced with the whole clone slavery bit when hes standing right in front of her. Although perhaps there will be a better opportunity where the rest of them dont also see us and connect the dots.

"You ask them," I said, pushing my cousin.

"Yeah, Jude, don't be a wimp," Molly said. Jude gave his sister a sharp glare.

"Maybe I will!" he said, but it was without so much as a twitch in their direction.

My reasons were selfish. If Nightshade and I shared a face, they might recognize me. But also I'm not a babysitter. If Jude wanted an autograph he could go get an autograph. To be fair to him though, he wasn't the only one that was nervous. Dom kept not looking at Barbaric in a deliberate, awkward way. Ben was looking from us to the crowd gathering around the corporate capes.

It was Ivy at last sighed and with all her blonde confidence strode over to them.

"They're a bunch of posers anyway," Ayane said as we all waited, watching Ivy cut through the crowd. "Corporate jackboots."

Ivy caught Haymaker's attention with a snap of her fingers. She was not being polite. The reformed thug gave her a look like he was planning on not being polite back, but Liberty swished in as peacemaker, breaking the ice with her dimpled smile. She said something to Haymaker and he raised one of his oversized mitts, waving us over.

I pushed Jude forward, hanging back. The others were happy to take up the space.

"You kids enjoying school break?" Barbaric said as our huddle gathered around them in a half circle, "Study hard, school is important."

"Like you ever studied," Haymaker said.

"Smart-ass, I got my bachelors in biological science. We aren't all high school drop outs," she fired back.

"Woah there guys, play nice for the fans!" Liberty said, "I promise, we do get along."

"We're a real happy family," Haymaker grunted.

Molly squared up to the big thug. "Hey you," she said, "Want to be my prom date next year?"

"Scuse me?" he said.

"Age of consent is sixteen in Indiana, if you ever want to visit."

"Jesus Christ!" Jude and I said it together, Jude a little louder. The look on Haymaker's face was a mix of stunned and horrified.

She looked him up and down. "I can take ya, big man."

"Kid!" Haymaker raised a finger while Barbaric guffawed with laughter at his expense. "Look here kid! Okay, that's not something you say! You'll get a guy in trouble talking like that! And I don't play games with anybody can't have a legal drink, got that?" Haymaker had gone as red as his hair while Barbaric slapped her knee.

Liberty for her part gave Haymaker a thin lipped frown made me wonder what she was thinking.

Molly shrugged. "Thought I'd shoot my shot," she said.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Haymaker said, not knowing where to look.

Tim handed me a hotdog, joining me at the back of the crowd. "This is all so stupid," he said, taking a bite into his burger. Who the fuck went to Jim's and got the burger? But I kinda got that bit of contempt on his face as we watched our friends gush over the Ixion capes. Even Ayesha, normally level headed, got flustered when Barbaric flexed an arm for her. The woman was jacked, but in a way that worked for her. Whatever good these guys did, it was incidental to what they were really for. Control. Privatized heroism under the Ixion corporate umbrella.

"Does Nightshade ever do these things?" Ivy asked as Haymaker crouched for a photo with her.

"That little psycho?" Haymaker said, "Are you kidding? Someone could end up dead."

"I heard Kid Vigilance is joining the Chicago Protectors, is that true?" Ben asked.

Barbarbaric and Haymaker exchanged a look. "Not really our department, kid," Barbaric said, "Ixion does the hiring."

For our entertainment Liberty launched herself up overhead, flying a full loop-de-loop over the heads of the crowd. Even the guy on the register stuck his neck out to watch. A wave of applause broke out.

If ever there was someone tailor made for good PR, it was Liberty.

Jude got his picture taken with the three of them. I had to admit even Barbaric had a charismatic grin, no doubt practiced with experts to convey just the right message.

"Happy now?" I said as Jude came over, showing me the results on his phone.

Haymaker frowned, pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Ah shit," he said, "We got a problem at the sears building." He waved to Barbaric, who rose from signing a kid's autograph.

"I haven't even had a hotdog yet," she said.

"That shithead Dr Insectivore is back," he said.

"Mind the language in front of the children!" Liberty sang, but was already half way up toward the street lights.

Barbaric sighed, and before our eyes started to transform. It was an unpleasant sight, the way her body shifted. The skin stretching and folding, then turning into a tan slurry beforre remolding and breaking out into a feathered pattern that at last broke into color.

The sight of her body twisting and warping into a new shape put us all off our food.

"Guess I got to fuggincarryooooo," she said as her mouth began to merge into a beak, words becoming lost as her face reshaped into a large eagle head, dark eyes blinking.

Before our eyes she had warped into the shape of a giant eagle, its massive talons tapping on the concrete. It unfurled wings that were surprisingly small against her large chest, and hoped up onto Haymaker's shoulders, gripping him either side of his neck. Haymaker winced in pain at where those talons gripped him, sharp points digging into the skin.

"Haast's eagle," Ayesha said, "Have you noticed Barbaric only turns into animals that are extinct?"

My mind was more on this 'Dr Insectivore'. I hadn't heard of this parapsycho before. And I hadn't heard back from Thunderchild yet. My knuckles itched.

The Chicago Protectors took off, Liberty leading the way, Barbaric following after with a long flap of her wings, slowed down by Haymaker's weight. My instinct was to follow. I glanced at Ayesha, at Ivy.

>Whatever was going down, I had to be there. Make up some excuse and peel off.
>Whoever this 'Insectivore' guy was, between the Protectors, Ironclad and Thunderchild, they could handle it.

>>6475261
>Whoever this 'Insectivore' guy was, between the Protectors, Ironclad and Thunderchild, they could handle it.
Thunderchild can port out Ironclad if they run into too much trouble, and Ixion wants good PR so the Protectors are going to do their best. Some of them might even be good people.

Anyway this is a rare opportunity to keep spending time with Ivy, Ayesha, and the homies.

>>6475261
>>Whatever was going down, I had to be there. Make up some excuse and peel off.
Isn't this a chance to see if we can talk with our clone we've been looking for? We've even got Thunderchild there to teleport us out.

Although I'm open for other ideas

>>6475261
>Whoever this 'Insectivore' guy was, between the Protectors, Ironclad and Thunderchild, they could handle it.
We can't just ditch our cousins. If Thunderchild requests backup we should go but otherwise we should let them do their thing.

>>6475261
>Whatever was going down, I had to be there. Make up some excuse and peel off.

I just spent the last week binging this quest from the archives. It is amazing. I haven't seen on any quest ever write teenagers this convincingly. The setting, the characters, the plot, are all fantastic. I cannot believe that not only did the haremfags win, but that it was extremely well-written. You have seriously outdone yourself, Bullpen. Thank you for running.

>>6475261
>Whatever was going down, I had to be there. Make up some excuse and peel off.
Normally, I'd think Thunderchild and Ironclad could handle themselves but this is Ixion we're talking about and Ironclad is still wounded. It would be way easier to patch things over at Thanksgiving than plan a funeral for our teammates.

>>6475390
Welcome anon! Glad to see a new player.
Ivy should've won outright. I tried.

>>6475279
>>6475330
>>6475390
locking that in. Also, welcome! Always nice to see a new player. Glad you enjoyed the old threads.

Whatever was going down at the Sears building, I had to check it out. Not just because I didn't trust the Chicao Protectors to handle it, but because I'd never forgive myself if Ironclad or Thunderchild didn't make it home tonight. But getting out of there was another problem.

"You know if there's villains out wrecking shit we should all probably get home," I said, "It's pretty dangerous. You never know what might happen."

"Think so?" Jude said.

"He's not wrong," said Rufus, "Like a tornado or something man, you don't want to be out in it."

"Shelter in place," Dom said with that mid-west wisdom, "Hey if any of you guys want you can come to my place? We got yoohoo and my mom is making pizza."

No one took Dom up on that offer but started splitting off in different groups. To say he looked dejected was underselling it, but he didn't sulk long. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to eating his hotdog. Rufus and Hunter were going to go shoot some hoops and invited whoever wanted to join them to come along. Tim and Duncan did, but Tim hung around to say goodbye to Jude.

"If you ever want a tour of the city," he said, giving my cousin his deets. Jude blushed but gave Tim his own.

"Wow, Dad is not going to like that," Molly said after the four basketball players hustled out. "Going on a date with a black guy?"

"Dad's not racist," Jude said, but even he didn't believe it.

"Uh-huh," Molly said, "Remember when he thought I was dating Nick? Got all weird around him, and when he found out we weren't together suddenly they were buddies again."

"Yeah but Dad doesn't like you dating anyone," he said, "And ever since TJ and Esther started to...you know..."

Oh boy did we know. The clock was ticking. I checked my phone. Flexed my fist in impatience.

"You think you guys can get yourselves back to the house?" I asked, "Get an uber, go straight back there. I'd go with but I need to get Ayesha home safe." Ayesha shot me a frown at that. Like she needed my help.

Molly frowned too, pulled out her phone. "Me not know how to use 'technology'," she said, jabbing the screen with her finger, "How does magic box summon car?"

Jude frowned too, the pair of them pretending to be cromagnons. "Ugh, make head hurt. Us simple country people not know wise city ways!"

"All right!" I said, hands up.

They tracked off, shooting the shit. We said goodbye to Ben, who was going to check out a comic store nearby, First Aid Comics. That left us with just Ayane, who trailed along as we walked back up to the L station.

"Sorry now I'm the tag along," Ayane said, "I'll book out home. It was good to see you again Eric, you too Ayesha. You know, you guys aren't completely lame? Crazy."

"Thanks," I said, I think.

"Peace!" she said, and then with a hug for Ivy split off for her platform.

"Now is this where you run off to go fight the bad guy?" Ivy said, once Ayane was clear.

"'Make sure I get home safe'," Ayesha scoffed, "Screw you, buddy."

"Sorry," I said, for both the lie and what I was about to do. This was taking longer than I'd like, and each second was torture worrying about what might be happening to my friends.

"Thanksgiving lunch," Ayesha said, with a finger drilled into my chest, "Both of you. Or I'll never forgive you."

"Okay," I said, then because I was about to run headlong into battle and might never see her again, grabbed her by the hips. Whatever irritation or anger she was holding onto collapsed against the kiss, her warm soft lips opening up for me in a whimper, that finger digging into my chest slidding into a hand grabbing at my shirt. It was always fear, really, under that anger. Fear for me, for us, for the idea each time I'd run off it would be the last time. She didn't let the kiss end easy, tongue clinging to mine.

Ivy watched with a worried bite of her own lip. "Hey hero," she said, and turned my chin with her fingers to take a kiss of her own. I will never pretend I'm not the luckiest fucking dude in the world. Fear was overwhelmed by the rush of it, and when Ivy pulled away we all wore a similar determined look. Determined to see off this threat, and determined to see each other again. "Give 'em hell."

It was easier to go but hard to leave. I left them together at least.

All the way back home I checked my phone for updates. Fuck me but I wish there was a way to get my costume without having to take a whole damn train trip. But its not like I could wear it under my normal clothes, it wasn't that kind of suit. When my train pulled in I ran the rest of the way, clawed over the chainlink fence, stripped, and dashed out of there pulling on my mask.

At least once I was changed things came appreciably faster. I could cross a city block in seconds, all in one great leap, and with fire coursing through me the fear died, the certainty of my mission grew. Dr Insectivore was it? I made my way toward Sears Tower.

The Willis Tower, as it was legally called, had become a magnet for weirdness since the explosion. Blame its prominence in the cityscape. It was all dark glass rising from the heart of the city, a towering structure almost elegant if it wasn't so damn big. There was a time it had been the tallest building in the world, but that had been a long time ago. It was still a big motherfucker though. Crane your neck and look right up and you might not still see the top.

And right now it was a battleground, overwhelmed by a long drone. The sound was unsettling to say the least, a constant loud shushing and buzzing. The cops had cleared the surrounding blocks, set up a perimeter with their new fancy mech squads. I knew one of the cops, an old school Irish beat cop called Conway. He was drinking a coffee, black, and eating a donut. The man embraced the cliches of the fat old cop. All of them except one, he was a decent guy.

"Freaks on parade, huh?" he said as I landed next to him. The other cop playing guard duty gave me a startled look. "Good to see ya, Hotspur. We got a real mess and we're happy for you ta handle it."

"What kind of mess?" I said, but the mess made itself known when something fat and angry hit the cement from out of the sky.

It chittered, flicking its wings, face opening up to show a disgusting insect mouth. It was a grasshopper, or maybe a locust, but about the size of a border collie. It flicked its back legs in front of us, that mouth hungry and wet. I'd learned in biology that, as much as we thought of grasshoppers and the like as herbivores, they could eat a mouse or two as well. Right now it was sizing us up like we were a couple of mice and it had an appetite.

Fuck me. It sprang forward, fast. Not faster than my fist though. My knuckles crunched into that face plate, driving into it. The giant cricket rocked back, flipped over, but in that creepy, uncanny insect way flipped itself back over onto its legs.

The feel of its face crunching under my knuckles had been unsettling. Nothing about this was pleasant.

"Like I said, all yours!" Conway was back behind the hood of his squad car, pistol drawn.

I squared up with the creature. Above my head I heard a chitter. I glanced up to see two more crawling over the smooth glass surface of the buildings. Sharpening my eyes I could see more of them crawling across its face, and could hear the grunt and shouts of fighting beneath the constant swarming drone. The pop of Thunderchild teleporting, the grunt of Haymaker, the screech of Barbaric in her eagle form. But hell if I could see them.

Those giant insects didn't fly great but when they moved they bristled, unleashing wings that let them take great fliding hops across the face of the building, over the square. And the more I looked the more there seemed to be.

A real plague of locusts, all about the size of the average family dog.

The one I'd punched drew back, readying itself to hop right for me. I tensed up, ready to take it. Then a whistle and three iron poles skewered it. Gouts of green blood burst from its trembling body as it collapsed. Swinging around overhead, levitating on a metal disc, Ironclad called up more metal rods, ripping them from nearby buildings.

"Oh good, back up," Ironclad said, "Bring anyone else?"

"Just me," I said, "You seen Thunderchild?"

As if summoned by name he burst into existence above my head, ripping at a locust clinging to his back. He fell three feet, landing hard in front of me. I ran over. Gripping the creature by a fold in its carapace, I ripped it off him, then with a great heave, my chest muscles pulling tight, I tore it clean in half. Never doubt that if I wanted to, I could do some real harm.

I dropped the chunks of bleeding insect, helped Thunderchild to his feet.

"The fuck is this?" I said.

"Some cat called Dr Insectivore," Thunderchild said, wiping bits of insects off himself. He looked shook, but he wasn't the type to buckle and run. "First I ever heard of him, but the Protectors have tussled with him in the past."

I looked for him, couldn't see it. All I saw were the hungry oversized bugs of his menacing the city.

"Bastard is on the roof. Keeping these oversized crickets out of the city has taken all our energy," Ironclad said, "With you here maybe one of us can take a run at him."

"Man, let those Ixion jags handle him," Thunderchild said, shaking out his jacket.

>I'll deal with Insectivore, you guys handle the crickets
>You take out the good doctor, Ironclad, we'll handle his swarm
>Let the Chicago Protectors earn their money dealing with him, we'll protect the city

>>6475434
>You take out the good doctor, Ironclad, we'll handle his swarm
>>6475409
ericdean otp

>>6475434
>You take out the good doctor, Ironclad, we'll handle his swarm
Ironclad was here first, he's got dibs if he wants him

>>6475439
>>6475443
going to lock that in

"You got dips," I said to Ironclad, "We'll clear out the bugs, you take out their boss."

"Okay, but I'm doing it my way," he said, "This bug doctor isn't going to be seeing the inside of a cell." His threat was weighted by the iron spikes levitating around his shoulders. Ironclad didn't mess around. I didn't like it, but I couldn't do much about it either.

Either way, there was no time to argue. Those locusts chittering their way down the side of the Sears building stated chittering their way toward us, hop-flying closer in a buzz of their wings. Thunderchild coughed, wiped his face, stretched out his back. "Let's do this," he said, "Pest control."

I ran for the walls of the building as Thunderchild disappeared in a concussive blast. Boot to the wall I ran straight upward, fully vertical in a fuck you to physics and gravity both, leaving white hot boot prints behind me. Fast I sprinted, jacket flapping behind me. My fist hit the first locust to leap at me. Damn bugs.

The crunch of their hides and the feel of sticky mass behind it was unsettling. When I'd been ten I'd once crushed a cockroach in the kitchen with my bare hand. It had been unsettling and off-putting. This was much the same. It's grasshopper face gave in against my fist and I had to rip my arm out of a gooey mess, letting it drop, twitching, behind me as I drove on to the next one.

They buzzed and chittered, some taking flight to swarm me while others leapt from the glass right for my face. An uppercut knocked a leaper away, another grabbed me from behind with its stick limbs, barbs cutting into the cloth. I reached behind and grabbed it by a moving mandible, its mouth juices dripping over my fingers, and hurled it into one of its friends, sending them bowling away. They broke easy enough, sending stick-like bits of themselves scattering, but that didn't mean they were dead.

Even missing limbs or half their head staved in they came limping on. I grabbed a wing of one and ripped it free, sending the locust tumbling down the side of the building.

What was up and what was down was finding new definitions in this whirling brawl.

I fought my way up to the first tier deck of the towers and my world became horizontal again. Around me Thunderchild popped in and out of existence in a thundrclap, doing what he could.

Above us, others were fighting the swarm.

"Shit on me!" Haymaker yelled as he came tumbling from above, ripping one of those locusts off his chest mid-fall, more buzzing after him.

He hit the deck beside me, leaving a crack in the concrete. Tough motherfucker groaned, but was dazed. A fall like that would have killed an ordinary person. Those bugs chasing after him found me waiting, then the claws of a giant diving eagle helping. Barbaric snipped the head off one bug with her beak, then dropped next to Haymaker.

As he struggled to get up she unfurled her wings and hopped from talon to talon, shrieking. Laughing, I realized, dancing a mocking circle around her downed team mate as he rubbed his thick head.

"Hilarious," he grunted, then saw me and sat back down, "Yeah, I'm done. Real hero is here. You deal with it, Hotspur."

Lazy bastard. Barbaric took flight again, joining the zipping Liberty who cut graceful arcs around the building, picking off the locusts as she moved at near sonic speeds. Haymaker lay back down, groaning.

From far above a voice called.

"ONCE I WAS A MERE SCIENTIST!" he said, "SWORN TO HELP GROW A GREAT HARVEST TO FEED THE WORLD! I CREATED KILLING SPRAYS FOR POWERFUL CORPORATIONS TO PROTECT THAT HARVEST AND FEED THE HUNGRY! LITTLE DID I KNOW I SPELLED OUR OWN DOOM! THE INSECT IS THE BEDROCK OF LIFE! UNFEELING AND UNCARING IT TENDS THE GARDEN OF THE WORLD! BUT WE HAVE POISONED IT! TORN IT OUT BY THE ROOTS! NOW I FIGHT FOR THAT WHICH I ONCE SOUGHT TO DESTROY! I AM DOCTOR INSECTIVORE, AND I WILL COLLECT MANKIND'S DEBT!"

Okay, cool. The fuck did that have to do with downtown Chicago though.

"I WILL MAKE OF MAN A POTENT FERTILIZER! AND USHER IN A NEW AGE OF INSECTS!"

Talkers. Why were these guys always talkers? Always had to let the world know why they were an asshole. I had no time to do anything though but deal with the oversized grasshoppers crawling across the building, swarming toward me and hoping to make a Thanksgiving meal out of my soft parts. But drawing their attention at least drew it away from Ironclad, who was making a bee-line straight for the top of the tower.

I raised my fists, arms sticky with green ichor, bits of bug caught in the folds of my jacket. Squaring up.

"Come on, let's go," I said as those dog-sized monsters began to circle me, chittering and clacking away.
-
>roll 3 x 1d100+10 DC 50

(dips? dibs. Jesus Christ I need to proof read better)

Rolled 41 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6475471
Chicago downtown style

Rolled 28 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6475471
We got this

Rolled 13 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6475471

>>6475473
that's a pass but boy for a better than 50% chance of passing that was close to being a fail.

>>6475471
>Yeah, I'm done. Real hero is here. You deal with it, Hotspur
Bro cmon, you're actually getting paid for this.

>>6475473
>>6475474
>>6475477
Oh man we barely squeaked by.

>>6475479
Not just greater than 50%, this one was roughly 94% chance of success. That last 6% is always possible.

These locusts were dumb and hungry and to them I looked like a Big Mac. One leapt over another as they came click-hopping at me. It was more than I could fight off with just my fists.

But I had more than just my fists.

A blade of fire errupted from my hand and I sank into the 'matte iru osuushi', sword of blazing light in both hands, blade horizontal beside my head. My front foot slid forward. A locust leapt. My blade slashed out. It cut through the carapace with a sizzling line, frying its guts as it fell in half. The kind of clean cut would have got a pleased nod from my sensei.

Problem was the dozens of other locusts leaping after it. Clean cutting gave way to ragged pants and hard chops as I cut my way through the swarm, sending beetles hides scattering across the concrete rooftop. The burr of a limb sliced into my arm, another into my back. I spun, slicing out, but the damn things stuck themselves into the fiber of my clothes, pulling at me, pulling down, cutting through to bleed me with the saw like teeth of their long slender limbs.

One grabbed my leg and I had to kick it apart.

Whatever was going on with anyone else vanished in the tunnel vision struggle of me against these hungry, slavering bugs. And my sword was a torch, a big flashing bug light drawing even more toward me.

Good. Great. Keep them off Ironclad and cut 'em up. The stink of frying cricket was growing stronger with everyone of them I cut down. Ichor splashed across the lenses of my goggles and for a second I was blinded, had to wipe at them with filthy gloves. Something hard hit me in the gut, doubling me over, and then one latched itself on my back, starting to bite into my shoulder. The mouth tore impotently at the fabric, at first, but soon I could feel the painful rip of sharp things tear at the flesh in my back.

Shit. Shit!

Someone landed on the roof behind me.

"Need a hand?"

A girl's voice and the bug ripping into my back ripped free. Then a thick knee drove into one trying for my face.

I didn't know her at a glance, this new hero. She wore a red wrestler's leotard and a matching domino mask. Black fingerless gloves and black wrestler's boots. Adding to it, she grabbed one of the bugs in a hug, swung it around and pile drived it into the ground, splattering its head. Then flung its carcass at its friends, who hopped on it starting to devour the exposed sticky mass.

"Come on big man, just going to lie there?" she said over her shoulder at the concussed Haymaker. She looked back to me and flashed a familiar grin. "So much for the family vacation. Nice to meet you, Hotspur. They call me Power Bomb." She flexed her shoulders and strode toward the chittering insects devouring their pal with a confident swagger.

And here I was 99% sure her real name was Molly Mazzuchelli, my cousin. I watched for a second as she leapt up, high overhead, and landed among the bugs with an explosive force. The shockwave blew out the glass of the nearby window, hurt my damn ears, and put another crack across the roof the building. But it sure did smash up the bugs. She threw elbows at the ones still standing, and dropped an axe kick on one that was trying to get up. She was in her element, that was for sure.

I ran after her, flaming sword in hand.

We went to work as above us, Ironclad confronted Dr Insectivore.
-
"FOOLISH BOY!"

He was a beetle backed creature, face all green, fly like eyes rolling in his face as some kind of corrosive spit dripped from his lips. The carapace on his back opened into insect wings, long and translucent, like those of a dragon fly, and he shot up into the air. He still wore the tattered remains of a lab coat, the sleeves falling over his clawed hands, but his carapace sufficed from clothing, his feet now plated claws.

"YOU WAGE WAR WITH THE INEVITABLE!"

He hovered around Ironclad, levitating himself on the back of his disc. Good thing he hadn't, he didn't have enough strength in his legs to run anywhere. This was all feeling like a bad idea, one he wasn't getting paid for. Priorities, Liam, he thought to himself. Get better, get paid.

But fuck this doctor. Buzzing around talking about wiping out mankind. Ironclad called to the metal around him, drawing up spears of iron, plating his chest and arms in scrap. Hotspur had done his job and distracted the swarm. Now it was his job to deal with the freak in charge of it.

"ONCE I'M DONE WITH YOU I WILL FEAST ON DODD'S INNARDS!"

Yap, yap, yap.

"Can a bug eat iron?" he said.

"SOME, YES!"

"Oh, well, can you?"

And with his powers he flung the iron rods at the good doctor.
-
>roll 3 x 1d100+10 dc 75

(I can't remember if I ever officially gave Eric's cousins a surname, but if this is a retcon I'm sticking with Mazzucchelli)

Rolled 88 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6475492

Rolled 45 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6475492
Bug man funny

Rolled 2 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6475492

the critfails loom, but otherwise that's a pass

>>6475492
>"ONCE I'M DONE WITH YOU I WILL FEAST ON DODD'S INNARDS!"
Really wish he'd started here.

The spears he'd fashioned from old pipes lanced through the air as Ironclad himself swerved to avoid the acidic spit of the charging Dr Insectivore. Whatever high minded language the doctor normally employed, combat had turned him into a slavering, spitting beast, ripping out at Ironclad with razor sharp, burred talons.

One spear hit Insectivore in the gut. What bubbled out wasn't blood as he understood it. Another thucked into his back and burst out the front of his carapace.

Dr Isectivore screamed, pointing at him. Ironclad saw himself reflected in those segemented fly eyes.

He hadn't had a change to kill the Flesh-Smith, that smug bastard who had mutilated the love of his life into an inhuman form, forced him to euthanize her in a moment that would be forever seared into his soul. He'd been robbed of his revenge by Hotspur and Dusk, robbed of a chance to stamp her memory into the last living thought of that monster.

Bastards like dr Insectivore would have to make do.

The last spear came looping around.

"YOU WILL NOT-!" The doctor said, but Ironclad never found out what he 'wouldn't do' as the last spear rammed through the mutant's face, carving out the back and remained lodged in his skull. his wings went limp and he dropped, landing hard on the highest roof of Willis Tower.

Just garbage now. Organic trash.

Like always after a fight Ironclad thought about who he might screw. Pia or Cindy or maybe even Ellen. Maddie came to mind but she hadn't been returning his calls. It stung a bit but then, they'd only been a rebound. He looked over the side of the building.

Taking out Insectivore hadn't solved the problem of his bugs, if anything they'd only grown more wild. Ironclad sight, stowing away thoughts of a hot end to the night. Fight wasn't over. He called up the spears from out of Dr Insectivore's corpse, and began his descent to help sweep the building clear of the swarm.
-
Machine gun fire swept the side of the building, blowing out glass as much as it blew away the bugs. From a helicopter the so-called 'tactical leader' of the Chicago Protectors hooted and hollered like it was a pig hunt. Crouched by his side, the barrel of the gun he manned rotating to a stop, was Nightshade.

"Fucking lunatic!" Thunderchild yelled at the blackhawk helicopter, backing up over dead locusts.

Ironsight clipped Nightshade across the back of the head and my clone launched himself across the chasm between us, hitting a bug boot first and squishing it into the side of the building.

This was just a mopping up job now, and with the other Chicago Protectors now in play, Power Bomb and I had to do less and less. Her arms and legs had started bare but were now sticky with green goo. If she guessed we were cousins she hadn't implied anything yet. She just wiped sweat from her brow and grinned.

"Feel like Mario squishing goombas," she said, "Beats wrestling methheads in trailer parks."

My clone rose from a crouch, standing sideways on the side of the building, glaring right at me. It was creepy the way he stood there, suspended at an impossible angle. I got the sense, as always, that he wanted to fight. Now I had a better idea of 'why'. He ignored the bug crawling up behind him. When it leapt it was shot out of the ear at the ear splitting shriek of the oversized, extinct eagle that was Barbaric.

"You guys got beef?" 'Power Bomb' asked, pointing to Nightshade, who kept staring at me.

"Kinda," I said. I really wanted to talk to Nightsjade, but I also wanted a word with 'Power Bomb'. Down beneath us fire trucks were moving in to clean up the damage, sirens wailing as they manouvered around the hulking but useless police mechs stationed at the perimeter.

The sun was starting to set, the failing light darkening the Sears Tower into a pillar of obisidian.

>now was a chance to approach Nightshade, I should take it
>was Power Bomb actually my cousin? Split off with her and find out
>no need for anything dramatic just yet, the only thing it was time for was time to leave

fucking hell my fucking spelling.

I'm taking a break for a couple of days, so I'll leave this vote open, but I'll pop in to answer questions and generally be around.

>>6475511
>now was a chance to approach Nightshade, I should take it

>>6475511
>now was a chance to approach Nightshade, I should take it
Can we also do the weird standing trick? We should be able to, right?

Also yeah we can talk to Molly later, but Nightshade isn't that easily reachable.

>>6475511
>now was a chance to approach Nightshade, I should take it
This will end with fists

>>6475511
>was Power Bomb actually my cousin? Split off with her and find out
I wonder if Jude also has some kind of underwhelming power that he doesn't uses to fight crime or something. It would be really funny

Also, I'm not sure if we should do this right here and right now, but if Nightshade is kept like a monitored dog and he isn't let out in public, I guess we can only have small moments like these to actually talk to him

And because I know we're going to go talk to him, I wanna add
>Use our special senses on Nightshade and see what he looks like

I'm worried because our powers come from the Space Prince. Does that mean Nightshade is the avatar for Angra Mainyu? Or Dood was able to make an artificial Space Prince powers for him?

It's out of left field, but I just had a thought occur to me. Do you think Time Piece could help Perpetual with his static aging problem? Practically, I don't think we should do anything to get them anywhere near each other and we need to keep this thought to ourselves, but I am curious of how their powers might interact. If Perpetual is, in-fact, immortal, he could easily end up imprisoned as a battery for the fat bastard. It could be that he's a null-zone for the age draining/giving, or Time Piece could effect him like any other person, just with the results being set in perpetuity. All of that said, I don't think there are any good outcomes that could come out of experimenting.

>>6476075
I think letting time piece know that perpetual exists would be a catastrophically horrible idea

>>6475522
>>6475519
>>6475514
locking that in

I wasn't going to miss this chance to talk to Nightshade. All I had to do was get him alone. It wasn't as if it would be hard getting his attention. He was staring straight at me.

"Nightshade," I said.

It was a starter pistol, just saying his name. He drove for me across the face of the building, charging at an impossible angle.

"Easy kid!" Haymaker called but it was too late, Nightshade lunged at me, hit me hard with a low tackle, and we went pinwheeling down the side of the building together. Our powers alone kept us from sailing out into the open air. We rolled down the face of the building, Nightshade trying to work me over with knees and elbows. Was this some kind of clone thing? Was it just the instability Dr Wu had talked about?

Something he'd said popped back into my mind as Nightshade and I rolled across a pane of glass, 'Only a lifespan of about five years.'

The glass plane buckled and broke beneath us, shattering inward and sending us tumbling across a carpeted executive floor. He threw me off and I smacked into the side of an impressive oak desk. I grabbed the edge of the desk and hauled myself up. He had his fists raised in front of him, a low stance.

Whatever training Nightsjade had, it was more kick boxin than boxing, and he threw an arcing kick at my head that I ducked back from, ending up rolling over the desk to drop on the other side of it, putting it between us. It didn't stop him, he leapt the distance with a flying knee. Ducking to the side, he crashed through the glass wall of the executive's office, spewing hard glass pebbles across the dark office space.

He wasn't screaming or frothing with rage. His intent was honed, focused. He shook the glass from his shoulders like a dog climbing out of the water.

I fell into a boxer's stance, but kept my lead hand open, trying to de-escelate.

"I just want to talk," I said.

"I don't," he replied, voice a husky growl.

"I know what you are."

Now a tight growl, now a flash of the instability. He came at me, throwing out a karate like jab that I parried with my lead hand, then drove at me with a sidekick that I barely side stepped. I felt the power whistle past me in the snap of the kick.

"You don't know shit," he snarled. I could hear the froth in his voice.

We were alone in the dark interior of the Sears tower. Sunset had swallowed the world outside. The attack had cut the power inside. It was just the two of us, squaring off.

>take off my mask, show him my face
>this will take a beat down first, fight it out
>(write-in)

>>6476111
>"I'm the only one right know that can fully talk with you, honestly. This is not about ego or anything, Nightshade, this is about me, speaking to you like a normal person. Not someone trying to deal with a experiment or a pain in the ass to deal with"

I don't really want to take off our mask, but my vote is to essentially use the talk no jutsu to get him to calm down. And if it doesn't work then take off our mask. My only fear is that this would be like in Superman 2025 where Nightshade has a live broadcast camera on his suit that would show Dodd our face in real time.

>>6476111
>take off my mask, show him my face
Talking won't do shit

>>6476111
>this will take a beat down first, fight it out
I don't think even showing him our face will do it. He's gotta get the fight out of his system.

Also yeah there's no way Dodd doesn't have him equipped with a camera.

>>6476111
>this will take a beat down first, fight it out

guys Dodd knows exactly what we look like. our face is already completely revealed. all they have to do is look at nightshade. the only one who would be surprised is nightshade

>>6476124
Why would he be surprised? Isn't the whole problem he has with us based off us being the original and him a mere clone?

Also, you put a lot of faith into Dodd's cloning process. Nightshade is the only one who didn't end up a giant misshapen blob. You think the face really turned out to match ours perfectly with a process like that?

>>6476124
True, they basically have our face, but from what I remember our while Qatari Prince thing came up on the news. He would've publicly dox us already, so it either means that Eric has some fucked up face from all the beatings, or someone is already protecting us from him.

But still, like what Dodd said, he only needs to triangulate our location and sightings, and even if he knows how we look like I don't want to willfully give a single inch to our identity.

Also, we should get in contact with Merryweather to ask for more suit changes and to make our personal stashes around other parts of the city

>>6476131
I get the impression that he hates nearly everyone. if he especially hates us it's likely because we're the most famous superhero in chicago. there's no reason for Ixion to tell him that he's our clone

>>6476122
>>6476123
locking in the fist fight

>>6476131
>You think the face really turned out to match ours perfectly with a process like that?
True. Even identical twins end up with differences due to environmental factors and diet.

This asshole wasn't going to listen without a beat down first. I don't know if he was a raging asshole because he was a clone or something to do with Ixion's mental conditioning, but if it took a concussion to get him to listen I was happy to hand one out.

So I dropped into a peek-a-boo stance, rolling forward as he raised an upward palm in some karate bullshit, other fist tucked to his side.

Let's go.
-
>roll 3 x 1d100+10 dc 70
>if rolls are taking a while, feel free to roll again. I hate waiting hours on a last dice roll.