My head was already throbbing before he even showed up.
The world outside the grimy walls of our little shithole factory was painted in the dull, washed-out colours of a Brockton Bay afternoon. Rain threatened, the air thick with the smell of wet concrete and something vaguely industrial that had never quite aired out of the Docks. I'd been staring at the same PHO thread for two hours, the one with an aggregated dump of all the publicly available clues regarding the takedown, my power a dull throb behind my eyes as I tried to connect dots that refused to align into any sane picture.
Coil. Gone. Vanquished. Like a fart in a hurricane. The news had hit hours ago, a coordinated data dump that screamed 'Big Leagues'. The bastard likely crossed someone he shouldn't have. My power had been buzzing ever since, a low-grade migraine humming in the background, trying to piece together the who and the why, and mostly coming up with a big, fat, terrifying 'uh-oh'. Because whoever took down Coil wasn't going to just stop there, were they? Power vacuums never stayed empty for long. When the call came in, I was staring at my screen, half-listening to Brian and Alec bicker about something stupid in the living room outside.
"Who the hell is this?" I demanded, my bottled up irritation bleeding heavily into my tone.
The caller allowed a moment of silence. Then, softly, into the receiver he said: "You know who I am. Come outside." The call ended abruptly. I froze, denying the truth whispering in my ear.
[He is here; outside]
I scrambled out of my room for the window ignoring the half-heard question from Brian. Across the street, under the sad, dripping awning of a boarded-up building. Male, nondescript hoodie, jeans. Hands in pockets. Looking up. Right at me.
My stomach gave a weird little lurch.
[Danger.]
The whisper from my power was soft, almost gentle, like a spiderweb brushing my face. But it had an iron core.
[Danger. Danger.] My power insisted, layering it on. The stranger smiled then. Not a big smile, slight, barely a twitch of his lips. And he lifted a hand, slow, casual-like, and waved. At Taylor. She was standing next to me, all gangly limbs and nervous energy.
"Hey, Taylor," his voice drifted up to us. Clear. Unhurried. [He knows her name; casual greeting; familiarity.]
Taylor went ramrod straight. [Tension; shock; recognition; fear.]
The guy – the cape, he had to be – shifted his gaze. Those eyes, even from this distance, felt like they pinned me to the spot. That ghost of a smile was still there.
"...So," he drawled, and the sound seemed to cut through the ambient noise, "are you gonna invite me in, or no?"
His gaze drifted then, breaking contact with me entirely to regard Brian, Alec, then Taylor again. [Assessing; he knows them all; knows more than names; knows… too much. More than he should. Thinker.]
Brian grunted beside me. "Who the hell is that?" His voice was low, already tinged with the rumble of his power.
My focus snapped back to the figure below as I remembered the scale of the operation against Coil. And then it hit me. Not a gentle nudge this time. A fucking freight train of information, a raw, unfiltered data dump that made my vision tunnel.
[The architect of Coil's downfall; precise; ruthless; capable; He is the one. The one who destroyed Coil. Executed the takedown. Orchestrated the leak. Thinker. Powerful Thinker. Extremely powerful; category Eight? Nine? Higher?; processing capabilities, off the charts; mental acuity translates directly to combat prowess; danger; extreme danger; immediate, overwhelming, existential DANGER.]
The torrent of emotions was so strong it almost buckled my knees. I swayed, catching myself on the grimy windowsill. My head throbbed, a sharp, stabbing pain. I forced myself to look away. At Taylor. She was white as a sheet, trembling, her eyes darting between us and the… thing downstairs.
[Knows him; familiar; not friend; classmate; Winslow High; source of his knowledge of her?; no, he knows more than that; she's terrified; thinks this is her fault; thinks he's here because of her; afraid we'll blame her; embarrassed; angry?; yes, a flicker of anger under the fear; doesn't know he's a cape; thinks he's just… a classmate; angry. Thinks we'll think she led him here. Desperate.] My power was trying to give me Taylor's entire high school psych profile, the anxieties, the bullying…
I mentally slapped it back. Focus, Lisa.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Headache. Bad. I have been using my powers for too long without rest. "Taylor," I said, my voice hoarse. "Who is he?"
She flinched. "I… I don't… He… I didn't ask him to come!" she blurted, words tumbling out.
"Not what I asked." My voice was sharper than I intended. The guy downstairs hadn't moved. Still patient. Still watching. Like a cat outside a mousehole. "His name, Taylor. What's his name?"
She swallowed hard. "Greg," she whispered. "Greg Veder. He's… he's my classmate at school."
Greg. Greg Veder. The name echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. My power supplied a dozen Gregs from Taylor's school records, yearbooks, none of them matching the cape downstairs.. One did, but the correlations were wrong; illogical. This wasn't adding up; a square peg being hammered into a round hole.
I turned back to the window. Greg. Waiting. His posture hadn't changed, but there was an infinitesimal shift in his weight, as if he knew the exact moment my attention returned to him.
[Alone; no visible support; no other capes in immediate vicinity; his assessment of our group?: low threat; confidence absolute; believes he can neutralize all of us if necessary; without assistance; knows he can; he can; current intent: non-hostile; seeking parley; objectives: unknown. He is scanning me in turn; reading me; knows my power; understands its mechanism; able to simulate its functions; knows that I know that he knows I'm reading him; information feedback loop initiated; Mutual information bleed. Static; Reciprocity limit reached. StaticStaticHissScreechRECOGNITIONERROR#CASCADEFAILURE#RECIPROCITYLIMITEXCEEDED#PAINPAINPAIN#SHUTDOWNIMMINENT. Static.]
I ripped my gaze away, a choked gasp tearing from my throat. My vision swam. The world was a blur of fractured light and roaring white noise. Brian was beside me, hand on my shoulder, asking something; his voice unclear. Migraine. Oh god, the migraine. It felt like my skull was splitting.
"What," I forced the word out, "do you want?"
Across the street, Greg arched an eyebrow. He was amused. I didn't need my power to know that. His voice, when it came, was still maddeningly calm. "Do you prefer we conduct this conversation out here, Miss Wilbourn?"
I squeezed my eyes shut. He knew my name. Of course, he knew my damn name. What was I expecting? He probably knew my shoe size and what I had for breakfast three weeks ago.
"Wait there," I gritted out. I had to. There was no other play. I turned, blindly, towards the stairwell door. I'd let him in.
"Lisa, what the hell are you doing?"
Brian's voice, rough and laced with suspicion, stopped me in my tracks. I looked up, blinking against the lingering spots in my vision. He stood in my way, arms crossed, and his stance a solid wall of disapproval.
"Letting him in," I said, my voice still tight. The migraine was a living thing now, coiling behind my eyes, sending tendrils of pain down my neck.
"You're inviting a stranger into our place?" Brian's disbelief was palpable. " What's gotten into you? You've been… off, all damn day."
[Concern; protective instinct; suspicion; doesn't trust my judgment right now; thinks I am compromised or making a mistake.] My power supplied uncontrollably, a dull, throbbing echo of what it had been moments before. It was like trying to listen to a whisper in a hurricane.
I closed my eyes for a second, fighting down a wave of nausea. "That guy downstairs, Brian?" I said, my voice low, urgent. "He is a cape. He is the one who took out Coil this morning."
Silence. Brian's emotions flickered, receded slightly. "Coil?" he said, confused, the name a rough exhalation. "What's Coil got to do with us?"
I sighed, the sound ragged. "Coil was our employer, Brian. The guy giving us the jobs, paying the bills."
Brian stared at me in disbelief. Then a dawning, horrified understanding.
"And Greg," I continued, pressing on before Brian could interrupt me, "the guy outside, is the one responsible for Coil's arrest this morning. He is dangerous. Very, very dangerous. We play nice. We find out what he wants and prays he fucks off immediately after. We don't. Provoke. Him."
I didn't wait for an answer. I turned, fumbling for a moment with the cheap pistol on the nearby table. Without another word, I tucked in the small of my back, under my oversized hoodie. The cold metal was a small, pathetic comfort. Pulled the door open, I made my way down the rickety stairs.
He was waiting. Standing just outside the building's main entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, the drizzle starting to collect on his shoulders. He looked up as I pulled the heavy, groaning metal door inward, that same faint, unreadable smile on his face. He hadn't moved an inch.
"Thanks," he said, his voice quiet, and then he just… walked past me, into the dusty gloom of the ground floor, heading for the stairs as if he owned the place. As if he'd been here before.
[He had.]
Fuck!
I stared after him for a beat, then reluctantly followed, letting the door clang shut behind us. He didn't look back once, and for a moment I considered taking a shot. Another whisper stopped me.
[He knows I am armed; he isn't concerned. He knows he can still kill me; he knows I know he knows. Mutual information bleed. Static; Reciprocity limit reached.]
I looked away from his back, forcing my power down. I didn't need it to tell me what was happening here. He was walking ahead of me, calm as you please, because he didn't think I was stupid enough to try anything. He was right. The thought of pulling that gun now made my stomach churn with a cold, primal dread. I let my hands hang loose at my sides.
Upstairs, the others were waiting. Tense. Brian stood near the battered sofa, his darkness flickered around him, a more shroud now. Alec was perched on the arm of a chair, all feigned nonchalance, but his eyes were like chips of ice. Taylor had shrunk back near the far wall, looking like she wanted the bricks to swallow her whole.
Greg didn't even pause. He walked past them, surveyed the room with a glance that seemed to take in everything and nothing, and then settled onto the least stained section of the other couch. Like he was an expected guest.
He leaned back, exhaling slightly. "Forgive my impropriety," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the sudden quiet of the loft. "I trust you don't mind if I make myself comfortable."
Alec, never one to be intimidated by appearances, or maybe just too arrogant to recognize when he should be, actually snorted. He pushed himself off the arm of the chair and slumped into it properly, mirroring Greg's relaxed posture, though it looked far less convincing on him. "Sure, make yourself at home. Not like we were doing anything important. So, mystery dude, what's so urgent you had to crash our party?"
Greg nodded, his gaze flicking to me for a moment, then back to Alec. "Lisa has likely informed you of your former employer's… recent difficulties." He paused, letting that sink in. "I had initially planned for a more permanent resolution regarding Mr. Calvert, but circumstances necessitated a deviation. His capture by the PRT, while suboptimal, serves the immediate purpose of removing him from play."
He shifted slightly, his eyes sweeping over us. "This, however, presents a minor dilemma. Calvert, in his desperation, will inevitably offer, to the Protectorate, in exchange for leniency, information you and I would rather remain confidential; the most important of which are your civilian identities."
"...What?" whispered Taylor, horrified.
Brian's fists curled. "You are bluffing."
"I am not, Brian," Greg replied, his voice perfectly even. "However, luckily for you, I intend to preserve and repurpose as much of Coil's organisation as possible. This includes personnel I deem… useful. Which, by extension, means I have an incentive to ensure key assets, such as yourselves, remain at liberty and functional." He tilted his head. "With the exception of Miss Hebert, whose association is recent and her civilian identity still largely unknown to Coil, the rest of you are compromised. You require new arrangements. I am willing to facilitate those arrangements."
I saw it coming, of course. Even without my power, I could piece together the obvious. This wasn't a social call. "What do you want, Greg?" I asked, my voice flat.
He turned his gaze fully on me. The smile was gone now, replaced by an expression of calm, dispassionate assessment. "I am prepared to extend three offers of employment. The first, to the Undersiders as a collective entity. The second, to a subset of your current group, should the collective decline. The third," his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, "is specifically for you, Miss Wilbourn."
He paused, the silence stretching, thick and heavy. "For the others, the offer is voluntary. For you, Lisa, the choice is simpler: you will work for me, or you will cease to be a factor."
[Threat. Credible. Non-negotiable. Knows my history of undermining Coil. Will not tolerate similar behavior. Decision point: submission or elimination. He is not entirely certain of my utility vs. my potential as a future threat. Calculated risk. Prefers control. Values my abilities, but not above killing me to ensure operational security. Knows I know he can kill me. Knows I know none of the Undersiders would survive a direct confrontation. Knows I know he would hunt me down if I fled. Escape probability: negligible. Mutual information bleed. Static. Reciprocity limit. Static.]
Another wave of pain and nausea. My vision greyed at the edges.
"Was that a fucking threat?" Brian surged forward. "You son of a—"
"Brian, no!" I screamed, stumbling forward, grabbing his arm. My head felt like it was splitting open. "Don't! He'll kill you! He'll kill all of us!" I clung to him, digging my nails into his jacket. "He's not… I'm the one he wants. It's me."
I turned back to Greg, swaying slightly. The room was tilting. "Fine! Fuck! Fuck you! I'll work for you," I choked out. "Okay?"
Greg nodded once, a curt, almost dismissive gesture. He looked entirely unfazed by Brian's outburst, by the suffocating cloud of darkness that still roiled around him. I saw Alec in my peripheral vision, his face pale, a strange, frustrated frown creasing his forehead. He was trying to use his power. And it wasn't working. [Frustration; power ineffectual; unknown mechanism; target resistant to Regent's control.] My power supplied the disjointed fragments. Resistant? My god.
The sheer, overwhelming danger of this person crashed over me anew. "Brian, please," I begged, tugging at his arm again. "Stand down. Alec, stop. Don't make this worse. I said, stop it!"
Slowly, the boys heeded my warning and the room finally settled back into a facsimile of calmness. Greg spoke then, his voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "My apologies for the… directness of the threat, Lisa. It was necessary to ensure clarity. I am sure you must understand. There is too much at stake to allow a person of your particular talents to operate without oversight, especially considering your exploitation of your previous employer's laxity." He paused. "You will be compensated generously, of course. I mean you no harm and would rather prefer an absence of hostilities between us. As for the others, should they choose not to accept my broader offer, I am prepared to provide a severance package– funds, proper documentation, contacts for relocation. Or," his gaze flickered to Brian, then Alec, then back tome, "you can accept my terms. New, secure safehouses within the city. A monthly stipend triple what Calvert provided. Protection from PRT reprisal, and obfuscation of your current difficulties."
He looked directly at Brian. "For you, Mr. Laborn, a more… tailored arrangement can be made regarding your sister, Aisha. One that ensures her continued well-being and your access to her, irrespective of any leverage the PRT might attempt to exert upon you through her current situation."
Brian's darkness actually wavered. The depth of Greg's intel, the casual, precise way he wielded it, was more terrifying than any overt display of power.
Then Greg's eyes found Taylor who was frozen behind me. "Taylor. Your situation is more unique. Less compromised. We can discuss a separate arrangement at a later date, should you be amenable. If not, you are free to do as you like. However," a friendly, almost gentle note entered his voice, "a word of caution. Just as you are aware of my civilian identity, I am, of course, aware of yours. We both have families we would rather keep out of harm's way. Any rash actions on your part would be… regrettable for all involved."
He rose then, smoothly, effortlessly. "Before I leave, a reminder; this base is compromised. Calvert will talk. The PRT will come. I can provide an immediate, temporary safehouse while more permanent arrangements are made. If you have… alternative plans," a hint of that smile returned, "that I am somehow unaware of, I would still advise you to begin packing. You have little time."
He started towards the stairs, pausing at the threshold. "I will contact you in half an hour, Lisa, to finalize the details of your employment and to facilitate the immediate offers I've made to your team. In the meantime, do take care of yourself. And avoid using your powers too frequently on me in the future; I do not imagine what you are experiencing at the moment is in any way pleasant for you."
And with that, he was gone, his footsteps soft, almost soundless, on the creaking wooden stairs. A moment later, we heard the distant clang of the main door shutting and his footfalls fading off into the distance.
Silence descended. Heavy. Suffocating. Broken only by my ragged breathing and the harsh throbbing in my skull.