Hostage Situation

Part Eight: Casualties of War

[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Northern Ferry Terminal (Abandoned)
Panacea

"I need to go to the bathroom," Amy announced. "Like, right now."

Saint made an unhappy noise. "Can't you hold it?"

"Says the guy who's probably wearing a catheter," Amy retorted. "And you may not have noticed, but you've been squeezing me pretty hard. This is on you, not me."

More muttered grumbling came out of the speaker. "Fine. But if you try to make a run for it, I will break your leg. Just letting you know." The suit released her shoulder and gave her a light shove toward a sign that announced the presence of a restroom.

"And if you break my leg, my Uncle Neil will break your everything," Amy said. "Unless Vicky gets to you first. You better hope she doesn't get to you first."

As she moved off toward the restroom, she didn't have any immediate plans to make a bolt for it. The suit Saint was wearing could very likely locate her wherever she went, and hold its own against any normal humans it might encounter.

Pushing open the restroom door, she watched as the ancient fluorescent lights altogether failed to turn on, but there was a small window that provided enough illumination to do what she needed to do. Just in case he was watching via IR or whatever (the creep) she mimed sitting down on the toilet. Fortunately for her sense of hygiene, she didn't have to actually do anything, given that there was no water pressure in the building, or even toilet paper.

However, the inner surface of the toilet bowl held a thriving layer of bacteria, which she surreptitiously dabbed her finger into during her mimed wiping and readjustment of clothing. Immediately, she isolated several she could use, and started modifying them for her own ends.

If she had anything to do with it, Saint was going to have a very bad day.

She had no way of knowing it, but he wasn't the only one.

Marquis

It had been a long time since he'd unleashed his power to its fullest. As the saying went, it was a little like riding a bicycle. A bicycle that was on fire, wobbling on a tightrope over a chasm, and had people throwing hand-grenades at it, but a bicycle all the same.

He strode through Cell Block T at the head of his invading forces. This sort of thing never happened in the usual course of events. The situation within the Birdcage usually mandated that the cell block leaders sat down to talk things out because unless the slaughter was total, the losers of any conflict were always around afterward. In addition, the other cell block leaders were understandably wary of a would-be conqueror, which made life difficult in the long term. It was different, this time. He didn't care about the long term. The welfare of his daughter—little Amelia Claire—was all that mattered.

Because of the lack of warning (apparently, they hadn't seen the same newscast as he had, which raised a question for the future) Teacher's minions were caught utterly flat-footed. He'd given orders to his men that they weren't trying to take territory or kill anyone; their sole objective was the capture of Teacher. Once they had him, they could pull back and let the defenders have their cell block.

Armoured in bone from head to toe, he employed moving shields of the same material to intercept incoming attacks. His orders to employ non-lethal attacks were not merely for humanitarian reasons; the best information he had was that Terrell could sense the powers he had given out, but not the actual state of the subjects. Killing Teacher's people would serve to provide advance warning of the state of the invasion, which would make his task somewhat harder.

Of course, while Teacher's tendency to make over his subjects into subservient idiot-savants made the invasion a lot easier, this wasn't the case with everyone in the cell block. For every ten that didn't even see them coming, there was one who fought back, with powers that Terrell had made better. Not good enough to overcome Marquis and his forces, but still an irritant that slowed them down.

Terrell himself had made use of his own powers with respect to others; Marquis had heard that he'd made people into experts on various subjects, which they then tutored Terrell on. The idea that he'd thus become a master strategist was not unlikely, though for the moment the invasion had momentum on its side. Teacher was big on plans, but as the saying went, few plans survived contact with the enemy.

The last row of cells came into sight. If Teacher was anywhere in his block, he was here. The urge to push ahead and effect the capture of their target was almost irresistible, but Marquis repressed it. More lives had been lost through rash and unthinking action than battles won by audacious ploys. He stopped, raising his fist in the signal to hold back. This was the most dangerous part of the invasion, where Teacher almost certainly knew what was going on, and had made what preparations he could to hold them off.

On the other hand, holding back too long could enable Terrell to finalise his plans for defending himself, and also endanger his Amelia Claire. He needed to present Saint with a fait accompli, not merely a threat. Forming a ball of bone, he threw it underhand around the corner, then ducked back with his hands over his ears.

The explosion made him wince; he'd long since figured out the fragility of the outer walls of the Birdcage, and he'd been careful about breaching them ever since. But it seemed Terrell's planning didn't include a one-way trip into vacuum (or whatever was on the other side of the wall) this time, merely to cause severe injury to whoever had tripped the homemade mine.

He didn't spend any time wondering where Terrell had gotten the explosive material from. There were sufficient capes within the walls of the Birdcage, and he could bestow the appropriate skills on his subjects, that he wouldn't have been surprised to be faced with a machine-gun. Though a main battle tank would've been pushing the envelope a little.

"Sonovabitch," muttered Cinderhands, digging his little finger into his ear. "What the fuck was that?"

"Proof that this isn't going to be a cakewalk anymore," Marquis replied grimly. The shards of bone were still lying here and there, where they'd been blown by the booby-trap. He took control of them now, growing and expanding them to cover every surface. Two more explosions rocked the corridor as he did this, blowing large holes in his bone coverage, which he simply filled in again. By the time he'd finished, there was a six-inch layer over each wall, the floor and the ceiling. The doorways into each cell were likewise blocked; if anyone was hiding in any of the cells to ambush the attacking party, he preferred to keep them where they were.

Stepping forward, bone shields going before him, he advanced down the last row of cells. Terrell's room was almost certainly the large one at the end of the row—Marquis himself occupied the corresponding room in his cell block—but there was no guarantee that the man was there right now.

Clearing each cell in turn would take time. Time his Amelia Claire quite possibly didn't have. If he was right, if extensive battle experience and finely-honed instinct could trump treachery and skill, Terrell had set a trap, and expected him to walk blindly into it.

The quickest way to disarm a trap had always been to set it off. He made his decision and strode forward. Bone shattered to the left and right as the predicted ambushers broke through the barriers he'd put in their way. Raising his hands, he sent bone spears lancing outward, skewering some and delaying the rest. Then he dropped his hands again.

Around him, his men surged to the attack.

Airborne, Closing on Brockton Bay

Muttering imprecations under her breath, Mags re-checked her stealth settings. Once she got Geoff back to base, she was inclined to let Mischa kick him around the workshop a few times. Even at this range, she could tell that every emergency-services radio frequency was lighting up across the board. Brockton Bay was a kicked anthill, and some of the ants had really big stingers.

What have you done, you lunatic? she wanted to ask. She loved the man, she really did, and he'd been doing well, but then he had to turn around and pull a boneheaded stunt like this. Whatever 'this' was, it must have been impressive, if it was all on account of him kidnapping Panacea. Unless he'd done a strafing run on the city either before or after snatching the teenage girl, she couldn't understand why the fire and ambulance channels were also clogged with calls.

Throttling back the suit, she opted to swing around on a long arc and drop lower to the ground. Stealth was all well and good, but Brockton Bay was reputed to be lousy with capes, and while Armsmaster wasn't the only Tinker in town, he was certainly the one she least wanted to run afoul of. If anyone could ping her through the stealth, he could. Coming in over the hills back of the city, so that she could take as much advantage of the terrain clutter, sounded like a workable plan.

Geoff honey, when I get you back home, we're gonna have a long, long talk.

Glory Girl

"H-hurts," whimpered the man, cradling his left arm. Vicky wasn't surprised; from the elbow down, it had been turned to glass. She had no idea how he was still alive, much less not screaming with agony. The paramedics had stared at it, as dumbfounded as she was. Fortunately, she had an alternative that they couldn't call on.

"Just hang on, buddy," she said soothingly, trying to fly as smoothly as possible. "Panacea's at Brockton General right now, and she'll fix your arm right up. She's the best there is at what she does."

"P-panacea?" repeated the guy. "She can fix my arm?" A note of hope quavered in his voice.

"That's right, buddy," Vicky assured him. She'd seen Amy fix stuff she wouldn't have believed fixable. "You're gonna be just fine, I promise. My sister will have you playing the piano again in no time."

She spotted the imposing building ahead of her and adjusted her flight path to come in on a long gentle swoop. An ambulance was already pulled up in the emergency entrance, but she didn't care. The guy she had in her arms needed assistance just as much as anyone else in the hospital did.

Not quite touching down, she glided around the end of the ambulance, waiting a touch impatiently for the doors to open. As she did, she noticed that the emergency-exit sign just inside the doors wasn't there anymore; just a few bits hung down from the fixture. The damage was so fresh that the shards of plastic on the floor had been hastily swept aside but not actually cleaned up. Who did that? she wondered. I know it wasn't me, this time.

The doors swept aside and she glided in, feet not quite touching the floor. Within was controlled chaos; people in scrubs of all descriptions scurried in every direction. "Hey!" she called out to the nurse behind the desk. "I got one for Ames! For Panacea! His arm's been turned to glass!"

The nurse's eyes widened, and she made some sort of signal. In another moment, two orderlies came hurrying out with a gurney. "Put him down here," one of them said, hefting a clipboard. "Do you know his medical history?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Vicky demanded as she set the man gently on the rolling stretcher. "Panacea doesn't need to know that sort of crap. She just fixes it."

The two interns glanced at each other, then back at her. "You—you don't know?" asked the other one.

A bad feeling sent a chill down her back. "Know what?" she asked.

"Panacea was kidnapped by Saint of the Dragonslayers, just after she got here."

She stared at the young man. "Say that again." Under her hands, the metal frame of the gurney began to creak and deform.

Each of the interns gulped and took a step back. "Saint," said the one on the left. "He came in and kidnapped her. We notified the authorities …"

Who had not bothered informing New Wave, for whatever reason. She didn't care what it was; by the time Brandish finished with whoever'd had that fucking bright idea, they'd be scrubbing rocks in the Bay at low tide. "How?" she asked, low and deadly. She knew Ames could put someone out with a touch, so the asshole couldn't have just walked in and bodily dragged her out.

"He was wearing flying power armour," explained the one on the right. "About ten feet tall, or so. It had a gun on it that shot rubber bullets. The security guard's pretty badly hurt."

Well, that put a different complexion on matters. All the will in the world couldn't make Amy's power work through a solid barrier, or even thick clothing. Also, it seemed the hospital staff hadn't just stood there and let a supervillain kidnap her sister. Holy fuck, a supervillain actually kidnapped my sister! A cold feeling spread through her gut at the number of times she and Amy had joked about the concept. No villain in Brockton Bay would've dared; that much she knew.

"Right, thanks." She nodded at the guy on the gurney. "He needs medical attention, I guess. You might get more like him, later." She wasn't sure about that; one of the victims she'd seen had been glass from half the chest down, and from the look on his face he'd lived just long enough to understand exactly how screwed he was. That expression was going to feature in her nightmares for quite some time.

Turning, she stomped out of the hospital, then took to the air. When she was a few hundred feet up, she pulled out her phone and hit a number on speed-dial.

"Where are you, Victoria?" Her mother's voice came across sharply. "There's another collapsed building on West and Main. We need to get the casualties out as quickly as we can."

"Mom, we've got bigger problems." Vicky gripped the phone tightly as she tried not to imagine what might be happening to her sister right at that moment. The plastic creaked in her hand, and she did her best not to crush it.

"What bigger problems? There are people here who might die if you don't come and help!"

Vicky did her best to not feel guilty at the desperate note in her mother's voice. "Mom, Amy's been kidnapped from the hospital by Saint, of the Dragonslayers."

"What?" Brandish's voice became a viper hiss. "The man's gone too far! Do they say if he set the bombs as well?"

"I don't know," Vicky admitted. "I only found out about Ames. It'd make sense, though. If they know anything about her, they'd know she would come to Brockton General to help out while we went and dealt with the casualties in the field. It's the perfect way to separate her from us."

"So help me, I will see that man Birdcaged." Carol Dallon seemed to have temporarily forgotten the animus she held toward Amy regarding the Marquis situation. "What happened? How did he get around her power? Which way did he go?"

"He's wearing a suit of flying power armour," Vicky reported. "He shot a security guard with rubber bullets, then grabbed Ames and flew off with her." At least, that was how she reconstructed what the interns had told her. "They didn't see which way he went with her. They said they told the authorities."

"I see." Brandish audibly drew a deep breath, and seemed to calm down a little. "Run a search pattern, but if you see him, don't engage until we get there to back you up. I'm going to call Director Piggot and find out exactly why she didn't contact us immediately over this."

Despite her mother not being able to see her, Vicky nodded. "Got it. Give her hell, Mom." She ended the call and tucked the phone away, then rose a little higher into the air. Eyes searching the rooftops and streets below, she began quartering the city, searching for the armoured asswipe who'd dared kidnap her sister.

When I find you, I'm gonna feed your suit through a car crusher with you inside it. Feet first.

Director Piggot

Emily had three phones on her desk, and despite handing off as much as she could to her subordinates, they were still ringing non-stop. She had PRT teams attending as many explosion reports as they could manage (not nearly enough) and the images coming back would've been heartbreaking if she'd allowed them to be. The reason she didn't just pull the troops back and let the regular cops handle it was twofold; first, the regular joes would've been overwhelmed in minutes, and second, the bombs were definitely Tinker-created, which meant the PRT had jurisdiction. Her guys were the ones with the training in how not to die around unknown Tinkertech, after all.

These weren't the only plates she was juggling, of course. If it was only that, she would've judged it to be the equivalent of an average Friday evening and gone home, leaving Renick to mind the store. But there was also the kidnap of Panacea—by Saint, of all people—apparently to force Dragon into releasing Teacher from the Birdcage. Funny, I never pegged him as the suicidal type before.

And then, on top of all that, she had the strong suspicion that Saint wasn't behind the bombings. If he had been, it would actually make her life easier, because then she wouldn't have had to worry about boosting security on the holding cell that contained Lung. But she had a report on her desk about Bakuda, the newest member of the ABB, whose powerset held two words that Piggot personally considered should never share the same sentence. Those two words were 'bomb' and 'Tinker'.

When this was over, Bakuda would be sharing a cell with Lung in the Birdcage if she had anything to say about it. If the woman killed too many people and got away, and kept bombing the city, she would push for a kill order. Unconfirmed reports had come in about citizens spontaneously exploding, killing those around them or exhibiting the same bizarre effects as the other bombs.

The third phone, which had remained silent for all of thirty seconds, rang. She put the other two on hold, then picked up the receiver. "PRT. Director Piggot's office. This better be important."

"Oh, it is." She recognised Brandish's voice right off the bat. "Panacea's been kidnapped and you don't even bother informing us?"

Emily frowned. What the fuck? "Brandish, I gave orders for someone to fill you in. Fifteen minutes ago. I don't know what happened—"

Carol Dallon cut her off. "You gave orders? You couldn't be bothered calling us yourself?"

"Brandish!" Emily let a little of the strain she was under leak through into her voice. "I'm up to my ass in alligators right now. I did not, and do not, have the time to go over every tiny detail of the situation with you right now! We have a line on where she is, and I have people investigating that! Now get off the line and stop wasting my time!"

She went to put the phone down, but even with the receiver away from her ear, she heard Brandish shout, "Where is she?"

For a long moment she hesitated. As dearly as she wanted to put the phone down, she knew Brandish would just keep calling her back. Reluctantly she put the phone to her ear. "I'll tell you, but you cannot get in the way of the troops in the area. Saint's already threatened to harm her if anything goes sideways. Do I have your assurance in that matter?"

It was Brandish's turn to hesitate. As a lawyer, she no doubt knew how to follow direction. As a superhero, she'd worked alongside the PRT many times. As a mother … Emily didn't know.

"… you have it," gritted the superhero. "Now, where is she?"

"We believe he's holding her at the northern ferry terminal." Piggot knew damn well she shouldn't be giving out information like this, but keeping New Wave on side when the Empire outnumbered them both was more essential than sticking to the letter of 'need to know'. "Now, remember—"

But she was talking to dead air. The call was over. Slowly, she hung up the phone. Let's hope that doesn't blow up in my face. If it didn't, it would be one of the few things that hadn't, tonight.

Saint

Geoff checked again that the Dallon girl hadn't decided to try running off on him. His infrared sensory systems were powerful enough that he could track her through the wall; perhaps even two or three walls, if they were thin enough. She wasn't moving hastily, and was in fact coming back toward him. But … what was that in her hand? She was holding something, trying to conceal it from him, jabbing at it with her finger.

Fuck, I forgot to get her phone off her! It normally wouldn't have mattered, given that his suit incorporated a high-end signals acquisition and jamming package, but whatever she was doing wasn't registering with his signal gathering at all. And yet, she seemed to be satisfied with the results of her efforts … oh, for fuck's sake. She's got a Tinkertech phone. Because of course the world's greatest healer would've been given one. It probably sent signals via pulsed gravity waves or fourth-dimensional monkey farts or something like that. His top-of-the-line signals interception hardware might as well be two sticks waving in the air, for all the good it would do in jamming Tinkertech equipment.

With three long strides, he was looming over the top of her. "Give me that!" he shouted, reaching down for the phone.

"Like hell!" she shouted back, actually holding it behind her back. "You can't have my phone!" The in-helmet speakers relayed her voice almost perfectly, even after it had been flushed of anything that could contain a Master's overtones.

"You will give it to me," he said menacingly, "or I will break your left arm. You have three seconds to comply." He really didn't want to do it—she wasn't the enemy, after all—but she would survive a broken arm, and he was so close to success.

"Fine." She turned her head away and handed the phone over to him. He would've tossed it into the bay, but he had no idea how watertight it was, and whether water itself would impede whatever it used for a signal. So he employed the single best technique he knew for jamming an unjammable signal; he broke the emitter. Such was the power of his metallic grip, it almost squished in his hand. Then he dropped it to the floor and stamped on it, grinding his foot back and forth to make sure not one single component remained intact.

"Very smart," he sneered. "Too smart for your own good. Did you get through to anyone?" He figured there were many places he could hide in a cesspit like Brockton Bay, but a large flying powersuit would be more than a little conspicuous, especially with the current state of alertness that was going around. Belatedly, he activated some little-used software he'd ported over from the original Dragon suit he'd retro-engineered.

"Yeah," she said defiantly. "I got on to Vicky, and Mom, and Dad, and Uncle Neil. They're all on the way here right now, and they're gonna cut your stupid suit into little tiny bits, then Vicky's gonna punch your stupid face to the other side of your head. So you better get lost right now, or my family's gonna put you in such a world of hurt you won't even believe it."

It took him a few seconds to decipher the scrolling graphs and multicoloured readouts that the software gave him, then he smiled. "Nice try, kid. You're not bad at bullshitting, but my software says you're lying through your teeth."

"Hey, who are you gonna believe?" she demanded. "Some stupid software, or your own ears?"

"I'm going to go with the software for now," he said smugly.

Glory Girl

Vicky flew as high as she dared, while still being able to keep an eye on what was going on below. She wanted to get back to helping people, but Amy took precedence; all day and every day. Even with her newfound independent streak, Vicky only wanted the best for her. And there was no way in hell Vicky was going to let some power-suited assdouche kidnap her and get away with it.

She thought for a moment she'd seen something, but when she swooped closer it turned out to be a mailbox that someone had decorated with Christmas lights. In April. Shaking her head at the idiocy of some people—only in Brockton Bay—she gained altitude once more. Ames, where are you?

Her phone rang, and she snatched it out. If that was Amy, she was going to get such a talking-to, for scaring Vicky so much. After she'd rescued her sister and turned the assclown who'd taken her into a living testament regarding how many bone fractures a person could survive at one time. I figure two hundred six. One per bone. For starters.

"It's me." Carol Dallon's steely tones came across strongly, cutting Vicky's questions off before she could properly voice them. "I know where she is."

Vicky skidded to a halt in midair. "What? Where? Is she okay?"

"The Director made me promise not to go off half-cocked, so you need to make me the same promise before I tell you." Brandish's voice was uncompromising. "She says she has people in the area, and they're working on a rescue plan. No matter what our differences are, we can't risk dashing in willy-nilly and endangering Panacea's life."

"Definitely." Vicky nodded her head rapidly. "Totally. Team player, that's me. Where is she?"

"Our latest information says Saint is holding her at the northern ferry terminal. Sarah and the other two are heading that way, but they're coming from the south side of the city, so they may be a few minutes."

"I can't wait. I'll meet them there." Shutting the call down, Vicky stuffed the phone into a pouch, then turned to get her bearings. Northern ferry terminal … that way. Seconds later, she was slicing through the air on the way to her destination.

If he's hurt her, I'm gonna feed him his own power armour, one piece at a time.

Purity

Kayden just had Aster settled when the phone rang in the living room. Tiptoeing from the bedroom, she closed the door just as the receiver was picked up. When she headed through into the living room, Theo was holding out the phone. Max, he mouthed silently.

Taking the phone from him, she held it to her ear. "Hello, Max."

The firm, commanding voice was one she knew very well indeed. "You're home, I take it?"

"Given that you called my landline, yes." Kayden had found that a certain percentage of her customer base preferred landlines, so she kept hers paid up. "Why?"

"It might be a good idea to stay in tonight. Just a heads-up."

She sighed. Even when he was trying to do her a favour, Max still came across as a controlling asshole. "And why might that be? I don't do bombs. Everyone knows that."

"That's part of it, certainly, but the other part is that Panacea was abducted from Brockton General Hospital earlier tonight. Right now, every Protectorate and New Wave cape out there will be even more trigger-happy than normal. Any villain showing their face will be a target."

Kayden gritted her teeth. "I keep telling you, I'm trying to be a hero. If I keep working at it, they'll figure it out sooner or later." Then what Max said caught up with her. "Wait, what? Abducted? By who?"

He sounded amused. "Not if they choose not to figure it out. If they want to see you as a villain, a villain is what they'll see you as." And of course he'd ignored the question.

"Max." Her hand squeezed the receiver tightly, and light leaked from between her fingers. "Who. Abducted. Panacea?"

"Well, it wasn't any member of the Empire Eighty-Eight, of that you can be sure." The amusement was still in his voice. "We aren't that stupid. All the Undersiders did was rob a bank while she was present, and my moles in the PRT report that there's a lot more attention being focused in that direction than before."

Getting information out of Max when he didn't feel like giving it had always felt like pulling teeth. "Do your moles also know who took her, and where they went?"

"That hero complex of yours is certainly getting some exercise," Kaiser said with a light chuckle. "You never worried this much before about the good guys."

"Yes or no, Max. Just answer the damn question." He was absolutely infuriating when he had something she wanted, dangling the information just out of her reach. And he had to know how much it pissed her off. Everything was a power play with him, she reminded herself. Everything.

"Well, to be honest, one of them did hear a whisper that it was Saint, of the Dragonslayers. And that he's holed up with her in the northern ferry terminal." Max's voice turned serious. "You aren't about to do something stupid, are you?"

She didn't bother answering him as she dropped the receiver back onto the cradle. Turning to where her stepson had gone back to the sofa, she said, "I'm going out. Watch Aster for me." Without waiting for a reply, she powered up and went out the window at full speed. The rest of New Wave she couldn't care less about, but the afternoon and evening she'd spent talking with Amy Dallon had awakened her maternal instincts.

If you've hurt that sweet girl, Saint, they won't find enough of you to bury.

Panacea

The PRT were good. They were trained for this sort of thing, Amy could tell. But there was only so much sneaking that could be done against someone who had high-powered sensors built into the mech he was piloting around.

The first she became aware of them was when Saint grabbed her and pulled her close to him, then pointed at an otherwise unassuming patch of shadow. "You there!" he bellowed. "Show yourselves!"

Even when the trooper stepped into plain view, he was almost invisible; the urban-camouflage pattern on his armour broke up his silhouette to an impressive degree. He held a containment-foam sprayer in his hands, and there was a rifle slung on his back. "You're surrounded, and the capes are on the way!" he called out. "Give up now before things get too complicated."

Saint seemed to ignore his words. "And the rest of you!" he shouted. "I want you all in plain sight!"

"He's right, you know." Amy felt a slight loosening of the tension in her chest. So they got my message. Awesome. "There's sixty or so capes in the city. I've healed maybe half of them. How do you think they're going to react if you threaten to hurt me?"

"They won't do a damn thing that'll risk you getting hurt," Saint retorted. "There's nothing they've got that'll get through this armour fast enough to stop me from snapping your neck, and they know it. And the first one that tries something and gets you hurt will be in a world of shit from everyone else. So nobody's gonna do anything to help you."

A chill went down her back. Even through the electronic filtering, his voice sounded absolutely implacable and set on his path. She'd seen racists, killers and junkies before now, but she'd never met a dyed-in-the-wool fanatic. Even the Nazis had their limits.

"We've never met before, yeah?" she asked. "I mean, you've never fought New Wave that I remember, and I've never actually run into you before."

"No," he said curtly. "You've never healed me either, so don't get any hopes up that way. Pulling a thorn out of a lion's paw belongs in kids' stories."

She sighed, as best she could within his grip. "I wasn't going there. I just wanted to make the point that we've never met. I've never personally done anything to you. So why are you willing to maim or kill me, just to get Teacher out of the Birdcage? What's so important about him? What do you really want him for?"

"He's more important than you'll ever understand," Saint replied bluntly. "He's the key to saving the world, and those blind fools locked him away like a common criminal."

"Well, not like a common criminal, surely." Amy had no idea where this was going, but she tried to keep her voice reasonable. "Common criminals don't go in the Birdcage. How's he going to save the world?"

"I could tell you, but then the PRT would have to kill you," he said. "They've been keeping the secret for years now, but they don't see the danger. Only I can see it. It's better for your own good that you don't know."

This was definitely starting to get into tinfoil-hat territory. Amy tried to think of something to say to the scary guy holding her hostage, but was distracted by a sun-bright glow sweeping in over the rooftops. "Wait," she said. "That almost looks like—"

"Purity!" It was Vicky's voice, coming from another angle. Amy's sister flashed in over the two of them, then came to a hover in front of the Empire Eighty-Eight cape, blocking her way forward. "If you're working with Saint, you can go crawl back under your rock."

"What? No!" Purity sounded confused and annoyed. "I'm not working with him. I came to help you get your sister back unhurt."

"What the fuck?" Saint didn't sound happy at this. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Purity's a villain, right?"

"Technically speaking." Amy spoke absently as a great many connections clicked together in her mind. Kayden Russel was a cape; that was for certain. She and Amy had spent hours talking, and despite her efforts to sound even a little different, the intonations were unmistakable. "We actually know each other fairly well. And think about it. The heroes will only arrest you. You think she'll stop there?"

"Fuck. She's not one of those capes you said you healed, is she?"

"I've helped her in the past," Amy retorted smugly, and entirely misleadingly. Assisting with a purse snatching wasn't the same as healing, but it was still 'helping'.

"Fucking Brockton Bay." The head of the armour suit shook ponderously. "You're all fucking insane here. America's biggest open-air asylum."

Amy didn't even bother trying to point out Saint's particular brand of crazy. This was a man who was convinced that a Birdcage inmate was the only way to save the world. "Nobody asked you to come here."

"Shut up. I'm trying to think."

Glory Girl

"You can't be serious." Vicky shaded her eyes from the glare as she confronted the Empire cape. "What do you really want with my sister?"

"Just to help." Purity wasn't shouting, or even raising her voice too much. She was simply talking. "Panacea is one of the few purely good things in this city. Out-of-town capes don't get to just come to our city and threaten her. You may not know this, but I've split from Kaiser and the rest. I'm trying to be a hero. Let me help, please."

The pleading tone in her voice was the weirdest thing of all. Empire capes were good at being arrogant and angry, occasionally both at the same time. Sometimes they were smug and superior. But they didn't beg. It was so far outside Vicky's experience that she couldn't parse it.

"Well … just hold back, all right?" Vicky lowered her voice and looked down at where Saint had her sister by the arm. "She can't heal herself, so we've got to get her away from him before we take him down."

"I think you can fly faster than me, and you're definitely stronger." Purity sounded tense. "If you get the chance, you scoop her up on a flyby, and I'll make a crater out of him."

Vicky raised her eyebrows. "I like the way you think." The Empire villain—ex-Empire, if she was telling the truth—might be a racist bitch, but her heart was in the right place when it came to protecting Amy. "All we need is some kind of distraction."

"Yeah. I don't suppose you arranged something with the PRT guys first?" From the tone of Purity's voice, she didn't expect the answer to be in the affirmative.

The irritating part was, she was right.

Saint

Events were rapidly escalating out of control. The PRT troopers had moved out of cover once he'd challenged them, and they weren't close enough to foam him down—even if containment foam would be strong enough to immobilise the suit, which he doubted—but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Glory Girl was on site, along with Purity. The New Wave hero had a reputation for recklessness and headstrong action, and the Empire villain had a reputation for being able to wreck buildings. Worst of all, they were working together, against him. What's the world coming to?

If he waited any longer, he suspected that one or the other would try something stupid, or more capes would show up and pull off something that he couldn't counteract. How they'd found him so quickly he had no idea, but he had to do something. With an eye-flick, he redialled the call to the Chief Director. As before, the call was answered within two rings.

"Saint." Her voice was steady and uninflected. "It's only been an hour. The arrangements are still being made."

"I'm changing the deal," he said. "Teacher gets out now, or Panacea gets hurt." As before, he didn't want to do it, but he had to weigh the fate of the world against the life of one teenage girl.

"Let me consult with someone for a moment." She cut the call, leaving him listening to dead air.

He blinked. "What the hell?" he murmured. "Does she even care that she holds your life in her hands?"

For the first time, Panacea tried to struggle from his grasp, but he held her tightly. "You said twelve hours!" she protested. "You said!"

"Hey!" shouted Glory Girl. "What the hell is this?"

He prepared to fire up his flight systems. "This is you learning why you don't mess me around!" he shouted. "I gave you every chance to—"

"Stand down, Saint."

The new voice came from above all of them. He looked up, along with Panacea and Glory Girl, to see Alexandria descending like an angel of doom, a large rectangular object tucked under her arm. Involuntarily, he swallowed; he'd never encountered any members of the Triumvirate before, which was one of the main reasons that he was still a free man.

"Keep back!" he called out. "Even you can't move fast enough to stop me from killing her if I wanted to do it."

"Oh, I'm not here for that." Her tone was grimly amused. Taking the object from under her arm, she spun it around and flicked a switch. It lit up, revealing itself to be a lightweight flatscreen, about three feet by two. "I've got someone here who has a message for you."

He cut in the magnification and stared at the screen; two faces looked back at him. Teacher and Marquis. They were both dishevelled and looked a little the worse for wear, but Marquis still wore his bony armour and had a distinctly sharp-looking spike of the same material tucked up under Teacher's chin. His hand was planted firmly over Teacher's mouth. It was clear who was the victor and who was the prisoner.

"Saint." Marquis' voice was clear and sharp. "Release my daughter immediately, or Teacher dies."

"You've got it backwards!" Geoff tried to keep his desperation out of his voice. "Let Teacher go now, or Panacea dies!"

"If you harm my daughter in the slightest, Teacher will be dead and you will never get access to his power again." Marquis' voice was implacable. "Let her go and surrender, and there's a good chance you'll end up in here with him."

Under normal circumstances, he might even have considered that, but it would put him in a place where he wouldn't be able to stop Dragon if she decided to go rogue and destroy mankind. "No!" he shouted. "Let Teacher go now!" He flexed his fingers, preparing to break Panacea's arm. They'd take him seriously once she started screaming.

The suit's arm refused to work. He stared at the HUD as malfunction warnings began to pop up, one after the other. "No," he muttered. "No." Reaching around with his right arm, he bashed the offending appendage on the shoulder joint …

Glory Girl

… and Vicky watched with disbelieving glee as the suit's entire left arm fell clean off, just missing Amy as she skipped aside. Saint reached for her, but she backed away. When he took a step forward, the left leg crumpled under him, the metal bending and shredding like papier mâché.

"Go!" shouted Purity, slapping Vicky on the back. She didn't need another reminder; lunging forward as fast as she could, she intercepted Amy's retreat and hoisted her into the air.

As soon as they were safely out of the way, Purity unleashed a spiralling blast that punched into Saint, driving him into the ground. After a few seconds, she let up on the attack, leaving a smoking crater behind, slowly filling with seawater. Of the suit, there were only a few forlorn metal scraps to be found.

"Nicely done." Carefully, Vicky approached her, making sure not to startle the powerful Blaster. "And thanks for your help."

Purity may have nodded. "You're welcome. Your allies will be here soon, so I'd better be going." Flying straight up into the air, she arced over and rocketed west across the city.

Panacea

Watching the glowing form recede into the night sky, Amy shook her head. "This has been one shitty night," she said. Gesturing downward, she asked, "Think he survived?"

Vicky snorted and shook her head. "Not a hope in hell. What'd you do to his suit, anyway? I've never seen a powersuit's arm just fall off like that."

Amy took a deep breath. "I, uh, got hold of some bacteria and re-engineered it to eat metal. Then I infected my phone with it and tricked him into spreading it all over his hand and his foot. Don't worry, I made sure it'll die off in an hour or so."

As Lady Photon flew into view, along with Crystal and Eric, Vicky raised her eyebrows and stared at Amy. "How come you never told me you could do this?"

This was something Amy had been wondering as well. "I guess because it didn't really seem the right time or place. Like, ever."

They gradually drifted down to where the PRT troopers were investigating the crater. Vicky let Amy down on to her feet as the officer in charge approached them.

"Glory Girl," he said. "Panacea. You both okay?"

"We're both fine," Amy said, a moment before Vicky could. "Where's Alexandria? I wanted to thank her."

The trooper shrugged. "By the time Purity finished making Saint into a hole in the ground, she was gone. Guess she had better things to do." He paused. "That really was Purity, right? I thought she was a bad guy."

"What's this about Purity?" Sarah Pelham landed beside them, while Laserdream and Shielder circled overhead. "Where's Saint? Amy, are you all right? What happened?"

Vicky grinned and shook her head. "Aunt Sarah, trust me when I say it's a long story."

Mags

Unseen by everyone, she turned her suit and slowly flew away. Out of Brockton Bay. Away from the man she loved. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to do now, but Geoff had been wrong. Dragon hadn't been the danger. It had been his own obsessions, all along.

Marquis

"Alright, we're done here."

Marquis took hold of Teacher's shoulder and walked him out of the common area, in the direction of Cell Block T. Teacher didn't struggle or resist; he'd learned that much, at least.

"So, where do we go from here?" asked the fat man.

"Back to your cell block," Marquis said easily. "I let you go, you forget this, and I don't have to kill you. Alternatively, you send someone to take revenge, and the next time I kill you. Your choice."

"You killed three of my men." It wasn't so much a complaint as a comment. Testing the waters.

"You nearly got my daughter killed." Don't even try it.

"That wasn't my doing." Teacher's tone was certain. "If we leave things as they are, there's an imbalance. Other cell blocks will see me as weak. There'll be probing attacks. Or they may see you as a threat, try to cut you down. Either way, peace is out the window. And it's your fault."

Marquis snorted and shook his head. "If they come for me, they won't walk away. If your men come for me, you won't walk away."

"You're not understanding me." Teacher's tone was lecturing, almost patronising. "Unless there's a visible concession from your side, there's no chance of peace. You have to redress the imbalance, once and for all."

Marquis tilted his head thoughtfully. "I suppose you have a point. If I don't make some sort of gesture, things will never settle down."

"Exactly," Teacher said eagerly. "I'm glad you can see—"

That was as far as he got before the bone spike punched into his throat, then expanded into a blade to slash his carotid arteries. He fell to his knees, hands going to his ruined throat as redness spread down his chest. Choking and gurgling on his lifeblood, eyes wide, he tried to ask a question.

"Gesture made," murmured Marquis, disintegrating the bone weapon. He turned and started back the way he had come. As he went, he hummed a tune that had been popular fifteen years previously.

Behind him, Teacher slowly fell over.

End of Part Eight