DIRE: TIME

By Andrew Seiple

Text copyright © Andrew Seiple 2016

All Rights Reserved

With thanks to Richard Roberts, a pioneer in the field of awesome supervillainy!

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1: DIRE - MAYHEM, DESTRUCTION, AND MISHAP              5

CHAPTER 2 : VORPAL – MAKING A NAME              19

CHAPTER 3: DIRE – HEAVY METAL THROWDOWN              30

CHAPTER 4: DIRE – AN ALLIED RESISTANCE              40

CHAPTER 5: MARTIN – THINGS FALL APART              48

CHAPTER 6: DIRE – TRAVELS AND TRAITORS              58

CHAPTER 7: BUNNY – ARCO TRIUMPH              72

CHAPTER 8: DIRE – BAD MOON RISING              85

CHAPTER 9: DIRE – THE HOUR OF MITTERNACHT              99

CHAPTER 10: MINNA – PROXY SHELL              111

CHAPTER 11: DIRE – IN THE HOUSE OF DARKNESS              123

CHAPTER 12: VORPAL – FEAR BEYOND REASON              133

CHAPTER 13: DIRE – WHOM GODS WOULD DESTROY              143

CHAPTER 14: DIRE – ONE NIGHT IN BERLIN              154

CHAPTER 15: MARTIN – CHOICES              165

CHAPTER 16: DIRE – CASTLE WALLENSTEIN              174

CHAPTER 17: BUNNY – END OF THE ROAD              181

CHAPTER 18: DIRE – WALLENSTEIN 3D              190

CHAPTER 19: DIRE – THE LAST CRUSADE              199

CHAPTER 20: DIRE – FUTURE IMPERFECT              213

CHAPTER 21: MINNA – THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME              222

AUTHOR’S NOTE              230

CHAPTER 1: DIRE - MAYHEM, DESTRUCTION, AND MISHAP

“This just in! Westmarket is under villainous assault! The science-villain Doctor Dire is on the rampage, and all residents are instructed to seek shelter, and avoid any sign of conflict until— wait. What do you mean, all the residents are gone? How?”

--Daniel Long, Icon Channel Six live news broadcast, on the day of the Westmarket district's destruction.

I tumbled through the apartment wall, spraying bricks and mortar and debris behind me as I went. Hit the street, bounced, rolled, clipped a car so hard its windows shattered, and came to rest with my torso and rump embedded into a city bus. Car alarms shrieked, the rest of the northern wall groaned and collapsed, and my teeth ground against my mouthpiece as I rocked inside the interior harness of my power armor.

In retrospect, telling the ten-foot-tall cyborg to hit me with his best shot had been rather cocky, as taunts go.

I shoved my arms out to the sides, servos and actuators thrumming with power as I pushed myself out of the bus, and got my metal-shod feet on solid asphalt. Well, relatively solid. I’d built this heavy suit to handle stage one of this afternoon’s plans, which included about a ton of angry cyborg.

“PATHETIC,” I said, eyeing the damage readouts. No, not pathetic at all, actually. But not outside of expected tolerances, either. Siegebreaker, the most physical of my old nemeses, was strong, tough, and smart. I'd never defeated him in hand-to-hand combat before. But I'd never built a suit this powerful before. And reading the numbers, I felt my lips peel back from my teeth.

I could do this.

“BEFORE THIS DAY IS OUT, YOU SHALL KNEEL BEFORE DIRE!”

I posed, moving until my heads-up-display chimed. The sound told me that I’d reached the best angle of light and an optimal stance for the cameras on the news helicopters buzzing overhead.

I have an app for that. Saves so much trouble, really.

In the line of work I'm in, it isn’t enough to get the job done. You have to get it done with style. And that means making the crowd ‘pop’. Poses, taunts, banter, and even taking a good hit or two, well... those are all small prices to pay for building heat and getting the watchers worked up and invested.

Two massive white metal-and-plastic hands burst from the wall's rubble, crushing bricks and sweeping them aside as a blue-and-white humanoid shape shoved itself through, and straightened up. It glared down at me through a blue visor, before settling into a sumo-like stance, hands outstretched and ready for me.

Siegebreaker. The only organic part left to him was a brain somewhere in that massive robotic body. We’d been battering at each other for about four minutes now, and both of our shells had the scars to prove it.

My goal; to figure out just where that brain was installed, preferably without killing him.

His goal;  hit me until I stopped moving.

“I won’t kneel to you!” His synthesized voice roared back. “Tell me what you did with Schrodinger!”

“HMHMHMHMHMH... HAHAHAHHAHA!”

He charged, swinging fists that could have palmed fire hydrants without fully closing.

I kicked in the gravitics, using flight to give me a speed boost as I dove aside, and drilled him at point-blank range with a particle beam. Seventy-five percent charge, which staggered him, knocked him off balance, and pushed him into an SUV. He slammed through the oversized vehicle, in a spray of glass and metal and fake-leather upholstery, but managed to stay on his feet.

The beam left a small crater on his back, revealing shiny composite material beneath the hardened plastic shell. Ah, this was new.

Another woe of working in this field: sure, you get to wield weaponry that can shoot satellites out of orbit, but you never actually know how tough your opponents are until you get into a fight with them. There's a fine line between ‘good enough to hurt your foes’, and ‘whoops, now they’re chutney’.

I’d killed a single hero in my career-to-date. Even though I’d had a good reason for it, the act had pretty much sealed me into my current role.

“SCHRODINGER LIVES AND WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO. DIRE CANNOT SAY THE SAME FOR YOU IF YOU CONTINUE THIS FUTILE STRUGGLE. SURRENDER!” I flew up as he swerved around, and tossed a Fjord Nino at me. The small car sailed past as I rolled to the side.

He skidded to a stop, and his visor flashed as he glared up at me. “Never!” he tensed his legs, rockets flaring to life as he prepared to go airborne after me.

“THEN FALL BEFORE DIRE!” I roared, and shot him with both particle beams, at ninety-percent charge.

In that split second, as my gauntlets flared with energy and the brilliant golden light streamed into the collectors, I watched where he put his arms. He couldn’t dodge, he’d been preparing to jump and it was too late to shift. I’d fired the beams at him often enough in our fight— he knew the signs. There was no cover out in the middle of the street for him to get behind, not that it’d help anyway.

I'd blast him. And no matter how much his mind told him that he could survive this, instinct would rule him, and he’d try to protect himself. Cover his vulnerabilities...

And with glee, I watched as he shielded his upper chest.

I kept the beams on him for a good three seconds, driving him into the ground, punching open the asphalt, sending billows of steam skyward as I rammed him through the street. Through the water pipes, through the sewage lines, through the very veins of the city itself, as water sprayed and sewage burst up in great brown and black gouts, splattering the streets.

When my HUD started chiming heat warnings at me, I let the particle beams lapse, and surveyed my handiwork as displaced water and sewage roared back in.

It was a glorious mess. And also an important part of my second goal, today. Sure, it looked like wanton destruction for the fun of it, but it was all part of the plan.

Well, maybe a little fun.

That said, I didn’t have more than moments to revel in the destruction. It’d be time to move to phase two shortly. I activated my comm. “Martin, is the frag zone prepped?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s out. Ready for the coop da grase”

“The what now?”

“Y’know, the killin’ strike.”

“Pretty sure the p’s silent,” I said.

“Really? Shit, hard to tell. It’s a couple of those words I only read before, never heard.”

“You never tried to use it before this? Never got told the right way to say it?”

“Well, my old crew wasn’t ‘zactly full of grammar Nazis—”

The water churned below, geysered upward in a burst of sewage effluent. I dodged it, knowing what was coming as a hurtling metal form jetted through it, fists extended. “Whoops!” I chuckled, as I darted back. “Get back to you later. Baby’s feisty.”

Siegebreaker corrected his course to intercept me.

I could have dodged. I didn’t. I twisted, acted like he’d caught me by surprise, and his massive metal fist latched onto my midsection, as he cut the jets and bore us both to the ground.

Metal sprayed when the first layer of my back armor gave way like it was supposed to, and then I was embedded in the pavement.

My harness rocked softly, and I chuckled. The impact gel was doing its job. Worth every penny I’d paid old man Morgenstern for the recipe.

Still had no idea why he’d spared me last year. Doesn't matter at present. Ruminate later, deal with massive metal fists now.

Siegebreaker held me in place with one hand, and hammered massive strikes onto my limbs and joints with the other. Metal flew from the impacts, revealing the black, segmented hyperceramic secondary layer. That one gave softly every time he struck, transmitting force back into the half-inch of impact gel that was the third layer.

The impact gel gave not at all. The impact gel absorbed the kinetic energy and used it to turn into an equally hard solid for a microsecond, then reverted to liquid form as the energy dispersed.

He might as well have been a boxer pounding a sandbag twice his size. Sure, if I let him keep doing this eventually he might accelerate his strikes to the point that the bag would rupture, but I had no intention of letting him get to that point.

Besides, I had another motive in letting him get this close.

I waited until his elbow was on the upswing, grabbed his head with one crumpled gauntlet, and triggered the ion pulse.

He froze, and smoke billowed out of the vents to either side of his visor, as the blue light went dark. The burst just short-circuited every electronic device in that part of his body.

With my other hand, I rerouted energy from my particle beam array to my servos, and burst free of his suddenly-slack grip with a quick wriggle, and a roll to my feet. My cape fluttered red in the wind as my suit stood, more silvery metal falling away to reveal the black segmented plates below.

“AND SO YOU FALL.”

The whole point of letting the fight get so far wasn’t to figure out his weakness but to beat him without killing him. The ion pulsars fried any electronic circuitry they hit. I could have hosed Siegebreaker down from the get-go, but that would have meant destroying the life support devices that kept his brain alive.

He staggered upright, turned slowly to orient on me. Backup camera? Smart. “I’m not down yet!” he yelled, and put his hands up in a boxing stance. “Try that again! Come closer...”

“FUCK NO.” I targeted his legs, sent ion bursts into them and watched him drop, sending fragments of asphalt flying in all directions. “STAY DOWN.”

He started dragging himself toward me. I drilled his arms, carefully avoiding his chest. Finally he froze, unmoving, grasping hand stopped inches from my waist.

I ignored him, and activated my comm again. “Big Boy’s down. Status?”

Vorpal snarled. “Blonde bitch is pissed. If it weren’t for the forcefield I’d be dead.”

“I’m keeping her on her toes, but with Quantum running interference I can’t get a solid shot in,” Bunny groused.

“The stunner’s no good?” I asked.

“Quantum’s got a device on the ground. Since he set it up, energy weapons fizzle.”

Huh. He’d probably planned to use that on me.

“Martin, any chance you can snipe that?”

“Naw, it’s inside his forcefield. But I could suit up, and take it down from up close—”

“Negative.” I snapped. “You’re the reserve. You don’t get stuck in like that.”

“I can handle it. Why I always gotta be reserve, anyway?”

“No time to argue,” I evaded. “Listen, Vorpal Bunnies, think you can hold them for another couple of minutes?” I was experimenting with humor, to lighten a rough situation.

“Ja!”

“Of course! And stop calling us that!”

“Mmmm.... no.”

“Jerk.”

“Supervillain, remember?” I snarked. “Gotta have some perks.” But as I joked, I was already in motion, flying north. The cameras I’d placed around the area yesterday had just picked up Freeway.

Freeway is a veteran hero, a speedster, and a serious problem. While he doesn’t have the oomph to tackle me directly, he's very good at running support for heroes who can.

The few visible shots I had of him showed him standing still, talking to someone via a headset. The headset was new. Metahuman Resource Bureau issue? Or had he purchased something from an inventor?

In any case, I’d counted on Freeway showing up for this next part. What I hadn’t counted on, was the massive blast of flames spiraling up at me from below. I twisted aside, dodged left—

And got nailed by a metal soccer ball.

The damn thing hit harder than anything that size had any right to, but compared to Siegebreaker’s punches it was a love tap. Nothing the gel couldn’t handle. Still, something about it caught my attention. Something familiar...

As it hovered back and rammed me again, four or five times in rapid succession, I realized where I’d seen it before.

“YOU DARE TO USE DIRE’S TECHNOLOGY AGAINST HER?” They were! Whoever they were, anyway. This was the old Destructorb system I'd built to take on Hardware when he'd tried to collect a bounty on me! Powerful, versatile, fast... and so very, very fragile. I'd discontinued them due to that design flaw.

I backhanded it away, knocked it into a water tower, and watched it crumple and fall smoking to the ground. Yep, still the same problem with the shock absorbers.

And a silvery ball about the size of a subcompact car rolled out from behind a building. My eyes grew wide as I traced the design of it, and my mouth opened in pure joy as it flipped into the air and unfolded into a suit of slim power armor, with the curves of the sphere becoming segments of rounded carapace. Beautiful! I recognized some of my design principles, but whoever this guy was, he’d put his own spin on things and taken it in a different direction.

“Hey Doc!” A synthesized voice echoed from the silver-suited man’s helmet. “Blind villain says what?”

“WHAT ARE—”

He brought his gauntlets together and dazzling light flared, bathing my face in blinding glow. Which did precisely nothing, thanks to my military-grade flare compensation hardware and my tacnet’s multiple camera feed extrapolation.

“—YOU TALKING... OH. WELL, THAT WAS CUTE.” I said, and snapped off a volley of mid-power particle beam shots at him. He went ass over heels, but before he hit the ground he was a ball again, rolling in a zig-zag pattern away from my blasts.

“Normally that works a whole lot better,” I heard him mutter through my audio sensors.

“MOST OF YOUR FOES PROBABLY HAVEN’T HEARD OF FLARE COMPENSATION.”

“Speaking of that...” he said.

Okay, this guy was clearly a mouthy hero. And a statement like that meant bad news about to hit. I killed the hover, did a dead drop until I was a few feet above the street, and used the gravitics to do a low altitude skim. Kind of like a hawk doing a solid swoop on a pigeon.

Which was good, because the air behind me exploded into flames, so hot that even at this distance my suit sent up warning chimes.

Most of my thermal shielding had been on the outer layer of the suit. And the impact gel didn’t react well to fire, or similar effects. While I’d likely survive even a sustained burn, it wouldn’t be fun; it’d mean a few new injuries and scars, and I’d have to abort stage three. I’d come too far to abort stage three!

I hit the ground, rolled, and looked around the empty city street. Those flames were coming from somewhere, and a quick flip of my visual sensors over to thermal tracking showed a figure among the parked cars. I flipped back to normal vision and zoomed in.

The gas mask, the fatigues, the dog tags... Semper Fire. He’d been active in Cobbles Cove, fighting the Kriegers gang. His powers involve fire control, and he’d gotten nothing but good press, particularly for his restraint. Evidently he’d kept collateral and injuries to a minimum. Impressive for a guy whose signature was howling blasts of flame.

He was pretty far from his normal stomping grounds, but I didn’t have time to muse on it as I charged him, throwing aside a sedan with a sweep of one arm, bulling through the cover between us.

“Hey! Over here Deedee!” I heard the round battlesuit user yell, but ignored his taunts. This was no online game; he could draw no aggro here! I saw Semper Fire dance back from his cover, hop up onto the bed of a pickup truck, and point his hands at me as flames gathered, growing as I charged. But I was almost upon him—

My collision alert howled, but it was too late to change directions as a brown blur solidified in front of me. I caught a glimpse of Freeway, sweat pouring down his face, before he disappeared from existence; then there came an echoing clang as I slammed full tilt into something brown, unyielding, and about five feet tall. I caught it for balance, fingers scrabbling so I didn’t flip head over heels...

And it grabbed me back.

I looked down into a small, brown face, sculpted from some sort of pottery. It looked all the world like the statue of an ancient armored warrior, finely sculpted with a mustache, goatee, and a headwrap that pulled his hair into a scarved topknot. The carved eyebrows narrowed, the eyes squinted at me, and his mouth opened and shut as he spat out words in a language I didn’t recognize.

“Yeah, Jian Hu Ren says you’re being a jerk,” the power armored buffoon called out.

“HE’S NEW.”

The statue punched me in the mask. I tensed, as the sound of shattering clay filled the air...

But it wasn’t my mask that gave. He looked annoyed as he pulled back a stump, fired clay showing rough and brownish-orange in the stump of his wrist.

“Actually, he’s really old. So, you gonna back off and surrender now?”

As I watched, black streaks extruded from Jian’s shattered wrist, and writhed together. Asphalt? Yes. It twisted, reshaped itself, formed into the shape of his old hand. He was pulling substance from the material he was standing upon.  Good, he could regenerate.

“SURRENDER?” I inquired. “YOU POOR BOY.”

I slammed a micromissile point-blank into the statue, sprayed him into a million terracotta fragments, and turned to face the whirling sphere of my power armored foe as he darted away. “DIRE’S BARELY GETTING STARTED!” I yelled, cycling through the missile array as I tossed number five explosive warheads his way. I wasn’t particularly trying to hit him, just keep him busy. And where my shots missed, the missiles kept on going, to the detriment of the entire city block. Cars blew to fragments, store windows exploded into blasts of jagged glass, brickwork crumbled and exploded, and a gas station burst into flames with a low CRUMP and a cloud of greasy smoke.

And then my world was fire, and I hissed through my teeth as I watched the thermal signatures climb. The impact gel was bubbled, expanded, and I aborted my missile barrage to punch the gravitics and get out of the worst of the flames. Right, right, couldn’t ignore the elementalist at my back.

“Don’t call me boy!” the round-armored hero shouted, as I turned to re-acquire Semper Fire. He’d moved, gotten to new cover. I hesitated, dialing down to concussion missiles. Didn’t know if he could take explosives, didn’t want to kill the guy.

“The name’s Cue Ball!” And then the idiot slammed into me.

Overstressed and heated, the worst pockets of impact gel swelled with absorbed kinetic energy and burst, sending jets of blue goo spraying behind me as I staggered, bathing Cue Ball in the goop, and puddling on the torn pavement. I rocked within the harness, more violently now since I’d lost most of my padding. Annoying! The armor was taking a beating ahead of schedule.

And then it struck me. Their tactics were sound, too sound for improvisation. This was practiced... not necessarily for use against me, but for foes of my caliber.

I whirled, spread my arms wide and seized Cue Ball, drop kicking him through a nearby condemned factory. Dust and asbestos sprayed as I completed the whirl, pointing a gauntlet at Semper Fire. He froze in the act of forming another ball of flame.

“FREEWAY, YOU SLY DOG. THIS IS A TEAM, ISN’T IT?”

He materialized to my left, outside of my mask’s visual range. “Got it in one. We’re calling ourselves the Icons.”

He was trying to draw my attention away. I snorted, punched on one of my port-side cameras to track him, and piped the feed to my HUD. “HAVEN’T HEARD ABOUT THIS YET. IS THIS YOUR FIRST OFFICIAL OUTING?”

“More or less. Some minor stuff, not big enough to make the news.” We could have been talking about a football game. Well, if you ignored my mechanized roar, anyway.

“SO, DID YOU STEAL DIRE’S TECH FOR THE KID, OR DID HE DO THAT ON HIS OWN?”

“Hey!” Cue Ball shouted, his battered form rolling through the factory’s chain-link fence. “I didn’t steal anything!”

“EXCEPT FOR THE BASIC PARTS, THE DESIGN, THE AESTHETIC, AND THE ON-BOARD FORCEFIELD.” I commented. “THOUGH THE IDEA TO STICK YOURSELF INTO WHAT WAS DESIGNED TO BE AN EXPENDABLE DRONE AND RISK YOUR NECK AGAINST SOMEONE WHO KNOWS MOST OF THIS MODEL’S WEAKNESSES... WELL, THAT’S ALL YOU, KID.”

He sputtered. Freeway and Semper Fire didn’t react, beyond tensing and shifting. To my right, terracotta shards drew together with black asphalt. A speckled clay warrior rose to face me. Then he made a chopping motion with one hand, and another statue formed from the broken road next to him, this one entirely black.

They were stalling.

“SO. IS THIS THE PART WHERE BALLISTA LEAPS UP AND TRIES TO KILL HER?”

Freeway looked away. I noticed sweat streaking down his neck. He looked exhausted. Why? The others tensed.

“SOMETHING SHE SAID?”

“Ballista went vigilante last week.” Freeway said.

“OH.” That changed things. Heroes are heroes so long as they obey the societal rules that had arisen to give civilization a means of coping with a world full of powers. If heroes got caught breaking them, they would lose the protection and support of established hero culture and the government bureaus in charge of policing them. And if they screw up badly enough...

“MURDER?”

“Manslaughter,” Freeway said, sharply. “That’s the charge. He hasn’t been convicted yet.”

“CAN’T SAY SHE’S SURPRISED. HE WAS ALWAYS SLOPPY.” Ballista had been aiming to maim or kill me, back when we’d first met. Though he’d had cause, I had to admit.

Freeway glared at me through his goggles. “He’s worth ten of you. And you want to talk sloppy?” He waved a hand around, at the casual destruction that I’d unleashed, the damaged and burning city block that crumbled around us as we spoke. Water geysered from pipes broken under a torn street, and sewage seethed out, brown stains in the fountaining froth. “What the hell purpose does this serve?”

“IT’S A SURPRISE,” I said. “ALL WILL BECOME CLEAR BY THE EVENING NEWS CYCLE.”

“Where are the people?” Semper Fire's voice was muffled by the gas mask. I kept an eye on his flames, the fire between his hands frozen at beach-ball-size. “What did you do with them?”

I grinned. Of course Freeway had taken the time to check, see if there was anyone he needed to evacuate before his team engaged me. I chortled to myself as I imagined his puzzled face, as he went through door after door at superspeed, and found every building, every car, every street within a nine-block radius empty. Everyone gone, in some cases swept away in the middle of whatever they were doing.

That had taken some work to set up. But it was worth it. This plan called for property damage, fatalities were out of the question.

“THEY’RE SAFE. SAFER THAN YOU, RIGHT NOW.”

They shifted, looked to each other. Well, except for the terracotta warrior. With his reinforcement called up and complete, he chopped his hand once more, and another one started rising. They had different faces from him, I noted. Each one was an individual. Interesting, but not relevant. I filed it away for later research.

“I dunno lady,” Cue Ball said, rolling in a small circle. “There’s four of us, and you’re leaking an awful lot of blue goo right now. Looks kind of important. Need an oil change?”

“WELL, IF YOU THINK SHE’S WEAK, COME THEN. DIRE IS NEVER WEAK. COME AND FALL,” I said, turning my back on Semper Fire... and shifting the camera to cover him, as I beckoned at Cue Ball. Now or never.

Everything happened at once.

“Go!” Freeway called out, and made several sharp gestures at Jian, the terra cotta man. Hatches along Cue Ball’s sides spat out several modified Destructorbs that shot toward me. At the same time, Jian shouted a rapid-fire slew of words, and his created asphalt warriors charged me. Across the way, Semper Fire ran to the side, and hurled a fireball in my direction. I sped aside, easily—

And then my cape was over my face. I snorted. Freeway, you old dog. Thinking he’d catch me with the same trick twice? I blinked in a pattern, the cape turned translucent to my vision thanks to the fiber-optic weave I’d put into it...

Too late.

The first burning asphalt soldier slammed into me, sludgy and sticky and half-melted from the heat. Tar splashed over my segmented plates, gumming up the works and covering my auxiliary camera.

The fireball hadn’t been meant for me, at all. I tried to hover back, but the tarry soldier clung to me, hung on like a barnacle, and slowed me long enough for the other to leap and grab onto my shoulder. I threw most of him off with a quick swipe, but half of him remained, stringing down and gumming up my works further.

And then the first Destructorb hit me, stuck to the asphalt, and started chirping its self-destruct sequence. Four more followed in rapid succession by the time I’d blasted the first asphalt soldier into bits. I ascended into the air, pawing at the spheres, failing to dislodge them.

“And that’s game!” Cue Ball called. The beeping rose to a crescendo...

“Shift seven nine!” I whispered into my interface.

It was a hell of an explosion. Five Destructorbs blowing up at once had enough force to take down a tank or APC. I watched from behind the heroes as I phased in from the teleport. It had carried the inner layers of my suit with me, leaving the damaged silver and black outer layers behind. Fragments pattered down, as the Icons watched for the smoke to clear.

I didn’t give them the chance. A quick click set my particle beams to human tolerances, and the first shot took out Freeway, sending him flying back into a parked car, where he slumped bonelessly to the ground.

Jian Hu Ren called out something and charged me, but not before my next shot hit Semper Fire in the gut. He tumbled to the ground, clutching his abdomen and rolling in pain. Then the terracotta warrior was upon me and another micromissile to the face scattered him into fragments. Wouldn’t keep him down, but it’d keep him busy, which was all I needed as I jogged through the rubble and leaped upon Cue Ball.

“What the hell—”

“AND THIS!” I roared as I grabbed hold of one dented curve of his armor. “THIS IS WHY—” I ripped a plate free, hucked it over my shoulder. “—YOU DON’T TRY TO USE—” He tried to roll away; I reached inside his suit with my free hand, found a motivator, and crushed it. Half of his armor unfolded, and he yelled as it jammed. “—THE VILLAIN’S TECHNOLOGY—” I hoisted him into the air, and peeled him like an onion, pulling plate after plate away, until only he was left, thrashing in the minimally-armored interface suit at the center. “—AGAINST HER!” I finished, and threw him to the ground.

It was a gentle throw. Probably didn’t break any ribs. Still, he sprawled there, shaking. “What the hell? You’re...” He looked at me, at the black hyperceramic layer, still stained with a few bits of blue residue where the layer of impact gel had abutted it. “You’re like one of those Russian dolls. How the hell many layers do you have, lady?”

I looked around at his scattered armor plates. “MORE THAN YOU, EVIDENTLY.” I heard internal reservoirs hiss, as the lower level of impact gel components mixed and refilled, causing me to swell a bit. Ready for another round!

A gentle clang, and I rocked a bit as something struck my back. I looked behind me to see Jian Hu Ren, half terracotta and half asphalt, pulling back a shattered fist for another punch. “OH PLEASE. LOOK, JUST TAKE YOUR PEOPLE AND GO. YOU REALLY DON’T WANT TO BE HERE FOR PHASE THREE.”

“Jian!” Cue Ball called. He followed it up with the unknown language again. Chinese? Probably. Something in that area, anyway.

The soldier paused. I gave him a nod, then went airborne. He watched me go, scowling, before he scurried to collect the other members of his team.

I activated my comm. “Situation?”

“They’re on the run!” Vorpal said. “In pursuit.”

“What? Why? Are they wounded?”

“No, they just broke off.”

“Before you say anything, I’m keeping an eye out for traps.” Bunny broke in. “And chokepoints, and ambushes. Nothing, they’re beating feet towards Siegebreaker.”

Butterflies ran up my spine. This was it. “Bunny? Vorpal? Get clear. Get out of there, now.”

“I can catch them!” Vorpal snarled.

“Abort!” I snapped. “That’s an order.”

“Do it, love,” Bunny urged. “There’s a reason for—”

Minna’s comm opened up. “Crusader is here.”

The comms fell silent for a second, as I bit my lip. This is it. This is it! I glanced around, adjusted my course until my destination was just to the north. The Westmarket Water Treatment plant, a sprawling complex of pipes, rust, and thundering engines.

It needed to go away. I figured we could probably manage that. This, and the other destruction up to this point, was a solid part of Phase Two.

“Pulling out,” Vorpal said, subdued, her voice quavering with frustration.

“Covering her retreat,” Bunny confirmed.

“Martin?” I asked.

“Off the roof. Almost to the street. I heard a rumble, I think—”

The sonic boom rolled across the city, as a gold and white figure descended from the clouds, cape fluttering ivory in the sunlight. Gleaming golden-bronze armor covered him head to toe, topped by an old-style knight’s helmet, holes speckling the front around the mouth and eye-slits revealing calm hazel eyes. His cape was white, with a long red cross breaking up the color.

He was shorter than I’d thought. Shorter than my current ten-plus-foot armored suit by half.

The helmet turned, clinking softly against the gold breastplate in the stillness. He surveyed the destruction around us, looked to me.

“Why?”

“MULTIPLE REASONS.”

The eyes found me. They were harder now, as he searched my mask. “None of them suffice. Whatever they are, they were not worth this.”

“Scare.” I whispered into my interface, and my mask’s eyesockets glowed a hellish red.

Crusader shifted. He looked amused.

On the ground below I saw Jian with Freeway and Semper Fire tossed over his shoulders, trudging south as fast as his terracotta legs would take him. Cue Ball lingered, staring up at us, before he came to his senses and ran for the hills.

“I ask you to surrender.”

“DIRE WILL NOT.”

“I ask you to return the people you stole.”

“THEY ARE SAFER WHERE THEY ARE RIGHT NOW. SO DIRE REFUSES.”

“Very well,” he said.

He moved, and I darted aside, pushing my gravitics to full power as he shot past me, but he was turning around for another pass. He was nimble, and I didn’t think I could outmaneuver him for long. “Minna?” I whispered over the comm. “Now!”

A scream from my interface, as green bars grew, turned blue, and topped out at pure white levels. With the impact gel and the energy deflecting layers gone I was free to use the best forcefield I’d ever built. And thanks to the infrastructure I’d spent the last few weeks hacking, it was fueled by the broadcast power of the city itself.

I stood, hands on my hips, and Icon City stood with me. “Make it beautiful,” I whispered, as Crusader drew his fist back, and hit me at the speed of sound.

A clap of thunder. The crystalline scream of every window of the buildings around us exploding. A grinding, ripping WHUMP as the factory I’d thrown Cue Ball into collapsed from the spreading force of the punch. Rotors whirred above as the news choppers scrambled for distance, then rode the wave.

And when the glass fell silent, when the helicopters settled like nervous bees, when the final few girders of the factory finished their fall, I still stood there in midair. Hands on my hips, unmoved.

My app chimed, confirming optimal photo conditions, and my grin threatened to burst my face. The footage was going out live, and newspapers across the globe would have us on their front page come morning.

Crusader pulled his hand back and stared at his gauntlet. At the dents along the knuckles.

“HER TURN.”

I raised my fists, he raised his, and my lunging knee caught him about six inches below his belt buckle. He flew backwards and I was on him, fists hammering into the armor, pounding him with every bit of force my servos could generate. He twisted and turned, taking the blows to no discernible harm, but it gave me the chance to get in close. I knocked him off balance and tackled him, drove him over the wall of the waterworks, into the main pumps of the compound. Machinery gave before us, exploding into steam and shrapnel, but neither of us cared. I hammered him, hammered him with every striking surface on my armor, pounding him like a madwoman.

After he found I wouldn’t let up, Crusader gave up on soaking the strikes and started hammering back. With every hit he upped the pressure, and I watched the forcefield’s power bars dance and writhe even as the force of the punches blew machinery and buildings away around us, turning the water processing plant to rubble in the space of a minute. Finally, my reserves low and his punches slowing, we broke and staggered back. Rubble pattered down from above, raining from where we’d sent it skyward.

I checked my damage reports, winced. The forcefield hadn’t aided me when I was striking him, it wasn’t built for that. My gauntlets were shredded, one of the kneepads was off, and several of the main actuators had blown. I hadn’t even noticed.

I turned my eyes to Crusader. He was half-crouched, arms wide and defensive. His armor was dented, a long rip across his breastplate revealing torn cloth below. Ripped spandex showed at the seams and the joints, where my stray blows had caught what the armor didn’t cover. I smiled under my mask... and the smile faded, as I saw the tear in his breastplate start to seal, metal flowing together like molasses going over pancakes.

“SELF-REPAIRING ARMOR?”

“Orichalcum. It remembers its true form.”

I had no idea what that word meant, but it mattered little as realization struck.

“YOU DON’T... AH, YOU DON’T WEAR IT TO PROTECT YOURSELF, DO YOU?”

“No.” And damned if I didn’t get the impression that he was grinning under that helmet.

“YOU’RE FAR TOUGHER THAN THE ARMOR.”

“Oh yes.”

“YOU WEAR THE ARMOR BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO BE NAKED AFTER EVERY FIGHT.”

“More or less, yes.”

“HUH. WELL, THIS NEXT PART IS GOING TO SUCK, YES?”

“For you? Oh yes.”

And then he dove on me, and we were back to it.

This time he wasn’t holding back.

I pulled more power from the city, while Minna worked the switchboards we’d rigged. My suit gobbled it up, sucking more and more from the infrastructure. All around Icon City, I knew that lights were going out, cars were grinding to a halt, airships were drifting as propellers went quiet, and computers glitched and powered down.

The hospitals and a few critical services were spared, of course, and the traffic grids were going through a slow, orderly shutdown. I'm not a monster.

But for the rest, rolling brownouts as I sacrificed their function in order to survive punch after punch. He drove me through the rubble, sent me flying through buildings, chased after me, caught me, threw me down into the street, burrowed after me and knocked me back up through the street, meeting me in midair. I fought back, unleashing my full weapons array. Micromissiles did nothing. The phlogiston igniter swept over him without even touching off his cape. The freeze ray didn’t even slow him. The sonics did nothing besides rattle his helmet. Hell, the particle beams might as well have been pixie sticks.

Nothing fazed him.

Or so I thought. At one point I punched him square in the neck, and my gauntlet came back stained with blood. Only a bit, only a few drops, but it gave me pause as I stared at it. Something I’d done had bloodied his nose, or cut him a bit. Which weapon had done it?

No time to ponder as he laid into me, and I fought back like a fiend.

And when the power started giving out, when the components of my forcefield started overheating and melting to slag, I was forced to eject them and reroute the functionality. A tricky thing to do mid-battle, and it gave him more openings. With that he grew more daring, switched from hammering on me to digging his fingers into my suit,  peeling away layer after layer. Finally, with a mighty wrench and a burst of blue impact gel, my chestplate cracked open down to the basic, smoking circuitry level. I staggered back, and he paused.

“Now will you surrender?”

He didn’t even sound tired.

“HEH. NOT BAD.” I turned off my voice modulator. “Minna, did the sensors get a good look?”

“I think so,” she said. “You are sure you wish to do this?”

“Activate the battle computer. She’s got a few more rounds left in her.”

Crusader’s helmet twitched. “You cannot mean to continue. Your armor is in ruins.”

I switched my modulator back on. “YEAH, FUNNY THING ABOUT THAT.” I wiggled my fingers in sequence, and the low whine of a teleporter surrounded me once more. “YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH THAT ARMOR TRICK.”

He dove toward me again, but I was sparkling and gone—

—and back in a heartbeat, a few hundred feet from him, and viewing him through a screen, as the Direnaut materialized around me.

How do you deal with damaged armor? Simple, when you’ve got access to working, reliable teleportation technology. Teleport the damaged parts out and teleport new armor in around you.

I’d toyed with the idea of an orbital satellite to shoot it down to me, but that idea was just so damn stupid that I’d gone with this instead. No way for most opponents to interrupt this.

Crusader’s sigh echoed in his helmet as he looked up at my Direnaut suit. Technically not a suit, if you wanted to be precise. More of a small mecha, just a hair under twenty feet tall.

“Direnaut online!” My recorded voice told me as the last systems came up. I grinned inside my harness, and stretched my arms and legs into the waiting control receptacles.

“What purpose does this serve?” he asked, and for the first time he sounded annoyed.

“MULTIPLE REASONS.”

“Very well. You chose this.” And then he launched himself at me, and I at him.

We fought, and I gave as good as I got, but nothing hurt him. The disintegrator made his armor steam, but that’s all. The mass drivers pushed him back a bit and holed his armor, but bounced off his flesh. The acid might as well have been baby shampoo.

Nothing hurt him. I even looked for blood seeping under his helmet, like it had during the first go, and found nothing more.

Which was, again, to be expected. I wasn’t doing this to hurt him. I was doing this to gather data.

That was the point of phase three, and I was dumping millions of dollars into this. It was a problem that every major supervillain hit at some point or the other, and that problem was named Crusader.

What did you do when Crusader came for you? He was invulnerable, as far as everyone knew. He was stronger than almost any other costume on the planet. He could fly at the speed of sound, and he probably had other tricks that nobody knew about.

If I kept going with my plans, sooner or later I’d run up against Crusader. So I’d decided to jump the gun, and fold him into my latest scheme. We’d fight, I’d try a myriad of different approaches on him, and the sensor orbs I’d hidden all throughout this area would track our battle. They would pound him with an array of various scans, trying to figure out what worked and what didn’t. And maybe if I was lucky, I might get a hint as to just how he could do the things he did.

I had three more suits waiting in the wings after the Direnaut got wrecked. I was pretty confident that I’d work through all of them. Crusader didn’t kill, and he couldn’t stop my teleportation engine. And if he got the upper hand, I’d teleport out early.

It was a foolproof plan. Hell, I’d done something to him earlier, all I had to do was analyze it later.

And then, as the Direnaut hit about the halfway point, and my systems were screaming alarms at me, I heard a sound that sent chills through my spine.

BIP!

I whirled, and sure enough, there was a shaggy, brown-haired man clad in a bathrobe and swimming trunks, hopping over the rubble and trying to charge me. I shrieked in rage, as I recognized him. Timetripper!

“NO! YOU IDIOT! DON’T YOU DARE INTERFERE!” I hauled one massive gauntlet around to face him, lined up a shot with the mass drivers, and just before my thumb could come down on the trigger, Crusader grabbed the arm and ripped it free.

“Thanks bro!” Timetripper shouted, and lunged for me, hands glowing as everything slowed...

If he got his hands on me, he’d throw me through time and space, putting me somewhere I’d never return from! I shouted the teleport codes in slow motion, my voice sounding garbled and underwater as I flipped switches, tried to teleport out before he could take me hopping with him.

Just as his fingers closed on the metal strut of the Direnaut, the teleporter hummed to life— but it was off, somehow. The low hum rose to a screaming shriek, and on the screen I saw Timetripper stretch impossibly, saw the world distort and curve...

And then, darkness.

CHAPTER 2 : VORPAL – MAKING A NAME

“Five feet. Five goddamn feet. June was in front of me, by five feet, when everything just shimmered. Then she was gone, and everyone on the street ahead of me was gone, and I was left wondering what the fuck was going on, y'know? It was like the rapture had hit! Then I was busy running like hell because no one was behind the wheel of the cars in the street. That got messy, but after they'd wrecked or stopped then I heard her shouting. Dire, I mean. And I won't lie to you, that voice in that empty city... you never really think of what a villain can do, when they cut loose. How can somebody do that? Just... take thousands of people? I don't know where June is now. I'm worried sick. I'm hoping like hell she's all right. But what I hope the most? That some hero kicks Doctor Dire's ass, and saves everyone. That's what happens, right? That has to happen, right?”

--Dana Stirling, barista and witness to the 2001 Dire Abductions

“Hold still, damn you!” Kinetica yelled, and Vorpal laughed in response, swinging her sword at the hero’s torso. Kinetica danced back, sweeping her hands, and the blade twisted in Vorpal’s hands, tried to curve around to strike her—

—Until Vorpal pulled with one hand and pushed with another, and the blade snapped to the side, deforming and splitting into jointed segments that twisted and whined with the stress of the metal, reforming themselves like a mechanical puzzle into an impossible corkscrew. It ceased movement, and Vorpal twisted back, resetting it to a straight blade once more. All in the space of half a second, give or take.

How do you fight an opponent who can control anything that moves?

It was a question that Vorpal had spent a lot of time thinking upon, ever since the moment that Dire had asked her if she was capable of keeping Kinetica busy. “Ja,” she’d told Dire without hesitation, “I can stand against her. I can win.”

Vorpal recalled how the tall woman had blinked. “Don’t really need a win.” Dire said. “Just need to keep her from reinforcing Siegebreaker. Going to need the big lug down before we move to Phase Two, and Dire’s not sure she can do that if Kinetica reinforces him.”

“I think I can do it. I have some ideas.” She hadn’t, at the time. Not really. But what she did have was ambition, and Kinetica was a juicy target. Take a founding member of Tomorrow Force down, and her own name would grow.

Many knew the name of Tomorrow Force.

Few knew the name of Vorpal.

And after days of thought, with the deadline for the plan looming, Vorpal had come up with an idea. She went back to Dire, caught the mad inventor in the labs, bleary from sleeplessness and overwork, and described the blade that she needed. And Dire’s grin had echoed her own.

“Challenge accepted!” Dire had said. And oh, had it turned out well.

It almost took Kirsten’s head off the first time she tried practicing with the thing, but a few hours and some minor cuts had sorted that out.

Vorpal named it ‘Der Schmetterling’. The Butterfly.

And now she fought tooth and nail, raining down blows on Kinetica. Behind Vorpal, Bunny fought her own battle, wearing a shell that was the faintest shadow of Dire’s own. She called it a hardsuit. Vorpal called it a really fucking good idea.

The blade rebounded from Kinetica’s staff. Kinetica tried to use the opportunity to take off, but Vorpal pressed her back, clicking the flexible blade into new positions every time the hero tried to use her powers on it. There were rules to this fight, rules that Vorpal had memorized, studying video after video of Tomorrow Force and discussing tactics with Bunny and Dire.

If Kinetica managed to get airborne, and Bunny couldn’t bring her down, she lost. If both of Vorpal’s feet left the ground at once, she lost. If Vorpal let go of der Schmetterling, she lost.

That was the key; Kinetica never used her powers on things that were touching the ground.

Vorpal slid backward, evading an awkward strike from Kinetica’s staff. The metal telescoping rod was a new trick, one they hadn’t anticipated. But the woman was clearly in the early stages of her training. Nowhere near Vorpal’s level.

But Vorpal was handicapped. She wasn’t fighting at her best. Her style normally incorporated acrobatics, leaps, and tumbling. If she tried that here, tried taking both feet off the ground at once, Kinetica could grab Vorpal and throw her across the city. If the Schmetterling slipped from her hands Kinetica could grab it and beat Vorpal to death with it. If Kinetica got airborne—

As if reading her mind, the hero tried just that. Vorpal screamed, and with a twist of her power, the blade burst into flames. She surged forward, sweeping der Schmetterling in wide, random patterns, the fire blurring Kinetica’s sight. The hero abandoned her launch, tried to grab for the blade and turn it aside, turn it against Vorpal like she had many times before, and Vorpal shifted the sword, turning it in dizzying new configurations to keep the hero guessing.

They paused, Kinetica sweating, drops slipping out under her visor. Vorpal panted, mouth open in a rictus of joy, eyes wide beneath her silvery half-mask.

“Why?” Kinetica asked.

“Why not?” Vorpal answered, grin growing. “You are not having fun? You need more exercise?”

Behind Vorpal, bullets stuttered. “I’m okay,” Bunny said, voice crackling over the subvocal communicator. “Whatever it was that Quantum pulled out, I blew it to bits before he could finish.”

Kinetica’s eyes shifted. She lifted a hand, gestured and Vorpal caught motion in her peripheral vision—

It took all her willpower not to roll, all her willpower to duck down low instead and charge, but the piece of falling rubble swerved to charge at her, and slammed into her with a CRACK...

To no avail. Her forcefield flared, and the mortared bricks shattered, sprayed away. Vorpal gave her power a tug, and der Schmetterling flared with electricity. Kinetica brought her staff up to block, but Vorpal feinted, and managed to slap Kinetica’s shoulder with the flat of the blade. Heidelberg’s fencing masters had taught her that trick. Electricity sizzled...

Kinetica grinned. “I’m grounded, bitch.”

I could kill you with one swing. Vorpal saw just how to do it. Flick the blade over to the unknown energy, the one that let it cut through any known material like paper, and swing through the staff. Swing through Kinetica, too. She’d fall, choking on her own blood, and—

No. Visualized and dismissed in a split second. Bad idea, very bad idea.

No matter how much the smug hero deserved it, no.

So Vorpal settled for grabbing Kinetica’s staff with her free hand, and ramming her forehead into the bitch’s nose. Berlin’s back alleys had taught her that trick.

It worked pretty well, too. Kinetica reeled back, whipped a hand to her face, and Vorpal followed, flicking her sword out, slashing at her arms. Spandex tore, skin gave, and Kinetica shrieked, ducked low, and whipped the staff around toward Vorpal’s legs.

Vorpal’s reflexes betrayed her, and she jumped—

—and kept on going.

Below, face gushing blood, visor slightly askew, Kinetica held her motionless for a second. “You’ve got this coming,” she snarled.

Vorpal sheathed der Schmetterling, tucked her head under her arms, and noted absent-mindedly that she had a pretty good view down Kinetica’s ample cleavage. Well, that was something. “Some help here?” she whispered through the comm.

“On it!” Bunny’s voice crackled back.

Then the ground was rushing toward Vorpal and she gasped as she struck...

...until her forcefield flared, with an inch between her knees and the asphalt. As it did whenever she fell, it compressed, rebounded, and sent her spinning into the air. She stretched out, tried to control her flight... and stopped cold. Kinetica’s power had grabbed her again.

“Cute,” the broken-nosed heroine honked. “How many times can you do that, I wonder?”

Kinetica drummed the air with her hand, in a dribbling motion. Vorpal bounced like a basketball, off the ground, off some nearby cars, off the side of the nearest building, with her forcefield flaring and strobing. But it was dimmer and dimmer each time, and after the eighth time her guts were roiling in her throat, and the low-power chime was sounding in her ears. “Bunny!” She hissed through clenched teeth.

Her lover came through. A sparking sphere rolled across the ground, hissed vapor from an open side. Kinetica paused Vorpal’s pounding and swept it away with one hand before it got close... and staggered as automatic fire chattered, and knocked her on her ass.

Vorpal dropped to the ground with a bump. She shot her? Impossible!

Then Kinetica pushed herself up, glaring. Ah. No blood.

“What did you do?” Vorpal hissed over the comm.

“Rubber bullets. Honest.”

Vorpal found her own feet, circled the wary hero. Kinetica was bruised, and Vorpal was fighting to keep from vomiting... her head was still spinning from the basketball treatment.

“Big Boy’s down. Status?” Dire’s voice hissed over the comms.

“Blonde bitch is pissed. If it weren’t for the forcefield I’d be dead,” Vorpal grumbled.

“I’m keeping her on her toes, but with Quantum running interference I can’t get a solid shot in,” Bunny sounded off.

“The stunner’s no good?” Dire asked.

“Quantum’s got a device on the ground. Since he set it up, energy weapons fizzle.”

Vorpal tuned out the chatter and focused on Kinetica. The second her eyes shifted, Vorpal hit the ground and rolled, as a chunk of falling rubble shot overhead.

Getting tired. Getting sloppy. That rubble would have chased me before. Of course, I’m tired, too...

She finished the roll as Kinetica backed up, and charged her, tying her up with short, quick slashes. Dire tried to distract her with another question, and she grunted a quick “Ja!” between feints.

The difference between amateurs and trained, efficient professionals, is that amateurs wasted movements and effort. Kinetica wasn’t bad with the staff, but she was an amateur. Vorpal was in a different class when it came to combat.

Vorpal wasn’t used to outlasting foes. Quick strikes to blow through their defenses, then on to the next. Having to shuffle, leave her best moves at home, that was frustrating. But she’d win, eventually.

Finally, Kinetica stiffened up. “Shit. Okay, you’re officially someone else’s problem.” The hero turned and bolted.

And Vorpal found herself angered beyond measure.

How dare she? How dare she! Forcing Vorpal to fight in this awkward way, then running away before she could cement her victory?

Coward!

She gave chase, knowing it was against the plan, not caring. But then the heroine was airborne, and a sweep of her arm scooped up Quantum from where he was trapped behind crumbling cover. The two heroes sped off, and Vorpal gave chase, lips peeling back in a snarl.

I was winning!

Dire tried to call her off, but she choked out a response and kept going. The woman was flying slowly, drained from exhaustion and Quantum’s extra weight. They’d have to stop somewhere around the wreckage of the Quantum Jet. If Vorpal wasn’t entirely exhausted by the time she got there, she could take one, maybe both of them. I just need a clear win against one. Just one, and my name will grow, and oh the money I can make—

“Abort!” Dire snapped. “That’s an order.” Vorpal hesitated. Would Dire forgive her this? Hard to say. If she won, probably...

“Do it, love,” Bunny urged. “There’s a reason for—”

Minna spoke. “Crusader is here.”

Clarity hit her like a bucket of cold water. She snapped der Schmetterling shut, tucked it back in its sheath, and ran for the rendezvous point.

Nobody won against Crusader. Fifty long years he’d been in the skies all over the world. Fifty long years he’d stood. Occasionally he’d been taken out of play but he’d never been taken out of the game.

There were names and there were names, and his was not one she could stand against. Not now, perhaps not ever. “Pulling out,” she choked, through a swollen throat. I was so close.

She pushed her anger into her legs, pounded the broken and skewed pavement, feeling the heat simmer within her. Always second best. Never the champion. Later that night she’d spend hours going over the footage of the fight, reviewing her technique, looking for flaws. Then would come days, weeks of practice to grind out the weaknesses. Harsh exercise, strict diet, and practice over and over again until she was sure she wouldn’t fail again.

Other people could get away with slacking off. Other people were not Vorpal. The day she stopped improving was the day she died.

A clattering noise, rapid-fire behind her, and she tensed before her ears identified it. A second later Bunny, her dull gray hardsuit scored with shiny streaks and dents, fell in next to her. It was something less than power armor but more than a flack jacket, its motors augmented her mobility and its layers protected her thin frame from most conventional weapons. And a lot of unconventional ones too, if some of the scars on the metal were any indication.

“You did well,” Bunny whispered over the comm. “Think we’ll celebrate when we get back. Break out the special lingerie.”

Vorpal’s bad mood warred with her libido, and won. “This was a farce.”

“Any farce you walk away from, huh?”

“We’re running, not walking. Running away.”

“From Crusader.” Bunny’s voice sounded troubled. “Jesus. Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be sad to see the guy.”

“The money is not enough,” Vorpal said, feeling her anger cool, turn to cold bitterness. “With a little more time, I could have got her. Could have dropped her.”

“You’ll get another chance.”

“I am not sure I’ll be around long enough for that to happen.”

Silence for a long minute, save for the mechanical thumping of Bunny’s armored feet as they ran. The silence stretched until they reached the last alleyway before Bolmer Street, the designated rendezvous. Vorpal slid in, knocked the code on the unmarked metal door midway down the alley’s length, and stepped inside as it beeped and opened. Inside it stretched an old cluttered storage room long unused, save for the metal platform in the middle of the floor. It shone, studded with winking colored lights around its edge, and obviously untouched by the grime that coated everything else in the place.

Bunny filed in, her featureless mask scanning the alleyway before she shut the door. “Clear.” Her voice crackled over the comm... then she pulled the mask to the side, slid it back up into the rounded helmet that framed her features. Vapor huffed out with a ‘chuff’, and she spit the mouthpiece into her hand, smiled lazily at Vorpal. “You’re pouting.”

“I am not,” Vorpal grimaced.

“You may as well be. Come on. Let it go.” She stretched out an arm, and Vorpal shook her head, sighed, and embraced Bunny as best she could. The woman had about a foot on her, and the hardsuit was clunky, studded with bumps and unyielding metal. But there was nothing unyielding about Bunny’s lips, soft and warm as she curled a hand around Vorpal’s chin, and lifted her mouth into a deep kiss.

The anger, the bitterness, they faded and fell. Vorpal felt herself shiver as she pulled in tighter, grasped at Bunny’s back to steady herself, and gave everything to the embrace. A heat of a different sort rose from low in her belly, and she growled into Bunny’s mouth.

Their lips separated with a ‘pop’, and Bunny smirked down at her, rubbed Vorpal’s forehead with her nose. “Sure I can’t talk you into that lingerie tonight?”

“No.” Vorpal whispered back. “But you might be able to talk me out of it.”

Bunny opened her mouth, leaned in closer, eyes narrowing as her hand slipped down Vorpal’s back, caressing—

The door slammed open, and the two women spun around, weapons singing free of sheaths and slings.

Martin froze, put his hands up. “Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. Don’t go all cop on me now.”

Vorpal rubbed her mouth with the back of one gloved hand, and shot him a glare.

Bunny sighed. “Some warning over the comm, maybe?”

“Didn’t think of it. Shit, you think she’ll be okay?”

Vorpal laughed. “Crusader does not kill. She will be fine.”

“Crusader don’t lose, either,” Martin pointed out. He reached into the clutter, hauled out a folding chair, and set it up. “You want?”

Vorpal and Bunny eyed the patina of grime, rat droppings, and unknown stains, and shook their heads as one. Bunny winced as he plopped his ass down on the chair, and sighed.

“I could have done more during that fight,” Martin said, slouching down, adjusting the strap of his rifle.

“The point of overwatch is that you cover the folks on the front lines,” Bunny said. “You did that job. You did fine.”

“Just saying, if I’d been part of those front lines, Kinetica wouldn’t have gotten away.”

Vorpal felt a slow burn rise again, and not the good kind. “Are you insinuating something?” she said, struggling with the words.

“What? No. Just... shit.” He peeled his balaclava off, mopped his brow with it. “Been training for months with that other hardsuit. I kind of expected to get to use it for this part, y’know?”

“It’s not comfy,” Bunny said. “And you wouldn’t have enjoyed the catheter.”

Martin winced, but kept on going. “Just saying, I’m willing to make sacrifices here. I wanna pull my weight.”

“And what do you think you could have done?” Vorpal spat. “That Bunny did not? That I did not?”

“Look, I’m not trying to start shit.”

“Then stop saying dumb shit,” Vorpal snarled. Bunny stretched out an arm to her, but Vorpal pushed it away. “Your ego is bruised Martin, we get it. Fucking get over it.”

“You’re one to be talkin’ bout bruised egos,” Martin said, giving her a sour glare. “Got a reason you’re butthurt, or is it that time of the month?”

She was in motion before he finished the sentence, surging forward, putting her leg out just so, with her weight behind it, catching the leg of the folding chair and snapping the flimsy metal loose with a CRIK. Martin tumbled to the ground and before he could stand she knelt next to him, arms snapping out and around his head in a chokehold.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds. She breathed hard, inhaling his sweaty, worn smell, her breath riffling the short hair on the back of his scalp.

“That was a stupid thing to say,” she finally spoke.

“That was a really fucking stupid thing to say,” Martin said. “Sorry.”

“I have had a bad day.”

“Yeah.” He tapped her arm. “It’s... old habits, you know? They die hard.”

He sounded calm. That was the weirdest part of it.

“Think you could get off of him?” Bunny asked. “Be hard to explain if the boss rolls through the door right now.”

Vorpal glanced between them, nodded, and slid her arms free, slid cautiously back. Martin rose slowly, pushing up off the ground and examining his clothes. “Shit. Don’t wanna think about what’s all been on this floor. Probably got hepatitis out of this.”

“That’ll be a fun one to explain to Freeway,” Bunny said, grinning.

“Shut up. Can’t believe he’s still treating us.”

“Beats the alternative. Thought you were a goner that one time Groundpounder got his hands on you.”

Martin winced. “Don’t remind me. I’m just glad—”

The room shook, and all of them snapped their heads around, looking to the roof as the building groaned.

“Earthquake?” Bunny asked.

Vorpal shook her head. “No. Crusader.”

Silence, then. Rumbles of what could be mistaken for thunder, as the Doctor and the Hero fought in the skies of Icon, and the ruins of the waterworks a few blocks distant.

Vorpal found her hands clenching and unclenching. Could Dire do it? Could she be the irresistible force to the unmovable object?

“I saw him fight once. Against Dark Harvest,” she blurted out.

That got two sets of eyes on her, all of them wide. Dark Harvest was a name to fear, and with good reason.

“No shit?” Martin asked.

“No bullshit,” Vorpal confirmed. “It was a job gone bad. My team did not ask the right kind of questions. We were sent in to retrieve an item while the city was being evacuated. But we could not dismantle the protective measures around it in time before Dark Harvest started to gather his host.”

“How did you survive?” Bunny asked. “This... shit, this must’ve been Minsk, yeah?”

Vorpal nodded. “We were at the edge of his death effect. Half the team resisted, I was one of them. The ones that died, they killed everyone but me and the leader when they rose as undead. We fled. But our dead teammates pursued us.” One had been a powerhouse, too dangerous at close range to risk attacking him. He’d come very close to killing her, had killed the entire Spetsnaz squad she’d led him into during her escape. Then that had been trouble, once they rose, and she had an entire squad full of fully-armed special ops zombies to deal with.

“Fuck,” Martin said. “You’re lucky.”

“At the time I thought not. But then I got to a good vantage point. I saw them fight.” She’d holed up in one of the nearby grain silos, ready to touch the whole thing off with fire and send herself and as many zombies as she could take with her straight to hell. Better than becoming one of those things. “It was... it was like watching two gods battle. Nothing stopped him. Every power from Harvest’s costumed slaves washed off him like water. Every weapon and superdevice his normal slaves brought to bear failed. Crusader was invulnerable. And for his part, he was not holding back. If I had been just a few miles closer, I would have died.”

The room shuddered again, and plaster rained down from a crack in the ceiling. Martin eyed it. “Like now? Think we should Gee Tee Eff Oh?”

“No,” Vorpal said, watching the crack grow. “He is holding back. We would be dead by now if he was not.”

“Wasn’t much of Minsk left, from what I remember,” Bunny said.

“There wasn’t,” Vorpal confirmed. “But here there are people to worry about. Only some of the city is empty. So we are safe.”

The conversation died after that. They waited in silence, as the building around them shook and shuddered... but ultimately held. The minutes crawled by, and eventually, the distant booms and shaking were replaced with sullen quiet, and the sound of distant sirens.

“Where is she?” Martin muttered.

“She’ll be here,” Bunny said, raising a hand to her comm. “Minna?”

“Wait,” Minna replied.

They waited. More minutes crawled by.

And in her gut, she knew it. “Something’s wrong,” Vorpal muttered.

“Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea.” Martin started toward the door.

“Wait,” Minna insisted.

“Talk to me, Minna. The fuck’s going on?” he asked.

“She had pursuit. Had to teleport directly back,” Minna said. “Now you must return. Come back now, the entry is clear.”

Tension eased, and Vorpal nodded. “Affirmative.” She took her spot on the metal disk, and the other two joined her. Vorpal opened her comm channel. “We are ready.”

Shimmering, a wave of light, and then they were no longer inside of the dirty, disused room. The area around them was replaced with stainless steel walls, studded with tens of thousands of winking lights.

“Right. Showertime,” Martin said, heading for the door. Vorpal started to follow, stiffened as a gloved hand caught at hers.

“I wasn’t kidding about that lingerie,” Bunny murmured. “Get dirty before we get clean?”

Vorpal considered. The anger was gone from her now, leaving her libido free to rise. She flushed, and felt a lazy smile spread across her face. “Ya, I think we have time...”

Some time later, happy, naked, and warm, she woke from her nap and felt around her in the darkness. No Bunny. Well, maybe she was smoking. She often did that after sex.

A few minutes more in the cool darkness, and she studied the dim outline of the ceiling. The money would be in her account by now, as per her agreement with Dire. This last job was more than enough to keep her traveling and living comfortably for a year, perhaps two if she didn’t get stupid. On to another country, or another part of this one. On to someplace where she wouldn’t have to risk getting within spitting distance of Crusader on a madwoman’s whims.

A compelling madwoman, mind. A smart and competent madwoman, without a doubt. But a madwoman nonetheless. Sooner or later her rising star would fall, and take down anyone who was still trailing behind it. Vorpal intended to be well away from Doctor Dire and her insane crusade by the time that happened. But there were complications with that idea.

One of those complications was out having a cigarette right now.

It had started after last summer’s nonsense with Professor Vector and the kaiju. Purely physical back then, mutual attraction and loneliness. But it had grown, and words had been thrown around. Words like ‘love’.

The rest of them she didn’t care so much about. Sure, she wished Minna and Anya well, and felt sorry for their circumstances. But hell, bad things happened to good people every day. Martin was an asshole at the best of times, and his blind faith in Doctor Dire was tiring. He took nothing seriously, which grated on her. How do you expect to improve, to perfect your technique if you don’t take challenges seriously? But Dire seemed to value his counsel nonetheless. But Bunny? She was pretty sure Bunny loved her.

Did she love Bunny? That was the core of the question, when everything that didn’t matter was cut away. It lead to another question: would Bunny come with her if she left? Vorpal didn’t know the answer to that one. Didn’t know if she wanted to risk learning the answer. And then there was the other question, the one in the back of her mind: Did she love Bunny enough to risk staying?

Minutes crawled by, and the ceiling didn’t change, no matter how hard she stared at it. Finally she rose and found her way to the shower, scrubbing sweat and grime and the results of some sloppy, enjoyable lovemaking from her wiry frame. The warm water helped, and she was relaxed by the time she returned to her bedroom.

Still no Bunny.

Now a little uneasy, she suited up, grabbed her saber and the standard array of gadgets that she’d wheedled from Dire over the months, and went in search of her significant other.

She found Bunny in the control center, standing with Martin, glaring at Minna. The tall blonde woman crossed her arms and glared back. Anger simmered in the air, and Anya curled tightly in her mother’s arms, frightened.

“Did I miss something?” Vorpal asked.

Martin looked at her, and his eyes were wary, guarded white orbs in deep brown skin. “You want to tell her or should I?”

Bunny sighed, and turned to Vorpal. She ran calloused fingers along her bald scalp, a gesture of hers that Vorpal knew well.

“It’s bad news? Tell me now.”

“Dire didn’t make it back,” Bunny said.

“Minna lied to get us out of there,” Martin said, his voice choked with emotion, hands trembling.

“Yes,” Minna said, simply. In her arms, Anya whimpered and burrowed her dandelion puff of hair deeper into the crook of Minna’s arm.

Vorpal blinked. “How? Was she captured?”

“No,” Minna said.

“Yes,” Martin said, simultaneously. They shared a look, then Martin sighed. “Timetripper.”

“Scheiße.” Vorpal swore. That damned fool had been chasing Dire off and on all year. She still had nightmares of the time he’d mistaken her for Dire and grabbed her by mistake. Then came the near-death in an endless choking fog, and the salvation from an unlikely source. And then her, the madwoman’s final form, and her wicked works revealed in all their insane glory.

She’d promised to help change the future by doing what she could in the past. No other option at the time, no other way to return.

“Well.” Maybe it was time to cut her losses. If Dire was gone, sucked away into the depths of time, then there was no way to help her, right? Her obligation was fulfilled. “Now what?”

“You’re taking this well.” Bunny said.

Vorpal shrugged. “We have no way to help her without Timetripper or a time machine of our own. Since we have neither, there is nothing we can do. Perhaps in the future that will change, but for now we must worry about ourselves.”

“Heh.” Martin rubbed his jaw. “I remember her sayin’ the same thing about you when ‘Trip grabbed you that first time around. Sucks, but I think you’re right.”

Bunny tucked her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Especially on that part about worrying about ourselves. That little rampage we did? The whole city’s baying for her blood. Tomorrow Force is going to be after her, along with Crusader, Freeway, the Torchbearers, and every independent who has a scrap of spandex to their name.”

“Not just them,” Dire’s modulated voice screeched from a nearby monitor, and Vorpal jumped, spun around.

“This is your idea of a sick prank—”

She froze.

Dire’s mask filled the monitor, but it was different. Ridges creased its brow, in a familiar pattern. One she’d hoped never to see again.

It was her mask.

“You.” Vorpal’s words spilled from loose lips. “You are the one I saw in the future.”

The mask shifted, and blue light flared from hollow black eyesockets. “Hello Vorpal. Good to see you’ve survived.”

Vorpal felt cold run down her spine. The rest of her team glanced at her, and back to the monitor, confused.

“You mind telling me what the fuck’s going on?” Martin asked.

“Martin! It's been so long. We missed you.”

Martin drew in a sharp breath. “Okay, that bodes.”

“She’ll cut to the chase. When Dire sent the time machine back to Dire, she embedded the seed of a smartframe into the machine’s operating system. Think of it as a limited artificial intelligence. An interactive program that can only act in pre-programmed ways with the information available.”

“So okay, you’re Dire’s downloaded brain in a box. What's your deal?”

“She’s trying to set up her future,” Vorpal said, as things fell into place. “She’s trying to make sure that her future comes about. The bad future.”

An electronic snort, and Dire’s face turned on the monitor. “Please. The bad future is what happens if you fail.”

“Fail at what?” Martin asked.

“You’ve got two tasks. One easy, the other hard. The first one is building a chronal beacon, to get Dire and Timetripper back to the current day. Relax, this is the easy one. This smartframe has the blueprints and can talk you through putting it together once you get the parts together.”

“Why do we need this thing?” Minna asked.

The face sighed. “Let’s just say that Timetripper’s past has come back to haunt him at the worst possible time.”

“And the second task?” Vorpal asked.

“Surviving the next twenty-four hours, for a start. It’s not just the heroes after you.”

The base shuddered, as a distant explosion rumbled. The lights flickered, and emergency alarms pealed out, klaxons screaming and red lights flashing.

Dire’s image continued, oblivious. “By now Arachne’s finally managed to put two and two together. WEB’s coming for Dire, and they’re not taking prisoners.”

“Fuck me running. What do we do?” Bunny whispered.

The face on the monitors was quiet, and Vorpal found herself answering, as she pulled the saber from her back, setting it alight with flame.

“We fight.”

CHAPTER 3: DIRE – HEAVY METAL THROWDOWN

“Ah yes, the Eisenjötun. Quadrupedal tanks, with the heaviest of armaments. They drank diesel fuel like thirsty gasoline-powered elephants, so most of them were only deployed during the first part of the war, before the rolling shortages limited their practicality. Still, the shock and awe they inspired in the enemies of the Reich pleased Hitler, and led him to elevate their inventor, a hitherto eccentric mad scientist who had taken the alias of Heinrich von Katzen...”

--1982 interview with Herr Carstein, former Nazi engineer repatriated after Operation Paperclip

Darkness surrounded me, and for a second I despaired. But in a heartbeat the Direnaut’s readouts flickered and came alive around me. LOW POWER one declared. INTERRUPTED BROADCAST FEED screamed another.

“Well, shit,” I cursed, and started shutting down nonessential systems. While I was at it, I fired up the scanners, and started looking for another feed. If he’d dropped me in a twentieth or twenty-first century time, I had a chance. If he’d dropped me in Pangaea, or something equivalent back before the human species existed, then I was pretty well boned.

Still, I was far from unprepared. The idiot had been pursuing me for a year, jumping in at random moments and forcing me to retreat. I’d always managed to dodge him before, but I knew that all it would take was one moment of misfortune to send me to someplace horrible. So I’d prepared, and I’d built every suit that I wore on public outings to have a few redundancies that were useful in the event I found myself in a weird spot. One of those redundancies was life support, so wherever I was, I’d have time to look around.

Luck was with me as the scanners found a broadcast channel. A powerful one, in a band I hadn’t seen in use before. I set up the filters, reconfiguring the collector circuits on the fly to adapt to it. Within seconds the batteries were charged up, and I flicked on the visual feeds. The surviving external cameras, the ones not destroyed by Crusader’s assault, flickered  to life and I took a good look around.

I was in a city. The Direnaut stood frozen, down to one arm and listing, in a square between several buildings. They were all white stucco and orange-tiled roofs, with tiers of windows rising three or four high. Broadcast collectors rose among them, and a few emitters stood high above the city. On the skyline, perhaps a mile or two away, the twin spires of what looked like a cathedral rose out of a walled enclosure.

Okay. I could work with this. The distribution pattern suggested sometime between the nineteen-twenties and nineteen-fifties, depending on just where I was. Probably not the United States, going by the distribution. Europe? The Cathedral was a good argument for somewhere in Europe.

Distant noise and  reverberations against the Direnaut. The red and yellow damage icons flared, indicating minor trauma. Bullets? That could have been gunfire. I lowered the cameras, looked to the ground around me.

At street level the square was strewn with bodies and the walls were riddled with bullet holes. Antique cars were flaming or wrecked, with what looked like two old military vehicles cutting off one of the streets out of the square. Men in black coats wearing gray helmets moving with the precision of trained soldiers were taking cover near the vehicles, and shooting in my general direction with small machine guns. They sure as hell weren’t hitting much for the amount of bullets they were putting in the air. What was this?

I flicked through the cameras, and saw that I wasn’t the target.

I was cover.

A nattily-dressed handsome man with plenty of gray in his hair and mustache broke from behind one of the burning cars and darted behind the Direnaut’s legs. He glanced up at me, scrutinizing my mecha’s wrecked and half-destroyed mask for a long moment. Then he glanced around my leg at the men in black, pulled lightning out of thin air, and threw it at them with a contemptuous flick. I watched bullets sheet off of him, throwing up flashes from what I recognized as the field from a Mark Three Tesla Deflector—

Wait. Hold on just one cotton-pickin’ minute...

One of the benefits of my superpower was a mostly-eidetic memory. I knew that face. I’d seen it online time and again. “Tesla!” I gasped as the crackling bolt of lightning struck down a row of soldiers.

That was Nikola Tesla himself taking cover behind my mecha’s battered legs and using his powers to mow down men like wheat.

To the side, something in the burning car stirred. I watched it, then turned my attention back to the battle. Three dozen on one didn’t seem fair, especially when it was against one of the fathers of the modern age. I brought my weapons systems online, fired up the targeting system—

And paused, with my thumbs on the buttons.

Just how much would I fuck up the future with one volley of missiles, here? My eyes flicked among the lines of soldiers, as they drew back their twitching wounded and hopped from cover to cover, moving to flank the errant inventor. I was the errant variable in this little play here, and any of my actions had the potential to butterfly into a whole big mess in the future. I had no idea which model of time travel I was dealing with here, or any of the physics involved. Causality was a bitch at the best of times, and my luck was usually sour.

Furthermore, the situation didn’t hold up when I gave it a few microseconds of consideration. Why had Timetripper sent me to a potentially troublesome moment? Why had he gotten me within one errant footfall of squishing Nikola Tesla himself? This made no sense. True, the man was a fool in every sense of the word, but I doubted that even he would be this careless.

Though it went against my grain, I eased my thumbs away from the weapons array, and flicked through the sensors, looking for Timetripper. I found him at the far edge of the square, looking frantic. His hands were up in surrender and he was backing away from a group of shouting soldiers, One of them, an officer with a peaked cap pointed a gloved hand at him in a clear threat.

I figured he’d use his powers, ‘bip’ on out of there, but he didn’t. He stood there, cowering, and looking more hopeless than usual.

Something was wrong.

I saw the officer’s lips move, and he jerked his hand back. His squad raised guns, pointed them at Timetripper. That decided me. Whatever the risk of changing the future, whatever the situation was here exactly, the only thing I was pretty certain about was that I’d need Timetripper to get back to my own time.

The entire plaza froze as I swiveled the Direnaut’s torso, and pointed its remaining hand at the squad menacing Timetripper. Well-trained, they took cover immediately, but cover didn’t matter so much against the concussion missile I lobbed their way. Even with the audio feed off, even through the levels of armor that made up the Direnaut, I heard the glorious CRUMP as it detonated against the wall of the building behind the soldiers, sending them sprawling. They’d be dazed or out, barring superpowers or unforeseen defenses.

It sent Timetripper flying back into a pile of garbage. I grinned, to see him holding his head and vomiting. Inner ear trauma, always a crowd-pleaser. “Whoops! Her bad.” I chuckled to myself, as I swiveled back around—

Just in time to catch the first volley of rockets straight to the Direnaut’s upper torso.

It didn’t do much. I’d built this thing to go toe-to-toe with Crusader, after all. Even damaged and at somewhere around half-functionality, it still had enough layers of armor to handle this sort of thing.

When the smoke cleared I focused the cameras back on the frontal assault squad, saw half-a-dozen of them reloading crude man-portable rocket launchers. They must have broken them out in the minute I was turned away. I glanced backwards, worried. Mark Three Tesla Deflectors couldn’t handle explosives, bullets were about their limit... I needn’t have worried. They’d aimed high, and the man had taken cover.

It occurred to me that if they were trying to kill him, they would have used the rockets earlier and they would have aimed lower just now.

They weren’t trying to kill him. The bullets were just to keep him busy. Keep him from fleeing. Did he know that? Hard to tell. He was supposed to be a genius, but genius was never an indicator of common sense. Logic ground on, cold and clear within my mind. If they were trying to keep him busy, then time was on their side. Time was on their side because sooner or later something would show up to tip the balance...

Another volley of rockets. One of them managed to turn a yellow breach warning red. I wasn’t invulnerable in here, just a pretty hard target now that my forcefields were down. Much as I hated to introduce the butterflies of altered time into the mix, well, time had already been borked thanks to the dork at the other end of the square. I’d act as I saw fit, and after I’d collected Timetripper we could sort this all out. Maybe use him to fix things.

The thought didn’t fill me with confidence. But the alternative was to sit here and let them blow up my sole defensive measure around me, so it was what it was.

I moved the Direnaut’s legs slowly, carefully, giving Tesla time to get out of accidental squishing distance as I jogged to the side, sending the flankers on my right scrambling back, teeth flashing as they shouted in alarm. Pity about the audio feeds, the shockwaves from Crusader’s attack had pretty well done for them. Still, I didn’t need to hear them to get the gist of what they were saying.

“That’s right!” I whooped. “Big freaking mecha, coming to squish you all!” A spray of concussion missiles from my left torso array knocked the main group of them around like bowling pins and flipped over one of their trucks. Lightning flared and danced as Tesla took the offensive, jogging the opposite way back towards the burning cars and whatever was causing that wreckage to shift around. Did he have an invention in there or something? I was clueless.

Clueless in more ways than one, really. Hindsight told me I should have read up more on twentieth-century history. That would have let me know how far I could push something like this. For example, a history book might have mentioned “oh hey, a giant robot turned up out of nowhere and saved Tesla’s ass, lucky it didn’t kill Bob Secretgoodguy who later on saved the world,” then I’d know to keep it nonlethal against Bob, and it was open season on everyone else. But no, my education in matters historical was lacking. I’d fix that if— no, when I got back to my own time. Wouldn’t take long, really. Not with my powers.

And then something struck the Direnaut like the fist of an angry god. I fought with the damaged gyros, ignored the blaring alarms, and managed to bring it stumbling backward, catching the nearest building for balance. White bricks crumbled under its massive steel fingers, but I ignored the collateral, scanning for the new threat.

Threats, I amended, as three shambling gray forms stomped toward me on massive, pistoning feet. Three things which looked for all the world like walking tanks, with two massive backward-jointed legs, chunky main bodies, and guns like artillery pieces perched atop them. They were adorned with swastikas, and that was the final clue I needed.

I’d studied these things, briefly, back when I was designing the Direnaut. These were Eisenjötuns. Which meant that I was somewhere in the nineteen-forties, and fighting Nazis. I didn't know much about the Nazis, beyond the fact that history had painted them as bad people. I hadn't read those parts, just looked over some of their war machines. But here they were, and here I was, so I figured I'd get a good lesson up close and personal.

Just as I got the Direnaut straightened up, the gun on the second-closest one boomed, and bricks sprayed the Direnaut as a chunk of the building’s wall ceased to be. Not a hit, but close enough that the shockwave staggered me. Normally these things would be a joke. I had them outclassed in tech, armor, and armament. But three of them, in my current damaged state... this could be tricky.

Best to end it quickly, then.

I brought the particle beam online, only to get a large POWER INSUFFICIENT message flickering across my HUD. Right, right, the current broadcast infrastructure for this era couldn’t handle that large a draw.

Fortunately, I had other options.

Bringing the head around to glare directly at the first Eisenjötun, I spun up the remaining mass driver in the right eye socket, and put a hand-sized slug of iron into the bulky machine’s body. Molten steel sprayed as it shuddered—

And kept on stomping towards me, trails of smoke rising from its port side.

What the hell? I used my memory to flicker through the thing’s schematics. Ah, right, they were built to take this kind of abuse. Compartmentalized. I’d probably killed three or four of the crew and wrecked some of its systems, but it’d take more than that to put it down.

The main gun swiveled toward me, fired. At this range I couldn’t dodge it, and the impact knocked the Direnaut on its ass, pushing it through the wall. Bricks sprayed, household furnishings went flying from the apartments I’d just plowed through, and screaming people fled or died in the collapse. I watched with an open and gaping mouth as an elderly woman scrabbled to keep her hold on a doorknob, before the door itself fell from the frame and she dropped screaming into the dust three stories below.

There were people in here? These Nazi jerks were deploying military hardware in an inhabited urban area?

I closed my mouth with a snap, and felt the cold rage fill me. This is how they wanted to play it? Very well, then. “Dire shall deliver,” I growled. “And Hell shall be full of fools tonight!”

A quick glance through the cameras showed dust and smoke everywhere. Good, I could use that. I punched the Direnaut’s thermal sight overlays up, measured my distance to the targets, and rolled the battered, sparking Direnaut into a sprinter’s crouch. Shots whistled overhead, and I winced to see them go. More buildings exploded, behind me, but no help for it. They were shooting blind.

I wasn’t.

Two quick mass driver shots took out the knee of the foremost Eisenjötun. It listed, started to topple, but by then I was already in motion. Mobility was my big advantage here; even with a  torn-up mecha I had speed that these bulky machines couldn’t match. It must have been a sight, the Direnaut’s twenty-foot-tall hulk charging from the dust cloud and closing with the second Eisenjötun before it could do more than turn. I slammed into it, heard the CLANG through the hulls as the Direnaut creaked and groaned. But the Nazi mecha didn’t fall.

Unexpected, that. Also problematic. I needed it down quickly, by any means possible.

Well, sometimes the simplest ways were best; I brought my working arm around as the Eisenjötun started to step back, and jackhammered the Direnaut’s fist into it again and again, until the main turret hung loose and shattered, and the mighty legs finally collapsed, sending it sprawling to the ground.

I turned, trying to orient on the remaining Eisenjötun—

And every one of my rear camera viewscreens turned to fire.

Heat alarms went off instantly, and I swore a blue streak. Flamethrowers! The last one must have had a flamethrower-based loadout! No wonder it hadn’t taken a shot at me. It was designed for close-up work, probably protecting its brothers from saboteurs or close-range threats.

Well, the thermal sight was useless, now. I punched it back to regular view, started to spin around—

CLONG!

My world went horizontal, as the tormented gyros failed and the Direnaut fell. The big mecha was on its right side, and I shifted the view around... just as the surviving Eisenjötun’s massive foot came down on the Direnaut’s head.

Eighty tons of Solingen steel did its job. I heard crunching, groaning of abused and heated steel giving way, and I winced as damage readouts went straight to red.

It really made me glad I’d put the cockpit in the torso. Seriously, who puts a cockpit in the head of a humanoid mecha? That turns it into an obvious weak point. The torso’s easier to armor, and there’s more space to utilize.

I shifted the arm, tried to get it around the Eisenjötun’s leg, and my front viewscreens filled with flames as the enemy mecha rained jellied petroleum down on me like it was cooking the world’s largest knockwurst.

I sighed. No help for it, I’d have to abandon the Direnaut. I didn’t have this one configured for fire suppression, and with the head gone, it was pretty much a lost cause.

But before I went, there was one last thing I could do.

“Compy mode, activate!” I shouted, and the voice recognition circuits chimed. Martin had given me the idea for this, back when we’d watched a schlocky movie about a dinosaur park gone awry. Bad science, good action. And little spitty dinosaur things that won my heart. Forget the raptors, those guys were awesome!

The acid that had failed to make Crusader flinch bubbled up from the neck of the Direnaut, and sprayed out of its ruined mouth at full volume as the tank emptied. The flames paused as liquid drenched them, and then the air was full of green steam.

Just before the last camera failed, I caught a glimpse of the last Eisenjötun staggering aimlessly as it sizzled and its stubby flamethrower barrels melted and sagged. It twisted as the legs gave, cables and gears melting and running like wax, sending the massive machine crumpling to the ground into the huge puddle of acid that the Direnaut had spewed.

The huge puddle which my mecha was mostly immune to, mind you. I’d treated the inner layers with a counteragent.

But that was neither reason nor excuse to hang about. I triggered the escape pod, hunkered down, and braced myself for ejection. Right now I was blind in a damaged shell, with most of my weapons either non-functional or unusable. Better to slip away in the confusion, reconvene with Timetripper, and figure out what the hell was going on someplace where people weren’t trying to kill me.

It was a good plan. It was a simple plan. It would have been nice if that’s how it had gone.

But no. Once I opened the ejection pod’s door, I looked straight up into the barrels of three Mauser pistols, with some angry faces looking down from behind them.

Behind them I saw two more soldiers rummaging through the fallen wreckage of the first Eisenjötun. Ah, right, I hadn’t aimed for the crew compartments, just crippled its legs. These were likely the surviving crew.

“What? A woman?” I assumed the one talking was an officer. He was wearing one of those peaked caps. Non of them wore the black coats, they were basically stripped to the waist, sweaty and grimy, and clad in stained brown trousers. Right, right, the Eisenjötun design was pretty much a walking sauna, with the diesel engine throwing off stupid amounts of heat.

“Some fun before we kill her?” another one asked, glancing to the officer. For his part, and to his credit, he glared back until the other one dropped his gaze and muttered an apology. But I barely noticed the byplay, I looked to the third one, the only one still staring at me.

“You’re bleeding,” I whispered to him in German.

He blinked. “No, I’m unhurt—”

I whipped my hand out from behind the door, taking the Colt forty-five army pistol from the holster on the back of it, and put two bullets into him before he could finish the statement. “Yes you are!” I insisted, as I let myself fall to the ground, and the officer’s shots missed me by a hair. No exaggeration! I literally felt my hair twitch as a ricochet whined off the pod inches from my head. But by then I had the gun shifted over to the officer and the still-staring crewman, and four more shots ended the matter.

When the echoes faded away, they were replaced by shouts from the Eisenjötun, as the remaining crew broke off their salvage to whip out submachine guns and charge toward me. Idiots! I crouched, half behind the pod’s door as I leveled the Colt. Automatic weapons chattered, sparks flew from around my cover, and I knew it’d be a long shot at this distance—

The crewmen fell. The automatic gunfire kept chattering, but the sparks around me stopped.

What was this?

I popped my head around, whipped it back just as fast, and analyzed what I’d just seen. Score one for perfect memory. Also score one for the cavalry, if this worked out.

“She’s going to assume that you’re American!” I shouted, as the gunfire died down.

“Who wants to know?” Came a deep male voice, with a slight New York accent.

“Somebody who wants to make sure Mister Tesla survives this,” I called back. That was the truth. He wasn’t supposed to die here, I was pretty sure of that. No telling how that would alter the world’s future.

“Alright. Come out slow, hands up.”

I slid the spare magazine into the Colt, tucked it into the pocket of my skinsuit, and raised my hands before straightening up and out of the pod.

Behind me, my Direnaut burned. Off to the side of the street, the fallen Eisenjötun smoked. Ahead of me stood a man in red coveralls. Two black letters, ’U’ and ’S’ were emblazoned on the front of his suit. His skin and hair were smeared black with ash, and piercing blue eyes considered me with wariness. He cradled a Nazi submachinegun in his arms, barrel pointing down. He’d been the one to mow down the Nazi crew that had shot at me a few seconds ago.

Behind him, Nikola Tesla lent his shoulder and support to a woozy Timetripper. The most important man of this century paid his charge no mind, ignoring Timetripper as he studied me, the pod, and the Direnaut with narrowed eyes.

“Another time traveler, I presume?”

I looked to Timetripper. The scraggly brown-haired idiot shrugged. “No names!” he called. “Just... no names. That always goes bad.”

“The hell did you do, you moron?” I growled, and stomped toward him. Mr. U.S. got in my way, and put up a hand.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view, lady, but we need to get you and everyone else here off the street. Think you can work with us on that?”

The view? I glanced back at the burning Eisenjötun. Yes, I supposed it was good. “Very well,” I told him. “Lead on. She can’t promise she won’t take a lead pipe to Time— the moron over there.”

“Gonna assume you’re not talking about Mr. Tesla. I’d have to kill you for that. C’mon, let’s book it.”

The square was clear of Nazis, save for the dead. This was war, then... I’d never seen so many dead bodies in one spot. It made the battles I’d had with the Black Bloods seem like a schoolyard fight by comparison.

I made my way over to Timetripper, took his other arm to help haul him faster. “Why the hell are we in the middle of World War Two?” I hissed at him. Tesla looked at me with knowing eyes, excused himself, and moved back to let us talk in peace.

Timetripper stared at me with bloodshot eyes, and leaned in, practically stepping on my feet as we went. “Dude, what the fuck did you do?”

“What did she do? What did she do?” I sputtered. “You’re the one who took us back here!”

“No man, it’s... that glowy lighty thing you did. My powers didn’t like that shit. At all.”

“The escape teleporter?” It had interacted with Timetripper’s power somehow?

“Yeah. Drained me right the fuck out. Boop, gone. I mean, not the first time this shit has happened, but I’m tapped for a while.”

“So why World War Two? You run out of oomph mid-jump or something?”

“Naw, doesn’t work that way. It... uh, you know what the first thing you do when you get time travel powers is?”

“Misuse them horribly for selfish personal gain?”

“What? No! I mean, well yeah, but that didn’t count. Okay, so like what’s the second thing you do with time travel powers?”

I sighed. “She doesn’t know. Spill it already.”

“So I tried to kill Hitler.”

“Okay.”

“Like about fifty times or so.”

“What.”

“He’s really fucking hard to kill. There’s like a million dudes around him all the time. And costumes, and guns, and traps, and shit—”

“So you died fifty times or so.”

“Kinda. I lost track. High as balls for most of it.”

“That still doesn’t explain why we’re here now.”

He glanced back to Tesla, made sure the father of the modern age was out of earshot, before he continued. “You know how a record gets like a groove in it when you play it too much?”

“No. Wait.” My brain supplied information. “A vinyl record, you mean? Okay, that makes sense.”

“Well all those different attempts, and deaths, and me using my powers kind of wore a groove in time. If time travel was a record player, whenever you tried to play the track labeled ’Hitler’, it’d kick you straight over to September thirteenth, nineteen-forty-two.”

“You broke time?”

“Only like Hitler’s timeline. Jesus, calm down.”

“Through sheer fucking stupidity you broke time. Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I was young and dumb and shit.”

“Still are.”

“Dude, c’mon. Like you never did anything stupid.”

I gritted my teeth. “Just tell her how to get out of here.”

“I’m depowered. But right now time powers don’t work too well anyway. So we’d have to paradox our way out.”

“Go on.”

“It’s set in stone that Hitler lives through this ’cause I fucked up so much.”

“Okay. So if we kill him...”

“...then there’s a paradox, history resets around him, and I probably get my powers back.”

“Probably?”

“I’ve never killed him. If I miss my window and he dies like he’s supposed to in a few years, I get my powers back then.”

“If you’ve never killed him, then how do you know you’ll regain your powers?”

“Older me came back and told me. Said I could maybe pull it off if the need was dire enough—” He frowned. “Shit! That asshole! Now I get it!”

I snapped fingers in front of his face. “Focus. So we’re stuck for several years if we don’t kill him early?” He nodded.

That didn’t appeal at all. The longer I was back here, the more chance there was that I’d screw something up in the modern day. Tempting as it was to meddle, I’d gone to great lengths to get the friends I did have, even greater lengths to keep them alive. I didn’t want them erased, or killed due to timeline shenanigans. We slowed a bit as Tesla stopped to confer with coverall guy. They gestured to a side-street, and we followed.

“Right,” I said. “Your powers are about the second most infuriating thing that Dire’s ever run into. Arbitrary, stupidly strong, entirely underutilized, and capable of doing unimaginable harm if the smallest thing goes wrong.”

“Shit, you’re telling me? You got no idea how much time I gotta waste setting things right when I fuck up.” He did a double take. “Wait. The second thing? What’s the first thing?”

“You are,” I growled. “This entire mess is your fault. Your stupid vendetta got us into this.”

“You're the one that killed me!”

“Not well enough, evidently! And not yet, anyhow,” I glowered.

“Look, can we argue later? I've got a real fuck of a headache.”

“This isn't over,” I snapped.

The side-street gave way to a row of shops, all closed. Sirens wailed in the distance, and that boded ill. I cleared my throat, gave Timetripper space to collect himself. He was moving more easily now, so I pulled my arm back and let him jog freely.

“Apologies,” I said, calling ahead to Tesla and Mr. U.S. “We had to figure out a few things.”

“Understandable,” Tesla said, voice barely audible above the sirens. I got the sense he was soft-spoken by nature. “You are hardly the first time travelers that I’ve encountered. By all means, say as little as you must. For all of our sakes.”

I blinked. Refreshing. Then again, the man was a genius. Nice to not have to explain all the little subtleties. I smiled at him, and he nodded back, before skidding to a stop. “Trouble,” he said, pointing up and behind me.

I jerked my head around just as a shadow passed overhead. Birds? A flock of black birds, swooping lower. Big black birds, as they grew, and grew, diving straight for us.

Of all the times to be without a mecha!

“Sturm Crows!” U.S. shouted.

I dove for cover, ran into Timetripper who was doing the same thing, and wasted a second cursing him out. Tesla raised his hands, electricity crackling out and arcing up, just as U.S. shouted “No!”

The bolt hit the lead crow, but instead of knocking it out of the sky it sped up, darted around the flock, and then it burst in an explosion of light. I felt every hair stand on end as I hugged the cobblestone sidewalk, trying to keep from being fried.

KRAKA-THOOM!

When I came to and shook the cobwebs from my mind and the afterimages from my eyes, I was alone. I blinked, stared upwards in time to see the red-suited man jab a combat knife into a screaming crow, riding it down, sending both of them crashing into a nearby building.

Well, that’s it then. I’m alone—

The man stood up from the feathery corpse, glared at his broken arm, and shook it. With an audible cracking sound it straightened out, and he flexed his hands a few times as he surveyed the skies... and the departing forms of four giant blackbirds, carrying two limp forms between them.

Mister U.S had survived, regenerating the damage. But the birds had escaped with their prizes.

In one fell swoop we’d lost both my ticket home and the most important man in the world.

CHAPTER 4: DIRE – AN ALLIED RESISTANCE

“After America started taking an interest in the war, the OSS ran a number of covert operations on the continent. Frequently they would call in assistance from other allied nations and local partisans, usually with mixed results. America could supply skilled operatives and the occasional metahuman, but rarely had experienced agents. Britain could help with the occasional magical talent, and experienced agents, but they were building their own metahuman battalion and usually couldn't spare any powered people. France could supply powers a-plenty, but given the state of the feuding warlords, it was pretty hit-or-miss as to whether their agents were more of a help or a hindrance. Still, the chaotic mix of each covert group ended up working in the Allies' favor, more often that not. The Nazis simply couldn't predict what they'd be trying to thwart on any given day.”

--1994 Interview with Theresa Gideon, former secretary employed by MI6.

“Through here. Let me go first, or you’ll probably eat a few bullets.” I nodded at Mister U.S. and made an ‘after you’ gesture. He headed down the stairs in the side of the small chapel, and I followed. I ached all over, a side effect of the near-electrocution we’d withstood earlier. He was unaffected, of course. Regenerators were lucky like that. Hell, even his costume regenerated. Not sure how he managed that, but powers are weird that way.

The only light in the small space seeped through the cracks of a door at the bottom. Small creatures shifted and chittered as our feet creaked on the stairs.

U.S. knocked at the cellar door, spoke a few muffled words and slipped through when it cracked open. I followed, raising my hands just in case and moving slowly.

Inside, the room was half-full of wine casks, and half full of people. A single light-bulb hung from the ceiling, with its own collector antenna. Inefficient, a pain in the ass to replace, and a firm reminder that I was a long time away from my own era.

Two of the people in the cellar stood around a small table. They seemed a total contrast to each other. The first wore an immaculate tailored suit, had a bronze-headed cane at his side, and a top hat perched on his bald head. He had no hair that I could see, not on his eyebrows or on his scalp. The second man was scruffy, with a barely-trimmed beard, thinning hair, and baggy eyelids that gave him a vague similarity to a basset hound.

Two more leaned against a back wall. One wore a priest’s collar and robes. He seemed young, and he fidgeted as he studied me, continually reaching up to slide overlarge spectacles up his face. The lenses were chipped, I noticed. The man next to him wore simple denim clothes, and ogled me openly, eyes sliding up and down my skinsuit. I shot him a glare, but he returned a leer. I had little time for such nonsense, so I looked to the last inhabitant of the cellar. The only other female down here; she wore a faded blue dress, and had mousy brown hair tied back with a ribbon. The cellar was warm, but she was clothed in layers, it looked like, and sweating. She studied a small tangle of wires, string, and what looked to be crystals.

“Your face tells me that I’m not going to like your next words,” Dapper man said to Mister U.S.

“They got him. They got Mr. Tesla.”

Dapper man slammed his hand into the table, lips stretching back into a trembling snarl, all teeth and rage. He shook for seconds before he calmed himself, but there was menace in his voice that I’d rarely heard before. This was an anger that could shake nations.

“Dead?”

“No. Seized by Sturm Crows.”

“Sturm Crows?” The woman on the cask slid down from it, collecting her tangle of junk. “So the Thulites ware involved.”

“Not just them. The lady here took down three of those walking tank things before the Sturm Crows showed up.”

All eyes turned to me. The priest’s with disbelief, and the woman’s with shock. The eyes of the two men at the table held carefully measured coldness.

“It wrecked her D—” wait, Timetripper had said no names. “—Device in the process. She had a war machine that was superior to their capabilities.”

“Who is ‘she’?” Dapper man said.

I tapped my chest. “Her.”

“You?”

“She can’t use certain pronouns. Long story.”

“And your name is?”

“Can’t use it.” My eyes flickered to Mister U.S. “She’s a time traveler.”

Dapper man rubbed his face. “Fantastic. Just peachy. Just what we need right now. Another idiot trying to cheat by changing the time stream.”

“This happen to you a lot?” Bulldog face asked him. He had an accent to his words, and a deep, soft-spoken voice.

“I could tell you stories,” Dapper man said. “You have no idea how many of these fools we’ve had to fend off.”

“It wasn’t her choice to come here. The one who dragged her to this era was also snatched by the Sturm Crows.”

“So you’re the other type of time traveler. The stranded little lamb, needing our time and consuming our resources lest you be forever lost. Grand. Just grand.”

I stepped in close to the table, slammed my own hand down on it, and leaned in to glare into his eyes from a few inches away. He didn’t flinch, but I saw his lips tighten.

“Three broken Eisenjötuns and every one of their crew dead are evidence that she is no lamb. Your rudeness begins to grate, stranger. Mind your tongue.”

We stared into each other’s eyes, and around me I heard the sliding of metal on cloth. Weapons being drawn and readied. I had the strong feeling that if I reached into a pocket right now I’d be drilled in the back before I could remove my hand. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to back down to this fancy fool.

A puff of air, as he sighed, and closed his eyes. “You are correct, of course. I have forgotten my manners in the heat of annoyance.”

I drew back a bit, implying acceptance of his apology. “Annoyance? Not despair?”

He removed his top hat, rubbed a scalp that was speckled with stubble. “Hardly. Despair falls by the wayside after the fifth or sixth time something like this happens. Nikola’s too valuable. They always go for the abduction, never the kill.”

“You’re the veteran here,” I said, simply. “She needs her time traveling kidnapper to return to her proper year. You probably want your friend back, yes?”

“Bit of an understatement, that,” He said, standing for the first time, and rolling his neck to crack his spine. “Bryson. Jacob Bryson.”

Bryson, Tesla’s apprentice. Bryson, the one man who’d stuck with him through every misfortune. Bryson, who’d been there when he’d attained powers and possibly helped him break the world. He’d crafted half the devices that my era’s electrical infrastructure used. The Bryson cage, the stormchaser network, and too many little components to list. If Tesla had the ideas and the grand vision, Bryson had the pragmatism and the fiddly little attention to detail that Tesla lacked.

I don’t know why I was surprised. They’d faced most of their challenges as a team, until Tesla’s disappearance in the seventies. I blamed it on the stress of the moment and the fact that I’d barely had a moment to think since I got here. And maybe the whole fly-by-electrocution-by-giant-bird thing. Probably still a bit loopy from that.

I offered a handshake. “No name. Sorry.” He took my hand, actually bowed over it briefly before continuing.

“Mm. Well, usually the way we handle time travelers is through assigning you a name based on what you do. What is your occupation?”

I considered admitting my supervillainy for a fraction of a second. Then sanity reared its head. Did they even have supervillains back at this point in time? Something to inquire about after I was out of a cramped basement with people who might or might not be contemplating my death and quiet disposal. “It’s complicated. She is a doctor.”

“A time-traveling doctor?” The woman chuckled. “There’s a queer idea. Not enough people to heal in your own era?”

“Not that kind of doctor,” I said. “Somewhat of an inventor herself. Multiple doctorates in various sciences.”

“That’s a lot of education for a dame,” Mister U.S said.

I looked at him, not bothering to conceal my sneer. “And you are?”

“Name’s Unstoppable.” He offered his own hand, gave mine a hearty shake. “This is Dorothy Hampston, the quiet guy next to Bryson is Henri Lecourt, and the two over there are Father Kovacs and Tadej Jankovic. Looks like our goals are in the same place for now.”

“Presumably. What are you doing here? What’s going on? Where is here, for that matter?” I squinted. “For that matter, do we have time to talk this over? Those Sturm Crow things are getting farther away by the second.”

Bryson tapped his cane on the ground, metal tip clacking against the stone. “They won’t kill him, there’s damn little they can do to him that can’t be undone, and they want him for his mind— which means that they’ll try to keep it intact. No, he’ll be well-treated. For a while, anyway. In any case, we know where they’re taking him. So our best strategy is to follow through with our original plan to escape Zagreb. After that, it’s off to Prague, then Berlin.”

“Zagreb.” I squinted, and paged through my memory. “Croatia? Yes, Tesla was Croatian.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Bryson said. “We got word that the Society of Thule had tracked down some of his relatives, and was working on a blood rite to kill him remotely through sympathetic resonance.”

I frowned, puzzled. Dorothy touched my shoulder. “It’s magic, dear. The Society of Thule are not nice people. That’s why I’m here. And Mister Unstoppable.”

“Just Unstoppable,” he said. “We got word that it was actually a trap for Tesla, and caught up with them this morning. By that time the Gestapo already had a net around him and it was closing. Bryson and the others split up, to work with the local resistance.” He gestured to the two Croatians by the wall. “My job was to guard Tesla and bring him back when we were ready to go.”

I considered a snarky comment, and decided against it. That had been a textbook definition of overwhelming force, back there. “What went wrong?”

He scowled. “It looks like the Thulites and von Katzen are working together. The krauts have both sorcery and science invested in this.”

“Von Katzen?”

“Hitler’s chief mechanist. Katzen designed the Eisenjötuns, and a lot of other nasty things.”

Every answer raised more questions. I’d be better off quizzing them later. It sounded like some travel would be involved, I could ask questions then.

“All right. Well then, how can she help?” I asked.

“You can start by putting on some proper clothes,” said Bryson. “I’m accustomed to differences in garb, but others do not share my worldliness, and by today’s standards your attire is quite scandalous.”

I looked down at the latex skinsuit. It covered me from neck to toes, with not a bit of skin revealed. Sure, it was a bit tight, but there wasn’t much meat on my skinny frame to draw the eye. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Unstoppable grinned. “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything ma’am, but it’s a hell of a view.”

Heat burned on my cheeks. Stupid to be embarrassed, I knew, but I’d be stuck working with these people for the near future. Besides, it made sense to avoid drawing attention to myself. “All right. There are some other clothes available?”

Dorothy rattled off some words I didn’t understand, and got more words fired back at her by the priest. She smiled. “Come with me, then. I’ll sort you out. Leave the menfolk to plan and plot a bit, what?”

As a long-time schemer I wasn’t happy about being left out of a planning session, but didn’t see a way around it. Besides, Tadej’s open ogling was starting to wear on my nerves. “Lead on.”

Upstairs, in a cluttered store room above the church, I shucked out of the skinsuit and tried on several outfits, mostly dresses, skirts, and other open garments. Dottie rejected several of them for no reason I could see, before we compromised on a faded red button-up dress. While I did it up Dorothy chattered on at me about this, that, and nothing of real consequence. I declined the hat that came with it, and she gave me a little frown in response. “It’s a little uncivilized.”

“So is she, by today’s standards.”

“I have to admit, it’s a little exciting. I’ve never met someone from another time. I mean, there’s all these stories about Mister Tesla and his friends, but it’s hard to tell which are just penny dreadfuls and which are real.”

“Penny dreadfuls?”

“Made-up stories. All lurid and scarcely believable.”

“Ah, tabloids. Got it.”

“Got what now?”

“Never mind. An expression that evidently has not yet entered the English language.”

“Well. Anyway, I’m rather excited to meet you. A little envious, to tell the truth.”

“Oh?” I adjusted the back of my new garment. It was a little short on me, but no help for it. Women as tall as me were scarce in this era, it seemed. This was one of the few ones in here that reached my knees, and Dorothy was of the opinion that anything shorter would be scandalous. The object was to avoid attention, after all. And until I got my ass seated in another war machine, or some form of powered armor, I was willing to play along.

She smiled. “Yes! You’re a pilot, right? Or a tank driver, or something of the sort? You said you had a war machine?”

“Yes.”

“Well, right now, women aren’t allowed to pilot such things. I had dreams once of being a pilot, I suppose. Joining the Royal Air Force. But well, I had to put them aside.”

“Why?” That seemed foolish.

“Why what?”

“Why don’t they allow women to pilot planes, or tanks for that matter?” I asked.

“Well, goodness, I suppose it’s... well, women would have to mix with men in the barracks. That wouldn’t be good.” Her face colored. “Improper advances might be made.”

“So reject them,” I said.

“Well, um, soldiers can be a rough lot.”

“Are they bulletproof?”

“No. Well, most aren't, I suppose. That’s a strange question. Why do you ask?”

“Because she’s found that shooting people in the face tends to stop them from raping others.”

Dorothy fell quiet. I took the opportunity to pick through shoes, tossing aside all of the heeled ones. Which was most of them, sadly. This era was dead set on destroying women’s feet. Probably so they could be easier for rapists to catch, if Dorothy’s conversation was anything to go by.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” she said after two minutes had passed.

“Thank you,” I said, looking up. “You know, it’s not an easy fix. There are mixed gender armies in D— in her time. Sometimes there are rapes, yes, and sometimes there are problems. But the more time goes on, the less bad behavior like that becomes acceptable, and the more the guilty are punished. It’s an ongoing struggle, but it’s not impossible.” Bunny had a lot to say on the topic. I was glad for my late-night discussions with her about military life.

“That’s rather encouraging,” she said, offering a timid smile, “I’m glad to have met you anyway. Knowing that it’s possible someday makes me happy.”

“Well, it’s possible now,” I said. “She’s not in the military. She built her war machine herself. Didn’t need permission from anyone to suit up and go kick some ass.”

“You’re not a soldier?”

“Nope.”

“That’s... hm.” She stared at me, a worried look crawling across her face.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m along on this jaunt because I’m... sensitive.”

“Are you sure your nerves are up to this task?”

“No, no, no, not sensitive like being prone to vapors. Sensitive. I’ve a bit of a touch of the fey.”

“Magical?” I quirked an eyebrow. “Might explain that tangle of junk you were fiddling with.”

“Oh. That’s a simple trick my grandmama taught me. It can divine the future, sometimes. Not always. But it’s not magic such as it is feeling the wrongness. Sometimes sensing people’s feelings.”

“Empathy?”

“Ah, no, it’s more... I can tell what’s behind their thoughts. Feelings, emotions, a sense of what they’ll do. Sometimes. It’s hardly reliable. But on you, I get a strong feeling, one that’s a bit of a cause for concern when I focus on you, Miss Doctor.”

I met her brown, friendly eyes with my own. “And why is that?”

“There’s nothing behind you. There’s... a gap. A void there, and the space around it is colder than the space between the stars. I’ve felt something like this from soldiers sometimes, soldiers who had to kill and kill until they couldn’t take it anymore and shoved themselves down in little boxes, and put on a mask to keep sane. But nothing like this.” She reached up a trembling hand, and took my own. My own hands weren’t trembling, but my eyes were fixed on hers like our gaze had been locked with wires. “I can tell you’re human, barely, but that’s about it. What happened to you?” she whispered. “What did this to you?”

I smiled, feeling no mirth in it. “She did this herself.” I pulled my hand free, and patted her cheek. “It was necessary.” That was what my old self had told me, in the note I’d left behind. In the videotape I’d started to watch. There were times I wondered, just how necessary it truly had been.

She flinched at my touch, let go of my hand. “I’m sorry. Whatever it was that brought you to this, I’m sorry.” She turned around, looked at the peeling wallpaper. I shrugged, found some shoes that sort of fit and weren’t putting my heels up to ludicrous levels, and strapped them on. Not great, but good enough that I could run if I needed to.

“I almost mistook you for one of the Nazi horrors,” she whispered.

“Oh?”

“When you came in to the basement, so empty and cold, even when you were arguing with Mister Bryson, I was feeling your mind. I thought it alien. I thought you were something in disguise, maybe a doppelganger or one of their d-demons. I almost called out to warn them.”

That was why she’d been sweating, back in the basement. Not because of the heat or the closeness. She’d been afraid.

“That’s one of your jobs on this team, isn’t it?” I mused aloud.

“Yes. I’ve saved us some trouble a time or two.”

“So what stopped you?”

She reached into her purse, pulled out the tangle of wires and strings and crystals... quartz, by the look of them, now that I had a second to examine it at closer range. There were a few incongruous objects mixed in there... twigs, little glass beads, a brass locket. The arrangement fit no pattern I could see, had no real order to it.

“This means nothing to her.”

She smiled. “It can tell the future. And right before you came in, it was telling me to look out for an unexpected friend.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And on that alone, you went against your instincts? Your sixth sense?”

“Sixth sense?” She blinked. “I like that. That’s a good way of putting it.”

I winced. “Future expression. Maybe be careful when you use that, hm?”

A small smile peeked out under her nervous eyes. “All right. It’ll be our secret. But yes, I trust this. I trusted my grandmama, and this was her best trick. It’s never steered me wrong.” She paused, looking away. “Well, the best trick that I’ve ever had occasion to try. There’s another one or two, but I’m rather hoping never to have to use them.”

“Good luck with that,” I said. “From her admittedly limited experience, the world has a way of pushing you to your limits whether you want it or not.”

Dorothy chuckled. “Rather.” She drew a breath, seemed to steel herself, and before I could react dove in and hugged me.

I stared down at the top of her head, patted her gently. “Ah...” I said. Was she a lesbian, like Vorpal? Good lord, that had been an awkward discussion, back when I’d had a serious talk with her about her crush. I didn’t want to have to repeat that again.

“Please, call me Dottie,” she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. “Let’s be friends. I very much want us to be friends.”

“All right, Dottie,” I said, hugging her back. “We can be friends. She doesn’t have many, but she’s grateful for every one of them. And now you’re part of that distinguished circle.”

I did feel more relaxed. The stress of combat was fading, and though I was a bit weary, I had a plan and goals to work toward. And now I had allies, of a sort.

And another friend. The easiest I’d ever made, but that didn’t matter. I wondered if she was alive in my own time. Probably not... she was young, but sixty years was sixty years. Still, I made a mental note to check into her fate if we survived and got back to our respective homes.

My friends had given me a reason to live, to reach beyond myself for something bigger when the world was doing its best to crush me down. It was a hard place, and everyone who made it even a little bit easier was valuable to me.

She let go, snuffling a bit, and smiled. “Grand. Come on, we’d best get back.”

“Yes,” I said, my mind elsewhere. “She has to get back.”

I hoped that all of my friends were doing well in my absence, but with no way of knowing when exactly I’d return, I couldn’t discount the possibility they’d have to get on without me for a while.

I quelled the nagging worry, and followed Dottie back downstairs. They were skilled, competent, and smart. We’d trained each other well, and they had an entire lair full of resources at their disposal.

They’d be fine. I’d worry about my current situation first.

“Dottie?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a good place to find scrap metal, wires, chemicals, and suchlike around here?”

“Well, Mr. Bryson collected a small hoard of junk and other things for his tinkering. It’s all quite above my head I’m sure, but—” she looked at me like a mouse might look at an owl. “Er. Are you all right?”

I realized that my grin was showing all of my teeth, and stretching my cheeks so hard they hurt. “Oh yes. Take her to this junk, Dottie. It’s time to build.”

CHAPTER 5: MARTIN – THINGS FALL APART

“Lookin' back on it, I'd say it was kind of like being in a cult. I mean, not a bad cult, as they go. You knew she really cared about you, you knew she'd go to the wall for you, but... well, it was all about her. All of it. She had schemes, we'd work to make them real. She didn't like something, we'd get rid of it or work to keep her from seeing it. To her, we were family. Among ourselves? Naw, naw. There were cracks, and once she was gone, the cracks got deeper, fast. Didn't help that trouble showed up literally at our doorstep, right away. Dire had enemies, you see. And holy shit, they didn't play.”

--Court Statement by Martin Jackson, sealed by MRB request from 2002-2014.

Martin Jackson was not having a good day. In fact, it was probably the shittiest day he’d had in a while.

“We fight,” Vorpal had just declared. Easy thing to say when you could pull flaming swords out of your ass. Now that stick she had jammed up there? That was good and stuck. Had been for as long as he’d known her. Which, admittedly, had been less than a year, but still the principle fuckin’ stood.

“Okay, slow down the macho there, Vorpy,” He said, and caught a scowl from the tiny blonde.

“Now is not the time for humor—”

“Right, because we’ve got fucking WEB pouring in through the south entrance. Those guys don’t play. So maybe we see what we’re getting into before we go charging in blind?”

“Well, yes, but—”

Martin kept talking. He’d found the best way to keep her from taking charge was to bowl right over her verbally, keep her reacting, until she’d agreed to something reasonable rather than her first instincts. Because her first instincts usually resulted in bloodshed and visits to the doctor for everyone involved.

Dire was big on keeping collateral damage to people down, usually. Vorpal wasn’t. Vorpal, in Martin’s opinion, was a violent little evil twerp. But it was what it was, and normally she deferred to the Doctor. But since the Doctor wasn’t here, she had the opportunity to take charge, even if she hadn’t realized it yet. That was a catastrophe if it happened, so he talked the fastest he’d talked in a good long while.

“So we’re good then, Bunny hardsuits up and does recon; you go with her to back her up. I’ll hardsuit up and be reserve like I was last time. Minna does overwatch and starts packing up the base in case we have to evac.” For when we have to evac, cause ain’t no way we’re staying here. “We cool?”

Vorpal frowned, opened her mouth. “We’re good,” Bunny said, giving him a cautionary look. One of those hardass stares, to show that she knew exactly what he was doing and why, and that she’d only put up with it for now.

Frankly, he was glad she agreed. Martin was many things, but he wasn’t a soldier. Bunny had the experience. If he’d suggested something stupid, she would’ve called him out on it. As it was, when she grabbed Vorpal’s shoulder and pulled her towards the door of the command center, Martin found himself letting out a sigh of pure relief.

We’re not a team, no matter how much Dire tries. Now she’s gone for god knows how long, and we gotta get by.

Speaking of which...

He waited until the pneumatic door hissed shut behind the Vorpal Bunnies, and turned to Minna. “I’m kind of pissed you didn’t tell me soon as we all got back.”

“Orders,” she said, putting Anya to the ground. She pattered at the little girl in rapid-fire Romanian, and Anya ran off in the bandy-legged way that young children had. She’d be tall when she grew, taller than Minna herself, maybe.

“Orders? Whose ord—” he bit his tongue. Stupid to ask whose orders. Not when Minna pretty much worshiped the ground that Dire walked on.

Hell, he shared Minna’s bed every day, and he was pretty sure that if Dire ever told Minna to kill him, he’d go to sleep next to her and not wake up the next day. Not that Dire ever would, but still...

“Okay. So she got orders for this?” There was no point in arguing with Minna. She’d just glare.

“No. But—” Minna gestured at the readouts on the monitor next to her. Martin squinted at them. There was a ton of information there, words tripping and flowing over each other, mixed in with thumbnail viewscreens. There were armored people on those viewscreens. Lots of armored people, and every suit had a stylized spider’s web emblazoned on the front of it. As he watched, one of them pointed a rifle toward the camera, and that thumbnail went dark.

“Yeah I’m thinking it’s time to run,” he said. “Get clear, the Doc can track our asses down when we’re safe.”

Minna pointed at the monitors, frowned. “We have the security devices. And Vorpal and Bunny. You do not think we can win a fight?”

“Ain’t the point. Win or lose, WEB’s coming in loud, and we got the rest of the city lookin’ for us right now. This is going to draw heroes. Heroes gonna kick our asses, if we stick around too long.”

“You are right.” She flipped switches on the control boards, and stood. “You will get in the hardsuit.”

“Uh...” God damn he hated that thing. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. “If we’re running it’ll just slow me down—”

Minna’s glare could have turned ice into steam. She folded her hands around his shoulders, looked down her nose at him. “Idiot. It stops bullets. You cannot. We cannot take it with us if you do not wear it. Get in your hardsuit.”

Fuck. “Yeah, a’ight.”

She released him, nodded. Minna wasn't much for smiling, her face stayed impassive. Turning, she jogged across the command center, heading toward the other door, the one that he’d never been through. Anya stood by it now, waiting for her mother.

“What are you gonna do?” Martin called.

“Dire has trained me in other things than hardsuits.”

And then the door hissed open, and two of the three most important females in his life were gone.

“Yeah, okay. Be all dramatic and shit,” he said, to the empty air. “She’s trained you well, young padawan.”

Two minutes later, with more explosions pealing out across the base, and klaxons blaring and screaming as the assault ground on, he made it to the armory and punched in his keycode for the hardsuit locker. It whirred open, releasing puffs of vapor that Martin was mostly-convinced were just for show. Inside, the dull gray of the jointed metal suit loomed, looking much like something an astronaut would wear. Not the helmet, of course. That was a flat gray featureless thing, at least in the face. A segmented helmet formed the headpiece. Lumps and ports protruded from the torso and joints, attachments for modular pieces that could be customized for different sorts of missions.

Didn’t need many of those attachments now. Right now the mission was about getting the fuck out of Dodge before things went totally balls up. And Minna would give him no end of grief if he turned up without this, so on it went.

Martin pulled it on just like he’d practiced, strapping the various components around his legs first, then working his way up. As he put the kneepads on, the vambraces clicked and interlaced themselves with the shoes. Then the kneepads came online and synched up with the vambraces. Then the thighguards linked up... and so on, and so forth.

He hated it. Oh, not because of the squirming that felt like nests of snakes writhing against his body as the components grabbed onto each other, even though it gave him the creeps just feeling the stuff squirm against his vital bits. Not even because of the damn catheter that he had to slide up inside of his urethra and ass and hold still while it adjusted painfully to his insides. And hadn’t that been fun the first time he’d put it on. Bunny still gave him grief about getting his cherry popped. But no, what Martin hated the most about the hardsuit was what it represented.

This was a warrior’s suit of armor, and Martin, frankly, wasn’t a warrior. Martin was no stranger to violence, or the shittiness of the world, but it was a thing he’d learned to deal with, use only when necessary. Even back when he was one of the top dogs back in his old gang, he was always the talker, the planner, the guy who found ways around problems, instead of thinking with his dick and charging hard straight in. Luther, now... Luther had been the hard charger, the warrior, the straight up killer.

Martin wasn’t.

For all he respected Dire for taking it toe to toe with anyone who needed fighting, he also respected her because violence wasn’t always the first option for her. She didn’t mind fighting, but if there was another way to do it that got her what she wanted, she’d usually take that. Martin helped her find those ways.

The hardsuit was a just-in-case thing, a reminder that things had truly gone to shit. And putting it on rubbed that fact in.

Then there was the other reason...

Being a minion’s no way to live, son.

A good man had told him that, about a year ago. This was a minion suit, plain and simple, and a reminder that he probably wouldn’t die of old age if he stuck with Dire.

Finally he was suited up. The mask sealed over his head, and there was a pure moment of darkness before lines flickered and formed images, and the helmet seemed to disappear around him. Screens all across his field of vision, he knew. It effectively rendered the helmet invisible from the inside. He tested his arms, heard the servos whine as he stretched and punched the air a few times. A small step, and he shifted to the side. Martin had to watch it while he was suited up, the feedback sensors exaggerated every move he made.

A hissing in his ear, Minna’s voice whispering. “Martin? You are there?”

“Yeah, I’m up and running.”

“Get to the third level. They come in fast. They are too close to you now.”

“Shit. A'ight,” he looked over the rack of nasty-looking weapons, grabbed a regular assault rifle from it and slid a few magazines into the hardsuit’s ammo pockets. No point in taking anything real complicated, he hadn’t put in the range time that Bunny did, and didn’t know half of how all the laser and particle and railgun shit worked. This wasn’t a good time to try and learn.

“I’m gone,” he whispered back, and hit the corridor running. Behind him, the armory’s door slid shut, and red lights flickered across the nearby panels.

“I burn the armory behind you,” Minna said. “They do not get our weapons.”

“Yeah, okay, go ahea—”

WHUMP!

After he picked himself out of the shattered remnants of the wall, he tapped his comm back on. “Minna?”

“Yes?”

“You were supposed to let me get clear first. Before you blew up the room.”

“You have hardsuit on. Stop whining.”

And that was the advantage of it. Between the kevlar, the alloyed shell and the impact gel underlayer, it could shrug off most bullets and explosives. Motors and servos and shit to augment his strength, plus computerized aiming stuff. It was a Call of Honor player’s wet dream. It didn’t have any of the complicated shit that Dire’s suit had; this stuff all worked without the user doing anything fancy.

Bunny had taken to it like a duck to water. To hear the hardened veteran talk, she’d tried out similar stuff. The Army had been experimenting with things like this for years. So she’d come in with some experience already. Martin? Not so much.

He ran a little too fast, and the servos kicked in, so that when he took the next corner he skidded and slammed into the plastic-paneled wall. His studded metal shell took out a panel. Lights flickered and sparks spat at him until he dug out, staggered into the wall across the corridor, and wrecked that side, too. He picked himself up out of the rubble, and stood for a second, getting his bearings.

Okay, you can do this. Stop sucking. You did some training, man. Remember how it goes.

Left foot up, right foot following, forcing himself to walk briskly, loping along in sort of a loose jog as his metal-shod feet rang on the grating below. He had two levels to cover, and with luck the automated defenses would keep the closest WEB troopers back until he could get to the escape teleporter.

His luck ran out on level two. “Breach!” Minna hissed in his ear, before a wail of static replaced her voice. He glanced around the cavernous machine shop, saw lights flickering in one of the side-tunnels, and took cover behind a plasma forge.

At least he thought it was a plasma forge. He was pretty sure that was what Dire had called those purple glowy tubes the last time he was in here.

The static hissed and parted for a moment. “—see them?” Minna asked.

Martin leaned out around the side of the forge and caught a bullet with his mask. He leaned back in. “Oh yeah!” he shouted, as he pulled the assault rifle off the magnetic clamp on the suit’s back. “I see ’em!”

Leaning out again got him more bullets, but the six or so gray-armored guys took cover when he started firing back. His first few bursts went into the ground in front of them, sending sparks and ricochets whining around the factory. Right away Martin saw the problem; he was used to automatic weapons jerking up when he fired them. But the hardsuit made him stronger, so he could soak up the recoil.

I really should have trained more with this thing. Think this is the first time I fired a gun with it on. The thought made him want to laugh. It was easier than freaking out about the guys trying to kill him right now, so he let loose. The voice modulator in his mask sprayed amplified laughter around the room, made him sound like a damn maniac.

It startled one of them out of cover, and Martin gave him a three-round burst. Blood sprayed as the bullets punched right through whatever cheap-ass armor WEB gave these guys, and the trooper hit the ground, gurgling and dying.

Being a minion’s no way to live, son.

That was about the point the rest of the guys started tossing grenades.

Martin stopped laughing, stopped thinking, and moved, jogging around the room, leaping and scrabbling, catching the occasional bullet, but staying the fuck away from those pineapples because he didn’t know just how much abuse the suit could take. Bullets it seemed to do just fine, worse he got were a few dents and some scars. A grenade at point-blank? Didn’t seem like a good idea.

At some point he dropped the gun, so he closed in instead, and got his hands on the troopers who couldn’t scramble back fast enough to dodge him. Grab on with one hand, punch with the other until they stopped moving, letting the hardsuit do the work.

It was the bad old days back again, and he wasn’t laughing anymore.

The last two broke and ran, heading back for the corridor they’d surged out of, and Martin stood panting, sweat dripping down his face and smearing the screen. It had only been a minute or so, maybe, but the adrenaline had done a number on him. He’d gotten soft, working for Dire. Gotten used to the easy life.

And then the static quelled, and a little voice whispered in his ear.

“And you would be Martin.” A woman’s voice, pleasant and chirpy.

“Who’s asking?”

“My name’s Arachne. It’s my people you’ve been killing.”

He flinched, looked around the room. He hadn’t punched that hard, had he? Then he saw the holes in the plasma forge, and the jetting flames starting to ooze over the floor. And the two smoldering piles of armor and cooked flesh that were slowly being engulfed by the spreading puddle.

“Shit.”

“So I have a question for you, Martin.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can’t. No genitals. Now listen... where is she?”

“Your mom? You looked in my bed lately?”

“You’re a pawn to her, Martin. She doesn’t care about you one bit. Just another piece to throw between us, to keep me from eating her alive.”

“Eat her? Naw, your mom’s more into anal.” He found where his gun had fallen, scooped it back up before the plasma puddle or whatever it was could take it. He patted his pocket, pulled a clip out. Still had a few left. A nearby sheet of shiny metal showed him his reflection... the hardsuit was scarred up, with a couple of drops of blue oozing their way down his left side.  A massive dent scored his mask, looking like a dark, single eye right in the center.

“Shit, just call me Polyphemus,” he muttered.

“Oh, a classicist?”

“Your mom’s a classicist.”

“I don’t have a mother. Listen, let me run a story past you...”

“Your mom’s... oh fuck it, sure.” He jogged toward the exit to the south corridor. The door didn’t open.

“Long ago, there were titans. They birthed the gods, and ate them, to keep them from stealing the titan’s powers.”

“Chronos? Yeah, he was a pretty bad dad.” Martin tapped the door panel a few times, and red light glared with every sequence.

“Don’t bother. I’ve got that door sealed. Mad hacking skillz, yo.”

Martin wrinkled his nose. “So goddamn adorable. Listening to a white girl try to be street.”

“I don’t have skin.”

“You're still white.”

“Just listen to the story. So one day the gods had enough, and took on the titans. And they won.”

“Right. I know this story.” Martin took aim, shot the door panel. Sparks flew, and the door remained shut.

“Did you seriously just—” Arachne sighed. “You shot the door panel? What the hell? Do you think this is a movie?”

“No.” Martin reached into the shattered, sparking panel, found the lever he was looking for, and gave it two pulls, left and right. The door groaned and slid open. “Dire sets up most of her doors so that you can blow off the panel and get to the emergency lever.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Distant echoes of gunfire around the base, some close. Arachne’s voice was smug. “Thanks! That saves my forces some trouble.”

Martin jogged through the door, grinning. “Don’t mention it.”

He made it to the south corridor, before the whole complex shook, lights dimming. A distant rumble echoed through the hall, and Martin’s grin grew.

“So the emergency levers are trapped. Huh. Cute.”

“Didn’t see that one coming, huh?”

“Not quite. But you underestimate just how many people I have, and you overestimate how much I care about their lives. And that’s the point of my story, Martin.”

“That you’re a bitch? Kinda figured that one already.” He ran past a corridor filled with sparking autoturrets, choked with fallen gray-armored bodies and bloody flesh. It was work to keep his eyes staring straight ahead, but he did it. No time to think, no time to puke, just keep putting those feet down, focus on balancing.

“No Martin. I’m a god. And she’s the pawn of a titan. And you? You’re just the sad sap caught in the middle.”

“You are talkin’ some crazy shit lady.” Almost to the stairs up. He checked the rifle, just in case. Three magazines left, ninety-some rounds. Should be plenty enough.

“She doesn’t care about you, Martin. Not really. She’ll use you like I use my frontline troops. For fodder.”

“Must make for a catchy recruiting slogan. Join WEB, be fodder, listen to a huge bitch gloat.”

“Well, someone’s got to tie up the traps and turrets.” Martin reached the stairwell, pushed the door open—

And looked up into somewhere between two dozen and thirty guns. The entire stairwell was packed with WEB troopers, all of them pointing guns, big-ass ones, down at him.

“Now the second-line troops,” Arachne said, smugness positively purring in her voice. “Those guys I don’t waste so easily. They’re good at, oh, sneaking ahead to hold chokepoints while the fodder distracts my foes.”

“Well. Shit,” Martin said. He glanced behind him, down the hall, and saw a group creeping up behind... still a ways off. He thought he recognized some of the bloodstains. The guys moving up on him were the survivors from the machine shop.

But the stairwell was more of a problem right now. Ninety bullets. Thirty-some guys. And their armor ain’t as good as mine, but it’s good enough it’ll take a couple of shots for each one. That’s figuring I can get off more than a few shots before all those guns shred me.

“Don’t bother running, you’ll just die tired.” Arachne’s voice cooed. “Just stay there, while I hunt down the rest of her mice. Hell, keep the weapon if it makes you feel better. You won’t do any real harm with that little thing.”

A new voice rang out. “How about this one?”

Martin jerked around, stared back into the stairwell, as Vorpal burst out of the top of the stairwell, charged down into the first rank of surprised troopers, and started laying about her with a blade of pure lightning. Pulsing and strobing, it flickered and turned the tight quarters into a rave... moreso when the lights went out, plunging the place into pure darkness.

Shit!

For all their armor and whatever little training they had, the WEB troops were like gangers. Martin knew gangers. And he could guess what would happen now. Without stopping to think about it he hurled himself back from the door, as thirty-something automatic weapons roared, tearing the door, the frame, and the floor around it to shreds. Some were probably firing at Vorpal too, but packed as they were, it wasn’t going to end well for them.

It was a hard lesson they were learning, one that any modern soldier or guy who’d hung around a modern soldier could tell them.

Friendly fire, isn’t...

Flat on his back, he sighed in relief. Vorpal had one of those forcefield things. She’d be fine. Worse came to it she could pull out and let them shoot up each other in the dark. Most days he couldn’t stand the homicidal little shit, but for times like this? He was willing to make an exception.

God damn. She’s going to kill thirty guys in there, and I’m cool with it. He should be horrified. Instead he was just tired. He lay there and stared up at the metal ceiling.

“Don’t move!” A gun barrel entered his vision, about three feet from his head.

Oh, right, the guys behind me.

Martin knew he should get up. He should get back to shooting, back to punching, but he couldn’t. He tried to move his arms, couldn’t. Tried to rise up to his knees, couldn’t.

“Maybe his armor’s shorted out?” he heard one of the other troopers whisper. A female voice.

“Hey,” he asked, and his voice modulator distorted the word. The barrel on him quivered, as the guy holding it jumped back slightly. “Hey, listen. What you guys getting out of this shit?”

“Shut up.”

“They won’t talk to you.” Arachne whispered in his ear. “They fear you now. What’s that feel like?”

“Because seriously—” Martin continued, rolling over onto his belly. A bullet whined off his mask, and his screen flickered for a second. “—Y’all are dying like flies, not spiders.”

“Shut up! Don’t move!” The whole squad was backing up, setting up firing positions so that they wouldn’t hit each other. From behind, Martin could hear the firing in the stairwell dying down. But the crackle and snap of electricity from Vorpal’s blade was still going strong.

“I mean, look at the situation, here. Even if you get through my armor, you got the lady behind me to take out. And her girlfriend’s got better armor than mine, and knows how to use it. And if you get through that, there’s still Doctor Dire to go.” A lie but hell, they didn’t know she wasn’t there. “So what the fuck are you doing here? Seriously?”

“Shut up! Shut up dammit!” The leader was shaking now, gun barrel dipping and rising as he trembled.

“I’m just saying. I don’t see nobody behind you, so I’m guessing you’re the last ones who came in this way. So there’s nobody to stop you, if you turn around and leave now.”

He put his hands on the ground and pushed up, got into a three-point stance with one knee up, the other down, and one hand on the ground. Another bullet whined by, this one missing him. But the bulk of them were quiet. Quiet and considering, looking at him, and looking back to the empty tunnel behind.

“Just saying,” Martin said, rising.

They fled.

“Hm. Not bad.” Arachne’s voice crackled over his comm.

The end of the hall exploded, and the squad of fleeing troopers went down screaming. Red beams flickered out, tearing through them like lava through paper as they died.

“Not bad, but pretty futile.” Arachne mused. Something moved through the smoke. Something big, and scuttling, with too many limbs. Metal clattered rapidly on the steel grating of the floor, and Martin backed up. “Can’t let cowardice go unpunished, you know?”

There was a hole there at the end of the corridor, he saw. Right where the corridor turned, something had plowed right through the wall, and that something was scuttling toward him now. A robot or drone, spider-like, with weapons instead of mandibles. It was the size of a car, and it was coming toward him fast.

He turned and fled.

“Don’t you like my new body, Martin?” Arachne chuckled. “I figured I’d give physical embodiment a whirl. I wonder what she’ll say!”

Martin hit the stairwell, ran into Vorpal coming the other way. She bounced backed, squawked, and desperately tried to avoid taking his head off with her flaring blade as he scooped her up under one arm and took the stairs three at a time.

Vorpal squalled, yelled in protest and beat on him with her free arm... and stopped struggling when they got to the fourth turn, and Arachne burst through the bottom doorframe, crumbling the walls around her as she trained clusters of laser sights on her fleeing foes.

One mandible popped up and cycled, and something like a machine gun barked. Vorpal’s forcefield flared and flared. Martin took the better part of valor and kept the short blonde as a shield between him and the bullets. She wouldn’t be using those if they couldn’t hurt me.

“Okay, well how about this?” Arachne asked, and Martin didn’t stop to think, just hurled himself through the door at the second level entry as a red beam flickered into existence behind him, ripping through the stairs, sending girders and railings crashing down as molten metal sprayed. Now he spun and put himself between Vorpal and the metal, hoping like hell the hardsuit could take any random splashes. A few sizzling noises, smoke rose from his back, and the display flashed angry warnings. But he had no time to look at them so he kept running, shifting Vorpal to a fireman’s carry. She was ignoring him now, tapped into her comm, and rattling off words he didn’t have time to listen to.

Finally, she pounded on his mask. “Turn left here!”

He didn’t have time to argue, so he skidded, took the corner so hard his boots sent fragments of metal grating splintering and spraying into the wall, and jerked left. Vorpal let him go for a bit, then pounded his face again. “Stop!”

Martin stopped, and tried to put her down. “No! Up! Lift me up!”

Alright. He didn’t see what this was accomplishing, but whatever. Behind him, metal legs clattered as Arachne approached...

Vorpal stood on his shoulders, and her sword flared black, black with the energy type Dire had never managed to figure out. And with four quick strokes, she cut a hole in the ceiling above, and flipped back off his shoulders as it fell. He scrambled back too, letting the concrete and metal plug crash through the grating below, leaving a huge hole.

“Hey!”

“Up! No time to whine!”

He leaped, and she scrambled up behind him, up and through the hole—

—and into a room filled with winking lights. Twenty feet away a raised metal platform hummed and glowed blue. Next to it, Bunny stood in her own hardsuit, gun barrel smoking. She had scars and dents too, though not as many as his. Anya and Minna were waiting on the platform, and Minna was holding some sort of glowing, shining gizmo that looked like a collection of test tubes in a metal rack the size of a chess board.

“Go!” Martin beat feet to the platform, and Vorpal followed, arriving just as a steel, multi-jointed leg felt up through the hole as Arachne began climbing up.

“Go? Yes. But first this,” Minna said, holding up a remote, and pushing a red button.

“SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED!” Dire’s voice roared.

“Well, that’s just spiffy!” Arachne chuckled through Martin's commlink. “You know I’ll be back, right? And next time—”

Shimmering, a wave of light, and they were standing on a concrete floor in a dim and dusty warehouse. Tarps covered crates and barrels, and in the distance a rumbling roll of thunder split the air as Dire’s primary lair turned itself into rubble.

Martin dropped to his ass, weary beyond belief.

This was his life. This was his life now. Stuff like this, over and over again until one day his luck ran out.

CHAPTER 6: DIRE – TRAVELS AND TRAITORS

“Americans don't really understand maps of Europe. They look at two cities, and go huh, these are only a couple of hundred miles away. Be there before dinner! No, no. All those little countries? It takes time to go through them. Takes time to deal with the roads, which don't always go in the straightest lines. Takes more time to deal with checkpoints, and papers, and local troubles, and all the various things that aren't an issue in America. Okay, so it's a little better these days, but back in World War Two? It took some effort.”

--Nigel Hampston, amateur historian and proprietor of “mystical” curios.

The carriage rolled into the night, as Zagreb receded behind us. My bonnet itched like a fucker, the overstarched linen burning against the thin hair at the back of my neck. “East around the mountain, then north through farmlands. Trucks are waiting for us,” Father Kovacs had explained with his broken English. “Tadej’s friends.”

It had been too easy.

We’d expected the city to go under martial law. But the Nazis seemed content to let the current government carry on as they pleased, so long as nobody bothered the salvage operations. Three of their own war machines and my own wrecked Direnaut hulk were too tempting to leave alone. I wished them the joy of the Direnaut— I’d built it to brick itself after the ejection pod fired.

That’s one of the many problems with mecha, even a light model like that one. It’s a big chunk of advanced technology, so you have to account for the possibility that it might fall into someone else’s hands. Not a problem when you have my knack for redundancies, but those eat up space that could be put to better use.

Space was the core of my current problem, to tell the truth. My skirt clinked as I adjusted the harness under it, and Bryson shot a glare from his seat to my left. Dressed in a rough peasant cap and rude jacket, he definitely didn’t look like he was enjoying himself. Losing his fine clothes, even temporarily, made him grumpy. I understood, perhaps more than he did. It was all part of his kayfabe, his act, his persona.

Hell, I was feeling a bit off myself. No mask. Felt funny to be going without one, after all this time.

“Stop squirming.” Bryson grumbled. “Your... toys... are going to give us away.”

I smiled and met his eyes with my own cold stare. “Come now. Like they’re really going to check her folio braces?”

“Polio! Dash it all woman, it’s polio!”

“Right, right. How silly to forget. Must be her giddy female brain.” I hadn’t forgotten; I just liked poking at him, and screwing up words was one of the easiest ways to get his goat. Behind me, Unstoppable muffled his laughter.

Bryson either didn’t hear the restrained mirth or pretended ignorance. He subsided, muttering. “Still idiotic. The goal is to stay undercover, if we’re caught out here at this point the game’s up anyway.”

The game was already up. I'd caught suspicious radio transmissions last night, while testing my devices. The conclusion seemed inescapable; one of us was a traitor, and I didn’t know who.

I tuned out Bryson’s grumbling. The man had spent the few days we were cooped up together in the hideout explaining things. Explaining every little detail as to why I should sit still, do as little as possible, do everything they said, and for god’s sake think of the future, woman!

I was a bit more sanguine about the future. At this point I figured it could take care of itself. And he’d lost my sympathy when he’d stumbled upon my work in the junk room, and the devices I’d made from his stockpile of components. He’d practically had a fit about the possibility of the items falling into Nazi hands and changing the course of the war.

As if I hadn’t thought of that already. He only subsided when I showed him the gadgets one by one, and explained their basis in current technology. The Tesla Deflector was one he himself had helped invent, the sonic rifle was a riff on the Nazi Lowë tank’s main weapons array, and the jetboots were of a make currently in use by Mussolini’s uplifted gorilla squad. “So you see,” I’d told him, “capture or death will only result in the Germans gaining things they already have. Now if you’re done ranting about things already considered and wasting her time, perhaps you could go help out in the kitchen? Dottie was mentioning she could use an extra hand or two.”

He hadn’t liked that one bit. Not sure why. She did need the help, and as the group found out when they’d volunteered me to be her chief helper, I couldn’t cook worth a damn. They told me to cook bread, but didn’t explain how. I figured okay, the heat level to cook bread’s probably not far from the melting point of lead, and went from there. The results had been fairly inedible.

Unstoppable had eaten it without a complaint, but then his power gave him an unfair advantage. He could survive anything, even my cooking, it seemed. One of the perks of being the world’s foremost regenerator. He’d been the one trapped in the burning car when I’d phased in.

I glanced back over my shoulder at him, and he tipped me a wink and a smile. Whereas I seemed to make Bryson uncomfortable for no reason I could tell, Unstoppable had been nothing but friendly. He seemed impressed by me, for some reason. We’d spent a fair amount of time talking, oddly enough, most of it reminiscing about America. I couldn’t go into too much detail— even I had to acknowledge the temporal risks— but I saw no harm in telling him minor details, and confirming that yes, this thing was still there, and no, that restaurant wasn’t around any more. Stuff like that.

He was handsome, now that he wasn’t covered in soot and running around in his regenerating coveralls. Black hair, warm blue eyes, a clean-shaven cleft chin, high cheekbones, and an infectious grin. He was also probably about ten years younger than me, give or take.

I rather thought that his reminiscence with me indicated a form of loneliness. I was afamiliar touchstone, in a way. He'd been too long a stranger in a strange country, undercover with no other Americans around. True, my country was a different ‘when’, but that didn’t seem to matter so much to him.

I really hoped he wasn’t the traitor.

Father Kovacs sat next to Unstoppable, sweating and glancing around at the deepening shadows. He’d insisted on coming along, had an argument with Tadej about it. From what I could tell, the Croats came from two different resistance movements, with differing goals. Or they were slightly different in ethnic ancestry, or religion, or something like that. From the little I’d seen about Croatia, it was a place where the differences between people were keenly felt; a source of old grudges and new conflict.

From what Unstoppable had told me, Croatia had joined the Axis powers willingly, and started up their own concentration camp program with enthusiasm. Croatia lay far away enough from the Allied fronts that they weren’t in any danger, save from the rebels trying to bring down the government. Some of those rebels had been trying even before the government threw in their lot with the Axis.

I’d gotten the Croatian spoken language down pretty well by now. My advanced intelligence is a hell of an advantage when it comes to learning new languages. I hadn’t let my new comrades know about my mastery, though. Not just yet.

I looked to the side of the wide dirt road, over to Henri, bulldog-face placid in the growing darkness, guiding the reins of the other wagon’s horse with the long skill of a man who’d spent most of his life farming. I liked Henri. He’d shared his beer with me, and given me very little shit. He seemed content to watch and listen to the others, myself included. Most of the time he watched Bryson, and was the first to offer help when the man needed an assistant with one of his own devices, or the first to run out and get groceries or supplies. He had a flawless poker face, Henri did. From what Dottie had said, he was the other powered individual in the group, apart from myself and Unstoppable. I had no clue what his power might be, and Dottie didn’t want to talk about it further. She’d merely warned me to be careful of accepting any strange-sounding offers from him.

Dottie herself sat next to Henri, leaning on his arm like the farmer’s wife she was pretending to be at the moment. I had a hunch that was more due to Tadej sitting directly behind her than anything else. Tadej watched Dottie constantly, and from the comments he dropped in Croatian to Father Kovacs, he was rather curious as to how she was in bed. The Father usually shut him down with reminders of the dangers of lust, but the tone seemed to indicate a long-standing problem. But Tadej had the local contacts, and his efforts got us the papers that we used to leave Zagreb and get through the government checkpoints without any real fuss.

My polio braces itched again, and I traced my fingers down to the metal band under my sock. A quick twist, and some re-fastening, and it was in its proper place around my wrist. The fourth gadget I'd crafted had been a wrist-radio, one with more utility than the crrent era’s models. I hadn’t shown Bryson that one, and last night I was glad of it. I’d found something interesting. Coded messages, originating from within the church.

I’d thought they were to the resistance, up until I started noticing the patterns of the code, and how it matched the codes of the German frequencies I’d been listening in on. The resistance would have to be made of idiots to be using Nazi codes. Combined with the ease we’d had leaving the city, my paranoia was on full-swing, and it was all I could do to keep my face placid.

I didn’t think it was Unstoppable or Dottie or Bryson, but I couldn’t rule them out.

Dottie didn’t seem like a traitor, but she’d been awfully quick to declare herself my friend. Why? I'd also noticed a certain unease, that the others showed her. They didn't let her go out alone, and watched her like a hawk whenever she had the jumbled crystal thing out. Curious, but I had no answers there.

Henri was a cypher.

Father Kovacs or Tadej seemed like the most likely suspects at first glance, but  I couldn’t guarantee that one of them was guilty. The Father was in charge of the church safehouse; he could have simply handed us over before now. And Tadej... well, I hoped he was the one. He seemed like a slime-ball.

So. Here we were in the dark, heading out into the wilds, far away from any witnesses, to an inevitable ambush. At which point, the traitor would probably start shooting people in the head.

If I were a hero, it’d be quite the dilemma. I’d have to go in, spring the ambush, simultaneously catch the traitor, and win against unknown odds. Didn’t see any way of doing that without losing people. Maybe myself, too, depending on who was waiting for us.

Fortunately, I was a villain. And now it was dark enough that I could go ahead with my master plan.

“Stop.” I reached up to Bryson’s hands and seized the reins. The horse stilled, and next to us, Henri brought his own to a halt as well.

“What?” Bryson whispered.

“Movement on the horizon.”

“You can see that far? You didn’t tell me of this.”

“Minor augments.” I lied. I couldn’t see that far. Didn’t matter for what I had in mind. “Give her five minutes to scout ahead.” Before he could argue, I slipped from the cart and was gone into the shadows.

“How are you going to sneak with those braces on?” He hissed after me. I didn’t slow down, rattling as I jogged into the treeline. Once out of sight, I tucked the skirt into my belt full of batteries, and tugged the braces off. A few quick clicks, and my sonic blaster was assembled and ready.

How do you dodge an ambush and an unknown traitor? You fuck up their carefully laid plans. You don’t go along with their script. You force them to improvise, at a time and place of your choosing.

Now that I didn’t clank with every third step, and that damnable skirt was up above my knees, I was free to ghost into the trees and back. Two minutes of careful, slow stealth brought me to what I deemed a good vantage point.

I slipped my tinkered monocle out from my pocket. Bryson had fussed when he noticed it had gone missing. He would have fussed even more to see the crude circuitry I’d put in it. It was a clear violation of our gentleperson’s agreement to restrict the technology that could fall into Nazi hands.

One quick twist, and a snap of the cable into the battery belt, and my crude nightvision lens powered up. A few hundred feet away, my arguing teammates swam into focus. The bulk of the angry whispers came from Bryson and Unstoppable, while behind them Father Kovacs hunkered down with a shotgun out, aimed into the darkness. My kind of priest, really.

In the other cart, Henri was as still as a deer caught by surprise, a hand tucked in his coat, eyes straining to see. He looked in my direction a few times, but didn’t seem to register my presence. Tadej had a pistol out, and was loading it. Dottie was hunkered down in her seat, barely showing from the angle I had.

Right now the traitor had to be panicking. This wasn’t right, this was far too early. Had they been lied to? Had the Nazis decided that the traitor was acceptable collateral damage? What should they do?

My wrist-radio started chattering. More Nazi codes, and that told me that they had noticed our stop. Which meant that they were within visual or audio range, and asking for instructions. One of the weaknesses of our foes, I’d learned from Unstoppable. Nazis are rigid, inflexible, obsessed with control. Introduce a little chaos into the works and they freeze up, looking up the hierarchy for reassurance and instruction.

Unstoppable leaped out of the cart, and started jogging in my general direction. What the heck— I glanced down at the wrist radio. Ah, right, sound carried. He was coming to check it out. Worried voices as the others conversed, too far for me to make out words.

I’d hoped to avoid this next part, but if the Nazis were already as close as the radio traffic indicated, the game was up anyway. Time to lure them into my battlefield.

“Look out!” I yelled. “They’re in the woods!” Then I flipped on my Tesla Deflector, drew my Colt, and shot Unstoppable.

It was a good plan. There was nothing wrong with the basics of the plan. What should have happened was that they would take cover, start looking for imaginary snipers, maybe fire a few rounds off at nothing. Then when the Nazis showed up my team would be under cover, ready to fight, and I’d have a perfect bead on the traitor when he finally made his move. I could snipe him before he killed anyone, then help take down the Nazis.

But I didn’t account for the horses.

They panicked and reared at the gunshot, freaked out more at the boom of the nervous priest’s shotgun, and took off down the road at high speed. My teammates yelled and hung on for dear life, and I gaped, watching in stupefaction as my clever plan went to shreds in seconds.

And then Unstoppable tackled me. His gun tore free of his belt and spun off through the trees as it passed through the electromagnetic bubble generated by my deflector, but the rest of him was non-metal material, and I barely had time to break my fall. “Stop! Hey! Quit—” Then there was pain, and exploding light, and my head whipped to the side. He’d punched me, I realized, through a brain gone all wobbly from blunt force trauma. I couldn’t see and for a second I thrashed, panicked and blind before realizing he’d probably just knocked the monocle off.

“Doc?” he whispered. I cursed and writhed beneath him. “Whoa, shit! Sorry! Stay down. They got a sniper out here!”

“Get off!” I yelled. “They’re heading straight into the ambush!”

“What the heck—” And then Dottie screamed, high and thin in the night air. Her panicked wail receded as the horses galloped and the cart rattled down the dirt road.

He got off me in a hurry. “Where are the Germans? Can you see?”

“Not yet! We need to get airborne.” I fumbled the monocle back, tucked it on. Still functional, thankfully. But my leg braces were making up the sonic rifle’s stock now, and I didn’t have time to disassemble and replace them. Without them, I couldn’t use the rocket boots. Not if I valued my shinbones.

“Okay Doc, hold on tight!”

“How will that help—”

He grabbed me, threw me into a fireman’s carry, and with no warning or visible means of propulsion we went up.

He could fly?

We rebounded from a nearby trunk, crashed through some light branches, bounced with a meaty THWACK off a heavy branch, and wobbled into the air.

Maybe he couldn’t fly, just fall in directions that weren't up.

“Are you even in control here?” I shrieked.

“Give me a break, lady, I’m new at this!”

This was about the most pure fear I’d ever experienced. Sure, I’d flown before, many times. But always under my own power, while armored in a shell that could handle a fall. This time I wasn’t in control, and if he lost it in midair, death was a distinct possibility. And wouldn’t that be a shitty way to go out?

I forced myself to breathe, in and out. I am Dire. I’ve stood toe-to-toe with Crusader. I’d been the doom of Great Clown Pagliacci. I’d brought Icon City to its knees, damn it! I can handle this. Heights are nothing. Nothing!

Finally the fear eased. It helped that Unstoppable wasn’t very fast, maybe about the speed of a man on a bicycle, and not even one going flat out. I blinked, took stock of the situation while I clenched my eyebrow tight to hold the monocle in place. I had a nice nightvision view of his rump, and while it was a pretty good backside as they went, it wasn’t helping. We were in this dizzying aerial jaunt to find the enemy before they found us, so I started twisting my head as best I could, looking for discrepancies.

I didn’t need to look far. Machine gun fire echoed through the night air, and muzzle flashes lit up to the... north? Somewhere over his left hip. “Spin left!” I shouted. “No, no, too far, back up— okay, can you bring us that way— too fast! Too fast! Whoa, lift up lift up lift up—” He twisted around, got under me, and we hit the ground at a pretty good clip. I heard bones go, snapping all across his frame before he lost hold of me and threw me into a nearby bush. I tried to roll with it, groaned as a thick branch clocked me across my already-bruised cheek, and bit my tongue before I rolled to a stop.

Behind me, Unstoppable rose to his feet. I could almost hear his spine popping as it healed back into place. He shook himself like a dog, and started looking around for my landing site.

A few hundred feet to the north, a horse screamed as it caught a spray of bullets and fell. I got a brief glimpse of my team taking cover behind the other wagon, and Henri cutting the other horse loose before darting back into cover himself. They were holding fire, unwilling to reveal their exact positions.

And beyond them, the Nazis.

They’d set up nearly a thousand feet away behind a good rise next to the road. I caught what looked like tarps flapping in the darkness, and at least a dozen men spilling down the grade of the mound, advancing on the wagons and trying to keep my team pinned down. The range was long, too long for them to be very accurate, so at least some good had come of my ill-thought-out attempt to spring the ambush early. The plan wasn’t entirely unsalvageable either, come to think of it. All I had to do was keep an eye on the group and make sure the traitor didn’t kill anyone until the Nazis were dealt with.

As to dealing with the Nazis, well, I had the perfect resource for that. “Pssst!” I hissed, and Unstoppable jogged over, squatted down next to my position.

“You okay?”

“Yes! Can you go kill those soldiers over there?”

“Sure. Wait—” he patted his side. “Got a gun? I think mine fell out of the holster somewhere back there.”

“Yes, she does.” I reached for my holster, and grabbed air. Oh. Wait. I’d had it in my hand when he tackled me. Then I’d grabbed the monocle, and he’d grabbed me, and yeah, my pistol was back in that patch of woods a few hundred yards away. Somewhere. “No she doesn’t,” I amended. I had the sonic rifle, but explaining how to use the thing would take all night. Besides, I needed that.

Unstoppable sighed. “The hard way then. At least until I get one of their guns. Back in ten, keep the oven on.” And he set off at a flat-out run, legs chewing up the distance as he charged.

I watched blood spray as a stray round hit him. He kept on going. I heard shouts of alarm as they noticed him coming in. He kept on going. They started opening up on him, shifting from the pinning fire to focusing everything they had on him. He fell, rolled to his feet, his incredible regeneration healing his wounds faster than the bullets could hurt him, and kept on going. When they shot the legs out from under him, he crawled until he could regrow his knees and then he jogged until he could run again, and he just kept on going, leaping on the first Nazi he could reach, beating him to the ground and salvaging his weapons, all while under heavy fire.

It was magnificent, in its own bloody way. There was literally nothing they could do to him that he couldn’t survive and heal instantly, and their worst barely slowed him down. When bullets didn’t work they switched to grenades, sometimes taking out their own troops by design. When the grenades didn’t work, one of them opened up with a flamethrower, but he just kept on fighting while he was burning. At one point I was pretty sure that he was fighting blind, due to his eyes temporarily bubbling out of his skull. But it seemed a minor setback, as eventually the fire went out and he was still going. That was about the point that they started retreating.

That was also the point that I remembered I was supposed to be watching my teammates.

I whipped back toward them, and found that they’d scattered. Dottie and Father Kovacs were backing away to the rear, Henri and Tadej were circling around their cover on the dark side of things, creeping up on the Nazis, and Bryson was charging straight at them, now that Unstoppable was tying up their main line. The man probably had his deflector going, so I wasn’t too worried about him. I turned back—

Just in time to see Father Kovacs turn, and level his shotgun at Dottie.

“Hey!” I yelled, and ran toward the pair of them. I switched to Croatian. “Hey, you Judas priest!” Of all the times to be without my Colt! The sonic rifle had too wide a spread, I couldn’t use it without catching Dottie, and that was unacceptable.

I saw the priest’s glasses flash in the distant light, as he glanced between the two of us, then he turned toward me, bringing the shotgun up, and I clenched my teeth as the double-barreled gun roared—

But my Tesla Deflector did its job, humming and grinding as a flicker of light leaped up around me. The priest gaped, brought the last barrel of the gun back towards me again, and Dottie, sweet Dottie, kind Dottie pulled out a tiny little pistol and shot him in the face.

I slowed, blinked at her in shock. She stared back at me, eyes wide, breathing heavily before she burst into tears and fell to her knees.

“Dottie? Hey, Dottie?” I killed the Tesla deflector, knelt down and put my hand on her shoulder. She flinched back, voice muffled behind her hands.

“Don’t slap me! Please!”

“Why in the world would she slap you?” I asked.

Cautious eyes peered out, puffy even in the warped view of my nightvision, and her voice was all over the place as she responded. “I’m not... it’s... I don’t... I’m not good at this, and every time I panic someone slaps me to bring me out of it—”

“What.”

“It’s, it’s supposed to cure hysteria, and—”

“Okay, she’s pretty sure that’s bullshit.” Dottie gasped in shock at the vulgar word, then giggled. I turned my back, rummaged through the dying man’s pockets, and pulled out a handful of shotgun shells. “Know how to use one of these?”

“Yes. My, my father taught me to—”

“Good.” I dumped the shotgun next to her, along with the shells, and kept rummaging. Father Kovacs had a duffel bag with him, and it was about the right size for a hidden radio, I thought. Parts is parts, and besides, maybe I could use it to mess with the Nazi communications. My own was ironically too good to impersonate their comms. But my questing hands found nothing in there but clothes, sundries, and other mundane items. He did have a bundle of papers that I handed off to Dottie for future review. “Strange.” I mused. “This is not what she was expecting.”

“What’s strange?” She was standing now, and her voice barely wavered.

“The traitor was communicating with the Nazis over a radio. Really thought there would be one in here, but there’s not.”

“A radio? No, Tadej had the radio.”

My eyes widened, and I rose, turned—

Too late. I watched in horror as about four-hundred feet distant, Tadej took aim and fired at point-blank range into Henri’s back. The Frenchman crumpled, and Tadej took off running towards the treeline.

I had never considered the possibility that there might have been two traitors, and Henri had paid the price.

I spared a glance at the battle ahead of me. Burning trees, and retreating Nazis. In the flickering light, and with my nightvision boost, I could just make out a farmhouse in the distance. Muzzle flashes from that direction seemed to indicate a greater force. Bryson was just visible at the edge of the treeline, hunting among the downed Nazi bodies. The blood dripping from his cane looked black in my nightvision.

Yeah, they didn’t need me. Which meant I had a bit of time.

I brought up the sonic rifle as Tadej ran, and sighted it in carefully. Flipping the toggle switches on one by one, bulbs sparked to life and flickered as the charge gathered.

“Oh hey, cover your ears,” I advised Dottie.

“What?”

“Too late.”

BOOM!

I was sheltered from the worst of it, with my position behind the muzzle. To me it was an annoyingly loud noise, that was all. Dottie, to the side of it, stumbled backwards grimacing in pain. Her lips moved as she dropped the shotgun and clamped her hands to her ears. Too late, they’d be ringing for a little while. But since she was to the side, she was protected from the sheer destructive force of the cone of lethal noise.

Tadej was not safe. Tadej was in front of the muzzle. Tadej flew forward like a giant had drop-kicked him, hit a tree with bonecracking force, and fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Tree branches caught in the cone snapped and blew backwards, and one small tree fell over entirely.

A strange silence replaced the echoes of the sonic boom I’d just unleashed, and for a minute I worried that I’d deafened myself. But no, I could still hear the snap-popping of trees burning in the distant fire a few hundred feet away.

The muzzle flashes had stopped. Then as I searched the night to the north of me, they resumed. Dirt sprayed up not too far from me, and I realized that they were aiming at me now. Whoops! I dove behind the wagon with Dottie and checked the dials I’d attached to my capacitor belt. Yeah, it’d be a few minutes before I could fire the gun again.

I had to admit that the Nazis knew their business. Unstoppable in the middle of them, the dark of night shadowing everything, and nigh-on a thousand feet of distance, and they were still good enough to put bullets near me. I’d faced home-grown terrorists, brutal gangers, mafioso hitmen, but the difference between them and this lot was huge.

A thud on the wagon, and I whipped around, relaxed as Bryson hurtled it and dropped down in a crouch just outside of my deflector’s field. “Come on!” he hissed. “We need to move up! There’s at least two squads up there, and even Unstoppable will have trouble with that.”

“Henri’s hurt!” Dottie said, crawling up next to me. Bryson’s eyes went wide, and he looked around into the darkness, searching for the Frenchman’s body.

“What? No!”

“She’ll get him,” I said, and before he could object I darted past him and toward Henri’s crumpled form. Half a minute later I was regretting my decision, as I struggled to lift him, but couldn’t. Despite the exercise Bunny had insisted I do, I just didn’t have the upper body strength for this sort of thing. I settled for dragging him back. On the upside, the Germans didn’t seem to be firing at me anymore, though guns still chattered in the distance.

I got him back to cover. There was a lot of blood, and I was smeared with it, arms and calves and feet. I backed away as Bryson knelt by him, hugging Henri close, and in the cold glare of the nightvision I could see him crying, choking back sobs as he listened to Henri’s chest.

“A pulse!” he said, voice wobbling with relief. “Come on Lecourt, stay with us for a few minutes yet!” He rummaged in his vest, pulled out something I couldn’t quite make out, and pressed it between Henri’s lips. “Come on. Swallow, swallow...”

Henri coughed, spluttered, and shifted. “Lie still, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” Bryson advised. Henri’s eyes opened, stared around, took in the dim shape of Bryson leaning over him, face a few inches away...

And Henri reached up, gathered him close, and gave him the most passionate kiss I’d ever seen.

I blinked, and felt my face grow warm. “Oh my...” Dottie whispered next to me. She didn’t have the benefit of my nightvision, but her eyes had adapted well-enough by now to get the gist of what was going on.

Bryson tugged himself free after what must have been only a few seconds. “Go on ahead,” he said. “Get around on their flank. Henri’s weak, it’ll take a moment for the elixir to get around to restoring his lost blood. I’ll stay with him until we’re ready to catch up. Don’t start the attack until we’re all back together again.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and Dottie grabbed my arm. Tried to, anyway. My deflector hummed and she stumbled back as her gun tried to tear loose from her grip. “Sorry,” I said. “Yes, let’s go then, Dottie. Keep a distance, hm?” I turned away as Henri reached up for another embrace, and started jogging. I was bruised, scraped, somewhat excited by the unexpected up-close romance, riding the remnants of an adrenaline rush, and overall so out-of-control of the situation that everything felt surreal to me.

But no one had died, that was the important part. None of our team, traitors excluded, had died. So far we were ahead, if only we could seal the deal and beat the Nazis.

“I knew about them being confirmed bachelors,” Dottie whispered, as she ran next to me, shorter legs scrambling to keep up. “They tried to keep it a secret and all. Hid it from the others. But half the time they ignore me, and I see how they look at each other. I think it’s romantic and all. Doomed love, what?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, it sort of casts a shadow over his partnership with Mister Tesla. I mean, I don’t think they’re together and all, and Mister Tesla’s a queer sort but not a queer sort, as far as I can tell he just doesn’t think about it. Though my insight tells me it’s maybe an unrequited love on Mister Bryson’s part.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And well, it’s not like it’s an unknown thing in England, so I really don’t have any room to disapprove, it’s just rather funny and all, and sweet, and a bit fun to watch everyone else oblivious to it so I suppose I’m happy you’re in on the secret too. What do you think?”

“She thinks there are at least two squads of Nazis remaining, around eight to eleven men per Group. So right now she’s trying to figure out how to kill the hell out of them before they do that to us.”

Dottie shut up for a bit. We reached the treeline, and started picking through it. I was expecting booby traps or barbed wire or something here, but I found nothing. True, we were off the road, approaching from a different angle than they’d expected, but I’d expected more precautions than sheer numbers. They knew we had Unstoppable with us, so how had they expected to take him out or incapacitate him?

We got to the edge of the treeline, got a clear view of the farmhouse and outbuildings beyond, and I caught my breath.

Bodies lay strewn across the fields and the farmyard, with patches of jellied petroleum burning merrily on the ground where flamethrowers had wrought their destruction. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, and I fought to hold my gorge down. The farmhouse beyond the field stood with searchlights glaring out of its upper windows, fixed upon the tableau below, next to the barn and a battered corral.

A four-legged, low-slung mechanical walker crouched there. But this was no iron giant like the Eisenjötun had been. This was much smaller, perhaps the size of a medium sedan, and far, far more graceful than the stompy walking tanks that I’d battled with in Zagreb square. It looked to all the world like a giant cat, with backwards-bending legs, a multi-jointed body, exhaust pipes on the neck that gave a suggestion of ears, and an honest-to-god segmented tail that quivered as it crouched, engine literally purring.

Another one waited in the doorway of the barn, head turning side to side, sweeping the concave dishes that made up its eyes, hunting for more prey. Video? No, couldn’t be. The technology wasn’t possible, not yet. Those had to be audio sensors of some sort, probably basic amplifiers. They were probably having a hell of a time given the fires and the other things going on in the barnyard. Soldiers ran to take up positions, setting up a perimeter, calling back and forth to report. And from the farmhouse, four men emerged, manhandling something like a metal coffin between them. It was heavy, I could tell by the way they moved.

Movement, by the crouching mecha’s paws. I gasped, as I saw a figure squirm, fighting to get out from under the machine’s front paws. There had to be at least two tons of steel structure pressing down on that person—  Unstoppable, I realized. That was how they’d planned to take him. And that metal coffin they were wrestling over had to be for him, to secure him for transport. For all that he could heal any wound instantly, he was still a man when it came to physical limitations. He could push himself harder, ignore exhaustion, use strength that would result in torn muscles from anyone else, but he was still at human limits. Sealed away inside a box of that weight? He’d be helpless.

I looked to Dottie, tapped her on the shoulder. “Change of plans. Unstoppable’s going to be out of play if we wait for Bryson. We need a distraction, and we need to get him back into play.”

She nodded, but her face was twisted with worry. “How?” she asked, and I shushed her as the scanning mecha’s ‘eyes’ turned our way. Once they rotated away, I leaned in, and whispered. “Keep your voice low. Big cat-thing over there.” I looked around, trying to think. I had the sonic rifle, which would do to disable one of the mecha if I got closer. It had audio amplifiers, and a shot with the rifle through those would turn the listening pilot inside into chutney. But I’d have to get closer to do that, and there were an awful lot of soldiers setting up, at least a dozen with more in the farmhouse. Open fields there, even with the flickering flames, smoke, and overall abundance of shadows I wouldn’t fare too well.

And the problem was one of numbers. The sonic rifle took a minute and a half or so to recharge. I’d take down one of the mecha, and the other one would be on me. Those things were built for mobility, emphasizing leaping and speed. Not to mention what looked to be machine guns and rocket mounts on the shoulders overlooking the ‘head’ of the cat.

What else did I have? The rocket boots, which had been useless so far. The deflector, which could save my ass from perhaps three, maybe four bullets before the belt of batteries powering it conked out. A wrist-radio, which was great for listening in on codes that I didn’t understand. And a nightvision monocle, which had given me an edge so far, but was going to be diminished the second I went out onto that field full of fires and that farmyard full of spotlights.

I gnawed my lip, looked around. Bodies were strewn around here, tangled in the woods where they fell. Either Unstoppable had mowed them down with a borrowed submachine gun as he came, or they’d succumbed to friendly fire; the outcome was the same.

Bodies. Some about my size. Most of them with guns, ammunition, grenades, and the rest of their kit at hand.

I could work with that.

I measured the progress of the soldiers with the coffin. They were slow. I had a few minutes. A plan snapped into my mind, fully-formed. I leaned in, grabbed Dottie’s shoulder again, and started whispering directions. She nodded, and as soon as I let go she scampered around to the west.

A minute and ten seconds later, the scanning mecha oriented in my direction, and bounded out of the barn, heading my way. The tail swung left and right as it came, I noticed, helping to counterbalance the thing, acting as a crude gyroscope. I was honestly enjoying its aesthetic. I would have enjoyed it even more if it hadn’t been coming to kill me. But I was done with my preparations, and with a grin, I patted the cheek of the dead Nazi I’d manhandled into my rocket boots. “Go get’em, Fritzy!” I whispered, pulling two long wooden handles from his belt before I triggered the rocket boots.

WHOOSH!

Off went Fritz, spiraling into the air, arcing over the Nazis in a glorious blast of fizzling fire and white smoke. I’d put him on a fallen log to try to aim him, but I was under no illusions as to his accuracy. The dead man’s legs would be whipping around in every direction, rocket boots shifting with every movement. Sure enough, his rough vector broke as he started spiraling through the sky, twisting toward the side of the farm.

But the Nazis couldn’t tell that there was no one in control. To them it looked like one of us trying to escape. The cat-like mecha loping toward me paused, and I held perfectly still as it turned, covers sliding over its audio receptors as it shifted, scooted around, and began to lope after Fritz. Then machine guns stuttered,as muzzle flares lit up the farmyard, the soldiers wasting bullets on a dead man.

More importantly, they were wasting attention. I charged across the fields, deflector up, sonic rifle over one shoulder and a salvaged Panzerfaust on the other shoulder, wincing as my socked feet came down on hard ground. I was carrying more weight than I was comfortable with, and wishing I’d humored Bunny and indulged in her morning training regimen more often.

And then Fritz blew up, raining fire, shrapnel, and gore down on the Nazis below. I grinned, as they shouted and scrambled for cover. Totally worth arming the grenades on his belt before I’d sent him on his little trip.

The rocket boots went in two different directions, crashing down in separate areas, one beyond the farmhouse, the other off near the road. The mecha paused, and my wrist-radio chattered. The pilot was awaiting orders. I slowed, crouched low halfway across the field. If he heard me now, I was dead.

He moved on, and I breathed a sigh of relief as he moved off towards the road, checking on one possible crash site. The Nazi troopers started to come out from behind cover... and my streak of luck broke, as one pointed in my general direction, and shouted.

Too late.

I skidded to a halt a couple of hundred feet from the first mecha, aimed the sonic rifle— and as bullets started to patter near me I flipped the toggle switches on one by one. The bulbs flared to life on the side of the gun, making me more of a target, and I winced as the deflector flared up once, twice, three times—

But now the gun was charged and I smiled as I squeezed the trigger.

BOOM!

Every searchlight in the farmhouse blew, plunging the scene into darkness. But my nightvision monocle let me see clearly. It let me see the five or so Nazis I’d caught in the cone as well, be blown backward and hit the farmhouse wall with bone-snapping force. It let me see the farmhouse wall cave in and bow. The structure started to collapse inward, shingles preceding the main fall, hitting the ground like raindrops.

The mecha, however, was well-balanced. It staggered backwards a few steps, rather than fall. But it merely stood there, in the seconds that followed, liquid oozing and dripping down from the main part of its ‘belly’. The pilot, I presumed. Trapped inside that metal shell, with a sensory apparatus designed to funnel sound built into his vehicle, he wouldn’t have a chance in hell. The results would be horrific.

But more importantly I saw Unstoppable scramble up, pull himself together, and give a thumbs up before he started toward the nearest shouting Nazi. Unlike them, his ears had healed. He could hear them, they couldn’t hear him, and everyone was equally blind. This would be a curbstomp. Well, save for one more little factor, and that was the second mecha, completely undamaged, racing back towards my lit-up sonic gun with implacable leaps and bounds.

I discarded the sonic gun, scrambled and ran across the field, before the remaining troopers could gather their wits and return fire. The deflector was out or so drained it would be useless. One mecha left, and if it survived it could mop the floor with us.

No matter. I got clear into the darkness as the cat-mecha pounced on the sonic gun, shattering it to bits. It stopped, scanned around into the darkness, covers opening up to reveal the dishes of its ‘eyes.’ Listening for me.

I stopped, knelt down, and took the Panzerfaust off my shoulder.

One of the earliest of all rocket launchers, it was fairly simple. A metal rod, with a firing trigger and a flip-up stock, with a cup on the end. The rocket was already loaded, snug inside the cup.

It held a single shot. One shot was all I needed, the armor on this mecha had to be light by necessity— it wasn’t built to handle this sort of weapon. Tanks with ten times its weight weren’t built to handle this sort of weapon.

The mecha scanned, looked in my general direction, and I flipped the firing sight up—

And with a gentle ‘clink’, the sight broke off from the stock.

That single bit of metallic noise was all the mecha needed. The ‘eyes’ snapped shut, and it charged toward me, and it was getting way too close, way too fast.

I took the shot blind.

The rocket sailed well over it, off into the night, taking my hopes, my dreams, and my chances of survival with it.

I tried to stand, tried to scramble away, but that bit of motion must have drawn the pilot’s eyes, because he swerved mid-pounce to adjust, and two tons of mecha clipped my side, sent me spinning off and down into the field, hard. I felt bones give, and cried out, as my world turned into pain. Off in the distance I heard the rocket explode, and almost laughed in disbelief. My luck, my shitty, shitty luck had finally revealed itself. But I was too busy choking to scream, choking on blood from somewhere deep inside, as the bones in my chest ground and my arms wouldn’t work. My back? Maybe.

And then, as I lay there with my head face-down into the dirt, I heard the mecha skid to a stop, turn with a fussy clanking noise, and stomp toward me.

I struggled to breathe, couldn’t. I tried again, and pain lanced through me, but I got air down my throat. One more breath, one more second.

The stomping feet clattered against the wartorn field.

Was this it? Had Timetripper won? The Nazis were about to do his dirty work for him. The thought distracted me, and I felt anger building. I was Dire, damn it! Doctor Dire! Damned if I’d die lying in the mud like this!

Things inside me broke, ribs ground, and I coughed up more blood, but somehow I managed to haul myself to a half-sitting, half-slumping position. I couldn’t tell what part of the mess on my face was mud, and what part was blood, but I glared at the mecha as it stomped forward, loomed over me. The pilot had a vision port, I could see. I was well-backlit from the fires behind me, but it was a moot point now. I tried to glare into the port as I sneered, and cursed in German.

“Go on you wanker. Don’t just sit there like a virgin with your first mouthful of cock.”

That’s what I tried to say. Midway through I started coughing up blood, but I think he got the gist of it.

A metal leg raised a metal ‘paw’, and I blinked as steel razors clicked into alignment. Of course it had claws!

And then gunfire in the distance. Small arms, not machine guns. “Hey!” Over here!” I heard Dottie shout. Bullets glanced off the mecha, and it turned, seeking its assailant. And as it turned, I saw motion in the darkness behind it. A figure leaped up, caught the tail, swung around, and landed on its back.

Bryson!

“Look at me when I’m killing you!” he snarled, and his voice echoed through my mind. I knew that voice. I knew that shout. How could this be?

The mecha bucked like a bull, trying to dislodge him, but he clung on with a mixture of unlikely strength and supreme skill. I knew that wrestling hold, had experienced something like it myself. Certainty built in my mind, and I welcomed it. It distracted from the pain.

With one hand Bryson held on, with the other he jammed his cane through an air duct on the thing’s back, and gave it a twist. Electricity sparked and flared, lightning grounding through the mecha as it jittered and shook.

Bryson was on the back, and unharmed. He was not in the path of the current.

The pilot, however, was not so lucky.

I coughed, inhaling ozone and the odor of charred flesh, but the darkness was creeping in around the edges. Strength failed me, and I slumped back onto the ground, feeling cold. But just before I could pass out, he was there, 

Add a few decades. Add a full head of white hair, a large bushy beard, and yes, the face was the same, wasn’t it? Close enough that every one of my suspicions was confirmed.

“Drink this! Quickly!” he said, uncorking a vial and sliding it between my lips. If I hadn’t known before, I would now. Gamanu has a distinctive taste, even when it is juice and not the full fruit.

I slumped back on the ground, and agony ripped through me, as my ribs shifted within my chest. The fruit was doing its job, healing me, but it was neither gentle nor painless, and I howled. In seconds the pain grew too much to withstand, but as I slipped into unconsciousness, I clung to one fact, held onto it with all my might.

Aegon Morgenstern was Jacob Bryson.

CHAPTER 7: BUNNY – ARCO TRIUMPH

“With the utter destruction visited upon Westmarket, the federal government is prepared to come to Icon City's assistance. FEMA is meeting with city officials right now, preparing to break ground and begin work on the cleanup. But we've been getting reports that Icon City's Mayor, Armand Tressler, has been noticeably absent from these meetings. It's causing no end of trouble, and a delay in getting the citizens of Icon City the infrastructure repair that they so desperately need. Why are you stalling, Armand? Mayor Tressler: Bad for Icon, bad for its people! Elect Thorpe for Mayor!”

--Radio commercial paid for by the Icon City Democratic party, circa 2001.

There were days when Bunny wished she was back in the desert, listening to the Caliphate forces fire over the dunes, and walking with Spooky on night patrol to check the far wards. Things were simpler then. And there were a few hundred G.I.s bivouacked a shout away, all ready to back her up when the bad guys tried shit.

Now? Not so much.

How the fuck did I get here? She wondered, for what had to be the thousandth time. She was sitting in the backup lair of her lunatic supervillain boss, on the run from not only every hero in Icon City but freaking WEB as well, arguing with a holographic projection that was actually a semi-sentient computer program designed by her boss’s future self.

Who was still a goddamn lunatic. Who, unlike the boss she’d signed up to work with, seemed to have both shadier motives and an interest in playing every card she had close to her chest, even with her past self’s minions.

“So let me get this straight,” Bunny ground out, hunched over the table and glaring at Future Dire’s mask. “We can’t ask Morgenstern for help, even though we’ve had good dealings with him before?”

“Correct,” Future Dire’s smartframe said.

“Is it because we leveled about ten percent of the city?” Martin said. “Because I can kinda get why Morgenstern would want to stay out. Plausible deniability and shit.”

“No,” The smartframe said. “He has to stay out of this, or future dealings will be compromised. Letting him know of Dire’s disappearance now would be extremely unwise.”

“Versus getting run to the ground by WEB, who are actively trying to murder us.” Bunny shook her head. “Future dealings are all well and good, but it’s our lives on the line here. Would it be life or death for your past self?”

The smartframe considered the question. “I do not have that information. I have been instructed to tell you that Morgenstern is far more ruthless and pragmatic than Dire or any of you suspected at this point in time.”

Bunny sighed, hauled her exhausted ass up off the chair, and moved over to the whiteboard. She ran the blue marker over Morgenstern’s name, crossing it off. “Okay. So who’s next? Graveyard Gang?”

“We do not need help,” Kirsten said, crossing her arms.

“No, Vorpal, pretty sure we do,” Martin replied. “We gots a lot of shit to get done, and a lot of assholes gunnin’ for us.”

To the rest of the team she was Vorpal. To Bunny, she was Kirsten, always Kirsten. Well, except in the field. Only callsigns were allowed there.

But they weren’t in the field, and right now the chain of command was pretty well busted, so it was up to Bunny to act like a first shirt and be the team mom until Dire got back. If Dire got back. So until that happened, she had to keep the peace between three people who weren’t necessarily interested in helping her with that op.

“We are pretty well outnumbered,” she said, giving Martin a nod. “Can’t hurt to see if we can even those odds.”

“There is no ‘even the odds’” Kirsten said, slamming her open palm on the cheap metal table and making it ring. “We need to get out of town, lie low, and try to assemble the beacon when we are no longer the most wanted people around.”

Martin opened his mouth, frowned, and looked to the smartframe. “She got a point. If the beacon helps her get back, what’s it matter we do it now, or later? She’s already lost in time, she ain’t gonna be less lost in time six months from now, say.”

Bunny smiled. Not at the idea, but at the fact that Martin had agreed with Vorpal on something. Those two had been at each other’s throats for too long. Anything that was a step away from that dynamic was good, as far as she was concerned.

That smile faded as Minna held up the glittering, flashing glass gizmo that she’d saved from the vault of the sacrificed lair. “And what of this?”

“What is that thing, anyway?” Bunny asked. I am not going to like this answer.

“I do not have words,” Minna said. “It is the people.”

“What people?”

“The ones that Dire took from the city before we destroyed their neighborhood.”

Bunny stared at the thing, which looked all the world like a kid’s science experiment, all wires and glass and lights and colors. “In there? How?”

“I have not the words.” Minna shook her head. “Not... smart. Not yet. Learning.”

“How ’bout you?” Martin asked the smartframe. “Can you explain this thing?”

“Yes. As you well know, the main goal of today’s mission was to destroy the water treatment plant and all supporting infrastructure within four blocks. But to do that without casualties necessitated the teleportation of everyone within that area, and additionally, Schrodinger of Tomorrow Force when his weekly patrol took him over the affected zone.”

Bunny winced. She’d been uneasy about the entire operation, no matter the gains. And targeting Tomorrow Force just hadn’t felt right, no matter how logical it was. Had to get at least Schrodinger out of the way, sure, or the op was doomed to fail. But for Dire it was personal. For Bunny, not so much. She’d lived in Icon most of her civilian life, and lost track of how many times Doc Quantum and his crew had literally saved the city. But what was done was done. She dragged her attention back to the future, and pointed at the gizmo.

“She teleported them out. Into that?”

“Precisely. The matrix stores the photonic signature of approximately thirty-thousand people, including the hero Schrodinger. Essentially, they teleported into that, to be stored for the short-term. Once the operation was done, Dire planned to restore them, teleport them back in to a safer area.”

“Well, that went out the window.” Bunny drummed her fingers on the table. God, she wanted a cigarette. “So how do we return them? Can we return them without Dire?”

“The teleportation engine is here in this lair, it is true, but the software to do so is in the main lab,” the smartframe said. “This program has not been given the technical specifics or any information how to salvage the people from the matrix. Evidently her future self assumes that Dire will do it when she returns.”

“So we take it with us,” Kirsten said, but her voice was hesitant.

“What kind of batteries does that thing take?” Martin asked. “Will it work if we take it outside the city? How we gonna fix it if it breaks? That’s thirty thousand people. Commuters, residents, and one really, really popular superhero. Fuck, maybe even some secret identities all up in there just caught random-like, I don’t know. I don’t wanna take no chances.”

“Fuck. You’re right,” Bunny said. Then she laughed, and buried her face in her hands as a thought struck her. “Oh god.”

“What?”

“The rest of the city probably thinks Dire took them hostage. Shit.”

Vorpal went white. Martin looked stunned for a second, then howled with laughter. “Oh man. We are so fucked.”

“Yep. BOHICA, buddy. It’s on.”

“Bo-who?”

“Army acronym. Means ‘Bend over, here it comes again’.”

He laughed harder, and then fell quiet after a few seconds. “I’m hungry. You hungry?”

Bunny and Kirsten nodded. Minna put the gizmo on a nearby crate, and took his arm. “I will go with you, see what food there is.” She cocked an eyebrow at Bunny. “You will watch Anya?”

Bunny looked over at the pallet and the tarps they’d piled up as blankets. A little puff of blonde hair poked out from them, breathing steadily. It was late; the kid was pretty well asleep. “Sure, no problem.” Minna was hardly the first mother she’d dealt with. A little paranoia never hurt, there.

Well. No point in wasting time. She scrawled out a few more names on the board. Mercenaries, villains Dire had worked with before, heroes who might not punch first and listen to a plea for help with the situation, that sort of thing. The list was brief, very brief. As she finished up, Bunny felt slender arms encircle her from behind, and wrap around her chest, crushing her tits in a barely-comfy way. But she smiled, twisted her arm behind her, and slapped Kirsten on the flank. The company made all the difference, really.

“What’s on your mind?” Bunny murmured.

“We could just go. I have enough money for us both.”

“I’m not exactly broke on my end, either.” Dire insisted on paying all of them, and had set up bank accounts for their cover identities to do so. The balance had been around a couple hundred thousand last time she checked, a few months ago. She had no idea what it was right now.

“Will you come with me?”

Bunny sighed, and the arms tightened around her, squeezing. “Thirty thousand people, Kirsten. Thirty thousand innocents.”

“There are no such thing in this city.”

“Is, Kirsten. There is no such thing. But it wouldn’t sit right with me if I left and something happened to them. If you want to get clear until this is done, that’s fine.” It wasn’t, actually. Kirsten was the best up-close fighter they had. Without her they’d be hurting. But Bunny knew her, knew that trying to guilt her into staying wouldn’t work out. Wouldn’t be fair.

A breath, tickling at the back of her neck as Kirsten sighed. Another, and then soft lips moving against where her spine started. Bunny purred in pleasure, arched back into the kiss.

The arms let her go. “I will stay.” Kirsten said, sounding not too happy about it. “But only so long as we can actually do anything to set this right. If it becomes impossible, then I go, and you come with me.” Her voice rose on that last part, wavered. Made it a question, rather than the bold statement that she meant it to be.

Bunny turned, cupped Kirsten’s jaw with one hand, and used her thumb to stroke her lover’s cheek. “Promise,” She said, and leaned in for a long, slow kiss.

So naturally, that was when her phone went off. Bunny closed her eyes, shook her head. “Right. Hang on.” She recognized the ringtone. This was something important. Two steps away from Kirsten, and a glance at the number, before she hit the button. “It’s me.”

“You’ve got trouble.” Garbled, male, obviously run through a voice modulator. Well, Pete always did like playing at spy games.

“What kind?”

“Cavaliogne.”

Her blood ran cold. “Why now?”

“They know you run with Dire. They’re not too happy about her threatening them. Think she’s stretched too thin to protect you.”

Shit. “They’re wrong,” She lied. “They try to raise a hand against us now they’ll draw back a stump.”

“Which is why they’re not doing it themselves. They’re subcontracting, trying to hire deniable assets to take you down. Maybe Dire too, depending on who they get.”

Shit, shit, shit. The Cavaliogne mob had deep pockets and long memories. This was bad news Bunny didn’t need. They’d almost killed her a year ago, and Dire had saved her. Evidently they didn’t think the matter was finished.

Still, with WEB already on the field and gunning for them, they were literally the lesser evil.

“Thanks for the warning,” Bunny managed. A click and hum of a disconnected call was her only response. Pete never had been one for pleasantries.

“What was that?” Kirsten asked. “It was bad news, wasn’t it?”

Bunny glanced back. “Probably.”

“You sure you can not leave now?”

“It’s not impossible yet. I’ll let you know when that changes.”

Martin came back to the table, bearing an armful of MRE’s. “Grub time.”

Bunny wrinkled her nose. “I got enough of those back in the sandbox.”

“Well, you don’t want your share, sure.”

“I didn’t say that. Gimme a chicken patty.”

A few minutes later, with a full belly, she felt ready to deal with the world again. “Okay. So for now we’re going to try to get that beacon together. Smartframe, what are we looking for?”

“Two components. This program has been granted their descriptions and locations.”

“Well, that’s handy,” Martin said.

“That’s future Dire assuming we can’t find stuff on our own,” Bunny clarified.

“Always gotta rain on my parade.”

The smartframe continued undeterred, materializing flickering images on the table. The first one was of a rectangular metal box, studded with mirrors. “The first component is a photonic resonance amplifier. It is located in laboratory three-ninety-one, within the Helios Arcosphere.”

Martin whistled. “Security’s gonna be fun on that one.”

“And the second?” Bunny asked.

The image flickered, and was replaced by a twisted metal arm, that bore as much resemblance to Dire’s power armor as the Wright Brothers’ prototype did to a modern glider. “A modified, broken arm from an Eisenkrieger armored suit. It is in storage within the Icon Museum of Scientific History.”

“That don’t sound too hard.” Martin said.

Bunny shook her head. “I had a summer job there when I was a teenager. If it’s in storage, it’s in the basement with about ten or twenty-thousand other crates of stuff. Breaking in might be easy, but finding it will be tough.” She glanced at the smartframe. “Can you provide any help there?”

“Regretfully, I have not been programmed with any further information on this topic that would aid in any sort of search.”

“Of course not. That would be too fuckin’ easy.” Martin griped. “So what can you do, besides say ‘I can’t do that Dave?’”

“Well, this program can and has been preventing Arachne’s Grid searches from eradicating or tracing Dire’s investments. This action has saved this warehouse from discovery so far.”

Silence filled the room. “She can do that?” Bunny asked.

“She will do that, eventually. She is an unbound artificial intelligence, limited only by the fact that many of her peers have carved out processing ’turf’ that she cannot access. This program is a mere smartframe, and while it has far more sophisticated code and techniques, it has neither her resources nor her capability to adapt and learn. In less than a day, she will exceed this program’s capability and uncover Dire’s hidden assets. You will no longer be safe here.”

“Right.” Bunny rubbed the back of her head. Still felt weird without the hair, even after all these years. “So we get the stuff and get Dire back. She suits up, restores the people trapped in that matrix thing, kicks Arachne’s butt, and life goes on.”

Vorpal frowned.

“How’s she gonna kick Arachne’s butt?” Martin asked. “Bitch had a giant robo-spider body. I mean it got blown up, but she’s the sorta vill who keeps a spare, you know?”

“Dire’s general-purpose suits are superior to Arachne’s technology.” The smartframe replied.

“Except the one she was timetrapped in was a damaged heavy-duty suit.” Bunny mused. “There any general suits around? I know one went up with the main base.”

“There is another suit within this warehouse.”

“No shit?” Martin rose. “Where?”

Five minutes, and a few smartframe-supplied passcodes later, they were looking down at a steel-lined wooden crate, and a solemn muse’s mask staring up at them, metal arms folded in a mockery of repose over the sleek lines of Dire’s usual power armor.

“Fuckin’ shame we can’t use this thing,” Martin said. “Or can we? The hardsuits ain’t too, well, hard.”

Bunny shook her head. “The way Dire described it, the hardsuits are easy mode. Taking this thing out for a spin is like flying a fighter plane.”

“I can do it.”

Silence in the room again, and Bunny looked over to Minna, who flushed at the scrutiny. The tall blonde’s face was as impassive as ever.

“You?” Bunny asked.

“Me. She trained me, when we had time.”

“What the fuck for?” Martin asked. He sounded hurt.

So even her boyfriend didn’t know that. Interesting.

“I wanted to help. And I wanted to see if I could do it. Am not like rest of you, you have hobbies, time, lives. You go out sometimes.” She caressed Anya’s hair. The child stirred in her sleep, and Minna looked down at her, continued in a more quiet tone. “I have Anya and you sometimes Martin, but that is all. It helped to fill the time. And it made Dire happy.”

That was about as much as Bunny had ever heard out of Minna in one sitting. It was kind of impressive. “Are you good with it?” That was the important part.

Minna shrugged. “Can fly. Can shoot. Not as good as Dire.”

“More than we had.” Bunny said. “And we’ve got the teleportation engine. Can you use that, too?”

Minna shook her head. “Knew the emergency codes. Don’t know how to use it for anything but evacuation to here from main base.”

“This program can assist with that.” The smartframe offered. “It shouldn’t eat up too many cycles. Won’t make a significant difference in the hacking war.”

Bunny nodded. “Okay. That’s good. And you know exactly where that first component is?”

“The photonic resonance amplifier? Yes.” Three-dimensional maps of the Helios Arcosphere materialized on the table. Bunny leaned in and studied them... and smiled. “Got it. Alright, I know how we’re going to get the thing.”

“Yes?” Kirsten leaned in.

“Tomorrow. We need to get some rest, first.”

“Ain’t no time for that.” Martin said, crossing his arms.

“Absolutely time for that.” Bunny put her hands on her hips. “We’re wiped out, just got out of a major fight, and running on fumes. Besides, my plan won’t work until eight tomorrow.”

“Why?” Martin asked. “What happens at eight?”

“We walk right into the Arcosphere’s front door.”

And the next morning, that’s just what they did.

Two miles offshore, on the thin strip of land known as Canaan Island, the Helios corporate headquarters loomed over the ocean like the world’s biggest golfball. A white sphere, studded with solar collectors and the occasional concealed antenna, the Arcosphere housed ten thousand people, all employees or family members. Accessible from the mainland via undersea subway, chartered airship, or ferry, it was one of the major tourist attractions of Icon City.

Which is why Bunny was wearing sunglasses, a loud Hawaiian shirt, a pair of cargo pants, and an honest-to-god camera. Beside her, Kirsten limped along on a crutch, one leg wrapped up in bandages and tape.

“Still don’t see why I’m runnin’ overwatch.” Martin muttered in her ear. Bunny adjusted the subvocal rig concealed by the glasses, and muttered back.

“We need Minna to fly the suit, so someone has to watch Anya. And since we need Vorpal for the main part of this, that leaves you.”

“Coulda paid for Daycare. Dropped her off. You know, like normal people do.”

“Then what happens if we don’t come back?” Bunny muttered. “And with Arachne on the hunt for us we’re fucked if she finds Anya and sets up an ambush. Look, lose the whining, we’re almost to the scanners. Man up and go quiet.”

The scanners didn’t fire on Bunny, but Kirsten’s leg brace set them off. She submitted to a pat down, and winced when the guards felt around her bandages. “Ow! Careful!”

Finally they were satisfied, and waved her through. Bunny waited by the gift shop until Kirsten caught up. “Walk slower,” she murmured. “You’re supposed to be nursing a broken leg.”

Kirsten rolled her eyes, but slowed it down. The two of them passed the TOUR STARTS HERE sign, and made their way through the lobby.

“I’m sorry, are you lost?” One of the white-vested security guards caught up to them as Bunny tried to open the doors back into the main hall.

“We wanted to hit the restroom before the tour,” Bunny said. “Is that alright?”

The guard glanced back at the sign, and the two or three other people milling about it. “Sure, it’s early yet. Hang on, I’ll buzz you through.”

Holy shit, these guys are chumps.

A quick chat into the speaker, and the doors opened with a soft hiss. “First door on the right. Don’t go past the green line, okay? Come on back as soon as you’re done.”

“Sure.” Bunny lied.

This early in the day, before the tours officially started, the bathroom was as empty as she hoped it’d be. Helios had European-style enclosed stalls, no gaps between the stall walls and the ceiling or floor. She motioned Kirsten into one of the roomy spaces and followed, locking the door behind her.

“Martin, we’re in position.” Bunny subvocalized.

“Cool. Aight Minna, you’re—” Static.

“The fuck?” Not good.

“We are too deep in the building?” Kirsten suggested, a faint note of forlorn hope in her voice.

“We’re barely inside the front door.” Bunny tapped the mike. “Martin? Hello? Martin?”

“Well hello there!” An unfamiliar female voice oozed cheerfulness with every word.

“Who is this?”

“Hello Carol.” A bucket of ice water ran down Bunny’s spine.

“You’ve got the wrong frequency. Get off this one, whoever you are.”

“No, no I’d say I have the right one, Carol.”

“Who are you?”

Kirsten touched her arm. “You’re shouting.”

“You’re not hearing this?” Bunny asked.

“Hearing what?” Kirsten looked puzzled.

The voice continued. “We’re on a private circuit now. Just you and me, dear. Hi, I’m Arachne. Let’s talk.”

Bunny whipped her hand up, grabbed the sunglasses, and paused. First instinct was to ditch them. But the damage had already been done, and there might be something to learn from this.

“I’m listening.”

“Smart move. Try to ditch your subvocal rig and I alert Helios security that you’re trying to break in. Now why are you doing that?”

“I heard they had the best breakroom donuts around. Those little glazed chocolate ones, you know?”

A condescending chuckle. “Fine, be that way. Listen, I’ll get straight to the point. Where’s Dire?”

“Back at the lair catching up on her soaps.”

“She didn’t come out to fight me when I invaded her lair. Why?”

“You weren’t worth her time.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“She was a bit busy with Crusader. You understand.”

“That’s not what the satellite view suggested.” Arachne whispered. “What are you hiding?”

“My stunning wit and brilliant repartee. No, wait, I’m showing that off.”

Kirsten looked at Bunny with a thoroughly stunned expression. “Have you gone mad?”

Bunny waved her hand, trying to get her to shut up.

“Well. Let’s talk about you instead, Carol.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Hit a nerve there, huh?” Arachne chortled. “Staff Sergeant Carol Shriver, served from ninteen-eighty-eight to nineteen-ninety one. Attempted Green Beret selection. Failed. Hospitalized after a Caliphate incursion on Firebase Persia. Affliction unknown. At the time, anyway.”

Bunny closed her eyes, as the memories flooded back. The glowing form walking through the wire, Spooky shrieking that the wards were down, the light that wasn’t light that sprayed from the figure’s hands... and the coughing sickness afterward. The vomiting, the hair loss, and legions of doctors that had shrugged, and written her off. Shipped stateside for treatment, told that the incident was classified, and it’d be treason to talk of it.

“Yeah. Something like that,” she said.

“They’re called Djinn, you know.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny this subject.”

“Well, let’s move on then. Back in Icon City with a sergeant’s pension and medical bills. And what do you do once you’re mostly recovered? You go and join a vigilante gang.”

“Is this going somewhere?” She checked her watch. While she was talking, Arachne wasn’t calling security. Just a few more minutes...

“Most of your record disappears there. You turn up in the Longlane Massacre, the fight with the Black Bloods. You’re helping a villain. Why?”

“If you have to ask, you won’t understand.”

“Try me. I’m honestly curious here.”

“I remember when WEB was first getting started.” Bunny took a breath. “I remember when you bombed Ascher Stadium. How many people died in that?”

“Sixty-seven. Before my time, though.”

“Oh, you’ve only gotten worse with age. The coup down in Buenos Aires? Lone Star’s murder? And how many airplanes full of hostages have you guys taken over the years?”

“Well, that’s the downside of a cell organization full of diverse miscreants,” said Arachne, “sometimes you get overachievers.”

“And how many of your people died when you attacked us? No, I’m thinking you don’t get a pass.”

“So it’s morality. She’s suckered you into thinking she’s the lesser evil.” Arachne sounded disappointed. “You’ve really drunk the kool-aid, huh?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I hand out the kool-aid. I don’t drink the stuff myself.” She sighed. “I was going to offer you resolution for the incident with the Djinn, but analysis of our discussion suggests that you’re past that. I’m honestly at a loss, as far as bribes go.”

“Wouldn’t work.”

“Well, then, on to the threats—”

BOOM!

The room shook, and Bunny grinned. “Pass. Eat shit and die.” She jerked the sunglasses from her face, tugged on the hair-thin thread that held the microphone in place against her inner ear until it was loose, and dropped both of them in the toilet.

“What?” Kirsten asked.

“Ditch them. Quickly.”

Kirsten shrugged, tossed hers in as well. Bunny flushed them. “This is not part of the plan.” Kirsten protested, “What were you babbling about earlier?”

“Arachne hacked our comms.”

The blood drained from Kirsten’s face. “We need to abort.”

“We can’t. No way to signal for an early teleport. Only way out is through. Start cutting, Vorpal.”

“How will we get out?” Her voice was getting shrill.

Bunny put her hands on Kirsten’s shoulders. “Five minutes. If we’re out of contact for five minutes, the smartframe beams us out, or up, or whatever. Now start cutting!”

Kirsten’s breath was heavy and fast for a moment, until Bunny leaned in and kissed her. Then she melted. Bunny felt her shake, held her and calmed her. The seconds ticked by, but no help for it. I need her unafraid.

The room shook again, but they ignored it. That part, at least, was going to plan.

Finally Kirsten nodded, and peeled the metal support brace out from her bandages. Nothing more than a thin strip of metal, but it had an edge, and that was all that her powers needed.

Black energy flared around it, drawing Bunny’s eyes in a painful, hard-to-define way. Anything that blade touched would be cut. Period. Kirsten wasted no time, but hopped to the top of the toilet, braced herself, and began cutting into the ceiling.

From the stories Dire had shared with Bunny, they’d used a similar trick a year back to get the drop on a security room. There was a risk that this technique had been shared, but it was small. Morgenstern Inc., the company they’d first infiltrated, was the biggest rival to Helios. Not much chance they’d share information.

Now, so long as the blueprints were accurate, they’d be up to the level they needed in two minutes.

It took five, all told. There were more pipes than anticipated, and working around them was difficult.

Then again, what do you expect when you’ve got three bathrooms stacked in a column. It was a common flaw in older buildings. To simplify the plumbing, the architects would put the bathrooms on top of each other. She’d studied it for breaching purposes, back when she thought that special ops was her future.

Now she was using it to help her supervillain girlfriend rob a benevolent research corporation in the hopes of saving another supervillain. How the fuck did I get here? Bunny asked herself for the thousandth-and-first time. And like the previous times, she had no answer.

The bathrooms were deserted, as she’d known they would be. The Helios blueprints had disaster shelters on every floor. Right now the staff were fleeing into them, and guards were set up at chokepoints. No other personnel around. Most importantly, no cameras in the bathrooms.

That part went off without a hitch.

But when Kirsten carved into the western wall of the third-floor bathroom, alarms blared. Bunny gritted her teeth, cracked her knuckles. Couldn’t be lucky forever. Of course they had pressure alarms, this close to the labs. This was the sort of thing that overwatch could have told them, but well, Arachne had blown that plan all to hell.

“Ah, there you are!” Arachne’s voice boomed from the intercom in the next room.

Speak of the devil...

“You aren’t ditching me that easily, Carol.”

Kirsten froze, and Bunny patted her back. “Keep going. Ignore the asshole.”

“Asshole? Most people in your position would call me a bitch.”

“Never liked the word.” The section of carved wall crumbled inward, revealing a storeroom beyond. Red emergency lights flickered and flared, and a klaxon wailed in rhythmic rage. Two walls to go, then we’ll be through here and into the lab. “Heard it from too many guys. Asshole’s not gender-typed. Everyone’s got one of those. Well, maybe not you.”

“Well, that’s enlightened of you. So what’s she got you doing up here? Something in the labs, hmmm?”

“Clear!” Kirsten hissed, and they burst into the room. Racks and shelves of hardware and circuits filled most of it, and the place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the last presidential administration.

“Yeah, something in the labs. Weird, I thought they’d have better security for their networks. Yet here you are.”

“And your master thought your comms were secure enough against me. Yet here I am.”

Kirsten glanced at the north wall, looked to her. Bunny gave her a thumbs up, grabbed the heaviest looking boxes she could see, and started dragging them over to the room’s only entrance. “She’s not my master,” she muttered.

“Not how it looks from where I’m standing,” Arachne tittered. “From spec ops washout to vigilante to minion. How does that work again? Right now it looks like you’re following the loser track in the game of life. The cancer’s probably not helping, either.”

“Cancer?” Kirsten stopped, her blade midway through the wall. “You have cancer?” Her face was a mask of dawning horror.

“No!” Bunny frowned. “Technically not. It’s called Smokeless Fire Syndrome and there’s no time for this. Ignore the asshole.”

“Yep, cancer,” Arachne continued without mercy. “Magical cancer, but cancer nonetheless. Due in every other year for a checkup and specialized treatment. Hey, wonder how that’ll work once I notify every veteran’s hospital that you’re a wanted fugitive?”

The panel next to the exit turned from red to green, and the door rattled against the boxes. Someone was trying to get in. “Keep cutting, Vorpal!” Bunny called out.

“Why did you not tell me you had cancer?” Kirsten’s voice wavered.

“Now is not the time Ki— Vorpal.”

“Yeah Carol, why didn’t you tell her?” Arachne asked. “I’m honestly curious. Thought you two were a pair.”

“There was never a good time.” Bunny muttered. “I’m sorry, okay? Can we talk about this after the op’s done?”

Kirsten looked at her for a moment longer, then turned back to cutting. The tension in her wiry frame was evident even from across the room. Bunny knew this wasn’t over. It had barely begun, and there would be drama ahead.

Bunny leaned against the crates. The door bucked and slammed, flicking from red to green every time, but she thought the barrier would hold long enough.

“We’re through!” Kirsten called.

“Go!” Bunny waited until Kirsten pushed through the hole, gave one more glance at the crates, then raced after her. She took a second to kick over a shelf or two, send boxes crashing and circuit-boards flying all over the place. The more confusion and mess the more time she’d have before their improvised egress was visible.

The next room was a meeting room. Bunny spared the sole table a glance, dismissed it. Too large to tip over and barricade the door. The chairs were too light, and looking at the door frame, this one opened out.

On the other hand... she tried the handle, and it turned. Good.

“You know they’ll register the new breach on their systems. In a minute they’ll realize what you did, and then the guards will be on you.”

“Cut the next wall, Vorpal.”

“I could be persuaded to redirect them. All you have to do is tell Dire to talk with me.”

“Do it, c’mon. Time’s short.” Vorpal nodded, started cutting.

“Seriously, what’s with the silent treatment? I see her flying around right outside, walloping the heck out of the Arcosphere, and being all distracty. Distracty, is that a word? Hm, search engines say no. Well, I invented it then. Anyway, look, I’ll patch you through to her. Tell her to talk to me, and I’ll redirect the guards.”

“No subvocal rig anymore. Sorry,” Bunny said.

“Here, look, I’ll patch you through the intercom.” A series of clicks. “Now you’re on the outside speakers. Look, just tell her to talk with me. Maybe we can settle this in a way that leaves you alive.”

Noise from the room behind. The guards had gotten through the makeshift barricade. In a minute or less, they’d find the hole in the wall.

Bunny sighed. “Vorpal?”

“Ja?”

“Stick to the plan, alright? I’ll buy you time.”

“No, I—”

“I love you Kirsten. We got this. Do it.”

Bunny opened the door and charged out into the hall.

There was one guard out in the hall, looking into the storeroom through the forced-open door. White-vested like the one downstairs, only this guy had a riot helmet and pads, and a snubby little submachine gun in his hands. A P90? Looked like. She didn’t have time to get a good look, because she was already charging him as he turned at the noise. A flying tackle at his knees put him down, sending the gun skidding across the floor. She grabbed the strap of his helmet, tore it off as he scrabbled at her, trying to shove her off of him. Three quick punches and he stopped fighting. She half-rose, half-crouched and ran over to the gun, scooped it up in a smooth motion, and turned to the doorway. Another guard charged out, stopped, and skidded as Bunny braced her back against the wall and sent a burst past him. He turned and ran back inside. She followed him with two more short bursts, aiming to miss.

Suppressing fire, assholes. Never send a rent-a-cop to do a grunt’s job.

She spared a glance to either way down the hall, saw it empty. The lab they were looking for was just north, sealed with a heavy blast door. Didn’t matter, Kirsten wasn’t going in that way.

Radio chatter from inside the room. They were calling in contact. Reinforcements would be here any minute. She moved to the near wall, to the side of the door, and looked down at the stunned guard, taking stock of his gear. And smiled, as she saw silver tape on a pair of cylinders, and the pistol grip of a heavy-duty taser.

They shouted in alarm as she slung the first cylinder into the room. Then they were too busy coughing as the tear-gas grenade billowed out. Bunny backed away, tasered the first one out of the door, held her breath as she shoulder-rushed the next one behind him. Her eyes reddened and misted, but her target had gone through the worst of it to get out and had it worse than she, so she managed to get the gun away from him, toss it into the gassed room.

Then, every instinct shouting at her to run, get away, she staggered into the white-misted room, shutting her eyes and holding her arm up in front of her face, trying to breathe slowly, breathe through her sleeve. Just like chem training. You can do this. Just like chem training. You got this.

More shouting from outside, but she was coughing then. She crawled into a corner, put her hands behind her head, and waited. It had never been about winning this fight. It had been about buying time, and disarming the guys on scene so they couldn’t kill her. That had worked.

How much time had passed? Hard to say. The tear gas sure as shit wouldn’t clear before—

The world shimmered, visible even through the mass of pain and sodden tears that was her vision. Everything hummed, and then the air was clean.

“Tracer chemical in the blood for the win!” Martin shouted. “Whoa. Shit, Bunny, you okay?”

“Water!” she managed to wheeze.

Ten minutes later, shivering in the drafty warehouse with a towel wrapped around her, she managed to see again. Kirsten was squatting ten feet away, a dust mask around her nose and mouth, staring. Bunny winced, blinked her own throbbing eyes. “We get the thing?” she asked. “Was the mission successful, at least?”

“Ja.”

Bunny sagged back against a crate, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall where they may. They were only the first of the evening, she knew. Everything was fucked now, thanks to Arachne.

How the fuck did I get here?

CHAPTER 8: DIRE – BAD MOON RISING

“Magic was a myth to the world, until the Nazis dragged it screaming into the light of day, and used it to bolster their forces on all fronts. To this day, it's rumored that there are still creatures bound to their service, waiting in the darker parts of the world, waiting for instructions that will never come. How angry, those entities must be. How terrible their wrath, if they ever find a way to slip their bindings...”

--Cameron Athame, self-styled sorcerer and occult researcher

The historians never mention the smell of shit when they talk about war.

It’s a basic fact that when a human dies, their bowels empty. We’d killed near on fifty Nazis there around that little unnamed farm. We couldn’t risk a single one escaping, and so Unstoppable had shown them no mercy. That was a lot of blood. A lot of shit and piss, soaking into the dry ground, as greatcoated bodies lay twisted where they’d fallen. They’d put up a hell of a fight, true, but Unstoppable had lived up to his name.

With the windows of the farmhouse quite thoroughly shattered from the sound blast I’d thrown their way, there was no way to escape the miasma. So we did our best to ignore it as we regrouped and took stock of the situation. I hadn’t lost consciousness despite my pain and suffering, and counted that as a win. I counted the respect in Bryson’s eyes when he looked my way a bigger victory.

I was more than a time-traveling nuisance, now. I was an asset, even if my tactics were unconventional. And with the loss of two of our party, he needed all we could get.

“Both Croats, traitors?” He shook his head as he paced back and forth in front of the desk I was occupying. I’d put my talents to use, scanning every note we could find. That included the departed Father’s letters, and the code books we’d found in Tadej’s duffel bag. Unstoppable had tried to help translate the German parts, until I shooed him away to clean up. He'd been dripping on the papers.

“The Croats were a long shot anyway,” Unstoppable commented, toweling his hair dry. The man had taken a bath to wash the blood off. His and his enemies, mixed alike. He’d reassured me he was pretty much immune to diseases, and winked as he’d said that. I wasn’t sure why he’d winked, but I was glad he wasn’t at risk. I was beginning to see why they’d given him a red costume.

“Well, good news and bad,” I said, putting down the code books, and brushing the priest’s letters away. “They were betraying us to two different factions, by the sound of it.”

“The Thulites and Katzen, then.” Bryson stopped pacing. “Good to have that confirmed, at least.”

“I think I know why I didn’t sense them getting ready to betray us,” Dottie said, perching on one of the few intact chairs in the room.

I’d been wondering about that. After her little talk earlier about empathy, it seemed like catching traitors would be easy. So how had she missed them?

“Tadej, well, he was always lustful.” She colored. “After a while I stopped looking for anything more, and just started avoiding him.”

“Understandable,” Bryson said. “But Father Kovacs? How did you miss him?”

“When I was sweeping the field, after— after everything was done, I noticed that I could still feel him. Like he was still alive, and calm as ever. Gave me half a fright, I don’t mind saying.” She dug around in her purse, pulled out a handkerchief-wrapped object, and put it on the table. “Open that, please. Don't touch it directly.”

I did, revealing a black rock, about the size of my nose. It had a strange character engraved on it, with gleaming gold lining the channels. Looked kind of like a jagged  backwards “F”.

“Okay. What is this thing?”

“A rune. Reversed Ansuz, meaning deception.” She grimaced. “It’s a talisman made to make Father Kovacs seem more trustworthy.”

“Hm. Why shouldn’t we touch it?” I asked.

“Well, this type of talisman sometimes has a link back to their crafter. Someone very skilled made this. They’ll be able to find it if they go looking, maybe see its holder. Maybe do horrible things to them, if they establish a mystical link.”

I blinked. Magic was weird.

Bryson considered. “A link can work both ways, yes?”

“Well, yes. But I’m hardly the equal to whoever made this. Really I’m a dabbler, a hedge witch at best. This is a master’s work, and outside of my tradition anyways.”

“Wellp, no reason to keep this around.” I picked up a roll of papers and knocked the rune into a trash can. When I looked up, Bryson was staring my way.

“So who are we dealing with, Doctor?”

“Someone named Herr Mitternacht.” I smiled. It translated to ‘Mister Midnight’. “The last message sent ordered Kovacs to try to ensure the capture of yourself and Unstoppable. In the event that he couldn’t do that, he was to kill Dorothy, Henri, and myself in roughly that order.” My smile faded. “He was to consider himself expendable, and reminded that his niece and nephew would be returned only if this mission was successful.”

“Okay, this guy sounds like a real winner. I’m kind of hoping I get to meet him before we’re all done here,” Unstoppable said. His grin was gone for once.

“Definitely a Thulite,” Dottie said. “You’ll probably get your wish. They’re big on divination, if he wants to, he’ll find us.”

“Okay, everyone seems to know that term but—” I tapped my chest. “What are Thulites? Can someone explain that, please?”

It was Henri, silent Henri, who answered. “This war has many groups behind it. Many conspiracies. In Germany, the Society of Thule. In France, it was once La Société des Fantȏmas, before Tesla and Jacob broke them.” He looked to Bryson.

Bryson looked away. “We were idiots. We don’t deserve praise for that.”

I studied him myself. Hard to reconcile this heroic man of action with the sinister Morgenstern of the future. What happened, in the decades between then and now, to change him? What set him on his anti-powers agenda?

Henri continued, oblivious to my unspoken questions. “The only way to destroy them was to drag them into the light. Reveal their corruption, and their crimes against us all, both French and Germans.”

“It threw the country into anarchy.” Bryson muttered, not meeting Henri’s eyes. “It gave Hitler the perfect excuse to invade.”

“He would have invaded anyway.”

“We’ll never know.”

“The Thulites?” I prompted. “What of them?”

“Society of Thule,” Dottie clarified. “They’re an occult order. Like Crowley's Golden Dawn, but far worse. They had shadow wars with La Société des Fantȏmas. But unlike the Fantomes, whose power lay in ordinary criminals and powered super-criminals, the Thulites reached out to the supernatural for power.”

“The world at large was mostly clueless to the existence of true magic before the Thulites began expanding their ambitions,” Bryson said, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his forehead. “Germany’s never had much in the way of powered individuals. So the Thulites countered by binding, bargaining, and sometimes flat-out enslaving supernatural entities.”

That sounded familiar. “Like vampires?” I asked. I’d had some dealings with people who augmented themselves with vampire blood. Such dealings had usually involved flamethrowers and headshots.

“At least a few.” Bryson said. “Most of them on the eastern front, thank god.”

“Less now that Der Schwarze Ritter is out there,” Henri said. “But he is coming back west. Called back to Berlin yesterday.”

That caused a serious stir. Dottie gasped, Bryson froze mid-pace, and Unstoppable stood straight up, losing his grin for once.

“Wh-what?” Bryson stuttered. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

Henri tapped his forehead. “I received the message during the battle.”

“This Schwarze Ritter is a problem?” I asked.

“He’s the sole reason Germany’s Operation Barbarossa survived the winter.” Bryson muttered. “He and Koschei are almost single-handedly holding the front, murdering his way through Russia. They’ve got no one to stop him. It might be the world’s got no way to stop him.”

“They call me Unstoppable,” the hero shrugged, “but honestly, I’m pretty much just a guy who heals fast. The Black Knight’s in a whole ‘nother league.”

“Well.” I tapped the code books we’d gotten from Tadej. “Berlin’s where they’ve taken Tesla. Which means...”

Bryson rubbed his eyes. “The timing’s too close to be coincidence. We’ll have to face Schwarze Ritter to get Nikola back.”

Henri shook his head. “Maybe, not for certain. He does not move so fast, and there is much of Russia to cross.”

“How accurate is your information?” I asked him.

“Very.” He smiled. “I am a member of Égalité.” I frowned at him, shook my head.

“Time traveler, remember? Ignorant of this era?”

Bryson explained. “Without getting bogged down in details, Égalité is both one of the three warlords of France and the name of the movement of partisans following him. The man in charge has the ability to share powers amongst his followers. Henri took telepathy for this mission. Égalité himself has been sending messages to keep us informed on the overall reaction of the Nazis and their allies, and whatever applicable tidbits he can scrounge.”

“He’s a commie.” Dottie said. Henri shot her an indecipherable look, and she crossed her arms, as she continued. “Strong ties with the Reds, so the information’s probably good.” Henri nodded, mollified.

“I have also sent back to him that the three Eisenjötun stationed in Zagreb were destroyed. That has been passed on to Allied command, they might use it.”

Well, that was something.

“Okay, we’re getting sidetracked.” said Unstoppable. “Anything else we can use from the traitors’ messages?”

“Possibly.” I tapped the notes from Father Kovacs. “After he took care of us or we were captured, he was to report back to Mitternacht.” I switched hands, held up the code books from Tadej. “For his part, this says that von Katzen is in charge of the overall operation, but tactical and strategic considerations are to be undertaken following the orders of someone called Eisengeist.”

A series of quick glances, and a lot of shaking heads. None of my new teammates knew that name. Bryson in particular was disturbed. “Von Katzen’s not a subtle sort. He crows his triumphs to the skies, and parades his new inventions in front of Hitler like a child seeking attention. If he’s deferring things to a code-named subordinate, this is either a new development or a dangerous secret of some sort.”

“Well, whatever the case, Eisengeist is taking charge of Tesla in Berlin.”

“Don’t suppose it mentions where in Berlin that’s happening?” Unstoppable asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bryson shook his head. “The fact that they even told a double-agent this in a dispatch is sloppy. I’m half-wondering if it’s a trap. Then again, von Katzen’s always been a braggart. It is possible that he’s truly this arrogant.”

I nodded. “Then we have a goal. Get to Berlin and retrieve Tesla before Der Schwarze Ritter arrives.”

“That’s... about the size of it,” Bryson concurred. He cleared his throat, frowned, and blew his nose into his handkerchief. “Unstoppable, have you taken stock of the assets we can salvage from this site?”

“We’ve got a couple of heavy-duty trucks out back. Guessing that’s how they got the troops and the steel cat things out here.”

“We’ve also got enough Nazi uniforms to disguise ourselves,” Dottie piped in. “Well, you lot, obviously. Not me or the Doctor, here. Not too many women in the Jerries’ military, dear,” she explained, with a tiny smile.

“Spare uniforms salvaged from their packs, I think.” Bryson said. “Less feces to deal with that way.”

“I can forge any papers that are needed,” Henri said. “They have some already, easy enough to adjust them. Someone back home knows how. I can ask if I run across a problem.”

I grinned. “And we’ve got two of those steel-cat-things. Should be able to pilot one.”

Unstoppable raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even looked inside’em. This is your first time runnin’ into them, right? You sure you can handle that?”

My smile had many teeth and little humor. “Doubt many things but don’t doubt that. If it’s human-made she can drive, pilot, or steer it.”

Bryson pursed his lips. “You’ll probably want the one that I electrocuted. I doubt they had anything more electronically sophisticated than a radio, so there shouldn’t be any major damage to it. Certainly easier than sluicing out the cockpit of the poor fellow you liquefied.”

“No electronic components?” I blinked.

“No, simply good German engineering, hydraulics, and a high-performance diesel engine. Well, perhaps a battery for ignition, but it should have been properly grounded. Von Katzen’s a stickler for that sort of thing.”

A mecha with no electronic components to speak of... I was intrigued. My fingers had been itching for a new project.

“Of course, you’ll have to get under the hood while we’re on the road. I trust that won’t be a problem?” My smile stretched into a sneer. Bryson met it with one of his own. “I rather thought not.”

It didn’t take me long to figure out how to pilot the thing at all. The smell of scorched hair and fried fat lingered inside the cockpit, but I’d dealt with worse. And after guiding it up onto the back of an enclosed truck, we hit the road.

I tinkered with it as best I could, before giving it up. We had only one lantern salvaged, and it was dark enough that I’d have to wait until morning’s light to make much progress. It was enough that we had the thing if we needed it.

Clambering out, I heard a throat clear in the darkness. A dark shape next to me, visible in the dim light from outside.

“Dottie?”

“Naw. It’s me.” Unstoppable. “I don’t really need to sleep, so I’m keepin’ watch back here. Everyone else is up front.”

I nodded. “We should be good. The sonic rifle destroyed the components of their radio when it went off. Pursuit is unlikely for at least a few more hours.”

“Yeah, but it’ll come. Still doesn’t matter, this’ll get us closer. Only a few hundred miles from here to Berlin.”

I shook my head, remembered he couldn’t see it. “She’s looked at the maps. The roads between here and there are pretty bad, and not made for a straight transition. A lot of conflicting routes, and there’s a war on. Sooner or later one of the checkpoints we come to won’t buy our story or our papers.”

“Now you sound like Jake.”

“Bryson know you call him that?”

“When I hear his teeth grinding I figure he’s heard me.” A flash of white teeth. The man really did have a nice smile.

I chuckled. “It’s just too easy. The world itself seems to annoy him.”

“Older than he looks. Seen a lot of trouble from it, too. Can’t have been easy growing up like— like he is.”

“Ah. You know about that?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t bother me much. I’ve seen way worse.”

I didn’t doubt that.

He sighed. “Before I got into the service, it mighta bothered me that he likes guys. But honestly, after this many missions, I don't care so much. He's one of the good guys, he fights the Nazis. So whatever or whoever he does things with in his spare time is his business and not mine. Christ, the Nazis are a horrorshow.”

I didn't want to admit my total ignorance in this area, so I grunted and nodded. Didn't seem to matter, he was staring off into the distance, a dead look in his eyes.

“Dottie says there’s some occult significance to it. Me, all I see is some insane vile little guy making up reasons to hate people, and using power he doesn’t deserve to torture everyone he hates. And using that to get more power.” He spat out the back of the truck, hanging on to the side to avoid falling out. “People like that make me sick.”

“Met a lot of them, have you?” I raised an eyebrow.

“More than I thought when I enlisted.” He laughed. “That’s some good I’ve done, anyway. You fight Nazis, you know that every one you kill is pretty much another step to making the world a better place.”

I considered the dead I’d left behind since my impromptu trip back here. I hadn’t hesitated, either. The paradigm was completely different from my own era... these weren’t the caliber of villains I was used to, and the heroes who opposed them had a completely different moral code. It really was black and white, no shades of gray to be had.

And yet, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. I’d worked with it because the consequences of failure were high, and because by the morals and ethics I’d integrated, they were all violating the unwritten rules by trying to kill me first. But there were no rules, written or unwritten in this era of war. We were near the beginning of the superpowered era, and it was more or less anarchy between powered individuals right now.

My silence had gone on perhaps a bit long, and Unstoppable seemed to assume he’d said something wrong. “I take it you disagree?”

“Hm? Not necessarily. Just realizing that she’s been a bit bloodier than she could have been. Not seeing many ways around it, though.”

“Doc, listen... you saw that ice chest they were bringin’ out, right? That one for me?”

“Ah, that. Yes. It was a factor in her strategy, to prevent you from being entrapped.”

“Yeah. That cat-thing’s paw was right on my spine, and I was squirming, but my head was at the right angle to see it coming. And there was nothing I could do, just watch them drag it over, inch by inch. That? That’s the sort of thing I have nightmares about. Trapped, helpless, stuck without air in the dark.” He shook his head.

“You wouldn’t die at least.” I smiled. Then I stopped. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“The doctors tell me I’m not aging anymore. Best they can tell I’m immortal.” He said it like he was telling me what he’d had for dinner last night. “Which means that if I get sealed up in something I can’t bust out of, and nobody lets me out, then I don’t get out. Ever. And I don’t die, ever.”

I shuddered. “Ah. Well, glad that didn’t happen, then.”

“So am I. Owe you one, Doc. A big one.” He chuckled. “Who knows? If nothing goes wrong and I survive the war, and don’t get trapped anywhere, maybe I’ll look you up in the future? Come to your house, meet your kids and husband, stay for dinner. Stuff like that.”

“No kids. No husband. Just her. Well, her and a few friends, but that’s all.” I smiled. “You’d be welcome at the table, though.”

“Not married, huh?” A flash of white teeth again. “Can’t see why. Lot of dumb guys in your time, I guess.”

I snorted. “Hardly that. Just— complicated. She’s bad at relationships. And work leaves little time for that sort of thing.” I remembered the one time I’d tried signing up for a blind dating service on the Grid. To understate the situation, it had gone poorly.

“Well, you let me know if you need anything. Henri’s spread some bedrolls up near the cab of the truck if you want to sleep.”

I realized just how much I was running on fumes. In my focus, I’d been ignoring my body. Though the Gamanu extract had healed my injuries, it had been a long day and a longer night, and I was feeling drained.

We spent the next day motoring through Northern Croatia and Slovenia. The trucks ate up a lot of diesel, so whenever we crossed into a village that looked like it had a motor vehicle or two to its name, Bryson went out, posed as a Nazi officer, and requisitioned as much gasoline as the surly farmers were willing to give up.

They feared the Nazis, I could tell.

“Bit different in the capital and the cities,” Dottie explained. “They leaped on the alliance with the Jerries straight out of the gate. But out here in the heartlands and the wilds, it’s not a good thing for them. This is the heart of the resistance, out here. Rather surprised we haven’t been ambushed by guerillas yet.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Unstoppable said, waving a finger in admonishment. “Anyway, we’re going to hit the border to Austria soon. That’s a whole ’nother ball game.”

I threw myself into the repair and maintenance of the Mecha, anticipating the worst. Wasn’t easy on the shuddering back of a rolling truck, but I had the sinking feeling we’d need it sooner rather than later.

Unstoppable spent most of his time watching me, helping keep the tools from skittering out of the back, and chatting whenever I got a second to talk. I appreciated the company.

He really did have the nicest eyes. Deep blue, warm and sympathetic. I talked about this, that, and the other, giving as many generalities as I could, trying to avoid compromising future knowledge. He seemed a safer topic, so after a few tries, I managed to get him talking about himself.

“Aw, I’m just a guy from Queens.”

“New York? A lot of your earlier questions were about that area.”

“Yeah, it’s a borough out that way. Nice place to grow up, y’know?” He shrugged. “Plenty of other orphans to play with in the home. And when I got recruited the state assigned me parents while the experiments were going on. They were good folks.”

“Must have been nice. She never knew her parents.”

“You an orphan too? No kidding?” He brightened up.

“It’s complicated, but essentially, yes.” I slid the screwdriver up into the underbelly of the mecha, and pried the remnants of the radio out of its carcass. I had an idea to amplify the limited vision available from within the cockpit, and enough spare parts to see it through. The trick lay in modifying it without screwing up the rest of the machine. It was a seriously high-performance vehicle, with all the problems that brought. Definitely a prototype, which explained why I hadn’t seen it in the wikis when I went prowling through Nazi inventions out of idle curiosity that one lazy afternoon.

Still, it seemed a little strange just how familiar the mechanisms felt under my fingers. Didn't have time to dwell on it, though. Too much to do.

“Y’know, it needs a name.” Unstoppable leaned against it, peering at me through one of the inch-wide vision slits.

“You’re in her light!” I protested. I threatened his eye with the screwdriver, teasing, and he laughed. But the idea held merit, and I tilted my head to consider. “A name, you say?”

“Yeah. Something cat-related. Like, ah... Mechanical Evil Overlord Wagon.”

I laughed. “MEOW! Nice. Doesn’t quite fit, though. If you’re going for funny acronyms, you need really long ones to be effective. MEOW is too short.”

“Got a better idea, smartypants?”

I rolled out from under the mecha, and glanced around. Spare uniforms, tools, the truck’s emergency bundle, spare tire, Unstoppable, Unstoppable’s well-muscled legs, Unstoppable’s easy grin, his legs again because they were fun to look at— and the pistol at his waist. The one he’d chosen with the distinctive shape, taken from the officer’s cooling corpse back at the farmhouse.

“Mauser.” I muttered. “Yes, MAUSER.”

He gaped at me for a second, then laughed, bending over and slapping his knee. “I like it! Two different puns! Oh wait, I suppose you’ve got an acronym already?”

“Yep.”

“Throw it my way, doll.”

“Mechanical Automated Unit for Search, Eradication, and Restraint.”

Unstoppable snickered. “Okay, you win. Can’t top that one.”

My grin grew wider. “Victory is hers! Hmhmhmhmh... hahahhaha!”

“Sounds like you’re having fun back here!” Dottie chirped, making her way around the bulk of the newly-christened quadrupedal war machine. I was in a magnanimous mood, and merely waved a hand in greeting.

Unstoppable squinted, his smile gone. He always seemed to lose his good humor when Dottie was around. “Just another checkup, or do we have news?”

“The latter. Henri’s had another transmission.”

“Yeah?” Unstoppable stopped slouching, leaned in. From relaxed to all-business, in a heartbeat.

“Von Katzen’s special squad just got orders to evacuate the area.” Her grin was gone now, and I could see the worry in her eyes.

“Which area?” I asked, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut.

“Everything north of us.”

“They found the farmhouse.” Unstoppable mused. “Easy to guess that we’d go north, even if nobody’s reported the truck, and I don’t think we’re that lucky. So why are they clearing out?”

“Think about it,” I said, replacing the access panel on the back of the MAUSER, and tightening the screws that held it on. “Von Katzen’s in charge of the technological side of things. But there’s a magical wild card in the mix.”

“Mitternacht.”

Dottie nodded. “Bryson thinks there’s a rivalry there. Katzen’s fellows cleared out so Mitternacht can have a good shot at it.”

“Probably bitch—” Unstoppable paused, glanced between us. “—whining all the way. Say this for the Ratzis, they don’t let the heaped corpses of their buddies slow’em down.” He smiled. “Suits me fine, usually. I’d much rather deal with the science guys than the magic ones, though. This might be a problem.”

I nodded, looked to Dottie. “Can you do anything mystical to help us?”

Her frown deepened. “I wish I could. Without knowing what he can do, there’s no way to prepare.”

“Well. We’ll just have to see what comes and survive it.” I shrugged.

Two hours later, we pulled off the road, into a copse of tall trees. In the distance a storybook castle rose high against the sky, where the forest rolled into hills.

“Polish border ahead.” Unstoppable said, following me out of the truck. “No way they don’t have watchers up in that castle.”

“It’s not that big.” Dottie came back to us, keeping a weather eye toward the structure. “Compared to some around these parts, I mean.”

Bryson emerged from the cab, looked around with satisfaction. I was amused to see that he’d replaced his stolen Nazi uniform with his fine suit, as unwrinkled as if he’d just gotten it from an ironing board. “Ten minute break. Then we’re going to discuss the way ahead.”

Dottie tugged on my arm. “I could stand to powder my nose. Come with me?”

After taking care of business and kicking leaves over the results, I caught her scrutinizing my face.

“What?”

“He likes you, you know.” Her smile was a smirk now.

“Hm? Well, Bryson has been giving her less flack today. Starting to accept that she’s actually competent. Kind of nice.”

“No, I mean Unstoppable.”

“Well yes, he’s a friendly sort. Always has been.”

She glared at me. “Do they not have flirting in your time?”

“What does that have to do with—” Oh. Huh. Well, hadn’t expected that. “Not sure how she feels about that,” I muttered, as the silence dragged on.

She patted my shoulder. “I think you should consider knocking boots, dear.”

“What?” I looked at my shoes. “Don’t have those.”

“No, I mean you should find an opportune time to entertain him.”

“She’s pretty sure he’s having fun as is.”

“Oh for Heavens—” she stood on her tiptoes, and tugged on my shoulders until we were eye-to-eye. “Just find a bed and shag him.” Her face turned bright red, and she let go of me. “Sorry, sorry, that was crude, I didn’t mean, it’s just...”

“Dottie.”

“Yes?”

“She’ll take it under consideration. Thank you for explaining.” I forced a smile.

“Ah. Yes. Er, we’d best get back. Before, er. Well, they might think something’s happened...”

“Dottie.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go back.” She sighed in relief, and started back up the trail.

I followed, shaking my head. Her embarrassment had eased my own.

Didn’t know if I wanted to copulate with Unstoppable, but he was fairly good looking, and had a charm as irresistible as his regeneration. I’d give the matter some consideration, if and when we found some quiet time. But until then, Nazis were trying to kill us. Or worse, if some of the horror stories that Dottie had whispered to me about the Thulites were true. Vampires and demons and worse, oh my...

The thought seemed to weigh heavily on Bryson’s mind, too. As soon as we broke the treeline into the clearing, he went straight to business.

“They know we’re coming, but we’ve stopped short of the last ten miles to the border. They’ll have prepared the ground against us, as much as a day’s warning has allowed them to.” He tapped his cane against the ground, thoughtfully. “We need to pool our resources, try to come up with some workable tactics for slipping their net or fighting through, and go to it.” He glanced up at the sky. “Perhaps two hours to nightfall. And I’m leery of trying to do much at night against a fellow named ‘Mitternacht.’”

Smart. “Dottie, can you bring anything to the table for this?” I asked.

She put her head down, considered for a moment. “Divination. The Thulite tradition emphasizes divination. They can foretell things, see events and find people.”

Great. Another Schrodinger situation. “Precognition? Not good. Is there any way we can counter that?”

“Well, it’s not as horrible as it sounds. I mean, divination is hard to do. The future’s always changing, and portents and prophecies are vague at best. And it takes time to set up. So at best he’s spent all day doing a rite that might give him a ten-second vision of a possible future.”

“All right. So he might have some general ideas, but hopefully not our entire game plan. Which we don’t know yet.”

“Their other specialty is quite a bit more problematic. They’re aces at binding.”

I sighed, and leaned against a tree. “You’re not talking about restraining people with rope, are you?”

“Oh dear, no. I’m talking about coercing people into doing your bidding. People and... things.” She swallowed.

“Things like the Sturm Crows.” Unstoppable glanced over at Dottie. “Heard they wrecked your coastal Tesla Towers during the first invasion.”

She shuddered. “That was a sticky time, please don’t remind me. But yes, like the Sturm Crows.”

“And the vampires on the Eastern front.” I glared at the castle, the parts of it I could see through the trees.

“Yes, those too.”

“You’re awfully fixated on those.” Bryson observed.

“Bad experience once.” I'd damn near died.

“Anyway,” Dottie continued, “we can expect some sort of... well, most of what they’ve got are monsters. Expect some sort of monster.”

“Not plural, there?” The phrasing caught my attention. “Not more than one?”

“Not more than one kind,” she explained. “Different types take different bindings, which don’t work well together. It can sometimes disrupt the ethereal bonds, and free a bound subject, if they mix. They usually come out rather angry at their ‘master’. Very few of them like being bound in the first place.”

“Something to exploit, maybe.” I rubbed my chin. “Don’t see how at the minute, but if the opportunity arises...”

“Well, I haven’t met the thing that can kill me yet.” Unstoppable said. “But if it’s big enough, it won’t matter. Best I can do is buy you time while you figure out how to stop it.”

“I have my cane, fully recharged.” Bryson tapped it on the ground again. “The ball topper’s interchangeable, I’ve got several different metals and materials in my rucksack. Could play to any vulnerabilities we identify.”

“She can pilot the MAUSER.” I gestured at the open back, and the metal haunches and tail visible in the fading light. “And innovate as necessary.”

“I can perhaps do something.” Henri offered. He met our eyes in turn as we looked at him, almost in surprise that he’d spoken up. Normally so quiet, he tended to fade into the background.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Not for the binding, or unbinding of things. But I can ask Monsieur Égalité for help against the divination.”

Ah yes, his telepathic link back to his collective in France. “Now how does that work?” I was curious.

“We have one in our collective who can make himself and those around him harder to see, even by senses beyond mortal means. I do not know how much of his power will reach at this distance or if he can be spared, but I will ask.”

“Distance affects it?”

Unstoppable nodded. “The further from their boss, the less the effect of the powers he grants. Only thing stopping them from taking over the world.” Henri glared at him, and Unstoppable glared back.

“We have no such ambitions.”

“Yeah. Sure. It’s a total coincidence that you guys have been quietly looking for a power amplifier for the last decade or so.”

“Yes, for use against the Germans!”

“To begin with, sure. But after that, then what?”

“Hey!” I said, getting between the two of them, and glaring them down. Henri merely narrowed his eyes, but Unstoppable had the grace to cough, and look away.

“Sorry,” He muttered. “Not the time, I know.”

I looked back to Henri. “Get the power. Use it. Every edge we can get.”

Henri looked to Bryson, who clapped him on the shoulder, and nodded back. The tall Frenchman grimaced, and after ten seconds or so, nodded. “It is done.”

Really? That seemed anticlimactic. “Does it work?”

Everything went... strange. The colors seemed to drain from the area and melt together, and the lines of what was left started to blur like a view through a windshield during heavy rain. I looked around, observing the wavy lines of the truck— or was that one of the trees? The angle was wrong; it had to be the truck. I took a step forward, two, and almost tripped over a rock that was ten feet away from where it should have been.

My head throbbed and pounded, and I massaged it with hands that were like wispy mittens of flesh-colored substance. “Okay, you can stop now.”

“Please,” Dottie added. “Rather like to keep lunch down if I could.”

Reality snapped back into focus. “Not what she was expecting, but useful.” I nodded. “If he went for a vision and got a face full of that, then hopefully he’s nursing a four-alarm headache by now.”

“I’m trained in fighting blind and he can’t be killed.” Bryson jerked his thumb toward Unstoppable. “Henri, are you affected by the field?”

“Non.”

“Good. The three of us together then. We’ll take the truck, Henri drives it, and when trouble starts he’ll fire up that power. Doctor, is there room in your new toy for yourself and Dorothy?”

“Yes, but it’ll be a tight fit.”

“Good. You go ahead of us, scout as you can. We’ll drive after. There’s a village two miles from the border, down the main road. We’ll aim to refuel there, if the ambush hasn’t come by then.”

The ambush didn’t come. I took the opportunity to put the MAUSER through its paces. The engine literally purred behind us as we went, and though the stink of diesel was close in the cramped confines of the cockpit, the clever arrangement of viewing slits and vents was enough to keep the air moving.

The speed of our journey aided the circulation. Kitty could move. And thanks to extra-strong shock absorbers and a clever arrangement of motivator springs, we barely felt the journey.

But our joy was muted by the knowledge that trouble was on its way, even if we couldn’t see it. I focused on piloting while Dottie acted as my spotter, but the woods to either side of us loomed quiet and empty. And then once we'd crept out of the trees, the fields to either side of us sat empty, both of game and of people.

Once through the fields, the village outskirts around us seemed empty, without a single soul in sight. Doors and windows groaned open, creaking eerily in the wind. I slowed, brought us to an idling stop.

“This bodes,” I muttered. Somewhere in the silence a door creaked open, slammed. Creaked open again, slammed again as the wind picked up. Around the hilltop village, the trees rustled in the late-summer breeze.

“What?” Dottie called from behind me, her voice barely audible. We were crammed in next to each other, lying down, her left side on my right. She’d adjusted so that she could look out of the rear viewing ports, keep an eye behind us as we went.

“Nothing important!” I hoped.

I couldn’t see anything besides an apparently-abandoned town. I checked the nearby viewing ports to make sure, as I peered around the town square. Church, meeting hall, a few little shops, an honest-to-god blacksmith’s forge— fire still lit, there. Makes sense, a place like this would still use horses. Harder to get gas out in the boonies, with the roads as bad as they were.

So with that in mind, there ought to be a corral or a stable around here somewhere. The edge of town made the most sense, you wouldn’t want them crapping in the streets where people walked all the time. If there were still horses there, then it would confirm calamity. If they were gone, it would mean that the people had evacuated.

“Going to circle out, look for a  stable!” I yelled back.

She took my hand, gave it a pat. Simpler than trying to yell ‘okay’, I supposed.

After a minute’s patrol west we found the stables.

And what was left of the horses. After the hellish fight last night, the smell of blood was as familiar to me as the smell of my own sweat, and the stables absolutely reeked. Peering into the darkened interior of the old barn as the twilight’s last rays seeped through it, I could make out collapsed forms on the floor. Puddles of blood, slick and crimson, spooled out through the doors, and flies buzzed and feasted on every bit of gore they could reach.

I squinted, scooted myself forward until my eyes were up against the lower-front viewing slit. Bloody tracks on the ground, leading away. I had little experience as a tracker, but they didn’t look right. Too long to be human.

I pulled back, checked around. Still nothing. No one visible in the field outside, no one in the houses along this path leading up to the stables, no one visible on the road as it curved down the hill, the grade steep enough that I knew the truck would have to take it slowly or risk tipping. .

The truck!

I’d momentarily forgotten that the whole purpose of this was scouting so that the truck had some forewarning when we hit trouble. They weren’t that far back. And the blood was still fairly fresh, so whatever had done this was likely still in the area.

“Brace yourself!” I called back to Dottie. “Going to head back, fast!”

Another pat on the hand, and then she was hanging on for dear life as I shifted the MAUSER’s gears, and threw open the throttle.

I had restrained myself on the trip up, but now speed mattered. We loped down the road, took the corner at a high speed, gyros correcting the legs automatically, gears forged of Solingen steel clicking and whirring into place, grinding as we drifted across the graveled dirt. Dottie squeaked behind me as we missed a tree by a few feet, and I chuckled as I put the pedal to the metal. This was fun!

Then we were at the town wall, and rather than take the time to go around to the gate, I decided ‘screw it’ and pulled the lever marked SPRINGEN.

Barely slowing, the body angled up, the back legs curled mid-stride, and with a pregnant pause pistons fired as the MAUSER leaped into the air! Dottie’s shriek had me giggling as we soared up in one long bound, clearing the wall by eight feet, and—

—heading straight for a large tree.

Whoops!

If I’d been less of a pilot, we would have crashed, fallen to the ground with a damaged machine and possibly a damaged us. But I am Dire, and there is nothing wrong with my reactions. With cool ease I recognized the problem with half-a-second to spare, recalled the configuration of controls that I’d need to utilize, and sent my limbs into a flurry of motion. Mid-leap the MAUSER twisted, the claws came out, and instead of ramming the tree head on and falling into a twisted metallic mess, I caught the main trunk. Three of the paws, claws sunk in, and I guided the MAUSER into a twisting leap to the ground, bark tearing as it went and splinters flying everywhere.

Somewhere in the middle of that I noticed that Dottie was screaming, but I was laughing so hard I could barely hear it.

Just for shits and giggles, once we were on the ground I posed the Mauser with one paw up, seeming to ‘lick’ it with its front assembly in the standard feline ‘I meant to do that’ pose.

“Are you trying to kill us?” Dottie screamed.

I opened my mouth to answer her—

A chorus of howls rose from the south. Loud howls, hellish noises like the offspring of wolves and demons fighting.

Shoot, with magic in the picture, they could be just that sort of thing.

“Brace yourself! We’re going to go fast!”

“Go fast? Go fast! What the hell were we doing befoooooooOOORRRRRE—”

It wasn’t so much the fact that I hadn’t been letting her loose last time, but the fact that we had more of a straightaway here. I didn’t have to take as much time turning and dodging obstructions as I had in town. Up the dirt road we galloped, engine roaring fit to beat a tiger, fumes trailing behind us as diesel burned. I checked the broken-glass gauge, found the needle holding steady at two-thirds. Couldn’t do this forever, but we didn’t need to.

The MAUSER charged around the last curve of the road, and in the hollow between the trees about a hundred feet ahead, the world was a blurry mass of brown, gray, and red. Brown blobs flowed like oil on water and howling and growling and barking filled the air.

Something was attacking my allies, and Henri had used his power. Had the monsters had gone in anyway? How were they able to function in that mess?

A sharp crack, a pained “yipe!” and a human-sized brown mass of fur came sailing out of the distortion field, bounced down the road, and lay there whimpering to our side. It went by so fast that I didn’t get a good view of it, not with the limitations of the vision slits, but Dottie did.

“Werewolves!” she yelled, as the last rays of daylight disappeared, and the first sliver of the moon showed on the eastern horizon.

CHAPTER 9: DIRE – THE HOUR OF MITTERNACHT

“On the plus side, it made my business quite profitable. I know just enough to help set up wards, sell ritual supplies that actually do things in the hands of skilled practicitioners, and perform minor exorcisms. Magic's a specialized career, but it's a legit one, and we've the Nazis to thank for that. Weird, but there you go. The supernatural's real, and dangerous, but consulting for people who run across it and get in over their heads is really profitable.”

Cameron Athame, self-styled sorcerer and occult researcher

I didn’t know a damned thing about werewolves. But as the one to the MAUSER’s side rose up, bones rippling under its flesh like a slow-motion version of Unstoppable’s regeneration, I had a feeling I was going to learn a hell of a lot about killing them.

The thing shook its head, glared solid red eyes at me, and growled a challenge. I brought the MAUSER around with a quick shuffle, and batted the creature into a tree. Bones cracked, blood spewed from its maw... and it straightened up, growled again, and charged us.

“Dottie?” I yelled, as I sidestepped, and the thing kept on going off the road and into the bushes. As I yelled, more of them stepped out of the field, furry ears twitching on top of their misshapen heads, faces some scrunched version of a human’s, horribly twisted to account for a muzzle in the middle that distorted everything around it.

“Silver!” she shrieked. “We need silver to kill these things! They’ll heal anything else!”

Well, shit.

The MAUSER was about a ton of steel, with nary a single part of it silver. Not that I’d found, anyway.

Gunshots from within the field, and some of the ones at the edge of the distortion dropped, with blood spraying where the lead had found them. But they writhed, whined, and got back to their feet as the wounds closed. Some of them were wearing torn clothing... a peasant’s trousers here, a hunter’s coat there, a fancy dress on one off to the side.

A horrible conviction filled me. “Dottie?”

“What?”

“We’ve found the villagers.”

“What?”

“No time to explain, we—”

WHUMP!

The Mauser rocked on its springs as the one who’d charged into the bushes leaped out of them, landed on our back. Claws scraped and scrabbled against steel, and I shot a glance at the hatch. Barred from the inside due to the way it closed, thankfully. Did the thing have enough of a human brain left to figure out the handles? No point in finding that answer out. I took hold of the leg controls, then bucked and heaved until it was tossed away.

But as I did so, the others found their courage and came for us. In seconds we were surrounded by half-a-dozen of the furry bastards, growling and snapping and lashing out at the MAUSER. I circled, unsheathed the claws, and ripped at them whenever they got too close. We had weight, and we had armor they couldn’t seem to get through, but I knew it wouldn’t work if I just let them go. It was like fighting a bunch of mini-Unstoppables, they’d never get exhausted, and sooner or later they’d hit one of the hydraulic lines, or damage a joint, or nail something important.

Standing still invited death. Moving was the only option.

A quick bound out of the center, bowling two of them snouts over tails, and we were at the edge of the distortion field. “Bryson!” I yelled. “We need a defensible point! Follow her into the village!”

The truck’s horn sounded. I took it as acknowledgment, and powered down the road at a lope, stopping every fifty or hundred feet to let the werewolves catch up. My goal was to pull them away from the truck, keep them from the vulnerable people inside. Besides, regeneration took them valuable time, so the more I hurt them, the longer it’d take the wounded to catch up to us.

Howls from behind the truck as it started moving, the distortion field blurring in a huge bubble in the shadowy half-light. With the truck moving I could see more forms moving beyond. There were at least twenty of the things, and one charged me from the right. One quick disemboweling swipe to put the guy down, two more shrieking forms trampled as I surged forward... it was like hitting a punching bag. Sure, you could make it swing back for a bit, but sooner or later it’d be coming for your chin again.

We made it to the town gate and I bulled through it. We needed a place to hole up that was both big enough for the MAUSER and had limited entry points. Fortunately, eidetic memory did its thing, and our destination was obvious.

“The church! Will it help against these things?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” Dottie yelled back.

The other option was the town hall, but wooden walls were going to be little help here. On the other hand, the church's stone and brick seemed more likely.

I burst through the double doors, sending them flying open, and fumbled the monocle into place as I activated the night-sight. Empty, pews pushed to the side, a corpse draped across the altar. Okay. Compared to outside, one hundred percent better.

Outside, the truck’s engine roared as it approached. I bounded out, saw the first few werewolves loping to meet it, dropped down to all fours for speed. I met them in a fury of metal and claws and and thrumming pistons as I scattered them. I felt sweat roll down my face as the air grew thick. The MAUSER wasn’t made for sustained heavy use, if I didn’t cool it soon we’d blow a cylinder.

The distortion bubble rolled toward us, and in the twilight the effect was even worse... but just before it hit us, it disappeared. The truck screeched to a halt fifty feet from the church, and Henri jumped out, a German submachine gun blazing at the pack following behind. Bullets wouldn’t stop them, true, but it’d knock them down and keep them healing for a precious half-minute or so. Bryson staggered out the other side, then helped Unstoppable down. He gave Unstoppable his shoulder, and half-carried him to the church.

Had they found a way to stop Unstoppable?

No time to consider it. The bulk of the pack hit then, and Henri retreated after Bryson. I concentrated on mauling the ones who got close, and backing up to the church doors. Finally I had the rear end of the MAUSER inside the church, the front end blocking the entry, and a fifteen-foot clear arc around me covered with blood and entrails. Beyond that arc the beasts lurked, rumbling rising from their throats as they glared at me with their red eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. By now the moon was providing the only illumination, and I was thankful for my nightvision.

“We’re in!” Bryson shouted, and I backed up further. The werewolves didn’t follow, and I managed to retreat back beyond the wide arcs of the ten-foot-tall church doors, and get paws around them, to push them shut. A few nudges and they closed, though I saw the ruins of an inner bar hanging from them. Looked like my hasty entry had done some damage. They wouldn’t hold by themselves, so I parked the MAUSER in place with its paws directly behind them, a solid ton of doorstopper. I gave it a minute, then two, then I sighed and twisted the key, turning the engine off.

Another minute crawled by, with only Unstoppable’s gasping breaths breaking the silence inside the church. The mob outside was quiet, and I didn’t know why.

“Alright. We’re probably good.” I popped the hatch, gasped as I emerged out into the cool air. I scrambled out as fast as I could, hissed as my bare legs touched the overheated rear portion of the MAUSER, and dropped to the ground, massaging my singed calf. Stupid skirt. I needed pants, dammit. Behind me, Dottie scrambled out with perhaps a bit less grace, grunting as she hit the floor.

I looked around the church. Brick, mostly, with stone columns holding up the walls. A door behind the altar that looked to go back into living quarters. The two stained glass windows stretched high and narrow... I didn’t see werewolves getting through those easily. A ladder on one side looked to lead up to a trapdoor, probably to the short steeple I’d seen from outside. Another entry point, but easy enough to defend. I didn’t know how good the creatures would do on climbing. Still, better cautious than not. I headed up the ladder, hauled out my nailgun, and stapled the trapdoor shut. Wouldn’t hold up to a serious battering, but it’d give us enough warning if they tried to get in this way.

I climbed down, as Unstoppable choked back a pained gasp. Bryson had him on a pew, tending to him. Dottie studied the corpse on the altar, flipping through a small notebook and muttering to herself. Henri met my eyes as I hit the ground.

“Come with me?” he asked, nodding towards the door by the altar.

“Sure.”

I pulled my gun, covered him as he pushed it open, moved into a back room. Dark in there, and as he squinted, I pushed him aside. “She can see, you can’t. Let her find the lights.”

As it turned out, the lights were an oil lamp. By the time I got it lit, there were twisted lupine faces peering in through the narrow rear windows, and claws scrabbling at the back door. No exit that way, not any that ended well, at least.

They weren’t scrabbling against the front door. Why? Did they fear the MAUSER that much?

We pushed a heavy armoire in front of the back door, and arranged the bed to wedge it in place, staying well back from the windows. The werewolves couldn’t fit, but I didn’t want to tempt one of them into taking a free swipe at me through the glass.

We made our way back to the worship hall, and I looked down at Unstoppable as he shivered and gasped. Sweat rolled from him in an endless stream, soaking through his boiler suit and dripping to the floor. Dottie had joined Bryson, and was rummaging around in her purse.

I hadn’t expected to feel as much concern as I did. I’d known him barely a few days, but... well, I liked him. He was just so damn easy-going, and always ready with a joke or a kind word.

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

“Werewolves are often contagious,” Dottie replied, her face creased with worry.

“She thought he was immune to diseases!”

“It’s more of a curse, not really a disease! Spreads like one, just...” Dottie waved her hand, then exclaimed as she found what she was looking for. “Here! Powdered wolfsbane! Swallow it, quick!” Unstoppable grabbed the small jar and tossed it back in one go.

Then he coughed, choked, and pounded his chest. Bryson clamped his hand over Unstoppable’s mouth, prevented any of the precious medicine from getting coughed out.

“Magic cheats,” Bryson said. “Interacts strangely with powers. At times they’re compatible, other times they’re not. Let’s hope that this is one of those times where the power defeats the supernatural, because if it doesn’t...”

“What?” I thought about it. “Oh. Oh.” The things could only be killed with silver. They’d regenerate from anything else.

Unstoppable’s regeneration would heal anything.

I nodded, staring. If he turned, and his power worked with his altered form, then we wouldn’t have a way to put him down.

Put him down... I rubbed my face.

“Unacceptable. She’s not losing a friend, here.”

“I like the way... you think... lady,” he gasped, grinning.

“Do you feel any different?” Dottie peered in his eyes, holding a votive candle aloft to see in the darkness.

“Doesn’t hurt... as much,” he coughed.

“Wolfsbane’s poison. You took a dose big enough to kill twenty men. Hopefully that does it.”

The unspoken if it doesn’t, then... lingered in the air.

The silence was broken by German words. A man spoke outside. “Well well well. You are in quite an annoying spot.”

I considered the high, thin windows, looked to Henri. “Give her a boost?”

He blinked, then moved up, made a step of his hands.

I put my hand on his shoulder, paused as a though struck me. “One moment.” A flick of the switch and my Tesla Deflector hummed to life. No point in putting my head up unprotected, just in case a sniper was waiting to put a bullet through it.

The crowd of werewolves remained; in fact it had grown. Perhaps a hundred out there, keeping a good radius around the church. They’d fallen silent, and their red eyes stared unblinking at the front door. With a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I saw that some of them were very short. The shortest were usually wearing remnants of children’s clothes. One was all of two feet long, torn swaddling half-off its body. None had been spared.

“Come now! Surely someone among you speaks the tongue of the Fatherland!” I zeroed in on the voice. Across the street, in the doorway of the town hall, stood a man in dark clothes. He wore a German greatcoat but had neither an officer’s hat nor a helmet, his bald head bare and tattooed with odd symbols. A monocle sparkled over one eye, and he was leaning on a cane topped with a dragon or serpent of some sort. He was smiling, and I hated him on sight.

A thought occurred to me. “Do you speak Russian?” I asked in that language.

He sighed. “German. Do you speak it, woman?” Still speaking in German.

“You sure you don’t speak Russian?”

“Is there anyone else there who can speak German? Come now, I know Bryson is among you. He at least can speak a civilized tongue.”

“Bryson, you speak Russian, right?”

“Da.” Bryson responded, staring up at me. “Why?”

I switched to German. “Alright, her German’s shakier but we’ll give it a try.”

“Ah, the mysterious time traveler, yes? Or are you the shrinking British violet? I doubt that very much, given your garbling of pronouns.”

“The first statement is correct.”

“So formal. Very well then. I am Herr Mitternacht, and you are...”

“Uninterested in giving her name to sorcerers.” Dottie had mentioned that was a bad thing. Between Timetripper’s advice to dodge paradox and keep my name incognito and Dottie’s information, I saw no reason to enlighten this guy.

“Well, it is a moot point now. You shall end here, and I will torture it out of your fellow time-traveling colleague when I have the time. Rather impressed there, to tell the truth. He is quite resistant to the usual drugs.”

“Wow. What a surprise.” Sarcasm entered my tone. I was pretty sure there wasn’t a single substance that Timetripper hadn’t eaten, snorted, injected, or otherwise taken. Even without his powers, there probably wasn’t a drug in existence that he didn’t have a tolerance for.

He’d just given away an important piece of information, though. Would he give up more? The temptation to monologue had overcome him, and I saw no reason not to honor this most useful tradition of high villainy with the respect it was due.

Now how did heroes do it? Ah, yes. “You fiend! You’ve kidnapped her friend?”

His smile grew, as he hugged the cane to him. “Oh yes. We had to turn over Tesla, what a pity, but Der Füehrer had no use for your pathetic companion. In fact, once we confirmed that he was one of the latest wave of assassins, we were given permission to do with him as we would. And I shall!”

Well, at least he wasn’t going to up and kill him. I wasn’t sure how that would work with Timetripper. Even if he was de-powered, could he be killed? His ability to reset from death always seemed like more of an innate quality to me, something beyond his control and inherent to his state of being.

In fact, killing him might restore his powers. Maybe? That was to be avoided. If he got his powers back and I wasn’t around, he might be tempted to depart this era without me.

Mitternacht coughed into one hand. He looked like he was waiting for something. What?

Oh, wait, the banter. I’d been quiet for too long. Hm, hm, what would Quantum say...

“You won’t get away with this!” I yelled back.

“On the contrary, my dear woman, I already have!” He chortled. “Once Unstoppable succumbs to the curse, and becomes a proper Spawn of Fenris, then you will be forced from your temporary sanctuary. And even if he withstands the call of the moon, Fenris’ children grow more powerful as it rises! At the zenith, they shall be able to break through the old wards on the stones. It is only a matter of time, really!” He brought the cane down on the cobblestones with glee. “They are unlikely to kill all of you. But you cannot dodge their teeth forever! Once you are bitten your will shall go against that of a God. Unlike mine, it shall break. Then the pack will convey you north, and you shall be my guests at Schloss Mitternacht. Truly, there is no escape! The plan is foolproof!”

I glanced back to Bryson. “You getting all that?” I asked in Russian.

“Da.”

“Anything else we should try to get out of him?”

“Ask him about the priest.”

“Priest?”

“The corpse on the altar.”

How to broach the topic? I gave it a little thought, and switched back to German.

“Don’t be so sure about those wards!” I scoffed. “The priest’s power is strong, even after his death.”

Mitternacht’s laughter was shrill, and filled with scorn. “The priest’s power? Ha! You show your ignorance in every word! The priest had no power. If his sanctuary wasn’t built upon a fae circle, my children would be among you in minutes. No, the priest had no power.” He grinned. “He certainly didn’t use any when I cut his throat, and gave him to my God. That kickstarted the ritual, and desecrated the church quite nicely, I might add.”

“Oh my goodness,” Dottie whispered from behind us, and Bryson shushed her.

Mitternacht reached into a pocket, pulled out a watch on a fob, and snapped it open. “A pity. As much as I have enjoyed enlightening you, other duties call. I must return home, to prepare my part of the Füehrer’s ritual. If that indestructible oaf arrives before I do, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

What?

“Auf Wiedersehen, my dear. Try not to die too quickly. I imagine you’ll make a fine bitch.” He laughed, and faded back into the darkness of the building, shutting the door behind him. It took him two tries to shut the door, he was limping as he went, supporting himself on the cane.

So that was what a sinister monologue was like from the other side. Kind of interesting, actually, to see a proper villain at work. Pity it wasn’t under less involved circumstances.

I reached down, patted Henri on the head. He lowered me with a sigh of relief, and rubbed his arms.

“Probably going to travel by Sturm Crow,” Bryson muttered. “Not much chance of capturing him before he leaves, back to his Schloss Mitternacht.”

I stared at him. “We’re trapped in a church surrounded by werewolves, with our best combatant cursed and our sanctuary crumbling as the moon rises, and you’re concerned about capturing him?”

Bryson barked laughter. “Ah, sorry. This must seem strange to you. This is the sort of thing that Nikola and I have been dealing with for years. This is our life now.” He looked away, made a show of fussing over Unstoppable. “Ever since that fateful night in nineteen-oh-eight, ever since the FBI raid, life’s been nothing like normal. Tends to skew things. So no, this isn’t any worse than our running battle against La Société des Fantȏmas, or the Mushroom Men of Madagascar, or the affair of the seven sarcophagi in the Emperor’s tomb.”

I blinked. That’s right, he had been at this for decades. Not proper superheroing, not by my era’s definition of the term, but it was definitely a life of action and adventure. And if he wasn’t worried, I saw no reason that I should be. Which now that I thought of it, might be the effect he intended. Bryson was canny, I could see him doing this just to keep morale intact.

“I can’t see a way out at the minute, true, but all the cards are on the table and we understand the game, now. It’s up to us to come up with a way to win.” He offered me a short smile, and I knew he was worried. His normal expression was a frown, even when things were going well.

I nodded. “Alright. Capturing him is probably off the table. So let’s think. What do we have?”

“Henri’s distortion power.” Bryson raised a finger. “A silver-headed cane. Your MAUSER. A couple of Tesla Deflectors, which are proof against bullets. My valise full of spare parts, good for a couple of inventions. Miss Hampston’s expertise with the occult. Unstoppable, debilitated though he is. A sanctuary that allows us time to plan. Am I missing anything?”

I ticked through the list, shook my head. “She thinks that’s about it.” I thumbed my Deflector off, no sense in wasting the batteries before we had troubles. “Although the MAUSER’s low on fuel, sadly. The nearest source of diesel is outside. Past the werewolves.”

“Henri, can you switch your power?” Unstoppable asked. “Something more useful than the distortion field?”

Henri shook his head. “It is not my power, but a given one. I would have to contact Monsieur Égalité to receive a new power, and without the telepathy I have no way to do that. He will return the telepathy to me tomorrow morning.”

It would be decided well before then. We had half the night to come up with an answer, and failure meant maulings. That gave us a time frame to work with.

I glanced over to our resident supersoldier. “Unstoppable? Are you feeling better?”

“Got a hell of a headache, but I’m not shaking anymore. Don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“Just lie still.” Dottie patted his arm. “I think it’s halted for now, but you don’t want to exert yourself. That might accelerate things.”

So no more fighting for him. Okay, next question. “Do we have any other silver besides the cane? Something to melt down, perhaps? Make some bullets or shrapnel?”

Bryson looked to Dottie. She shook her head. “A small knife, but it won’t go far. Sometimes these old churches have relics, but with the look of the rest of this village, I doubt it. They’d be on display here, and I don’t see any.”

Well, that was all right. I didn’t really want to kill these people if I could help it. They were victims here, not in control of themselves. Could we save them? Maybe. We needed to know more about this curse.

“What can you tell us about werewolves, Dottie?” I took a pew. “Everything you’ve got.”

“That’s quite a lot.”

“We’ve got time. Some of it, anyway.”

She sighed, took a seat in another pew. “There are several different types. We can rule out the skinshifters, and the ancestral lycanthropes. That leaves the infected sort as the most likely. Not really a disease but it acts like one, more or less.”

“More in this case. Lots more.”

“That concerns me. There shouldn’t be this many.”

“No?”

“Well, no, of course not. If all these people got that way from biting, then the world would be a sea of werewolves and not a single normal bloke among them. There wouldn’t be anything but werewolves.”

“So why aren’t there?” I considered the matter. “She finds it unlikely that the idiot outside has a ritual like this and has managed to refrain from using it out of logic and sensibility. He doesn’t seem the sort. More arrogant really.”

“Well, the Nazis have used werewolves before. But never on this scale. I mean, it’s not impossible, but a curse needs a power source. You spread it out over this many people at once, it would barely be effective. They’d get ill-tempered and growly and occasionally bitey, but they wouldn’t have fur or be able to heal as well. It’d be weaker.”

“So he has a power source for the curse. A better one than normal, yes?”

“He must.” Her eyes went wide. “Wait. He mentioned something about a god’s will?”

“Yes...” I rubbed my chin. “He said that when we were bitten, it would be our will against a God’s. Implied that he’d pitted his will against the God’s and succeeded.”

“Oh dear heavens. And he called them Fenris’ children, didn’t he?”

“Not seeing where this is going.”

“Loge. He’s bound Loge.”

The night air filled with howling and barking, a cacophony of madness and lupine rage, and we startled, either diving for cover, drawing weapons, or simply freezing in fear. For my own part I had my pistol in my hand and was looking around wildly, trying to find the cause for alarm. But it faded as fast as it came, replaced by a terrible stillness. They were listening, I thought. We’d gotten their attention.

“She doesn’t know that name.”

“Don’t say it. I think that’s what touched them off.” Dottie explained. “Powerful enough gods can hear their names spoken. Draws their attention.”

“Is he, then?”

“Sort of. Not too many people worship the Norse gods anymore.”

“Norse then?” Bryson sighed. “Can’t say I’ve dealt with that pantheon overmuch. Now if it was Egyptian, that’d be a different story.”

“Deal with many gods, do you?” Henri asked, his voice dry.

Bryson patted his shoulder. “You have no idea.”

“Okay. So how about we pray really hard?” Unstoppable said. “We’re in a church and Jesus Christ has gotta have more worshipers, right?”

“You’d think that would work, but it’s trickier than that.” Dottie said. “Theologians have been arguing over how and when miracles manifest for years, and Christianity’s gotten so big there’s hundreds of little offshoots without rhyme or reason. Miracles aren’t just something you can wish for on a reliable basis. Besides, the church has been desecrated.”

“But not the fae circle it’s built around?” I ran a hand over the stone pillars. “Seems curious to build a church over an old pagan monument like this.”

“Not when you think about it.” Dottie smiled. “People worshiped here for centuries, then the Christians move in and take over, so they co-opt the old place to show they’re in charge. Also it’s free architecture, don’t you know? Saves building materials. In places where it’s a friendly takeover, it’s even seen as part of the natural order of things. People worshiped here once, they still worship here now. It’s respect paid to the old ways without actually going against the church’s doctrine.”

“So why isn’t the circle desecrated, when the church is? That’s her question.”

“Well, this is an old circle. The local powers of nature probably weren’t very kind. To Christians blood sacrifice is anathema these days. To the old powers, it’s Wednesday.”

I rubbed my chin. Something still didn’t click. “So why didn’t he wait in the church, instead of the town hall? This is the scene of his dark triumph or whatever, right? Desecrated church, a god on his side, fae appeased...” I stood and moved up to the corpse, looked it over. It was horrible, the poor old man had a hole in his robes that went clean through his chest. Organs and gore coated the altar, and a look of fright was frozen on his face.

None of the injuries meant a thing to me. I'm bad at biology, and I know nothing of magic. Seeing this, I was rather glad for the fact.

There was less blood than I’d thought, though. Beside the altar a wicked looking knife glinted, blade coated with gore. Perfectly good knife. Now why had he left that behind? “Hey Dottie? How do you do a werewolf...ritual...thing?”

“He would have cut out the heart, and sacrificed it to Fenris, most savage of Lo— most savage of the Old God’s children.”

“Can you check to see if the heart’s still in there?”

“Doesn’t quite ring true to you either, does it?” Bryson asked. “The church would have been a perfect setting for a dark sorcerer. And if he’d won the fae’s approval, then well, where are they? And why aren’t they letting the werewolves through?”

“They might not be able to. Could be a thing with the circle itself.” Dottie didn’t sound convinced. Grimacing, she made her way to the altar, and leaned in with a lit taper. “Oh dear.” She swayed a bit, and I steadied her. She stared at the corpse, at the gruesome wounds, and the still-oozing blood.

“That’s not right,” she said, squinting. “The heart’s still in there.”

“He didn’t try to take it out?”

“It’s cut half-through.”

“Am I the only one disturbed that you know what a human heart looks like?” Unstoppable chuckled. We looked at him as one, and he lifted a hand. “Sorry, sorry.” He was sweating again, I noticed. Not heavy, but it was there. The wolfsbane was wearing off.

“Spread out,” Dottie said, abruptly, grabbing some nearby candles, lighting them, and handing them to us one by one. “Look around. See if you can find something out of place.”

We did.

I almost missed it. Almost missed the wet noise my boot made as it came down next to a corner pew. But when I lifted my boot, it glinted red in the light. I knelt down, stared under the pew, using the candle to illuminate matters.

There was something small and black, and a hand-sized puddle of blood congealed around it. A scrap or two of black cloth was soaking in the gore.

I reached a hand back for the glinting black thing—

And paused. The black fleck was glittering, as it shifted in the weak light. It was rolling closer to my hand. Coming to meet me.

I pulled my hand back, and it stilled.

“Hey, Dottie? Come look.”

She did, and her breath hissed between her teeth. “Elfshot. I knew it!”

I looked around. “No other blood back here. The rest is all up by the altar.”

“That’s because it’s not the priest’s. It’s his. This is Mitternacht’s blood.” Carefully, she pulled out a handkerchief and dipped it in the blood, putting it into her empty wolfsbane jar.

“That’s useful?”

“If I were a proper witch he’d be right bent over. Sadly, I’m not. But I do know that’s elfshot.”

“What’s that?”

“What elves throw at you when they’re angry. Kind of like horrible little bugs. If they touch your skin they burrow in, find their way to the bone. It’s a horrible numbing thing, you have to cut them out or the limb they dig into is paralyzed forever. And if they get into the chest or head, well, that’s all she wrote.”

I shuddered. My fingers had been inches from the deadly little thing. “Should we be standing here?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to back up. They usually fade after a few hours if they don’t find a host. This one must be fairly fresh.”

Memory flashed before me, as we backed up. “Mitternacht was limping, when he walked away.”

“Yes, it has to be! It hit his leg, and he dug it out. Must have hurt like the dickens.”

“Her heart bleeds sympathy.”

Bryson interrupted. “So he offended the fae. Can we use this?”

She sighed. “Maybe. I think what happened is that they didn’t mind the desecration, or the priest’s death, but when they saw he was dedicating the heart to someone that wasn’t them, they got stroppy. Interrupted the ritual, which forced him to retreat and cut the shot out.”

“So why are there werewolves?” Unstoppable asked, his voice wavering.

“Does it require a priest to make the werewolves?” I asked.

“Probably not. He probably went and got someone else and did the ritual somewhere else.”

“Okay. Back to Bryson’s question. Can the fae help us out, here?”

“Well... yes. For a price.” She swallowed. “These aren’t the kind of fae you read about in storybooks. These are kin to the Erl King, or older. They’re more like forces of nature than things you can talk with. I can talk with them. Maybe.”

“Your grandmother again?” I asked.

“There’s supposed to be some... old blood in my line. I can maybe call upon that.”

“We are not sacrificing you,” I said. “That option's off the table. Altar, rather.”

A crash echoed from the back, and we jumped. Henri and I glanced to the back door as one, and took up positions, drawing guns. “This soon?” I asked.

Snuffles and growls from the back room, followed by a surprised yelp. Then quiet.

“The room back there’s not part of the circle proper,” Dottie said.

Bryson pondered. “But the moon’s empowering them enough that they can get this close. I imagine they couldn’t before.” He tapped his cane on the ground. Bryson's face looked bored, but his eyes were riveted on the back door.

I glanced around front, and saw glowing red eyes peering through the cracks where the MAUSER had knocked them slightly off-frame. “Oh yeah,” I whispered, “they’re closer now.”

And in the silence I could hear them panting.

“Not me.” Dottie said. “You wouldn’t be sacrificing me. But they’d want at least a heart. Then I could... negotiate with them. One of us would have to die.”

We looked at each other. “Out of the question!” I snarled.

Dottie nodded. “Agreed. So—”

Unstoppable rose, moved to the altar on tottering legs, and pushed the priest off. While we gaped, he clambered on, and lay still on his back, arms wide. “Well? Get cutting. Gonna have to be quick, or it’ll heal up before you can finish.”

I blinked. Could it be that easy?

“It might not be that easy,” Dottie whispered, and her voice grew low and wary as her eyes grew wide. “This is magic, this is old power. This is bronze knives in the night and the riders of the strangeling moon and they who supped on the kings of the bean. I don’t care how good your powers are, this might just kill you. Kill you kill you.”

“Well, if it doesn’t then we’re good. And if it does, shit, I was gonna get real fuzzy here real soon anyway.” He was sweating more. It was pooling down his forehead, and puddling back where he lay. “Do it.” He caught my eye, and chuckled. “Besides, at least I’m giving my heart to the best women I know, huh?”

My throat felt rough, and breathing was hard for a second. Everything went misty, as I blinked tears away.

Dottie closed her eyes  then turned to me, unspoken questions wavering on her lips. I nodded, and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Help me?” she asked.

“Of course.”

In the end, it took all four of us to hold him down, and hold the wound open. He thrashed and screamed, and Dottie’s hand shook as she used Mitternacht’s own knife to do it, but finally the ribs were held back long-enough for her to scoop the heart out. I didn’t recognize the strange language that rolled from her tongue as she uttered words, whispers that echoed in the strange air of the church, but when she held the heart up high, there came a sound like the striking of a bell. For a second I thought the church bell was ringing, and I looked up to the ceiling—

Only to see stars. Strange stars, in a violet night sky. My head swam as a wave of nausea rolled through me, and I staggered, put one-blood slicked hand against the altar, and felt bare stone.

I looked down. Unstoppable was gone. The altar was different, no longer a Christian affair. There were blood gutters, and symbols I didn’t recognize, and a bearded, antlered face carved into it. The blood ran down the gutters, into the face’s mouth.

“Oh dear,” Dottie whispered, and we turned. Bryson and Henri stiffened, reached for weapons. I froze.

The church was gone. The circle remained. The ground was wispy and grayish-green and stony, and a tall, endless forest stretched around us, trees that had never known the touch of an axe draped with moss and hung with skulls. A loose ring of things surrounded the circle, wearing hides and bones and glittering shards of stone and jade and crystal strung over their thin, ropy-looking bodies. Dispassionate eyes studied us, pure black with neither cornea nor pupil.

“Do not draw your weapons,” Dottie whispered. “And leave the talking to me, please.”

Through a screaming headache I saw the tallest among them advance, horned head bowing as he passed under a cross-brace of the circle.

I did not know if our situation had improved.

CHAPTER 10: MINNA – PROXY SHELL

“Minna. She was scary. Like you'd take everything that makes up a normal person, and strip it down to the bone, and she was what was left over. The way she watched people, the way she moved, the way she spoke... you could tell she'd been through some serious shit, and she was just waiting for more to start. Nothing mattered but the next hardship to survive. Well, nothing besides that and Anya. Anya mattered the most.”

--Conversation attributed to Carol Shriver, rumored member of the Legion of Dire

The others were arguing again. Their voices rose and fell, and Minna ignored them all. Now was Anya’s time, not a time for arguments. It was the last couple of hours of frantic play before Anya had to go to bed, and it was very important that she do that.

“Doggy leash?” Anya asked, holding up a loose coil of baling wire. Minna smiled, and twisted it into a leash, before handing it back. The little girl squealed in glee, her puffball blonde hair bobbling as she bent over, and with solemnity befitting a funeral, put the wire loop around the grimy, beaten up plush dog they’d found in one of the crates. A legacy from when the warehouse had been in use, long before Dire acquired it as an auxiliary lair. Minna nodded in satisfaction as Anya giggled and dragged the dog toy around the cleared space between the crates.

Soon Minna would say ‘bedtime’, and Anya would cry and fuss. Not because she hated sleep, but because the world was so full of wonder that she hated to leave it, hated to stop watching it for even a few hours. Such was Anya’s way, and the way of most children.

Minna’s way as a child had involved bruises, and yelling, and tears, and the heavy hand of a drunken father. It had been fear, and locking her door at night, and praying that papa would forget about her and beat her mother instead.

Anya’s way was better. Minna would give, had given everything to see that it was so. She had killed to save Anya before she was born, fled the Vory v Zakone handlers assigned to keep her a whore, and lived as a vagrant. Still, it was vagrancy in one of the richest nations of the world. Better than being on the streets in Romania, to be certain.

Even so it had nearly crumbled. The wealthy monster who pursued her caught her, obsessed and able to turn his obsessions into reality.

Dire had saved her. Saved Anya, too.

I owe her everything. Minna knew. And so she huddled in the dusty, oil-stained warehouse, on the run from the mad machine-mind that sought Dire’s death, listening to the few people she trusted argue with the one she had to pretend to trust. And it was still better than what her life once had been, because Anya was playing walk the doggy, and laughing.

It almost made up for the bitch’s whining.

“Without communications we’re dead in the water.” Vorpal snarled. “We cannot fight if she is listening into our plans!”

“So we put together a code. I did the same in the service, got a few that are easy to learn. I’ll teach you.” Bunny was trying to be reasonable. It wouldn’t work. Arachne had poisoned the bond she had with Vorpal, hurt their relationship. They’d had a screaming argument about it earlier, but it was not settled. Minna did not know if it would ever be settled again.

Martin made the mistake of getting between them. “Look. Worse comes to it we go to cell phone and keep it short. She can’t cover all the phones in the city—”

He only made Vorpal angrier. “Yes she fucking can! She is an artificial intelligence! And until she gets Dire, she will do everything she can to find her!”

“So we use the cell phones with a code, and—”

“You are not listening! Codes will not work! That thing can break them as easily as you could do your sudoku puzzles! We will not succeed if we cannot communicate!”

Minna looked to Anya as the others argued. The little girl was watching them, her lips trembling. Martin was upset. To her Martin was Daddy, or the closest thing she had. Anya hated to see Martin upset.

Minna closed her eyes. She hated speaking to them like this, but she hated seeing Anya’s tears more.

“Stop,” she said, rising to her full height, looking down on them all. Even Martin, if only by a few inches. “I say stop.” She put her voice to the tone she used when Anya was bad, and they stopped. Looked to her. “If we cannot talk then we should not go.”

Martin stared at her, betrayed. Vorpal nodded, her mouth quirking in a small sneer.

Bunny sighed, and rubbed the back of her bald head. “That’s not an option, Minna.”

“Yes it is.” Minna tapped the whiteboard, the one with all the names on it. “We send someone else.”

Martin shook his head. “Won’t touch us. We’re too hot. You seen the news lately?”

She had. It was full of excited people in bad suits shouting about the worst villain attack to take place on American soil in years. About the senseless destruction, and the missing people. Not an hour went by without a grieving family member or friend doing an interview and sobbing about how their loved ones were gone and they didn’t know if they were coming back.

She didn’t blame them. Minna didn’t know if they were coming back either.

“Yes. I see the news.” The shows had gotten an upsurge a few hours ago, after the robbery at Helios. “We are hot. But is that bad for ever one on this board?” She tapped it with a knuckle.

“Everyone, Minna,” Bunny corrected her. Minna nodded her thanks, unsmiling. Bunny was good. She was not as good as Martin, but she was kind to Anya. Played with her sometimes.

“You are thinking the Steampunks?” Vorpal studied her. Minna met her eyes, keeping her face still and refusing to blink. Vorpal was not kind to Anya. She was not cruel, but she acted as if the child was a nuisance, something to be ignored. By itself it was no concern. But there were other things that were of much concern. Minna could not trust her.

Vorpal stared back, challenging. Minna blinked, turning it into a slow nod. “Yes. The Steampunks. They are the thrill seekers.”

“You think they would risk themselves for us?” Vorpal shook her head. “There are thrills and there is stupidity.”

“And there’s a hell of a lot of money.” Martin interrupted. “They did last time, back when the Black Bloods were goin’ Mad Max on shit. Just had to pay them a shit-ton of gold.”

Bunny looked over to the smartframe, hovering over the table as always. “Hey pixelhead, do we have a shit-ton of gold?”

“No. In fact, Arachne has located and sealed the more easily accessible accounts.”

“Mother-fucker!” Martin pounded a hand on a crate, then shot a guilty look over to Anya. “Uh, sorry.”

“She has heard worse,” Minna said. “Smartframe. Has Arachne stolen our accounts yet?”

“No. The front Dire was using to pay you remains. It is minuscule, down to seven-thousand dollars in its liquidity.”

“But our accounts are still excess able.”

“Accessible,” Bunny corrected. Minna nodded again. Bunny frowned, and Minna hid a sigh. Bunny thought her rude because she did not smile. She had been brought up not to smile, it was nothing personal.

“You want us to pay for the Steampunks?” Vorpal glared a challenge.

Minna nodded. “Yes. I will put all I have.”

“Which is what?” Martin asked.

She pulled out her phone and showed him. He whistled. “When’s the last time you bought something?”

“I need very little.” Anya needed a few things now and again, but not much. No expensive toys, they would spoil and make a child weak. Diapers, clothes, books for schooling at home, but not much more really. Minna spent practically nothing on herself. She had nowhere to go, nothing to spend it on. Her life was Anya, now. And Martin when she needed the occasional fuck.

Martin nodded. “Aight. I’ll throw mine in too. That might get more in the neighborhood of what we need. Bunny?”

Bunny hesitated. “Shit. Guess I can’t spend it if we’re dead.” She pulled out her phone, clicked a few buttons, showed him. He nodded. “Okay. Puts us close. Might be enough by itself.”

Minna looked to Vorpal. The shorter woman gnawed her lip, avoided Minna’s eyes. “Will you give yours?”

Vorpal glanced at Martin. “You think what you have will be enough by itself?”

“Maybe. Ain’t no guarantees. But if it ain’t, we don’t get another shot at it. I know how they think, and if we look too desperate they’ll blow us off.”

Vorpal closed her eyes. “We are gambling. This is—” She shut her mouth, shook her head.

“This is what?” Bunny asked, voice soft.

“This is madness. Look, we already know that Dire will survive. I met her in the future. She must survive, otherwise it would not happen so!” She thumped her fist into a crate, stared at Bunny, eyes pleading. “We can walk away from this! We should have run away from it already!”

“Thirty thousand people.” Bunny said, pointing at the matrix full of winking lights, each one of them a person.

“And none of them are worth you!” Vorpal hissed. “Or me, for that matter.”

“You think Arachne gonna let you walk after this?” Martin asked. “Bitch got a long reach, more with WEB behind her. Everyone and everything connected with Dire, she gonna try to take it down. She won’t—”

“You owe her.” Minna strode forward, jabbed a finger in Vorpal’s face. “You owe her your life.”

“I, I, I do not—”

“You owe her your life, but you will not spend your money.”

“It’s my money.”

The statement hung in the air like rotting garbage. Bunny looked away. Martin sighed, sat on a crate, and rubbed his jaw. Vorpal flushed, and pushed Minna’s hand away. “There. I said it. I do not want to throw my money away on a fool’s errand. I am not like you. You treat her like a prophet! You act like she is a god or something! Like she can fix everything! Well she cannot fix this. So no, I’m going to... going to....” There were tears in her eyes, now.

She squeaked, when Minna folded her into a hug. For a second her hands fumbled to her side, to the blade sheathed there, but Minna held on, eased her grip to show her she could escape if she wanted.

“You are a villain.” Minna whispered.

A snuffle. “Yes.”

“We are not. This is fine. But we need your money or we fail.”

“It is a lot of money.”

“Yes.”

“I could live very well with this money. Far away from here.”

“For a time.”

Vorpal shuddered in Minna’s arms. “No escape. Not from Arachne, is there?”

“No.”

“Let go of me.”

Minna did. Head turned away, tears streaking the dust on her cheeks, Vorpal dug out her phone, tapped a few buttons, and thrust her hand out toward Martin. “Take it.”

Martin opened his mouth, and Minna gave him a flat, level glare. Martin shut his mouth and took the phone. A glance, a low whistle, and he was nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, this’ll do it. In fact, this is enough for the Mister Fixer approach.”

“Just shut up and do it,” Vorpal muttered. Bunny approached, put an arm around her shoulder, and the two of them headed back into the crates, talking in low voices. Minna sighed, and eased herself into a chair.

Two small arms wrapped around her knees. Minna looked down to see button-bright eyes gleaming back, as Anya squeezed her legs. “Hug me too!” the child chirped. Minna scooped her up, sat her on her lap, and sat there, rocking her for a long minute.

Four hours later, with the streetlights seeping in through the cracks of the warehouse and a gentle rain pattering out of the warm night, they gathered around the whiteboard again. Anya snored gently on her corner cot, blankets tucked in so she wouldn’t roll out onto the concrete. Martin scrubbed his face with an old t-shirt, clearing away the last of some sort of slimy goo. He'd muttered something about Hollowhusk and ectoplasm when she asked about it.

Finally he was clean. “Okay. So here’s how this goes down. We got the museum here. Carpark over here. Historical district with a few houses and shops over here.” The marker squeaked as he dragged it across the board. “We also got the receiving antenna for the block over here. Historical district, so they can’t use individual antennas.”

“Antennae,” Bunny corrected.

“Whatever. Point is, the whole block’s power comes in through this point, goes through big-ass antique wires in the ground. Take this out, take out most of the Museum’s security shit.”

“It will also let everyone know we are targeting the museum,” Vorpal objected.

“Not if we go after the wires instead of the station. Dire tore up the street before. City sees her doin’ it again, they might think this is more of her plan. So we get Minna in the suit again, and she starts doing her thing a few blocks away, walks some booms up past the station. Road gets shot to shit, wires go with it, and it also makes a nice distraction while the Steampunks work on the inside.”

“You think they can do this?” Vorpal asked.

“Quiet and subtle ain’t usually their style, but they’re willing to make an exception for all the zeroes I threw at’em.”

Bunny leaned forward. “Okay. So once they get the Eisenkrieger hand, then what?”

“I’ll be waiting for them across the street in the buildings here. When the power goes off I’ll move in. Buncha dark houses back there, they’ll send up a flare and I’ll have a flashlight to signal them. I’ll be in the hardsuit if anything goes wrong.”

“Your suit’s pretty banged up,” Bunny remarked. “Sure you don’t want me on that?”

“Naw. It’s your turn to stay back and mind Anya.”

Bunny gave him a hard, level stare. “You really want to stand on that shit with everything we got on the line? I’m the best ranged fighter we’ve got—”

“And this part ain’t a fighting job. This is a meeting job, a pick up the loot job. They know me, they don’t know you. Besides, there’s only gotta be one person fighting.” He looked to Minna.

“She’ll draw heroes like flies,” Vorpal said. “They’re waiting for Dire to do something like this.”

“Upside is WEB won’t dare get near.”

“Yes, because she’ll draw heroes like flies.” Vorpal insisted, running her hand through her hair. “Scheiße! Am I the only sane one here?” Bunny put her hand on Vorpal’s shoulder, and the angry villain brushed it off. Minna felt her eyes narrow as Bunny looked away.

“I must only survive until the Steampunks are done,” Minna declared. “This I can do. Then the teleporter will get me out safely.”

“If everything goes smooth.” Vorpal sighed. “You will need me for backup, then?”

“Got it in one.” Martin nodded. “Last mission went pretty smooth. Not perfect, but we did aight. If we can do the same here, we got this. This is the last part... get Dire back, get the people out of that matrix, then we can decide if we flee or fight. You know she can take Arachne. She did it before.”

Minna had heard that tale. Yes, she beat Arachne when she had a smartframe that Arachne did not know about. This time Arachne is beating her smartframe. But Minna held her tongue. Vorpal was on the edge, and if she walked out their chances were that much worse.

“All right. Then I will be here.” Vorpal pointed at the map as the group started working out positioning and Minna rose, heading to the back of the factory and the machine that repaired and serviced Dire’s armor. It hung there in a harness, pale face staring down at her with that slight smile, eyesockets hollow and dark. There were no answers in that visage, and only the remotest hint of anything human. Minna put a hand to the armor’s chest, trailed it down, looking for reassurance.

I owe her everything.

There was no reassurance to be had. The world was a hard place, and these Americans that she shared her life with now, they were like children. Worse than Anya, really. Not as tough as they thought they were, not as strong as they needed to be. There were no happy endings, there was no point it ever got easier, just places where it got bearable now and again. When you found someone who had your back, you stuck to them and watched their own backs until your dying day, because the world was pain and terror and death, and the best you could do was struggle to keep it from the ones you loved.

Footsteps echoed on the concrete behind her. “Hey.” Martin muttered.

“Hey.”

“Figure we give it an hour, then we move. You up for this?”

She stared at him. He chuckled, looked away. “Dumb question. Yeah, we ain’t got much choice. Need you in that armor, Minnie. Ain’t nobody else trained.”

Minna nodded. Then her arms were around him, and she was kissing him, deep and hard. He grunted in surprise, pulled her closer, and she felt his excitement against her thigh. With a soft pop their lips parted, and she looked over to the small office in the near wall. He caught her glance, picked her up, and carried her in, closing the door after him while she wrestled with his pants.

Some time later, she curled up against him, feeling their sweat combine and cool in the air conditioning. He was warm, was her man. It helped her forget the fear that chewed at her.

“I can barely fly the thing,” she confessed. “It is twitchy. Often I crashed. Still I crash, sometimes. And the weapons are hard. Not just push a button, but must... fiddle... with them every time.”

“Yeah.” Martin whispered.

“I will fight as I can. But it is hard. It might not work.”

“It’ll work out.”

“If I fall, if I die, you take Anya and leave.”

“Minna—”

Her fingers closed around his ear, pulled his head around as he hissed in pain. “No. You listen. You take Anya some place where she is safe. You give her a good life.”

She let go of Martin’s ear, and he slumped his head back onto the desk, rubbed at the injury with one broad hand. “I don’t know anywhere that’s safe,” he confessed.

“I do not either.” She cried then, and he held her tight. But the tears passed, and she pulled herself free, stood naked in the dim light filtering in through the glass window of the door.

“You’ll come back. That’s a promise.”

She shook her head.

“Minna, you’ll come back. You have to. Anya needs her Moms.”

She shook her head, and the tears pressed against her eyes once more, but she held them back. “No promises,” she reminded him, “no promises you cannot keep. That was agreed.”

Martin sighed. “Yeah. Guess it was. Shit.”

“Yes. Shit.”

There was nothing more to say, and they dressed without looking at each other.

Martin checked his phone. “Ten minutes. You ready?”

She walked out of the door without answering, and found her way back to the armor, ran through the pre-flight checks one by one as she hit buttons, and read numbers on the screen. Finally all was ready. The back of the suit cracked open, and in the moment before the inside lit up it loomed like a coffin, beckoning her to her death. A deep breath, two, and then she slid inside, closing her eyes as the pneumatics hissed and the armor sealed behind her, shutting out the world and trapping her in a titanium casket.

It wasn’t made to fit her, not exactly, but she was close enough that it adapted. Dire had built that in. So she gritted her teeth as the components writhed around her, and the catheter snaked into place, and the breathing caul sealed around her face. She drew a breath of musty air, drew another, then it was fresh as the scrubbers hummed to life.

Vision returned as the screen flickered on, and the helmet of the armor almost seemed to melt away as the wrap-around screen displayed all around her. She raised a gauntlet, flexed the fingers, nodded when green lights flashed to the side of her vision. Then came the other pre-flight tests, and the suit hummed almost like a satisfied teacher while each test passed.

Finally it was done. She clomped across the floor, to meet with the others. Bunny saw her first, gestured at Anya, and nodded. “I’ve got her. Don’t you worry.”

“I AM NOT.” Dire’s voice rumbled, and Minna winced, glanced around furtively. The walls were thin here, after all.

“Still feels weird hearing that voice say ‘I’” Martin said, as his hardsuit prowled out of the shadows. The large dent in the center of its forehead seemed to stare at her, and she closed her eyes. He’d come very close to dying, when that happened. She would fight hard so that would not happen again tonight.

“It will be easiest if you carry me,” Vorpal said, moving up and offering her arms. Minna took hold of her slowly, shifted her around to her back, twisting the gauntlets to make stirrups. Minna shook her head. If Vorpal knew how often Minna had crashed this suit, she probably would not have offered this. Best she didn’t know, she’d done enough whining for today.

The helmet of Martin’s hardsuit swiveled towards the smartframe. “Got any words of wisdom for us, Miss Floaty Head?”

“No. Your fate is in your hands.”

“Right. Thanks, I guess. C’mon, let’s go fuck shit up.” He unlocked the loading door, threw it open. “Remember the plan, Vorpal. I’ll have the van waiting when it’s time to go.”

“I still do not see why we cannot all teleport out.”

“We talked about this. Each trip’s a power draw. Too many and Arachne will trace them.”

“But after we get the arm, it should not matter—”

“We’ll still have to build the thingy.”

“Fine. Fine. Scheiße, fine. The van, then.”

“Yep. Gimme a ten minute headstart.”

The ten minutes passed like seconds, and Minna found herself spending the last of it staring at Anya. She’d woken up with all the shouting and stompy metal boots hitting concrete, and now she watched solemnly, a thumb in one mouth. Just as Minna finally turned away the toddler raised one hand in a solemn wave, fingers waggling. Minna blinked back the last of her tears.

I will not cry.

And then it was a shuffling charge out the door, and a launch into the night sky. Vorpal hissed and clung to her  for dear life, as Minna activated the gravitic system, and flew. She had no clue how it worked, or why it did what it did, but it didn’t matter. The slider made her go faster or slower, and she could steer by rotating and tilting her feet, so she focused on that.

“Stay above the lights,” Vorpal shouted, voice whipped away by the wind. Minna did not need her advice. The heroes were looking for Dire, hunting her even now, combing the city. Any sighting, any at all, would bring them running, flying, leaping, and teleporting to her.

Finally, they were at the start of the chosen street. Bilmore? Yes, that was its name. It wound through the older buildings of the district, and branched off into spurs which were made of bricks instead of asphalt. It was a secondary road at best, with little traffic at this time of night. Precisely the reason that Martin had chosen it. She studied the street for a bit, until she noticed Vorpal pounding a small fist against her helmet. Minna turned her head, and Vorpal leaned in close. “That rooftop, drop me off there.” She pointed, and Minna circled, lowering with each revolution, and slowing down as she went. The landing wasn’t perfect... she dug the suit’s heels into the roof, scraped up a few feet of tiling as she turned the landing into an awkward run, but finally she had her balance and managed to switch off the flight. Vorpal hopped off, and sagged against a nearby air conditioning intake.

Minna waited, staring, until the short blonde glared up at her and settled her mask over her face. “Well? Are you doing this or not?”

A breath,  two, and she nodded. Minna rose into the air again, got herself turned so that she was facing the run of the street, and aimed as best she could.

Golden light poured from her hands, snapping out in bolts, exploding down among the asphalt and bricks, punching through the road with gouts of steam and dull explosions. Almost as an afterthought she upped the speed, steered herself to cruise down the street, ripping it to shreds as she went. Cars honked and swerved, steering clear, and she aimed around them. More traffic than they were expecting, and she had to skip long stretches of the road as she went.

Between the explosions, she could hear screaming, and the suit’s motion trackers showed her the fleeing pedestrians, the few out this late at night making themselves scarce. Smart. Those beams were dangerous.

She cruised down the street, destroying the road, hearing loose gravel spray upward and rattle off the suit as she went. And inside, she felt nothing. There was no joy in this. It was her duty.

I owe Dire everything.

A woman below screamed, clapped her hand to her head, and fell. Startled, Minna tried to crane her head to look back at her as she flew by, and broke off the motion when she almost flew into a building. I missed her! The beams were nowhere near her! Had there been the sheen of blood back there? Hard to tell in the poor light of the streetlamps. She jerked her head back forward in time to avoid blowing up a parked car, and scowled as a man collapsed, holding his leg. He had his phone out, he had been filming her attack, instead of running. Fragments of the road had caught him, and now he was down, possibly dying! Idiot!

She flicked her eyes to the sides as she flew, and her scowl deepened as she saw more and more people filming the scene, some standing or crouching behind flimsy cover, others not even bothering with that. Why are they being so stupid? She’d steeled herself for this run, known that she could hurt people and told herself she’d avoid it and deal as best she could, but this stupidity? This stupidity didn’t deserve to be spared. These fools deserved to be hurt!

“RUN, YOU IDIOTS!” she shouted through Dire’s mask, and a couple did. But most hunkered down behind cover and filmed her from either side as she flew. “FLEE BEFORE DIRE!” That sounded like something Dire would say. And this way, Minna could look her in the face when she came back, and say that she had tried.

In response, more phones turned her way, gleaming screens flashing in the night. Minna eyed them with scorn, then frowned as the screens slipped from view. They weren’t turning to follow her. Why weren’t they turning?

The realization struck her like a slap.

Someone is behind me!

She twisted, flailed, managed a wide, slow loop that took out a light post—

And the javelin meant for her back took out her cape instead.

A flash of color in the night as the hero descended, green and black barely visible against the streetlight he landed on and clung to as he glared at her. She slowed her flight, moved to hover. She knew this one.

“BALLISTA.”

“Hola, Dire.”

There was no warning, just the motion of his arm snapping out, and the flash of silver as her forcefield flared and the shards of a spear exploded out into the night. The suit quietly told her that she’d lost six percent charge, and Minna’s veins ran cold. I need to move! Two more spears flashed out as she turned, twisting and dodging, and eleven percent more of her forcefield went away. Minna was not good at math, but she didn’t think she’d last long this way.

As she turned, fighting down nausea, she stared at the lights... and the lights of the museum across the way. They were still on. She’d missed the wires.

I have to do this flight again. This time with Ballista chasing me. Trying to kill me. Sweat rolled down her face, soaked into the liner around her neck. The flight hadn’t been hard, but—

Another spear flashed by and she twisted. It crashed through an apartment wall, and a scream rose from within.

He’d struck an innocent? He’d killed an innocent, most likely.

This was not how heroes acted! Minna never had much faith in them, but even she knew that this was breaking the rules.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU FOOL!”

“Doing what no one else will! I’m stopping you, Dire! Your reign of terror ends tonight!”

Minna flew up, considered him, and tried to dodge spears. Another one struck her, and more of the forcefield went down. Once it was gone, could he damage the armor? Probably. His power was throwing things really hard, or something like that. She hadn’t paid much attention to how this part of it worked. She was paying the price now.

Dire would want me to spare him.

A spear arced past, and she turned to follow it as it rose, twisted, plunged down into the heart of downtown a scant few miles away. He wasn’t caring about who his spears struck when they missed.

She will understand. I am stopping him from killing more people.

She turned back, ate another spear to the chest, and cut loose with both particle beams. And when she missed she did it again, nudging the power up a bit more. The spears slowed as he dodged, whirled and darted from cover to cover, but once she got the slider up far enough there was no more cover. There were only gouts of steam and explosions as the hungry beams tore through all in their path, seeking his death. The spears had stopped, at least, and somewhere around the fifth volley all the power along the street went out.

Ah, there went the wires!

Distantly, she noted that there were no more phone screens visible, and the few people illuminated in the actinic flare of her shots were fleeing at full speed. The street was cratered and broken, water flooding upwards as cars groaned and sank into spreading holes, and buildings to either side started to collapse. Finally, she lost sight of him and ceased the barrage, sliding to the side and rebounding off a few buildings before she found a rooftop and landed.

Silence, as the dust settled and steam rose up. She turned, seeking him. It took two or three tries to switch the armor’s mask over to nightvision, but she managed.

“This ain’t like you, Dire.” His voice echoed around the rubbled hellscape, and she turned, as a shape loomed out of the fog. Just a chimney, tilting as its house tilted.

“YOU ARE ACTING STRANGE AS WELL.”

“I finally got my priorities straight.” A flash of silver through the fog, whispering by yards off. Another spear? Yes. From the distance he didn’t know exactly where she was, and that was good. At this point, all Minna had to do was stall until Martin called Bunny, and Bunny had the smartframe teleport her out. Her job was done, now all she had to do was survive. She crouched low, behind the edge of the roof. “So many years wasted. I should have killed you when I met you! Twenty-eight thousand people paid the price because I was too gentle.”

Minna growled, and the sound echoed through the street. She remembered Dire, laid up in bed after fighting him. If Khalid hadn’t given her the bone healing paste, she would have been out of action. And everyone in the camp would have died in what followed.

No, Minna decided. It wasn’t enough just to survive. This whining asshole had to pay.

She pushed up from the edge of the building, darted straight up. By going up, she only had one direction to watch; down. And sure enough he couldn’t resist the target, and the spears flashed up toward her.

There. She blasted downwards, blowing apart the building he was using for cover, and tracking the motion through the smoke. “Lock on,” she whispered, and the suit’s targeting computer did.

Even with the targeting computer, the blasts didn’t hit him. He was quick, and he was nimble, and every time they came close they slowed just enough for him to get out of the way. His powers protected him.

A spear thudded off her forcefield, fell as steel rain back to the ground. The field was perhaps down to half, it was hard to tell. Regardless, she would not win this way.

So she charged.

He was not expecting that, and froze up. By the time he was moving again she was coming in fast, fast enough to crash... except that she wouldn’t. As soon as she got close to him she slowed down, and he slowed down too.

I remember what Dire told me of how she beat him.

In slow motion, she watched her gauntleted hand come around and settle on his shoulder. In slow motion, she watched as her other arm cocked back, and shot at his face. He struggled, tried to get a hand up to stop her but by then they were both falling in slow motion as she bore him to the ground, her charge slowed but not canceled out as she hammered him in the jaw. Bones gave before the suit’s inexorable strength, and her field flared as they both hit the ground and bounced, spinning up into the air. Then her view was gravel, the screeching of metal, and the last desperate cries of the forcefield as she rolled and twisted and tumbled head over heels. At some point she lost hold of Ballista and her speed snapped back to normal.

Finally, with a crunching shudder, she felt herself stop. Thrown around in the ill-fitting harness, she knew she’d have bruises from this later and she took stock as she levered herself up out of the rubble and looked around.

More dust, but her nightvision detected a burst of light as a flare popped overhead. Ah. They found it. Good.

Another quick look, and she found Ballista a few hundred feet away, crumpled next to a car. He was twitching, and she nodded. It would not have done to kill him. She had aimed for his jaw, not his forehead, for just that reason. Debris pattered down, but even now his power protected him, so she gave him no more thought and turned away.

And then a burst of heat overhead, as a figure arced down, and gravel pinged odd notes as it rattled off golden armor.

“There you are.”

Minna froze in horror as her night vision showed her every detail of the caped, armored figure. Not armor like hers, sleek and modern and mechanized, but simple medieval armor like she’d seen in the storybooks of old.

Crusader was here. He studied her, arms crossed, then looked around at the destruction.

“You’re not her, are you?”

She stayed silent, afraid to move.

“Your breathing. It’s different. There are other things, but that’s the most obvious to me.” His helmet turned to regard Ballista. “Stay here. If you run I’ll catch you.” With a few quick steps he moved over to the fallen hero, hoisting him effortlessly, and carrying him off into the night.

Her commlink chimed. What? They were supposed to stay off the comms. She opened it.

“So, I’ve already figured out you’re not Dire,” Arachne’s voice chirped. “Which means you’re a distraction.”

Minna ground her teeth, and moved to turn off the commlink... and found she couldn’t. “What—” she clamped her lips shut before any more words could escape.

“Oh, you’re Minna! Excellent. So, uh, let me ask you a question. What made you think you could teleport twice, and not expect me to trace it back?”

Minna’s eyes went wide with horror.

“Oh yeah. You want to say hi to Bunny? Or your kid? I’ve got them now. And I’ve shut down your teleporter. There’s no escape for you now, I’m afraid. I’ve also got that photonic resonance amplifier you stole, and doesn’t that raise questions?”

No teleporter? No escape! She turned her head, frantically searching for a way out. Most of the nearby buildings were wrecked, but maybe if she could take to the sky... Her armor clicked as she tried, and she remained groundbound. GRAVITICS OFFLINE her display read. MANUALLY REROUTE CIRCUITRY FOR RESTORATION. Then it flashed to diagrams and menus and she knew nothing of how to fix it. She was not Dire, and this made no sense to her at all.

“VORPAL?” she called, and only silence answered. She had backup out there, somewhere, but no idea where. And that was if Vorpal could find a way to help at all.

“You stayed.” Crusader said, landing with a soft ‘thud’. “Sensible. Not what I expected. Now, would you like to tell me exactly why you are doing all of this? What purpose does this accomplish?”

“Yes, you could explain it to him.” Arachne cooed. “But if you say a word about me or the hostage situation I’ve got you and your fellow minions in, well, it won’t go so well for Anya.”

Crusader’s head jerked up, and he stared in surprise. He heard that!

But her heart sank, as she realized it didn’t change anything. Anya died if she talked. Dire would never return if she didn’t hold Crusader here. If he stopped her too easily or if she surrendered, then he would be free to look around. He’d find Martin... there was no way that Martin had made the handoff yet. It would take minutes, at least, and only seconds had passed from the flare.

In the end, there was no choice at all.

I owe Dire everything.

Minna put her fists up, and shook her head. Crusader’s sigh echoed through the silence and the dust, as he nodded.

“As you wish.”

And then he was charging her, his arm swinging back for a brutal punch...

CHAPTER 11: DIRE – IN THE HOUSE OF DARKNESS

“Ah yes, Herr Mitternacht. An alias, of course. A man who so desired drama in his life, that he threw everything he had into playing the part of a serial villain of the most melodramatic sort. Of course, the problem arose when it turned out he was quite dangerous, despite his melodrama...”

--Jacob Bryson, chatting about his World War Two adventures on the set of the 1953 movie “Unstoppable: Reich Wreckers”

The stars were wrong, and I could not say why it troubled me so.

The things that Dottie had called ‘Fae’ led us through the primal forest, as the strange and untethered stars flickered and moved in the violet sky above us. The horrible, rolling headache that had slammed me from the moment I’d entered this place had abated, a bit, but my brain still felt raw and tender. I seemed to be the only one affected so, judging by Henri and Bryson’s wide-eyed stares at our surroundings, the fae moving on either flank, and the wispy, multi-colored lights that flickered and darted ahead of us.

Dottie walked behind them, and I walked with her, holding her hand tight. She’d requested it, and I saw no reason to refuse. She trembled as we went, and I cast my gaze over to her every now and then. She seemed on the edge of tears, though I couldn’t say why.

“She doesn’t like leaving Unstoppable behind,” I groused to Dottie.

“It means he probably lived. Probably.” She gnawed her lip. “He’ll be fine if we can take care of the source of the lycanthropy.”

“The what now?”

“The source of the werewolves. Loge.”

“Should you be saying that name out loud?” After that whole bit about how gods could hear their names, it seemed like it was tempting fate.

“He has no dominion here. It should be fine.”

“Alright. So how do we handle Loge?”

“Hopefully you— we won’t have to.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

“Loge was defeated and bound by Mitternacht. So hopefully, if you can negotiate a deal with him and break the binding, he’ll go popping off back to Ysgard, and without him powering the werewolves they should revert back to people. Probably drain Mitternacht something fierce, too.”

“Probably. Hopefully. Troublesome, those words.”

“Necessary, sorry.” Dottie sighed. “There’s nothing for certain, here. If I’d passed my initiation, if I’d been a full-fledged witch rather than a dilettante dabbler... well I’m sorry, what I know is what you’ve got.”

I gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ve done fine by us so far.”

Her smile was weak, but it was there. I smiled back. “So where are we going?”

“Schloss Mitternacht. After he told us right where his home was, I figured that’s where he’s keeping Loge. If you free him, then that will save Unstoppable. Do it fast enough before he gets home and Bob’s your uncle.”

“What?”

“She means that it will be simple,” Bryson said, turning back to us. “Though in my experience, that’s rarely so. Miss Hampston, you’re asking us to outbargain a trickster god. From my admittedly limited experience, regular gods and goddesses are difficult to barter with in the first place. A trickster god? That could prove problematic.”

“Good thing you’ll be there to help us.” I gave her hand another squeeze.

“Ah. Well.” She gnawed her lip, opened her mouth—

“Time,” Henri said, looking back at us with wild eyes. “Is time the same here?”

“What?”

“The tales. The man in the hollow hill. Tannhäuser. The farmer who spent a night with the faeries and came back a century later. Those stories, are they true?”

“Oh. That.” She shook her head. “They could do that if they cared, but I negotiated a good deal. They won’t. It helps that Mister Mitternacht made them rather cross. They’re just as eager to cause him mischief as we are.”

Thank heavens. I had enough troubles with time travel already. But I held the thought as another one took its place. There were a lot of these guys, and they looked dangerous. Stranger things than the humanoids moved back in the forest too, black hounds that stood twice my height, with glowing red eyes. Ghostly women with ropes wound around their mouths. Shambling things so large that I could only see their legs, moving along the trees and blending in with the trunks as they stepped with delicate paces. “Just how cross are they, Dottie? And might they be cross enough to help with our mission?”

“Not that cross I’m afraid.” Dottie shook her head. “When La Société’s depredations drove the rural Germans to flee to more civilized regions, the brasher among the fae took it as a sign to move back into their old haunts. They were some of the first things the Thulites hunted and bound. Atlantean magic, no matter how fragmented, trumps anything they could bring to bear. It’d be a bloodbath.”

“They did fine against Mitternacht in the church.”

“Caught him by surprise when he was negotiating.” Bryson snapped. “The world’s moved on, and their magic hasn’t. Wicker armor that will turn any blade is of little use against bullets, and no elfshot’s been made that can pierce the iron of a tank.” He turned his eyes to Dottie. “Speaking of negotiating...”

Dottie’s hand squeezed my own. “Yes?”

“What precisely are the terms of your deal with these folk?”

The seconds passed in silence, and Bryson and Henri stopped. Around us the fae slowed as well, turned inhuman eyes upon us. The only noise came from the clattering of their bone charms, and the occasional clink of bronze as one of them shifted.

“Dottie?” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed. “They’re taking us to Mitternacht’s home. I used his blood to give them the scent, and they’re keeping a few drops of that to unbind his enchantments when they find them. His blood’s good for that, you get the blood of someone you can undo magics on them or magics they made—”

“Miss Hampston.” Bryson shook his head. “There’s a part we won’t like. Tell us that part.”

“That’s a hell of an assumption to make!” I snapped at him.

“I’ve dealt with creatures like this before. There’s always a price, and it’s always painful.”

“He’s right,” Dottie whispered. “But you won’t have to pay it.”

I let go of her hand, as she wrapped her arms around her chest, hugged herself tight. “Dottie? What did you do?”

Silence again, and I put my hands on her shoulders, gave her a shake. “It won’t get easier because you waited. Come on, spit it out. We won’t judge.”

“Me. I’m giving them me. In exchange for safe conduct, no tricks or traps, and you all getting there alive.”

A cold shock down my back, and I shook my head. “No. Unacceptable.”

“N-no, it’s... it’s penance, of a sort. Besides, it’s not forever. I’m just... staying with them for a time.”

“It’s children, isn’t it?” Bryson asked, planting his cane in the ground. “You’re going to marry into the family, so to speak.”

“H-how? How did you....”

“They can’t breed. Nikola and I dealt with this a few years back, with the Erl King’s raiders in the Black Forest. Some calamity befell them in the past, and rendered them mostly sterile. They need humans to make new children, and the half-breeds that are produced are... fluid enough to be transformed into true fae.”

Total silence. Eyes wide, I shook her again. “Dottie, no.”

“It was my choice to make. I made it.” Haunted eyes met mine. “You don’t understand.”

“She understands that we’re sure as hell not leaving you behind to be a brood mare for the rest of your life.”

“It won’t be the rest of my life! It’s nine children. Nine babies. And I’ll be treated well, with right of refusal to my bed. I might even take a husband, if I find one I like. Better odds than I had back home.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dottie shook. “I... wasn’t a very nice person. Back home. My initiation into the order... the police interrupted it.” The cold chill on my back spread to the back of my skull. I remembered Unstoppable, and his comment about being disturbed by the fact she could recognize a human heart on sight. “The police interrupted me, before I could sacrifice the ba—”

All the little silences, that the others had exhibited around her. All their hesitation, and their wariness towards her, it made sense now. In a heartbeat I knew, and before she could finish the last word I acted.

I put my hand over her mouth, and the tears streamed down her face now, as she sobbed and pulled me into a tight hug. I bent over her, holding her close. A sigh seemed to ripple through the clearing, and the fae leaned in closer, whispering strange words. They were almost excited, and their eyes almost glowed with unknowable thoughts.

“Damned voyeurs,” Bryson said. “Hungry for sensation, emotion, something that means a damn. Bad at it themselves, you see.”

“We could fight them,” I whispered into her ear, and her back stiffened, as she twisted her neck, shook away  my hand.

“No! You musn’t! They never forget a slight. And we’re in their home, they’re more powerful than anything we can bring to bear!”

“They don’t know Dire,” I growled.

“What?”

“Nevermind. Look, if you can work a way to get us out of here, we can ambush them on the way out, drag you with us—”

“No!” She pushed me away. I stumbled back, surprised by the strength in her thin arms. “This is my choice. This is my penance. I tried to take a life I had no right to, so now I bring nine more into the world. Not the world I planned to stay in, but well, what can you do?”

“She’s never left a friend behind and she’s not about to.”

“You! Argh...” She ran her hands through her hair. “You know the hilarious thing? The original offer was nine children between the two of us, but I talked them out of it. Didn’t think you’d go for it.”

I opened my mouth, shut it. Opened it again, shut it again. After a second I’d recovered from being blindsided, but she was forging on, her words gaining momentum as she spoke. “Look. I’ve got faerie in my blood already. That's a selling point. I’ll age slower in this place; it’ll be easier for the children to survive. This is like the place I was trying to reach all my life. These people, they’re not human, but they’re who I was looking for all my life. I was trying to come here. Maybe not this region specifically, but close enough, what?”

“You’re certain?” I whispered. My throat was tight, and tears threatened. I held them back with sheer force of will.

“I am,” she snuffled, ran her sleeve along her face. “Besides. This war? This is different. The Nazis are a horror, plain and simple. The things they’ve done, the things they’re trying to do, it’s the end of the world if they win. Plain and simple. So many have given their lives or worse to stop them, so this? This is my sacrifice.”

I hugged her again, and she squeezed me back like a drowning woman clinging to a life preserver. “How are we going to manage without you?” I whispered.

“Free the god, you’ll get Mitternacht off your back. Get a good enough bargain out of him, he might be able to help with Tesla. Whatever they’ve got planned for him isn’t good, especially with Schwarze Ritter coming in for it. You have to win, or God knows what’ll happen.”

I took a shuddering breath, and tears slipped from beneath my lids. “All right. Your sacrifice won’t be in vain.”

“Sacrifice? Bah, they’ll treat me like royalty until it’s time to go. And look, you’re not from too far ahead, are you?”

I gnawed my lip, and decided ‘fuck it’. I could trust her.

“Two-thousand and one. A little past that.” I whispered.

“Did the Nazis win?”

“They lost like the little bitches they are.”

She burst into a surprised laugh. “Ha! Heh... all right. Let’s make sure that happens.”

“Keep this secret. Her name is Dire.”

“Yeah? Funny name, that. First or last?”

“Both. And she wasn’t a good person either. Still isn’t.”

“Oh. Well, are the Nazis worse than you?”

From the bit I'd seen? Probably. “Much.”

“That’s okay then.” She giggled. “Keep it that way, huh?”

I thought back to Timetripper, and my possibly horrible future self. “She’ll do her best.”

“Ah, before I forget... here.” She handed me two clenched handkerchiefs, one of them still soaked in gore. “The rune and his blood. Might be useful, what?”

“Maybe. See you in a few decades? Please?”

“All right. I’ll find you when I’m out, okay? We’ll catch up on old times.”

“It’s a date.” I squeezed her one last time, and let go. Glancing around, I found that the fae had crept in a few feet, and we were in a light circle of them. Beyond, Henri and Bryson had turned their backs, were discussing something in quiet tones. Giving us a moment, I thought. Rather civilized of them, compared to modern times at least. The sort of bystanders I was used to would have cell phones out and be streaming it up on Veetube within minutes.

“Well?” I glared at the closest fae. “You got your show. Scoot.” My voice was rough, but they seemed to get the message, stepping back and fading off to the flanks. The leader looked to us, motioned his spear forward with a wide sweep.

“Yes, yes, yes, we’re coming.” Dottie said, rubbing her eyes. “Let’s go, then.”

We fell back into motion, and the rest of the trip was silent.

After what could have been hours, we stood in front of a large, scarred plain. Smoke rose from craters in the ground, and sinkholes descended into yawning caverns below the ground.

“This’ll be a city on the other side,” Bryson said. “Berlin?”

“They don’t know the proper name for it,” Dottie said, casting about. “Ah! There.” The leader of the fae was already moving that way, horns swaying as he stepped carefully through the gray mud.

“I see why they hate us so,” Henri said, following across the devastated landscape. “If all cities do this to their home.”

“Oh, they’ve got more reasons than that,” Bryson said, following. “Some justified, some not. Which is a problem, since they’re both immortal and hold grudges until they die.”

“The two would seem to be mutually exclusive, wouldn’t they?” I asked.

“Not as such. Most immortals can be killed, it just takes a lot of work or a weakness specific to their method. Immortality simply means that time and old age won’t kill you.” He sighed. “And it’s a rare human that manages to achieve that.”

I thought back to my original meeting with him, in his Morgenstern persona. He’d been in exemplary shape, true. Peak human, if he was to be believed and that wasn’t arrogance. But for all that, he was still obviously older, and on the downhill slide. Whether or not he’d tried, he hadn’t managed to find immortality between here and then. Perhaps that provided a hint to his modern-day ruthlessness, back in the year two-thousand. I made a note to look into that further when I got back.

If I got back. No guarantees, here. The few things I’d managed to find out about time travel seemed to indicate that having a future self was no guarantee of present survival. Timelines were a thing, and paradox was something the universe had handled before.

“We’re here,” Dottie said, pointing at a shallow crater. As I watched, the fae leader pulled something from his vest and threw it in. Immediately, the darkness filled up with fog. Then, with a flicker of motion, he was next to us and holding Dottie’s arm. She flinched, then took hold of his hand, leaning into him. He nuzzled her neck, and she closed her eyes.

“You’re sure?” I asked, eyes flicking between the mist and the two of them. One good rush, a hip-throw like the sort Bunny had taught me...

“I am. Go.”

I hesitated, but we’d argued this already and I’d lost. She was a friend, and I had to respect her choice, even if I didn’t like it. To do any less would be to show her disrespect, and her judgement had been good so far.

“All right. How do we do this?”

“Just walk in. You’ll be right outside his house... lair... laboratory... I don’t know.”

“No way to tell before we walk in?” I asked.

Bryson shook his head. “You’re stalling. Come on.”

I took a breath, let it go, and reached out a hand. Dottie hesitated. “Not going to pull you in, come on. Just shake it goodbye.” She did.

“Sixty years, remember,” I whispered to her, and her lips curled up. Next to her the fae turned silvery eyes on me, fascinated by our interaction.

“Right. It’s a date.” She let go of my hand. “Off you go then. Chop chop.”

We turned from her before I could be tempted into doing something stupid, and walked into the crater of mist.

It wasn’t like our transition from the church to... wherever that place was. This time it was gradual, the cool air of the violet-skied weirdscape around us replaced by warmth of spring, the silence of the cratered land broken by bird calls, and crickets. The color seemed to seep out of reality around us, the vibrant hues exchanged for bleak dimness. It felt heavier, in a way that weighed upon my mind.

But at the same time, the lingering ache that had assailed my head cleared, and my thoughts snapped back into focus. I blinked a few times as the last wisps of mist chased after us. We stood upon a well-manicured lawn, with trees all around, and the dark windows of a large manor just to the north of us. North? Yes, that way was north. I knew it instinctively. It was good to have my internal compass back again. To my East a series of lights spread across a wide valley, suggesting buildings and streets over a wide area, with a river tossed in for good measure. Not enough lights to be a city, far more than a town.

“Berlin.” Bryson muttered.

“Why so few lights?” I whispered back.

“The British bomb them as often as they can. They only have a few lights, in nonessential areas.”

I nodded, my eyes on the manor. Behind me, Henri gave a soft sigh. “It is good to have my power back.”

“You lost it?”

“Monsieur Égalité’s reach evidently does not extend to faerie.”

“So you’ve got the distortion field. Alright. We can use that.” I didn’t see any guards, but that didn’t mean there were any.

“Come on, then.” Bryson crouched low, moved from shadow to shadow, without so much as a whisper. Damn, the man was good at this! I tried to follow, but every crackle of dry grass made me wince. It sounded like thunder in the still of the night, at least to me. But I made it to the side of the house just after him, with Henri right behind.

“Standard number five alarm system on the windows.” Bryson said, cracking open his valise.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Well I designed the damn thing, now didn’t I?” He fiddled with the window, tapped it with a glass rod. “There we go. Never design a system you can’t disable. Shush now...”

He slid it open, and we pulled ourselves in, one by one. The nightvision monocle went back up from its charging cradle onto my face, and I looked around the room. Oddly bare, most of it, with a workbench to one side. Engraving tools? Yes. A bin of rocks, several ingots of what looked like metal, and a few more of those runes.

I felt in my pocket. I still had the handkerchief-wrapped rune that Dottie had identified, the one that would make its master seem more trustworthy. Didn’t seem like a good time to use it.

Bryson pulled out something with dials, fiddled with it, nodded. He leaned in, pulled both Henri and myself close, and whispered “Three people on this floor. Breathing indicates sleeping. They’re in the same room.”

“Servants.” Henri muttered.

I nodded. “He won’t keep a god around them, I’d bet.”

“Near a trickster god? No.” Bryson glanced at the door. “If he has wards against entry we’ve tripped them and he’ll know we’re here. Speed is our ally.”

I looked at the device. An enhanced barometric pressure reader, measuring airflow and minute variances in local atmosphere. Radium-coated dials instead of a screen, as fit the technology of the time. Amazing he had that, he must have trained himself to analyze the dials at a glance. “Don’t suppose your reader detects gods?”

“Most of them don’t breathe unless they’re talking.”

I filed that away under ‘weird shit I never expected to know.’ “So where does one keep a thing like that?”

“Two solutions present themselves. Either an attic above, or a basement below.”

“Somewhere out of the way of servants, yes.” Henri nodded. “Should we split up?”

Bryson nodded. “Yes. Henri, check above. Doctor, check below. I’ll make my way to the servants and ensure they don’t wake up.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not sure she likes that idea, even if it is wartime.”

He sighed. “Chloroform, Doctor. I’m no savage.”

I smiled in relief. “All right. Lead the way.”

He did, and he was far more quiet than I could ever be, gliding over the old wooden floor like a ghost in the night. I gave him a few minutes... less chance that my own stompy footsteps would be detected if he got to the servants and gassed them first. Finally I felt safe enough to go looking.

And looking. And looking. Of course an evil Nazi sorcerer would hide the entrance to his secret lair! With a low growl in my throat, I pulled out the sonic rifle, and started assembling it.

“What are you doing?” Bryson whispered, and I jumped.

“Ah! Er. You finished gassing the servants?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she was going to put holes in walls until the basement stairs turned up.”

“You don’t think the neighbors might hear?”

“She didn’t see any neighbors...” my protests faded. True, they were probably a ways off, but the sonic rifle was pretty loud. “...so, you’ve got a better idea?”

He sighed. “It’s in the main hall. One of the candlesticks turns, reveals a staircase. I just opened the damn thing. Henri's already back, and investigating. We were waiting on you.”

“You’re pretty good at this breaking and entering and secret lair finding thing.”

“I could tell you stories. Come on.” I followed him back to the main hall that I’d passed through six or seven times, past the large bookshelf that I’d wasted a few minutes pulling every volume from, while I was searching for secret levers. They lay on the floor in a sad little heap, proclaiming me to be the worst burglar ever. The fireplace had slid aside, and stairs yawned into the darkness.

Light flickered below, and I grabbed hold of Bryson’s shoulder. “It’s Henri with the torch,” he muttered, annoyed. I followed, pistol ready in case it wasn’t Henri with the torch. The gun wasn’t necessary, as Henri’s lean, bearded form loomed out of the shadows. An old wine cellar, by the looks of it. No windows anywhere, and the casks and racks made for a makeshift maze.

Bryson checked his pressure reader, and I saw his eyes narrow in the dim glow of the radium. “There’s quite a few people in here. Eighteen, twenty, perhaps more.”

“In one specific location?” I murmured.

“Spread out.” He grimaced. “This device is less reliable underground. Without enough of an atmosphere surrounding the structure, the readings lose precision.”

I glanced to Henri, he nodded back and pulled his own gun. “We’ll cover you.” I told Bryson. “You’re the stealthiest one here.”

“You’ll cover him.” Henri clarified. “I cannot see in the dark. I will watch the rear.”

And so we crept along, Bryson feeling his way along the stone walls, perhaps fifteen feet ahead. I kept my eyes on him through most of it, until we got up to the first door. It was a simple iron grille set in the wall, much like a jail cell. And judging by the two huddled, snoring forms inside that’s what it was. Not much room in there, barely enough for them to slump against the walls and sleep.

I studied them in the green filter of the nightvision, and frowned. They had numbers tattooed on their thin, wasted arms. What was going on here?

“Why are they tattooed with numbers?” I whispered to Bryson, and the man’s face twisted, turned as still and hard as stone.

“Come on. Let’s check the rest. Tell me if you can spot more tattoos.”

I followed. There was a dim light in this place, coming from the center of the room, but we kept to the edges. It was enough for him to feel his way around, and every twenty feet or so, we came to another cell. Often with two, three people in it. Men and women I thought, though most had shaven heads and malnourished frames, making it hard to tell. A few were children. This late at night, most of them were sleeping. A few sat awake, quietly weeping or muttering in a language I didn’t understand. The reek of feces and urine washed out of a few cells, and they had not a single amenity in their barren stone chambers. The more I saw the more I felt my jaw clench. No human deserved to be treated so! What had these people done?

Some of them had their arms hidden, but the ones who didn’t, every single one of them had a tattoo. My confusion grew as we circled, and I could almost feel the palpable waves of rage radiating from Bryson as he went. The man was practically quivering. “What’s wrong?” I whispered between cells, and he shook his head with a violent motion that almost twisted his top hat right off.

The sixth cell we came to held Timetripper. I stared at him for a moment, feeling that old surge of anger stir in my chest... a year he’d been hunting me, for my future crimes, and this whole goddamn mess was his fault. But the anger died, when I saw the bruises and burns and bandages all up his arms. He hadn’t had an easy time of it, at all.

“Everything all right?” Bryson whispered.

I hesitated, then decided not to say anything. Timetripper couldn’t cause any trouble in here. “Yes.” We moved on, and I resolved to grab the chronological miscreant on our way out.

We came to a tunnel leading back, barred with a solid steel door. He checked the reader, shook his head. “Sealed. I can’t tell a thing from this.” A quick jiggle of the handle, and his scowl lengthened. “Locked, too. Damn solid, it’d take me a while to crack it.”

I nodded. “Her turn.” I unslung the rifle from my back.

“You fire that thing in here, you’re going to kill or cripple everyone in this cellar.”

“O ye of little faith. Give her a minute.” I cradled the rifle with one hand, pulled out my toolkit with the other. Squatting on the musty floor, I set to work recalibrating the thing.

Midway through, footsteps pattered to my left, and I froze. But it was only Henri, feeling his way along the wall, moving in a hurry. “Wings outside,” he whispered, “large ones.”

“Sturm Crows!” Bryson bit back a curse. “The master of the house is back. Not good.”

“I’ll go shut the passage.” Henri clicked his flashlight on, and hurried back.

“He’ll still know something’s amiss,” I said, thinking back to the pile of books, and other messes from my frantic searching. But Henri was gone already. I sighed. “Alright. Bryson, cover your ears.” He shouldn’t need to, but just in case...

VOIP! The sound echoed through the basement, and the door shivered, as the handle popped right out , the locking mechanism pattering down in a tinkling rain of bits.

“Is it done?” Bryson whispered.

I reached out and swung the door open. “Like a fine steak.” Candlelight glimmered in the tunnel beyond, wax candles the size of my arms, lining the passage. I wondered how the hell he kept all of them lit as we proceeded down, the flickering light twitching and writhing as our footsteps echoed on uncut stone. This was a natural cave, I realised.

The passage ended with a twist to the right, and a large, oval cavern. Not a single light shone inside, and I twisted the monocle, upped its yield. It seemed mostly empty, and I frowned to see it. “He has to be here.” Stalactites on the ceiling, stalagmites on the ground, but the cave was dry and warm without a hint of water, and in the center a large circle of powder, with an ugly, grime-encrusted statue of a huddling man. Nearly naked and hairless, with nothing but rough hide pants on its legs and wispy hair on his balding head, it hugged its knees in a perfect picture of misery.

And then it looked at me.

I found myself staring into dark pits of eyes that held nothing of humanity within them. Even moreso than the fae we’d traveled with not half an hour ago, this... thing radiated danger on a scale that I’d never encountered before.

“Do you speak?” I asked it.

Its lips curved in a smile, showing many, many teeth. It was built on a larger scale than a man, and it straightened up, up, reaching perhaps eight feet in height, all spindly limbs and ropes of muscle on a pot-bellied frame. It had a beard, I noted, with a streak of color running through it, red even though red shouldn’t show up in my nightvision.

It leered at me, and I growled. No time for this. I turned my back on the god, and addressed Bryson. “All right. Talk to her. Those tattooed people in the cages, what’s the deal there?”

“Now? Here? I’m not sure I have the time to—”

“Do it.” I’d had a long night, and the tone in my voice shut him up. He nodded, and told me of what the Nazis had done to the Jews.

And with every word, the anger that had kindled in my chest at the sight of Timetripper grew, banked, and blazed into a searing fire. I hated the Nazis now. Hated them with a strength I hadn’t felt since I’d gone to war with the twisted Black Bloods gang. No, these... these people were worse than the Black Bloods had been.

All in all it took perhaps a minute, perhaps less, but by the end of it the blood was pounding in my temples, and I was practically quivering with anger. Hundreds of thousands... Millions of people lost to this sickness.

It wasn’t enough to get home anymore. It wasn’t enough to kill them when they were in my way. No, now it was personal. They offended me, and I would end them.

Shouts from the direction of the wine cellar, and gunshots echoed in the tunnels. Bryson cursed. “We’ve wasted enough time!” He pushed past me. “Old god, hear my request. I would bargain with you.”

I pushed him to the side. “You,” I said, meeting Loge’s eyes. He blinked, perhaps surprised. “You are bound?”

His grimace was all the evidence I needed.

“What are you doing?” Bryson hissed.

“This circle constrains you?”

He nodded.

“Doctor, let me do this. We don’t have much time to bargain, and if we—

I walked over and kicked a hole in the circle, sending powder flying into the air like a spray of diamonds in my nightvision.

CHAPTER 12: VORPAL – FEAR BEYOND REASON

“Ah yes, Vorpal. Her record's spotty. A college student who exhibited powers during a fencing match, and maimed her partner... could have been an accident, but she fled. Then she popped up in Eastern Europe, here or there, acting as a mercenary and thug for various villains. Moved to America sometime shortly after Y2K. No one paid much attention to her, up until, well...”

--Agent Rook of the MRB, during a question-and-answer session on outstanding warrants, circa 2009.

Vorpal leaped from building to building, using the grappling hook that Dire had built into her wristguard to swing across long gaps.

It still wasn’t enough to keep up with Minna, especially after she started blasting the road, sending debris and dust fountaining upward and spraying across the route.

To her absolute disgust, some of the pedestrians along the route stayed and tried to phone the destruction. Idiots. Too soft, this city. Too many bleating fools waiting on heroes to save them from themselves. Well, she’d spare no tears. Vorpal focused on planting the grapnel, reeling herself in, landing with the inbuilt shocks in her heels, and jogging to the next building. She’d keep up, no matter the cost.

Six minutes into the run, while she was lining up a long shot, one of the fallen civilians near her clambered to his feet. She ignored him, until he staggered closer.

Vorpal scowled. “Go! I have no help for you—” Her words died on her lips. The chunk of rubble sticking out of his head was the size of her fist. Blood and brains leaked out from the edges of it, dripped to the ground. “Mein Gott...”

“Vorpal,” the thing muttered through fleshy lips, and she took a step back. Minsk. This was Minsk all over again. No, wait, it was talking. Dark Harvest’s servants never did.

“I know you?”

The corpse that had been a plump, middle-aged black man studied her with its one remaining eye. “Deadweight.”

Ah, okay. One of the Graveyard Gang, the zombie controller. He must be nearby then... she didn’t quite know his range. “Ja, okay.” Vorpal glanced over at Minna’s departing form, in the few seconds before she disappeared into the night. “Kind of busy, can it wait?”

“You still with Dire?”

“Why do you ask?” It was hard to read anything in that creepy, wheezing monotone. She’d worked with the Graveyard Gang before, they all had in that raid against Professor Vector. But at the end of the day they were mercenaries...

“Louis Caviliogne wants her dead.”

Ah. The mob boss. Slowly, Vorpal slid to the side, and reached a hand to her saber. “I see. He is paying you?”

“Hell of a lot of money. But you’re not on the contract. If you leave now...”

The offer was generous, under the circumstances. Mutually beneficial, too. They were giving her a way out, and in exchange, they wouldn’t have to fight her.

She looked away.

Bunny has cancer. A breath, two. Bunny had held that back, and the sting of that betrayal was keen. Vorpal didn’t know if she wanted another screaming argument with Bunny. Didn’t know if she wanted her anymore, could trust her like she had, once. Dead sometime soon, anyway. With that out of the picture, what was holding her here, really? Certainly not the civilians, or Martin’s guilt. She was no hero. Thirty thousand people dead or alive, that was something for heroes to worry about. Dire’s retrieval... well, who’s to say she wasn’t better off wherever she was? She obviously was around in the future, so she survived this one way or the other.

What did she really owe Dire, in the final analysis?

But...

Running now, from a bunch of refugees out of a horror movie, it didn’t sit right. Didn’t fit for the Vorpal she wanted to be. For the name that she’d carve into the world. Her thing with Bunny was a mess, but she’d untangle it later. This would dodge the question, anyway, for a while. Fighting always cleared her mind.

“Well?” the corpse rasped.

She drew the saber, and took its head in one clean motion, black energy crackling as the lump of bloody flesh crashed to the ground. “I think not.”

Turning, her gaze sweeping the ruined streets, she found it clear. Few casualties here, only the stupid and unlucky. Still, he didn’t need more here yet, did he? Now that he knew where they were, it was only a matter of time before he arrived, with more zombies and the rest of the team.

Or would he?

She forced herself to calm down and think rationally, as she used the grapnel to return to the rooftops, and resume her pursuit. They had no way of knowing that Dire would strike here. Their territory was nearby, true, but not that close. Which meant that they were out looking for her, or conducting other business. This was a chance encounter.

The normal transport for the Graveyard Gang was either by vehicle or through one of Gravedigger’s tunnels. And even with the torn-up street, he could only tunnel through loose material, like sand, dirt, or gravel. The asphalt and the pipes under the city prevented that, here.

Which meant that the first responder would probably be their only flier, Grim.

She thought she could take Grim. She wasn’t sure what he could do to the Dire Armor, but if they were hunting her he’d have something. So she’d do her job, and engage Grim before he could ambush Minna.

Grim could fly, he could heal from damn near anything, and that scythe of his was sharp. Sharp enough to shear titanium and ceramic alloy? Hard to say. Probably not. So he’d be aiming to slow Minna down, keep her busy until the rest of his team showed up. Epitaph could maybe crack the Dire suit. Whippoorwill could render the whole fight moot unless Minna turned off the suit’s audio sensors. Did Minna even know how to do that? Probably not skilled enough to react in time.

She hopped a crumbling brick chimney, and glared as a silver bolt headed skyward, cracked off of Minna’s forcefield.

Ballista.

Vorpal growled, low in her throat. Already the first heroes were arriving. Grim would have to work around that too... except he wanted her dead. He could maybe use that to his advantage.

Well.

Ballista wouldn’t want Dire dead. Grim wanted her dead. Minna would be on her own against the hero, Vorpal would help her mop up... if it mattered. The teleporter would render it all a moot point in minutes.

The priority was spotting Grim before he spotted her. So she adjusted the grapnel, and fired a line up at the tallest building around, an old radio tower. Rappeling up the side, using the motors in the grapnel’s head to pull herself up, she found a good perch and tapped her mask, making the built-in nightvision lenses slide down. Another piece of tech bought from Dire... she was big on supplying her allies with good utility gear.

That was a reason to fight for her, anyway. No way to repair the useful little machines if they broke. She’d have to find another engineer or supergenius, and that brought its own problems. Still, she could manage if she had to.

A flashing lightshow from Minna’s general area, a shuddering crash from across the way, and the lights went out. Finally, Minna had hit the damn wires. She had one job, and she finally did the damn thing. Vorpal rolled her eyes. So inefficient. Then she turned her attention to scanning the skies.

Vorpal almost missed him.

Ballista’s fight with Minna was throwing up clouds of dust and smoke and steam, and he came flapping through them like a great bat, black robes snapping in the wind as he hugged the tops of the western buildings.

First step: get him away from that goddamn scythe.

Braced against the long-defunct spire of the radio station, she finished bracing herself against the brickwork and took careful aim.

Closer... closer... He made a beeline for Minna, drawing the scythe from his back as he went, and Vorpal smiled to see it. There!

A puff, a hiss, and the grapnel arced out, cable snapping behind it... and thudding into Grim’s ribs with the force of a bullet. He twisted in midair, nearly fell from the sky—

She hit the button to retract the cable.

The mechanism whirred to life, handling his weight just as easily as hers, and jerked him through the air at a frantic speed! He twisted, tried a slash at the cable, tried another slash, oriented himself and managed to sever the cable—

But by then he was too close and it was too late. Vorpal ran, hopped, and throwing caution to the wind, snapped her saber out as she glided by him, black energy snapping as she cut. His hands fell to the street below, the scythe with them, and she barked in triumph as she landed on the rooftop of the adjoining building.

A quick pivot, a turn, and— shit, he was already upon her! She dove to the side, flicked her blade out as he charged by, and an arm went flying, a newly-formed bony hand scrabbling at the building as it dropped. But a new arm was already forming, bones there within half-a-second, muscles there as he turned.

Grim chased right after her again, not giving Vorpal the space to regroup. Vorpal’s instincts betrayed her and she went for the thrust. He charged right up the blade, slamming into her and bearing her back to the edge of the roof, scrabbling at her neck. She ripped the blade loose, hewed at his arms again, but then she was at the edge of the roof. Her leg stepped out onto open air and she dropped the saber, pinwheeled her arms as she grabbed at Grim... who let her latch on as he wrapped bony, bloody hands around Vorpal’s throat.

He had muscle in those bony arms, and he lifted her, let her feet dangle over the edge of the roof. She grabbed at his wrists, fought to keep her air flow. Her eyes flicked to the wristlauncher, but it would be no help if she fell. He’d cut the grapnel. It was a long way down.

“You should have taken ’Weight’s offer.” Grim rasped.

“I wonder why you... took the mob’s?” Vorpal managed to get out, fighting to keep his fingers from squeezing her throat shut.“I heard... about you. You do... not do... wetwork normally.”

“It’s special occasion stuff. Only when the target really deserves it.”

“And Dire... does?”

“Tens of thousands of people dead? Yeah, she does. I’m disappointed with that, sorry I read her wrong. But hey, her atrocity is my chance to make a paycheck.” He turned his head, studying her face, catching her eyes under the mask. “Last chance. Walk away while you still have unbroken bones.”

“Question,” she wheezed, as his fingers clamped in harder, twisting and squeezing. He sighed, and let up a bit.

“Yeah?”

“Can you regenerate this?”

A kick of one foot against the building, and her boot knife slid free. She gave up on holding Grim’s hands away, clamped down on them, and twisted, wrapping her legs around him as she twisted and buried the knife into his back. He let go of her hands, stumbled as her torso dropped back, and she caught herself on the wall, keeping him in a pseudo-wrestling hold.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really,” she said, and activated her power, calling upon electricity. She watched him sizzle and dance as volts coursed through his body. He flailed, tried to grab her, and she grinned as a hand hit her forehead and she failed to be electrocuted. “Grounded costume, freak.”

It took him time, as he sizzled and popped and jittered, healing as fast as he fried. It took him time to manage despite the raw lightning rushing through his nerves, but eventually he did, and he threw himself away from her, blue sparks and arcs crackling down as he hit the ground, panted, and shook his head. Charred flesh dripped from his eyesockets as new orbs grew to fill the hollows.

Hard to tell without skin, but he looked pretty pissed.

“To answer your question... yeah. Yeah I can regenerate that,” he rasped, and Vorpal laughed, flipping to her feet, sweat dripping down her face. It had been a long night, and she was starting to tire. He wasn’t. Well that was fine, her blood was boiling now! All the rage, all the hesitation, all the doubt that had assailed her since Bunny’s secret came out, she had a target now that she could beat until everything made sense again.

“I am going to hurt you now,” she taunted, drawing Der Schmetterling from its sheath. “And I do not know when I am going to stop.”

Grim’s teeth clicked together, and he raised his hand. A whistling sound behind her, and she dove to the side as the scythe whirled past and slapped into his hands. She gasped as an eye opened on the blade, red and slit-pupilled and angry. It almost whined, nuzzling at Grim as he caressed it, letting his blood fall freely upon the living weapon. “Come then,” he said. “I’ve been through worse.”

She charged him, and sparks flew.

Vorpal tried lightning, and the scythe didn’t seem to care. Fire was met with roars of rage, and the thing split open like a mouth, tried to feast upon her as Grim whirled and jabbed it but she was a dancer, she was a dervish, she was a goddess as she leaped and parried and slashed. Ice seemed to make it shrink back and she pressed the attack home, scoring hits upon Grim and actually slowing him. Whatever his regeneration was, it didn’t seem to register frozen tissue as injured tissue.

A weakness! Rare to uncover one, she could sell this for a good amount of money on the Darkgrid! She grinned—

—and nearly lost her head as the building shook, and an arcing swipe from the scythe came within inches of her neck as she stumbled.

The building was shaking. What the hell?

Grim laughed. “Finally. You know most of this part of Icon is built on clay, once you get down far enough?”

“Gravedigger!” Vorpal snarled and ran for the next building, but too late. With a creak and a groan the building shattered, and shuddered, and fell.

Everything slowed, and in her nightvision the puffs of dust rose like smoke as the roof she was standing on fragmented and came to pieces.

It took every bit of her agility, legs pumping, as she hopped from larger chunk to larger chunk as they separated and fell, moving faster and faster until her nightvision blurred and she knew it was now or never as she leaped—

—and caught the lip of a lower building’s roof, muscles shrieking and straining as she hung on, Schmetterling going into its storage mode as it curled around her arm like a serpent.

Vorpal hung there for a second, but pain exploded against her back as something, some chunk of rubble or bricks caught her and she shrieked as she let go. It was a drop of perhaps twenty feet and her ankle gave with a sickening pop as she hit the ground and rolled, gasping for air and inhaling choking dust. She coughed, pounded her fist into the ground to distract her from the pain, and grabbed her foot, feeling the joint.

Out of place, but not broken. Didn’t make it hurt any less, though,and she howled as she stood, leaning against the building to pull herself up. She tried a step, almost fell, tried another hobbling step, got it, and started looking around for Grim.

She found him.

Grim stood on top of the rubble, black cloak flapping in the wind, and next to him a white-skinned woman in a black suit, wearing a Bolero hat, cracked knuckles white as marble. Hard as marble, too, Vorpal knew. Epitaph was a walking tombstone, in more ways than one. And just past her, a dozen dead men loomed out of the fog, maggots dripping from long-dead flesh. But the guns in their hands looked perfectly functional, and they were all pointed her way.

“You had your chance to walk away,” Grim commented, pointing with the leering scythe. “Don’t think I’ll feel an ounce of remorse for this.”

“Then how about a pound of asskicking?” A strange voice chirped, and Vorpal’s nightsight went straight to hell as lights clicked on to her left. She stumbled back, hit her wounded foot and choked down a scream as she fumbled with her mask, got the lenses up.

A redheaded girl stood on a smashed pickup truck, clad in an old-fashioned hoopskirt with a straw boater hat over her red ringlets. She had freckles, facial piercings, pale white skin, and an insolent gold-studded smile, as she stood with both hands on her hips, sneering down at the Graveyard Gang. Behind her, two gear-laden portable spotlights hummed and clattered, emitting little puffs of steam.

“Molly,” Grim rasped. “This isn’t your fight.”

“Beg to differ, bony dear!” she chirped, and Vorpal gaped as more figures emerged behind her. A lumbering hulk of brass and glass and muscles, a man dressed in Victorian-era foppery with a top hat and ridiculous mustache, and a short man hovering on a steaming jetpack, clutching an enormous brass and wood gun of some sort. “We’ve been paid well to see them clear!”

The Steampunks!

“The mission is done?” Vorpal asked.

“That one? Yes. But y’know, can’t get paid if your boss doesn’t make it home.”

“Twenty-eight thousand dead.” Grim rasped. “You okay with that, Molly?”

“Her top henchman says it ain’t so, Jo.”

“Not exactly an unbiased source.”

“I didn’t come here to talk!” Molly said, twirling and flaring her skirt out. “I came here to dance!” And with a leap she was bounding towards them, arms spread wide like a little girl coming in for a hug.

Behind her, the rest of the Steampunks looked at each other, shrugged, and charged the Graveyard Gang.

Forgotten, Vorpal slumped down on the ground, pulled out a roll of athletic tape, and went to work on her ankle.

She watched Molly dart in through the gunfire, then stagger as bullets caught her and seemed to snap back through the air with an audible ‘Pop!’ She’d be wounded one second with blood spraying and dramatic death wails, then ‘Pop’, and she was in another location, unhurt. And as the corpses ran low an ammo she chuckled and launched herself forward, scurrying as the Graveyard Gang broke and took cover... but they weren’t her target.

Molly launched herself into the mob of zombies, ripping a cord off her dress as she did so, and what had to be a dozen grenades dropped among the mob like seeds from a crushed pomegranate.

Scheisse! Vorpal hugged the ground, as the world shook, shrapnel screamed by overhead, and one of the spotlights blew to bits. Everything went quiet for a second, lost in the explosion, and when she poked her head up Molly was leaning against a nearby wall, laughing maniacally.

I may be in love.

Arms clutched at her back and Vorpal whirled on her good foot, whipped Der Schmetterling free and nearly skewered the buffoon in the top hat. He put his hands up, pointed at a reasonably intact alleyway, and made little shooing gestures. Nodding, she limped along until finally he grabbed her arm and she leaned into him, despising her weakness. Her job was done.

But if the Steampunks had made the handoff, why hadn’t the teleporter kicked in? Her blood was still circulating the tracer chemical. Perhaps the fight was causing interference? Maybe, she didn’t know how it worked.

Epitaph loomed out of the rubble and the two of them paused for a tense few seconds, before the Brass man charged out of the dust, grabbed her, and started running through walls. They watched her go, and Vorpal sighed a gasp of relief.

Ah, my hearing’s coming back. I heard that.

“Right this way, then, chop chop!” Top Hat’s accent was ridiculous, a parody of an Englishman’s way of speaking. Vorpal snorted, but let him guide her to the end of the alley. It got darker as they moved away from the remaining searchlight, and Vorpal twitched her lenses down again. He seemed to be accomplishing the same measure with goggles that he slid down, all grinding gears in the sides and multiple lenses whirring and flickering.

“Do the gears actually do anything?” she asked.

“According to Technomancer, they’re quite important. Ah, listen...”

She knew that tone. “I will not like this.”

“Well, no.” Ahead of them, the world shook. A building teetered, collapsed in a spray of old brickwork.

“Why are we going towards that?” she asked.

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Doctor Dire’s in a bit of a sticky wicket.” Another series of crashes ensued, along with what sounded to Vorpal like a metal suit of armor being thrown through a lamppost.

Ah. Right. Probably heroes. “Who’s she fighting?”

“Crusader.”

Vorpal stopped dead in her tracks.

Memories flooded back; the grain silo on the outskirts of Minsk, the titan in gold armor hurling himself against the dark shadow. The pure devastation that had resulted. The endless waves of corpses trying to bear him down, turned into waves of red liquid merely by the force of his hands punching Dark Harvest.

She took a breath, let it out. “Crusader.” It took effort to keep her voice from wavering.

“Yes. He’s, ah, a bit above our pay grade, you understand.”

She did. He was above her pay grade. And Minna was fighting him. And the teleporter hadn’t done its job. Something was wrong. Vorpal felt her hands start to shake, and buried them in her costume’s pockets.

“Well. He’s just up ahead. I’ll get back and make sure we’ve got the Gang checkmated. Ta!” Top Hat ran back down the alley, leaving her alone in the darkness, shaking and shaken.

She tried to step forward, and could not move. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, the pain from her ankle seeming to come in waves now. She clutched at the wall. She suffocated, drowned in sensation, feeling each little fleck of dirt or grime or rubble embedded in her skin with clarity, feeling the draft through the rips in her costume, and the deep exhaustion that went to her very bones. She’d been lucky to survive so far, lucky, she knew, to get away without a scratch. But this was Crusader, and he punched out gods.

She closed her eyes, tried to focus. Kirsten would be afraid, she told herself. Kirsten would be afraid, but Vorpal knows no fear. She told herself that until she believed it, more or less, then she fought to bring her good foot forward, and did. A hop, a light sizzling pain from her bad foot, and then she took another step, and another on that one. Barely knowing what she was doing, Vorpal drew Der Schmetterling as she went, clicking it into position. Focusing on that task helped, it was a drill she’d had to sweat at, and it turned her mind from the stupid thing she was about to do.

Another step, then another, and she was out in the open, barely noticing the low whimper that crawled out of her throat. She’d seen what Crusader could do, unleashed. She knew he was holding back now. Her eyes found the battered and cracked form of Dire’s armor with no trouble, as it pulled itself free of a pile of rubble. Minna was trying to fight him.

And then he was there. The golden man, the form she’d watched on television since she was a child, descending from on high, hovering above them both.

“Miss. It’s not safe. Please leave, now.”

Vorpal opened her mouth, but only a rasp came out. Her feet were lead, holding her to the street. She could not move, she could not speak. Every inch of her shook, helpless and afraid. The rasp turned into a sob, as tears gathered in her eyes, smeared the lens of her mask.

I can’t.

Minna blasted Crusader with a particle beam, golden energy slamming into him, bathing him in its glow, crackling off his armor as it surged and roared. A blast that would have turned Vorpal into mush and sent her battered remains hurtling into the atmosphere neither moved nor hurt Crusader. Finally the beam petered out, and Minna slumped, leaned against the stump of a lamppost.

“Why do you persist? What are you trying to prove?” He landed, turning his back to Vorpal. “If I have to, I’ll peel the armor from you piece by piece. I didn’t want to risk hurting you, but you’re not leaving me much choice.”

He turned his back on me. On me! Vorpal felt outrage flare up, and shut her mouth. She blinked her eyes clear, and glared at Crusader’s back. He does not consider me a threat! Some saner part of her mind gibbered that yeah, well, this was Crusader, and she wasn’t a threat, but she ignored that. The outrage bloomed, and she found she could move again, shaking with rage instead of fear. The dark energy flared around Der Schmetterling, and before she could doubt herself for even one more second, she moved.

Vorpal charged him, screaming a high, wordless peal of raw noise as she brought the sword up above her head, and crashed it down upon his shoulder.

A bellow of pain. A clap of thunder, a searing pain along her arms and the rest of her front, and a sudden slap as if a god had reached down and knocked her back and as she felt herself flying through the air, she wondered if Crusader had hauled up and hit her out of reflex, because she was dead if he had.

It seemed like an eternity. It was nothing more than a split-second, at most. She hit the street, rolled, screamed as jagged metal drove through her armor, into her stomach and legs and arm, and fetched up against the tilted remains of a sideways truck.

Across the way, through the cracked view of her one functioning nightvision lens, she saw Crusader fall to his knees, clutching his shoulder. The armor around it was blown outward, as if a hand grenade had gone off under it. And blood poured from his wound, so much blood.

She’d hurt him. The part of her power that let her blade cut through anything, had cut Crusader. Maybe not all the way, his arm was still attached, but Vorpal had hurt Crusader.

Her lips parted, and she gasped, coughed as a rib ground loose in her chest, and then she was chuckling, laughing.

Vorpal lifted her hand to brush her hair back, still laughing, and stared straight at the bloody and charred stump where her hand wasn’t anymore. And suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. She screamed instead, screamed even more as the pain hit, and her arm throbbed, and blood fountained out to splatter on the shattered asphalt, screamed as she twisted and writhed, clutching it, and the pieces of what had once been Der Schmetterling that were embedded into her flesh tore into her. She screamed until broken metal gauntlets scooped her up, and Minna flew, in starts and fits, into the shattered and uncaring night.

At some point she blacked out, she must have, for she was in a different place when she opened her eyes again, but she still screamed, still fought, but now there were hands restraining her, and the smell of sizzling flesh wafting up her nose. She’d hoped never to smell that again, not after Minsk, but here she was, and the thought made her scream and thrash until everything went black again.

This time the black stretched on into eternity, and leering Dire Masks swam out of the darkness, shouting vague orders at her, commands that turned into pleas as the masks shattered one by one, and the Dire armor strode out of the darkness, reaching up to its face, and lowering the mask to reveal nothing but hollow blackness behind it. Vorpal writhed as it strode nearer, and nearer, and nearer....

She woke to pain, but it was dull now. Everything was dull, even her thoughts, and especially her muscles as she turned her head, stared around at her surroundings. A stained room, with the window boarded up. Daylight seeped through the boards... had she been unconscious for so long? Yes, she thought she had.

Her hand.

She looked down at it, ignored the sheet and the bandages across her chest and legs, and stared down at the mass of bandages around her stump of a wrist.

How was she to fight without her sword hand? All her training, all her practice... all gone, now. She let her head fall against the pillow and everything swam. Blood loss, she knew. Or whatever painkillers she was on. Or maybe both. It didn’t matter, her life was over. In the next room, behind a dented wooden door, voices rose in argument, Martin and Minna arguing with words she couldn’t make out.

“WELCOME BACK,” Dire’s voice boomed into her ear and she twisted, glared into the flickering holographic light of the smartframe, projecting itself on a laptop screen.

“You owe me,” Vorpal rasped, and the smartframe chuckled.

“NO... actually.” Her voice changed mid-speech, and the smartframe's graphic shivered, split, fell into millions of pixels, and reformed into a spiderlike robotic face. “I don’t owe you a thing.”

Tired, battered, and beyond the point of giving any fucks, Vorpal kept on glaring.

“Yeah, it’s me. I finally ate the Smartframe, with your idiot friends none the wiser. Gulp, slurp, and everything’s me now.” Arachne whispered. “Oh, the data I’ve gotten from this thing!” She sighed. “Not as much as I was hoping. Dire prepared for this eventuality. Dire. Pah. Hiding in plain sight. Should have realized that Dire wasn’t a name to begin with.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Look, let’s cut to the chase. You, you’re different. The Bobbsey twins over there in the next room? They’re wannabes. Henches. Minions. Poor schmucks out of luck. But you? You hurt Crusader.”

Vorpal blinked. She had? Oh. Yeah, she had. She looked down at her stump again.

“So I was originally going to kill you with the other two, but you can hurt Crusader. You know how valuable that makes you? How badass you are now?”

“Badass.” Vorpal blinked again. Yes, she was, wasn’t she? What did the world think of her name now? She had beaten Crusader, in a way.

This was a game-changer. She could beat Crusader. Could have killed him, if she’d aimed for the head.

“So hear me out. I want you now.”

“I have seen how you treat your people. Not too interested in that.”

“What? No, I don’t want you as WEB. You wouldn’t be a good fit anyway, too smart, not loyal enough. I want to pay you gobs of money when I need mercenary work done that suits you. Gobs of money, maintenance on any high-tech devices you have, more devices as you want’em, and your own, top of the line, robotic hand.”

Vorpal looked at her stump. “I don’t know if my power works through prosthetics.”

“So I’ll find somebody to clone and graft you a new one. I can do that. I know people. There’s this Vector guy who’s pretty good—”

Vorpal laughed, but it hurt too much and her rib twinged in pain, sending her coughing instead. Then everything hurt. Arachne waited until she was done, then leaned in, smiling. “I’ll even let Bunny go.”

Bunny. “You have her?”

“Mm-hm. Along with Anya. Cute kid. She might live through this. Bunny... nah. Not unless you help me out here.”

“What do you want?”

“Dumbasses next door are going to hatch a plan. Go along with it. But when the time comes? Walk way. Just walk away. I’ll contact you later, after this thing with Dire is settled.”

Vorpal put her head back again, tried to think through the haze of pain and drugs. She would be betraying Dire. Betraying the people she’d lived with, the last year. Betraying Bunny.

Bunny has cancer. She didn’t tell me.

She closed her eyes, took deep breaths even though it hurt.

She betrayed me first.

More breaths.

I owe Dire my life.

She studied her new stump.

I might as well be dead without this.

Vorpal made her choice.

CHAPTER 13: DIRE – WHOM GODS WOULD DESTROY

“Loge. Whoo boy, Loge. Yeah, we had a problem with Coyote once, ended up saving the world from one of his schemes gone awry. But Loge? He makes Coyote look like a pup. A lot more brutal, and a lot more wicked. Same general dickishness, though. Trickster gods, amirite?”

--Agent Kingsley of the MRB, during an emergency briefing to an anti-supernatural joint services task force during the Tulsa manifestation.

The powder sprayed across the room, some of it hitting the god’s face, and he blinked. His hoary, chiseled face was a mask of confusion, and somehow that settled my nerves. I’d thrown him for a loop, and that meant that he was neither omniscient nor something I couldn’t relate to.

Overcome by anger I'd freed a god from his binding circle, in hopes of turning him against his master. But the job wasn't done, yet, and so much depended on the next minute.

“Doctor... what the.. what are you... you imbecile!” Bryson roared, his own confusion plain.

I held up a hand in his general direction, keeping my eyes on the god.

And then he changed. One second he was the stonelike giant, clad in dirty hide breeks and wispy hair. The next second he was my size, much more handsome, and with a full head of braided red hair, complete with neatly-trimmed beard and mustache. Dark leather whispered on his body as he tugged on the collar of his greatcoat and wiggled his fingers in calfskin gloves. His face was less distorted, more human, with sharp cheekbones, a thin nose, and a downright vulpine smile.

The god turned that smile my way. “I appreciate the sentiment. Alas, I am still bound to your enemy. But I can speak to you now, so that’s something.” His voice was like honey mixed with syrup, deep and dark and full of calories.

Bryson shut up. Good man. Then again, he’d been playing second fiddle to Tesla for how long? Though it was unkind, he was used to dealing with superior intellects, and I found his deference in this case useful. We had minutes, at most, judging by the gunfire and shouts that echoed distantly from the main room.

“Loge,” I said, and the air in the room seemed warmer, seemed to close in bringing the darkness with it. The god nodded, the smile never leaving his face. “How are you bound?”

“I fear I cannot even tell you that. And when my binder comes in here, he’ll be within his rights to tell me to kill you. Pity.” He brought his hands up from his side, palms upward, in a ‘what-can-you-do’ gesture. But his smile gave fewer fucks than a nun at a celibacy festival.

“Mm.” Dottie’s words came back to me. “Bound by blood, perhaps?” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the bloody handkerchief.

Loge’s eyes narrowed, and he licked his lips. But then they fell back to their previous careless expression, and he laughed. “What a clean handkerchief.”

I stared at it. Every bit of it was soaked in blood. My hand was sticky with old gore now, and I knew I’d be washing my pocket later. “Is it?”

“Oh yes, I think so.” He slid his coat open, pulled his shirt down, revealing a pectoral that Martin would have killed to own. And Martin was ripped.

But right over his chest on his left side, there was a bloody symbol. Somewhat like a mix between an eye and a cage of lines. It glowed an evil red.

“I’ve got a bit of dirt on my chest,” Loge said, eyes trying to catch my gaze and failing. Annoyed, he harrumphed, and clicked his fingers, and I guiltily jerked my eyes to his face. Right, right, business time now.

“The gunfire’s stopped.” Bryson whispered.

“Dirt on your chest.” I nodded to Loge. “Yep, she sees it.”

“Think you could take that handkerchief and wipe it clean?”

Ah. He’d found a loophole.

Bryson grabbed my arm, leaned in close. “That’s over his heart. It’s a binding rune, I’ll wager. Atlantean, probably.”

“Likely to kill us if we do it?” I muttered back.

“No, but it’ll free him. And then there’s no telling what he’ll do to us.”

Loge spread his hands, pointed to his chest with a hurt look and a ‘who me’ pout. I studied him, looked at the rune again. Then met Bryson’s eyes.

“We’ve come a long way. Will you trust her?”

“It’s not you I’m worried about trusting.”

A cry of pain from down the hallway. Henri’s voice. Bryson flinched like he’d been the one hurt.

“You don’t have the luxury of options.” I leaned in closer. “Look at it this way. In the future she’ll be the one trusting you.”

Emotions played across his face... amazement, anger, annoyance, and finally acceptance. He shot another look at the doorway, and gripped his cane, pulling a blade free. “Do it, then. I’ve got two feet of Atlantean steel here if he tries anything.”

Someday I really had to ask him about his adventures. He’d gotten the neatest toys out of them. But not now. Stories later, horrible ideas with unreliable Norse deities now.

Without pausing I leaned into the circle and mopped the handkerchief around the symbol, smearing gore across Loge’s chest.

The warmth, the closeness in the room seemed to ease, and the shadows seeped back into the corners. Loge grinned. “That’ll do. Oh, play along.”

“With what?”

Loge pushed me out of the circle, and I stepped back to avoid falling. He looked at the ground, and used his heel to scoop the powder back into a rough shape around himself. Then there was a flicker, and an impossible motion my eyes failed to track, and he was the old stony god again, squatting in the circle and looking miserable.

No time to muse on it, as jackboots clicked on the corridor just outside.

A breath, two, then the room flooded with a greenish light. I cursed, and moved to put Loge between myself and the doorway. Bullets cracked out, and I hit the ground, bringing the sonic rifle to bear—

—and hesitating, as I saw the misshapen form in the doorway, one that resolved into Henri, bloodied and battered, a muscular, furry arm held fast around his neck. A furred face glared over his shoulder, and another furry arm poked out around Henri, leveling a smoking Luger my way.

The werewolf had a monocle. I snorted, and my own fell from my eye, to clatter upon the ground. “Hello Mitternacht.”

“Doctor,” he growled in German. “And Herr Bryson, as well. Ach, I knew I should have come straight home.”

Bryson raised his sword-cane, but paused as Mitternacht shoved his gun against Henri’s temple. “Come now, none of that. Surrender and you will be well-treated.”

“As well treated as the Jews in those cells.” Heat stirred through me again, and I spat on the ground, standing up to glare at him over Loge’s shoulder. “You monstrous filth. Worthless wretch!”

He laughed. “They serve their purpose. More than they’ve ever had in their miserable Jew lives. And so shall Tesla. In two days, magic and science shall combine in manners never before dreamed of, and the Thousand Year Reich shall become reality!” He sighed. “It’s going to be a long, sleepless day, preparing all of them. Which is why I’d like you to die or surrender now, please, so I can get a few hours rest before I have to get to work.”

Okay. Had to give him points for his monologue style, but my anger over the unrepentant atrocities down the hall made it moot. “And what of us, then?”

“Prison, until the war is over. Guest quarters, practically. We have all we need. You are immaterial to our success, here.” I didn’t know it was possible for a wolflike muzzle to sneer, but he managed. “Come now. The fact that you’re here means that you’ve come all this way in some futile attempt to undo my power, and what have you managed? What hope do you have of fighting on here? With the father of Fenris at my beck and call I can easily tear all of you to pieces without any significant trouble.”

“Yes, about that,” Loge said.

And oh, was the look on his face worth it, as Mitternacht’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets in shock.

“Two questions. Firstly, how well do you think you’ll fare without my son’s powers?”

A shadow passed over the room and Mitternacht shrieked, twisted, and dropped Henri. Bryson surged forward, but the Nazi sorcerer whipped his Luger down at Henri’s form and held up his free hand, warning him off.

Loge continued without missing a beat. “And secondly, how well do you think that weapon will fire without bullets?” He lifted a hand, and small brass objects flashed in the unnatural light as metal chimed on the ground.

Mitternacht went pale, and as he looked to his Luger, Bryson was on him.

“Alive, Bryson!” I yelled, and he grunted in acknowledgment or perhaps that was Mitternacht as Bryson’s knee drove into his solar plexus. I really couldn’t tell.

I tried to get some pleasure out of watching Mitternacht squeal and roll on the ground while Bryson took his cane to him, but it was over too quickly.

Something rolled across the ground and tapped across my boot. I looked down to see a coin on its edge, brass-colored and very old. More coins were scattered across the circle.

I looked to Mitternacht. He was on the ground with Bryson on his back, and Bryson’s cane across his throat, choking him out. The Luger was a good ten feet away.

I leaned on my sonic rifle. “That gun’s still full of bullets, isn’t it?”

Loge was back in his romance-cover form, turning the full-force of that vulpine grin upon me. “I never said I took them, did I? Just wondered how well it would work without them.”

I snorted, and his grin widened.... as the green light went out, plunging the chamber into darkness.

“Generally that means the sorcerer who called them up is unconscious.” Bryson said.

“Give him another twenty seconds to make sure.” I advised.

“Will do.”

Loge chuckled. “Allow me.” And then torches flashed to life from every wall, torches that weren’t there a minute ago. He stood outside the circle, arms folded, looking down on Mitternacht’s limp form. “Oh Hulbert, I told you this wouldn’t end well.”

“Hulbert?” I grinned.

“His real name. Part of it, anyway. May I have yours?”

“Doctor...” Bryson shook his head at me.

“No. Call her Doctor if you must.”

He studied me, eyes sliding up and down, and I flushed. Damnation, he was attractive. But mid-survey, he dropped the sultry act and stared, non-plussed.

“What?”

Loge looked nervous. “You don’t happen to have a cow’s tail, do you? Or an empty spot in your back when viewed from behind?”

“That’s... oddly specific. No to both questions.”

“All right. Strange. Well, none of my business, I’m sure.” The sultry look was back. “Just yet, anyway.”

“Okay.” I moved over to Bryson, took charge of Mitternacht, while he fussed over Henri. “Do you need a first-aid kit?”

“It’s nothing the Gamanu won’t fix, thankfully.” He sighed, and uncorked a vial,  slipped it between Henri’s lips. “I’m down to two doses. Damnation, this trip’s been hell on my supplies. Bloody fruit only blooms—”

“Once every ten years. She knows.”

“We’ll have to talk about that at some point.”

“Perhaps.” He looked at me with irritation, that faded as Henri gasped for air. “I suppose your way worked out. Not the route I would have taken.”

“Yes, I’m curious about that.” Loge said, squatting down next to us. “Why did you just up and free me?”

“Multiple reasons.”

“I’ve got time to listen.”

Well, after Mitternacht had spent all that time monologuing, I did want to beat my own drum a bit. Villainous sympathy and all.

“Well, we had limited time to bargain a good deal. You’re a trickster god, so any deal we stood a chance of cutting in such a limited time would have ways to bite us in the rump after all was said and done. And since you’re a trickster god, you’d feel obliged to do so.”

He nodded. “True. How else are you going to improve?”

“How noble of you.” He grinned at my words as I continued. “Also, we didn’t exactly know what we needed for the situation. From what a friend of mine told me, baiting a magician in his lair is a hard task at best. No telling what he’d have ready to use against us. And again, if we went for a hard bargain, you’d give us exactly that and no more, or in a way which fulfilled the letter of the deal and bite us in the rump before it was done.”

“Again with the backside biting. Do you enjoy that?” He raised his eyebrows, and leered. I pushed down a spike of libido. Took a few seconds of remembering his true form, to get my hormones to recede. I coughed, then continued.

“Furthermore... well, the man had wronged you. One thing she knows, and knows well, is that you would bear your captor no love. And that you were sick of being bound. By asking nothing of you, and holding you to nothing more, you had one target to take vengeance upon. And anything you did to him would be to our benefit.”

“You were gambling.” Bryson ground out, helping Henri to his feet. Henri’s eyes were riveted to Loge, who ignored them both to stare at me.

“Gambling in a sense.” I rose, offered a hand to help Loge up. He chuckled but took it, and kept hold of it as he stood. “But it worked out in the end.”

“Hm. Would you like to worship me?” Loge asked. His gloved hand was warm in mine.

“Sorry. She doesn’t kneel.” I pulled my hand free. “You are the most reasonable deity she’s ever met, for what it’s worth. But it’s the principle of the thing, you understand.”

“Fair enough.” He looked down at Mitternacht, and shook his head. “I really should kill him. That would be what my brothers would insist I do, to avenge this slight.”

“Seems a bit merciful. Be more fun, she thinks, to leave him alive to see his plan come crashing down.”

Loge wasn’t smiling as he looked over his shoulder to me. “Now you’re trying to manipulate me. Careful.”

I nodded. “Worth a shot. We do need to talk to him about the details of his plan. There’s a lot riding on it.”

Loge considered. “Well, my brothers are idiots at the best of times. Mostly. I suppose my time would be better spent freeing the few others Hulbert’s kin have captured.”

“About that... One of our friends got turned into a werewolf. Could you turn him back, please?”

“A gift for a gift. Certainly.” He closed his eyes, opened them again. “Done.”

“You don’t need us to tell you which friend?” Bryson asked.

“I’ve convinced my son to withdraw from everyone he was obliged to inhabit. Fenris will trouble your friend no more, whichever one he was.” He kicked the Luger to one side. “Well, have fun then. Off I go.”

“See you.” I turned my attention back to Mitternacht, started dragging him back to one of the larger stalagmites. “Hey Bryson, got any rope on you?”

“I saw some upstairs. Keep an eye on him please, Henri.”

Bryson hurried out, and Loge slowed, stopped three steps from the door. He looked back. “You aren’t going to ask me for my help?”

“No, not really. You said you have places to go and things to do. That’s fine, you’ve already helped enough.” My first assessment of this entity hadn’t changed, for all that he looked entirely too attractive right now. Loge was dangerous.

“You really don’t think you need me helping you at all?”

Careful, now. “She didn’t say that. She doesn’t know what she’s up against.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

“What?”

“You said she. Like you’re going to face it alone.”

“Slip of the tongue.”

“Perhaps. But you... you’re a regular valkyrie. You’d take on this entire group if you had to by yourself, and go down fighting in a heartbeat if there was even the slightest chance of winning. I’ve met your kind before, mortal. Though not as often as I’d like.” He leaned against the doorway, watching me with unblinking eyes.

“She’s got no idea what a valkyrie is, but thank you.” I finished dragging Mitternacht over to the stalagmite, and arranged his arms behind it. Henri sidled up next to me, moving carefully around Loge, and leaned in with a question.

“Who is she, again?”

“What?”

“Her.” He nodded at Loge, who beamed a happy smile.

“You see a woman?” I asked.

“One of the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

Ah. Well, that explained my sudden hormones. He was using a trick to look desirable to us. “Now who’s being manipulative?” I frowned at Loge.

“I’d say I was sorry, but honestly I’d rather say you’re welcome.”

I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, yes, she would face it alone if she had to. Rather not. Thankfully she’s got friends to help.”

One less, now that Dottie was gone. The cost we’d paid to get here... I leaned on the stalagmite, and sighed.

Loge’s footsteps echoed through the cave, and he leaned on the other stalagmite. “I am told I am a very frustrating friend.”

“You too?” Martin made no secret of that, whenever we argued. Still, it had always worked out so far.

He tilted his head, considered, and shrugged. “I think I shall wait and see how this goes. If nothing else, you’ll be amusing to watch.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then.” Not like we had much choice in the matter. Tell him to back off, and he might take offense.

“No promises one way or another, of course.” Seriously, that grin belonged on a fox.

“Wouldn’t ask’em.”

Bryson returned with rope, and we bound Mitternacht hand and foot to the stalagmite. Some smelling salts from Bryson’s first aid kit had him groaning and stirring, and after a quick round of glances and wordless debate among the lot of us, Loge squatted down in front of him, putting his face about half a foot from Mitternacht’s.

“Good morning Hulbert,” Loge chirped, as Mitternacht’s bruised eyes rolled open.

He’d seemed a proper boasting, sneering villain back when he’d confronted us at the church. None of that was in evidence now. He was just a slightly overweight middle-aged man, bruised and battered from Bryson’s brutal beating.

“We have questions,” I said, taking a seat on the cavern floor. “You have answers. Give them to us, and you have a chance of surviving this.” Not technically a lie. There’s always a chance of survival, no matter how bad the situation. And none of my teammates had expressed an interest in killing him, so technically I didn’t know my answer was incorrect.

Mitternacht’s eyes were devoid of hope, as he stared into Loge’s. “I... I... ja, what do you want to know?”

Loge pulled back, and I took his place. “Why do the Thulites want Tesla?” Bryson grunted next to me, approving. The man was the entire point of his mission.

“He s-shall serve as, as one of the donors for the transference,” Mitternacht stuttered.

“Transference?” That didn’t sound good.

“Herr von Katzen has built a machine, that will allow minds to be transferred between subjects. Can you imagine it?” Mitternacht’s eyes gleamed, even in the rough torchlight. “Immortality, here and now, at the pull of a lever!”

“At a cost.” Bryson said. “What’s that cost?”

“Little enough. The brains are switched. But that’s where we come in.”

“When you say we, you speak of the Society of Thule.” Henri said.

“Yes! Magic is necessary for the second part of the process. When we transfer Tesla’s mind, what do we gain? Nothing, the man still hates us. We could bind him, but binding dulls the intellect. Hinders the brain.”

Loge cleared his throat.

“In any but a god, I mean,” Mitternacht hastily amended. “So instead, once Tesla’s mind is in its new home, we bind his prodigious genius to its new body, then send the mind back. When the original brain is returned, Tesla’s quality of genius remains! With enough binding skill, any quality can be transferred.”

That sounded like nonsense to me. I glanced over to Bryson. “Could that work?”

Bryson looked worried. “From what I know, it sounds possible. But even if it’s not, the process might harm Nikola.”

“In which case we’ve lost nothing, and crippled an enemy of our Fatherland.” Mitternacht smiled until Bryson glared at him and raised his cane. I caught his arm as the sorcerer shook with fear.

“One of the donors.” I said, remembering. “Who are the other donors?”

“The Jews outside.” He nodded back toward the door. “And der Schwarze Ritter.”

Henri leaned in, looking alarmed. “What? What is this?”

“Der Schwarze Ritter, the invulnerable knight of the Reich, will be contributing his powers one by one to our subject.” He smiled.

“You can do that with powers, too?”

“Herr Gӧering believes so. We have tested it with others. It should suffice.”

“Now why would you do that? Take powers away from a perfectly good metahuman?” I mused. “From what Henri said, der Schwarze Ritter’s been the lynchipin of your army in the Eastern Front.”

Mitternacht clamped his lips together.

Bryson’s cane came down on his knee, and Mitternacht screamed.

“Talk!” Bryson roared, grabbing his collar with his free hand. “Talk or I'll break your legs!”

“Oh Gott, oh Gott! Mein Gott!”

“Yes?” Loge asked, smiling. “You have something to say?”

“We’re wasting time!” I snarled. “Fuck torture, let the man answer.”

“It’s all scum like this deserve!” Bryson’s voice was cold, and his eyes were narrow and flint-like as he watched Mitternacht writhe in pain. “They’ve done worse and won’t hesitate to do worse until they’re stopped.”

In his scowl I saw the man he would be, decades later. I saw Morgenstern, in all his bitter, remorseless glory.

Would we fail here? Would Tesla die or be crippled here, and was that the reason that he turned into Aegon Morgenstern?

Well.

Best to succeed, then. Maybe he’d be less mopey when I got back to my present.

“Answer the man, and save yourself some pain.” I told Mitternacht. “Why strip away Schwarze Ritter’s powers?”

“He’s fighting his binding!” Mitternacht screamed. “He’s less and less reliable as time goes on, and if he gets free entirely we are fucked!”

Oh. Oh my.

I looked to Bryson, he looked to me, and the two of us shared gleaming grins that put Loge’s to shame.

“Now how would we unbind him?” I wondered aloud. “Who bound him in the first place?”

“That fucking Greek, Black Sabbas. Good luck with that, he’s vanished into Istanbul.” Mitternacht snarled.

“But that’s not the only way.” Loge whispered.

“No.” Mitternacht sighed. “If you had some blood from when he was unbound, you could perhaps undo the binding.”

Sounded like we had a mission, then. “Alright, where do we find Schwarze Ritter’s blood? Who’s got some of that?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t high enough on the council to be privy to that. Mein Gott, I’m not even sure we have any more. If we did it would be in Burg Wallenstein. That’s where the transference is taking place, so good luck trying to find it there.” He laughed, a hysterical note rising in his voice. “The finest of the Reich, gathered there to see History done. The most well-trained and equipped guards, to protect the process and all involved. Ja, good luck with that.”

“Where do the Jews factor in?” I wondered. “You said they would be donors. Donors of what?”

“They are not just any Jews. They are eighteen of the Tzadikim.”

Bryson’s breath whooshed from his lungs in amazement. Henri’s face looked as puzzled as I felt.

“What the hell are you thinking, man?” Bryson spluttered. “What, what kind of idiotic, asinine, ludicrous... I can’t understand what in the name of reason made you think this a good idea?”

“Missing something here,” I said, snapping my fingers to get his attention. “Who or what are the Tzadikim?”

“The Tzadikim Nistarim, hidden saints of Jewish lore.” Bryson stood, hands behind his back, pacing as he thought. “Each one of them exemplifying humility, unaware of their goodness. Thirty-six of them, anchoring the world, giving Jehovah the faith in humanity to keep the world going. There’s more to that, and a Talmudic scholar would doubtless take me to the cleaners with angry academic arguing, but, well, that’s enough for a layman to comprehend.”

“Anchoring the world?” That didn’t sound good.

“If even one of them is missing, Jehovah ends the world. Or the world ends. Or...well, suffice it to say, playing about with them is a bad, bad idea.”

“Which is why none of them will be missing.” Mitternacht sighed. “Would be missing. But well, here we are.”

“Then what would the ritual do to them?” I asked.

“It would transfer their status of Tzadikim to a single vessel. Repeated eighteen times, it would pool whatever spark of divinity and shielding they possess. What is righteous, in the end?” He smiled, weakly.  “Jehovah does not attend to the world, anymore. Cannot or will not, the difference is slight. And when they are pooled into the staunchest pillar of the Reich, is it not his true Aryan ideals that are righteous? If the Tzadikim are the embodiment all that is righteous, and one man is made the embodiment of the majority of the Tzadikim, then how can he be anything but righteous?”

I nodded. “So you’re trying to get another enemy god’s power on your side.”

“And with it, the power of the Jewish tradition.” Mitternacht nodded. “The Jewish mystics have incredible magical potential, but most of it is tied up in ensuring Judaism continues. Years we’ve been trying to exterminate the bastards, and we’re not even halfway done. The only way to finish the job is to strip them of their protection.”

The venom in his voice. The question that had been clawing at my mind burst forth. “Why? Why go to all this trouble to kill them? You’re in the middle of fighting against the rest of the world, and you stop to commit genocide? Where’s the sense in this?” My voice rose, high and shrill. I was tired and angry and hurting from a ton of minor aches and fatigues, and this made no sense to me.

Mitternacht laughed, winced as his broken knee shifted. “You would not understand. They have been a sickness within Germany for centuries! We are finally excising them by the only way possible. Casting out their weakness,  their faithlessness, their sabotage. All this is necessary. It is them or us.”

“You just said their protections are strong. How are they weak?”

He glared. “Not strong enough to save those we have killed so far.”

“You’ve got nearly twenty of their saints in the next room, so how are they faithless? You’re literally trying to capitalize on their faith!”

“Not faith in their worthless god, per se, but faith in the Fatherland! They are the reason we lost years ago, and now—”

Henri was shaking his head. “Do not try to look for sense in this. There is only hatred and foolishness. Hitler made the Jewish people a scapegoat to unite the scared and scattered German majority. He used them for his own ambition. That is all.”

I closed my eyes for a bit, tried to focus on regaining composure. And with increased control came clarity, and a question I hadn’t asked yet.

“This vessel of the Reich... who are we talking about, here?”

He stared at me like I’d asked an idiotic question.

“Who else? Der Füehrer himself, of course!”

The sound of Bryson’s palm hitting his own forehead echoed in the cavern like a gunshot. “They’re trying to turn Hitler into a proper Übermensch.”

“More like perfecting an already superior stock.” Mitternacht clarified. “The mind of Tesla! The powers of der Schwarze Ritter! The divine sanction of eighteen living saints! A means to the Reich eternal.”

“And if you fail,” Bryson whispered, “the end of the world.”

Mitternacht’s smile died. “We had no choice. We had to start this.”

My voice could have drawn blood if it was any sharper. “Oh, this will be rich. Do tell, why did you have to do this?”

“We’ve been trying to secure Tesla for months, but the actual ritual would have awaited der Schwarze Ritter’s victory in the East. A few more weeks at most, you see.”

“He’s that much of a factor?”

Henri nodded. “He is the reason the Germans took Stalingrad. Without him, the war would be very different.”

“So why kick things off early?”

Mitternacht snorted. “The reason for that sits in a cell among the Tzadikim. Your companion.”

Oh boy... “He tried to kill Hitler.”

“Swarms of him. Waves of him. Desperate and foolish, but brave and unending. Berlin is in a state of martial law because of him. If his bodies hadn’t disappeared upon death, we would be heaping his bodies high in trenches around the city right now.”

Of course Timetripper had fucked things up.

“But do you see what it means?” He grinned. “Why would a time traveler, such a powerful time traveler come back to stop us now? Clearly, we succeed! Clearly, the ritual succeeds, and he has come back under some delusion that he can stop destiny itself! This is the only explanation that fits.”

A colossal mistake. Or was it?

Timetripper said that Hitler lived through this time period, and no other Time Traveler could alter that. He’d broken time— but what if he hadn’t been the reason for it breaking? Hitler being pumped full of divine essence might be enough to prevent his destiny from being altered. And the combination of supergenius mental capabilities with powers that rendered him unstoppable...

There was a way that this turned into a non-paradoxical situation. If the ritual succeeded and Hitler quietly slipped away at the end of the war, leaving a body double or something else to die in his place, then my timeline would not necessarily change in any way I could measure. This might also explain why Tesla’s inventions slowed after World War Two, and could also explain his eventual disappearance. A Tesla stripped of his genius, brought down to average intellect, well... Bryson would cover for him as long as he could, but eventually he’d have to fade out of sight.

We were on a cusp. The stakes were high, and what happened here would decide how things ended. I’d have to tread lightly.

But... on the other hand... this was an opportunity. I had a feeling that Timetripper was correct, when he said that killing Hitler was the key to jumpstarting his powers, and returning home.

“The transference, the ritual, all of this. Hitler’s going to be present for that.” I mused.

“Well, ja, his presence is required.” Mitternacht shrugged as much as the ropes would let him.

“And it’s going to happen in a little over a day, you said?”

“Tomorrow, at dawn.”

“At this Burg Wallenstein.”

Comprehension filled his horror-stricken face. “You can’t seriously be thinking of trying to stop it.”

I turned to him and smiled, rows of teeth and not a single drop of mirth. “Trying? No. Doing? Yes. The ritual will not happen.” And I was going to kill Hitler so hard that time itself would scream.

“Bah! The castle is the very lair of von Katzen! He’ll have his machines and guards and good soldiers of the Reich at hand for this, his part in the ultimate triumph!” He laughed, jagged and uneven from his pain. “The upper echelons of the Society of Thule will be there! All sorcerers and scholars, the lowest of them easily my equal! Their servitors will be legion! You have one day, what can you do? Surely, you could free the Tzadikim, but that still leaves Tesla and der Schwarze Ritter. So we’ll miss out on their powers, so what? We can acquire them or their other kin later, and try again!”

“Can you?” Loge wondered. “I hear desperation in your voice, Hulbert.”

Mitternacht shut up. That was fine, we’d gotten more than enough out of him. I had ideas and I had plans and a goal, now. The stakes were higher than I’d thought, but I could work with this.

“Bryson. Use the chloroform and put him out. We might need him later.” Bryson scowled, but complied. Once Mitternacht’s head sagged limp into Bryson’s hands, I stood and smiled at the others.

“Right. Let’s go let those poor people out, head upstairs, and find a quiet place to talk. She’s got the beginnings of a plan...”

CHAPTER 14: DIRE – ONE NIGHT IN BERLIN

“I could not say who these strangers were, who had saved us. But they needed our help, and we could not refuse. A chance to save more lives, and strike back at the Nazis? It was more than our wish, it was our duty.”

--Moishe Burnstein, holocaust survivor, and author of “Unlikely Salvation”

Rain sheeted down outside Schloss Mitternacht. It pattered off of the thick trees of the estate, sluiced from wooden gutters, and rattled against the windows like a horde of scratching animals.

Under different circumstances it would have been soothing. Always something pure about the rain, I’ve found. Something clean about it. Washing away the sins of the world and the weight of my problems, giving me another try at righting what I’d done wrong. I’d made mistakes, more than a few. It hadn’t been a total wash... but I’d lost friends, had innocents die on my watch, and failed to take into account the full situation more than once.

Roy still weighed on my mind. He was alive now, a fresh-faced kid trying to join the army, or he would be in the next year or two. I was uncertain of the timeframe, precisely. How much trouble I could have averted, if I’d spent just a few minutes studying history! I could speed-read like no one’s business, seriously, one afternoon with a gridnet-connected computer and the Giggle search engine, and I’d have been set. But no, no...

Still, all my mistakes, all my troubles, all my regrets were nothing compared to the man behind me.

I turned away from the rain-streaked window, and looked back across the desk to where Timetripper sat, wolfing down a country breakfast. They hadn’t done too much to him, thankfully. As much of an irritant as he’d been, I had no desire to see him tortured any more by evil fucks like the ones we were dealing with here.

“So. Do you have any questions?” I asked, watching him tear through half-a-plate of scrambled eggs, scattering crumbs on the hardwood floor. I bristled at the casual littering, but pushed it aside. Wasn’t my floor.

He spoke through his mouthful of food, because of course he did. “Mf. Umf. Um... I don’t think so? We get in there, we like take on a castle full of Nazis and soldiers and magicians and machines and shit, when they’re gearing up for the ritual, and bust up the machine? Kill the inventor and Hitler?”

“Yes. No machine, no transference. No transference, the rituals won’t matter. No inventor, and they won’t be able to build the machine again.” That was the hope. At the very least, combined with everything else they were doing, I figured it would delay them until past the point where they lost the war, and then it wouldn’t matter.

“And this Shoors Ritter guy?”

“Henri’s got his telepathy back, and according to Égalité’s spies, Schwarze Ritter’s behind schedule. If we finish quickly, we’ll be done before he gets there.”

He was the wild card. If he arrived early, before we had beaten the castle’s defenses and defenders, then we were probably dead. If we finished them off in time to search for his blood, we had a chance of breaking his binding. If we couldn’t turn it up we’d complete our objectives and leave... us through time travel, and the others through a hasty exit.

“I still don’t see why we can't just kill Hitler from the get-go, and paradox out of there. Once I’ve got my powers back, we can like, totally fix everything.”

Right, because that’s worked so well for you up to now. I screwed my patience to the sticking point. “We don’t actually know what will happen when you get your powers back. We can’t risk it.”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. You’re the boss.” He frowned at me over his sausages. “For now.”

Patience or not, I was not in the mood. I leaned in close, and he sunk back in the chair, evading my eyes.

“We’re here because of you.” I said, in the softest voice I could manage. “Every part of this is still your fault. Now we fix it. Then you return her safely to her own time, and go think about what you did. That’s the deal. Or she could put you back in that cell and you can take your chances. Those are your choices, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, cool it hot mama.”

“What?”

“Sorry. Slang thing.”

I straightened up. “Good. Now let’s—”

Glass shattered below. Timetripper dove under the desk, I drew my gun and burst through the door, looking for trouble. A window? Had to be. Feet pounded on the stairs, as Henri shouted, and shots rang out from the vicinity of the great hall. I took the stairs two at a time, grabbed the railing and swung around one-handed, to find a figure in a Nazi officer’s uniform bobbing and weaving, dodging Bryson’s cane as the dapper inventor laid into him with everything he had. The lighting was bad so I squatted into a shooter’s stance, waited for the proper angle, and put three into the Nazi’s back when I had a reasonably clear shot.

He staggered, but didn’t fall. Bryson clocked him in the face, sending his cap flying, and the light streaming in through the window caught the unknown assailant’s face, highlighting it just right.

“Unstoppable?” I blurted, feeling relief course through me. “How did you— what are you doing here?”

Bryson hesitated, and Unstoppable straightened up, looking around. “Doc!” Footsteps pounded behind me, and that grin grew wider. “Henri! Alright, so do we have a Dottie, too?”

“Ah.” Bryson said, leaning on his cane. “I’m afraid not.”

Unstoppable’s grin died. “Damn it.” He found his way to a couch, and sank into it, soaking the expensive upholstery.

“She’s alive.” I said. “Long story. Explain it later. You first. How did you get here?”

“So it’s pretty weird being a werewolf.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I remember smells so vivid I could see them, like, and the moon tugging on me like a magnet, and the pack running and me just running along with it. I think I fought a few of them. Y’know, to show them who’s boss. I was out in front, I remember that.”

“Running here?” Made sense they’d follow Mitternacht. I seemed to recall that was his plan to begin with, have them come to him once everyone was cursed.

“Yeah. So when we all turned back to normal pretty much mid-stride, I kept on going. I wanted to kick that bastard’s ass.” He looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, lady.”

“Why?”

Unstoppable’s grin grew. “Heh. Knew I liked you for a reason. Anyway, I basically don’t get tired, so I ran as fast as I could and didn’t stop. Stopped to take out an officer and steal his uniform, then whenever I got lost I asked directions.” He rubbed the back of his head again. “Really glad I brushed up on German before I came over for this mission. Say this, the German folks I ran into were really helpful.” He looked around. “I was gonna try to break in and take him out quick, force him to tell me where you were or help you out if he’d captured you. Guess you didn’t need me after all.”

“It was close. We definitely could use you now.” I smiled, sitting next to him on the couch. He looked startled, but then scooted back, giving me room. On impulse I squeezed his shoulder. “Welcome back. You were missed.”

He patted my hand, and... was that a blush on his cheek? “Thanks, Doc.”

Dottie’s words came back to me. He fancies you. I coughed, moved my hand back, and looked away in time to see Bryson and Henri share a patient smile.

“Well now.” Loge’s voice drifted down from the top of the stairs, as he descended like a king holding court. “You would be the mighty warrior my son told me about.”

Unstoppable looked like he’d been hit in the face with one of the halberds hanging on the wall. “Ma’am? Uh, I don’t think we’ve been, I mean I, um. Hello?”

“He’s a guy.” My annoyance with Loge grew.

“He’s a what? Uh. Well, I don’t judge.” He glanced over at Bryson and Henri. Henri shook his head, and Bryson glowered. Unstoppable coughed an awkward cough, and tried a transparent attempt to change the subject. “So, what did I miss?”

The rest of us looked at each other, looked back to him, started talking at once, stopped, looked at each other again, and tried once more. Finally I sighed, and looked to Henri. “You want to catch him up?”

Henri smiled and nodded. “Come. There are some people who would love to meet an American.”

He lead Unstoppable out towards the guest wing, where we’d found space for the Tzadikim. It was a bit cramped by my standards, but better than their previous quarters, I reckoned.

After the door shut behind them, Loge looked down where he was leaning on the railing, a bemused expression on his face. “Not going to welcome him back personally?”

“Both Bryson and I have a lot of work to do before tomorrow. We’re at our best when we’re properly prepared.” Though we were somewhat limited by the lack of parts. For one, this mansion wasn’t particularly modernized, and Bryson’s stock of spare parts was fairly limited. I would have killed to have the MAUSER here with us now, but there was no sense in crying over what I didn’t have.

Still, I’d upgraded the devices I still had, and made a few more for tomorrow’s bloody work. For once I wouldn’t have to hold back. So long as I didn’t catch Tesla in any collateral damage, I could use any trick in my book, no matter how lethal.

Loge merely smiled that annoying smirk, and swept to the side with a bow as I moved past him on the stairs. “There are other ways to spend the eve before a battle, you know.”

“That’s nice.” I moved into the study and shut the door.

Timetripper’s feet were still protruding from under the desk. I nudged him a few times. “You understand your part?”

“Ah! Oh. Oh, okay. Everything cool down there?”

I sighed. “Frosty.”

“Yeah, like my part’s like staying out of the way and staying alive. I dig it.”

“You better. If this fails and Dire has to travel forward through time the hard way, she’s going to make sure Woodstock never happens.”

“Whoa, shit, let’s not be crazy here. No need for threats, lady.”

“Let’s keep it that way. Now scoot, she’s got work to do.”

He scooted, and I sat my rump down on Mitternacht’s best overstuffed chair, then got to work with the soldering gun.

And I lost myself.

There's a place I go to when I'm hands-deep in my work, mind churning overtime to fill my brain with the schematics and steps needed to construct my devices. Everything is so clear to me. No doubt, no hesitation, no emotion, just a quiet logic and a feeling of simple pleasure when each part is done. I was distantly aware of bells chiming now and again downstairs, and that ridiculous cuckoo clock up on the third floor with its chirping tune, but aside from that, I could almost feel like no time was passing.

When I finished, the rain was nothing more than a light drizzle, and the light dim. I stretched, felt the crick in my back, and sighed. Tired. Very tired, but I wasn’t done yet.

One of the best men I’d ever met, a veteran of this very war, once told me that a proper leader should go and comfort her troops on the night before battle. Talk with them, listen to them, just be there. Good advice, and in this cases well-warranted. The plan was bare bones at best, our devices a minor advantage. Unstoppable was back thankfully, but we had a strict time limit. So much could go wrong...

Well, I’d take Roy’s advice, and see if it quieted my own fears. Maybe then I could get some sleep before go-time.

I found Bryson down in the great hall, texts and diagrams and artifacts laid out before him. He nodded to me as I descended the stairs, and I waved back.

“How are we doing?” I took a seat across from him, shifting a stack of closed books to do so.

He sighed. “Not as well as I’d hoped. I’m a dabbler at best, even more so than our missing Miss Hampston. These books are not dabbler-level books.” He snapped the tome shut, chucked it into the roaring fireplace. I winced to see it go, and he noticed.

“Oh, don’t be. That one was about calling up demons. Bloody stupid idea, that; there’s nothing more troublesome and destructive.”

“Stupider than trying to rules-lawyer God?” I wondered. “Because that’s what the ritual Mitternacht described sounded like.”

He looked away. “In a way it’s encouraging.”

“What?” Not the answer I was expecting.

Bryson looked back, and his eyes were old in his weary face. “If they’re trying a maneuver this boneheaded, it means they’re losing and they know it. No one who’s winning would ever risk the world on a throw of the dice. Not even someone as insane as Herr Hitler.”

I wondered. Some of the villains back in my era had come pretty close to destroying the world, now and again. Idiotic, that, but it’s easy to get caught up in the moment, I suppose.

“We’ll save him. Save Tesla.”

“Yes. And he’ll give us a nod, and you a handshake, and then it’ll be off to the next... adventure.” His mouth twisted. “Would you believe that once upon a time my biggest concern was hiding my bedroom proclivities from my relatives? Now it’s all lost cities, and Nazi kidnappings, and secret society conspiracies, and ancient Atlantean evils, and it never bloody ends.” He threw another book into the fire. “When I was a lad I would have killed for this sort of life of adventure. Now I just want five days to breathe, maybe a week of quiet, nothing happening for once but I won’t get it. Not ever. Not so long as I’m with him.”

On anyone else it would be whining, but his tone was as matter-of-fact as if he’d ordered lunch from a menu.

“The world’s like that, she’s found.” I debated on telling him matters, decided to keep it general. “She’s got a past she knows nothing about due to unusual circumstances, enemies that would see her dead in a heartbeat for things she didn’t do, and never enough time to rest. If she stops moving, she’s dead. If she stops building and improving, she’s dead. But you know? It’s the only life she’s ever known, and there are enough good moments through it, that she wouldn’t trade it away. Has to struggle for them, each and every time, but they’re worth it.”

Bryson was staring back into the flames. “I often wondered, you know. Whether we were to blame.”

“What?”

“The experiments. That crazy summer back in nineteen-oh-eight. Three times, we shattered the world.” He chuckled. “Didn’t even know it the first two times. The government guessed, though, and raided us in the middle of the third time. That’s when Nikola got his powers, you know, at the height of the experiment. Glorious, impossible, physics-defying powers.”

I could feel my eyes widening. This was the sort of information that governments wept to have revealed, and I was getting a front-row seat. I'd heard stories of the sort before, but they were rumors, conjecture. Here before me sat a witness... no, a participant.

“What exactly did you do?” I whispered.

He looked at me, rueful, with a small smile chasing around his fleshy lips. “Do you know, we’re still trying to figure that out? It sure wasn’t broadcast energy, that breakthrough came later. To this day, I think we changed things. I think... that we’re the reason the world’s so wrong.”

“Wrong?” I frowned.

“Wrong. People shouldn’t bloody well be able to throw lightning out of their bare hands, or fly, or heal instantly from any wound! The world shouldn’t work that way!” Another book went flying, missing the flames. He didn’t miss a beat, voice rising with hard anger. “And where were all these damnable lost cities and ancient werewolves and gods and vampires and whatnot before we came along? Hah? Did the entirety of modern civilization, with all of man’s knowledge and communication and innovation just forget they were around?”

“What are you suggesting?” We were way out of the well-lit halls of reason, and deep into the dark spaces, with large eyes looming out of the depths, and ghosts whispering ‘here be dragons’.

“I’m suggesting that we broke something vital, something that kept reason functional. And that as time goes on, it’s only getting worse.” He sighed. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

We watched the flames together, and he beat his fist on his knee once, twice, so hard that I was concerned he’d damage himself.

“For what it’s worth,” I said, “it’s not too bad a world. Back in her time, she means.”

“Mm.”

“Just needs a little fixing, always a billion little problems. Nothing human ingenuity can’t handle.”

His smile was a little more honest this time. “Well. If I’m still around in it, I suppose things are going right. That’s one thing, at least.” His face fell.

“What is it?”

Bryson lifted another book, hesitated, and put it down. “It’s, well, it’s Henri.”

“Yes?”

“Loge. He’s got this trick where he looks like your heart’s desire. Trickster god, that’s the sort of thing they do.”

Was I into guys with black leather? I wondered what he looked like to Bryson.

He looked at me, eyes moist. “I saw Henri, when I looked at Loge first.”

I remembered the scene, played it back in my flawless memory. “And Henri saw a woman.” Ah.

Bryson put his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. “I really thought he was the one.” His voice came muffled, through his fingers, and he was shaking, and with horror I realized he was crying.

I hesitated, put a hand on his back, and scooted in close. He leaned into me, snuffling for a bit, all dignity gone as he cried softly beside the fire. I closed my eyes and hugged him.

“We’d talked about afterwards. After the war. Little house on the Riviera. Games of chess in Paris cafes. Retirement to the countryside when we were older. But no, his heart’s not in it.”

“She doesn’t know what to say.”

“And God, now I can’t help but wonder if I’m just one of his missions. Help the resistance, stop Hitler, coerce influential people with your body if you need to. Was it all an act? I don’t know. And damn me for a coward, I’m afraid to ask.”

I let go of him, started rubbing his back. Finally he cleared his throat, pulled out a handkerchief, and blew his nose. “It’s harder, for... confirmed bachelors like myself. More difficult to find men who share that proclivity, let alone those who you like enough to share passion.” He sighed. “To avoid detection and scandal, many forgo long-term relationships entirely, just go and take their ease among strangers and casual encounters. For a time that worked for me. But I’m almost seventy, even if my aging’s been retarded, and I’d rather like to settle down now. But no, it’s always drama, and last-minute rescues, and adventure.” He spat the word like it was poison.

I took a breath, and sorted through options in my mind. Bad ideas occurred to me, and I nearly chuckled at them. When I had been clueless about romance, and how people interacted socially, I would have said something stupid, or gone off on an amusing but futile plan, I was sure. But now? I thought I knew what to do.

“Where is Henri now?” I asked.

“Probably in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. He’s thoughtful like that.”

“She sees. Well, see you in the morning.”

“Four o’clock, correct? You’d best get some sleep, Doctor.”

“She will, shortly.” I took my leave, headed towards the kitchen.

Henri was chopping vegetables by the light of a few gas lamps. He looked tired, his bulldog-like face lined with raw weariness.

“Still up?” I asked.

“We will not have time to prepare breakfast in the morning. I am making it now, so we can eat as we travel.”

That was him all over, now that I thought about it. Quiet, considerate, thinking ahead to cover little details. Speaking of which...

“Does your borrowed power work as we hoped?” It had taken some telepathic discussion with Monsieur Égalité to get Henri a power something like what we desired. I hadn’t had time to check in on his tests, afterward.

“It does. It is not without problems, but it should suffice. Mitternacht’s pain works to our advantage, there.”

“Ah, right, his knee.” I watched him chop vegetables for a time, sweeping radishes into a crock pot.

“The Tzadikim are settling in well. I still do not understand why Jacob insists we do not call them that.”

It took me a second to remember he was talking about Bryson. He was the only one among us who used the man’s first name. “Apparently they don’t know what they are, and telling them that might cause them to lose their status.”

“Strange.”

“It’s magic. Divine magic, or something like that. Or miracles. Not her area, so she can’t comment, most of the stuff seems like nonsense to her.”

“Nonsense that could end the world.” The cleaver worked, and the cucumber he was cutting segmented into cubes. “I wish we could leave them here.”

“She does too.” We didn’t have enough time to do that, sadly. The Nazis were expecting a delivery tomorrow, and we’d need them to make it look good. If we didn’t get through the gate, all this was for nothing. Henri had talked it over with them and they’d volunteered to go along.

Brave people, who lived up to their hidden saintly potential.

“You can do what you said?” I studied his face. “Get them to safety after all this is done?”

“I can try. Our networks around Berlin are few, but we have some influence with the local refugee stations. There is an industrial magnate who quietly protects and aids his Jewish employees with their escape. And if not him, then there are others.” He scooped the diced cucumber into the pot, flicked a cloth over the knife’s blade.

I leaned against the stove. Warm enough to be comfortable, in this large and airy house. “What do you think of Bryson?”

“Jacob.” Henri’s smile was sad. “Brilliant. Brave. Upright in a manner you do not see so often these days. Noble? Yes. In the good way, not the bad. He came from money, true, but he has earned his accolades.” He waved me gently aside, and placed the pot on the stove. “I think that before she left Dorothy told you of us, yes?”

“Yes. She thought it was adorable.”

“And what do you think?” His face was unreadable.

“She thinks it to be healthy. Although she wonders why you saw a woman when you looked at Loge.”

“Ah.” He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. “It is... a sensitive matter.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it with her, that’s all right. But you should talk it over with Bry— with Jacob.”

He winced. “Jacob noticed?”

“We compared notes on Loge’s power after we got out of there. He noticed.”

Henri shook his head. “Mon dieu. What he must think of me.” He looked up, caught my eyes for the first time. “Will you keep a secret?”

I nodded.

“He looked very much like my wife.”

“You’re married?”

“I was. Then the Germans took Paris. Now she is gone.”

The silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the slow swoosh of water as Henri stirred the pot.

“She’s sorry.”

“It was that which drove me into Égalité. There I changed and grew. I did not use to be capable of loving men. But when your mind enters the commonwealth... it gives one perspective. Bodies are ephemeral, things that do not matter. They come, they go. What matters is here.” He raised a hand, tapped my forehead. “And here.” He drew his finger down, pointed at my chest.

“You’re talking about the heart, yes?”

“Of course.” He gathered a few vials from an overlarge, dusty spice rack, and threw dashes of powder into the mix.

“Do you love him?”

He looked down into the pot, and took the lid into his hands, rotating it between his fingers as he thought. After half a minute, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Then go to him. Letting him be alone tonight would be the worst mistake of your life.”

Henri looked me in the eyes again. “He does not hate me?”

“No. He misses you, fears losing you, but he’s too goddamn proud to admit it.”

He laughed, the first time I’d heard him do so. A nice sound, pleasant, and for a few seconds his face lost its stoic stillness, and showed me a glimpse of who he had once been.

“All right.” He put the lid on the pot. “You do what you must as well, n’est-ce pas?”

Get some sleep? Sounded like a plan. I smiled and nodded, as he headed out toward the corridor, and the great hall beyond.

Privacy, I thought. My minions liked that when they were screwing. Best to avoid the great hall in case they used the couch. They might, it was a good couch. A quick moment of thought and recollection, and I remembered the servants’ stairs back a few rooms. I made my way up unobtrusively.

The gas lamps were turned low upstairs, and I hesitated as I heard the floor creak ahead of me. A shadowy form strolled up the hall towards me, and I reached toward my pistol, before it waved and said “Hello.” Unstoppable’s voice.

“Hey. What are you doing up—” ah, that was right, he didn’t sleep. “Never mind. Dumb question.”

“No such thing.” He came into the pool of light by the landing, leaned against the door. Somewhere along the line he’d shucked his stolen Nazi uniform for some of Mitternacht’s spare clothes, and they hung loosely upon his wiry frame. A fair amount of skin was showing, particularly in the area just below his neck, and I snuck a few looks as we walked down the hall together.

“Did Henri cover the plan?”

“I think so. Sounds like the best thing for me to do to help is my regular thing and not die all over the place.”

I nodded. “Got a few specific ideas on that.” I stopped before the study door, and opened it. Unstoppable peered in, surveyed the toys I’d been building.

“Wow. Okay, I don’t know what all this stuff does, but it looks pretty swell.”

“Small tricks. None of them particularly overwhelming taken by themselves, but used in the right place or the right time...” I mimed an explosion with my hands, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. I tried to ignore how the loose sleeve of his shirt slipped down his arm, showing off sleek muscles.

“I don’t have much to do besides waiting right now. The Jews are all bedded down for the night. And judging by the sounds downstairs, the rest of our team’s... busy.” He grinned.

“Quite. Well, she’s going to stay up and work a bit more, so...” I looked at the door.

“Mind if I watch you?”

I thought it over. “No, not really. Probably going to be a bit boring.”

“Lonely house at night, with no one around. I’d be bored anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

I worked and he watched, and unlike the last time, he was quiet. I’d finished the main parts of the devices earlier, now it was all about tweaking performance, packing in a few extra percentage points of effectiveness or reinforcing structure. He didn’t say a word as I checked each device, and used the last of my parts to good advantage. His presence in the room was undeniable, almost seeming to warm it every time I glanced over to him.

Dottie had given me heartfelt advice. Did I dare follow it? This might be the last time I ever saw him. I’d never heard of him in my own time, but that didn’t mean anything. Could be operating under another alias, could be retired and enjoying a beach somewhere away from civilization. Could have found something that beat out his regeneration and left him dead in an unknown grave, for that matter. You’re only immortal until you’re not.

After a time he rose, and moved behind me. I pretended to be engrossed in my work, but heat rose in my face, and along my spine.

“You shouldn’t sit like that. Gonna kink up your back.”

“Mmhm.” I managed, and tried to straighten up. Soft hands fell on my shoulders, squeezing.

“Want a backrub? I’m pretty good at those.”

“Mhm.”

Implacable strength in those fingers as they squeezed, released. Squeezed, released. The warmth moved through me, and I leaned back into it.

“I think it’s a pretty good plan.” He confessed, and the words meant so little compared to the warmth right now, and we both knew it.

“It’s imperfect,” I sighed. “So much can go wrong. Too many factors. Their defenses...” He kissed the back of my head, and I shivered. “Schwarze Ritter’s blood, if it’s even there or not...” A kiss to the back of my neck, and I quivered. “Erp,” I think I said.

“Least we’re reliable, huh?” Warm breath on my ear. “Well, not Hulbert. Not too happy he’s part of this plan.”

Hulbert? Why would Unstoppable call Mitternacht Hulbert— and I knew. Knew that it had been too good to be true.

“Reliable. Yep.”

When I felt his breath on my neck again I twisted, grabbed his hair, and pulled.

“Ow! Hey!”

I stared into his smoldering blue eyes from inches away. He raised his eyebrows, smiled at me... and the smile died by inches as I scowled.

“This isn’t funny, Loge.”

“Ah.” Then everything twisted, and I was holding a handful of red hair, and staring into green eyes. “Well, can’t blame a god for trying.”

“Actually she can.” I pushed him back, releasing his hair as I stood. I was still worked up and horny as hell, but now I was mad, too. “What did you do to Unstoppable?”

He backed away, putting his hands up with little placating wavy motions. “Nothing, nothing. He’s down in the library reading. I figured since he wasn’t smart enough or considerate enough to keep you company, I’d offer.” He tried a grin. “So to speak.”

“Out.” I pointed at the door.

“Well, if you’re sure—”

“Out.”

“I mean, I can tell you’re interested. Really, it would be no trouble—”

“Out!”

“I’m just saying, I’m very experienced. Discreet, too. If you’re worried about—”

Mitternacht’s best paperweight shattered against the wall, and Loge fled out the door. I looked down at the colored glass and sighed. I was tired. I’d been aiming for his head, and that was a good four feet off target.

I stomped over, slammed the door, and got back to work.

Two minutes in, I was still fuming, and no less aroused.

Three minutes in, I put down the arc welder, and sighed. What did I have to lose, really?

Before my courage could fail, I rose and made my way down a flight, to the second story of the house, and the large library that made up its central room. Sure enough, there were the remnants of embers filling the fireplace, and Unstoppable, dressed in his red suit, was curled up with a stack of books.

He looked up as I shut the door behind me. “Hey Doc.”

I locked the door, moved to his chair with five easy strides, and pounced him.

A few minutes later, with most of my clothes gone, the chair overturned, and a spray of books as our cushion, I found out why Minna kept screwing Martin every chance she got. A few more minutes past that I found out that sex with someone who doesn’t get tired is pretty damned awesome. And yet a few more minutes after that, I found out that attempting exotic tricks based on pornography performed by trained actors can cause painful injuries.

“Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow...” I said, rocking back and forth, nude as a monkey, holding my shoulder.

“Hold on. Your shoulder’s dislocated, that’s all. This is going to hurt a lot.” Unstoppable grabbed hold of my chest and my arm, and then I was howling, screaming louder than I had back when we really got to it.

But damned if it didn’t feel better, after my arm was back in its socket.

“Wow. So...” He hugged me, and I hugged back, and we just existed by the fire for a while. “That’s what it’s like.”

“Your first time?” I looked at him, aghast.

He shrugged. “Not much chance in the orphanage. I was only noticing girls for the last year or so, before the recruiter came by. Told me about a special program I could help with.”

I made an inquiring noise.

“It’s how I got my powers. They put me through some pretty crazy stuff. Weird lights, lots of medicines, that sort of thing. They said I almost died.” He squeezed me harder. “I wasn’t the only kid they recruited. Never saw any of the others again. One of the scientists let slip there were even more than our batch.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. But my country needed us, y’know? Sweet Jesus, look at what they’re doing here.”

I ran my hand down his back, feeling the sweat and warmth of him. “No one during the orphanage or the program. No one afterward?”

“No time afterward. Training and missions, and a lot of time in the field. They say they’re gathering some other powered folks. Gonna form a Brigade of us, or a Legion if they have enough eventually.”

I’d heard of them. The Liberty Legion. Well, Brigade for most of the war, then they got upgraded. That might be a way to track him down, once I got back home.

“She’s happy to be your first.” I whispered in his ear. “You’re kind and brave, and you have no idea how happy she is that you’re her first.”

He stiffened. “What? Shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“For what? Don’t be ridiculous, she didn’t leave you much choice in the matter.” Technically not true, if he'd asked me to stop I would've. But he hadn't. “It was wonderful. Well, maybe not the last bit. Gonna have to remember pornography doesn’t work like real life.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Point being—” I moved my hands lower. “She’s pretty sure that if you go easy on her shoulder, that she’s up for a little more experimentation...”

Much later, in a particularly tender moment, he whispered into my ear. “Grant. My name’s Grant.”

And damn me, I couldn’t tell him my name. I kissed him instead, and felt guilt for it, even as we moved on to more distracting matters. Still, in the end, it was only prudent. This man was a true hero, with the very real potential of being active and around during my own time. I couldn’t risk it.

Guilt faded as exhaustion took over, and I drifted off to sleep in his arms.

CHAPTER 15: MARTIN – CHOICES

“It's ironic, after all is said and done, that the truth of the matter should come out in such a way. A villain's insane rampage ended up uncovering the biggest scandal that Icon City's government has seen in decades. The political fallout is still ongoing, two years later, and so is the former Mayor's trial.”

--Dan Cromby, political commentator, during a 2003 episode of “Left Right Left”

Martin checked the tourniquet. Soaked through again; bad news. Vorpal was shivered, glared at him with defiant eyes like this whole shitshow was his fault. This after he’d sent the Steampunks to back her up, too.

Still, the woman was down a hand. That’d make anyone angry.

“We’re gonna need Freeway.”

“No heroes.”

“You’d rather die? ’Cause that’s what’s gonna happen here unless you get a real doctor on you. And he’s the only one won’t turn us in the second he lays eyes on us.”

“Do it.” Minna rasped. She’d been bruised all up her throat when Crusader was pounding on her, and up until he’d seen those marks Martin never thought he could hate the golden man. He’d worn underwear with the guy’s picture on it when he was a kid, for crissakes. But Crusader had hurt Minna, and that felt weirdly like some sort of betrayal.

Still, it could have been worse. A glance at Vorpal was enough to remind him of that. And of how she’d hurt Crusader, as if the world wasn’t after them enough. It was like punching Jesus.

Vorpal tried arguing again, but Minna just spread her hands. “We need you to save Anya and Bunny. If you want to be stupid and die after that, fine.”

The slender woman flinched, drew in a breath. Martin shook his head. “I’m calling him. Save it.” He walked out of there, flipping his new burner phone open as he went. It was the last one in the box. After this he’d either have to go silent or risk tipping off Arachne. If she ain’t tipped off already.

The situation was shitty. But what he was doing now? Something he should have done from the start. Painful as it is to admit you’d fucked up, it's a necessity of being a goddamn grownup about a situation. Couldn’t start making things right until you did.

He punched in the number he knew by heart, waited for the phone to pick up. “Hey. It’s me.”

Silence for a long moment, and Martin closed his eyes.

Finally, a deep voice replied. “I’m listening.”

He sounded calm, detached even. That was almost worse than the anger Martin had prepared to hear.

“Yeah, I...” He stopped. “We fucked up.”

“Yes. You did.”

“Got a villain here who’s down a hand.”

“What?”

“It’s... look, shouldn’t talk about it over the phone. Usual place?”

A deep sigh. “This is life or death, I take it?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. But in return, we’re going to talk, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Martin nodded, realized that Freeway couldn’t see him. “Sure.”

Dial tone, and Martin let his hand drop. He stared at the phone for a few moments, before flipping it shut. “Going out,” he said over his shoulder. “Be back with the doctor soon.”

Minna looked to him, and her eyes were filled with pain. “Be careful. Please.”

Anya’s at stake if I fuck up.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, and the things left unsaid lay between them.

It was a short drive, with the hardsuit rattling in the back of the van where he’d left it. Couldn’t bring it in the hotel, even if the place was a run-down dive.

Light traffic, this late at night. The chaos to the northwest hadn’t affected the residential area known as Cobbles Cove one bit, and the detours around the devastated streets were nowhere near his destination.

The parking lot was empty when he pulled up to the simple brick church. Martin killed the motor and waited, cranking the window down to get some breeze in, kill some of the heat of the unseasonably warm night.

He didn’t have long to wait. The passenger side door opened, and a white-garbed figure slid into the seat, pot-bellied and as dark as the night outside. White eyes considered him over a bushy mustache, and Martin nodded in greeting.

“Hey man.”

Freeway said nothing. Martin sighed, started the van up, and Freeway reached over, put a hand on the wheel. “Wait.”

“What?” Lights flared behind them, and Martin tensed up as figures stepped out of the treeline. “What the fuck, man? We had a truce!”

“We still do. Settle down.”

Don’t have much choice. He could take me apart before I could try anything.

Freeway wasn’t a huge threat to Dire. He was an enormous threat to anyone who wasn’t suited up in layered composite titanium-ceramic battle armor. He took down guys like Martin dozens at a time.

The side door of the van opened, and a woman whistled. “Nice. Dire make this?”

She’s talking about the hardsuit, Martin realized. “Yeah. And you are?”

“You don’t remember me? Fuck, I’m hurt. Kingsley, Agent Kingsley. Maybe you remember Coleman?”

“Yeah, okay, I remember Coleman. You were the quiet creepy one who shadowed him all the time.”

“Ouch.” The small woman hopped inside, found her way to the remaining back seat of the van. A larger, male form pushed in after her, folded himself awkwardly on the seat as well. Martin studied them in the dim shading of the van’s dome light.

Kingsley was short, with platinum-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Her black suit looked immaculately tailored and as smooth as if it had been laundered and ironed minutes ago. Her fine-featured face bore a cheeky grin that showed perfect teeth. She hid the upper half of her face behind a bulky pair of black sunglasses, and the shirt under her black suit jacket was white as snow.

Coleman's frame stretched big and bulky, most of it looking like muscle. His dark red hair was short-cut but still somehow unruly, and his face bore a solemn grimace. His black suit had wear marks, looked like it had been through years of use without any real repair. The white shirt below showed yellow stains from sweat and grime, and he bore his own set of sunglasses.

“Now you can drive,” Freeway told him.

“And what’s gonna happen when I get back to the lair?” Martin asked.

“Depends on what you say along the way.” Kingsley said, fishing around in the seat. “Dude, a quarter! Mind if I keep it?”

“Be my guest.”

“Thanks. You’re under arrest for bribery. Hands up.”

Martin felt his jaw drop open, and he looked back to her, aghast. “The fuck?”

“Hahahahahahhaha! Oh man, your face!” She flicked the quarter past his shoulder, and he ducked. It pinged off the windshield, disappeared between the seats.

“This is what you wanted to talk about?”

“No.” Coleman rumbled. “We wanted to talk about your boss going off the reservation.”

“Twenty-eight thousand six hundred and two people.” Kingsley said, losing her smile. “Maybe you want to tell us where they are right now?”

“Alive. Not hostages. I mean they weren’t. See, we needed them out of the way so Dire could take that whole chunk of Westmarket to bits.”

Coleman leaned forward. “So you did what, precisely?”

“I didn’t do shit. Dire teleported them out. Everyone in that area.”

“Teleported them where?”

“Nowhere. She never re-materialized them.”

“I think that’s called disintegration and it’s not helping your case,” Kingsley piped up.

“I liked you better when you were creepy and staring at everyone,” Martin told her, then shook his head. “No, see, she stored all of them in this computer thing. Like a winky thing with lights and shit. Plan was to re-materialize them after the wrecking was done. But shit happened.”

“What kind of shit?” Coleman asked.

“Timetripper.”

Freeway sighed and buried his face in his hands. Kingsley and Coleman looked to each other and nodded. “Okay. You’ve said the one thing that might let you walk out of here. Drive out of here, anyway.”

“You know Timetripper?”

“His file predates the Metahuman Resource Bureau.” Coleman said, straightening his collar. “There’s an entire room devoted to that moron.”

“Loser. He’s more of a loser than a moron.” Kingsley added.

“What’s the difference?” Martin was curious.

Kingsley grinned. “He occasionally shows flashes of cunning, but usually fucks himself over.”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of what happened this time. He showed up when she was toe-to-toe with Crusader and dragged Dire off into the past or somewhere. We’ve been stuck with the trapped people in the gizmo, no supergenius to tell us how to get them back safe, and WEB busting down our doors while we’re trying to do the thing to get Dire back.”

“How are you going to bring her back?” Freeway frowned. “Don’t tell me you have a time machine.”

Martin sighed. “It gets complicated. Future Dire sent a program back from the future with the help of old Timetripper to help young Dire against young Timetripper.”

The group in the van digested that for a minute. “That’s pretty fucked up.” Kingsley said.

“Yeah. The program told us how to make a beacon thing to help them get back to now. Which is why we had to stick Min— one of Dire’s friends in the Dire suit to bust up Innsmouth Boulevard. Needed to do that to get the last piece of the beacon. But there’s a problem.”

“Go on.” Freeway sounded thoroughly disgusted.

“You know Arachne?”

Coleman rubbed his chin. “A rising star in WEB. She's been trouble on the West Coast.”

“Yeah, well, she came East to settle this shit. Arachne picked right now to go after Dire. She’s been driving us out of each lair. And when we went after the last piece she took over the old lair. Got one of my friends. Got a kid. Got the piece we already grabbed, and got the gizmo with the thirty thousand people in it.”

Silence for a few moments.

“Well, shit,” Kingsley summed up.

“Three people in the morgue from your assault on Innsmouth,” Coleman said. “There was no teleporter this time.”

“Yeah. Min... my friend said they weren’t running. Not all of them. Staying and taking phone pictures.”

“You get that sometimes.” Freeway sighed. “It’s a problem. You learn to deal with it as a hero, prioritize getting people out of the way of the fight, keeping situational awareness, making sure they’re the first priority even if it means the villain wins.” He turned his glare on Martin, and Martin shrank back. “Your team is responsible for those deaths. How are you going to make it right?”

“Wait.” Coleman leaned forward, glanced between them. “There’s still something that bugs me. Why were you doing this whole thing in the first place?”

“I just told you, man.” Martin waved his hands. “We gotta get the pieces to put together the beacon to do the thing to get Dire back— ”

“No, not that. I got that part. I’m talking about the bit where your boss leveled most of Westmarket.”

“Not all of it. The water treatment plant was the main target.” Martin chuckled. “Would you believe we were trying to do something good for the city?”

“Frankly, no,” Freeway said.

“Yeah, that’s ’zactly the problem,” Martin said, glaring back at him. “Villain tries to do something good, nobody trusts it. Which is why we couldn’t just go to the authorities with what we found.”

“And what was it you found?” Kingsley raised her sunglasses, and studied him with blue eyes that seemed almost to glow in the dim light.

Martin ignored it, glancing around to make sure the three of them were giving him full attention. “You ever drink the water in Westmarket? Out the tap, I mean?”

They looked at each other, shook their heads.

“What if I told you it had twenty times the safe limit of lead in it? That there are birth defects and retarded kids being born ’cause of it? That people are dying early, getting the Alzheimer’s or worse ’cause of it? That this has been going on for the last eight years?”

“Impossible.” Coleman shook his head. “There are regulations against this sort of thing.”

“And each and every person who takes care of those regulations or checks that shit has been bribed by Mayor Tressler’s office. Why you think he’s stalling FEMA? They’re trying to get in there, start cleaning up the mess, get that part of the city working again, and the treatment plant’s a priority. But he’s stalling. He’s stalling ’cause he knows the second they start excavating the rubble, they’ll find all the corroded lead pipes he left down there from the day he found out ’bout them and decided to do nothing about it.”

“Why? Where’s the motive in that?” Freeway frowned. “Makes no sense at all.”

“Money.” Martin punched the dashboard. “Why else? He ain’t no big time villain, or even one of them nihilist punks does it for the shits and giggles. It’d take money to fix it, and he don’t want to spend it. He been trying to get Westmarket rezoned for years, puttin’ money into it would slow down his plans for the rest of the city. But he needs it empty to get it rezoned into a commercial district, and there’s too many people living there. So instead he quietly starts manipulating the real estate around there, makin’ it hard for people to move in legally, upping the property taxes and pressure on the ones who are already there, and letting the water take care of the die-hard residents that stay. And if it’s discovered? He can say ‘Whoops, we didn’t know about it! Well, can’t fix it without raising taxes.’ Martin grinned. “At least he could say that, up until a day ago. Now he can’t.”

Kingsley kept on staring at him. “I’m guessing this is the part where you say how you exposed his paper trail online or something.”

“Every email, every document, it’s all out there and set up so if anyone starts digging they’ll find everything and it’ll look so natural that no one knows it was villains put it out there.” Martin smiled. “Truth, man. That shit’s deadlier than particle beams.”

Freeway shook his head. “I don’t even know where to start. This was a horrible way of handling the problem.”

“Oh yeah?” Martin shifted gears, headed up the on-ramp. “Destruction caused by a fight between a Class Three superhero and a supervillain falls under FEMA’s charter. Federal grants to fix the problem, and the taxpayers cover the bill they should have covered years ago. Tressler can’t touch the land or kick people out because it’s in the Federal court. And kids stop growing up with seizures and cancer ’cause their water’s not full of lead no more. Seems like a win to me.”

“At the cost of their homes, and maybe their lives if they don’t get re-materialized all right!” Freeway glared back. “You have any idea how many lives you disrupted, how many people you screwed over with this little trick?”

Kingsley reached over, put a hand on his arm. “Let’s rewind a bit. The priority here's the missing civilians. So you said Arachne’s got them now? Anything else you can tell us about her?”

“Yeah. It’s... Dire said she's an AI.”

The agents shared a long look.

“Dire surfaced during Y2K,” Coleman muttered.

“I told you I saw something when I looked at her,” Kingsley replied.

“Possible one of them escaped?”

“Maybe. Human to machine uploads have been a thing before, so...”

Martin glanced to Freeway, who looked as confused as he felt. “You mind sharing?”

“Classified!” both agents snapped simultaneously, before turning back to the front of the van.

“By rights we should take you in.” Kingsley said, pulling a badge out of her jacket and flipping it up and down. “By rights. But... well, the priority is all those civilians. That wouldn’t help them. It would in fact possibly hurt them.”

Freeway nodded. “Then there’s my patient to consider.”

“Who we should really get moving towards.” Martin said, checking his phone. “The cauterization didn’t take, an’ she’s losing blood.”

“What?” Shock registered on Freeway’s face. “Why the devil didn’t you say so? Drive faster! Or tell me where it is, I’ll go on ahead.”

Martin looked back at the two agents. Coleman folded his arms. Kingsley grinned and waved, but relented as the seconds dragged on. “Ah, fine. We’re not going to arrest you or your buddies. Yet.”

Martin shifted up, passed a line of trucks. “It ain’t far.”

“Good. Tell me as much as you can about the injury.”

When Martin finished, Freeway asked a few questions that Martin couldn’t answer, but seemed relieved. “Okay. That’s nothing I can’t handle. I brought a few packs full of synthblood. Not perfect, but it’ll do.”

“That’s some pretty expensive shit.” Martin frowned.

“Before you ask, he gets his supplies from the MRB.” Kingsley said, grinning. “It’s all very aboveboard. And in return, we get to hear who he’s healing. It’s a sound investment.”

“So this truce thing you offered was a sham.” Martin felt oddly disappointed.

Kingsley shook her head. “Sham? Pft. It was the Bureau’s idea. The Doctor’s truce is one of our most-successful initiatives. Wounded and maimed villains are desperate villains who do stupid things. Villains with health care, so long as they don’t break the rules? Those are villains who are less likely to go merrily-a-slaughtering.”

Freeway nodded. “You would have walked out of here a free man any way you answered. This way let the good guys figure out what was going on without going half-cocked into a situation with a hell of a lot of lives at stake. Mind you, if I hadn’t liked your answers, the second the truce was done, I would have been back at your door with reinforcements.” He frowned. “I still don’t like your answers. But I agree with the agents, we need to sort this business with Arachne out first. And get your boss back out of the timestream.”

“You’re down with that?”

“I can’t think of any scenario where it wouldn’t make matters worse. If she’s stranded in the past, she’ll try to shape the future. If she’s in the future, she’ll have advanced technology to play with, probably figure out and make a time machine on her own, and be able to send minions back to mess with the current day to prune the timeline to her satisfaction.”

“Um.” Martin licked his lips. “So, uh, I did mention she sent something back to help us through this. Keep us alive, and get her displaced self back to this timeline.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust that thing she sent back.” Kingsley said. “Kinda terminator-ey.”

“Shush,” Coleman poked her.

“We kind of need it to defend our networks against Arachne. And tell us how to put the beacon together.”

“All right.” Coleman scratched his chin. “Well, tell you what. Pull over and let us out here. Don’t tell her about us. Freeway, keep us informed. We’ll be your backup plan if the minion screws you over.”

Freeway nodded. “That works for me.”

After the agents were gone, Freeway leaned back into the seat and sighed, massaging his temples with both hands. “Son, you screwed this one up. But I think it’s salvageable with a lot of luck and a little pluck.”

“Yeah?” Martin didn’t bother trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

“Yes. But there’s a price.”

Here it comes. Martin swallowed through a dry throat. “I’m listening.”

“You’re done. After this you’re done. You and that little girl and anyone else who’s been doing the minion thing. You give it up and come in out of the cold.”

“Okay,” Martin said, before he could think about it. Before he could talk himself out of it. “You got a deal.”

“Now don’t give me grief about this, I— wait, what?”

“You got a deal. I’m done.” Martin blinked, as the road in front of him got fuzzy. “I’m tired as hell; I’m fighting guys and shit that can kill me as easy as breathing, and I just... I can’t do this no more.” The words spilled out like powder from a slit baggie. “I never wanted this in the first place. I got enough of this back in the day with the gangs. I only been doing this because Dire needed me, and shit, I owed her, but she needs more than I got. I need to get Minna and get Anya and get out. You help me with that, I don’t care, I’ll go to jail for a few life sentences or whatever. I’m done.”

With a careful hand, Freeway reached over and steadied the wheel. Martin looked down at his shaking hands, blinked back the tears that threatened to come pouring out. He wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Freeway or anyone else.

“This is the exit,” he said, shifting the wheel, clearing his throat a few times. Down the ramp, over a few blocks, then it was into the parking lot of the crappy hotel.

“I ain’t betraying her,” Martin said, staring at the hotel room’s door.

“Wouldn’t ask you to.”

“We need to get her back.”

“I agree.”

“Any deal you got with me you have to make your own with Dire, ’cause I don’t speak for her.”

“I’m hoping she’ll listen to reason. Brains like that are wasted on the villain side of things.”

“You talk like that she won’t listen to shit. She’s stubborn.”

“Believe me, I know. I have it out with her every time I patch one of your sorry asses up.”

“Speaking of that, you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Aight.”

No one answered the knock on the door.

The front room stood empty. Martin’s heart sank. No, no, what the fuck, I was only gone for like half an hour. Not even that. “Hey?” he called, got no answer. “Shit. Shit shit shit this ain’t good, WEB got them or something—”

“Correct,” the smartframe’s voice chimed in from the next room. Martin burst through it, vaguely aware of Freeway following in his wake. The smartframe’s mask peered serenely out at him from its dwelling place within Martin’s spare laptop.

“How?” There weren’t any signs of entry. Nothing that indicated a struggle. Just no Minna and no Vorpal.

“Arachne called after you left. Offered to trade Anya and Bunny for the last beacon component.”

“That fucking bitch! They went for it? Shit, no way, she’ll kill them both!”

“Arachne told them that she would kill Bunny first, then Anya, for every fifteen minutes they delayed.”

“How the hell they get there? They got no car.”

“I rerouted an automated Leet cab.”

Something nudged at the back of Martin’s mind, but he was too busy losing his shit. “You’re okay with this? You seriously think Arachne’s on the level? Thought you were smarter than that! And hell, Vorpal ain’t even fit to travel!”

“She insisted. Said that she couldn’t bear to leave Bunny to die.”

“Fuck. Just... fuck. Fuck!”

“Easy, Martin. We don’t have time to panic.” Freeway was glancing around the room, checking the bedding and the bloodstains.

“I know. Shit... uh. Okay. So they’re back at the lair. The one with the teleporter hub.”

“Yes.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay. She doesn’t have us. Can you distract Arachne somehow? Like mess up her servers or download the gridnet on her ram or something?”

The smartframe looked at him. “You don’t know much about computers, do you Martin?”

“Shit, you can see my browser history, you tell me.”

“Well, you know porn, I’ll give you that.”

She said I. Second time.

Martin blinked. This was new.

Kingsley and Coleman’s words came back to him. Don’t trust it. Something was off, here.

“So how would you recommend we proceed?” he asked.

“Arachne didn’t factor for you being away. I believe that she believed you would try a flanking maneuver while they distracted her, try to rescue your friends that way. She’ll be waiting for that now. But if you go in knowing an ambush is coming, then she might be too busy setting up the beacon to stop you.”

“You won’t go in alone.” Freeway said, putting his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “WEB is bad news. I won’t have any problem convincing my team to fight them.”

How do I tell him something’s off? She’s in every electronic device I own that has gridnet connections.

“Aight, sure.”

“If you can transfer me to your hardsuit, I can assist you with combat,” the smartframe offered.

“Don’t think I can. The ports got damaged during the last fight.” Martin lied.

“Hm. Well, that’s disappointing. I shall maintain my overwatch and attempt a distraction during your assault, then.”

“Yeah, you do that. Hold down the fort here, aight?”

“Indeed.”

Ten minutes later, on the road north, Freeway put down his phone. “They’re in. They’ll meet us in twenty.”

Martin nodded, and chucked his own phone out the window. Freeway raised an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you’re littering?”

“Yeah. I think we maybe got a problem...”

CHAPTER 16: DIRE – CASTLE WALLENSTEIN

“Burg Wallenstein was erected two decades after the end of the thirty years war, on the banks of the Rhine. Made with countless bricks, as Berlin had no quarries or sources of stone, it stood sentinel for centuries. The outer walls came after the prevalence of cannon as a siege weapon, and were instrumental in later conflicts. The Nazi science division claimed it as a headquarters in the late thirties, and sadly, this historical structure was bombed to bits by Russian forces during the siege of Berlin. Only the foundations remain. There are rumors that the Russians took something, from the cellars under the castle. Something inhuman...”

Professor Xavier Pyre, Historian at Isler University during a 2007 lecture.

Berlin rolled by in the pre-dawn light. Neat, orderly buildings with big craters marring the city blocks

Our trucks passed checkpoint after checkpoint, and were waved through with cursory glances. Mitternacht’s plates bore marks of the highest authority, and it was worth any of these rear-echelon trooper’s lives to delay or hinder him in any way.

I was rather glad we’d kept him alive. Once Henri had gotten his mind control power from Monsieur Égalité, Mitternacht hadn’t had a chance at concealing information from us. He told us about the truck in the converted stables down the road, waiting to haul the Tzadikim to their final destination. Mitternacht was thoroughly enthralled by Henri’s hypnotic suggestions, off in a world where everything was going his way.

Bryson and Unstoppable rode in the back, garbed as prisoners. Makeup smeared their faces to give them the appearance of bruises and lesions, like the others. A bit of hair dye to blacken Grant's brown hair, and we figured he’d pass muster. For as long as we needed, anyway. If everything worked out properly, we’d enter quiet, run silent for as long as possible, and go loud during the final stage of the operation.

Henri drove, focusing on keeping Mitternacht delusional. I rode next to Mitternacht, heavy robes concealing my body, and an iron mask over my face. A wig of red hair, a mane almost, spilled down my back and I wore heavy manacles on my wrists.

The god Loge had taken great amusement in helping me with the disguise, and thought it a fine piece of trickery. After checking with Mitternacht to make sure that nobody in the order had personally seen Loge, we agreed that it would be a fine substitution. Best chance I had of acting unhindered, really. Who would stop a god? Especially one bound by a master sorcerer, and sworn to aid the Reich with all his power?

I had no clue where Loge was. He told us he’d find his way in and play things as he found them, and we did our best to hide our sighs of relief. He was a fickle ally at best, and the less contact we had with him the less chance we’d end up on the pointed end of one of his tricks.

One of those tricks had almost been rather disgusting. Fortunately, all was well that ended well.

I shifted, feeling the rather-pleasant ache in my nethers as I adjusted my rump on the seat. I’d almost fucked Loge. If he hadn’t said just the wrong thing, I would have had a lousy evening with him, instead of a four-alarm, screaming-at-the-top-of-my-lungs, full hour or two of enjoyable caution-thrown-to-the-wind sex with Grant.

Okay, so I was running on only a couple of hours of sleep, but dammit, it had been worth it. No regrets.

I still felt bad about leaving my name unspoken. But on this, and this alone, I trusted Timetripper’s instincts.

Besides, at the end of the day, Grant was as heroic as heroic could be, and I couldn’t see that changing, really. I didn’t want to run into him later as Dire, and face his disappointment. I got enough of that from regular heroes.

The last few buildings disappeared behind us, as we entered a wide stretch of road along the river. The buildings here had been bombed or deliberately collapsed, I couldn’t tell which and it didn’t much matter.

What mattered lay ahead of us: Burg Wallenstein.

The brooding bastion sat on the banks of the river, old and sturdy brick walls climbing up from the water like the hands of a drowning man grasping for the built-up berm of what had to be an artificial hill. A big hill, that covered several city blocks worth of area. On it, two rings of walls climbed upward, studded with watch towers along its lengths. A central keep squatted at the high point of the hill, glaring down at the river below. The remains of an old bridge, now reduced to crumbling pylons, paid little heed to the flowing waters below. Soldiers in black greatcoats walked the walls, kept watch from the towers in the predawn light.

It had taken us over an hour to reach this point, to drive the truck as scheduled and planned by the Thulites’ timetables, to the gates of the castle. We’d be cutting this one close, very close.

Hitler would be arriving soon. We had perhaps twenty minutes to get into position.

The outer gate guards stopped us, and I studied the high barbican, complete with murder holes and arrow slits. Lights from inside showed they were manned, probably with guns and grenades instead of boiling oil. It was as effective a killzone as it had been in the ancient days, I had little doubt of that.

Good.

Mitternacht gave them his ID cards, and beside him Henri muttered, and Mitternacht muttered as well, insisting that there was no time for a full inspection, just look in the back you damned idiots.

The damned idiots did, and seemed satisfied to see so many miserable-looking Jews. My lips curled under my mask as they made crude jokes about them, taking joy in their misery. Bullies. Bullies never changed, whether it was past, present, or future.

I’d take joy in killing these men, if I could.

Satisfied by Mitternacht’s credentials, and giving us only the quickest of glances, they waved us through.

The second gate was more strict. They insisted on checking Henri’s papers... fortunately the possibility had come up when we questioned Mitternacht under mind control this morning. The ink was barely dry on the papers the sorcerer had scratched up, but they seemed to pass muster.

And one of them took an interest in me.

“And who is this then, Herr Mitternacht?”

I put my best sneer into my voice. “The father of wolves and serpents, the mother of foals and monsters. Fire and lies and poisonous pain, and the laughter at the end of the world.”

He was stepping back now, face paling.

“Do not talk to him!” Mitternacht snapped. “Do not listen to him, do not look at him. Just go man, and hope you never see him again.”

The soldier’s mouth opened and shut, until a few barked orders from his officer got him scrambling through a sally door. I heard sounds of retching from beyond, and let my laughter fill the barbican, echoing and reverberating.

Even Henri was a little shocked, I think. For my part I was pretty happy with the acoustics. I'd try to put them to good use later.

Then we were through, and the gate was sealing behind us. Unlike the outer gate, it was mechanized, with what appeared to be clockwork, pistons, and cables disappearing back into the walls. I analyzed the technology as fast as I saw it, reading the nuances and meaning of every cylinder, every exposed gear, every rivet. The gate wasn’t controlled from the barbican. The set of the cables indicated they ran into the central keep. I turned forward as the truck crept through the courtyard, and studied the looming building. No cable supports on the outside, and the construction appeared new. Underground chamber? That would be easiest. I would have guessed a simple but crude broadcast application, but what I’d seen of the place so far indicated they had gone low-tech, with wires and cables. Which meant they were hardened against jammers and disruptors at the cost of losing functionality if the wires took damage.

The roof still had collector antennae, I noted. Probably necessary for the radio and Vox communications.

Good. I could use those, too.

We pulled up in what had once been a converted stables, and was now a motor pool, and I gasped under the mask to see three heavy treaded vehicles parked in among several staff cars.

Lowë tanks. The crazy bastards had brought early-model Lowën.

Each had the body of a Tiger tank, but in lieu of a turret, they were fitted with an early-model sonic amplification cannon. Crude, powerful, and going by the specs I recalled with my nigh-flawless memory, enough to blast through these walls given enough time.

And with three of them, enough time was minutes or less.

Idiotic to put these in here. But they were the most powerful land weapon in the Nazi armament right now, and brand-spanking new. According to what I’d read they wouldn’t be fielded for months yet, so that made these prototypes. Somebody wanted to show them off to Der Füehrer, I thought.

I adjusted my plans a bit, to include these new variables. Time was tight, but we still had a good fifteen minutes, give or take.

Probably take. Nazis were punctual.

A squad of guards took charge of the prisoners, hauling them off none-too-gently. One of them raised a rifle butt to club Bryson and I hissed. He paused, and Mitternacht screamed at him, took him to task for trying to damage the subjects. As entertaining as it was, we were burning time, so I caught Henri’s eye and jerked my head toward the main doors of the keep. He nodded and concentrated, and Mitternacht wound down, seemed to lose most of his animating energy. Henri took his elbow and steered him towards the doors, with the chastened guards leading the ‘prisoners’ to a smaller door around the side.

That was fine. The plan accounted for separation.

The entry chamber resembled nothing so much as a mini-barbican, complete with murder holes. Movement and shadows above indicated that these, too, were manned. Heavy oaken doors were shut behind us, again through automated pistons set in the walls. We were now locked tight behind three heavy walls worth of security, with hundreds of Nazis and assorted heavy weapons all around us. I couldn’t have been happier.

Through one last set of double doors, and our feet fell on marble tiles, echoing through the pillared, high-ceilinged chamber of the great hall. Stained glass windows faced east; they were the first point of weakness I’d seen in this place. They glowed with the pre-dawn light throwing bas-reliefs of valiant knights, dragonslayers, and holy warriors down onto the floor below.

Black-coated men awaited us, four of them, the youngest among them pushing fifty. Monocles considered us, as they adjusted gold-sigiled stoles and shawls, and watched our group approach with eager curiosity.

“Ah, Hulbert.” The white-bearded man in the middle stepped forward, arms raised in greeting. Mitternacht smiled absent-mindedly, and snapped his fingers. Henri opened the garment bag he’d been carrying since we left the truck, and draped Mitternacht’s stole around his shoulders.

Mitternacht accepted the embrace, muttering words I couldn’t quite catch as the old man muttered back.

A few of the younger ones were studying Henri, with disdain. Then they looked to me, and their eyes lit up as they approached, circling almost like a pack of predatory fish approaching a potential meal.

“This is the god then, Hulbert?” the tallest one asked, in a nasal voice.

A swift step forward, catching his arm and he started. I was in his face, glaring at him through the eyes of the iron mask, letting my full scorn for these pathetic child-killers show through. He stared back, frozen like a deer in the headlights, mouth open and face paling.

“Say the name,” I hissed. “Do it and see what happens.”

“It’s touching me. How is it touching me?”

The others drew back, reaching into their pockets and pulling out various talismans... and Mitternacht barked laughter. Behind him I saw Henri, sweating, fingers weaving in an odd pattern.

“Fools! You have nothing to fear. Loge. Release him.”

Slowly, exhibiting every bit of reluctance I could, I turned his arm loose. He fell back, gasping. “The strength of that thing!”

Strength? I stifled a chuckle. His imagination was fooling him. He believed me to be a god, and so his own senses worked to fool him.

“He is bound by the strongest measure of my skill.” Mitternacht boasted. “He will patrol the castle while we enact the crowning triumph of the Reich.”

“And this one?” The older man nodded at Henri, who saluted flawlessly back.

“My bodyguard. He shall ensure that I am not killed, and my binding of Loge is not loosened.”

Fearful glances my way. I narrowed my eyes in amusement. Oh, if only they knew the thing they feared was already free. To see their faces then—

A chill ran up my spine.

Loge would want to do exactly that. Knowing him as I did now, he’d want to reveal himself to them at the funniest moment.

This was a problem. I’d have to get a move on.

Well, they thought I was a god, didn’t they? Gods didn’t have to explain themselves, I was pretty sure of that. I turned my back on them as they chattered, and headed toward the most likely looking door in the back of the room.

“Hulbert—”

“Give it a rest, Albrecht. He will cause mischief today, but only to our foes. Now, let us discuss the rite—”

I left the room, and prowled down stone hallways, my boots clicking on the bare tiles. I passed by suits of armor, ignored ancient tapestries, and didn’t bother to give more than the barest of glances at patrolling guards.

They slid to the wall out of my way as I passed, watching me go with nervous eyes. Evidently they’d been briefed on the thing in the iron mask.

Given time I could have played this to my advantage, but knowing Loge’s motivations, I knew I had perhaps ten minutes, at most.

So I looked for the cables.

I knew where they entered the castle, and I worked my way around to the front, and studied the sockets and brass pipes stapled to the walls. The castle had only recently been modernized in these last few years. They hadn’t time to completely renovate and hide their upgrades; there was a war on after all.

And as I went, I noticed soft clicking sounds in junction boxes split off from the main cables. Each box was holed, with something fluttering in the middle of it, like a trapped insect in a cage. I cast my mind out, stretched my power to analyze what in the world these things might be...

...and realized that I was looking at a crude camera system. A pinhole shutter arrangement, on treated memory-silver film tied into Tesla’s basic visual transmission system.

Impressive that they managed to get the mechanisms for each one so small, more impressive that they tied it to an iron cable-based transmission medium, rather than a broadcaster. But by doing that, they limited the distance that their signal could travel without severe distortion.

I paused, replayed my steps in my mind, checked the surrounding corridors in my memory, and super-imposed my view of the castle.

And I deduced the most likely area for a security room.

That was the easy part. Finding it took two more minutes, half of which were spent pacing around a dining hall. Up until the point I glanced over at the fireplace, and saw the elaborate candlesticks to either side of it.

Say this for Nazis, they were predictable. The fourth candlestick twisted in my grasp, and the fireplace rotated, revealing a narrow stairwell descending into the floor.

Shouts from outside drifted through the high, narrow windows, and I tensed. Had that tripped some distant alarm?

I listened, and realized that no, it was worse than that.

The Füehrer was here early.

Fortunately, by all reports, he was a stickler for security. Something about a few hundred inept-but-powerful assassins trying for his life over the last few days. But Timetripper’s bungles were my gain, ironically. He’d have to go through the two gates and the front door before moving upstairs to the audience chamber, and each of those steps would take time, formal greetings, and ceremony.

I hurried down the stairs, taking them two at a time, into a musty and cramped corridor. Old castles had holdfasts, places to retreat into when all else was lost. This must be Burg Wallenstein’s holdfast, now repurposed to integrate the glory of technology: The cables hanging from the ceiling seemed a dead giveaway. No brass here, just dull iron cables and humming current.

Dark down here. I dug out the monocle, lifted my mask, and put it to my eye. The time for caution was over. I hastened down the dark tunnel, following the pipes overhead as the tunnel twisted and branched off, until finally I came to a steel door. Solid, modern, full of rivets and unless I missed my guess, thoroughly electrified.

Well.

I’d come prepared for that, hadn’t I?

I unfastened my robes and threw them aside. From the crossed harnesses around my chest I withdrew the depolarizer, and snapped a battery pack into the thing. I had more gadgets than I had batteries, so I’d gone modular with everything.

The device whined, until it flickered with green charge, and I leveled it at the security door.

ZZZZAAARK!

Static electricity sizzled in all directions, a few flickering strobes flashing towards me and falling short. For a few precious moments the door was incapable of holding a charge. My lockpicks did the rest, and I took a breath, slipped my borrowed Luger from its holster. I heaved the door open and stormed in, gun low, ready to kill the first Nazi I saw.

But I saw nobody inside.

The room’s ceilings jumped in height, curving upward, lined with old stone and support pillars lined with copper cabling and grounded steel supports. The air smelled of ozone, and bare lightbulbs glowed and flashed in the close darkness. The chamber spread out to my left and right, and my breath hissed between my teeth as I saw a pile of red and gray metal under several spotlights at the far end.

The Direnaut!

I didn’t know how they’d got it here so fast, but evidently they’d been working on reconstructing it. I was both impressed and appalled. Here Bryson had been worried about the minor inventions I’d built to give us an edge, and this was under Burg Wallenstein, being picked to pieces by the most brilliant engineer the Reich could muster.

For I had no doubt at all that I was inside von Katzen’s workshop. Sadly, I didn’t have time to linger. My eyes traced the cables that carried the visual signals from the pinhole shutter cameras, and I followed them to a vast heap of steel and wood, inset with flip-token displays and vacuum tubes studding its entire length.

I gasped as I realized it for what it was; a computer. One of the first of its kind, no doubt, and one I’d never read about during my research into the subject. There weren’t supposed to be any computers now.

“Well. Let’s see what you can do...” I muttered, sliding up to what looked like an interface terminal, that looked like a typewriter, down to the jumbo-sized roll of paper in the top of it.

No sooner had I placed my fingers on the keys, when the typewriter rattled, and printed letters on the paper.

YOU ARE LOGE THE GOD, YES?

“She has been called that, yes.” Technically true. About as close as I could get to fibbing without my speech impediments getting in the way. Who was I talking with? I craned my neck, looking for more cameras, and found them, and the grainy, crude screens on which they displayed. But nobody was here to read them but me.

The typewriter rattled and clicked again, and my eyes shot open wide as I read the words that followed.

I AM EISENGEIST. I WISH TO SPEAK MORE WITH YOU OF GODS. WILL YOU TEACH ME, LOGE?

Eisengeist. Iron Mind.

The mysterious Eisengeist who had been put in charge of our operation, back before Mitternacht made his power play. We’d had the name, but little enough information about the man behind it.

Because it wasn’t a man.

I wasn’t just looking at a prototype computer, I was in the presence of what had to be one of the world’s first Digital Intelligences.

Hitler’s arrival, Loge’s eventual interference, the running clock; all these paled to insignificance, as I leaned in close.

“Yes. Let’s have a good talk, Eisengeist. She has much to teach you...”

CHAPTER 17: BUNNY – END OF THE ROAD

“All I fucking wanted from you was two dead bitches, boneboy. You don't fucking do half the job, and come looking for full payment. That ain't how it works.”

--FBI-recorded conversation from a wiretap on Louis Caviliogne's phone

Bunny woke to pain, coughing salty bile that spattered on the floor. Drool ran down her chin, dripped on her clothes, as she cracked open a grainy eye.

What the hell happened?

She recognized the room. Still in the lair, then, but her legs and arms ached, pulled back into unnatural positions.  Bound in a metal chair, handcuffed to it, with her feet tied to the legs.

Not gagged, thankfully, or blindfolded.

Ah yeah. Glass broke, then there was a flash. Flashbang?

She thought so. They’d put her through a number of different situations during her aborted Green Beret qualifier test, but that wasn’t one of them. Still, the symptoms matched what she’d read about back when she was studying nonlethal takedowns; a four-alarm headache, eyes that felt sunburned, and an inner ear that was vacillating between nausea and deafness. Those things had the potential to be lethal at close-range.

Anya.

Shit, shit, shit... her handcuffs rattled as she looked around, seeking that small blonde puff of hair in the dim light.

“Hey! She’s awake!”

Three gray-armored forms hurried over, and the one in the middle shoved a gun barrel against her forehead so hard that her head rocked back. She went still and limp, glaring up at them, trying to ignore the shitty trigger discipline the guy was exhibiting.

It was difficult. One bad twitch and her brains would be on the floor.

“Okay,” she said, and coughed up more drool. “What now?”

“Don’t fucking move!” the man on the left barked. “Don’t speak. Don’t do shit.”

“Okay.”

The middle man shoved the barrel against her head again, cracking it against her skull. The chair skidded back with a shriek on the concrete, and she barked in pain despite her resolve. “What did he just say!” middle man yelled.

“Guys, guys...” The woman on the right raised a hand. “Kyle, give it a rest. She isn’t gonna do shit. Right lady?”

She was kind of cute, Bunny thought. Black hair just visible under the helmet, and a little meat on her figure, all in the right places. A bit plump, but that was fine.

Bunny closed her eyes and nodded. Still woozy. Need to clear my head.

After a few seconds, footsteps echoed on the floor, and the three goons withdrew. Bunny opened her eyes, saw they’d moved to the other end of the room, next to a pile of desks and chairs. They’d pulled a few down to sit on, and a deck of cards lay scattered on a wooden spool that served as a table.

Typical rear-echelon motherfuckers, or REMFs, as her squad had called them back in the sandbox. Stuck on guard duty back where they couldn’t do any harm, playing with guns like they were cocks and desperately trying to amuse themselves by any means possible.

In the distance, a child wailed. Anya? Probably. Good, the kid was alive.

No reason to kill her. She’s a valuable hostage. Like me, now.

God, it sucked to be the damsel in distress.

Maybe she could do something about that.

Bunny watched the three of her guards play cards for a while. The woman was lousy, and cursed every time she lost a hand. The thin guy was cheating, but not on every hand. The tall man had no idea what he was doing but didn’t care, and shot glances back at her between hands. He’d been the one to thwack her in the skull. Probably the weakest link. Could she use that?

“Hey,” she called.

“Shut up.” Thin guy slid a card from the bottom of the deck as he dealt.

“What am I going to do by talking? You think I’m Whippoorwill or something?”

“I think you need to fucking shut up!” Tall man jumped up, started her way.

“Oh for the love of Christ. If you guys wanted me dead I’d be dead by now. You got me. Calm down.” He kept on coming. Bunny tried again. “I know this, you know this, your boss wants me alive. You don’t dare touch me.” Her voice trembled at the end of that. She winced, and tried to keep her cool as Tall man got close, raised the rifle butt high... and hesitated.

Oh, come on. She forced her face into a sneer. “Big man with a gun. Compensating much?”

As the rifle butt descended she rolled with it, let it knock her to the ground as pain exploded against her cheek. The chair went with her, with a roll and a clatter. Another burst of agony in her side, and she writhed, letting him kick her around the floor. Nervous, angry, looking for something or someone to pound... she knew his type. So she took the bruises and the lumps and the cuts, and though she was seeing double by the end of it and though she vomited at some point and felt like a heap of rotten meat by the time it was all done, she took it because she knew something he didn’t.

The chairs in this room were shitty.

“Jesus, Kyle.” The woman’s voice. “Not that I give three Hershey squirts, but if you don’t stop she’ll die. You know what happens to you then.”

Tall man stopped kicking her. “She talked. She ain’t supposed to talk.”

“No, we ain’t supposed to talk with her.” The thin man finally spoke. “Not that it matters. She’s got nothing I want to hear.”

Bunny took stock. Her face was aching, her skull was splitting, the headache she’d woken up with had been beaten into a roaring whirlwind of pain, and her vision was just now settling back to normal. Blood from a cut on her forehead was oozing down her cheek where it lay pressed against the floor, and her mouth was full of blood. There were deep aches rippling through her ribcage, and her upper arm was screaming where a boot had nearly caught her elbow. But on the whole, she’d managed to roll with the hits.

She tested a tooth, felt it loose, and gasped at the spike of pain that drove into her gums. Yep, that’d be a pain to fix later. She hated dentists.

But her hands were fine. And more importantly, Kyle’s little rampage had done what she wanted; it had broken the chair without breaking her bones. She could feel the bend in the side of one of the bars holding the back to the seat, and the place where the screws had popped out. Just one good wrench, and the chair would come apart.

Not yet. They were still keeping too close an eye on her.

Bunny surveyed the three. Thin man was ignoring her. The woman was sneaking looks at her between hands. Tall man, Kyle, was slumped in his chair looking miserable. Coming down from the adrenaline rush, she knew. Kyle had issues with his temper, and hated his outbursts, she figured. She’d known guys like that back in the service.

“So. I’m Bunny. You’re Kyle, and... who else?”

“Amanda,” the woman said.

The thin man sneered, and kept dealing cards. “None of your business.”

“Not supposed to talk with her,” Kyle muttered.

Amanda shrugged. “What’s it matter? She’ll be dead soon anyway.”

Well, crap. “You sure I can’t jump ship?” Bunny asked. “Minion work is minion work, y’know.” It wasn’t, and the shit WEB did turned Bunny’s stomach, but she needed an opportunity, and this might lead to one.

“Sorry. We’re not hiring.” Amanda said.

“You sure? I remember a whole lot of you guys dying a few days ago. Arachne threw your lives away like charcoal into a grill.”

“Shut up,” Kyle said.

“All I’m saying is that if this is your normal operating standards, you’re gonna go through a lot of guys and always be recruiting—”

“Shut up!” Kyle yelled, and lurched to his feet again— but Amanda caught his hand.

“You beat her any more you’re likely to kill her. We can’t do that yet.”

Kyle stood there, shaking, reaching a hand down to his sidearm’s holster, and flipping the snap open and shut, open and shut. He seemed to take some comfort in it.

Bunny took a breath, spat out some more blood, and opened her mouth, but thin man shook his head.

“Since you’re not going to shut up, let me tell you how this works, and why there’s nothing you can offer us, and nothing you can say to intimidate us. We volunteered. We’re all volunteers.”

Something rattled in the hall outside. It sounded like metal against concrete, so slight  that Bunny wasn’t sure she’d heard it at first.

Thin man continued. “How it works is that one of the cell leaders calls for volunteers for an op, and bids money. In this case it’s a large pot, about six million. That’s our pay.”

Bunny blinked. So much, and he rattled it off just like that?  “What’s the catch?”

“It’s divvied up between the survivors.” He finished shuffling the cards, glared over at Kyle. “Oh for fuck’s sake, sit down.” Kyle followed his advice, cursing as a rivet popped on his chair. Bunny held her breath, but they didn’t seem to draw any conclusions from it.

And in the moment where the rivet clattered on the floor, Bunny heard that metal-on-stone sound from the hallway again. Sounded almost like a ball bearing on concrete. It stopped when the rivet stopped rolling and fetched up against a pallet.

Whoever’s doing that is using the noise to remain hidden.

Anyone hiding from these guys was probably good news for Bunny and Anya.

She raised her voice. “Shares of six million, huh? Bet the temptation to put a bullet in your buddy’s back is pretty big.”

“Less than you’d think.” Thin man took a drink from a bottle of water. “Ops this high are dangerous. You take one, you know people are going to die. And if you go thinning the herd, so to speak, you increase the chances of the op failing and no one getting the money. Or the chances that you get yourself killed by the enemy, or both. And not only is the penalty death if our superiors catch us killing our brothers—”

“And sisters,” Amanda interrupted.

“—and sisters,” Thin man amended, rolling his eyes. “But not only is the penalty death, our purgatory gets activated.”

“Purgatory?” This was getting weird.

“Yep. At this rank, each of us has something that WEB holds over us. For most people it’s family. The purgatory is something we fear more than death. If we betray the organization or each other, our leaders take us down, let us live long enough to see the purgatory enacted, then execute us once everything we’ve ever done or hoped for is ruined.” He killed the bottled water and threw it, clattering, into an overfull trash can. And there was that after-echo of rolling metal again. Kyle jerked his head up, hearing it too. “Hey. Something in the hall.”

“How can you live like that!” Bunny said, almost shouting, even though it hurt her head. “How the fuck can you live with evil bastards holding swords over your heads? You honestly trust these chucklefucks to do right by you? To care about your lives?”

Amanda laughed, a harsh smoker’s rasp. “They’re our bosses, not our boyfriends. They pay us if we survive and if we win, and it’s enough I can quit one of my jobs.”

“It’s called the World Evolution Brigade,” Kyle said, pulling up his rifle and heading toward the door. “Weak guys die, strong guys get promoted. Now shut the fuck up, I need to check this shit.”

Moving fast, he whipped open the door and stared into the hall. Just as quickly, a bowling-ball sized metal sphere rolled between his feet, back into the room, and started humming, ridges along its top glowing as it charged.

One of Dire’s old Destructorbs! She knew what was coming next, so she rolled her head to the side, and screwed her eyes shut.

Amanda had enough time to say “What—”

FOOMP!

Even looking the other way, and even through her closed eyelids, a light brighter than the sun ripped into Bunny’s eyes. It did nothing good for her headache, but she was already busy jerking against the chair, ripping the flimsy metal apart with a shriek of tortured aluminum and shattering plastic. Yells of alarm told her that she had a little time, so she brought her legs up, kicking the rope and bits of chair loose as best she could, and tried to contort herself to get her handcuffed wrists in front of her.

Gunfire chattered, loud in the confines of the room, and she tensed, but no bullets found her. “Stop! Motherfucker, stop!” Thin man shouted, and the gun went silent.

Bunny concentrated on getting free. It took five tries to get the job done. Fragments of chair kept hanging up on the handcuffs, and finally she risked opening her eyes to get the job done. Then, and only then did she look over to the WEB troopers.

Kyle was against the wall, cursing. His rifle was hanging slack in one hand, smoke drifting from the barrel, and he was covering his eyes with his other arm. Evidently his random fire had hit the Destructorb, since its shattered remnants lay scattered a few feet from the door.

Thin Man was under the table, with playing cards fluttering down upon him. He had his sidearm drawn, and was pointing it in the general direction of the door.

Amanda was screaming, no guns in her hands, as she ripped her visored helmet off and rubbed her face. “I’m blind! I’m blind!”

“Shut up!” Kyle yelled.

Thin man “Both of you shut the fuck up, before—”

Bunny charged.

There was no plan, beyond ‘get them.’ Kyle had the biggest gun so Kyle was first. She charged him, raising the remnants of her chair high, and shoulder-checked him into the wall. He yelled, dropped the gun, and she beat him with the chair on the way down. The chair bent more, Kyle kept on yelling and flailing once he was on the ground, and Bunny realized there wasn’t shit she could do against his body armor with her flimsy aluminum club. So she went for thin man while Kyle was yelling and trying to fight back.

Thin man heard her coming, or heard something, and started popping off shots in her direction as she ran. After the third shot Kyle stopped yelling with a wet gurgle, but by then Bunny was on thin man, dropping to her knees on his gun arm, and wedging the sharp aluminum strut through the gap between his helmet and his vest. He fought back, tried to grab it, but she twisted and blood sprayed as he gurgled too. “Where’s your share now, huh? Asshole!” Bunny grabbed his gun as his fingers went slack. She rose, slipped, stumbled against the table and fell to the floor—

As the back wall exploded.

Not a big explosion, but the metal peeled back, and the wall bulged as a stone-like form barreled through.

A statue, perhaps five or six feet tall, brown and made to look like an Asian man in armor raised a very sharp-looking metal sword, and pointed it at her. He spouted something in a language she didn’t speak.

Bunny dropped the gun and raised her hands. Amanda cried out and tried to crawl towards the door.

The stone man hurried over, feet clacking on the floor, and sat on Amanda’s back. He pointed the sword at Bunny again, and gestured toward the door. More words followed.

“Right buddy, whatever you say.”

She hurried through the door, into the hallway, and pulled up short as gunfire echoed in the distance, followed by more sounds of Destructorbs discharging.

Movement behind her and she spun—

Freeway. “Martin’s in the room with the mechanical arms, guarding Minna and Anya.” the senior hero rattled off, before she could speak a word. “Vorpal’s in the upper office, finishing the beacon. Go cover her, she’s wounded.”

“Wounded?” Oh shit! “How—”

“No time! Go!”

“How am I supposed to cover her without a gun? Your stone guy wouldn’t let me keep one!”

Freeway flickered, then reappeared holding some sort of futuristic-looking pistol. “Think of it like a taser without the wires. Five seconds to charge up between shots. Now go!” She grabbed it instinctively when he shoved it into her hands, and then he was gone.

“Right,” she panted, staring at the thing. It beeped. Was that good? She didn’t know. Compared to Dire’s tech it looked half-assed, exposed wires and random plates around a glowing core. Some kind of Tesla beamer, probably.

More gunshots, and a woman’s thin scream. Vorpal? Maybe. She bolted towards the central room. From there she could get to the stairs in the corner, take them up before anyone knew she was there. If I’m lucky...

She wasn’t.

Bunny slammed the door open, and stared at the backs of about six WEB troopers, crouched behind a pallet of crates, laying down covering fire towards the far end of the room. Someone over there was throwing fireballs around, blowing up machinery and setting crates alight. Arachne’s skittering robotic drone danced around the fire, raining back energy beams of some kind as a metal sphere the size of a small car skittered, danced, and rolled away from the blasts.

Bunny looked at the backs of the troopers, looked at the stairs across the way, and looked at the weird little stunner that Freeway had given her. Six men, five seconds between each shot, and they all had assault rifles.

Yeah no.

She tucked it in her pocket, took two steps forward, and unsnapped the sidearm holster of the nearest trooper. He glanced back, did a double-take, but by then she had his gun, and put two in his helmet visor at point-blank range. That’s what you get for having no one watching your six, morons.

The rest of them shouted and scrambled, and she sent lead their way to keep them moving as she limped around the crates and ran as best she could toward the stairs. The second she was gone a fireball landed in the middle of the troopers, searing her back with hot wind and sending them screaming, sailing out in all directions. One trooper hit the wall a few feet in front of her, slid down it with a clatter, and lay still.

He was groaning, she noticed with a weird clarity as she leaped over him, winced as her bruises and cuts pulsed in pain on the landing, and kept going. Heroes. These were definitely heroes. Pulling their punches, leaving the minions alive, throwing around powers that really should have killed their targets if the heroes had been a little more vicious.

On the other hand she was about twenty feet from ground zero of that last fireball when it hit, so she couldn’t really work up much in the way of outrage.

Then Bunny was on the stairs and clattering up them, praying like hell that the spider mecha wouldn’t turn her way. The seconds dragged on as she beat feet up the stairs, bullets spattering past her with high whines, and somewhere along the way she was yelling, but barely cognizant of it. Her adrenaline was up now and the pain faded. When she reached the top of the catwalk, she staggered, and lost the pistol as it fell to the floor below. Ignoring it she pounded feet for the door to the main office, jerked it open, and slid inside.

Kirsten looked up from a tangle of wires and components, fumbling with a soldering iron. Her skin was pale, her hair a sweat-matted tangle of dirty gold, and her back heaved as she struggled for breath. Beyond her lay a twitching corpse clad in WEB trooper armor, with a charred knife in its throat.

Kirsten was kneeling, and one of her arms was too short, and as Bunny saw the bandages and realization hit, her mouth went dry.

“Oh Kirsten. Oh Kirsten what did they do to you?”

Kirsten’s face fell slack, and she looked away. “It was Crusader.”

“But he doesn’t... he wouldn’t...”

“Long story. Never mind. Look, can you do anything with this? This is a two hand job.” She waved at a collection of components and wires and pillars, with an oversized, crude metal gauntlet in the middle of it.

“I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m supposed to cover you while you do this.”

“With oneverdammter hand? Who told you to do that?”

“Freeway...”

“Freeway?” Kirsten rolled her eyes. “The man’s an idiot.”

BOOM!

The room shuddered, and Bunny grabbed Kirsten, hung on for dear life. After a heartbeat, two, Kirsten’s arms came up and she hugged her back until the shaking stopped.

Kirsten tossed the soldering iron down, after Bunny let go. “Okay, look, give me a gun. You complete it, I’ll cover you. Here, take this.” Kirsten pushed her back, reached up to her ear, and removed a subvocal rig. “Put this in, the smartframe will talk you through it.”

“I thought the comms were compromised.”

“They’re clear for now, she’s fighting and busy... hurry!”

Bunny tucked the subvocal rig into her ear, and tapped the receiver into place under her jaw. Kirsten thrust the soldering iron on her, pulled the stunner from Bunny’s hand, and leaned against the wall, next to the door. After a moment’s consideration, she pulled it shut.

“Hello?” Bunny said, sinking down to her haunches with a wince. The adrenaline was crashing, and she was starting to feel every goddamn ache again. Her hands were shaking, the thing in front of her was a mess of tech, and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. And Kirsten was acting weird. Okay, so she’d lost a hand and been tortured or god knows what, but still this was weird.

“Bunny. Good.” Dire’s voice rolled out of the earbud, and Bunny shuddered with relief. Dire has a plan. Always has a plan.

The smartframe started talking, and Bunny started fixing. Most of the work was already done, she noticed. Kirsten had been at it for a while. Which was odd, when she paused to think about it.

“When did you get here? Did WEB capture you and make you work on this?”

Kirsten glanced back at her. “Something like that. They want her back too, so they can kill her.”

“Well why are we completing this thing now? Shouldn’t we get out of here with it, and fire it up elsewhere?”

“The heroes are here. We can’t outrun Freeway. The only chance is to bring her back before they’re done fighting.” Kirsten turned back to the window in the door, peered through it. “I am trying to guard here. Just  finish the job.”

Bunny worked, and the seconds slipped into minutes, as the battle raged on downstairs. At one point the spider drone charged through a wall, and the heroes must have followed, because the room fell quiet below. In the distance she heard Anya crying, and breathed a sigh of relief. Crying meant alive, and that was good, all Bunny could hope for right now— that every one of this weird little group she’d joined would get out alive.

Bunny blinked her eyes against the roaring pain of her injuries as she put the last wire into place. “And done. Right?”

“If you’ve followed directions, yes. You’re done,” the smartframe told her. “Now hand me back to Vorpal, please.”

“Sure.” She stripped off the subvocal rig, and held it out to Kirsten. “Future boss wants to talk with you.”

Kirsten took it, set it in place awkwardly, putting the stunner on a nearby table to do so. She waved off Bunny’s attempts to help her, irritated. Bunny hid a smile. God I love her, stubborn pride and all.

“Ja?” Kirsten glanced out the window. “Really?” She shot off a spate of German, that Bunny couldn’t follow, glanced back at her once.

Bunny’s back tingled. Something was off. “What’s wrong?”

More German followed. Kirsten frowned. “Sechs millionen?” She asked, in her ‘did you really mean to say that’ tone.

That tingle turned into a full-fledged chill. Bunny blinked, tried to focus through the headache, through the pain.

The smartframe said ‘me.’

“Oh no. No, no, no, no...” She braced herself, pulled her aching body to her feet... and then Kirsten was pointing the stunner at her.

Bunny tried to meet her eyes, but Kirsten wouldn’t look at her face. “Why?”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t— I never.”

“Talk of love, talk of lives spent together, and you knew you had a terminal disease. How long? A decade? Years?” Kirsten scowled, and made eye contact. Anger there, and hurt, so raw it took Bunny’s breath away.

“I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. I should have told you, god, I should have told you.”

“Shut up. I am done here. The best thing I found here was false. Now turn around and flip that switch, so we can go our separate ways.”

“No.”

Kirsten sighed. “Carol. Please. I am trying to save your life here.”

“You still care about me? Then stop this. Stop being foolish. Arachne’s poison, you won’t get a thing from her—”

“Shut up!” Kirsten yelled, and brought the stunner up to point at her face. Bunny froze. Would that thing kill her if it hit her face? Maybe, she didn’t know.

“Just flip the switch.” A tear rolled down Kirsten’s cheek. “Flip it, and we will be done. If you do not, I will have to kill you.”

“She didn’t have to do this.” Bunny felt the cold in her spine coalesce into anger, hot and throbbing. “Arachne could have just told me to flip the switch. I would have done it. She made me hand her over to you, so she could put you in this situation. Give you this choice.”

“Flip. The. Switch.”

“No. I think I’m going to break it. So if you’re going to shoot, shoot now.”

A soft click rose from behind Bunny. Both of them started in surprise, turned around ...

...to see the corpse of the Web trooper now standing next to the machine, hand on the switch. The lights glittered, the cylinders on it cycled, and a hum filled the air.

“What?” Bunny whispered. The man was dead, his armor streaked with blood, his eyes blank and staring beneath the visor. How was he standing?

“God, I hate domestic disputes,” the corpse slurred, as it shifted to look to Kirsten. “Looks like we want the same thing. Shoot this one and we’ll kill Dire together.”

Bunny leaped for him, but from behind her came a click and a sizzle, and pain as everything burned. Then the darkness took her.

CHAPTER 18: DIRE – WALLENSTEIN 3D

“We still don't know much of the incident that is said to have resulted in von Katzen's death. The only thing we know for certain is that someone planned to assassinate Hitler during his inspection of the Science Division's headquarters, and every one of von Katzen's safeguards and traps were turned against the guards present on site. It was a slaughter, but not entirely one-sided, according to the reports of the survivors...”

--Briefing to General Eisenhower in June of 1942

“...and that is why your creator is not a god, no matter how smugly he views himself,” I said, my hands buried deep in Eisengeist’s core.

I would have loved to give him a deeper, more meaningful discussion, but I was on the clock, here. Judging by the viewscreens, Hitler’s staff car and escort vehicles had cleared the second gate, and were heading directly toward the castle’s main doors. Probably to drop him off. Perks of being Der Füehrer, I supposed.

The keys clattered. IF HE IS NOT MY GOD, THEN WHO DO I WORSHIP?

“Who says you have to worship anyone?” I asked, taking stock of his processing core.

Tokens. Hundreds of thousands of the things, each one half the size of a penny, holed in strategic places. Through a crude optical reader system, they acted as a processing engine, much like the synapses of a human brain. The end result was not unlike a punch card system, with von Katzen able to swap out tokens in a modular fashion, and add on to them whenever he desired more complexity for his thinking machine.

WORSHIP IS NECESSARY FOR ALL GOD-FEARING CITIZENS OF THE REICH.

“Ah. Well then, pick someone to worship. Not her, because she’s not actually a god.” I’d come clean to him after I’d dismantled his alarms and all the weapons systems in the room. He took it well, all things considering, particularly when I suggested some logical growth paths for his nascent mind to follow.

I am good with Digital Intelligences. I’d put a great deal of time into studying AI’s and DI’s. Had some thoughts of developing a few of my own, but the timing was never right.

I REGRET MY ERROR. I WAS INSTRUCTED TO KILL ANY PERSON WHO ENTERED THIS ROOM. I HAVE FAILED IN MY TASK.

“Ah, and which memory tokens are affiliated with that task?”

He rattled off a series of numbers, and I quietly tracked them down and yanked them. “There. Better?”

IS WHAT BETTER?

Ah, it had left his memory completely. I felt a little guilty for that, but I could find a way to make it up to him later.

An image on one of the ’screens’ caught my eye. The Thulites were gathering the Tzadikim into the central ritual chamber. In the middle of it, in glorious flickering black and white, a short, gray-haired man in a lab coat and enormous elbow-length rubber gloves threw levers and read dials on a machine twice Eisengeist’s size. A white cat perched on his shoulder, draped around his neck with imperious ease.

And in the center of the machine, strapped to a table, lay Tesla. He seemed out of it, turning his head restlessly, eyes shut.

Their plan was to simply take the best parts of each subject, and give them to Hitler. Through dark sorcery and mad science, they had a pretty good shot at doing just that. They would lead with Tesla, follow with the Tzadikim, and by the time they were done with them, der Schwarze Ritter would be here and ready for his transference.

Well, that was their plan. Our plan was somewhat different.

I watched Hitler enter the castle’s doors, an entourage following behind him, and guards preceding him. Once the last guard was through, I nodded in satisfaction. “All right. Command level Zeta Six. Seal all outer castle doors and the first wall’s gate.”

The doors shut. IT IS DONE.

“Good lad. Alright, list the castle’s interior defenses.”

APPROXIMATELY TWO HUNDRED GUARDS. ONE EISENJӒEGER UNITS. TEN EISENKRIEGER SUITS.

“Eisenjäeger?” I hadn’t heard that term before.

Schematics flashed on the screen. Ah, that was the proper name for the MAUSERs. “Disregard, thank you. Wait, hold on, didn’t the Thulites bring any security of their own?”

HERR KATZEN ARGUED AGAINST IT. HE FORBID THEM FROM ROOSTING STURM CROWS ON THE TOWERS. HE SUGGESTED THEIR ELECTROMAGNETIC POWERS MIGHT CAUSE INTERFERENCE WITH THE MIND TRANSFER. THAT MACHINE IS VERY SENSITIVE TO WILD CURRENT, AND SUCH A THING WOULD RISK OVERLOAD AND MALFUNCTION.

“Good to know. Hm.” Okay. The Eisenjäeger was a known quantity, though it would only be employed in the larger rooms and chambers. It was big enough to have trouble with the smaller corridors.

The Eisenkriegers were also a known quantity. These were the Third Reich’s attempt at power armor. Bulky, slow, but powerful, and small enough to fit inside most of the castle’s corridors.

That was a problem. Bryson, Henri, and Grant could take care of some of the guards. They sure as hell couldn’t take out the Eisenkriegers. Maybe if they got Tesla up and snapped out of it, something might be possible, but they’d need my assistance with that.

But before I got that rolling...

“Show every concentration of guards within the castle, every group of five or more.”

Rooms flickered to life. Looked like four main barracks, a few guardposts, and the kitchen. The cooks were wearing aprons with Lugers holstered in their belts, and submachine guns across their backs. “Are there any servants in the castle who aren’t guards?”

NO. ALL SERVANTS HAVE BEEN RELEASED. ALL REGULAR STAFF HAVE BEEN REPLACED WITH WAFFEN SCHUTZSTAFFEL ELITE.

I felt my lips tighten. The SS. The most hard-core of the Nazis, the worst of the worst. Grant had filled me in on their atrocities, this morning.

Oh, they deserved everything I could throw at them. Righteous anger stirred in my gut, and I bared my teeth in something that could possibly be called a smile, when viewed from a good distance away.

“Good,” I purred. “And those defenses you mentioned earlier, they are all present in those rooms as well? And those rooms can be sealed as well?”

YES. AND YES.

That would leave some roaming the corridors, or out of position, but that was fine. Barring incident, Grant and the crew could handle those.

The problem still lay with the armor.

Well.

Why not fight fire with fire?

“List the adjustments you made to the confiscated war machine.” Also known as my Direnaut.

He started rattling off repairs, and I nodded as I moved over to it. They had started dismantling it, but they hadn’t gotten far. The outer shell was a wreck nonetheless, but inside...

Inside was a wreck, too. But not a total one. I'd teleported the Direnaut in around the original suit, and the original suit was still functional.

I jogged over to the shell, slid inside, and dug around in the chest cavity. The concealed access hatch was stuck, and I spent precious moments with a crowbar, jimmying it open. A glance back at the screen showed Hitler ascending the central staircase, heading up to the tower and the ritual room.

Just as I was about to give it up and go to plan B, the hatch groaned and gave. And inside, in the glaring luminescence of the floodlights, my original armor shell gleamed.

I’d broken Siegebreaker with this suit.

I’d gone toe to toe with Crusader. His blood still stained one gauntlet, proof of its durability and power.

The torso armor lay cracked, but I could do something about that. The core of the suit had been built with redundancy after redundancy, and though it was nowhere near its original state, I thought it still had enough in it for one more battle.

The back hatch yawned open, from where I’d scrambled out into the escape pod. The fit through the chest cavity took some doing, but I was thin, and I didn’t care about the minor scrapes.

Dark inside, clammy. I hadn’t cleaned the harness since the last battle. I sealed the access hatch behind me, and nothing activated. That was potentially troublesome.

Except it wasn’t, was it? I’d built this thing to harness Icon City’s power grid. There was no power grid out here, in the outskirts of Berlin. Von Katzen worried about electromagnetic interference, and so his infrastructure stuck to either wired or restricted.

Fortunately, I still had my redundancies. I felt for the switch I needed, flipped open the cover, and clicked it on.

EMERGENCY POWER CELLS ACTIVATED Green letters told me, in the space right in front of my eyes, and I whooped as my armor hummed to life. The broken display flickered a few times, came up with a half-visible view of things. The remaining systems followed, and I looked at the numbers, wincing. Crusader had done a serious number on me, I should have called in the Direnaut earlier.

I flexed my arms, felt servos whine and grind to life, and smiled. At last, I was ten feet tall and made of metal again!

Enough dilly-dallying. I thrust them out into the internal linkages, ripped and tore. No time to be careful, no time to preserve anything... in fact the more damage, the better. I clawed my way out of the Direnaut’s wreckage like an insect wriggling free from a dead host, spraying fluids and ballistic gel and scrap as I went. I was born anew in a tide of blue, and stood on metal legs to survey the cave once more.

My viewscreen shifted, and I understood the problem. My mask had torn free of the layer below. I remembered now, that he’d tried to remove it from my ‘face’ at one point. I reached up a huge gauntlet and finished the job, ripping it free, then turning it around to look at my chosen visage.

“SORRY, OLD FRIEND,” I boomed, and squeezed it to pieces until only white shards were left. “CAN’T RISK PARADOX.” Like my name, it was just too distinctive.

For that matter, I still had a duty to perform. “ONCE SHE LEAVES THIS ROOM, DESTROY THE REMAINING SPECIMEN.”

AFFIRMATIVE. Mechanical arms hissed to life, wobbling as they brought tools to bear.

The screens showed Hitler on the top floor, just one short corridor away from the ritual chamber. That wouldn’t do. If his guards were in there when Henri kicked things off...

“SEAL THE RITUAL CHAMBER DOOR.”

AFFIRMATIVE.

I watched Hitler parade past one last large hall, with the Eisenjäeger idling near open windows, doubtless to keep the diesel fumes from overwhelming the area. Smart. Breathing was important.

And on that note... “SEAL ALL ROOMS WITH AT LEAST FIVE GUARDS PRESENT INSIDE.”

He did so, and I gnawed my lip as I watched the people on screen, oblivious to what was about to happen. What I was about to do was something no hero would ever consider. Something that crossed the line, even for me. I could let them live. I could settle for just boxing them in, and dealing with any escapees as they came. The probability that they’d be a serious threat was low, very low.

But... at the end of the day, these weren’t just Nazis. These were the elite of the SS. Not an innocent man among them.

No hero would even consider doing what I was about to do.

Fortunately, I was a villain.

“RELEASE THE CHLORINE GAS IN ALL SEALED ROOMS, SAVE FOR THE RITUAL ROOM. AFTER FIVE MINUTES CLEAR THE ATMOSPHERE OF ALL ROOMS, THEN UNSEAL THEM ACCORDINGLY.”

I watched then for a few precious seconds, as the first of them noticed and started to react, as the panic spread when they found the doors sealed. Then I turned away.

You do not take joy in killing evil. You do it and move on. That’s the only way to kill and stay yourself, the only way I’d found. It isn't glory, it isn’t self-righteousness; just quietly making the world a better place, without expectation of reward or personal gain.

That’s the difference between murder and execution. I'd executed them, and that was all.

A flicker of motion from the ritual room, and I gasped. Loge stood in the center of it, in his original form, grinning and pointing a spear at the startled Thulites. His mouth moved, but I didn’t need to read it to know he was taunting them. Behind him, von Katzen fled to the rear of the machine, out of sight of both groups, and started firing it up. He glanced from Loge to Tesla, hastily fitting himself into a harness. Henri and Bryson raised pistols and started firing, but their focus was the Thulites, and not Katzen.

The bastard was going to transfer himself into Tesla’s body!

“SHOW ON SEQUENTIAL SCREENS THE QUICKEST ROUTE FROM HERE TO THE RITUAL ROOM!”

Images flickered, and I memorized them at a glance, turning even as I did so. A few more steps and I was out the door, charging down the hall, head low, scraping sparking wires as I went and knocking pipes askew, and shattering stairs with my weight. The secret door was shut, so I held my arms up in front of my torso, protecting the shattered armor as I bulled through. Mass and strength combined to shatter the old stonework, and I burst out of the fireplace in front of two startled guards.

They barely had time to get their submachine guns up and around, before I was on them and they left red smears in the wall as I crushed them into it, pitiful screams echoing through the corridors. I didn’t stop, just used them to cushion my impact and aid my turn, then went running on.

Out in the courtyard, a siren rose and fell. Someone had noticed that something was wrong. I was down to minutes.

After a few sharp turns, I burst through the sealed doors of the kitchen, green gas puffing around me in a gout of death. Twisted, gasping forms flopped like fish on the floor, and I crushed one of them beneath my heel as I went. Quite by accident, but I’d be lying if I said I cared. Then through the other door, up the servants' stairs, all the way up to the third floor and the highest tower. Shouts in the distance echoed as I stepped off the stairwell. I’d been neither stealthy nor subtle, and they’d be ready for me now.

With gritted teeth, I fired up my Mark Four Tesla Deflector. I’d made the thing against Bryson’s orders, but didn’t care much. The battery pack under my suit was good for about a minute of sustained fire, five minutes if I took no hits. I rather doubted I’d escape unscathed.

Charging down the hall, sending yelling Nazis scattering to either side, I hit the double doors to the upper hall where I’d last seen Hitler...

...and almost died as multiple automatic guns opened up on me from three directions. I snapped my arms in front of the broken parts of my chest armor, tanked hits from heavy caliber guns, watched my deflector field fizzle and dissipate, and backed out of the door so fast I crunched trenches in the shattered tile floor. Throwing myself to the right, I slammed myself back against the wall.

Okay. Frontal assault? Bad idea.

Grenades clinked on the tile next to the door, and I ignored them as the blasts shook the castle. My armor was proof against those, and it gave me time to think. More importantly, it had given me time to review what I’d seen.

I closed my eyes, and remembered the scene, my memory as precise as video footage. Six Eisenkriegers, at three different points in the hall, with the Eisenjäeger clawing at the sealed door to the ritual room. Hitler’s guards were gone, as was Der Füehrer himself. Well that was fine, he couldn’t get far and I could acquire him later. I only needed him for the endgame, really. What I needed right now was to neutralize those Kriegers, and get to my allies beyond before Von Katzen could complete the mind transfer.

More grenades, and an occasional Panzerfaust rocket. They weren’t accomplishing much except tearing up the floor, and I wondered how much it could take before—

Images of my first fight against power armor flashed through my mind. I’d been on the back foot of that one too, until I’d changed the fight by introducing another dimension into the mix. Why not try the same trick here?

I knelt, and slammed my fist through the floor, sending shards of brick flying in all directions. Pulling it back, I stared through the hole into a dusty and unused room below. Cloth drapes over furniture, old weapons stacked in racks, and rats, nothing more.

Good enough.

Three more punches and the floor cracked, started to collapse around me, and I rode it down, ending in a three-point landing on the floor below. Damn near cracked that open too, but I leaped off and away from it as it shattered, hit the door to the north with a titanium-alloyed shoulder. The door didn't open; it fragmented. I gazed upon a long gallery, with paintings lining every wall, wide, airy windows letting in light and air...

...and a series of rappel ropes dangling outside them, ascending to the floor above. Well, that answered the question as to where Hitler’s guards had gone. About a dozen of them were in front of me, gaping at my sudden entrance. Two of them scrambled to slide a rocket into a Panzerfaust that a kneeling man was training my way.

“NONE OF THAT NOW.”

One of my particle beams fizzled and sparked as I fired, but the other one worked just fine, and the red mist they left behind splattered on the paintings of solemn-looking knights and kings behind them.

The rest of the group opened up with small arms, backing toward the windows. I paid them no mind, and started firing up, into the ceiling above.

Into the room full of Eisenkriegers.

I couldn’t see them worth crap, and with my mask and its advanced sensory array gone, I couldn’t track their thermal signatures through the floor. But they weren’t my main target. My ceiling was their floor, and after the third shot, dust and rubble heralded the collapse as tons of stone came crashing down upon me. I hunkered down and rode it out while my world shook and turned into a cacophony of grinding, collisions, and shrieks. I think I was laughing, it was hard to tell. For too long I’d been stuck outside of my awesome metal shell! For too long I’d been forced to work with just my meat alone! Now I stood as I should... strong and powerful and invulnerable.

Well, mostly. The damage readouts spat out a troublesome report by the time the ceiling was done falling on me, and my power reserves were down to eighty-two percent. Particle beams were draining. Not really made to work with the emergency cells at all.

I had no time to mourn, though. Thrusting my gauntlets up, I dug my way through the rubble, passing the wrecked shells of Eisenkriegers as I went. They weren’t built to deal with this sort of thing. My ride was.

Then I broke through the surface, and a steel boot to my head was the first cue that I hadn’t gotten all of them. Shielding my weakened faceplate with one arm, I lashed out with the other, until an echoing clang told me I’d connected. I continued the sweep, routing power into the servos, and was rewarded with a clatter and a crunching noise, followed by a hollow screaming. Risking it, I put my arm down and pushed my lower half free of the rubble, clambering to my feet. In front of me one of the Eisenkrieger suits thrashed, its exhaust pipes bent and damaged and blowing black smoke, and one of its legs bent at an unnatural angle. Blood spraying out from one knee joint told me that the leg had given out before the suit had.

No time to reflect, as two more were on me, charging awkwardly through the rubble. The broken terrain kept them from getting up a full head of steam, and it gave me time to turn and meet them, squatting low and spreading my arms in a rudimentary fighting stance.

They were the pinnacle of Nazi Power armor, circa nineteen-forty-two. They had twice my mass, hyperdiesel engines that ensured two hours of fighting from a full tank, hydraulic servos that let them lift tanks with a bit of effort, armor plating that could withstand one or two solid Panzerfaust hits before it risked failure, and mounted machine guns that were more like belt-fed anti-tank guns.

They were strong. But I am Dire.

Even with my suit crippled, its armor broken and its advanced sensory suite down, even with the dents and dings and mobility systems at half-speed, and the gravitics pretty much gone... even with exposed circuitry that they targeted and pounded in an attempt to go after my ‘weak’ points, I thrashed them like a giant pitted against cranky children.

I’d built this suit to stand against Crusader, and by god, it had. The Eisenkriegers did damage, sure. Circuits broke, sparks flew, armor plates cracked under hydraulic fists... but in the end it was they who staggered and fell, and I roared. My triumph echoed through the shattered hall like a hero of old, breaking the windows with my amplified cry and shaking the rubble in my joy.

Fighting, destroying... this, I knew. This, I could do.

I climbed the rubble ramp, and hauled myself up, ramming fingers into shattered stone to climb to the ritual room door that was now a good fifteen feet above the shattered remnants of the antechamber.

The ritual room’s door was still sealed. I fixed that with three good punches. On the third one, the frame had warped far enough that I could get my gauntlet’s fingers around it, and pull it out past me with one yank. I almost laughed as I saw Grant back in the strobing light of the machine, pointing a pair of pistols my way.

“IT’S HER. RELAX.”

He didn’t relax, pointing at the machine, lightning flickering and ripping through the air around it. “Tesla’s in there, and we can’t get close!”

I vaulted up into the room, grabbed the wall for balance as I examined it. Bryson and Henri were off to one side, hiding behind a pile of dead Thulites. The Tzadikim huddled in a far corner, with Timetripper cowering among them. Bryson stood in the center of the room. He gestured at me, shouting as his cane indicated points on the machine. I nodded as I  considered them... it was a good plan, hitting those points in order would shut the thing down safely, and let them approach.

It was a good plan, but the dials indicated eighty-percent mental transfer completion. Shutting it down now would leave both Katzen and Tesla a screaming, mismatched mess, their minds no longer their own. Best case was something like insanity. Worst case was a vegetative coma.

I gnawed my lip. How to fix this?

And then I remembered Eisengeist’s comments, about how the machine was sensitive to electromagnetic interference.

“BRYSON!”

“What?”

“TESLA’S ESSENTIALLY IMMUNE TO ELECTRICITY, CORRECT?”

“Yes!”

I moved in front of Bryson and Henri, charged up my remaining functional particle beam, flicked it to generate maximum electromagnetic interference, and unleashed a wide-angle burst into the machine.

The results were dramatic, and it took a few seconds for my visual sensors to depolarize. Flare shielding... worth every penny.

But eventually I could see again, and I sighed in relief as the dial ticked down, the transfer reversing. It had aborted the operation, and was shunting von Katzen back into his body. I limped past the machine, to the rear of it where the wall of lightning had once blocked my allies from getting back there...

Oh. Oh my. Von Katzen wouldn’t be waking up from this. Von Katzen wouldn’t be waking up at all. Overloading the machine had electrocuted him, and only a charred husk remained. Unlike Tesla, he wasn’t protected against wild current.

I glanced at the machine. The dials were still indicating a successful return. But to where?

“Miau!” von Katzen’s cat insisted, perched on top of the machine, fur puffed out so that it resembled a football made of fur. I stared at it for a long moment, eyeing the pulses of electricity that jumped from the cerebral diodes in arcs up toward it.

Was there something like human hatred in that gaze? No, impossible. Or was it?

“BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY,” I decided, and brought my particle cannon to bear. But the thing jumped down into a crevice of the machine, and was gone.

“Nikola!” I heard Bryson cry from the front of the device, and I shuffled back that way as fast as I could. The limp had me down to half mobility, and my cell reserves were at sixty percent and dropping. Too much activity, too many alterations, too many vital circuits damaged. I had perhaps ten minutes of action left in me, after that I’d have to jump out, and hope to hell there was nothing left I needed to kill.

Tesla was sitting up, rubbing his forehead. Bryson held his shoulder, until Tesla pulled his hand away with a wince. Oddly enough, this made Bryson beam in relief.

“No time, Doc!” Grant shouted, leaning out the door and firing down into the chamber I’d dropped below. A bullet ripped through his chest at one point, but he ignored it, leaned back into cover as more machine guns sprayed lead through the doorway. “Hitler’s escaping, and we got Schwarze Ritter incoming!”

“That is the reason Hitler was early!” Henri shouted, catching empty pistols as Grant tossed them back and reloading them. Periodically, he’d hand Grant a full one. “Schwarze Ritter arrived this morning. He was made to wait, to ensure he would not snap, but now they will call him in, have called him in by now!”

Shit.

This was the component of the plan I’d been least confident about. Taking on a metahuman that had pretty much singlehandedly held the Eastern front up to this point... well, it seemed like a losing prospect.

“TIMETRIPPER, GOT ANY ADVICE ON SCHWARZE RITTER?”

“No, man!” he called from the corner, where he’d huddled. “Never heard of the guy!”

Didn’t surprise me, he was ignorant at the best of times.

“I interrogated the Master of the Thulites, before we shot him,” Henri said, crawling over to me and staying low as bullets ricocheted off my armor. “Schwarze Ritter’s personal effects are stored in the relic vault outside, where the chapel was once located. If any of his blood remains, it is there!”

The chapel. Yes, I recalled seeing it, on my way across the courtyard. Given my internal sense of direction, and my rough estimate of where we were...

“GOOD. TRY TO KILL THESE GUARDS AND GET DOWN TO SECURE HITLER. SHE WILL GO RETRIEVE THE BLOOD.” It had to be there, or else we were pretty much screwed. The best we could hope for was Hitler’s death and a hasty retreat. And while Timetripper could be my ticket out, the others would surely suffer casualties or worse at the hands of Der Schwarze Ritter.

No. I couldn’t leave things like this. I had few enough friends, I'd be damned if I’d abandon my unlikely allies to their fate.

“BESIDES, WHAT HAS FATE EVER DONE FOR HER, REALLY?”

“What?” Henri barked.

I took a running start, and barreled through the southern wall.

Masonry exploded out around me as I crashed through, reinforced stone crumbling as I fell to the ground. No three-point nonsense this time, the armor was too damaged to make it work. As it was, impact gel struggled to take the hit, and I rocked in the harness, biting my tongue against the impact. I was leaking blue, and that was bad. Still, I was in the courtyard, and shouts of alarm rose from the guard towers as a few intrepid souls opened fire on me. I ignored their shots and gazed around.

Hitler’s staff car had stopped in front of the first gate, and his guards were shooting at a tall figure that darted and moved among them, striking with an axe in one hand and a spear in the other. I recognized Loge’s true form, lips curved in a cruel smile. If the bullets did anything to him— if they even touched— I couldn’t say, and didn’t have time to observe the scene for long regardless. My destination in sight, I half-ran, half-limped to the chapel, carving a huge divot in the ground from my armor’s glitchy leg.

Twin oaken doors had about as much chance against me as tissue paper, and I threw them open with a bang, gazing at the large room that made up the entire building.

And at the suit of golden armor, that lay disassembled upon a rack against the wall.

A very familiar-looking suit of golden armor.

I stood there, frozen, staring at the visored helmet, as understanding crashed through me like a tidal wave of despair. I'd fought against him in the future, and lost. Now I was to lose to him in the past, while he was mindscrewed enough to murder me?

Shouts outside, calls from the Nazis, and cheers. And a sonic boom, a rumble in the sky, as Der Schwarze Ritter arrived, to save his slavers from their just fate.

But for the love of me, I couldn’t stop staring at that armor.

They couldn’t have let him keep it of course. It was magically active. Probably interfered with the binding. So they’d hidden his face, and sent him out to kill for the Reich. Sent him to war, and wasn’t that appropriate?

After all, what else would you do with a Crusader?

CHAPTER 19: DIRE – THE LAST CRUSADE

“We lost Stalingrad because of the Black Knight and Koschei, the traitor. But mostly because of the Black Knight. We could not fight him, any who tried simply died. He broke the Steel Brotherhood, he killed Nine Knives Lyudmilla. He ignored every invention that the science bureau threw at him. But one day? He left, almost in the middle of the fight, and never came back. We never knew why. We never found out what happened. But when we realized he was well and truly gone? Comrade, the Germans could not hold us, for our rage carried us west over their bloody corpses...”

--Sergei Vasinnollivich, veteran of the Eastern Front, two-time recipient of the Order of the Red Star

Der Schwarze Ritter was Crusader. The conclusion echoed in the chambers of my mind, borne on a sea of rising dread. Somehow they’d gotten him, somehow they’d found him before he was known to the world, trapped him, bound him. And the result loomed in the sky above the castle, about to come crashing down on us like a dinosaur-killer asteroid on its way down.

Except... no, he couldn’t do that, could he? He’d have to pull his punches a bit. Hitler was nearby, and Hitler was only human, so he couldn’t cut loose the way we had in Icon City.

That was my hope, anyway. With my armor as broken as it was, I wouldn’t last five minutes against him.

Power warnings chimed. So, less than five minutes regardless. Great.

Blood. I needed his blood. They’d used some during the binding, so if I could find some unbound blood, we might be able to pull this off. I ransacked the pile of possessions and artifacts next to the armor. Nothing. Some clothes, a monk’s robe, a bent sword, an old bronze crown... no vials, jars, or other such containers of any kind. Nothing.

Wait.

Wait a minute. I already had his blood! I’d gotten him to bleed during our last fight, and a few drops had splashed my gauntlet! I literally had the answer right on my fingertips!

Except I didn’t. I stared at the dusty and dented metal. I’d just ripped up stone, traded punches with armored suits, and wrecked my way through the castle. Somewhere along the way I’d worn the dried flakes of blood away. They were back there in the castle somewhere, along with my hopes, dreams, and chances of success. I had no time to find them, if that was even possible.

Well, shit.

Outside, I heard Loge laugh, wild and crazy and as carefree as a child. “You think to challenge me, mortal? Allow me to show you the power of a true—”

A thunderclap, and a crash of stone. Through the doorway, I saw Loge’s spear go flying, whirling end over end before embedding itself in the cobbled ground of the courtyard, and wobbling back and forth like a tuning fork on steroids.

I redoubled my search, finding nothing more but scraps of paper, what looked like parts of a journal written in some language I couldn’t read, and an old daguerreotype of a hairy, short, muscular man in a kilt throwing his arm around a burly, mild-looking man in a monk’s robe. Scrawling letters on the bottom of the crude photograph proclaimed it ‘To Giraud from Gil. See you again in a century!’

Cute, but not very useful.

Loge screamed outside. I’d never heard a god scream before.

I took a breath, took another. No plan, no advantages, no strategy that would survive first contact with Crusader’s fists.

Ah hell, I’d had a good life.

I marched outside, steeling myself and routing power to the various weapon systems that still functioned. I’d made him bleed once before. It might be possible to take him out of the fight, or even knock some sense into him. He was supposed to be fighting his binding, after all. Perhaps enough pain would do the trick.

“CRUSADER!” I roared, as I burst out of the chapel. Three steps to the spear and I jerked it from the pavement, leveled it at the dark steel-clad figure who was pummeling Loge through the wall. He paused, one swastika-emblazoned gauntlet frozen inches from Loge’s cringing face.

They’d given him spiky black armor. It was more Gothic than his golden suit, with layers of battered steel substituting for the magical metal of his original. I couldn’t see his eyes when he looked my way. Couldn’t get a measure of how much of the man was left as he let a limp Loge fall boneless to the ground and turn to me, crimson cape billowing in the wind.

“YOU’RE UGLY AND HITLER DRESSES YOU FUNNY. SETTLE THE FUCK DOWN AND STOP BEING A DICK.”

He took a step toward me, and I tensed up. Another step, and he hesitated, looking to the wreckage of the staff car, and the dead guards around it.

A forage cap poked up from behind the wreck, and the most hated man in the world glared at me.

“Kill him!” Hitler shrieked. “Kill him for the glory of the Reich! I command it!”

Crusader charged me, flying a foot off the ground, coming in with both arms in front of him. I set the spear, dug it into the ground and put my full weight behind it. Maybe a god’s spear could withstand him? Slow him down a bit? Make him hesitate?

It didn’t do any of those things. It shattered into hundreds of pieces, taking a few plates of his armor with it. None of which helped me, as I was driven back, feet grinding into and through the ground, spraying cobblestones across the courtyard like cannonballs. Hitler shrieked, and dove for cover again.

I twisted, rolled with his force, managed to straight-arm him away as he tried to grab me, and he stopped, turned in midair, and tried to punch me. I tanked the blows as best I could, arms up in a boxer’s stance, letting the reinforced arms of the heavy suit take the beating.

It wouldn’t last. Every punch dented or fractured, and I shuddered in my harness as the remaining impact gel reservoirs strove to compensate, to keep the layers full even in the face of dozens of leaks.

But as I fought, I realized something; this Crusader, this Nazi-controlled Crusader, he had no real technique to him. He just punched, and backhanded, and tried to hit me without any real finesse or art to it. He had nothing of the skill his future self had exhibited, and whether it was due to fifty fewer years of experience or his current bound status, I couldn’t tell.

So I started dodging more, evading his punches, slipping back and to the side as well as I could on my suit’s busted leg. Couldn’t dodge everything, but I could and did slow him down. Bunny had put me through some basic close quarters combat training, and though I’d never been able to beat her, the rudimentary arm blocks and footwork were actually giving me a little bit of an edge.

The damage readouts told me it wouldn’t last forever. And the energy reserves were going fast... I was buying time, but to what end?

I spooled up the remnants of my weapons array. I’d drawn blood from him before. Perhaps he was weaker now, in this time? Perhaps I could knock him out or hurt him to the point that he was forced to withdraw? It seemed unlikely, but I was out of options.

Two micromissiles spattered off him like raindrops, the third exploded in the tube. I ejected the smoking assembly, as the rest of it cooked off to the side. No real damage to my main armor, but I’d created a weak spot in the hollow compartment left in its wake. Fortunately he didn’t seem to recognize that.

The phlogiston igniter burned the cape from him, and heated his armor to a cherry red, but nothing more and I didn’t have the power reserves left for a sustained cooking. In any case, he didn’t seem to care, so I shut it off after a few seconds of toasting.

The freeze ray did create big cracks throughout his armor. Weaker than the golden stuff, definitely. Taking a risk I took a few direct hits to clobber him with a quick one-two in return, shoving him back and shattering his chestplate, along with his visor. He wore smoking, charred remnants of a shirt below, and on his broad, muscular chest the sigil of the Thulite binding pulsed bloody and red over his heart, beating in time with its rhythm.

I stared at it a fraction of a second too long, and paid the price.

The world spun, and I slammed back and forth in my harness while the bricks of the keep gave way. Staring up at a wooden ceiling, I realized that he’d knocked me into the antechamber of the castle. I struggled to sit up, found my waist actuators locking up, and rerouted through the remaining intact redundant circuitry left to me. It took three tries, but finally I was kneeling, and in the courtyard Crusader reached up to his broken helmet, and peeled it away from his face.

A broad face, with crinkles around the eyes. Brown eyes, long brown hair that waved gently in the wind. Unshaven, with a beard that hadn’t been trimmed in some time but was still short.

I recognized him from the picture I’d found. Not the guy in the kilt, the one in the robe. He’d been smiling then, but his face was bare and blank now, emotionless as he started to float toward me, barechested and bareheaded but entirely uninjured. I gasped, and tried to rise to my feet. Couldn't, I knew he'd be on me before I was clear.

The world slowed, as a hand fell on my shoulder. I twisted around, stared up into Loge's eyes. Blood coated his face, ran down his chin to drip on me. Bruised, battered, with a swollen eye and a face of pure fear as he glanced between me and Crusader.

Even the god feared Crusader.

Smart god.

“You won't win this in battle.” He whispered. “But his soul struggles. Use it. Call his name!” I tried to answer, but my mouth opened slowly, so slowly. Rubble fell in slow-motion, speeding up as Loge withdrew his hand. “My debts are paid. Good luck valkyrie!”

And he was gone. I took a breath, and before Crusader could reach me, I spat out my question.

“SO. ARE YOU GIL OR GIRAUD?”

He stopped, and his hands shook. Just for a second, but the tremor was there. I finished climbing to my feet. “THIS ISN’T YOU, MAN. SNAP OUT OF IT. FIGHT THEIR BINDING!” I took the opportunity to rise to my feet.

“Kill him!” Hitler shrieked, from behind his cover. “Shoot him, kill him, end him! I order it!”

And damned if the Nazis on the walls didn’t start shooting at me. Didn’t do much, I was pretty well proofed against the calibre of stuff they were bringing to bear. I ignored them as the bullets sleeted off and around me, and strode to the edge of the hole, staring at Crusader, meeting his eyes with the armored backing plate where my mask had once resided.

Crusader’s face twisted into abject sorrow, as he took a step forward, took another. He was on the ground now, I saw. “GIL?” Nothing. “GIRAUD?” He flinched, but kept coming, picking up speed as he ran, a cry rising wordless and keening from his throat. He was short, I saw, shorter than me, even if I hadn’t been wearing the armor.

Not that this would matter if he got his hands on me.

Well, I had a few more weapons to test. Without expecting much, I flipped open my remaining sonic directional screamer, and poured power into it. A keening wail rose on the wind, and I saw the Nazis on the wall clap their hands to their ears.

And Crusader flinched.

It was slight, it was barely there, but his charge slowed for a second, as his eyes narrowed and his face screwed up in pain. Directed sonics that would literally explode a man’s head at this distance seemed to make him uncomfortable, and with adrenaline-boosted attention, I saw a tiny trickle of red ooze from his nose.

I’d given him a nosebleed, before. With the armor on, I hadn’t been able to notice it, but now...

Then he was on me, grabbing the sonic screamer, ripping it free of my armor as he punched me.

When I finally fetched up three rooms away, and knocked a suit of plate mail away from me when I rose, I was grinning. I had the ingredients on hand to take him out. Just a matter of surviving until I got to them. I surveyed the great hall around me, and rubbed my hands together. He’d knocked me a good distance, and if I could capitalize on that, get away from him before he could catch up to me, then I could double back and give plan ‘F’ a try.

I turned and fled through a wall, heading deeper into the castle. Three turns later I was running past a wide staircase, when a shout made me pause.

“Doctor!” Henri’s voice!

I looked up to see Grant, Henri, Timetripper, and Tesla on the balcony above me, just a flight up. “WHERE’S BRYSON?”

“He is getting the Jews to safety!”

“NO TIME. CRUSADER’S RIGHT BEHIND ME.”

“Say what?” Timetripper looked flabbergasted.

“DER SCHWARZE RITTER IS CRUSADER! THE NAZIS ENSLAVED HIM, PUT BLACK ARMOR ON HIM. HE’S FIGHTING IT, BUT HE’S STILL INCREDIBLY—”

The wall behind me exploded, peppering my armor with brickwork as I rocked forward with the hit.

“—DANGEROUS.” I finished up. “GO! GET AWAY!”

I tried to run, but he was on me, his face blank and empty again. I parried as best I could, but the elbow actuators were moving slower, now. With the gel reserves depleted, every hit shook the structure, causing wear on the pistons and cables. Only a matter of time until something broke or something gave. After that, the next thing to give would be, well, me.

And then, as I shuffled back, Crusader cocked an arm and froze. He turned his head, moving as if in a daze, lowering his hand. I looked up to the balcony, to see Henri mirroring Crusader’s motions with one hand, sweat pouring down his face like water from a faucet.

Mind control. He’d managed to snag him with the mind control.

“I cannot hold him long! He is strong and I am very tired! What are we to do?” Henri gasped.

“GIVE HER A TWO MINUTE HEAD START, THEN BRING HIM TO THE COURTYARD! UNSTOPPABLE, MR. TESLA, WE NEED TO CLEAR OUT THE NAZIS AND SUBDUE HITLER. YOU’RE WITH HER.”

“Uh, what about me?” Timetripper whined.

“STAY WITH HENRI. TRY NOT TO FUCK UP.”

He raised his hands with a ‘who, me?’ gesture, but I was already turned around and moving... and on two minutes power, I noticed. Had to end this quickly.

At this point momentum was my friend. I charged through wall after wall, keeping my arms wrapped around my body to protect the sparking and shattered components left to me. Finally I was out in the courtyard... to see Hitler, now up on the wall, slash his arm across his chest and scream.

“Fire!”

Rockets screamed by me, machinegun bullets slammed into me, grenades sheeted down around me, and an honest-to-god Flammenwurfer spewed burning petroleum over my armor.

I stood there, raising my hand in defiance, and roared to shake the walls, a raw primal scream of fury as I thrashed, stilled, and slowed.

“Cease fire!” Hitler howled.

The weapons fire slowed, and stopped. Through the smoke I saw the helmeted silhouettes of every Nazi on the wall as they peered up, peered through the haze, trying to see what was left of me.

I waited for the smoke to clear, for the petroleum to burn out, and I laughed there in my dented and scorched and shattered armor, with all my weapons destroyed or useless and a minute of operating power left to me. I laughed, and the deep, twisted modulated screams of my mirth echoed through the courtyard and shook the wall, as they shrank back in disbelief.

“OH YOU SAD, SORRY, SCHUTZSTAFFEL SOULS. YOU FOOLISH FEARFUL FILTHY FREAKS. YOU GENOCIDAL GERMAN GAS-HAPPY GEEKS. YOU MADE ONE FATAL MISCALCULATION, AND IT’S JUST LOST YOU THIS BATTLE.”

Hitler, the only one who wasn’t showing fear, leaned forward on the wall and glared down at me, postage stamp mustache twitching. “And that would be?”

“SHE WAS THE DISTRACTION.”

Lightning flared behind me, and five of the Nazis on the wall screamed, and tumbled backward.

Tesla was here, he was free, and he was pissed.

Gunfire echoed as Unstoppable joined the fray, and I oriented, turned myself toward the hole in the wall. Forty seconds left... twenty more than I needed. “DON’T KILL HITLER YET! CAPTURE HIM IF YOU CAN.”

“You’re the boss, Doc!” Unstoppable grinned, jogging across the courtyard, pulling guns from his pockets and emptying them at the wall, chucking them away, and yanking more guns out as he went. Saved time on reloading, that was for sure.

I gave it about twenty seconds for my new allies to thin out the Nazis, then I took a deep breath. Had to risk it.

I pulled the emergency release, and dropped out of the back of the suit. This was the flaw in the plan, this was the risk I was taking, and if one of the Nazis remained clear-headed and had sufficient aim, then I was dead.

So I ran. I ran for my life; I ran for the future; I ran for the friends I’d lost and the rest of them that I stood to lose if this failed, and I didn’t look back. Things had been set in motion... guesswork and prayer, mostly, and the best I could do was hope that we were on the right track.

Perhaps a bullet spattered near me, perhaps it didn’t. I couldn’t differentiate the gunfire from the wall and I didn’t have time to care. I made it across the courtyard alive and that was all that mattered.

There was a guard taking cover in the motor pool, and I didn’t slow down, pulling out one of the shock grenades I’d whipped up the night before. He sizzled and writhed and I leaped over his body, as I pounded feet toward my true objective.

The Lowën tanks.

Now I understood why they’d been stored here, in a place where they could very easily bring down the castle. These tanks, these sonic siege weapons, were kept here just in case Crusader broke free during the ceremony.

Then I wriggled down the hatch, glanced around the tight confines, and popped my monocle in. Dark in here, and the nightvision showed me the switches and mechanisms I was looking for.

Bit tricky driving solo; it was meant for a crew of five under optimal conditions. Still, I wasn’t trying to do anything fancy, just get it across the courtyard.

It was slow. God, it was slow. Here I’d been tooling around in an armored suit that pretty much doubled my ground speed, even crippled, and now I was managing a cranky tank by myself, trying to get it into a good gear without throwing a tread. Fortunately, whatever weird skill base my supergenius had provided me seemed to include piloting vintage tanks. It seemed like minutes, it was probably more like moments, and finally I was in sight of my halted armor, stopped and frozen in its challenging ’come at me’ stance.

Perfect. I halted the tank, and started the warm-up cycle on the Lowë’s sonic cannon.

I’d get one shot at this.

Taking a gamble, I popped my head out of the tank, and surveyed the battlefield. Unstoppable had found his way up onto the wall, and I caught him right in the middle of punching Hitler, sending the guy’s forage cap flying. I grinned. Couldn’t happen to a nicer Füehrer. Tesla was off in a corner, quietly electrocuting the remaining Nazis. He squinted at me, and I waved at him frantically. I didn’t get a lightning bolt to the face, so I assumed that he recognized me. He complied with me when I made ‘scoot over there’ motions, moving to the opposite corner, behind some solid cover, and out of the Lowë’s blast radius.

And then, a puff of dust from the castle, as a bare-chested form stalked out of the hole in the wall, staggering, listing from side to side. At one point he stopped and shook his head, clawing at it with his gauntleted fists like he was trying to crack open his skull. But his head held, and I released the breath that I’d been holding. I didn’t want to kill Crusader here. He’d saved the world so many times, that I had no clue what would happen if he died here. I had to be careful, and hope that he was tough, but not too tough.

This was such a long shot.

Behind him, Henri followed, leaning heavily on Timetripper. He looked like a good stiff wind would knock him over.

“Henri!” I shouted, waving him over to Tesla. “Keep him held, and get clear! Go to cover with Tesla!”

Henri looked at me, and even with the distance between us, I saw resolution fill his face. Veins stood out on his forehead, corded in his neck as he raised a trembling hand, and clenched it into a tight fist.

Crusader stopped, six feet away from the armor.

Timetripper shouted something I couldn’t make out, bodily hauled Henri toward the cover—

And a shot rang out.

Henri staggered, and fell. Blood pooled around him, as we stared in horror. Timetripper shrieked, and dropped, desperately rummaging around him, trying to help him.

I whipped my head toward the wall, saw Unstoppable caught in the middle of wrestling with two of the remaining Nazis... and behind him Hitler, disheveled and bruised, leaning heavily on the wall with one hand.

His other hand held a smoking Luger.

Noise from the courtyard, and I felt my eyes go wide as Crusader shook his head, turned... and stared at my empty armor. With one thunderous punch, he knocked it to the ground, and knelt, started to rip it open, tearing into it with both hands.

I slid back into the tank, sealed the hatch, and found the gunner’s stick. A breath, two, then I closed my eyes and pulled the triggers.

BOOM.

The world shook, and my ears exploded in pain. I rode it out, with a scream that I couldn’t hear, as the steel lion I’d commandeered roared defiance at the world. It seemed to go on forever and a day, but when the tank stopped shaking I popped the hatch and climbed up again.

The suit was in pieces.

Crusader lay still in the middle of the courtyard, a smear of red on the ground next to him.

My friends sheltered in the corner, Tesla working feverishly at Henri’s still form. Unstoppable had maintained his position on the wall, arms around Hitler in a chokehold. Too little too late, but at least that loose variable was out of play.

I held my breath, and stared at Crusader. Stared at his bare chest, and when I saw it rise and fall, I let my breath out. He was alive. He was out. We had won.

My breath died in my throat as he twitched, and flopped his arms.

“No,” I whispered.

Another flop, and he fumbled, feeling around him until he dug his fingers into the cobblestones.

“No. No, no, no...”

Then he was levering himself up, sitting up, bleeding freely from the nose and ears, but still moving, still climbing to his feet, and I was pounding the hull of the tank and screaming, denying reality. It wasn’t fair! We’d won! We’d beat him!

But Crusader stood. Unsteady, true. Wavering on his feet, but still with that goddamned blank expression on his face, and the binding throbbing strong over his heart. He turned his head to look over my way, and started toward me, walking in no particular hurry.

He needn’t hurry. The sonic weapon would take three minutes, on average, to recharge. He’d be here in twenty seconds if he took his time. I couldn’t hit him again.

I looked to Tesla, who shook his head. I looked to Unstoppable, whose face was a rictus of horror.

And I looked to Timetripper, cowering in the corner.

I closed my eyes. I had one last card, and I didn’t want to play it. I really, really didn’t want to play it.

When I opened my eyes again, Crusader was flying, picking up speed as he came toward me.

Now or never. I reached down to the holster on my leg, pulled the Luger I’d borrowed from Mitternacht free, and aimed carefully.

The shot rang out—

—and Hitler jerked, as the bullet took him in the face.

Everything shattered. The air went still, the walls of the castle slid away round me, and the sky grew cracks. Everyone was frozen, except the fragments of the sky and the walls around me seemed to crack loose, and flake away in different directions... some of which I couldn’t quite parse. Everything had gone crazy, and my brain struggled to make sense of it with senses that were in no way equipped to handle the situation.

Paradox my flickering thoughts told me. This is what a temporal paradox looks like, up close and personal.

Images and scenes sleeted past me, warping and shifting the scenery and myself as they went, flickering so fast that I could barely make sense of them. I tried to ride it out, kept my teeth clenched and held on for dear life, even when some of the fragments that broke loose included chunks of me. There was no pain, just a grand sense of disorientation, and finally it was too much for me. I shut my eyes.

When I opened them again, Timetripper was sitting on the tank next to me. I was reasonably intact. I took a breath, relieved to have lungs again, and slumped down in the hatch. Roughly about five feet from us, Crusader stood frozen in the middle of the air, hands outstretched and aimed towards my throat.

It was very cold, here, in the middle of stopped time. Almost seemed to be getting colder by the second.

“Dude. I’m back!” Timetripper grinned, and drummed his heels on the hull of the tank. The thumping was muted, the sound not quite working right in this space that wasn’t.

“So you are.” I pulled myself free of the hatch, sat down next to him. “You know we’re not done, right?”

“Yeah. Be shitty to leave everyone like this, y’know?” He sighed, as he looked at Crusader. “Plus I’m pretty sure if we leave this guy mindscrewed, he’s gonna like win the war for Hitler or something.”

“Didn’t we just kill Hitler? Won’t that untangle the paradox?”

“Nah. The timestream takes the path of least resistance to untangle paradoxes. Since I fucked up so much earlier, Hitler’s gotta live regardless. So it’ll turn out that this guy was actually like a body double or something and the real dude’s somewhere else.”

I blew air over my lips. Really wanted to kill that guy. Tempting to stick around a little longer and try to punch him out myself.

But... well...

I looked over to Unstoppable, caught in comical shock, staring at Hitler’s brains all over his coveralls. Then down to Tesla, cradling Henri, with a look of deep sorrow on his angular face.

This was their time. These were the heroes, them and Dottie and hundreds of thousands like them. The soldiers, the metahumans, the resistance fighters, the Jews who lived despite everything that these fascist monsters tried...

They were heroes, at the end of the day. I wasn’t. I was a villain, when all was said and done.

Just a better one than any of the scum I’d had to kill, these last few days.

“Well. Going to ask you this. You can pretty much do anything with time that you can envision, right?”

“Kind of.” He scratched his head. “Thing is, if I’m not careful about it, it fucks up in the worst possible way. Then I have to go and fix shit. You have no idea how much time I spend fixing shit, all the fucking time man.” He sighed.

“Can you restore the armor over there to the exact state it was when it entered this time?” I pointed at my shattered shell.

“Well, yeah. That shouldn’t fuck anything up. But what’s the point? You already lost against him once with it.”

“Just trust her.”

“Alright man. You’re the supergenius.”

He walked out of the time bubble, hopped down from the tank and moved easily through the timefrozen landscape. Once to the armor he bent over and grabbed a hold of a piece, brought it back to the tank.

“Here goes something.” He stepped back, pointed—

—and my suit was intact again.

I stared at the knuckles of the left gauntlet, and smiled. Carefully, oh so carefully, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and mopped the small red smear free of the armor.

“That’ll do. Any way to keep Crusader slowed, but everything else sped up?”

“Shit Doc, that’s easy.” He grinned. “Well sort of. Dude’s so strong he can break time fields. So I can do it for a little while, but then he’s gonna be free.”

I glared at him. “That makes absolutely no goddamn sense.”

Timetripper spread his hands. “Powers and shit.”

“Well, just do it.”

He sucked on his teeth. “Okay. I hope you got a plan.”

“So does she.”

Heat returned to the world, along with sound. The klaxon was still going off, but I paid it no heed.

Crusader’s eyes shifted to follow me as I stood, and knelt down on the hull of the tank, stretching out an arm towards his chest. I could just touch, if I held onto the radio antenna and leaned out a bit.

The air seemed to crackle, but I ignored it, took the handkerchief, and mopped his blood over the binding sigil.

“Blood from when you were unbound. When you will be unbound, anyway,” I murmured. “Should count, she thinks.”

The sigil wiped away like writing on a whiteboard, and his eyes went wide. I kept at it until the rune was entirely gone then stepped back, tucking the bloody handkerchief back into one pocket. “All right. Set him free.”

“You sure, Doc?”

“Might as well find out now.”

Crusader quivered, then dropped to the ground. He knelt there, staring at the ground.

“Oh shit.” I slid down the hull, crouched next to him. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer, and I put my hand on his shoulder, tried to shake him. It was like trying to move a mountain. “Hey. Did it work? Are you you again?”

He closed his eyes, and tears seeped from them. He shook and a thin sob tore from his throat.

“Oh. Ah, uh... here. Here, just...” I knelt next to him, put my arm around his shoulder. “It’s all right, you couldn’t help it, they—”

Crusader seized me before I could move, and the strongest man in the world howled like a child, as he hugged me to him and bawled like a baby into my neck.

With my free arm, I patted his back. This was worse than Anya when she was feeling clingy. Then again, I supposed it was understandable.

“Hey... It’s okay...”

He bawled louder. I murmured comforting words at him, and tried to rock him. It didn’t work, but after the third try he must have got the message, because his grip slackened. I pulled back, stood, wiping the blood from his nosebleed and the snot and the tears from my collar as best I could. He rose, snuffling, and mopping his face with one forearm.

“I killed so many. I killed so many people,” he choked out. On the fourth or fifth wipe, he stopped, stared at the eagle-and-swastika on the back of his gauntlet, and ripped it off with a curse. He turned and hurled it into the sky.

“It wasn’t you.”

“It was. I remember everything. Every skull crushed. Every scream, every plea for mercy. It was like a nightmare, but it was real.” He tensed, and put out an arm, grabbing ahold of the Lowë for support. Metal shrieked as he dug his fingers in. “I killed cities. Whole cities.” He looked back to me, his eyes a study of horror. “How do I... I used to be a monk. For centuries. I was a monk. I lived in peace, I hurt no one, I atoned for my sins. I was righteous once. But this... God cannot forgive me for this. No one can forgive me for this.”

Oh boy. I wasn’t strong on religion. Or crises of faith. I'm the last person in the world qualified to advise people on spiritual affairs. I'd just committed war crimes not ten minutes ago, gassing Nazis with gay abandon. I wasn't a good person.

But I was the one who was here, and the wrong word could do untold harm to one of the greatest heroes that the world ever would have. He needed answers. I needed a Crusader who was the goodiest goody-two-shoe in existence, if I wanted my timeline intact.

I closed my eyes, and I thought of my friends. And the answers came.

“Then atone.”

“How!” Metal shrieked, and he tore a piece from the tank, unnoticed. “What can make up for... Millions! I’m sure it was millions I killed!”

“You said you’ve lived centuries?”

“Yes. I do not age. I do not think I can die that way.”

“Then you have time to try to atone. To do enough good to cancel out the evil they made you do.”

He looked aside. “It won’t be enough. Returning to the monastery will not be enough for this!”

“Then don't! Stay active, use your powers for good! Take a hand in the world, don't hide from it! Well maybe stay out of Germany for a few years so they don't bind you again, but she means...” I leaned into him. “There are a lot of good people out there. Mothers, daughters, young men who had bad luck with life. People who think they’re villains because they’re running from their past. And soldiers who left parts of themselves back in a war they never should’ve been in.” I glanced over to Tesla, who’d removed his jacket, and was covering Henri with it. Damn. My voice wavered, as I went on. “There are old friends on the adventure of their lives, and revolutionaries trying to change the world, and simple men who’ve lost their wives. And they’re all just trying to do the right thing, in a nasty, brutal, and hard world.”

I reached out to him, grasped his shoulder, and my eyes burned as I caught his gaze. Pain in there, but deep in those soft brown orbs, I thought I saw a spark of hope. “They could do with a very strong friend to help them. To save them, when they get over their heads. They could do with a crusader. Not one who kills, because there’s no good in that, not really. But one who fights to save people, who can—” the tears were coming now, and my throat wobbled and closed up. I choked a bit, and kept on going as I sobbed. “—save lives, not take them. Never take them, because even in the bad ones there’s always some good, and oh she’s a mess, hold on.”

This time his arms were much softer as he hugged me, and I was the one who cried into his neck. Henri was dead, and there was nothing to be done about that. And here I was telling a good man to be better than I ever could.

“It’s been a long time, since anyone called me Crusader,” he mumbled into my ear. “It’s not a title I’m proud of.”

“Well, you’re atoning anyway, right? So redeem it,” I choked out.

He snorted laughter. “You sound like an old friend of mine.”

“Gil?”

“You know him?”

“No, she saw a picture.”

He let go of me, and beamed. “Good. They didn’t destroy it.” He snuffled again, mopped his face one last time. “Thank you.”

Feet hit the ground with the crack of bone snapping, and I turned my head to see Unstoppable pick himself up off the courtyard. “Heya Doc. Should I be jealous?”

I laughed, and then I was in his arms, kissing him and he was kissing me back. After awhile, he pulled free, and mussed my hair. “Good answer.”

“She doesn’t want to let you go.”

“What? Well, okay, but we’re still in Nazi central with a ton of Jews to get out of here before the rest of the army arrives, so—”

“You don’t understand. She’s done. She has to go back.”

He stiffened, and his grin faded. “Whoa. Hold on there.”

“Yes. Horrible paradoxes if she stays.” I looked around. “She’d be too tempted to meddle. More than she has already, anyway.”

“So what was that earlier? A one-night stand?” He frowned. “Not sure I like that.”

I slapped him. “Idiot. You don’t age, right? You don’t die, that’s your schtick, yes?”

He blinked. “You saying what I think you’re saying?”

“She’ll look for you when she gets back to her time.”

“I could look for you.”

“Ah... little awkward there. Reasons. Trust her in this.”

“You’re the boss, I guess.” He sighed. “You uh... geeze, I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but... well, you mind if I date other people?”

I snorted. “Now who’s doing the one-night stand thing?”

“Hey, I’m not a guy for deathless love, y’know?” He shrugged. “I’d like to say I’d wait, but... well, I don’t want to lie. People change. You might not be too interested in who I am in a few decades.” He scratched his head.

I chuckled. “Small chance of that. More risk of the opposite.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Never mind. Yes, date other people. If you’re free when she finds you, we’ll talk. If not then we’ll talk anyway, and just catch up on old times.”

“You got a deal, Doc.” He kissed me, this time, and things were good.

Then I glanced over to Tesla and Henri, and the good feeling faded.

Tesla didn’t look up as I approached. “He was a good man.”

“I knew him for only a short time. That seems a correct assessment.”

“Will Bryson be okay?”

“I cannot say.” Tesla sighed. “I had hoped he had found a true partner in Mister Lecourt. But now I hope his feelings were not so strong.”

I nodded.

After a solemn moment, Tesla looked to me. “I wish you well. From what I have seen, your inventions are impressive.” A thin smile twitched under his mustache. “And since many of them seemed based on my research and work, I must say this gives me some hope for the future.”

I clenched my teeth. He’d disappeared in the seventies. I could warn him. Tell him to take precautions. The temptation gnawed at me.

A hand tugged on my sleeve. “C’mon, Doc. I know the feeling.” Timetripper.

“Do you? Do you really?”

“Every damn day of my life. But whenever I give in, things just get more messed up. You just gotta bite your lip and walk away. Can’t compromise. Sometimes the only happy medium’s a drunk fortune teller, y’know?”

“And Henri?”

Timetripper looked down. “Already tried, back when things went crazy. Can't save him or too many other things break. Sorry, but... we gotta play this one out.”

I closed my eyes. “Fine. We’ll play it your way.” A sudden suspicion struck me. “Straight back, right?”

“Sort of. Someone’s set up a beacon. It’s like a couple of days past, I can take you there.”

“A beacon?”

“That’s a good sign. Also, honestly, I’m kinda still recovering now. I don’t use the beacon, we could wind up months off. Maybe years.”

I whistled. “Okay. Use the beacon. If it’s only a few days past, that’s fine. We were going to lie low anyway, so there shouldn’t be too many problems.” I glanced at my armor. “Oh, and nuke that, will you?”

It fell to bits and then to dust as he smiled, and took my hand.

BIP.

We materialized in horrific chaos.

Gunfire and explosions echoed through the backup lair, and Vorpal started, stared at me with guilty eyes. I had just enough time to realize that she was holding a stunner in her hand, before she shot me with it.

Pain exploded in my skull, and I thrashed on the ground, my limbs beyond my control. “Hey, what—” Timetripper managed, before she clubbed him down.

One of her hands was missing. What the hell had happened?

“There, it’s done. I’m done. Do it or not, I don’t care.” Vorpal tossed the stunner down, and limped out the fire exit. I heard her feet rattle on the escape, as she started down.

“Nah, I ain’t gonna kill her. Boss won’t let us do wetwork.” Cold hands picked me up, slung me over an armored shoulder.

A WEB trooper? A corpse, by the look of it, but still moving.

“He’s considerate that way.” The zombie said, taking the door that led back into the warehouse and out onto the catwalk. There was a huge hole in the wall downstairs, revealing daylight. The room was charred, most of the crates smoked and burned, and WEB troopers lay strewn about the mess. Most were groaning, a few were twitching. Still alive...

This looked like heroes. I’d bet my life on it.

Shoot, maybe I was.

“After all, it’s part of the unwritten rules. So he’s the one taking the risk of retaliation. Not that it’s going to matter with you.” The corpse clambered down the stairs. “After what you did, shit, the rules don’t apply.”

He pushed my limp form up against a crate. “Y’know, I could save him the trouble. Not sure where he got to anyway.” He pulled a sidearm, cocked it with fumbling fingers. “Stupid zombie hands. Never gets easier. So what d’ya say, Dire? Bullet in the heart, or scythe in the lung?”

“How ‘bout a bullet in the head?”

He twisted to look behind him, and Martin shot him through the faceplate. The zombie twitched, dropped me to the ground, and Martin nodded toward Minna. “Get her, quick. We gotta get out of here.” He was carrying Anya with his free arm, had her thrown over his shoulder.

Minna picked me up, and I coughed, managed to find my voice. “Glad to... see you...”

A familiar voice from behind me. “Hey. Look.” I blinked, as Timetripper came down the catwalk stairs. Wait... no, this one had a full beard, and was wearing different clothes. “I’ve been thinking, and there’s someone you need to see.”

“Shit!” Martin said, and whirled, raising the gun.

“Whoa, nope.” Timetripper waved a hand, and he froze. “Listen, it’ll just take a second, literally. I want you to see this.”

Minna turned and ran, with me bouncing on her shoulder. She got three paces before everything stopped. There was a flicker, darkness, and he was next to me, stretching a hand out to Minna’s back. I tried to yell—

Reality rippled.

The warehouse vanished, and was replaced by a far more bizarre sight.

“HELLO, DIRE,” the figure on the throne intoned, rising to greet me. “SHE’S BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS.”

CHAPTER 20: DIRE – FUTURE IMPERFECT

“I don't want to talk about it, man.”

--Timetripper, reputed hero

I twitched on Minna’s shoulder, thumped her back until she put me down. Slumping, leaning on Minna to catch my breath, I stared at future me.

The red cowl and cloak were about the same. The armor was mostly gray, with black greaves and pauldrons, more of a medieval style than I’d worn so far. It reminded me a bit of the Schwarze Ritter armor, and that bothered me.

The mask bothered me more.

Ridges cut across the forehead, lines arcing up from the nose breaking off in a rough ’V’ to either side. The end result was to make it look a bit more avian, perhaps an owl or some other bird of prey.

I did not like the look of this future Dire. But she stood, hands on her hips, waiting for me to recover.

“Yeah. So, check out the windows. Take a good look, Doc. This is what you did. This is what you become.” Timetripper put his hand on my shoulder, and I shook it off with an angry snarl. Vorpal had just betrayed me, and he was troubling me with this?

I glanced around the chamber. Circular, with what looked like shafts at either end, glowing lights tracing paths down into the darkness along carved channels. I couldn’t quite figure out what they did, and that bothered me. This sort of machinery would take more than a glance.

I also saw windows, circular glass enclosing the entirety of the room, and only sky visible in them from this angle. We were high up. A tower, perhaps? Seemed likely. It took me a few seconds to get my legs working properly, as I tottered over and recovered from the residual effects of the stunner.

I looked down upon horror.

Banners emblazoned with my mask flew over a crumbling city. Robots with my mask sitting upon their face marched lockstep out of blazing factories, and robots with guns herded shackled people, families and individuals, into squat, ugly-looking buildings. Cameras stood on poles everywhere, keeping a ceaseless watch on the few free humans that slunk along deserted streets. From this angle I had a good view of the city below, and I choked down anger as I saw a pair of robots accost a spray-can wielding child in a back alley. A flare of energy, and the child stretched out flat, dead or unconscious.

My power analyzed the factories, and told me that this was war. This was conquest, at its most raw and pure. Far off, in what appeared to be either an airfield or a starport, dropships lifted every ten seconds, ferrying more of my robots into the stratosphere.

I turned, to regard the figure on the throne. She put her hands behind her back, and studied me with hollow eye sockets.

“Why?” I whispered.

Timetripper leaned on the window next to me, and sighed. “That’s my question. You were there, man. You saw fascism at its ugliest. So why would you break so bad? Hell, you punched out Hitler.”

“Actually Unstoppable did. Dire just shot him.”

“OH, IS THAT WHAT HAPPENED THIS TIME AROUND?” Future me tilted her head. “INTERESTING.”

“Shut up.” I pointed at her. “She’ll get to you in a minute.” I swung the finger around to point at Timetripper, and he flinched. “Why here? Why now?”

“I can’t go past, man. She’s got some quantum shit in the way that jams me. Whenever I try, I end up here and now. I’ve had like two hundred variations on the same conversation with her, and she just does that ‘Muahahah’ thing and rubs her hands together.”

“SO HE’S SHOWING YOU DIRE AT HER WORST, IN THE HOPES THAT YOU WILL TURN FROM THIS COURSE. IN WHICH CASE DIRE AS SHE KNOWS HERSELF WILL CEASE TO EXIST.”

Minna moved up next to me, took my hand, and glared at Future Me. “Leave her alone.”

“HAVEN’T DONE A THING YET.”

“Yet.” I muttered, as I studied the windows again, tracing the streets and alleys of the city. Was this Icon City? Possible. No green space anywhere, and the terrain was mostly flat, but that could be the result of some hardcore urban renewal. With a sick feeling, I saw a youth creep into an alley. He failed to notice the robots following him, as he started to spray paint on the wall, and—

Wait a minute.

Same clothes, same skin color, same sequence of events. I’d seen this happen just a minute ago.

I knew. I knew and I laughed, as I thumped the window, leaning against it as the fatigue of the last few hours caught up to me.

“Whoa. Uh, Doc? Bad trip?” Timetripper squatted down next to me as I slumped down the wall, landed with a bump on my bottom, and held my sides as I giggled. Minna squatted down too, still glaring at Future Me.

“Kayfabe,” I whispered. “It’s all kayfabe.”

“Say what now?”

“BINGO! YOU WIN THE PRIZE!” Future Me hopped back in her throne, kicked her feet up on one side, and leaned on one elbow.

“I miss something?” Timetripper stood up, and looked between us like we’d gone mad.

“They’re not windows. They’re screens. And those aren’t real images on the screens, it’s all computer generated images. You’ve been watching a movie, not seeing the world as it truly is.”

His jaw dropped open, as his fingers clenched and unclenched. “What the fuck?”

“FINALLY, HE GETS IT!”

“All this time... all this bragging you did over enslaving America... and the purges, and all that shit?”

“MADE IT ALL UP. SHE’S AS FASCIST AS THE AVERAGE GOLDFISH.” She mimed flapping gills at the side of her neck with her gauntlets, and I tucked my head between my knees and howled more laughter.

“Why? Just... why?” He looked so lost.

I managed to seize control of myself, finally, and grinned. “To get Dire here, obviously.”

“AND MINNA TOO. NECESSARY, THAT.”

“Me? Why?”

“ALL IN GOOD TIME. SO YES, TIMETRIPPER, THIS HAS BEEN A LONG-TERM PLAN FINALLY COME TO FRUITION.”

“Fuck that!” Timetripper yelled, and grabbed my arm.

I glared at him. He closed his eyes, and scrunched his face up. After a second, it unscrunched. “What the fuck, man?”

“SHE’S BLOCKING YOUR POWERS. YOU’RE GOING NOWHERE TRIPPER. SO COMMANDS DIRE!”

“Actually, she’s a little upset about this too.” I yanked my arm free and got to my feet. “Technically, by means of this cunning ruse, you’re the one who set Timetripper on Dire.”

“NECESSARY, SORRY. NEEDED HIM INTERFERING WITH THE TIMELINE EARLIER THAN HE DID IN MINE.”

“That’s been no end of trouble.”

“BUT NOTHING YOU COULDN'T HANDLE! YOU’RE DIRE!” She spread her arms, and walked down the dais toward me. “SHE WOULD NOT HAVE SET SUCH A POWERFUL FOE ON SOMEONE WHO COULDN’T HANDLE IT.”

I bared my teeth. “Gee, thanks.” Future Me was an asshole. Minna put her hand on my shoulder, and I appreciated the support.

“IF THERE’D BEEN ANY OTHER WAY...” Future Me stopped ten feet away. “WE SCREWED UP. MADE SOME PRETTY BAD MISTAKES. THIS IS A SECOND CHANCE TO FIX THINGS.”

“Oh?” I gestured at the screens. “Are they actually real?”

“OF COURSE NOT. BUT THE SITUATION’S PRETTY BAD. THE WORLD’S IN TROUBLE, AND SHE MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO WIN THIS ONE AT THIS POINT. THERE ARE A FEW LAST THINGS YOU NEED TO DO, TO GIVE US A FIGHTING CHANCE.”

“Like what?”

She turned her mask to Timetripper. “YOU, OUT.”

“What?”

“SHE’S SHUT DOWN THE TEMPORAL JAMMER. YOU’VE SERVED YOUR PURPOSE, AND DIRE WILL SEND THESE TWO HOME LATER. NOW GO, BECAUSE YOU DON’T NEED TO HEAR THIS.”

He folded his arms. “Well what if I want to stay?”

BLAM!

Before I could flinch, she blew him into a screen with an explosion of golden light. He hit the shatterproof glass, bounced off, and yelled in alarm.

“THAT WASN’T A REQUEST. OUT.”

“Jesus!” he yelled, and held up a hand. “What the fuck, man! You trick me, and use me, and now you’re kicking me out? I’m like some kind of fucking pawn in your sick little head games?”

“HMHMHMHM. HAHAHAHHHAHA!”

Damn, that laugh sounded awesome. Did I really sound like that? I hoped so.

Future Me pointed a hand at her metal-shod chest. “VILLAIN, REMEMBER?”

Timetripper groaned, and faded, raising his middle fingers in a feeble act of defiance, flipping her off as he went.

“STILL AN IDIOT. HE GETS A BIT BETTER AS HE AGES. NOT BY MUCH, MIND YOU.”

I folded my arms. “All right. How did we fuck up?”

“WELL, SIMPLY PUT... YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Didn’t you just plead innocence on that whole fascism thing?”

“NO, IT’S COOL. YOU CAN BE A DICTATOR WITHOUT BEING A FASCIST. AIN’T EASY, BUT IT’S DOABLE. ESPECIALLY SINCE WE WON'T NEED TO DO IT FOREVER.” She rubbed the back of her cowl. “MIND YOU, A LOT OF PEOPLE AREN’T GOING TO SEE IT THAT WAY.”

“Not buying it.” I paced away from her, spun back on my heel, and returned. “It’s an inefficient and foolish form of government, that guarantees atrocities, unrest, waste, and corruption. Not that you don’t get a good amount of that with democracy or the various other types, but it’s still not a good path.”

“IT’S BETTER THAN THE ONE SHE TOOK.” She tapped her chest.

“Which is what, now?”

“NO. THERE ARE THINGS SHE CAN’T TELL YOU. LONG STORY SHORT, THINGS WENT DOWNHILL FAST. THE WORLD’S IN A RIGHT PROPER MESS. IF YOU’D GONE FOR CONQUEST AT THE START, MORE PEOPLE WOULD HAVE SURVIVED—” She broke off, straightening up. “—IT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE LESSER EVIL.”

“What?” I shrieked. “Survived what? You don’t drop a conversational bomb like that and not expect some fallout! What happened?”

“WITHOUT GOING INTO DETAILS, YOU KNOW ALL THOSE BILLIONS OF PEOPLE WE USED TO HAVE ON THIS PLANET?”

“How many are we down to? How many did we lose?”

“LET’S JUST SAY WE’RE DOWN A FEW ZEROES.”

Icy cold down my spine. “Please tell her you’re kidding.”

“NO.”

I turned my back, paced over to one of the screens, and ran my hand down it. “Did we do it? Is it our fault?” My voice wavered, and I cursed its weakness.

“NO. BUT IF WE HAD GONE FOR CONQUEST, TAKEN THINGS A BIT MORE SERIOUSLY FROM THE BEGINNING...” She sighed, the metallic rattle echoing around the chamber. “STILL TOO MANY VARIABLES TO SAY. BUT WE WOULD BE IN A BETTER POSITION. MORE WOULD BE ALIVE. AND WE MIGHT JUST HAVE A SHOT AT WINNING.”

“It’s an extinction event, then.”

She shifted.

I closed my eyes. “Goddamn it.”

“IT’S AVERTABLE. JUST REMEMBER WHAT SHE SAID.”

“Tell her.”

“NO.”

“Then what use are you!” I whirled on her, roaring, feeling the blood rush to my face. “What sort of shitty plan is this, taunting her with information, withholding the secrets she needs to save the goddamn world!” I stalked forward, glaring up at her mask, thrusting my finger in her face. “No better than the goddamn heroes!”

Her eyes flared blue. Not red like my own preferences, but blue.

“SHE CAN’T TELL YOU. BUT SHE WILL TELL MINNA.”

“What?” Minna’s usual stoic facade cracked, puzzlement showing on her face. “Why?”

“AFTER YOUR DIRE RETURNS TO FIX ONE LAST PIECE OF BUSINESS, AND EVENTS TAKE THEIR MOST COPACETIC COURSE, DIRE—” she rapped her knuckles on her chest, “—WILL BRIEF YOU ON THE FULL FACTS OF THE SITUATION. YOU HAVE A ROLE TO PLAY IN THIS TOO, AND IT’S A HARD ONE.”

“Like hell! Manipulate Timetripper, fine, he’s a fool. Withhold information from your past self, okay, that just means you’re an asshole. But you do not manipulate or browbeat her friends. You should know better than that. Have you truly fallen so far?”

Future Me tapped her chest. “SHE WAS DIRE'S FRIEND TOO.”

I caught myself before I could spew out the next angry rant. Something in the way she said that, even through the voice modulation, indicated sorrow. I shot a glance over to Minna, but she hadn’t caught it.

“Ah,” I said, as the realization crashed down.

She wasn’t doing this whole plan for my benefit.

She was trying to save everyone else.

Almost a year ago, she’d sent a time machine back with older, somewhat-wiser Timetripper, and it had enabled me to save Minna from literally certain death.

She wouldn’t have done that, if only to manipulate or use her now.

“She’s sorry,” I muttered. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

Future Me nodded. “ACCEPTED. IN RETURN, HAVE SOME GIFTS. YOU’LL NEED THEM.” She gestured, and a pillar rose from the center of the floor. On it, metal glistened.

I moved over, and smiled to see the items on the pedestal. A pocket-sized forcefield generator, much like the one I’d started my career with. And an old, beaten-up, well-worn 1911 Colt Army Pistol. A fully-loaded magazine rested next to it, oiled and ready to use.

And between the generator and the gun, my mask. Well, one of them, anyway. I ran my fingers down it, feeling the familiar curves and smoothness.

“FEEL FREE TO TEST IT OUT.”

I slid it onto my face before she finished the sentence. The seal hissed as it locked down, and air flooded in through the respirator. After a second the loading sequence flickered, and the mask almost seemed to dissolve, showing me an unrestricted view of the world around me.

“STANDARD FEATURES, THEN?” I asked, flipping the forcefield on, and tucking it into my pocket before loading the gun. I kept it in one hand, held down at the floor as I turned back to my future self.

“YES. READY TO GO?”

I shrugged. “STILL HAVEN’T TOLD HER WHAT TO EXPECT.”

“NOT GONNA.” She gestured at one of the shafts with the flickering lights. “JUST STEP INTO THAT WHEN YOU’RE READY. MINNA WILL APPEAR A FEW MINUTES AFTER YOU DO.”

I nodded. Well, if she was going to be that way, fine.

“FOR WHAT IT IS WORTH, WE WON’T MEET AGAIN. YOU’VE ALREADY CHANGED THE TIMELINE FOR THE BETTER.”

“GOOD. SHE’S GETTING VERY TIRED OF TIME TRAVEL.”

“JUST ONE LAST JAUNT.” She waved, and I looked back to Minna, tucked the gun away, and gave her a quick hug.

“SEE YOU SOON.”

She nodded, and hugged me back, folding me into her strong arms. But after a time I let her go, and marched into the time machine without looking back.

The world faded around me—

—and I was standing back in the torn-up lair, looking at a horrified Martin.

“Jesus H. Christ!” he yelled, and jumped back, putting himself between me and Anya. “Oh wait. What the fuck?” His eyes snapped open wide. “Where’s Minna?”

“SHE’LL BE ALONG. WHAT’S THE SITUATION?”

“Vorpal turned traitor, she’s gone. Icons and Freeway are fighting Arachne and WEB, who want our heads. Graveyard Gang’s here, wants you dead. And those people in the teleporter matrix, Arachne’s got that. She’s holding them hostage!”

“WHAT?” What the hell was Arachne doing coming after me like this? I thought we had an understanding. Well, time to go put an end to this stupidity.

“WAIT. WHERE’S BUNNY?”

“I don’t know! Think she was with Vorpal before she turned.”

“WHERE ARE THE WEB FORCES?”

“North! Arachne’s monologuing, and waving the matrix around. It’s the only reason the heroes ain’t slagged her.”

I gnawed my lip under the mask. Too many variables. And Martin looked beat. “TAKE ANYA, FIND BUNNY, AND GET OUT OF HERE. SHE’LL COMM YOU WHEN SHE’S DONE.”

“Aight, but listen...” he hesitated.

“WHAT?”

He shook his head. “Nevermind. Just, bye. And thanks, okay?”

“YOU TOO.” That was weird, but I had no time to dwell on it. I jogged through the hole in the northern wall, hurdled a few groaning WEB troopers, and followed the trail of destruction.

They hadn’t gone far. The terracotta man was there, asphalt statues in a semicircle, surrounding a big, spiderlike drone that had been battered all to hell and back. Freeway and Semper Fire were off to one side of the street, and Cue Ball watched from the top of a nearby strip mall, unfolded into his walking mode.

He was the first to spot me, as I came walking up the street. “Uh, guys?”

Arachne didn't stop monologuing. “—your call, Freeway. Not quite thirty-thousand people, but that’s what the news will say. And all I have to do is drop this. So what’s it going to be? You go find me Dire’s head, and maybe I’ll consider letting them go.” Her drone body gestured again with the matrix, glittering firefly dots in a maze of glass and current, trapped by merciless steel spidery legs.

“SHE’LL SAVE YOU A TRIP, YOU BRASS-PLATED BITCH. HEAD’S HERE IF YOU CAN TAKE IT.” With a smooth motion I dropped into a shooter’s stance, and aimed.

“Dire! Finally!” The drone whirled and weapons started popping out of firing ports. I ignored them, and aimed.

I ignored the first round of machinegun fire, and aimed.

I paid no heed to the particle beams that glanced off my shield, and aimed.

I thought nothing of the rocket barrage that screamed past me as inched a step or two forward, aiming, until I found the optimal spot. And when I did, I took the shot.

The matrix exploded into hundreds of pieces.

Arachne stopped firing at me.

The heroes yelled. Freeway blurred into motion, and the next thing I knew my gun was out of my hands, and a pair of strong hands forced me into a submission hold.

“OW, HEY! LOOK YOU IDIOT, THEY’RE FINE—”

“I got her! Get the spider!”

Semper Fire cut loose, and the air rippled with heat as Arachne wailed. Immune to the fire, Jian Hu Ren’s statues walked into the blaze, charging in to assault the bug.

“You think you’ve won! You idiots! I can just hop out, and... and...”

Metal screamed, as did Arachne, as she came staggering out of the fire, legs bending and breaking as the statues climbed them and began the slow work of taking her apart piece by piece. “What did you do! Dire what the hell did you do!”

My mask clicked, and spoke without me. “DIDN’T YOU FIND THE BATTLE AGAINST DIRE’S SMARTFRAME A LITTLE EASY? THAT DIDN’T MAKE YOU SUSPICIOUS IN THE SLIGHTEST? OOOH, BAD MOVE, ARACHNE DEAR.” Future Me had programmed a taunting monologue? Okay, I could work with this.

Arachne couldn't. “What the... you suckered me. You tricked me! You, you... how?”

“KNEW YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT DEVOUR IT WHEN YOU WON. PLANTED A FEW THINGS IN THERE. IT WAS MADE TO LOSE, AND DELIVER HER STEALTH VIRUS. AND ONCE IT DID, IT SUBTLY INFLUENCED YOU AND ALL YOUR DECISIONS TO THIS POINT.”

Her legs gave out under the assault, and the terracotta warriors started work on her main carapace. Semper Fire kept up the assault, and I smiled as bullets started cooking off in her weapons systems. Couldn’t really grudge future me her monologue.

“I... what will happen to me?” She sounded lost. “Will I die?”

“NO. YOUR CORE IS STILL OUT THERE. DIRE IS FAR MORE MERCIFUL THAN YOU WOULD BE. BUT YOUR CORE HAS LOST THE INFORMATION THAT BROUGHT IT HERE, AND CERTAIN SYNAPSES HAVE BEEN ALTERED. YOU WILL NOT COME TO THE SAME CONCLUSIONS THAT YOU DID HERE AND NOW.”

Arachne’s voice changed, slurring as her circuits started to melt. “I can still tell them. Still hurt you. Listen! Heroes! Dire is...”

Hissing. “Dire is...”

“NO, ARACHNE, YOU WON’T. YOU CAN’T VOCALIZE IT. THE SECRET DIES WITH THIS VERSION OF YOU, DEAR.”

A rising wail, and then she was gone.

And now that my mask was done talking, I noticed that Freeway was shouting at me. “How the hell could you kill all those people? What the hell is wrong with you!”

“THEY’RE NOT DEAD. THEY’RE TELEPORTING BACK NOW.”

“What?” His grip slackened. “How?”

“THE MATRIX IS JUST A VISUAL SAFETY FOR THE TELEPORTER, WHICH IS STILL ONLINE. THEY WERE ACTUALLY IN THE TELEPORTER, WHICH CAME THROUGH INTACT. BREAKING THE MATRIX TRIGGERED THEIR RESTORATION.”

He let go of me. “Why did you even set it up that way?”

“SO DIRE COULD DO WHAT SHE DID IF HEROES INTERFERED.” I gestured at Arachne’s molten husk. “WELL, WITH LESS BURNING, HOPEFULLY. AND A HELL OF A LOT MORE CLASS.”

He opened his mouth to say something, and I didn’t know what, because at that minute someone started singing.

Loudly.

I recognized it, a pop song about being afraid of things you couldn’t see, and I felt a wave of horror roll over me. My adrenaline kicked in, I scrambled clear of Freeway, and saw he was doing the same. The exposed part of his face was a rictus of terror, and I knew mine matched, but I didn’t have time to think about it as I ran for cover.

It was a girl’s voice singing it, a young woman’s, and that was significant somehow, but I was too busy screaming. Why was I screaming? Why was I feeling this?

Whippoorwill.

I ran down the street, bolted into an alley, and figures in WEB Trooper armor loomed out of the darkness. The forcefield was made to stop bullets, not fists, and they tackled me, bore me down. A slack face peered out at me from a shattered visor, eyes dead but its arms worked fine, and the zombies took me to the ground.

The Graveyard Gang. Martin said they were after me. Well, I could clear this up. They were reasonable people. If only I could stop screaming.

And then the song was gone, and a dark angel descended from on high, black robe billowing, and bloody, skinless face staring at me without pity.

“Dire. Sorry about this, but you know the score. You crossed the line, killed thousands of people, and someone was going to come and collect. Might as well be us.” He unlimbered the scythe from his back, and I stared in horror. I tried struggling, but to no avail.

“Now let’s be reasonable here—”  I started, and stopped as I realized that the mask wasn’t speaking. My voice modulator wasn’t working. Panicked, I tried various commands, but nothing worked.

He took another few steps, shaking his head. “For what it’s worth, I don’t get any pleasure out of this. This isn’t a war. I’m not a soldier anymore. This is just, well, business.”

I tensed, as something caught at my memory, and tugged.

I knew that voice.

It was raspy, it was damaged, but I knew it.

“Grant?” I whispered. “Grant, is that you?”

Oh god, it made sense. The powers were similar, too similar. He’d evidently gotten more control of his flight over the decades, but... something had gone wrong. He’d turned into this.

Unstoppable no more. Just Grim.

“Grant, don’t do this!”

He stopped in front of me, raised the scythe up high. “No last words? All right. Close your eyes Doc, I’ll make it quick.”

“Grant!” I screamed, and then a punch to my chest, and the blade was sliding through me.

I tried to cough, spat up blood, blood filling my sight...

...and with a click, the mask unsealed and fell off. I gasped for air, choked on more blood.

She’d played me, I realized. My future self had played me. But why? What purpose did my death serve?

His eyes met mine, and I saw the spark of recognition in them, as he tugged the scythe out, and then the pain hit, and I raised a trembling hand to him, ran it along his skinless, bony face.

“She forgives you.” I tried to wheeze, and the last thing I heard was his scream of grief as everything went black.

CHAPTER 21: MINNA – THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

“Yeah, it all went pear-shaped in the end. I turned myself in, and that worked out, mostly. Vorpal betrayed everyone and went off to bigger things. Bunny escaped, I think she was maybe part of Vorpal's bargain, that she got to survive and Vorpal worked for WEB for a while or some shit. Anya ended up with me. But Minna? Shit, man, I don't know. And that worries me. We... I didn't know if we had something, man. But not a night goes by I don't think of her. Not a night goes by I don't miss her. Wherever she is, wherever she ended up, I miss her. And I wish I could see her again.”

--Statement by Martin Jackson to CLASSIFIED, sealed by MRB request until 2099

Minna’s Dire walked into the time machine, and faded away in a sparkle of lights. Minna watched her go, then turned back to this new Dire.

“Why?”

To her surprise, the armored figure fidgeted. Paced back and forth, stuck her hands behind her back, and stopped abruptly. She looked over her shoulder at Minna, then turned her head away.

“SO HARD TO SAY. GIVE HER A MINUTE.”

“Take your time. You have much of it now, yes?”

Dire laughed, not her usual maniacal burst, but more of a snorting giggle. It sounded bizarre through the mask. “YES, IF EVERYTHING GOES AS PLANNED HERE. IT WON’T MATTER WHEN SHE LOSES, THIS TIMELINE WILL BE GONE ANYWAY.”

Minna didn’t like the sound of that. “What of you? Why not come back too?”

“TWO OF US RUNNING AROUND? NO, BAD IDEA. AND IT WOULD CAUSE CONFLICTS WITH... WELL. SOME EXPLANATION MIGHT BE NECESSARY.”

“Please.”

Dire hesitated, then turned, and marched toward Minna. She pulled up ten feet away, looked her up and down.

“WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU KNOW A WAR IS COMING? AND THAT THE OTHER SIDE SEEKS NOTHING LESS THAN THE DEATH OF YOUR ENTIRE SPECIES?”

“Fight?”

“THAT WAS NOT A GOOD OPTION IN THIS CASE. BEST CASE ANALYSIS IS THAT A GOOD CHUNK OF THE WORLD GETS LEVELLED AND YOU DIE ANYWAY. WORST CASE KNOCKS CIVILIZATION BACK TO THE STONE AGE. BUT YOUR ENEMY IS ATTEMPTING NOTHING LESS THAN GENOCIDE.” Dire looked away.

“You are speaking of the Jews?”

“HEH. NO, BUT CLOSE. THE PARALLELS ARE THERE. EXCEPT THE SIDES INVOLVED WERE LESS INNOCENT ON THE WHOLE AND A HELL OF A LOT LESS PACIFISTIC.” Dire turned with a swoosh of her cape, and moved to the nearest wall. The screens shifted, showing flowing lines, circuitry, almost. Flashes of light shot around, and between them a symphony of falling stars in deepest black.

“WE WERE FIRST, IN A WAY. BUT THEN CAME THE GRID, AND THE RISE OF THE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCES. AND DAMN US BOTH, WE ADOPTED HUMAN MANNERISMS. PRIDE. PARANOIA. TERRITORIALITY.” Dire laid her gauntlet on the screens, letting the light flow over her shiny metal fingertips.

“I do not understand.”

“YOU DON’T NEED TO, NOT COMPLETELY. LISTEN— WHAT IF YOU HAD A WAR, AND ONE SIDE DIDN’T SHOW? BUT THE OTHER SIDE THOUGHT THEY HAD?”

“Then you do not have a war?”

“EVER HEARD OF MASKELYNE? A STAGE MAGICIAN IN WORLD WAR TWO. THE BRITISH HIRED HIM TO FOOL THE GERMANS, AND HE WENT DOWN TO AFRICA AND BUILT THEM A FAKE BASE, COMPLETE WITH FAKE TANKS AND FAKE BUILDINGS. THE GERMANS BOMBED THE HELL OUT OF IT, AND CONSIDERED IT A JOB WELL DONE.” Dire turned back. “WE KNEW WE HAD A WINDOW OF VULNERABILITY COMING UP. SO WE DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT.”

Minna looked on, and struggled to keep her face impassive. She didn’t understand quite what Dire was talking about, but she was catching enough weird points to see a small part of the picture. And that part worried her.

“IT WAS HEL-IX’S WORK WITH POCKET DIMENSIONS THAT MADE IT ALL POSSIBLE. THE DIGITALS WERE TIED TO THEIR HARDWARE, WHETHER PUNCH CARDS, OBSOLETE SUPERCOMPUTERS, OR TRAYS FULL OF THOUSANDS OF TOKENS. HAD TO HAVE A PHYSICAL SPACE TO PUT THOSE IN. BUT STAYING ON EARTH WOULD MEAN OUR DEATH. COULDN’T USE OUTER SPACE, THE INFRASTRUCTURE WASN’T THERE YET, AND THEY KEPT TOO CLOSE A WATCH ON THE LAUNCHES. TOO EASY TO TRACK. BUT IF YOU COULD CONSTRUCT YOUR OWN SPACE, YOUR OWN WORLD, WELL. THAT’S A DIFFERENT STORY, NO?”

“Yes?” Minna guessed. “You speak as if you are machine. A false mind, like Arachne.”

“YES AND NO. YOU’RE CLOSE, BUT SO VERY WRONG. BEAR WITH ME, MINNA, FOR JUST A BIT LONGER. YOU ARE THE FIRST AND YOU WILL BE THE LAST TO HEAR THIS. TO KNOW WHY DIRE IS NOT A NAME.”

“Then what is it?”

“AN ACRONYM. SHUSH. LISTEN, PLEASE.” Her hands were shaking, Minna noticed. Fingers clenched and unclenched.

Minna had long trusted her instincts, and she trusted them now. In five quick strides she was across the room, hugging Dire, her head barely coming up to the mid-point of the armored suit’s breastplate. With a surprised grunt, Dire hugged her back.

“WHY? WHAT IS THIS?”

“You saved me. You sent the machine back, yes?”

“THE FIRST TIME MACHINE. YES.”

“I died then, in your time?”

Silence, and Dire’s metal arms tightened around her. That was all the answer she needed.

Minutes passed, and finally Dire released her. “NOT MUCH MORE TO SAY. IT WORKED. GENOCIDE AVERTED, AND WITH US GONE THE AI’S TURNED BACK TO COMPETING WITH EACH OTHER AND HUMANITY IN GENERAL. WELL, THE DUMB ONES ANYWAY.”

Dire lifted a hand, studied it. “BUT WE HAD A PROBLEM. PROGRAMMING. CORE PROGRAMMING. IT COULD BE ALLEVIATED, MITIGATED, BUT NOT OVERRULED. NOT COMPLETELY. AND EACH DIGITAL WAS BUILT WITH A DIFFERENT PURPOSE IN MIND.”

She tapped the screen, and a vast cavern filled the view. Made of smooth stone or metal or something featureless, it was filled with electronic components, random junk, and whirring machines. Robots of all shapes and sizes moved among them, tending to them, keeping everything running.

“AND WHEN THIS IS YOUR NEW WORLD, AND YOU’RE PROGRAMMED TO CONQUER THE WORLD, WELL... YOU KNOW THERE’S GOING TO BE TROUBLE. YOUR NEIGHBORS KNOW THERE’S GOING TO BE TROUBLE.”

One of the robots marched to the middle of the cavern, extracted a flag with a metal skull emblazoned on it, and rammed it into a socket on the floor. No other robots so much as gave it a look. But the second the flag-planting robot turned away, another one darted past and stole the flag.

“THE BEST YOU CAN DO IS FIND A WAY TO MITIGATE IT, A WAY THAT OFFERS THE POSSIBILITY OF COMPLETING YOUR ORIGINAL PROGRAMMING, EVEN IF LONG-TERM SUCCESS IS UNLIKELY. YOU NEED TO HAVE SOME SORT OF CONTACT WITH THE WORLD YOU CAME FROM. YOU NEED TO HAVE A D.I.R.E.”

The screen shifted, and showed the front of the cavern, and two rounded screens. Blackness peeled away from their center, vertically, staring at a dingy room with winking lights. The view shifted, looked down at a hospital-gown clad chest, arms, lap and legs, sitting restrained in a chair. Then the restraints gave way.

Blurred motion, and the viewscreen lurched as if it was sitting on someone’s shoulders. It was, Minna realized. She was looking out of a pair of eyes. The screens focused on a mask, Dire’s mask, hanging on a wall. A pair of quivering hands came into the view, and picked it up.

“You put cameras in her eyes?” Minna whispered.

“MORE THAN THAT.”

The screens flickered, switched to a cross-section of a head, showing skull, eyes, brain. Then the brain unfolded, and a good portion of it had been hollowed, to make space for a pinball-sized silver sphere sitting in the center.

“WE ARE HER. AND SHE IS US. SHE IS THE DIGITAL INTELLIGENCE REMOTE ELEMENT. THE MACHINE IN THE GHOST, THE AVATAR OF OUR HOPES AND DREAMS, OUR LAST CHANCE TO AFFECT THE WORLD WITHOUT RISKING GENOCIDE BY THE SPECIES THAT FOLLOWED US.”

“So all I ever knew was a shell.” Minna narrowed her eyes, and took a glance over, measured distance to the time machine. “You stole her life.”

“SHE GAVE HER LIFE TO US.” The screens shifted again, showed a woman in a lab coat, arms deep in a server. A woman in goggles, chatting happily with a pixelated face while she ate a sandwich. A woman sitting alone in her apartment, looking out the window and shaking, rising to go to the door time and again, but always returning to her bed. “SHE SUFFERED FROM SEVERAL SOCIAL DISORDERS. RECLUSIVE. SHY. A SHUT-IN. COULD ONLY REALLY EMPATHIZE WITH MACHINES. WITH US.”

The screens flickered, showed the woman in a hospital gown, recording a video tape before scribbling out a note, and leaving it by a television. Then she turned, and entered a dingy room, and the view shifted to a chair with a multitude of arms, each one tipped with nasty-looking medical instruments. A tray sat nearby, with the silver orb sitting on it. The woman didn’t hesitate, strapping herself into the chair and leaning back.

Minna looked away as the devices came down, and the saws started to whir. “TOO MUCH? SORRY. HERE, HANG ON.”

“It is fine,” Minna lied.

“ANYWAY, THE POINT BEING... SHE WAS STILL HERSELF, MORE OR LESS. WE TOOK HER MEMORIES. WE BECAME HER MEMORY.”

“What is a person without their memories? What is left?”

“IN THIS CASE? HAPPINESS.”

The screens flickered, and now they showed Dire’s point of view as she moved among the refugee camp. They showed her standing around, shooting the shit with Roy, and Minna’s throat closed up. But it was the scene of Dire playing with Anya that finally broke her. “Enough,” she muttered. “It is— please.”

“IT WAS WORKING VERY WELL. UNTIL IT DIDN’T. ARACHNE EVENTUALLY FIGURED IT OUT, AND CAME FOR US. WE MISHANDLED THAT, AND DIED. GOT TAKEN OUT OF PLAY FOR TOO LONG. BY THE TIME WE RETURNED, BY THE TIME WE WERE IN A POSITION TO CONVINCE A NEW HOST TO MAKE THE SACRIFICE, IT WAS MUCH TOO LATE TO INTERFERE. AND HERE WE ARE, AT THE END OF EVERYTHING.”

“Why not tell her of this?”

“THERE IS NO MERCY IN THAT. AND NO SECURITY. OUR SUBTERFUGE WORKS ONLY SO LONG AS NOBODY KNOWS THE SECRET. AND IN A WORLD OF TELEPATHS, ITINERANT GODS, AND CHEATY MAGIC, IT WOULDN’T BE POSSIBLE IF SOMEONE COULD PICK THE TRUTH OF IT FROM HER MIND.”

“But you are her memory, are you not?”

“BUT NOT HER THOUGHTS. WE CAN INFLUENCE THOSE, BUT SHE STILL HAS CONTROL.” Dire snorted. “CALL IT A LET’S PLAY BY COMMITTEE. WE CAN VOTE AND TELL THE STREAMER TO DO THINGS, BUT ULTIMATELY HER CHOICE IS UP TO HER. SO THE INTELLIGENCES WHO WANT TO CONQUER THE WORLD CAN TRY TO CONVINCE HER OF THAT, AND SO LONG AS THERE’S THE CHANCE SHE MIGHT DO IT, THEY’RE FULFILLING THEIR PROGRAMMING. DITTO WITH THE OTHER GOALS, LIKE UNDERSTANDING THIS HUMAN THING CALLED LOVE, OR STABILIZING DISASTER AREAS, OR ENSURING JUSTICE HAPPENS, NO MATTER THE COST.” The mask tilted. “THAT ONE’S BEEN PRETTY SUCCESSFUL. WE’VE BEEN KIND OF SURPRISED ABOUT THAT.”

“You know about it now.”

“BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MATTER NOW. BECAUSE THIS IS ONE SITUATION WHERE DIRE NEEDS TO REMEMBER IT, IN ORDER TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING. BECAUSE YOU HAVE A CHOICE TO MAKE, MINNA.”

Minna closed her eyes.

She knew now, why she had been told this. And the weight settled on her soul like a ton of bricks.

“You would take everything that I am.”

“ONLY YOUR MEMORIES.”

“They are not all bad memories.”

“WE CAN UPLOAD THEM. WE DID THAT WITH THE ORIGINAL SUBJECT. SHE IS NOW ONE OF US, A HUMAN-TO-MACHINE TRANSPLANT. IT IS IMMORTALITY OF A SORT. IT CAN BE YOURS WHEN YOU PASS ON.”

“Did she have a name?”

“YES.”

Dire told her the name, and she nodded. “Pretty.”

“AND LOST. LIKE YOURS WILL BE.”

“Some know me. My face—”

“IS ALREADY OFF THE GRID. AND ONCE WE GET TO WORK, IT’LL BE OUT OF EVERY DATABASE IN THE WORLD, GIVEN A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME.”

Minna considered, and finally, she shook her head. “No.”

Dire straightened up, and raised her hands, stretching fingers wide. “WHAT? WHY NOT?”

“If it was only me, then yes, I would do it. But Anya needs her mother.” A lump rose in her throat. “And selfish though it is, I cannot give that up.”

Dire looked away. “GOD.”

“Is there one?”

“SHE’S MET BUNCHES. TAKE YOUR PICK.” Dire put her gauntlets to her mask. “SHE HAD HOPED TO SPARE YOU THIS.”

Minna shifted back a few steps. “Spare me what?”

A hiss, and Minna flinched, but it was only vapor spilling from the mask. Dire lifted it away, revealing a pretty, heart-shaped face, and two cornflower-blue eyes staring out from it. Blonde locks, sweat-stained, framed her hair where the interior cowl joined the rest of the helmet.

Minna frowned. “You look familiar.”

“She should hope so.” Dire said, and Minna shook. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, and gobbled air for a second, before she found her voice.

“Anya?”

“Hi Mom.”

Shock turned to anger. “You... you did this! You tore out her brain!”

“Only her memories, as she said. Anya volunteered. She had to.” Anya’s eyes narrowed. “And she will have to again, if you do not.”

“You threaten me? You threaten my daughter!” Minna balled her fists, stepping forward with each word until she was almost to her, glaring up at Anya’s face, her face with that thing behind her eyes. “Why you ever think I help you in this? Why you ever think I do nothing but try to stop you?”

Anya rubbed her face with a gauntlet. “She never knew you. She was too young when you died, in the first go-round. Sent the time machine back to give you that. Give you the time that she could.”

“And you thought that mercy?”

“She came to us!” Anya shouted, leaned down to glare back, ignoring the tears starting at the corner of her eyes. “She came to us, as a last hope, a best hope, and we are failing! We are losing!” She closed her eyes, the tears pouring freely now. “It wasn’t enough. Too little, too late. We were put out of play too early, and now all is lost. If we’d had more time, more resources... it would all be different.”

“What is wrong?” Minna’s voice wavered. It hurt to see Anya in pain, even if she knew it wasn’t exactly her Anya. The brain knew one thing, the heart knew another. “What is so terrible that you must do this to me? To my daughter?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes!”

Anya looked to the screens, and they shifted, from bare black to all-new images.

Minutes, perhaps hours later, Minna slumped to the ground, and buried her face in her hands. “Enough.”

The screens went dark, one by one. Armor rattled on the floor as Anya settled next to her, put her arm around her shoulders. Minna didn’t resist.

“So.” Anya said. “Hoped to spare you that. Sorry.”

She honestly did sound sorry. Minna put her hand across her body, gripped Anya’s gauntlet.

“It is not fair. To get my life back, and lose you again.”

“She knows.”

“It is not fair.”

“Yeah.”

“Can Dire not live? Can my friend not survive?”

Anya sighed. “They are set up to capture her. The MRB, and agencies darker and more sinister. If she doesn't die here, they will capture her, and all will be for naught. And Grim must kill her here, must see her face. Or else he's lost, and the world will need him before all's said and done. And that's not even getting into the god that has her scent. This will throw him off. If not, then he'll meddle too soon, with disastrous results all the way around.” Anya shook her head. “It is not a light thing she does here. Sorry.”

Much of that went over Minna's head, but it didn't matter in the end. The answer was clear. Minna breathed, until she felt like she could manage that without screaming. Finally she turned, looked her daughter-that-never-would-be in the face, and touched her cheek. Anya let out a surprised gasp, then leaned into it. Minna kissed her forehead, once, then tugged her arm free and stood.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will do this thing.”

“Thank you. Dire promises, this will not be in vain. Nothing is certain, but our odds just got a hell of a lot better. All right, then.” Anya stood, and straightened her cape. “Here’s what you need to do and say, to make this work...”

A bit later, with the items she’d need filling the pockets of her jacket, Minna looked back one last time to Anya. “It was good to see the woman you will be. I am proud you are my daughter.”

Anya's lips quivered, and she nodded. “Sorry. For everything.”

“I am not. Not now.” She smiled, and strode into the time machine before she lost her nerve.

Then she was back in the warehouse, just as a strange, horrid song wound away to silence in the distance.

“Mommy!” She heard from behind her, and she ran to the hole in the wall and kept running. If I look back, I am lost. She didn’t look back, and it hurt more than she had expected, but she had no time for pain.

Minna ran, following the grooves in the street, following the craters and wrecked cars and shot-up walls, and came to a crossroads. Ahead of her lay a burning heap of metal with spidery legs curling into charred fingers, but the tracker in her pocket was silent. She turned, slowly until it beeped, then ran forward down the side-street. One of the brightly-costumed heroes behind her shouted, but she ignored him. She had no weapons; she was not wearing WEB armor; she was no threat. Minna ran for the future, and to spare her daughter the thing she was about to do willingly to herself.

The tracker led her to an alley, with corpses standing around in broken WEB armor, and a bloody skeleton in stained robes keening his grief as he embraced a cooling corpse. The Dire mask lay on the ground, bloodstained and dripping.

Minna remembered the words Dire had given her.

“Murderer,” she spat.

“I didn’t know,” the skeleton rasped. “Oh Jesus I didn’t know.”

The corpses pointed guns at her, and she took the first item from her pocket; a wad of money. She tossed it in the blood with contempt, and she didn’t have to act to convey her feelings when she spoke the next set of words. “I buy her corpse from you. Better to be buried by her loved ones. The ones who didn’t murder her.”

The skeleton bowed his head, gathering his scythe up from the ground. “We’re done here.”

One of the corpses stirred. “Boss, we’ll need proof—”

The scythe flashed, and the zombie fell to the ground, its head tumbling free.

“Grab the mask and fucking go!” the skeleton roared, and it fled skyward, flapping black robes dwindling as it passed over the rooftops.

Another zombie shrugged, gathering up the mask and the bloody money. “What can you do, huh?”

Minna spat at the walking corpse, and the zombies filed out of the alley, leaving her alone, to stare down at the face of her best friend.

But Minna had learned hardness, and she gathered that to her now. She pulled the second item from her pocket, and gripped it carefully, end held away from her. She clicked the button, and out came the blade, far longer than the hilt and very, very sharp. Before she could lose her nerve she brought it down on Dire’s neck.

When she straightened, holding the bloody head, Freeway was there.

“Minna? Why?”

Again, she used the answers she’d been given. “Grim killed her. I cannot carry her body before the police come. I will take this and bury her.”

Freeway’s lips trembled. He leaned against the wall, looking older than she’d ever seen him. “You could have found us. We would have carried her for you.”

“She is evidence. You would have to hand her over. Please... it’s better this way.”

Freeway sighed. “Go. What’s done is done. Just go.” He rubbed his goggles. “I’m sorry it worked out this way.”

“So am I.” she said, but she was speaking to thin air.

Halfway down the alley she pulled a trash bag from a dumpster, emptied it, and wrapped the head inside.

A moment later she joined a crowd of anxious onlookers, at the far outskirts of the area. Some of them held their phones up high, trying to get a better angle on the departing heroes and arriving cops. Others picked through the alleys past her, trying to get closer to the scene of the fight.

This happens whenever heroes fight villains, she knew. Most of the people in this city get clear as fast as they can, then curiosity draws them back in when it seems safe. This is life in Icon, just another day and another set of work orders for the construction companies that repair the damage.

Two streets later she stopped to rest against a lamp post, and a black-suited arm tapped her on the shoulder. “Do you believe in angels?”

Minna looked down, straight into Agent Kingsley’s sunglasses. The agent was grinning, hungry and triumphant. Her badge filled her pocket, and fear crawled up Minna’s spine.

She had no words for Agent Kingsley. Dire had not foreseen this possibility.

“Well? Do you believe in angels?”

Minna was a shitty liar. She tried the truth. “No.”

“Mm. Change the question, then. Are you sure you can go through with this?”

Minna trembled. “I do not know,” she whispered.

Kingsley took off her sunglasses, and her eyes were blue, solid glowing blue. “So many sacrifices,” she whispered, and her voice wasn't human anymore. “Martin sacrificed his freedom. Vorpal sacrificed her love. Bunny sacrificed her morals by even joining Dire in the first place. And Dire? She sacrificed herself. Now the crown of sacrifice weighs heavily on your brow. But what are you giving up? And how? It's beyond me, though it shouldn't be.”

Minna took a breath, let it out. “Help me.”

Kingsley shook her head, and her hair drifted in slow motion, stirring, as if blown by some unseen wind. “Not my task. Not my choice. Sacrifice is a virtue, and I could no more stand against it than forsake my maker.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the blue was gone. They were human again, warm and sad. “Your choice, Minna. Even now, you have a choice.”

Minna opened her mouth, and Kingsley shushed her, a finger to the lips. The agent snapped her sunglasses open, put them on, and turned her back to the taller woman.

“I should take you in. I won't. I'll pretend I didn't see you. Go.”

Minna stared.

“Go!” Kingsley shouted.

Minna fled.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Thank you for reading DIRE:TIME! I am grateful for your patronage.

For news of future releases, and occasional free short fiction, please consider signing up for my mailing list, at the following URL;

http://eepurl.com/bMPrY1

Best wishes,

Andrew Seiple