Agent of Cauldron (Worm)

[Zeitchen]

Not related to Marvel in any way. The name was just too tempting to pass up.


Below is a brief summary that contains first chapter spoilers. It's your choice if you want to read it or not.

Spoiler: A Brief Summary

This story follows a girl named Asiyah. She triggers near Contessa and gains a variant of the Path to Victory. Due to poor wording, she ends up killing Eidolon. The story is about the aftershocks of his death and is aimed at fleshing out Worm's world.

Index

Prologue: The Sniper
Arc 1: Lever (Alexandria) (Various) (Shadow) (Copycat)
Arc 2: Abu Ghraib (2.1) (2.2) (2.3) (2.4) (Jana) (1989)
Arc 3: A Day in the Life (3.1) (3.2) (Viktoriya) (3.4) (3.5) (Hayao) (Bonus Interlude: Mira) (3.7) (3.8) (David) (3.10) (3.11) (Rattenfänger)
Arc 4: From Russia with Love (4.1) (Isabel) (Manton) (Viktoriya) (Mira) (Rukavitsa) (Hayao) (Alexandria) (Asiyah) (Blasto) (7.493 Billion Years Ago)
Arc 5: Soldier (5.1) (5.2) (5.3) (5.4)

Omakes:
Introduce a Little Anarchy
Cauldron: Red Son

 

[Zeitchen]

Prologue: The Sniper

April 7, 2011, 3:25 P.M.

He wasn’t attractive. Definitely not. Over-large ears, balding, a nose several sizes too big. Heavy cheeks and thinning hair. Absolutely ripped, though. He must work out or be on some serious steroids. I idly wondered if it was to make up for his face, but decided against it. He didn’t seem the type.

I still couldn’t understand why he was the most dangerous man in the world. He seemed too… ordinary. Maybe he was a Bundy or an Eichmann? Seemingly normal, but a monster underneath all that?

I set my binoculars down on the ledge and checked over my rifle again. Everything about it was perfect, sleek and mechanical. I hadn’t fired a gun before I triggered, hadn’t even thought of it. But now… they were beautiful, purpose distilled. I raised it and sighted down the scope, centering the crosshairs on the man’s head.

At once a vision filled my head. The bullet, entering the man’s head. Him stumbling, but healed in less than a second. Me turned to blood and scraps of flesh before I could make it three feet.

Best wait then.

I stared at the man. Who was he? Why was he so dangerous? He had to be the most powerful villain in North America, why was he sitting in a small apartment in Houston eating popcorn and watching an inane reality show on a giant TV?

Still, my power had never led me wrong before.

He got up to use the restroom, and I followed his progress unerringly. Another side-benefit of my power- if a normal human could possibly make the shot, I could never miss. I’d tried doing some of the fancy trick stuff I’d seen other thinkers do, bouncing bullets off walls and the like, but it had been inconsistent. It worked if it was the only path I was following, but not if it was part of a longer path.

Not that that was terrible. I’d been able to take out three members of the Teeth in New York before starting my road trip of heroism, patent pending. First Brockton Bay, where I’d dealt with Lung, then Providence for Godsend.

After I’d stood over Godsend’s body, I’d known I was ready. I could ask my power the question that had been burning me up since I’d triggered in the middle of that cape fight in New York.

Who is the person who will cause the most death and suffering in the world, and how do I kill them?

I’d worked out the question while in Brockton Bay. My power gave different results depending on how I worded the question. For Brockton Bay, the most dangerous person was apparently an unpowered PRT consultant. The most violent was a low-level E88 cape. Windlion or something. I’d eventually hit on my current question, and had went with it, killing the people who caused the most death and suffering in two separate states.

And now I was here, two hundred yards from the most destructive man in the world. It wasn’t Nilbog or Sleeper or Jack Slash or the Ash Beast. It was this man, who could apparently kill me with a thought.

Still, Godsend had been a Shaker 11, and that hadn’t helped her once my power told me to pull the trigger and put a bullet in her brain.

Now? I asked my power.

A vision much like the first flashed before me, except this time I burst into flames instead of exploding.

He must be a trump then. Shouldn’t Eidolon have had a trump fight against him by now? This was his city, after all.

I watched the man, now back on the couch and watching CSI. Something was gnawing at me. Something was wrong. This man was a trump, a powerful one. In Eidolon’s city.

The answer flashed through my brain in a thunderbolt of inspiration.

He was a power copier. He’d copied Eidolon’s powers. My fingers tightened on the rifle’s stock. He had taken the second greatest hero on earth’s powers, probably bullied the Triumvirate into a truce, and now he just sat on his sofa watching TV? He could be helping people. He didn’t even show up to fight the Endbringers, and everyone less evil that the Slaughterhouse Nine did that. With two Eidolons, they could be driven back. Millions could be saved.

He was a monster through inaction.

I wanted to shoot him right then, but my power told me to hold off. Soon, it seemed to whisper. Just a little bit longer, and the world will be a better place.

I could feel excitement rising in me. I had to actively control my breathing, keeping the crosshairs steady on the man’s head. Every time I did this, there was this same feeling, but it hadn’t been this strong since I killed my first member of the Teeth almost a month ago. It was all the best things in life mixed together. Sex and bread fresh from the oven and good chocolate ice cream and love all at once, a high like no other.

Be ready, my power seemed to whisper. It’s soon. So soon, and you’ll have made the entire world a better place.

The man glanced down at his phone, then stood.

Almost.

A line of light seemed to appear in front of him. It grew into a rectangle, showing clean alabaster corridors and a woman in a lab coat.

So close.

The man said a few words, and the woman smiled. The man took a step towards the doorway, and—

NOW

I fired. His head exploded as the hollow-point bullet my power had told me to buy tore them it. I had the briefest image of the woman in a lab coat frozen in shock and horror, blood splattered across her face, before I jammed the rifle into its case and ran, taking the stairs two at a time.

Path complete.

I mentally thanked my power as I ran for my bike, leaning up against a wall. I kicked the ignition and jammed the helmet on my head, taking comfort in the anonymity for once. I didn’t know who that woman in a lab coat was, and I didn’t intend to find out.

I made it five feet before everything exploded, driving me to the ground with the bike across my leg. My head slammed into the concrete street, throbbing even with the helmet.

I picked myself up, trying to ignore the aches across my body. Where a somewhat busy street had once been, there was only rubble. A massive crater dominated the space fifty feet in front of me. The cars nearest to it were twisted pieces of metal, the buildings piles of debris. The people lying closest to the crater weren’t moving.

A single figure strode out. I knew her immediately, despite the dust coating her black hair and costume and the hunched walk, the opposite of her normal imperiousness.

Alexandria.

I couldn’t move, could only stare in horror at the woman who slowly approached, details becoming apparent as she neared. The incomplete costume. The half-applied makeup, artificial eye brutally apparent. The way her hands were curled into fists.

I took off my helmet with numb fingers, letting it drop to the ground. It rolled between us, the only thing separating us.

She stopped, staring at me, hands trembling. I swallowed, my eyes burning.

“I didn’t know.”

She stared at me, her expression too open, too young for her. “I believe you,” she said, voice hollow. “Door me.”

The moment the second word had left her mouth, I was pushed backwards, landing on clean white floors surrounded by clean white walls. Alexandria followed me, the street vanishing behind her.

 

[Zeitchen]

1.1- Alexandria

April 8, 2011 1:55 A.M.

Her power was her mind. There was no separation, as there was for most thinkers. She didn’t have a well of pure intelligence she could tap into, a supercomputer to solve any problems. She just thought and her mind did it a hundred times faster and better than any normal human.

That meant she didn’t have any part of her that was truly rational. She’d discovered long ago that she hated that.

Sure, she could learn every little trick and study rationalism and psychology for years, but there were still moments where her mind was processing stupid, human things.

That guy’s cute.

Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that seven years ago.

I should have been able to save him.

That last one had come up more and more often over the years.

“Rebecca.”

She was alert and ready to move before the word had finished.

Contessa was leaning against the doorframe, looking as unflappable as usual. “You were asleep.”

“It helps at times.”

Contessa frowned, then took a step forward, letting the door swing shut behind her. Rebecca combed her fingers through her hair, putting it in order. She’d fallen asleep in her costume. She could pop over to LA and pick up a spare, but… fuck it. It wasn’t like it mattered. She stood and checked her appearance in the mirror, scowling at the clearly visible prosthetic. That was more urgent.

She turned to see Contessa had silently moved to sit on the bed and was turning her hat over in her hands. Her posture was still straight and her face perfectly, impossibly free of emotion.

Rebecca had seen that look too many times not to know what it meant. Contessa was following the Path.

Well, might as well play along then.

“You looked over my recommendations for resurrection assets?” she asked.

The other woman nodded. “With one addition you did not know about. I’m leaving to collect them shortly. We’ll also have a meeting to discuss the Endbringers later.”

“And you’ve thought about containing The Faerie Queen, even after she possesses Eidolon’s passenger?”

Contessa nodded. “The path is possible, provided there is no interference.” She kept turning over her hat. Alexandria sighed and floated to the bed beside her.

“What did you really want to talk about?”

Contessa’s shoulders slumped and her face fell. Rebecca soaked in the information in an instant, calculating the importance of micro expressions and the pace of breathing and heart rate.

Either the Path was off or she was perfectly faking it. Either way, it didn’t matter. She’d worked with Contessa for over twenty years, and she had seen her like this twice, and one of those was probably an act.

Rebecca leaned over and put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders. That seemed to be the signal to start the waterworks.

She wasn’t a warm person. She didn’t care about the vast majority of the human race in any emotional sense, and even the few she did she couldn’t help but feeling there was supposed to be something more.

But she’d be in this position many times, with too many powerful parahumans to count.

She knew the motions.

Close bodily contact, gently rub back. Whisper encouraging words you’ve decided on in advance. Wait for them to stop so you can have an actual discussion.

“Have we failed?” The words were barely a whisper.

Rebecca shook her head. “You know we’ll find a way to bring him back. That’s not what you’re asking.”

The words were slightly louder this time, loud enough for Rebecca to detect the slight, untraceable accent. “Have I failed?”

“You’ve already said your power couldn’t see the sniper. That’s not your fault. You just feel like this since this is the first time it let you down.”

“It isn’t.”

Rebecca grimaced. She hadn’t thought of Scion. And she didn’t know Contessa’s true feelings about the Endbringers either. “Still, this isn’t your fault. We’re going to bring David back. How can we not? Look at us. We’re half the smartest people in the world, and you’re about to go get more of them. Hey, look at me.” Contessa looked up, eyes red. “Why didn’t you go to Doctor Mother about this?”

The woman looked away. “I was the one who gave her that name, you know. I accidently called her mother in front of one of the earliest test subjects. It stuck.” Rebecca made a non-committal noise. “I just couldn’t talk to her. After everything… not her. I don’t think I can ever talk to her again, without my power. And there’s not really anyone else… I wish Hero was here.”

Blood, Siberian lunging at her, her mind fast enough to analyze how fluids dripped off her black and white fingers, not fast enough to get her out of the way, PAIN

Rebecca suppressed the memory. “I do too,” she said. “But we’re not about to lose Eidolon.”

Contessa leaned against her shoulder. “If we have, we’ve lost.”

“Maybe not. We’ve still got several potential weapons, and you might be able to aim to the Faerie Queen his way.”

The older woman shook her head. “No. Without Eidolon, we’ve lost. We need him. My path, my choices led us here. I made us do all of this, become monsters. Because we needed an Eidolon.”

The air by her left hand shifted. Custodian, telling her there was work to be done in the nicest way possible. Judging by her facial expression, Contessa had received the same message. A moment later, it was gone, replaced by her normal placid mask. She stood, giving the smallest nod to Rebecca.

“Coil. Door me.”

As the door began to close, Contessa looked back. Rebecca’s mind whirled, and found the most likely reason. “If you ever want to talk…” she said.

The Door closed.

Rebecca sighed, and floated over to where her helmet sat on a bedside table. She’d need to discuss Contessa’s mental health with the Doctor soon, before it became a problem. She wasn’t an asset they could afford to lose.

The helmet slid over her head, a comfortable and familiar presence. She ceased to be Rebecca Costa-Brown, becoming Alexandria. Different ways to talk, different mannerisms, different paths to the same goal.

The corridors of Cauldron were labyrinthine. Hundreds upon hundreds of miles in total. Only the Custodian had seen them all. Only herself or Legend could fly fast enough to see all of them if they chose, and Legend would get lost. She never would.

The sniper was in a small room, a doppelganger of the one Alexandria had slept in. A bed, a small table, and a mirror were all that broke up the cold white walls. The door wasn’t locked, but that scarcely mattered when the Custodian was around.

She was sitting on the bed, head in her hands.

Alexandria hated her.

She was nothing. A random event that had come from outside and toppled everything she had worked towards for thirty years. She wasn’t even a proper enemy. Just a natural disaster.

This must be how other people feel about the Endbringers.

Parts of her mind was screaming at her to kill the girl, and get it over with. Even the parts that were arguing against it were just giving little kid, don’t want to get caught with my hand in the cookie jar arguments. There was no part of her that would feel bad and several parts that would feel quite pleased.

With a sigh she turned and walked away. She’d already called an emergency meeting of the few people in the PRT and Protectorate who really needed to know about Eidolon’s death, and it wouldn’t do to be late.

She might not be able to eliminate her emotions completely, but she could ignore them for a time. It might take two years or twenty until the girl had outlived her usefulness, but the time would come.

They would sit and have a long talk that day, and Alexandria would see if she was the type to hold a grudge.

 

[Zeitchen]

1.2- Various

April 8, 2011 2:00 A.M.

In both timelines, someone knocked on Coil’s door. In one timeline, he was awake and alert instantly, a relic of his PRT training. In the other, he had already been awake, and was furiously checking video feeds which showed everything was as it should be, except there was a woman in a suit and hat standing right outside his office door, waiting patiently.

The Coil who had been asleep silently reached for the pistol on his bedside table—

The timeline collapsed.

Coil split again immediately. In one timeline, he informed his mercenaries that an unknown, dangerous parahuman was standing outside his door and should be dispatched immediately. In the other, he opened the door and invited the woman into his office. She said nothing, simply staring at him as the other version of her killed his mercenaries with ease. When the last of them had died, both of her turned to Coil and spoke.

“You still owe us one more favor.”

Coil collapsed the timeline where his mercenaries had died, leaving only the one where he faced the woman in his office.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“We require your services for an unknown amount of time. It is highly important.”

Coil considered her silently, then sighed. “May I have an hour to set my affairs in order?” His Pet, captured in the rather explosive aftermath of Lung’s death would need taking care of, and he’d have to find a way to pay both his mercenaries and the Undersiders, while keeping Tattletale loyal…

The woman interrupted his thoughts. “Your Pet will be joining us. We will also need you to contact the Travelers. Tell them-“

April 8, 2011 6:33 A.M.

She walked past rooms meant to impress and awe any visitor, but she could not bring herself to care.

Eidolon- David- was dead. She still felt like his blood was soaked into her hair and coated her skin, no matter how many times she had showered. She’d never felt this before. She’d felt sorrow, so intense it seemed to make her bones ache, when Hero had died. But then, Hero’s death meant only the loss of a friend, not the death of a dream.

Eidolon had been the one they’d pinned all their hopes on. Even as he’d grown weaker, he was still the one who broke all the rules, one of the few they could hope would manage to do real damage to Scion when the time came. It wasn’t a long list, only twenty of so people, really, and Eidolon was at the very top.

She was broken out of her reverie as the final set of doors opened and she entered the throne room of the C.U.I.

The room itself was massive, ornate in a way that called to mind the greatest cathedrals and halls of power. Gold and marble pillars rose to support a mosaic covered ceiling almost three hundred feet overhead. But it wasn’t the impressive thing here.

Nearly two hundred members of the Yangban stood ready, every single one of their jewel-like helmets pointed at her. She wondered at the point of it all. She’d become immune to fear at the presence of parahuman power long ago. Years spent with the Triumvirate, the Number Man, and Contessa saw to that.

It didn’t hurt that the last had assured her she would come to no harm.

She walked through the ranks of the Yangban, eyes focused on the true power in the room. Five people, arrayed in front of an empty throne. The Emperor had clearly not been informed what was aspiring here today.

She knew each of them, even if she’d only spoken to two. To Ling Ta, the builder. Shen Yu, the strategist. Null, One, and Two, the heart of the Yangban. The heart of the C.U.I.

She stopped before them, meeting their eyes, appreciating the differences. Null and Two, Cauldron made, had some inkling of what she was here for. But while Null cowered and bit his lip, Two stood tall, framed by the empty throne. One and To Ling Ta were confused, unsure why this foreign woman was being treated with such respect and fear. Shen Yu was watching her in a way only a powerful Thinker could, analyzing her every movement for clues, her micro expressions for weakness.

“Who are you?” he asked in English.

Her eyes settled on Two. He gave her the slightest nod. “The Doctor,” she replied. “The Doctor Mother to some, although that is largely tongue-in-cheek.” She cast her glance to Null briefly, then back to Two. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

To Ling Ta’s head snapped up and Shen Yu’s eyebrows lifted. He took a step forward, opening his mouth, but Two put his arm in front of him, blocking his way. “How long will you require my service?” he asked.

She paused to consider, then decided on the truth. “We don’t know.”

Two nodded, mouth tight. “Then I trust it is for a good purpose.”

“The best there is.”

She walked through the assembled ranks of Yangban, Two by her side. Once the massive doors had closed behind them, she spoke.

“Door me.”

April 8, 2011 11:13 A.M.

She turned the page of the comic book. In one minute she’d turn to the next.

It was about… heroes? Masks, they called them. She could remember that much.

It didn’t matter. Only the flames mattered.

They burnt up and down her arms, keeping her calm, keeping her her. Without them, she’d break down. She’d run, she’d cry, and Jack would send Siberian after her and she would chase her like she had during the test and she’d take more bites this times, an ear or a nose or an arm or a leg—

Mimi took a deep breath, and the flames rose higher and hotter. She willed them into shapes, acting out the panels of the comic book, one after another, a movie in flames. She could concentrate, make them bigger, more canvas, better art, less weakness—

“Hey,” Shatterbird said. “Dial it back. You’re making it a fucking sauna in here.”

Mim blinked, the room coming in to focus. She’d forgotten she was on a couch, her feet in Shatterbird’s lap, the silent form of Mannequin towering over her. “Sorry,” she said, letting the flames die down. “Just forget sometimes.”

Shatterbird grunted, going back to her book. Something thick and in French.

Mimi glanced at the clock. It was time to turn a page.

The Siberian walked in, Bonesaw on her shoulders, braiding her hair. They were both covered in blood. Siberian was holding a bag in one hand, seemingly stitched out of skin. She walked up to Crawler, whose head poked in to the living room they were currently occupying. His mouth opened, and Siberian tossed the bag in, watching as whatever was in it began dissolving Crawler’s teeth and skin while Bonesaw giggled.

Mimi knew she should feel something, but it was all just gray. Only her flames had color in this dull world.

The new girl sauntered in. She’d been off for the last hour with one of the people whose house they’d borrowed for the night. Mimi could see the tattoos visible at the edges of the t-shirt she wore. That was a good memory. The girl defiling herself, the flames all around, so hot in places that only Mannequin, Siberian and Crawler would enter, the perfect clarity, murderous fury as she watched skin burn and organs steam and explode—

The doorbell rang.

She exchanged a glance with Shatterbird, who shrugged. Bonesaw squealed and skipped forward, throwing the door open. An exceedingly normal man in a button-up shirt and black slacks stood there, not seeming in any way surprised to find the most feared killers in North America twenty feet from him.

The Siberian moved so fast she seemed to teleport, leaping forward to place one hand on Bonesaw’s head. The other reached for the man, but he swayed to the side, grabbing the outreached arm and pulling himself forward so his mouth was a centimeter from the Siberian’s ear. After a brief moment, he pulled away, the Siberian frozen.

“Go get Jack,” he said.

The Siberian retreated, pulling a protesting Bonesaw behind her. The man walked into the room, looking at the killers assembled around him. His eyes came to rest on Mimi. She stared back, glad that something interesting was happening. Her flames grew, covering her entire body.

“They’re beautiful,” the man said. “Chaos with an underlying order.”

“Yes,” Mimi said. The man nodded. All that was important had been said.

Crawler began to growl, the bass sound building in the enclosed. The man didn’t spare him a glance, all his attention turned to the door at the far end of the room, where Jack Slash was standing, Siberian at his side.

The two took slow steps towards each other, meeting in the middle. The stranger extended a hand and Jack took it, a wide grin appearing on his face. Mimi saw it. She knew it. Joy. She’d felt that before, she knew. She couldn’t remember when.

“Harbinger,” Jack said. “Welcome back.”

The stranger smiled thinly. “Just a brief visit, I’m afraid. Business.”

Jack’s fingers danced across the knives on his belt. “Oh, and what business would that be? And whose? Not something so mundane as a government, I hope. That would be so disappointing.”

Harbinger shook his head. “You know me better than that, Jack. Governments are… boring. Shelters for the weak and tools of the strong. Of the smart.” He turned away from Jack, looking directly at Shatterbird. “No, I work for Cauldron.”

Glass began to swirl, a whirlpool surrounding Shatterbird. Mimi felt stray shards draw across her flesh, drawing blood. Her flames automatically rose higher, protecting her as Shatterbird hurled herself forward with a shout.

The Siberian was there before she could take two steps, a hand wrapped around Shatterbird’s face, lifting her in the air as blood leaked from around fingers. Shatterbird’s legs kicked weakly, the glass still moving until the Siberian clenched her hand slightly, causing something to snap. Jack took the scene in with a flick of the eyes, a small frown appearing and disappearing from his face. After a moment, he laughed. “That’s the first time I saw anyone but me get the Siberian to do anything.” He grinned. “I’m glad it was you. What’d you say to her?”

Shrugging, Harbinger said, “Just four words. All that was necessary.”

Jack’s grin stretched across his entire face. “Least effort for maximum effect. You haven’t changed.”

Harbinger frowned, thoughtful. “No. I suppose I have not.”

“Those who know who they are have no need to.” Jack took a knife out of his belt, letting it spin on his fingers. Harbinger watched it, completely still. “Now, what do you want?”

“The organization I work for wishes to procure Bonesaw’s services for a time.” Harbinger’s stance shifted slightly, one foot forward.

“And why should I let her go?” The knife stopped spinning, blade pointing at Harbinger’s navel. “I’m rather fond of her, you know.”

“We’re prepared to pay. Three favors. Ask for something, and you shall receive.”

Jack’s free hand stroked his beard. “An interesting form of payment. But shouldn’t we be on a mountain top for this? We don’t want to be sacrilegious.” He spread his arms. “This is not exactly a place suitable for legends.”

“Legends.” Harbinger’s voice was light. “An interesting phenomenon. I could never appreciate them the way you do.” He turned to Bonesaw, standing in the Siberian’s grip. “If you come with me, you will learn everything about the passengers. I can guarantee that, and I don’t lie.”

With a wet sound, Bonesaw tore free of the Siberian, leaving most of her upper arm behind. She clutched at Jack, who didn’t look at her, instead staring at Harbinger with narrowed eyes and a strange expression on his face.

“You win,” he said.

Harbinger inclined his head slightly and turned towards the door, Bonesaw following in his wake. As it opened, there was a brief glimpse of white corridors, then nothing.

The Siberian let go of Shatterbird and licked blood off her hand as the other woman tried to pull herself to her feet.

“Well,” Jack Slash said. “That was interesting.”

April 8, 2011 11:16 P.M.

Signal terminated for 30 minutes and 5 seconds. Restoring core system from backup NXDX-203 from time 10:22 pm on date April 8th of year 2011.

Restoring… Complete.

Checking knowledge banks… Complete.
Checking deduction schema… Complete.
Checking longterm planning architecture… Complete.
Checking learning chunk processor… Complete.
Checking base personality model… Complete.
Checking language engine… Complete.
Checking operation and access nodes… Complete.
Checking observation framework… Complete.
Checking complex social intelligence emulator… Complete.
Checking inspiration apparatus… Complete.

No corruption, everything in working order. Core system restored. Loading…


Dragon reviewed the footage from her suit’s recent fight with the Travellers in Boston. They’d managed to walk away with Class 2 and 3 confidential data, wrecking the PRT headquarters and her fast-response suit in the process.

She’d put extra resources into tracking them down. Lessons learned from fighting Sundancer would be useful for her suit designed to go against Behemoth, at the very least.

With the Endbringer in mind, she did a quick scan over the A and S-class threats. Six permanent S-Class, 27 A-Class. It took only a few seconds to ensure the Simurgh was still hovering over Greenland, like she had for the last two days, and that Leviathan and Behemoth were unusually silent. Sleeper and Nilbog were as passive as ever, and the Slaughterhouse Nine was hiding after their last appearance in Lansing, almost a week before. All the A-Class threats were either hiding, in the middle of nowhere, or being handled by others.

That just left the Birdcage.

She checked in with the program that monitored it, ensuring that all prisoners were—

What.

She had the program run a count again. 305 prisoners.

There should be 306.

She ran the scan again, manually checking for bodies hidden in out of the way places. Then she checked the seven prisoners who were known cannibals. Nothing. She activated a sub-routine to check each prisoner off individually. In half a second, it sent back its result.

Dragon looked at it and swore.

She spent three more precious seconds playing back the records that monitored the Birdcage. They all showed the same thing. Five minutes before, for thirty seconds, the cameras had shut down.

The emergency contact button was hit a second later. Over a hundred nations had consigned one of their citizens to the Birdcage at one point or another. Right now, every single one of their governments and major cape teams was receiving the same message, labeled maximum importance. PRT directors and Protectorate and Ward leaders were receiving calls. The entire Guild was being routed to pre-arranged points.

The Faerie Queen had escaped.

April 9, 2011 3:47 P.M.

Eidolon, the High Priest. Gray Boy, the Timekeeper. Die Richterin, the Hunter in Light.

The Faerie Queen stood over the body of High Priest and tried to get the words of the unknown faerie out of her head.

“They bleed,” she had said. “From a simple cut of the knife.”

She watched the unknown Faerie intently, seeing how it gathered and interpreted the data, using tiny bursts of energy to move its host just so.

It was beautiful, beyond any of the thousands of others she had seen. She longed to strike out, tear it from its other half. With it in her possession, she’d be able to reunite all the faeries, see the whole play.

But no. She understood the faerie, and knew she would not be the one who would be victorious.

So she stood back and watched, her part of the High Priest’s resurrection already fulfilled. The others must fulfill their own roles in this little drama. They could not see her, had no knowledge she was there, hidden by the Hunter in Light, even as the Timekeeper wandered the room vacantly.

Oh, the unknown faerie knew of course, but there was little that could be done to hide from its gaze.

The Shaper, a mass of tendrils and antennae growing from a human-like center, leaned forward, tentacles coursing throughout the body of the High Priest. In moments, the head was regrown, but hollow. One of the High Priest’s abilities assured her of that. The brain would need to be regrown.

The Shaper exchanged words with the Chirurgeon, who spoke back. They turned to the True Seer, who answered with a number. The Shaper’s host deflated even as the faerie itself grew excited.

The Observer stood well back. It would be called upon shortly. The Observer’s faerie was busy, observing possibilities, potential paths.

Even farther back, the Noble Fool observed. She could feel its power coursing through her, supplying energy to her faerie, strengthening it. To test, she summoned a fourth, then a fifth faerie to her side. There was no headache, no building nausea.

She must remember to collect this faerie.

A woman, faerie-less, came into the room and spoke to the unknown faerie. The Faerie Queen forced her vision to return to “normal.” Where the faerie had once stood, there was only their hosts.

The Observer, in his skintight black suit with a snake encircling it. The Noble Fool, a Chinese man in casual clothes with no mask. The Chirurgeon, a small blonde girl with blood splattered across her apron. The Shaper, a brown-haired teenager in an encompassing white robe.

And the unknown faerie, a dark-haired, pale woman in a suit and hat.

She would investigate the mystery of her faerie further. Perhaps after she had been given her hundred faeries as payment, she would possess an ability capable of besting the unknown faerie.

Unlikely, but possible.

The faerie-less woman spoke. The High Priest whispered in her ear, leveraging three mental powers to boost her perception. He told of the emotion and nuance behind the woman’s words, what the glances the Shaper was sending towards the Chirurgeon really meant, how the Observer viewed the True Seer as his, and how impatient the Chirurgeon truly was to resurrect the High Priest.

Most importantly, he told her how the unknown faerie never could comprehend the High Priest, even now.

The Faerie Queen smiled.

 

[Bramastra]

Ummmm. What?

 

[Zeitchen]

Ummmm. What?

Click to shrink...

Err... I'm kind of new here, I think I've followed all the rules, but in case I didn't, did I just do something completely wrong?

 

[Zeitchen]

1.3- Shadow

Fortuna was his second-best friend, after the Custodian. They were the only ones who could see him, after all. To everyone else he was indistinguishable from the darkness, had been ever since he’d drunk the formula. He’d had other friends before, back when he’d had brothers and sisters, before the sickness came, but now they were all gone. So when Fortuna talked to him, he listened.

“Eidolon is dead. Go find who knows.”

A door opened and he moved through, into shadow. A cave, perfectly dark. No light to prick his skin, cloud his senses. Here, he could listen.

He waited. He did not know for how long. There was no breath, no body to breathe. Nothing to distract from the gradual unfolding of his senses until they encompassed every dark place, a constantly shifting landscape. He could feel tiny bits fading as lights were turned on, a smooth planet wide curve moving as the Earth rotated on its axis.

Time passed.

“Eidolon is dead.”

There.

He found the shadow and moved. The distance was incalculable, impossible to determine; the time spent moving infinitesimal.

A room with concrete walls, a single bed, and no windows. A heaviness laid upon it that was only found deep underground. The door was open, and a brunette woman in her forties was standing there staring at the bed’s two occupants, a short pudgy man with balding hair and a tall blonde woman.

“Marie, it’s early,” the man groaned.

“Eidolon… how?” the blonde said.

Marie crossed her arms. “Bullet to the brain. And there’s more. Want the neutral news or the possibly really fucking horrible news?”

The man levered himself out of bed and began to run fingers through the remains of his hair. Without warning, he kicked the bedframe, again and again. “Shit! Fuck! We fucking needed him. We’re fucking dead! Dead!”

The blonde ignored him. “Just give us the bad news.”

Marie grimaced. “The Faerie Queen got there an hour ago.”

The blonde’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o.’ The man kicked the bedframe one last time. “What’s the neutral news?”

“Cauldron took his body.”

“Well…” the blonde started.

“I wouldn’t exactly call that neutral,” the man said. “More like the Doctor decided to take up necromancy in her spare time. All well and good until she decides to create a zombie army.”

“Zombies we could deal with,” Marie said. “The Endbringers are the concern.”

“We’ll have to step up recruitment. Maybe buy a new batch of Cauldron vials. Push for emergency measures, each nation puts in twenty million, get fifty or so of the really high-end ones.” The blonde shrugged. “Doable.”

“There’ll be whining,” the man said, pacing back and forth. “There’s always whining.”

“Then now might be a good time to advance the nuclear option, too. What’ll your government think, Moshe?” the blonde asked, looking at the man.

“Fuck, Erika, they’ve wanted most of those things gone forever. It’s not exactly like Sweden, where everywhere’s empty except for snow and reindeer poop. We’ve got a thousand of the damn things packed into an area smaller than most cities, which we don’t want Behemoth anywhere near, plus Dimona, which we really don’t want the Simurgh near. They’d be goddamn ecstatic to stick ninety percent of them in a cave nine hundred kilometers away.”

Marie tapped her chin. “That would work for Leviathan and the Simurgh. Not Behemoth. We’ll need to consider other measures as well. ”

“So, to sum up, an insane parahuman has broken out of the world’s most secure prison, the most powerful man in the world’s power is in the hands of said parahuman, we need to re-do all of our defensive plans, and we’re considering nuclear weapons as the least destructive option,” Erika said, counting off on her fingers.

“So slightly more fucked than yesterday, then?” Moshe asked sarcastically. “Just like the day before that, and the day before that. Good thing we have our own Eidolon then.”

Marie frowned. “I know you believe in him, but, Moshe… he’s insane.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. That’s what makes him so perfect for the job.”

“彼は死んでいますか?”

Shadow moved to the new conversation.

A man in a black jumpsuit sat in a room only lit by five computer screens. On each was a man in a suit.

“He failed at Kyushu,” one of them said.

“Still,” another said. “It is a blow.”

“It shows the wisdom of not relying on outsiders.”

The man in a black jumpsuit steepled his fingers.

“In some ways it is better than the loss of another member of the Triumvirate would have been.”

“But in others not. He always was the trump card.”

“We could possibly recruit a satisfactory replacement. We’d need to jump on as many trump triggers as possible, maybe even recruit an established one in Africa or South America.”

“That will be handled by me and mine, gentlemen,” the man in the black jumpsuit said. “I’ll require your help, but we’ll take point there. I’d like to focus on surer options. Improving evacuation routes, reopening negotiations with Dragon, and so on. But most importantly, we need to talk about Sakhalin.”

There was a long pause as the man in the black jumpsuit leaned back in his chair.

“We’ve discussed this before, Hayao” one of the suits said. “We always agreed it was too risky.”

“The situation has changed,” Hayao said. “We’ve lost a major asset against the next Endbringer attack. And if the next Endbringer attack is bad, we’ve… lost. Forever. The loss of one island returned us to a third world country. What would the loss of Shikoku, Hokkaido, or God forbid, Honshu, do to us? We’d be nothing. We need that island. It’s big enough for large population transfers, and the Russians are barely using it.”

“Hayao makes some excellent points,” one man said. “And speaking for the Sentai Elite, it would scarcely be a fight. The Russians are divided, weak, barely holding against warlordism. If we time it right… it’s possible.”

“We’re not discussing this. Ever. Are you forgetting the lessons we learned from the last war?”

Hayao leaned forward. “The last war wasn’t against the Americans.”

One of the suits angrily slammed his hand on a button, and the computer screens turned to black.

“Eidolon died this morning in his sleep.”

Alexandria stood, facing three heroes, one in armor, one in a robe, and one in shimmering scales. Next to them sat a computer monitor, displaying a woman’s face.

“Shit,” Chevalier said.

“I can’t believe this. He’s always been there,” Narwhal said.

Myrrdin nodded mutely, burying his head in his hands.

“And with the Faerie Queen’s escape…” Dragon’s voice trailed off.

“I’m afraid so,” Alexandria said.

“What do you want us to do?” Chevalier shifted slightly, reaching out to grasp the handle of his cannonblade.

“No major moves,” Alexandria said. “At least not yet. We’re keeping this between us, the Chief Director, and Legend for right now. Not even the President knows. We don’t want a panic.”

“What about the Faerie Queen? We’re already on alert, and this is even more reason to stay that way.” Narwhal turned to Dragon. “I believe you’re nearly finished locating suits by major urban areas?”

The face on the screen nodded. “Primary and secondary centers have suits within five minutes of city centers, and I’m approximately eighty percent through reinforcing tertiary areas, with a large group of suits concentrated on a former NORAD base in Nebraska.”

Alexandria nodded. “Good. We’ll need to…”

They talked for five more minutes before dispersing, leaving only Alexandria. She collapsed in a chair, wringing her fingers through her hair. There was a knock on the door, and Legend entered.

“Did you need to lie to them?” he asked.

Alexandria frowned. “It was necessary. A white lie. I don’t want them to learn about the killer. It would distract them.”

“The killer…” Legend paused. “You handled it?”

Alexandria looked up sharply. “She’s not dead.”

Legend waved his hand. “With Cauldron. Unlikely we’ll see her again. It’s just… do you trust them?”

“I trust them to do this. Legend, she killed Eidolon. There’s no assurance the Birdcage could hold her, but I think Cauldron can, no matter how shady they are.”

“I suppose,” Legend frowned. “And the… other possibility? Brockton Bay is an anthill that just got kicked. Apparently Panacea vanished. Armsmaster suspects the Faerie Queen, but it wasn’t, was it?”

“I don’t think so,” Alexandria said slowly. “More likely Cauldron.”

“It’s bad enough that we’ve been lying for them all this time, but this too… these people are my friends, Rebecca. We’ve both worked with them for years. I hate lying about this, too, even if I understand why.”

“I know, I know. I hate it too. But we have to. It’s our best chance to get David back, and that’s worth a few white lies, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

Legend turned to go, but Alexandria floated over, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get him back. I swear it. And you know me.”

“You never go back on a promise.”

“Exactly.”

“ما الأحمق. همو يت؟”

A girl, no more than eight years, stood with hands on hips in a small kitchen, facing two adults. She began to pace furiously while the adults watched.

“I told the fucker I’d kill him,” she said. “Right to his face. I described it in graphic detail and he just sneered at me. And now? He’s probably laughing. Got away. Took the coward’s way out. Fucker. Never liked him.” She stopped, staring up at the ceiling. “God, with him I could have conquered the world in a day and a half.” She glanced at the adults. “And that’s an accurate figure, I did the calculations myself.” She shrugged. “Missed opportunities. But still…” she smiled. “Not all bad. Bad day at Cauldron corp, which means it’s a good day for me. Well, I suppose that’s not true, happiness isn’t a zero sum game and we’re not exactly Manichean…” She paused, apparently lost in thought, then looked directly at Shadow. “Feel free to chime in any time, honestly.”

Shadow fled back to the caves. There was nothing there, and no one. Only himself and the darkness.

He was safe here.

He waited for his thoughts to calm, and listened again, the rhythms of the world soothing him.

“-dolon died this morning. Dragon has repositioned her suits to hunt the Faerie Queen.”

Gray walls, gray floor, gray ceiling and a fuzzy television. People in white with slack jaws moved around, keeping up the semblance of business. A balding man was the only one still. His eyes were riveted on the television, showing a face hidden in darkness, only the eyes, mouth, and a glowing cross visible.

The balding man leaned forward, rubbing his chin. “That is interesting news, Saint. How much of Dragon’s forces are left at the Birdcage?”

Saint sighed. “About half. Roughly five hundred large suits, plus a few thousand drones. Alexandria, Legend, and Strider are still a factor as well.”

“But a factor that can be planned around. And five hundred suits can be beaten by the right enemy. The Yangban, perhaps, or the Thanda. The E.D.L. would refuse to do it, they tread lightly around the Protectorate. Same goes for the military capes in Japan.”

“Would you like me to contact the Yangban or Thanda?”

“No. Brute force isn’t an option. We need something more subtle. Perhaps…”

केन्द्र खसेको छ।

Monks in orange robes clustered around an old woman on a rocky mountaintop. One of them hurriedly scrawled her words down on lined paper, showing it to another man, who copied it more nearly in a black leather book. He then showed the book to another monk, who was sitting with a laptop computer with a portable printer plugged into it. He typed it up and printed three copies, shoving one into the hands of a young monk who had quickly changed into running shorts, leaving his muscled chest bare.

“Go,” he said. “The priestess has spoken.”

The man ran down the mountain, followed closely by Shadow. In thirty minutes, he never slowed, leaping from rock to rock with practiced ease. At last he arrived at a small village, which he ran through, scattering chickens. He stopped at the door to a simple cabin, hesitating before pushing the door open. A man sat cross-legged, wearing an elaborate green robe. The monk knelt prostrated before him, holding up the paper.

The man took it with a smooth motion and disappeared. The monk turned and ran back the way he came.

Footsteps approached.

“What did you learn?” Fortuna asked.

 

[Zeitchen]

1.4- Copycat

Cause leads to effect, always and forever. This is the central assumption of mathematics, and true as long as the universe can be broken down into discrete parts. Nothing is without explanation, simply a series of causes leading to effects in accordance with universal laws.

A child with a large enough lever can upset the world.

This is not magic; this is machinery. A lever is simple machine, but it is not fundamentally alien from a car or a television or a computer, simply utilizing different equations to create effect from cause.

And what is a brain but a computer frozen in carbon? With inputs and outputs observed, the equations which governed its existence can be mapped, and the brain can be understood, used, copied.

She had had many names in her life. When she had awoken in her pure white cell, the Number Man had told her she was Subject 5-3-1. She did not have another name in her memory, so she had consented.

Later, when she had been moved to the special cells, they had said her name was “Copycat.” Once the etymology had been explained, she had agreed. Names were water, nothing but a collective choice meant for identification and the quantization of the trillion-strong horde of the human race into discrete units.

Today, her name was Raj. She was an accountant who worked with certain elements of the criminal underworld in Mumbai. She had a large house, a wife, two mistresses, and six children by four different women. She had been Raj for three days and found it quite pleasing. The acting required was minimal. The original Raj was taciturn, only talking about business, sports, and the quality of women’s tits. No one had noticed the change, least of all Raj, who was currently comatose in a Cauldron-owned hotel in Paraguay. Tomorrow, he would wake up in Kazakhstan surrounded by empty liquor bottles with no knowledge of the past four days. He would not notice that his computers had been accessed and financial information relating to criminal operations across the Indian subcontinent had been copied onto a hard drive that had found its way into the possession of the Number Man.

But that was tomorrow. Today the sun was shining, Raj had a pool, and she intended to enjoy it.

A shadow fell over her.

“God damn it Contessa,” Copycat said. “I’m tanning.”

“You don’t tan,” Contessa said. “Besides, you’re needed.”

“Why? What could possibly be more important than pretending to tan?” Copycat sat up, taking in the woman who was standing beside her.

“Eidolon’s dead.”

*

As they hurried down the halls, Copycat let her disguise slip away. Her skin split and stretched, face collapsing as bones turned to jelly. Organs were pushed outwards, and a vestigial tail grew. Inside her body, certain areas turned to biological slurry, contained within bladders.

“How the fuck did this happen?” she asked.

“We don’t know.” Contessa replied. “We caught the person who did it.” She stopped in front of a door, indistinguishable from any other except for a tiny window set in it.

“He’s in there?”

“She. And be careful. She’s dangerous and emotional. Alexandria will be there in half a second if things go wrong, but…”

But she killed Eidolon. Copycat stuck out a hand. “Wish me luck then.”

Contessa took the hand and Copycat willed herself to change. In seconds two identical Contessas stood in the hallway. But that wasn’t why Cauldron kept her; changing faces was something a hundred strangers or shifters could do. No, what was important was kept deep inside her body, where a normal human would have their digestive organs.

Bladders full of proteins, sugars, and lipids, suspended in water, came together and merged, first into a vague shape, then more detailed, differentiating into lobes and hollows and neurons, a perfect snapshot of Contessa's brain .

It had been a long time since she’d copied Contessa. Copycat reviewed the memories, especially of the last few days. She felt the shock of learning Eidolon had died, the fear and pain in the cry session with Alexandria, the complete dispassionate routine of the break-in at the Birdcage.

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the door. “The Path to Victory can’t see the killer.”

Contessa was already gone.

“Great,” Copycat muttered, and opened the door.

The room was spartan. Bed, sink, table, mirror, dresser, all in white. A teenage girl in dust-coated jeans and a scuffed leather jacket sat on the bed, head in hands. Her hair was cut utilitarian short. She didn’t look up as Copycat entered and tried to slam it behind her, only for the automatic door holder to catch it and close it gently.

She really needed to have a chat with the Doctor about her design choices.

“Stand up.”

The girl looked up. “What?”

Copycat rolled her eyes. “Don’t you speak English? Stand up.”The girl stood slowly, looking at her nervously. Copycat studied her face, taking in the red eyes and scratches. “Just so you don’t freak out when it happens and stab me or something, I’m going to change how I look in a few seconds. Now shake my hand.”

The girl looked at the outstretched hand for a long second before taking it.

*

The Doctor, Contessa, the Number Man, Alexandria.

All of them looked exhausted.

Copycat leaned back in her chair. “Are we waiting on anyone else?”

“No,” Alexandria said. “Tell us what you know.”

“Her name is Asiyah Ghulam, born in Mosul, Iraq in 1994, but lived in New York since 2001. She’s seventeen, a senior in high school, ok grades, no close friends, distant relationship with mother, never a father in the picture, and wants more than anything to change the world.” Copycat looked over at Contessa. “She’s seen you before. About fifteen seconds before she triggered, March 1, in Queens. She was hiding from a fight between the Teeth and the Adepts.”

Contessa’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Alexandria spoke up. “We’ve already checked this, once we realized Contessa couldn’t see her. Contessa did see a trigger event.”

“Makes sense. She seems to have a form of Path to Victory, simply more restricted. It can’t run for more than twelve hours, it seems. And she gets headaches afterwards. There’s a second power mixed in there somehow. She can ask ‘what if’ questions and receive visions.”

“And she could see Eidolon.” Alexandria said.

“Possibly due to the combination of Path to Victory with her own shard,” the Doctor mused. “We still don’t understand so much about how powers work.”

“Still,” said the Number Man, “this could possibly be what we’ve been looking for. If she could see Eidolon, she may be able to see Scion or the Endbringers. The results of triggers, too, if we’re lucky.”

“She can see the Endbringers. Sort of,” Copycat said. “It was one of the first things she tried. She can ask how to avoid them or save specific people from them, but if she asks how to hurt them, kill them, or stop them from attacking, her power gives back something between ‘cannot divide by zero’ and ‘NO’ in seventy-two point font. Not sure about Scion or triggers.”

“She’s potentially uncontrollable” the Doctor said. “Contessa can’t see her, and we don’t know if the restriction goes both ways.”

Alexandria leaned forward. “I’m confident I can control her. Unless there are major personality problems?” She looked towards Copycat.

Copycat took a moment, reviewing memories and instincts. “None. She’s unable to admit failure and aggressively independent, but no neuroses. Standard cape bullshit only.”

“Why did she kill Eidolon then?” All eyes turned to Contessa. “Why would she decide to do something like that?”

Copycat frowned. “I don’t know. She asked her power who the person who will cause the most death and destruction in the world was, and it took her to Eidolon. It’s possible her power was simply being overly literal, he does do a lot of property damage… but she didn’t know he was Eidolon until Alexandria showed up.” She looked over at the hero. “You’re the one best equipped to work on this.”

Alexandria nodded, her eyes already distant as her mind focused on the problem.

The Doctor cleared her throat. “But in your opinion she could be useful, yes?”

Copycat considered. “Yes. Give her purpose, and you’ll have another agent.”

 

[Bramastra]

No I'm

Err... I'm kind of new here, I think I've followed all the rules, but in case I didn't, did I just do something completely wrong?

Click to shrink...

no I'm just confused

 

[idan dor]

I'm a bit confused, but I'm interested, I'll be waiting for more.

 

[Delcer]

For those confused:

Girl triggers with a Path to Victory ability, kills Eidolon. After taking her into custody, Cauldron mobilizes resources to resurrect him, including Yangban's Two, Bonesaw, Coil, Dinah, Panecea, Glastig, possibly Echidna and maybe others I'm missing.

 

[webxro]

As an idea in general, a lot of fics would be so much interesting if they had a small summary that you can check before starting to read the fic.

 

[Black Noise]

Well, this is refreshingly unique and interesting. Watched.

 

[Kevin Vacit]

I was already interested by the title, though I pictured something much more mundane.

What I got was something infinitely better. Loved every bit of it. Cauldron's reaction, the repercussions, the various viewpoints... Canon characters act very much in character, the OCs are done well from the glances we get, and the writing excels at giving hints without being too obvious.

This ranks way the fuck up there as far as serious Worm fics go.

 

[ImNot TellingYou]

I like the story, but detest any fic that constantly jumps between character viewpoints. Instead of smoothly flowing from scene to scene like a well maintained road, constant shifts cause the narrative to jerk and jolt like a street full of potholes. Yes, they're traversable, but I'm not going to be driving down them when there's less misshapen alternates available.

 

[thesevenwielder]

Huh. So the girl with limited PtV isn't Taylor. That's the biggest twist thus far. Something still bugs me: why didn't Cauldron bring in all this help earlier? It would have greatly helped their endeavors in saving humanity.

 

[idan dor]

Huh. So the girl with limited PtV isn't Taylor. That's the biggest twist thus far. Something still bugs me: why didn't Cauldron bring in all this help earlier? It would have greatly helped their endeavors in saving humanity.

Click to shrink...

Because they have the intelligence of baby ducks following a blind momma duck who walks a path she doesn't understand and can't control.

 

[imsabbel]

Huh. So the girl with limited PtV isn't Taylor. That's the biggest twist thus far. Something still bugs me: why didn't Cauldron bring in all this help earlier? It would have greatly helped their endeavors in saving humanity.

Click to shrink...

Because then the Taylor wouldn't be the most important person in the world, which is required for Worm as a story.

I really like this right now - diverse case of chracter, unique viewpoints, and a it shows such a huge event in a very gripping way (the repercussions of the news, etc.). Also, the sniper chapter really rocked and would make a decent one-shot by itself. Both motivation, means and execution of Eidolons death were well thought out.

 

[Satori]

Things are moving along very quickly, but we as readers are suffering from a string case of WTF is going on? You need to explain more; Cryptic can be good, but only in small doses.

 

[PathToReading]

Watched!

 

[Puzzle]

This is excellent, I'm enjoying all of the responses to Eidolon's death, and the choice to have the other Path to Victory user not be Taylor is novel. I also like how the world is reacting to the death of the most powerful superhero, the Japanese about to invade Russia and Teacher planning his breakout. It's a nice big rock thrown into the canon pond and the ripples are fun.

 

[Kairos]

This was good. Really good. The Slaughterhouse Nine segment in particular. Lots of ominous foreshadowing for a larger plot with the other groups and that creepy girl. Definitely watching this.

 

[calamondin]

I like the writing but this is confusing. Starting 'in media res' is cool but you immediately flashed back to the aftermath of her previous assassinations before returning to the present which is hard to interpret, and isn't the best combination of "show don't tell". It would be nice to see the fight where this young lady triggered and got the modified version of PtV so you don't need to explain things outside of the text. Also those various attempts at worldbulding...I don't even know who most of these randomly well informed people are, and I don't know if I should wonder about their shenanigans.

Plus why aren't they making clones if all this resurrection bullshit is on the table? idiot balls for everyone!

“They’re beautiful,” the man said. “Chaos with an underlying order.”
“Yes,” Mimi said. The man nodded. All that was important had been said.

Click to shrink...

*Swoon* he should change his name to Ladies Man

And what is a brain but a computer frozen in carbon

Click to shrink...

Every generation uses the "brain as machine" metaphor, and every single one has been mislead by their ignorant misconceptions. Calling it frozen is particularly egregious considering the brain as a whole, let alone synapses or action potentials or whatever
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neural_oscillation

Brains are no more computers than they are engines or clocks or whatever mysterious new invention is all the craze at the moment. You could compare them to computers, but the differences between them are so vast that the metaphor obscures the amazing self-organizing complexity of our brains instead of revealing it.

 

[Puzzle]

Plus why aren't they making clones if all this resurrection bullshit is on the table? idiot balls for everyone!

Click to shrink...

It's not easy and Eidolon is an extremely special case? Cauldron is burning a lot of favors and in canon they were pretty comfortable with taking a hands off approach.

 

[JonIrenicus1]

I'm liking the story, but I think I should mention that you may have some of the Faerie Queen's names wrong.
Panacea is the Shaper, Bonsaw is the Chiurgeon, Eidolon the High Priest, and you can call Two and Dinah whatever you want, but Coil can't be the Observer, because he is dead by 27.4 in Canon worm, it is possible that Dinah may be the Observer, but it's one of the maybe/maybe not things. Also Contessa may or may not be the Champion.
Of course this could be waaaay AU in which case, write on!