What Happened in Portland

[Mrs. Voidus she/her]

Funtimes took a sip of tea, set her cup down, and giggled.

​"What kind of lab do you want first—chocolate or science?"

 

Grinning ear to ear, Saccharine seriously contemplated asking for the dog. She had always wanted one. And it could be a true indication of Dr. Funtimes’ powers to create a living creature.

About that, Saccharine thought.

 

“Was it you who created these dinosaurs?”

 

Funtimes felt herself frown. She hadn't. She'd had to rely on that meanieface Lightwards to make them from dusty old bones, and now that bit of trust had gone to his head. Made him think he had the right to punch Nathan, to call her friends pets, to offer to kill him and turn him into....

 

Don’t be a meanieface.

 

"No," she said quickly. Too quickly. She smiled, but didn't quite feel it. "That was Lightwards. But I can make lots of other stuff. Pie and ribbons and giant balloons--" Funtimes broke off with a long gasp, her hands flying to her cheeks as another amazing idea came to her. "I could make a giant balloon to help people get from the ground to here and it'd be so awesome!"

 

Funtimes leapt out of her seat, causing the china to wobble precariously.

“Come on, come on!” She cried happily as she ran to Saccharine, grabbed her hands and pulled her along.

Laughing like children the pair skipped gleefully through the museum to the edge of the floating landmass.

 

“You made it float so high up Doctor! You really are incredibly powerful.” Saccharine then leaned in conspiratorially, linking arms with her new friend.

“And so long as you are with me, little Hari can be your extra eyes and ears.” she whispered with a wink as she indicated the cricket bounding away again.

 

Doctor Funtimes squealed with delight, her hands fluttering beside her cheeks. “That is so amazingly amazing Hari is so cute and I’m so glad you’re my friend!” She threw her arms around Saccharine’s neck, hopping up and down. Saccharine was her friend, and Saccharine had Hari and other little animal friends and she liked balloons and--yes, poison, but that wasn’t important because Saccharine was her friend.

 

When she could contain her glee, Funtimes hopped back. “Let’s make that balloon and go up and down and see how much fun it is!”

 

“Agreed!” Cried Saccharine.

Come along dearies! She cast out to a passing flock of geese to give the pair passage to the ground. The flock flew toward the giggling girls.

“Will we need to be on the ground to collect the materials? I assume you will need fabric, and I would much prefer to remain clothed with all these suspicious vagabonds about.”

 

There were geese flying toward them. Geese! A whole flock of long-necked brown and black birds, flying toward them waiting to carry them to the ground. Funtimes could have done so easily, but the geese were far more fun.

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles she/her]

Part two of our compilation post. Saccharine is in blue and Funtimes is in purple. 

 

“Pfft, nobody’s taking your clothes,” Funtimes said with a laugh. “Only meaniefaces get their clothes turned into stuff.” Like acid, or gasoline, or tar. That was the sort of thing a meanieface deserved. She should have gone ahead with the quicksand acid shoes. Lightwards’ fear had lasted only a minute, and a short one at that, before anger took over. The sort of thin-lipped anger that said he’d punch Nathan again and again, before moving on to bullets and sending Nighthound after Sam and Revolution. Lightwards would do that. He was a meanieface, and that, she was learning, was what meaniefaces did. There was no way to keep them from acting that way; the only thing you could do was punish them when you had the chance….

 

 

The cast on Dr. Funtimes’ face changed to gloomy, and the direction of her gaze could only mean her thoughts were with one person.

 

She is right thought Saccharine, they are meaniefaces, and I can’t leave my Jeffy alone with them! Spying is not enough. My teleportation range is not nearly far enough to poison them from all the way down there.

 

“Doctor,” Saccharine began to ask. “Is there any where up here we could find some fabric? Some towels, or curtains or sheets perhaps?”

 

 

Up here. In the MoNA, without abandoning her friends to the other Epics. Without leaving Sam or Revolution alone with Nighthound. But where could they find some--

 

Quickslide--bedroom--left for Lightwards--no sheets for meaniefaces--perfect!

 

A wide grin and mirthful spark lit up Funtimes’ face like a thousand candles being lit all at once. One could almost see the flames dancing in her eyes.

 

Doctor Funtimes jumped and clapped her hands together. “Over here over here over here!” She took Saccharine’s hand and ran for the edge of the jungle. One room, one room with a sign bearing Quickslide’s name, had been left untouched. She ran toward it, threw open the door, and scooped the sheets into her arms. The balloon was much more important than Lightwards’ sheets, and having a sheet-less bed served him right for punching Nathan.

 

The frown was taking over again, so she thought of Saccharine’s geese friends, flapping their wings and honking all the way through the sky. They were so cute and fun and the way they flapped their wings was funny, the more she thought about it, so she thought about it until she giggled.

 

Nathan. With Aldo. Make sure he’s okay.

 

Funtimes whirled on Saccharine, her arms full of sheets. “We need to hide these can you hide these and then we’ll make the balloon?”

 

Saccharine was happy to have such an opportunity to show off her powers. Before Funtimes could say another word Saccharine blinked the sheets right from before her and into the underside of her dress as additional petticoats.

 

Though now this volume leans more toward the belle epoche, I suppose no one here will notice my slight change in style.

 

Funtimes looked to her empty hands and clapped appreciatively, but was stopped short when Saccharine pressed her finger to her lips and hushed her friend.

“It may seem that we have gotten away with it for now, but we had better get back so no n notices we were gone and makes the connection. “

Funtimes nodded and  allowed herself to be guided with linked arms out of the corridor, before she could take them back to their table and chairs.

 

“I know we could probably get away with construction now,”Saccharine whispered across the lace table cloth while busying herself to look as though they had been drinking and nibbling at her baked goods all the time they were away.

“But no one will suspect us if we wait for just a little while. “

But just before Funtimes could agree or disagree, a man approached them.

 

"Hey I'm Wraith." He said uncertainty. "And I'm am interested in joining your alliance. Can I join?"

 

Wraith. That sounded like a fun name, so Funtimes tested it. “Wraith.” She giggled. “You have a fun name. And--” He was there, but he hadn’t been there a minute ago, and she didn’t remember teleporting him there. She stood from the table, knocking over her chair, and scampered back a few steps. “Why are you here? Did Lightwards let you up? Or….” She gasped, snatched the teakettle from the billy and held it by the handle like a weapon. “Tell me who you are and why I don’t know you or you’ll find out why nobody wants to get eaten by a teapot!” 

[mail-mi he/him]

 

Someone appeared at the door--Timeport didn't know who. It wasn't CorpseMaker, they had plenty of pictures of him, but someone else. He opened the doors and beckoned for Timeport to follow him. He led Timeport down into the armory, and eventually found a big room with a group of people doing...something. 

 

Timeport recognized Corpsemaker talking to another Epic, and someone was sitting in the corner writing stuff furiously on a piece of paper. Timeport headed down to Corpsemaker. "Hello Corpsemaker," he said; it looked like his conversation with the other Epic was finishing up. "I'm Timeport. And I used to work with the Reckoners. I know everything about them, and everything they know." 

Edited November 25, 2014 by mail-mi

[A Joe in the Bush]

 

CorpseMaker turned to face this new Epic. The Teleporter. A young one. Suicidally Overconfident as well. barging into a High Epics base claiming to be a Reckoner. It was a Wonder the man hadn’t gotten killed right after becoming Epic. He turned away, and addressed Streetwise. “You didn’t tell me there were Reckoners in the city. Are they not Important enough to merit even a footnote?”

 

Streetwise paled. “Ah, well, if there are Reckoners, they never gave any outward appearance of being Reckoners. Just because I can hear the City, doesn’t mean I know everything. Until one of them says something like, ‘We’re Reckoners’ or “We actively fight the Epics,’ I won’t be able to find them.” He paused. Then hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Nevermind. Found them.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Gordon watched the three Reckoners take in Max’s words. They didn’t look to enthusiastic. Rachel was the first to speak up. “Look Max, Just because We’re Reckoners, doesn’t mean we actively fight the Epics. We’re mainly an Info-Cell here. We’ve only got three fighters, well, two now that Seth, turned. And they mainly kill Epics who find out about us. When things get too bad, we gather information, and call a more combat-capable Cell to deal with the Epics. A Cell like Phaedrus’s. Though we do have contacts among the Population.” What Rachel said was true. It was also why he himself wasn’t a Reckoner. They refused to work for money, or for themselves. They always had to work for the people.

 

Charles spoke up next. “Aye lad. We could spark a Rebellion against the Epics of the City. But, that would result in the deaths of a few High Epics, and thousands of humans. If we’re lucky, and that’s a big if. And then do you know what would happen? Another High Epic would claim this land. Already there’s a war brewing between the High Epics of the City. We’ve actually talked this over already, and we were thinking about weakening a couple of the Factions, to install a slightly more benevolent Epic as undisputed ruler of Portland. It would be better than what we have now.”

 

Dr. Pace jumped in. “I don’t agree. The people of Oregon are a hardy lot. Even now, they have the best life in the world. They’ve prepared for a worse apocalypse then they have right now. I think they could pull it off, especially if we helped.”

 

Gordon almost fell in shock. William had never believed in that. He’d always said the exact opposite.

 

Dr. Pace continued on. “Do you know who else wanted to see the people rebel against The Epics? Who else believed in them? Robert did. Robert wanted to see the land cleansed of the Epics. And now he’s been killed by one. Killed by our own Seth, who always looked down on the people.” He stood up, and moved besides Max, to where he could look at Gordon, Rachel and Charles. “ I’m supporting Max. And if the rest of you actually care, then you will too.” The short man, who never raised his voice, who had always refused to fight, glared at them, with a fury. His eyes actually Glistened. “We do nothing. All we do is help a few people. Moses and Frank are out killing an Epic who’s crimes amount to knocking over a few walls while he stole groceries for Hippocrates's sake! We are going to start this revolution. If we die trying, we’ll have actually done something with ourselves, rather than just ride other Cell’s reputations to fame.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Streetwise pointed at a spot on the map. “Yeah, there’s four of them at the Airport. One’s of them is that informant you had killed. And they did mention one of their own turning on them. So Teleporter guy there is probably telling the truth.”

 

CorpseMaker turned back to the Epic. “Alright then. This information of your better be good, if you want to join me. Especially seeing as you used to be a Reckoner.”
 

Edited October 12, 2014 by The Only Joe

[Fatebreaker he/him]

"My girlfriend—Funtimes, that is—is certainly powerful enough to convince anyone to stay. You might recall a storm of pancakes? That was her. And she's the reason this jungle is floating, and why it's a jungle rather than a dusty old museum." 

 

Fade took in this new information. Though Lightwards was the supposed leader, this Funtimes seemed to have all the power. What was it that allowed Lightwards to rule? Was she using him as a puppet, or did he have even greater power? 

He needed some concrete facts.

 

"I need to know a few things for sure: Funtimes and Lightwards abilities? And,"

He lowered his voice and nodded at Nighthound.

"what he's capable of. I've seen how you look at him, I've seen the way he acts, and I would feel alot better about the world if he no longer lived in it. Tell me what I need to know, and I could help you be rid of him. Permanently."

 

 

--------

 

Mommy told her children to wait for her, then walked up to the front doors. She tentatively pushed open the doors and took a step inside. "Hello?" she called. "Is this the Minor Epic Empire?" 

 

Suddenly she heard a loud voice with a thick German accent shout at her

 

"Halt! Stay vere you are! Move unt I vill be riddlink you vith bullets! Schultz! Bindt and gag zee introoder!  

 

 She turned in time to see a short man in an old fashioned military uniform extend his hands towards her. Duct tape shot out of his palms and bound her, tying her arms to her sides and her legs together. Another piece went over her mouth, cutting off her startled cry. A second man joined her captor. He was tall and thin, yet well muscled. His bright blue eyes contrasted startlingly with his wild black mustache and bushy eyebrows. He was wearing an outfit she associated with the Red Baron. All of this would have been quite laughable, were it not for the pistol he was pointing at her. He marched up to her, glaring magnificently 

 

"So! You sought you kould shneak up ont us, yah? Vell you sought vrong! No von shneaks up on Baron von Shtiekelvurst! Vell, no von except zat hobo in Los Angeles. I mean one minoot you're shtrollink down zee shtreet, ze nexsht a valrus drops ont your head! Zat vill ruin your day, let me tell you. Do you know how much a valrus weighs? More zan a German Schepard, zats for schure. Anyvay, ve are not here to be talkink about valruses, ve are here because of you fraulein! Vhy are you here? Vat vere you doink, sneaking aroundt zee headquarters of zee Minor Epic Empire? Vell?"

 

Being gagged, mommy said nothing and raised an eyebrow. The Baron waited for a moment, then seemed to realize the issue. He turned to his companion.

 

"Schultz, How am I supposed to interrogate zee prisoner if she can't reply? HMMM!?!? Answer me Schultz!"

 

The shorter man rolled his eyes.

 

"I do not know sir."

 

The baron smacked him with one of his gloves. Schultz didn't seem to care.

 

"She can't! remove zee tape gagging her at vonce!" he winced as the taped peeled off her mouth. "Zat kannot be komfortable. I am sorry, Schultz is a bit of an idiot sometimes. Anyvay, your explanation can vait, I vill take you to zat Refill unt show him how brave I vas." Come along, you too Schultz. Uuuunt, MARCH! Left, left, left right left!"

 

And off they marched down the corridor. 

[mail-mi he/him]

 

"This information of your better be good, if you want to join me. Especially seeing as you used to be a Reckoner.”

 

Timeport almost had to stop himself from giggling in excitement. Corpsemaker was giving him a chance! He could join the Epic's faction, take down Thoughttown and the new Empire of Light, then move on to the rest of Oregon and eventually the entirety of the Fractured States!

 

He took in a breath--stop it you haven't proven yourself yet--and looked up at Corpsemaker. He could've killed me at any moment. But he hasn't. Feeling more confident, Timeport straightened his back and looked him in the eye. "You have no need to worry, as my betrayal is sound. I no longer work for the Reckoners--I killed one of my former coworkers less than an hour ago--as I am now an Epic." To prove it, Timeport transported behind Corpsemaker. He seemed stunned, then whipped around when Timeport started talking again. "I know where every hub in Portland and the surrounding area is, I've been in every one of them. And I know of each and every other hub in the state. I also know the weakness of one of the Epics in Thoughttown, Sightline, I believe."

 

He teleported back to the other side of Corpsemaker. "And if you'd like me to tell you everything, I'd gladly accept the offer to join your side." 

Edited November 25, 2014 by mail-mi

[A Joe in the Bush]

 

CorpseMaker snapped his arm out, grabbing the Teleporter by the throat. The man looked shocked. CorpseMaker wasn't going to allow any Teleporter to go around like that.

 

"Do not Teleport around me like that again little Epic, Or I will destroy you completely. The only reason I haven't yet, is because you've laimed to know the weakness of Sightline" he squeezed just a bit, before dropping the gasping epic to the floor again. "If you're lying to me about that, You'd better wish you never came here."

 

He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees as he balanced on the balls of his feet. "Now then. I will let you Work for me. And If you prove yourself Loyal, I will reward you handsomely. But you just admitted to betraying your long-time friends and allies. So you're going to have to work very hard to prove your sincerity." The fear in the room was Palpable. Not just from the young Epic, but from everyone else as well.

 

He stood up, adressing the rest of the room. "The rest of you would do good to remember this lesson. 'A little trust goes a Long way. The less you use, the further you'll go. Now get back to work."

 

He grabbed Timeport by his collar, pulling him to his feet. He spoke ina quieter voice. "Now, what exactly is Sightline's Weakness, and how did you learn of it?

[Voidus]

Zip strode angrily around his makeshift office, Refill had gotten up and given his pretty little speech and now everyone looked to him as the leader, giving little or no mind to the far more powerful Epic who'd helped him.
Jumped up bartender, when he gets back here I'll show him. Leave me stuck here with research while he goes and gets more glory for himself.

He shuffled the papers on the desk, taking a deep breath before looking through them all again, this work was mind numbing. He thumbed through the pile with the list of the Epics who had joined up and their powers along with known limitations. Then got to work on the second, larger pile of ideas for those powers, new applications and combinations to bring about their maximum potential.

Interrupted only occasionally by a group of research volunteers who came to add new pages as new Epics arrived and take pages of ideas that could be tested.
Paperwork, he gets recruitment I get paperwork. I can manipulate the fabric of reality, what can he do? Top up people's drinks, he didn't even get any offensive abilities til he started drinking out of that disgusting flask.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings, the other researchers didn't bother knocking, another thing that was growing more and more irritating.

He considered shrinking the door down to annoy whoever was outside but at least they'd shown respect enough to knock.
He opened it to find two of the minor Epics who'd been on guard duty flanking another wrapped in tape who he didn't recognise.

Ok, this is your chance, act like a leader, strong, decisive. I'm annoyed that they interrupted me, should I show it? Or is that being unable to control myself?

"What is the meaning of this interruption?" He said as haughtily as he could manage. "Who is this?"

 

[Mailliw73 he/him]

When Max saw the Reckoners' faces, he was disappointed. He could tell they were going to turn him down. He thought they were better than that. He thought they would want to fight. The woman, Rachel, spoke to that exact effect. He knew it. These guys were just killing easy Epics.

Charles spoke up next. “Aye lad. We could spark a Rebellion against the Epics of the City. But, that would result in the deaths of a few High Epics, and thousands of Humans. If we’re lucky. and that’s a big if. And then do you know what would happen? Another High Epic would claim this land. Already there’s a war brewing between the High Epics of the City. We’ve actually talked this over already, and we were thinking about weakening a couple of the Factions, to install a slightly more benevolent Epic as undisputed ruler of Portland. It would be better than what we have now.” Charles was on Rachel's side. The side Max knew he would have to change. That was the opinion most people in Portland had. They thought they were too weak and that the Epics were too strong.

To Max's surprise, Dr. Pace jumped in. “I don’t agree. The people of Oregon are a hardy lot. Even now, they have the best Life in the world. They’ve prepared for a Worse Apocalypse then they have right now. I think they could pull it off. especially if we helped.” Max just managed to keep his mouth closed. He couldn't refrain from raising one eyebrow just slightly.

Dr. Pace continued on. “Do you know who else wanted to see the People rebel against The Epics? Who else believed in them? Robert did. Robert wanted to see the land cleansed of the Epics. And now he’s been killed by one. Killed by our own Seth, who always looked down on the people.” Robert had wanted rebellion too? If only Seth hadn't killed him, Max would have more backup and someone to rely on. Dr. Pace stood beside Max as he continued, “ I’m supporting Max. And if the rest of you actually care, then you will too. We do Nothing. All we do is help a few people. Moses and Frank are out killing an Epic who’s crimes amount to knocking over a few Walls while he stole Groceries for Hippocrates's Sake! We are going to start this Revolution. If we die trying, we’ll have actually done something with ourselves, rather than just ride other Cell’s Reputations to fame.” Yes! This was a man with a heart like Max's. Someone who realized what was right and that the Reckoners weren't helping enough. The doctor glared at the other Reckoners and dared them not to join him.

Max decided to back him up. "You're well informed. You've had to have heard the rumors about The Dalles. The rumors are that the common people rule. A National Guard commander keeps control of the Epics there. If that small farm town can do it, so can we. We have more people. We have the heart. People say that Portland is a city for the strange; well that's completely true. It's what makes us unique. It's why we are going to be able to succeed. We can topple the Epics and we can take back our city. My contacts are ready. They're continuing to spread the word. I just need your information and resources. Join the Black Fist rebellion. Join the people. Help us fight for our city." Max copied the doctor's stare. He defied the trio of Reckoners to reject him. He challenged them to back down and refuse to help. He could do it with just Dr. Pace and Gordon, but it'd be immensely better with the others providing their resources as well.

He knew the people could do it. The Black Fist could remove the Epics.

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles she/her]

 

"I need to know a few things for sure: Funtimes and Lightwards abilities? And what he's capable of. I've seen how you look at him, I've seen the way he acts, and I would feel alot better about the world if he no longer lived in it. Tell me what I need to know, and I could help you be rid of him. Permanently."

 

Nathan was accustomed to giving Epics what they wanted, but Fade's question posed a conundrum. He wanted information on Lightwards and Funtimes. Abilities, limitations, what they were likely to do. In return, he offered to assist in removing Nighthound from the world, undoubtably making it a better place.

 

It was a generous offer, but the answer he sought was taboo. Don't ever tell one Epic about another's abilities, even if they ask you. Hedge. Tell them to ask. Say only what you've seen for yourself. If you answer that question, you're allying yourself with the one who asked, and if they lose, you lose. 

 

This wasn't Newcago. He wasn't a servant. He could answer.

 

If they lose, you lose. 

 

The bruise in his side ached. He couldn't form an alliance with Lightwards if he wanted to. And the way Nighthound looked at him….

 

"Lightwards is a necromancer, able to raise the dead as his slaves and cure himself of fatal wounds." He gave a wry smile, ignoring the twisting in his gut. "Had you asked him, the explanation would have been much longer, but that's all it is. Nighthound can heal himself, kill and enslave others for a time. As for Funtimes, I'm sure she'd be delighted to give you a demonstration, if you asked."  

 

She had threatened to kill Lightwards. Repeatedly, over a single punch. Most other Epics would have waited until Lightwards put a gun to his head. If he had to throw his lot in with someone, she was the only one for it. 

Timeport was an idiot. 

 

He marched on in, no escort, no nothing, claimed to be a former Reckoner, and acted like he expected CorpseMaker to pat him on the back. Part of Quota had to admire his gall, but another, larger part wanted to sit in the corner and mock him silently. 

 

"Do not Teleport around me like that again little Epic, Or I will destroy you completely. The only reason I haven't yet, is because you've laimed to know the weakness of Sightline." He tossed him to the floor. "If you're lying to me about that, You'd better wish you never came here."

 

Fear swept into the room, invited by CorpseMaker and embraced by the other Epics. Quota closed his eyes and soaked it in. A smile spread across his face. He wasn't afraid. How could he be, when all these powerful Epics were doing it for him? Any one of them could take a lair on their own, probably, but here they were, standing straight and looking tough, while inside they were all cowering like little girls. 

 

Hilarious. 

 

Instead of laughing, Quota reached out toward their other emotions. Relief—oh, it's not me, thank Calamity it's not me. Satisfaction—stupid arrogant slontze, serves him right. Hope, his personal favorite—he's distracted, he won't see me, he hasn't seen me. Quota identified them all and took them into his hands as CorpseMaker crouched beside Timeport. 

 

He stomped them all down. 

 

Like a bonfire doused in lighter fluid, the fear in the room flared a little higher. 

 

As CorpseMaker lifted Timeport by the collar once more and posed another question, Quota basked in the fear of his fellow Epics. 

[mail-mi he/him]

 

Timeport was flung to the floor. Before him, Corpsemaker seemed to grow in size, towering over Timeport, just a new little minor Epic who had no idea how to treat his betters Stupid, stupid, stupid! he yelled at himself.
 
Corpsemaker crouched over him, resting his hands on his knees. "Now then. I will let you work for me. And if you prove yourself loyal, I will reward you handsomely. But you just admitted to betraying your long-time friends and allies. So you're going to have to work very hard to prove your sincerity." Timeport wanted to say that the Reckoners had never been his friends, he'd always planned to betray them, but his mouth was suddenly very dry. He had to stop himself from squeaking like a little girl as the Epic who could kill him with a glance leaned over him. 
 
Corpsemaker stood up straight, and Timeport breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Though he was still sparking scared, Corpsemaker hadn't killed him. "The rest of you would do good to remember this lesson. 'A little trust goes a long way. The less you use, the further you'll go. Now get back to work." He reached back down to grab Timeport's collar and lifted him up. "Now, what exactly is Sightline's weakness, and how did you learn of it?" 
 
Timeport swallowed as he looked into Corpsemaker's eyes. Eyes that could kill him at any instant. "G-Glasses," he said, stuttering. "Sightline's weakness is glasses. The R-Reckoner's informant, G-Gordon, told me." His breaths were shaky. "And the Reckoners were never my friends. I-I always planned to betray them, hoping that maybe Ca..." Timeport lost his voice. He turned away from Corpsemaker's eyes. Though it would probably make the Epic more angry, Timeport couldn't stand looking into them anymore. When his voice finally returned to him, he spoke quickly. "Hoping that maybe Calamity would bless me if I betrayed His enemies."
 

 

Mommy was very grateful for her nose. Because, without it, she would have died from suffocation. 
 
As the "Baron von Shtiekelvurst" continued his rant at her, Mommy was torn on how she should feel. On one hand, these two Epics had captured her and wrapped her in duct tape, which she did not appreciate, but on the other, they were both so ridiculous she would've laughed had duct tape not covered her mouth. 

 

"Remove zee duct tape at vonce!" the Baron shouted. Mommy felt a stab of pain as the duct tape was removed, and as soon as it was, she cleaned the remnants of the stickiness off of her face just by thinking about it. "Zat kannot be komfortable. I am sorry, Schultz is a bit of an idiot sometimes. Anyvay, your explanation can vait, I vill take you to zat Refill unt show him how brave I vas." Come along, you too Schultz. Uuuunt, MARCH! Left, left, left right left!" They forced Mommy to walk down the hall.

 

Mommy complied, though she had to fight against the increasing panic that was rising up inside of her. If they were doing this to her...what were they doing to the children? She pushed away the thought of her precious children being wrapped in duct tape and towed away somewhere horrible, somewhere--

 

The Baron knocked on the assistant principal's office door and waited. Mommy wondered if "duct tape" counted as "dirty," and tried to clean herself off, but to no avail. The office door swung open, and a flustered-looking man stepped out. "What is the meaning of this interruption?" He looked down at Mommy. "Who is this?" 

 

"Hello," Mommy said. "I would shake your hand, though I'm a bit stuck at the moment. I'm Mommy. And that shirt of yours looks dreadfully dirty." She wasn't usually this confident, but she had to show some initiative if she wanted in on the Minor Epic Empire. She looked down at his shirt and cleaned it. Suddenly, it looked like it had just been pressed and washed. "Also, could you let my children know that I'm alright? I'd hate for them to have to worry." 

Edited March 30, 2015 by mail-mi

[Fatebreaker he/him]

Fade nodded as he memorized the new information. He asked a few more questions about Lightwards and Nighthound, narrowing down the scope of their abilities somewhat. Lightwards was someone he could work around. But Nighthound was too dangerous. Lightwards held no control over him, just his amusement for the moment. There was no telling when the creature might turn on his proclaimed allies.

When he might turn on Maximilian.  

 

Fade began formulating his strategy. Nighthound's enhanced physical capabilities meant that prolonged hand to hand combat was likely to be dangerous. Not only that, but he converted his hounds through touch. However, both his healing and possession were not instantaneous, so he could work around them. Constant damage seemed to be the way to go, focused on vital areas and sensory organs. Fade was a firm believer that you could kill anything with enough skill and determination. Worst come to worst, there was always his Last Resort. He looked up at the Traveler.

 

"It's doable, as long as you're sure he doesn't have a resurrection ability. And I think that your Doctor Funtimes can help. However,I need to know who would side with us, and who would side with him. Other Epics assisting the target can complicate things, and I need to know how many am I going to have to kill."

 

There wasn't a trace of doubt or a flicker of worry within Fade. He wasn't going to fight Nighthound, he was going to put him down.

 

 

 

------------

 

 

"Also, could you let my children know that I'm alright? I'd hate for them to have to worry." 

 

Before Zip could even think of a reply the Mad Ballooner swung to face his captive.

 

"Vat? You haf brought childrens? Vat kindt of muzzer brings childrens vith her vhen she visits Epic hideouts? I am sinking CPS schould be calledt, if zey schtill existed zat is. Anyvays, Herr Zeep, I haf brought you this intruder. Ve foundt her shneekink aroundt, probably tryinnk to kill us all! It vas only sanks to my heroic actions zat sche vas apprehended. Oh, unt partly sanks to Schultz as vell, but not too much. He just tied her up, pretty easy really. I mean, anyvone can tie somevone up, but it takes a true hero to point dangerous guns unt yell "HALT!" like so. Unt I sink a new medal is in order. 'For apprehendink dangerous intruders' zounds about right. Vell, I vill be takinnk her to zhe dungeon now. Come along Schultz, don't just stand zere vith your teeth in you mouth. Seriously, you're like a dachshund zat has been drinkinnk."

 

He turned to go, but stopped mid-step.

 

"A dachshund zat has been drinkinnk? Zat is a terrible analogy! I must sink of a new von."

 

He pulled out a pencil and a small notebook from inside his jacket and began muttering to himself and writing.

 

"Let's see, like an aero-plane made of concrete, like an ostrich vith it's head in a euphonium , like..."

[Tulir he/him]

Mundivore watched from the side of the hanger as Corpsemaker and Quota had their discussion, getting angry as it went on.  How dare he, Mundivore thought, I'll crush him next chance I get.  He took a step towards the two, then stopped as someone appeared in the room.

 

He introduced himself as Timeport, and went about his meeting with Corpsemaker about the same that Mundivore had.  Mundivore wasn't really paying attention, but he flinched and got on guard when Corpsemaker lashed his hand out and grabbed Timeport by the throat.  As Timeport fell to the floor, Mundivore felt fear flare up inside him, and glared at Quota.

 

It was a fear of Corpsemaker, a new fear of failure, that sprung up in him, but as Mundivore stared at Quota, his rage also reached higher levels.  Who does he think he is?! We are fellow Epics, not some cattle to scare to the slaughter!  Mundivore started walking towards Quota, intent on ending his life.  

 

"The rest of you would do good to remember this lesson. 'A little trust goes a Long way. The less you use, the further you'll go. Now get back to work." Corpsemaker said, addressing the rest of the room.  Mundivore stopped immediately, and regained control of himself, considering what Corpsemaker would do to him.  As he did, he started to chuckle quietly, fighting against Quota's stranglehold.  What can he do to me?!  Nothing!  He can't kill me!  As he came to this realization, Mundivore walked up to Quota, and, instead of hating the fear, ignoring it, said "Lessen up on the new Epic.  Crippling him with fear this early would make him useless to everyone."

[TheSilverDragon he/him]

“Tell me who you are and why I don’t know you or you’ll find out why nobody wants to get eaten by a teapot!”

 

Wraith instinctively turned to smoke. What in Calamity just happen? She was all happy one moment and suddenly she's brandishing a teapot at me. I thought she was a nice person. 

 

Wraith hesitated for a second, and then turned back to normal.

 

"Well... um, to answer your first question, no Lightward did not help me get up here. I got here all by my self." Wraith said tentatively. "You don't know me because I keep my head down, but I've decided that now might be a good time to join up with an alliance. So could I, or do I have to do something first?"

[Voidus]

Mommy? Terrible name.

Zip was just about to reply when one of the guards burst into a tirade, decided to head to 'the dungeons' though they were in a school and then pulled out a notebook and started muttering to himself.

Zip looked over his now pristine shirt, impressed at the display of power, not particularly combative but then he'd never though Refill's abilities were either.

"Let her go, all minor Epics are welcome here." He said to the guards, the one mumbling to himself ignored him, infuriating Zip further but the other untied her.

"I'm sorry for the way you were greeted, welcome to the Minor Epic Empire. I'm Zip, your children shouldn't have been harmed as long as they got up to no mischief."

Zip opened the door and snagged the arm of a passing woman.

"Gills, see if you can find a group of children around the school somewhere and see that they're brought into class 3c to wait." The woman nodded and sped off.

"Now, care for some tea?" He asked Mommy as he waved an arm at his desk and restored the tea set to normal size.

[A Joe in the Bush]

 

Gordon stepped forward. "I've already agreed to help him. But even so, you shouldn't decide until the others are back. And we also need to get out of here. CorpseMaker attacked my church, trying to kill me. And we don't know if Seth told him anything. We should probably move to Attica. Seth was new enough that he wasn't told. Actually Charles, did we ever tell you about Attica?"

 

Charles frowned, then shook his head. Only Rachel and Moses should know about it. Attica was a Backup lab and bunker that Gordon, Rachel and Robert had found before Calamity came. An old Soviet-era Bunker for the higher ups in the city. They'd named it Attica due to it's location. Underneath the Grave of Atticus O'Sullivan, in the Willamete National Cemetery.

 

Rachel perked up. "Good Idea. I'll grab as much stuff as I can carry, and load it onto the bus. Dr. can you contact the others, and tell them to meet us at Altamont Park." She started to hurry away, but stopped next to Max. "You have my Vote, but the others are ghoing to be harder to convince. They'll want an actual plan. Be prepared." She left out the airfield door, out to her lab.

 

Gordon stepped up, swinging his arm over Max's Shoulder. "You did good kid. You convinced me, Rachel and William. But Charles and Moses are going to be the hard ones.  Good luck." He hurried after Rachel, leaving William to make his calls.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

CorpseMaker grunted. It wasn't the worst reason for betraying one's allies. "Alright then. Welcome to the Dominion. Report to Toymaker this evening. She'll assign you a Mech and soldiers, and she'll run your Upgrade tests. We'll see what use you have soon enough." He stood back up, and turned back towards the table. He gathered up the plan, and walked towards the door. "Quota, report to Toymaker as well. She'll outfit you. The res of you know what you're supposed to be doing right now. I'll be back later."

 

He left before anyone could reply. Having the last word in a Conversation always helped one's Image. Murphy was leaning against the wall outside the door, skimming through a magazine. He looked up when CorpseMaker passed by. "Hey boss, mind if I come with? I have a few Ideas I think you might be able to use."

 

CorpseMaker didn't even look his way. "You can follow along. I just need to let loose." He quickly canceled Murphy's power without even thinking about it. It actually worked for once. Though Murphy wouldn't have noticed.

 

The man fell into step with him. "So, before we joind up with you, we were investigating the other factions, deciding which one to join, and I think I know how to take down the Empire." CorpseMaker held up a hand.

 

"Wait until we're outside. I need to think for a while."Murphy seemed surprised by that, but was smart enough to shut up.

 

Eyes, but he really needed to let loose. He hadn't used his powers in a while. Not for recreational use at least.

Edited October 17, 2014 by The Only Joe

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles she/her]

 

Wraith turned to smoke. Part of Doctor Funtimes—the part that loved campfires—wanted to drop the teapot and squeal in delight. The other part—the part that hated the way smoke would sting her eyes and make her cough—wanted to see if the scalding water could still touch him. 

 

At least one thing was settled: She knew how he had reached the MoNA. And unless he could only turn to smoke at a certain time each day, he would be able to float up to the MoNA whenever he liked. That, of course, opened the door to a whole new problem: If this happened to be smoky-turny-time, Wraith must have been waiting since the same time the previous day, which meant he knew everything that had happened, and he knew about Nathan, and...

 

"Well... um, to answer your first question, no Lightward did not help me get up here. I got here all by my self." He glanced nervously at the teapot. "You don't know me because I keep my head down, but I've decided that now might be a good time to join up with an alliance. So could I, or do I have to do something first?"

 

Heat from the teapot was beginning to burn her hands, but she didn't dare let go. "Do that smoky-turny-thing again." 

 

He did. She set the teapot back on the billy and wiped her hands. There was nothing special about this time after all. Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't heard everything she didn't want him to hear, and unless he was incapable of lying, there was no way for her to know what he knew. She couldn't peek inside his brain, anyway—well, Nighthound would probably like to, but that would be creepy and gross and wouldn't tell her anything except what the inside of his brain looked like. Which was something she didn't want to know. 

 

Then again, she knew one thing: He wanted to join an alliance. Their alliance. And she was here, and Lightwards wasn't, which meant she was in charge. Lightwards had filled the MoNA with his allies, so it was only fair she had one of her own, two counting Saccharine. 

 

Doctor Funtimes smiled. She had already scared him, so now was the time to un-scare him. "Do you like cookies?" 

 

 

"Lessen up on the new Epic.  Crippling him with fear this early would make him useless to everyone."

 

Quota grinned. So Mundivore wasn't as immune as he thought. Oh, he might act immune, but Quota knew his bravado for the mask it was. He might push and shove and act as tough as CorpseMaker, but deep down he was a crying little baby. "Maybe he's got to learn. If he's crippled that easy, he's just cannon fodder. Know what I mean?" 

 

"Quota, report to Toymaker as well. She'll outfit you. The res of you know what you're supposed to be doing right now. I'll be back later."

 

The perfect excuse to have the last word. Nudging Mundivore in the ribs to drive his last insult home, Quota turned away with a grin. "Catch ya later!" 

 

Remington had two stories floating around his head, and both filled him with misgivings. 

 

First, Aldo's Tennessee Sibyl tale. The most powerful precog on the planet had predicted Oregon's destruction. Miles and miles of devastated landscape. No houses. No trees. No people. His stomach turned just thinking about his favorite forests turned to rubble. More alarming, though, was the look of interest—no, delight—on that magician's face as he shared it. No concern for the people, the animals, nothing but sick joy at the prospect of having a front-row seat to an entire state's demise. 

 

Traveler had been wise to leave most of his own story untold. 

 

Regular folk didn't hear as much about Epics in other cities as local Epics did. There was a hierarchy, and hunters from Oregon were near the bottom. Still, a few rumors managed to float down, and Fortuity was one of those rumors. A powerful precog from Newcago, who wore the color of his crimes quite literally on his sleeves, was the reason for Traveler's arrival in Portland. Remington didn't know all the details, nor did he want to, but the story raised a few questions. 

 

Why was Traveler in Fortutiy's penthouse at all? 

 

Why did Doctor Funtimes lock him in the bathroom? 

 

Why was Fortuity so upset about the escape of one lowly server? 

 

The answer was simple: Traveler wasn't supposed to leave that penthouse alive. 

 

And Aldo laughed. Cheered. Said 'Bravo' and asked for more. 

 

Remington was just pondering whether to offer his assistance to an elderly Epic whose first instinct seemed to be murdering Nighthound when Funtimes skipped through the jungle, trailed by smoke with something small and green on her finger. As she neared, Remington saw it was a grasshopper, and the smoke solidified into a young man with a cookie in his hand. 

 

"Lean down," she said with a giggle, and Remington did. She lowered her voice to a whisper. 

 

"Saccharine's animal friends hear stuff. Hari—" she lifted the grasshopper—"heard something from a fly, who was over downtown. Can you drive?" 

 

"Sure." 

 

She pulled back to grin at him, then whispered: "Wanna see something that'll make Lightwards' head explode?" 

Edited October 16, 2014 by TwiLyghtSansSparkles

[Kobold King he/him]

 

 

Epics are hugging me.

 

This is weird, and I don't like it.

 

Gingerly, so she wouldn't anger the overly affectionate white Epic, Sam pulled herself free from the embrace. "OK, I think that's enough hugging for now. If you need anything else... well, uh, you know where to find us."

 

She cast a nervous glance at Revolution, who was giving her a curious, studying expression. Sam coughed awkwardly. "I should get going now. Nice meeting you both."

 

Revolution seemed to pick up on the lie, but Ms. Socially Awkward Blueberry probably wouldn't. Ray still stood there looking angry and powerless, making Sam feel a little like a slontze.

 

"Well, uh, bye." Feeling more awkward by the second, Sam started walking away from the group. Revolution followed, giving a smiling farewell as she followed her into the jungle.

 

 

 

 

Lucentia seemed almost... amused at the challenge. “While it´s true that one can´t earn his loyalty you also won´t mange to buy it, simply because he doesn´t have any and trust me once you have some kind of stability established here you do not want my brother to still be around. Calamity, I don´t want him to stay close to me, there are just some business that require him to show his face once in a while.”

 

The tailor returned from the backroom bearing a fine blue dress, which Lucentia plucked from his arms. “Not that it matters at the moment," she continued. "Actually there is something I would like you to think about. Corpsemaker´s little robot display has one major flaw. He´s showing of the powers of one of his servants, mere mortals might not care about that but for a proper Epic it easily seems as if he is dependent on her to deal with anything that isn´t a worm. Now, excuse me for a second, we can head for that bakery right afterwards.”

 

She retreated to the back room to change, leaving Lightwards alone with his Warriors.

 

Not that this was a bad thing. Lightwards turned to face the Warriors he'd collected the previous day. Aside from the tailor, there was one older woman and three men of varying ages--not his finest crop, to be sure. But they would do.

 

 

Pondering Lucentia's words as he did so, he steadily took the pistol from his belt and executed each Warrior in turn.

 

He raised them each as he killed them, a couple of times each until he felt their presences strongly in his mind. After a few deaths apiece, the human Warriors had almost as strong a connection to him as the toy soldiers. Somewhat experimentally, he mentally ordered each of them to wave their arms. The second he'd given thought to the command, each zombie raised a languid arm into the air and began to wave.

 

The task was finished at the same time Lucentia re-emerged from the changing room, now wearing the blue dress from before. Lightwards privately wondered why she bothered--if he could create his own clothing constructs, he'd never wear anything else. Especially not with Funtimes around. But it was her choice, he supposed.

 

Stifling a yawn, Lightwards reached into his pocket and pulled out his notebook. Backtrack's handwriting was sloppy, and gave not a street address but rather a vague set of directions. Towards the river--three blocks south of the tailor's shop--a block east from Headshot's signature--smells like muffins.

 

Familiarizing himself with the sparse instructions, Lightwards gathered his Warriors, smiled encouragingly at Lucentia, and headed out the shop door.

 

 

Portland was just as empty as it had been before. The day was sunny, but few people took advantage of the nice weather. Every so often Lightwards would spot a pedestrian determinedly walking at the far ends of the street, only to rush indoors again at the sight of the two Epics.

 

They're filled with such fear, he observed inwardly. It's good in some ways to have the populace in such terror, but this will make it awfully inconvenient if I need a new Warrior in a hurry.

 

Perhaps he'd need to give another speech to make the people more secure with his leadership. He made up his mind to give another speech soon. Preferably without Funtimes turning the appearance into an obscene public make-out session.

 

The two Epics walked in silence for a little while, neither attempting to make conversation. Lucentia strode by his side with a regal demeanor, existing as a living testimony to the proper dignity an Epic should embody. She was far from an enjoyable presence, and eventually she would be an enemy; but even so, Lightwards found himself respecting her far more than he could respect Doctor Funtimes' acts of random insanity.

 

After three blocks of quiet walking, they came to a slightly more crowded portion of the downtown. Or at least, what may have once been a crowded residential area--now about a third of the buildings seemed to be in very poor repair, suggesting they'd been abandoned for a few years now. The place seemed to give out an aura of residential camouflage; inhabited dwellings generally seemed to blend in with the ruined. The inhabitants of this stretch of housing seemed to have found the ultimate habitat for avoiding Epic detection.

 

Quite noticeable on the side of one brick house was what Lightwards presumed to be "Headshot's signature." The name "HEADSHOT" had been carved with what seemed to be hundreds of bullet marks, written in all caps and facing the street in a strikingly conspicuous manner.

 

"We should be almost there," Lightwards informed his partner, stepping close to the building. The bullets had all struck like printer ink on a page, leaving hundreds--if not thousands--of small potmarks on the surface of the brick.

 

And underneath the grandiose signature was a small piece of delicately written graffiti. The deceased Epic had written "HEADSHOT" at the top of the wall; a later vandal had continued the sentence with "has too much time on his hands."

 

Lightwards sighed. "Yes. We're definitely approaching the Trattner residence."

 

They continued for a short while. Eventually, he caught the warm odor of baked goods drifting down the street, apparently originating from a plain house with a "closed" sign hanging on the front door.

 

"Excellent," Lightwards said with a smile, breathing in the smell. "I do believe we're here."

 

He turned to Lucentia and continued. "Now, I doubt this particular errand will take long in its performance--I merely intend to collect a Warrior or two, leave another few behind to guard survivors, and then return to the Museum. If you'd care to assist me, I'm sure it will take only a few minutes."

 

Idly, he wondered how many Trattners would die today. The answer was simple: however many it took.

 

[Edgedancer he/him]

The hug was pushing it after all. It was understandable, Voidgaze wouldn´t want to be hugged either and Sam was nice about it, so yeah. It´s not like Voidgaze expected to make friends in the first place.

 

She exchanged goodbyes with Sunburst and waved after Sam, “See you later!”

 

Now, they still had to get away from Nighthound, maybe they should ask Funtimes for help.

 

“Do you know the problem with hugging sessions?” Voidgaze whirled around to to find Nighthound leaned against a nearby tree, “You´re not spending the time getting away from, which granted I appreciate.” His smile was as creepy as was to be expected… maybe a bit worse actually.

 

His eyes flickered over to the two girls that just left, “Those two seem to have a talent for leaving just when I arrive, how about you introduce me to them proper?”  He accompanied the question with a careless wave of his hand.

 

“You already left the worst impression imaginable, so that won´t be necessary.” Ray was back to shooting him hatful stares, not that Voidgaze herself had a friendly expression right now. Given that he showed no remorse his time would come, only a matter of getting the okay, well, that and making sure Ray didn´t get caught up in the fight, this whole group thing is kinda bothersome.

 

Nighthound shot Ray a smile, “Really, I´m not even around and you still talk about me. You know just how happy that makes me and that makes it even better. Anyway, ladies how about we find something to do for the evening?”

 

I´m starting to really miss Al.

[Voidus]

They'd picked up several new recruits for their growing empire along the way to find Chimera, Refill had sent them all back to the school with directions to see Zip when they could. They couldn't afford to have unknowns with them when dealing with this 'Chimera', from what Growthspurt had told him, this could be a very important Epic to add to their ranks.

Refill was still planning his strategy for the attacks that would be commencing at nightfall when they arrived at the zoo.
"This is the place you said?" He asked Growthspurt, who nodded.

A pile of ruined armour stained with blood marred the otherwise neat entrance, watched sternly by two of the zoos inhabitants, twisted though they were by Chimera's powers.

Refill stopped short of the gate and yelled to the zoo.

"I am known as Refill, we seek a meeting with the Epic known as Chimera"

[Edgedancer he/him]

Lucentia ignored the gunshots, while she changed into her dress. Into what did kind of trouble did that maniac get himself? After she leisurely returned to the front room she was greeted by a necromancer that seemed bored if anything, although, the zombies seemed even more vapid than before.

 

Deciding not to press the matter she watched with a raised eyebrow, while he studied a notebook, the man wasn´t much for proper preparations, was he?

 

Once he managed to memorize the directions they headed out. The one thing she could say in favor about the people living in this town was that they knew to go into hiding like the bugs they are. Putting said fear into the vanillas of this place together with showing a basic understanding of manners were sadly apart from those two qualities the man has been a disappointment. Nighthound´s description of the man had been very fitting indeed, at least he wouldn´t pose much of a problem once the situation was dealt with.

 

As they continued their walk they entered a rundown part of the town, festered with rats, desperately trying to stay out of notice, some people just didn´t value their pride.

 

From all the mutilations of the scenery Lightwards picked out a group of bullets holes with additional graffiti as some kind of landmark, it was discernable enough. Luckily, the bakery wasn´t that far away anymore and they finally arrived.

 

A couple of the warriors tried to force open the closed bakery door. Not wanting to wait she stepped past them and brought her diamond hand up to the doors lock and ripped it right out of the door, including a part of the wall.

 

Tossing the mechanism aside she entered the shop. Compared with the slum it was in it had a good condition but that didn´t keep it from having a sorry little assortment.

 

The warriors spread into the room, some of them searching further into the building. Lucentia herself walked towards what appeared to be a kitchen, tailed by one of the walking dead.

 

A gunshot rang out and the zombie next to her collapsed. Disregarding the body she stepped further into the kitchen, there she found a woman pointing a gun at her. The woman fired a second shot and hit Lucentia square into her forehead, at least she didn´t ruin her dress.

 

Unfazed by the wound Lucentia gave a sight and waved a hand at the woman, sending out some diamonds to knock the gun away and caught her hand. The hole in her skull was already filling itself with diamonds.

 

The hand enclosed in diamonds was dragged towards the ground and attached to it there. Next, another construct grew from the batch on her hand and shot at her throat, starting to choke her and further restricting her movement.

 

While the little bug scratched at the construct with her free hand, Lucentia turned back to Lightwards, “I´ll be considerate enough to ask but is there any reason why I shouldn´t kill her?” By now the diamonds in her wound had replaced itself with flesh.

[mail-mi he/him]

Timeport giggled like a little girl.

He had a Mech suit. His very own Mech suit! A toy turned to a personal assistant that served him at his beck and call. And, what was better, he could teleport with it! He could stay inside of it and teleport around in it and--

Upgrade came up to him. "Timeport. Out. Now. You've been in there for forever. It's time for your tests."

Timeport, very reluctantly, climbed out of his mech suit and droppped onto the ground. "Stay and wait for me," he told it, then walked with Upgrade over to a large area that had been cleared for testing.

"Alright," Upgrade said, tapping his pen on the clipboard he held in his hand. "What are your normal abilities? Un-Upgrade-ed, of course."

"Well, I can teleport anywhere within a 5 foot radius," Timeport began, "and travel to any point in the future up to 5 minues." He demonstrated by teleporting five feet away from Upgrade, jumping forward 30 seconds. When he reappeared, he suddenly knew that Upgrade had looked slightly surprised at the disappearance, and was now tapping his clipboard in impatience. "I also can only take inanimate objects with me." He wasn't sure if he should talk about his resurection powers yet, so he didn't say anything about them.

Upgrade nodded, then took a few notes. "Alright then," he said, then held out his hand. "Take my hand and we'll see what you can do." Timeport grabbed his hand.

And teleported across the room, almost thirty feet away. Timeport almost giggled again--he restrained himself from doing so because he was with another grown adult male--and raised his arms in victory. When he did, he noticed something.

He was still holding Upgrade's hand.

And Upgrade was bare naked.

Timeport didn't know whether to laugh or apologize profusely. Before he could do either, Upgrade yelped, then ran back to where his clothes lay in a heap. Timport followed behind him, chuckling quietly to himself while Upgrade quickly got dressed. "Okay then," Upgrade said when he was done, his face still red from embarassment "Upgrade-ed, you can take sentient beings, though it's still skin-contact teleportation." Upgrade glared at him for that, and Timeport just shrugged. Like I would know if it was going to be different. "Were those thirty feet the maximum you could travel?"

Timeport shrugged. "I don't know."

Upgrade thought for a second, then started to head toward the exit. "Well then, let's go out and see."


 

* * *

Timeport teleported 100 feet down the street. He landed holding Upgrade like he was dancing with him, holding one hand and touching his shirt and pants on his waist with his other. He reached under his shirt and pulled out the clipboard and handed it back to Upgrade.

"100 feet maximum." Upgrade said, accepting the clipboard and making a few notes. "Now, future travel. How far can you go?"

They'd landed somewhere Timeport recognized. Suddenly, he remembered something. Make sure to ask him to let you see Upgrade. Timeport took Upgrade's hand--and hip--and time traveled. Not to the future.

To the past.

They landed, and Upgrade checked his mobile. He seemed surprised. "It's a half hour ago," he said. "You took us to the past."

"Yep," he said, looking around the corner of the brick building they were next to. There he was, teleporting to the bank, just as Timeport remembred it. Except this time, I'm the other guy. "Hey, Upgrade," he said, not turning around, "stay here a moment. I have to go do something."

"Wait, we still have more--"

Timeport turned around. "Do you want to destroy the entire space-time continuum? No? Didn't think so." He wasn't sure if it actually would destroy the space-time continuum or not, but he went with it. "I have to go. Be back in a couple of minutes." He started to teleport down the alleyway. He saw his past self stop, then stand there thinking about where he should go. The future Timeport teleported out of the alleyway and towards himself, reveling in the look on his own face, then stopped right next to himself.

"Lost?" he asked.


 

* * *

Timeport stopped at the armory entrance. He turned around and looked at himself in the face. "This is Corpsemaker's HQ," he said, then smiled wickedly for good effect. "And make sure to ask him to let you see Upgrade." Timeport step-teleported away, knowing that his past self was suddenly realizing that he'd been talking to himself.

The future Timeport, the real Timeport, made his way back to Upgrade. The Epic glared at Timeport when he appeared. "What in the name of Calamity were you--"

Timeport raised his hand. "First, please do not use the name of Calamity in vain. Secondly, what's it to you? Didn't you want to go back to HQ? Here, give me your hand."

Upgrade started to say something, then gave up and settled for yet another harsh glare. "Take us back to HQ," he said, then thrust his hand at Timeport, "and travel as far into the future as you can."

Turned out, "as far into the future as you can" turned out to be two hours. They walked back into the armory, and as soon as they were inside Upgrade stalked off, shouting "Your tests are done!" angrily behind him.

Good riddance, Timeport thought. He walked back over to his mech, got inside, and commenced teleporting around and laughing like a kid on Christmas.

Edited November 25, 2014 by mail-mi

[Kobold King he/him]

 

The kitchen was quiet save for the gentle whistling of a teapot. Elizabeth poured a small mug of tea for herself and her friend, stirring in sugar and cream as she talked.

 

"Running a touch low on tea," she said by way of conversation. "It's hard keeping in stock these days."

 

Pamela nodded sagely. Her husband Jack was a food smuggler who spent much of his time in Thoughttown; any member of the Tithers family could go on at length about the difficulties of finding proper cuisine in a post-Calamity world.

 

She took her tea with a smiling thanks, and the pair drank in silence for a little while before drifting into a light, casual conversation.

 

They spoke of the unusually bright and sunny weather. They exchanged a few pieces of harmless gossip about their respective neighbors. They even spoke briefly about local politics (this week's juciest piece of trivia was about how Hotwire had finally managed to run Jingleberry out of town. The latter was reportedly bruised and furious, vowing revenge as she stormed out of the city.)

 

But despite such promising topics, Elizabeth had trouble getting into the conversation. It was helpful to hear her friend's voice droning on and on, comforting her; but there was no getting around the one central fact of her life now.

 

Samantha Trattner had very likely suffered a very painful death. She would never see her daughter again.

 

Pamela's voice ground to a halt as she saw the look on her friend's face. There was another moment of awkward silence before the other woman began to open her mouth.

 

Presumably, it was to speak some words of comfort. Elizabeth never found out.

 

At this moment a series of loud thuds echoed from the front door, as if a number of strong arms were crashing against it repeatedly. To Elizabeth's horror, the thudding stopped suddenly, replaced by a loud tearing sound, as if the door had been utterly ripped from its hinges.

 

Pamela seemed frozen to her seat in pure terror. Forcing herself not to join her, Elizabeth found herself rushing to the hallway drawer, pulling out the pistol within with shaking hands.

 

Her dear, long-departed husband had taught her to shoot years before Calamity. Fortunately it had been years since she last had to make the lessons count.

 

A pair of people stepped into the kitchen, their contrast as stark as it was terrifying. One was a large and heavyset man, aiming a rifle with steady hands but unfocused eyes. He looked like a particularly well-armed man who'd taken to sleepwalking.

 

The other intruder was a tall woman who looked to be in her thirties. She wore a sleek blue dress finer than anything Elizabeth had seen in years, but that was not her most striking feature. One of her arms glittered in the light, apparently crafted out of solid diamond. It was beautiful sight.

 

Elizabeth wasted no time in raising her pistol and firing. The shock from the blasts hurt her arms, but she kept a steady aim and fired into the intruders.

 

The man with the blank face was the first to be hit, crumpling to the floor with a thud. Elizabeth frantically turned the pistol from him and locked it onto the female Epic's sneering, contemptuous face.

 

It was a good shot. The bullet flew directly into the woman's forehead, connecting with an audible popping sound.The outcome, however, made a sinking feeling in Elizabeth's stomach. 

 

The Epic with the diamond arm didn't even flinch. The bullet squeezed out of her skull, replaced by a stream of glistening crystal that filled the wound. The woman raised her hand in a languid response, as if she were swatting aside a troublesome moth.

 

A jet of diamond flowed from the tips of the Epic's fingers, launching across the room and knocking the gun out of Elizabeth's hands. She let out a yelp from the sting, and abruptly cut off as crystal engulfed her arm. She felt herself being dragged to the floor by the diamond's weight, and was soon laying flat on her face with the regal Epic standing over her. Crystal covered her throat, making it steadily harder and harder to breathe.

 

This is it, she managed to think between gasps. Death.

 

The lights seemed to be getting dimmer, and more the vacant-eyed men began pouring into the kitchen. She could vaguely tell that Pamela was being forced to her knees, shaking in powerless terror.

 

This was it. Now she'd die. She'd be with her daughters again; back with Sam and Phoebe. And her husband. If there were a heaven for cursed men, she might see poor lost John again.

 

Somewhere above her, it seemed that the regal Epic was speaking.

 

“I'll be considerate enough to ask," she was saying, "is there any reason why I shouldn't kill her?”

 

A man's voice answered. His was a softer voice with a sophisticated bend to it. It didn't sound like the voice of one of those dead-eyed automatons.

 

"Thank you, Lucentia," the man was saying. "That will be enough. I may need her alive, if my Warriors don't find anyone else in the house."

 

The diamond constricting around her throat slowed to a stop, making Elizabeth cough and stutter into the tiled floor. She was aware of shuffling footsteps all around her. It seemed that this man's "Warriors" were searching the whole house. One of them spoke from above her, in a deep but toneless voice.

 

"There's no one else in the house," the Warrior said simply. She couldn't see what the master's face looked like, but his silence seemed to indicate some brand of displeasure.

 

Rough hands grabbed her by the hair, yanking her to her knees. Her hand was still trapped on the floor, and the connection to her throat made the position quite painful. But for the first time, she could see the master of these "Warriors."

 

He was a man of average height and average build, with a slightly haggard face and a pair of slightly cracked glasses over his eyes. He wore a ragged coat that belonged in a university more than in her kitchen, and a ridiculous shamrock-green bowler hat sat atop his sandy hair.

 

"Hello," he said in a soft but business-like manner, looking down on her with a faint smile. "I am called Lightwards. Is your name Trattner?"

 

She stared at him blankly for a moment before painfully nodding her head. He was obviously an Epic, and Epics did not appreciate being lied to.

 

"Excellent," he replied brusquely. "How many family members of yours live in this house, Mrs. Trattner? And please do not bother lying to me. If you speak a falsehood to me, I will simply kill you again and again until you cooperate." He said these things while tapping a heavy pistol holstered to his side.

 

Elizabeth felt her heart racing. A few feet away from her, Pamela was emitting a faint, almost inaudible whimper.

 

There was no way of knowing whether this Epic could genuinely tell if she was lying. But considering that the only person she had to protect had likely already died at this man's hands...

 

With a trembling lip and a glaring expression, Elizabeth turned her head up and met his eyes. "Just me and my daughter, Emperor."

 

Lightwards stared at her incredulously for a moment before breaking into a mirthless chuckle. "Yes, I'm familiar with your daughter. She has the same glare you do."

 

Has. Sam was still alive--possibly, hopefully. Assuming Lightwards wasn't the kind of Epic to give out false hope just for the fun of it. False or not, Elizabeth clung to that hope.

 

One of Lightwards' Warriors returned from a room bearing a framed picture. "Now we're getting somewhere," Lightwards said, smiling at the dumbly staring man. He angled the portrait and showed it to Elizabeth.

 

She knew that picture well. It still sat by her bedside, though she knew Sam hated it. It was a picture of the Trattner family two years before Calamity; one little girl and a smiling teenager sat in a field of tall grass, their parents standing over them. A younger Elizabeth stood next to her husband, a tall man with blunt features but a wide, sincere smile.

 

Lightwards waved it in her face impatiently. "How many people in this picture are still alive?" he demanded bluntly. "This man. This teenage girl. Are they still alive?"

 

Elizabeth shot Lightwards a scowl full of loathing. "No," she replied stiffly. "They aren't. Samantha and I are all that's left from that picture."

 

Lightwards nodded curtly, then let the picture drop to the floor. Elizabeth winced as the glass shattered, feeding into her furious rage against this man. He didn't seem to notice.

 

"You," he said sternly, gesturing at Pamela. "Who are you?"

 

Pamela looked terrified to the brink of tears--she'd always been one of those people who hid from trouble at all costs. Elizabeth tried to give her a sympathetic look, but she had a hard time craning her head that far with her throat encased in diamond.

 

"P-Pamela Tithers, sir," the woman squeaked. "I-I'm just a friend."

 

"A friend," Lightwards said thoughtfully. He turned to Elizabeth with an unreadable expression. "Would your daughter recognize this woman?"

 

For the first time, Elizabeth seriously considered lying. But she glanced around at the kitchen filled with Warriors. If what she'd heard about the necromancer Emperor were true, then they would both join these creatures' ranks the second she lied. But what would Lightwards do with her friend if she said the truth?

 

It was Pamela who responded. "Y-yes," she stammered. "I know her. She'd recognize me. You can take me to her, I'll do anything you say. I swear."

 

A smile flickered across Lightwards' face. "My dear woman," he replied softly, "That was never a matter for debate."

 

It was quick. Lightwards pulled the pistol from his side, pointed it languidly, and fired it into Pamela's face.

 

Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly shut, burning with tears. She heard the sickening crunch of shattered bone at the sound of the gunshot, followed immediately a thud as her friend's body hit the floor. She managed to blink back tears, glancing again at the necromancer.

 

Lightwards was kneeling down, touching the back of the dead woman's head. When his fingers touched her hair, her body began to stir, slowly rising from her position and standing stiffly in the kitchen.

 

Her gaze was vacant. No trace of her previous fear. Or her compassion. Or the life that once sparkled in her brown eyes. Elizabeth found herself unable to look away, staring in dumb horror at her friend.

 

The necromancer in the green hat scarcely gave his new Warrior a second glance, instead grabbing Elizabeth's hair and angling her face towards his. He forced her to meet his eyes; she could barely see at all through the tears she was fighting back. But his expression was stern.

 

"You will not leave this house," he said simply. "I will leave two Warriors in the dwelling with you. If you attempt to fight or flee, they will spot you and they will kill you. And they will bring your carcass to me to join my service."

 

He let go of her, facing his diamond-armed partner. "Lucentia, could you perhaps do something about the slab of crystal around her neck? I'd rather she didn't suffocate while I am away. And perhaps we could do something about these windows...?"

 

Lightwards continued, but his voice trailed into a low drone to Elizabeth's ears. She couldn't tear her eyes off of Pamela Tithers. Standing stiffly in the kitchen, waiting for orders from the man who'd murdered her.

 

A Warrior of Light.

[Edgedancer he/him]

The woman was lucky enough that Lightwards did seem to have a use for her. Discontented, Lucentia loosened the constructs grip enough to not choke the woman. The necromancer ought to be thankful for the length of patience she showed him.

 

Letting him deal with the woman Lucentia leaned on a table and snatched up a cupcake to eat. From the conservation they had she could gather that Miss Trattner over there was the mother of the goth-brat she had to deal with before. Suddenly the trip seemed a lot more worthwhile.

 

Probably setting on the mother as a hostage Lightwards moved on to another woman, an imbecile that hoped to plead for her live, she got what she had coming. Sadly, seeing a dead family friend, wouldn´t have quite the effect as the blown out skull of her mother but one took what one could get.

 

"Lucentia, could you perhaps do something about the slab of crystal around her neck? I'd rather she didn't suffocate while I am away. And perhaps we could do something about these windows...?"

 

Complying with his request she first covered the kitchen windows and stepped over to their hostage. Looking down on the woman with a satisfied smile she addressed her, “Elizabeth, dear, I had the displeasure of meeting your daughter and trust me you have failed everything one could call good upbringing, it´s almost as if you wanted your daughter to die at the hands of an Epic but don´t worry, we´ll fix your mistakes.”

 

Taking a turn away from the woman, while her manacles crumbled to dust, she walked to the door there she stopped and gave her one last glance, “You should be ashamed for those cupcakes by the way, the flour´s quality is abysmal. Who would supply you with such junk?”

 

Not honoring Elizabeth with another glance she addressed Lightwards, “I think I should thank you, this turned into a very pleasant excursion. Now, shall we return to the museum? I imagine our reception will be quite pleasing.”

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles she/her]

Getting a car wasn’t a matter of Funtimes creating one so much as watching him inspect a small sample of a hundred key tags hanging in a closet and allowing him to take the one he wanted. That was the easy part. The hard part was convincing her he would fare better in an old pickup than in a shiny new Camero.

 

“Of course I want one,” he said when she tilted her head, sticking out her lower lip in a pout. “You’ve got no idea how bad I want one. But if any Epics see me in that, I’ll be dead in a second.”

 

“I could put bombs on it!”

 

Remington sighed and pocketed the pickup’s keys. “Don’t tempt me.”

 

The elevator she created was simple, scarcely more than a box on an electronic pulley system, even if she insisted on painting it four shades of pink. Remington managed to get inside and begin his descent before she could finalize her plan to add a jelly bean dispenser, though that didn’t stop her from sharing it over the two-way radio she’d given him.

 

“It can have every flavor anybody’d want! Pumpkin and popcorn and pineapple and pudding and--” She cut off with a long gasp. “I’ll bring some pudding to the meeting tonight! Jelly bean pudding! Altermind’s gonna love it and love the Empire and…”

 

“Seven, right? That’s when you want me back?”

 

She paused, as though catching up to him after running off on her tangent. “Yeah. Seven.” She giggled. “This is gonna be so amazing!”

 

Yeah, he thought with a smile, checking his hood and sunglasses. Yeah, it is.

 

--------------------------------------

 

Tom and Mary’s house, Remington’s home for the past year and a half, was unchanged from the outside. The white picket fence still stood tall, the flowerbeds free of weeds and the leaves raked. Had he simply driven past, he might not have noticed the broken window.

 

His stomach twisted as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Blood stained the carpet in two places, turning brown beneath shards of shattered glass. He tried not to think of what had put it there. Tried not to wonder how his in-laws, the only parents he had left, had looked. Had they begged? Threatened? Shot back?

 

Focus.

 

Remington turned from the bloodstains and went toward the hall, passing the kitchen. There was a faint odor of Spam in the air, but the counters were clean and the dishes washed. Anger burned his cheeks, his skin. Mary despised Spam, and Tom only kept it on hand for when fresh game was hard to find. That left Lightwards. Either he didn’t know how to cook decent food, or he was even more deranged than Remington thought.

 

His money was on the latter.

 

Lightwards killed his in-laws and left their blood on the carpet. He enslaved a tailor and forced him to stay awake until he nearly collapsed with exhaustion. He claimed homes and people alike as his belongings, yet he cared for one and ignored the other. Cleaned counters and left people to suffer.

 

Focus.

 

Remington went through the hall methodically, removing every photograph that betrayed his presence. He and Laurie on a date. He and Laurie engaged. Him alone. Laurie with a bowl of popcorn cradled on her lap and his arm draped across her shoulder. The two of them at a theme park, aiming toy rifles at a unicorn on a carousel. Every photograph bearing his image was taken down and piled on the floor. Just to be safe, he checked all three bedrooms, ending with Laurie’s—his for the past year.

 

Like the other two, the camouflage bedspread was rumpled, as though someone had slept there recently. The taxidermied quail Laurie had named Roger was gone, along with one of his shirts—and every comic book he owned.

 

He re-checked the closet, then the shelf, fighting panic. The comics were gone. Calvin and Hobbes. Batman. Captain America. Seditious stuff. His photograph on Laurie’s corkboard put a face to the crime. If Lightwards had taken the comics, he had been in that room, and if he had been in that room, he had seen the photograph, and if he had seen the photograph, he must have seen the other pictures. Him standing with Tom and Mary the day he became their son-in-law.

 

Then why not kill me on sight? Lightwards claimed the house was his. Upon seeing one of its former residents, he should have shot first and asked questions later, when Remington’s transition to Warrior put him in a more talkative mood. Unless he was saving his questions for when Altermind asked him to demonstrate his power….

 

Funtimes wouldn’t let him. Remington comforted himself with her face, brown eyes glinting as she asked him how he knew the Sadrys. If she was willing to let him roam because of a grudge, she wouldn’t let that grudge go to waste. She would intervene. Turn that gun into a hamster and his clothes to tar.

 

He rearranged the other pictures and ticket stubs on the corkboard to cover the hole, then piled the photograph onto the framed pictures and carried them into the cool, musty-smelling darkness of the Sadrys’ basement. Light from window wells afforded just enough to see his way. He carried the frames to a far corner, counted them, and took the same number from a cardboard box. Tom and Mary always had more pictures than they knew what to do with, so they kept the extras in the basement. He paused at one of Laurie as a teen, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and a sweatshirt tied around her waist as she smiled beside Multnomah Falls. Her smile was so sweet. So carefree. The smile of a teen with an entire lifetime ahead of her, with no idea of what lay ahead.

 

She couldn’t have known.

 

Remington tucked the incriminating photographs as close to the bottom of the box as he could, leaving a few boxes stacked on top. He checked to ensure the basement looked as undisturbed as possible, then carried the pictures up to the hall. He tried to ignore the blood on the carpet. Every instinct screamed for him to wash it out, but Lightwards couldn’t know what he had done. The blood had to stay.

 

When all signs of his existence had been erased, he left the door as he had found it and made for CorpseMaker’s territory.

 

--------------------------------------

 

The Dalles, two years ago

 

Remington and Laurie walked.

 

They walked through falling snow and cold air, following the road at a distance. When the sky began to darken, and they could agree they had not been followed, they walked alongside the cracked asphalt until an old pickup approached.

 

One driver. No passengers. No cloak or circlet.

 

“Need a lift?”

 

Remington explained what had happened as he and Laurie climbed into the cab. The speedometer never dipped below seventy.

 

Flashing red and blue lights lit the night when they pulled into town. Police cars and UAVs surrounded a church, forming a barrier around the parking lot. Uniformed officers, police and National Guard both, approached the building with guns drawn.

 

“This is the combined forces of The Dalles City Police and The Dalles National Guard. We have you surrounded. Place your weapons on the ground and exit the building with your hands behind your heads. If you attempt to use Epic abilities, you will be shot immediately.”

 

Remington watched the church as the amplified voice faded to a tense silence. A pit formed in his stomach.

 

The church door opened. A ten-year-old boy walked out, hands in the air.

 

“That’s George.” Laurie’s hand covered her mouth. George was a student in her Sunday school class.

 

The soldiers nearest George did not lower their weapons, but they did ask him a question to which the answer was a frantic shake of his head. He turned to answer a police officer, and the light caught on his neck.

 

“Is that blood?”

 

Remington couldn’t tell for sure, but the dark splotches looked uncomfortably like blood.

 

One of the soldiers placed a hand on George’s shoulder, and the boy began to cry. That was when a cold, clipped voice boomed from behind the church’s open door.

 

“If you prefer George as he is, you will lay down your weapons now. If you prefer to see him as his parents are, by all means continue.”

 

George’s hand went to his throat. The soldier put his arm around the boy and began to lead him away from the church—halting a few steps later when George fell.

 

“I said, lay down your weapons. His life is mine, and I will take it if you do not do as I say.”

 

Another voice boomed from a squad car’s microphone. “We don’t mean any harm. Just let George go, and we can negotiate.”

 

“I don’t negotiate with mortals.”

 

The soldier helped George stand, checked his bloodied throat, and quickly put a cloth to it.

 

“Sir, we will open fire. Let the boy go, and we’ll negotiate for any other hostages you have.”

 

There was a long silence, one where the soldiers and officers stood with their guns aimed at the door and George cried quietly as a soldier checked the bleeding again. When Laurie spoke into it, Remington jumped.

 

“We have to warn them.” She shook her head, staring wide-eyed at the scene. “The others—everyone in town—we have to tell them. Get them armed.”

 

The pickup driver had killed the headlights some time ago. He drove slowly past the church, the standoff soon obscured by flickering blue and red lights. “Edge of town first?”

 

Laurie nodded. “They—they’re not used to this. The cops. Probably think they’ll get it settled….” She trailed off, and Remington knew she was thinking about Portland. Portland, where police and soldiers served Epics who fought for their loyalty.

 

Remington put his hand over hers. “They’ll get it,” he said, though he was far from convinced. “They know what they’re doing.”

 

The guns on both sides were silent as the pickup chugged by. The engine, quiet though it was, seemed too loud. Someone would hear it. Someone would see them. The purple-cloaked Epic would hear their car and march over any second….

 

Lights faded out of sight as they passed the church garage, where buses and vans were kept. No one approached the truck. No headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. Remington, still holding his rifle, relaxed his grip. The engine growled as the driver stepped on the gas pedal.

 

Clunk—chunk—clunkclunkclunk.

 

Silence.

 

“What happened?” Both Springfields tried to sneak a peek at the dashboard.

 

“It—died. The engine—it just died.” He took the keys from the ignition. “Out. Everybody out.”

 

Remington couldn’t open his door fast enough. He jumped out into the cold, helped Laurie down, and looked around. Whoever had killed the engine—whichever Epic had done it—had to be close. He didn’t want to release Laurie’s hand, but he needed both to shoot. Shoot, and run. Run as far as he could go and shoot whoever chased him.

 

A man in a tux strode toward him. “Well, well. Remington Springfield, is it? Yes, I know you. I’ve met your parents. I’ve got them locked up in a garage.”

 

------------------------------------------

 

There were few cars on the road, but enough to disguise his trip as something innocuous. Remington matched their speed, wanting nothing more than to slam on the gas and tear off for the airport. That was where they were. The rebellion Funtimes had heard of.

 

Remington wasn’t sure what to make of it. On the one hand, a human-led rebellion was just what Portland needed. They could succeed, if they wanted; Koschei had been defeated by similar means. On the other hand, rumors of rebellion were as common as rain, and not one managed to kill more than one High Epic or a handful of minor ones before dying or fading into obscurity. Even the Reckoners, that storied group of Epic assassins, didn’t seem to do much but sip tea and talk. Maybe they were doing something useful during those tea-sipping sessions, but until Remington saw the evidence, he would assume their activities began and ended at making tea.

 

He cast frequent glances at the sidewalks flanking the road, but saw no Epics. No one else, either; rumors of war had driven Portlanders for shelter. So when he spotted a woman frantically clutching at her bleeding arm, he pulled over.

 

She didn’t hold it the way she should have, pressing a strip of cloth to the injury while looking for cover, opting instead to cup it loosely as blood seeped between her fingers. Her eyes were frantic, but she didn’t seem interested in finding cover.

 

Epics.

 

Remington knew of only one Epic who could strip a human being of her survival instincts, and that was Lightwards. Had he left a Warrior on the block to spy out potential traitors?

 

Her eyes, though. No Warrior had eyes like that because no Warrior was capable of fear. From what he had seen, unless Lightwards told them to cower, they would stand until a barrage of gunfire mowed them down.

 

Remington pulled his hood up further, adjusting his sunglasses. Not a perfect disguise, but inconspicuous enough to divert attention. Approaching her might sear him into her memory, but she was bleeding. He had to take that risk.

 

“Ma’am?” He touched her shoulder lightly, gently, hoping not to frighten her. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

Edited October 20, 2014 by TwiLyghtSansSparkles