Cup

Alliances 6-07 (Summus Proelium)

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That-A-Way spoke without looking at me, her focus and her taser pointed toward Pack. “Paints, why is this bad guy talking to you like you guys are friends?”

Pack, for her part, put a hand on Twinkletoes’ arm. “Paintball, how about you tell Captain Hero that we have bigger problems to deal with right now?”

Quickly, I spoke up while stepping between them, flinching a bit as the slight pain from the part of my leg where the quill had hit me made itself known. “Stop it, both of you. Way, she’s right, there’s higher priorities right now, like saving those kids. She might be a criminal, but there’s a difference between her kind of criminal and the Scions’ kind. She steals shit, she doesn’t kill kids. Keep it in perspective.”

There was a brief pause before That-A-Way gave a short nod and lowered her weapon. “Right, I guess you’ve got a point. Big difference between her and those guys. But I still have a lot of questions… which can wait until this is over, except for one. Why are you here?”

Pack’s head turned fractionally as though she was glancing to me before answering. “Short version, my friends and I were watching the party from another roof. We saw what went down and then saw your boy over there heading out. Took us a while to catch up without bringing down World War Three on our heads. Had to be all sneaky like, but figured wherever he was going, there’d be trouble and he might need help. You know, because he has a tendency to find trouble.”

The other girl glanced toward me while I was trying to decide if I should be offended or not. Her head gave a short nod. “I guess he does. I don’t know if we can really trust you that far or not, but he’s right about there being a difference between La Casa and the Scions. And we’re really short on help right now, so… truce until this is over?”

Pack gave a short nod. “Sure, truce until this is over.”

Exhaling in a bit of relief, though I knew I’d have a lot to talk about if we made it through this, I asked, “I’m guessing you couldn’t contact anybody either?“ 

“Nope,” she confirmed. “Phone and radio are both out. Looks like we’re on our own, for the time being.” Her chin lifted it to indicate the guys we had taken down. “Not that that seems to be slowing you too much.”

That-A-Way still looked like she was uncomfortable and uncertain about this whole situation, but pushed past it. Tersely and quickly, she explained everything we knew, ending with, “So these guys weren’t able to finish setting up the bomb, but the ones downstairs are gonna be expecting them back any minute to… deal with the hostages. And if they think for a second that something happened…”

Pack’s body kind of recoiled a little. “They’ll do the job themselves to make sure it gets done. Yeah, that’d be bad. So, we’ve got to go down and deal with them before they decide to start shooting. Got it.”

While they were talking, I had walked around a bit to work out the pain in my leg. It wasn’t too bad to begin with, but still. Pacing a bit, I’d gone over to the area those guys had been dragging the electrical cords to. Following it around a corner, I looked in a small nearby room before gulping at what I saw. “Guys… I found the bomb.”

It was a huge, complicated looking thing, taking up most of the room with half a dozen barrels of something or another all attached via cords to a laptop-looking device set into an open briefcase. The screen on the computer was asking for two different passwords, along with some technical jargon I couldn’t follow. 

Boy, I wished Eits was here. Even if this thing was protected the way he said Tech-Touched stuff tended to be, he’d still have a better chance of doing something with it than any of us did. 

The other two had joined me by then, both making noises that clearly indicated they didn’t like it anymore than I did. Pack shook her head. “I don’t even want to go in the room with that thing, let alone touch it. That’s some bad juju.”

The three of us collectively backed away from the room, and I asked, “What if someone comes to find it and we miss them? Can we do anything to make sure they don’t set it off?”

That-A-Way grimaced, shaking her head. “I’m okay with computers, but nothing like that. I wouldn’t know what wire to pull, whether it would do any good, or just make it blow up right now.”

Pack muttered, “We’ve covered some basic bomb defusal stuff in the La Casa school of villainy, but nothing like this.” She turned then, adding, “On the other hand, we can at least leave someone to watch over it. Holiday!”

Around the corner came her panther-lizard, stopping in front of the suddenly very still That-A-Way to lean up and purr while rubbing against her briefly. There was a slight, tense pause before the girl reached down to gingerly pat the top of the animal’s head. 

“See that?” Pack announced, “we’re all friends. Holiday, stay right here. See that room? No one goes in there but us, got it? You don’t let anybody go in there unless I say.”

Holiday seemed to get the idea, making a loud growling sound before moving to curl up in front of the door where she could watch the approaches from both sides. 

“We–um, are you sure she…” That-A-Way started, sounding hesitant. 

“She gets it,” Pack informed her. “Trust–okay, maybe trust me is the wrong thing to say. But I’m telling you, she’ll stay here and do her job.” 

The other girl fidgeted briefly, glancing to the animal. But there wasn’t much else to be said, considering we didn’t have a choice. It was leave Holiday here or leave one of us here, and that just couldn’t happen. There weren’t enough of us. So, in the end, she just nodded, with a quiet, “Okay.”  

That done, the three of us moved back to the main nurses station. Twinkletoes was still waiting there, and had been joined by Mars Bar the bear and Tuesday the monkey. Riddles glided in as we approached, landing on the desk before giving a soft squawk. 

That-A-Way took a moment to look around at this menagerie. I could tell she was really thinking about the situation she had gotten into. But if she had any doubts, she shoved them down, clearing her throat. “Okay, so between… us, we’ve got to save those hostages downstairs before the Scions start getting nasty. Err, even more nasty. And we have no idea how many are down there, or exactly where they are, does that about sum it up?”

Pack raised a hand. “I dunno how many might be wandering around, but there’s twelve guys in the room with your hostages, and they’re in the main cafeteria on the first floor.” As we stared at her, she explained, “I had Twinkles check it out before we made it up here, and he tapped out the numbers for me. Figured it might be useful.”

That-A-Way looked genuinely impressed, quickly nodding with a smile before she clamped down on it. “Hey, that’s pretty coo–I mean… right, okay, thanks. Well, twelve guys. Not sure how many are Prevs and how many are Touched, but still useful.” To me, she added, “Think we can handle twelve guys without ending up with a bunch of dead people?” 

“Between the…” I glanced over toward Riddles, Mars Bar, Tuesday, and Twinkletoes. “… seven of us, I hope so.” 

Pack put out her arm, letting Tuesday clamber up to hang off her shoulders. “We just need a plan. Preferably a quick and brilliant one.” 

“Yeah,” I agreed. “A plan that won’t end up getting everyone killed or the hospital blown up. And it might not be brilliant or anything, but… I think I have something. We just need Fork’s help.”

They both stared at me for a moment. Actually, I was pretty sure the lizard-creatures were staring at me too. That-A-Way found her voice first. “In what possible reality would that psychopath ever actually help us stop his friends from killing everyone here?” 

Behind the mask and helmet, I smiled despite the situation. “Oh, we just need to find the right things to say to him. 

“Or rather, the right things to make him say.” 

*******

Two guys stood guard by the doorway leading into the cafeteria. Both were armed with submachine guns, and were very much on alert. So much so, that they jerked upright and pointed their weapons toward the figure who came into view around the distant corner, only easing up slightly when they recognized him as Fork. 

“Hey, cocksuckers!” the porcupine-like figure called out while raising a hand to beckon them. “Get over here!” 

The two looked to each other, shrugged, and then came at a trot. One of them asked, “The hell’s going on? Erica have trouble hooking up the big boom?” He laughed darkly then. “Told the boss we should’ve brought Bass in for this. He was always better at the–what the fuck?” 

Yeah, by that point, the two men had gotten close enough to see that Fork wasn’t exactly there of his own volition. His eyes were closed, his unconscious body held in place by the mostly-invisible figure of Twinkletoes, who had also been the one to puppet his arm, making it wave for them. Meanwhile, his voice had actually come from my phone, taped to his chest after I had recorded him upstairs ranting at us for awhile until we had the words we wanted him to say. It actually hadn’t been that hard, given how much he’d ranted without much prompting before we finally knocked him out. Or rather, Tuesday had. Turned out, that little monkey-lizard packed a pretty good right hook. 

Before the men could react to what they saw, I stepped out and hit both of them with a sound-muting shot of black paint. Their mouths opened to shout, even as they brought those guns of theirs up. But I wasn’t alone. That-A-Way appeared behind them, shoving her taser into the man on the left. The one on the right had his weapon torn away by a diving Riddles, just before Pack put herself in front of him with that sawed-off shotgun pointed into his face. 

He surrendered, and we quickly taped both of those guys up. 

Then the others shoved them into a side-room while I stood watch, making sure none of the guys in the cafeteria came to see what was going on. 

Right, two down, ten to go. Ten that we knew of, anyway. Unfortunately, they probably wouldn’t be nearly as easy, considering the whole hostage thing. We were going to have to be really careful about this. 

So it was a good thing that we had a plan. The first part of which was to see what was going on in there. To that end, I quickly and quietly made my way across the open lobby, looking around with mounting paranoia as I went before finally stopping by the doors. Carefully, I chanced a quick peek inside, through the crack in the doors. No one was in immediate view, just circular tables with chairs stacked on top of them. Taking another breath, I slowly opened the door just enough to see better. 

There they were. Dozens of children and early teens of various ages, some lying motionless on gurneys while others were on chairs, the floor, or simply standing. There were half a dozen nurses and a couple doctors as well, all of them together in the far corner of the cafeteria. Spread through the room were about eight normal Scion thugs, all of them armed similarly to the guys we had just taken down. 

And there was a Fell-Touched. Near the hostages stood a somewhat short man, just five-foot seven or so. He was fairly thin too, a wiry build. His ‘costume’ consisted of gray jeans quite thoroughly splattered with blood stains, a dark green sweatshirt with the hood up, and a black cloth mask that covered the bottom half of his face, with what looked like sunglasses over his eyes. 

He was called Box. Basically, he could create these small orbs in his hands. When he threw them, the orbs would break apart upon impact with something, only to be replaced by earth, fire, air, or water in a shape and size (from smaller than the orb had been all the way up to something the size of a car) determined when he made the orbs. So he could throw an orb and have it break apart to create a ten-foot long boulder, or a wading-pool sized rush of water, or… whatever. 

I didn’t see anyone else as I crouched there and watched for a few seconds. By then, the others were approaching. They had found what we needed, an empty gurney. Quickly, I took one last look to make sure things looked as calm as they could be in there, then climbed onto it. I laid down, tucking my legs up under me to leave room for That-A-Way, who put herself right there, her head resting against my legs. 

Pack put the sheet over us, arranging it a bit before whispering, “Okay, you’re good. Ready?” 

That-A-Way and I murmured agreement, and the next thing I knew, we were moving. I lifted the sheet a bit to peek out, seeing Fork there. But like before, he was still unconscious, with the mostly-invisible Twinkletoes holding onto his arms to keep his hands apparently on the gurney so that it would look like he was pushing it. The doors opened, and I carefully held my phone (which I had taken back) out so I could see the screen, listening intently.

“Yo!” someone’s voice called out. “Whatcha got there? Found a straggler?” 

Quickly, my finger tapped one of the recordings on the screen. From the phone came Fork’s voice. “Gonna be sorry–” Then I stopped it before he could finish saying ‘you fucked with us.’ My finger hit a different recording, making his voice add, “Stupid cocksucker.” 

Twinkletoes, holding Fork, pushed us all the way over to where the hostages were, trying to not-so-obviously steer away from anyone who might be close enough to see that their teammate was unconscious. On the way, one of the other guys called out, “What’s going on with the bomb? We good?” 

I’d been expecting someone to ask something like that, so my finger was already poised to hit another button. I did so quickly, and Fork’s voice replied, “Fucking fantastic, bitch.” 

We reached the spot where the hostages were. I felt That-A-Way’s hand squeeze my leg once, a question. I put my hand down against hers and squeezed once in return, telling her to wait. We were good so far. Just had to hold on a few more seconds without…

“Hey,” a suddenly close voice blurted, “what the hell is going on?” 

Shit. The next thing I knew, the man was crying out as Twinkletoes grabbed and threw him across the room. So much for taking our time. The jig was up. 

Throwing myself off the gurney along with the sheet, I hit the floor in a crouch, taking in what was happening. All those guys were looking at us incredulously, including the hostages. As the two nearest men reacted by snapping their guns up, I shot a wave of red paint to them and to the ceiling, hauling them up toward it with a pair of screams. 

“Now, boys,” I blurted reflexively, “I know healthcare costs suck, but is taking a bunch of pediatricians hostage until they fix your ouchie really the answer?” 

They were all focused on me. Well, me and Twinkletoes, who had just grabbed the now-empty gurney (That-A-Way had slipped off of it) to throw at Box, who hit it with an orb that turned to stone in order to stop the thing in mid-flight. Their attention on the two of us meant they were taken by surprise yet again when Pack stepped through the doorway on the other side of the room, opening up with two quick blasts from her shotgun (she’d assured That-A-Way and me that it was filled with beanbag rounds) that took the two guys nearest to her in the chests, putting them on the ground with a series of wheezing coughs. 

Mars Bar, Tuesday, and Riddles were right there with her, all of the lizard-creatures spreading out to attack the Scion creeps, who were suddenly caught on both sides. I saw Box wind up to throw another orb, just before the bearguana slammed into him. Unfortunately, he managed to break the orb, summoning a short, powerful gust of wind that threw Mars Bar to the side. 

Quickly using more shots of red paint against the tables and a few of the other guys, I sent those tables colliding into them just before they could open fire. But there were still more, and Box was getting up. 

“You got ‘em?!” I called over my shoulder, not wanting to throw myself fully into what was turning into a tornado of violence just yet. Not until I knew the hostages were safe. 

“Good!” That-A-Way’s voice snapped back. “Everyone hold on!” 

When I chanced a quick look that way, she was standing right in the middle of the hostages. In those few seconds, she’d gotten all the conscious and mobile staff and kids to gather around her, grabbing some part of her body or one another. Others were holding the various bed-bound patients, forming one large group.

“Okay, guys,” That-A-Way started with a grimace as she glanced toward the nearby window. The north-facing window. “If I pass out, someone catch me.” 

Then they were gone. That-A-Way and all the hostages. They disappeared as she teleported them out of the building. They were safe… well, safer than they had been in here anyway. Which meant we could actually fight without worrying about getting them caught in the crossfire. 

Unfortunately, just as I spun back to the chaos to do that, I found myself almost face-to-face with another Fell-Touched. She wore a white cloak, bodysuit, and mask covering the bottom half of her face. Her gaze met mine, and I knew her. 

Cup. I knew her, and I knew I had to–

“What would a genie do if you said, ‘I wish you wouldn’t grant this wish?’” 

What… would a genie do… what… why would… but if you wished for them not to grant a wish… why wouldn’t… could they… what if…

Standing there, I frowned, trying to work my way through the question. I knew this. I could answer this. I just needed a second. I didn’t care about the fight going on. I didn’t care that we had just rescued the hostages, or that there was still a bomb in the building. 

And I didn’t care that Cup was raising a pistol, taking careful aim.

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Interlude 5A – Pencil (Summus Proelium)

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Four years ago

“You’re not special, you know.“

The words were addressed to a family of four (a mother and father with a teenaged child of each sex), who were sitting bound and gagged on a couch in an innocuous-looking living room. They were a very all-American suburbanite-looking family. The father’s formerly thick, dark hair had passed the midpoint of balding and he was a bit saggy around the gut, though his bright blue eyes remained fiercely intelligent and sharp. Beside him, the man’s wife retained much of the beauty of her not-so-recent youth, with long blonde hair that only needed a bit of help retaining its color and shine thanks to quite wonderful genes. Her own eyes were dark, and were currently filled with tears. 

Their teenage children, meanwhile, each quite resembled their opposite-sex parent. The girl had long dark hair like her father’s had been some time before, with eyes whose brilliant blue matched his with the added youthful spirit. A spirit which, at the moment, seemed entirely broken by terror. And her slightly older brother was very clearly his mother’s son, with hair that might have been much shorter than hers, but was no less blond. His eyes too were as dark as hers, his rage and helplessness seeming to mask a revulsion and terror that was indescribable. 

All four were staring at a man in an ill-fitting brown tweed suit who stood nearby. He wore a sackcloth bag over his head as a mask with holes cut in it for his eyes and mouth. A wig of long, luxurious blond hair had been attached to the bag-mask, making him look quite normal from the back. 

The source of the family’s terror, beyond their imprisonment, was visible on the recliner chair beside their couch. An uncle who had been visiting, and who had thought to rebel against this intruder when he arrived, lay in that chair gutted from waist to throat, his insides spilling out as his dead horrified gaze seemed to stare accusingly at his family. 

Tears fell freely from the four as they fought not to look at the body. Both teenagers had been sick over themselves and the smell from it was competing with that of the body. They kept their attention rigidly locked on the man in front of them as he casually flipped a bloody knife between his fingers. 

“Everyone wants to think they’re special,” the man continued. “Especially victims. And you, uh, you’re pretty victimy. People like you, they want to think that something’s happening for a reason, that they were chosen for some… purpose.” 

He paused then, head cocked as though considering. “Actually it’s the survivors who really like to think that you’re special. They need you to have done something to deserve this. Or at least something to draw the attention of whatever made it happen. They need a cause-and-effect, because otherwise it could happen to anyone. It could happen to them. And, well, that’s just too terrifying a thought to consider.”

He stepped over, stopping in front of the mother. Her eyes widened with terror while her husband made repeated grunting sounds, trying to draw their attacker’s attention. 

Slowly, those eyes in the sack mask turned a bit to look toward the father. A low, raspy chuckle escaped the man as he spoke again. “Like I said, everyone thinks they’re special. They’re not. You’re not. Do you know why you’re here? Do you know why I’m here, why I chose you? It’s because I flipped through the phonebook and landed on an address. This house is where my finger stopped. Random, huh?”

He offered them a shrug, his gaze moving back to the mother. “But here’s the thing about randomness. It can go both ways. If I wanted to be truly random, couldn’t I just turn around and walk out that door right now?” He gave another raspy chuckle as their eyes moved hopefully to the front entrance. “Yeah, I could do that. I could leave. And then maybe I’ll find you again in a year, or maybe I’ll wait until the girl over there has a munchkin of her own and then take the kid.” His hand waved idly toward the fifteen-year-old girl, causing a muffled scream of outrage from her parents. 

“I could do a hell of a lot of things,” the man continued with a casual, musing tone. “But you know what sounds like a lot of fun? A game.“ 

With that, he reached out quickly, grabbing the mother by the arm before yanking her up. His knife was pointed toward the father to keep him docile while the masked man wrestled the mother up and over, making her straddle her husband. Humming, the man used the knife to cut the mother’s bonds, but kept it close to her side to prevent her from moving very much. He then took hold of one of her hands, extending it toward her husband. A cord was produced next, with a loop at either end. The man looped one end around her wrist, before looping the other end around the father’s neck. It kept her hand close to his throat. 

That done, the masked man lifted her husband‘s hand and repeated much the same to put his hand near her throat. Then he bound their opposite arms together to keep them locked that way. Husband and wife were now tied together, hands close to each other’s necks. 

Next, the man produced a pair of small revolvers. There was a collection of muffled shouting, but he spoke over it. “Now, now, let’s all hear what the rules of the game are before we start interrupting. Don’t be rude.” He made a show out of ejecting all of the shells from each revolver except for one in each. Then the man carefully placed one of the revolvers in each of the parents’ hands that were tied close to their partner’s neck before using a roll of duct tape to secure them in place, making sure they couldn’t move the barrels anywhere else. 

“Okay then,” the man announced, “we’re off to the races. The question we’re asking here today is which kid do you love the most? See, at least one of these kids has a fighting chance of walking out of here, if not both. If Daddy shoots Mommy, then his beautiful baby girl gets to leave completely untouched. If Mommy shoots Daddy, then their bright-eyed, bushy-tailed boy gets to survive. Maybe he’ll write a book about it. And, well, I suppose if both Mommy and Daddy shoot each other, the kids win the grand prize. Which is sort of a lifetime of nightmares and thousands in therapy bills. But hey, they’ll be alive. Which is more than I could say for the contestants.”

Turning, the man pointed to a camera that had been set up on a tripod in the corner and had been recording throughout his explanation. “And if you can, try to spray some of the blood toward our friends in the future audience. That’ll really give it a nice, visceral feel for the inevitable TV movie and true crime episode about this little hiccup in your lives. I mean, I’d say regular movie because, let’s face it, I’m pretty damn good at this. But I just don’t think you’re that important.”

He let them consider that for a brief moment before adding, “And just to make it interesting, let’s say that if neither of you have shot each other by the time that cuckoo clock over there goes off, I’ll just kill one of the kids myself. We’ll make it an Eenie Meenie situation.”

A handful of seconds passed as the man looked toward the clock before turning back to them with a small smile. “Would this be more or less nerve-racking if you could actually see that clock and had any idea how close it was to going off? I’m genuinely curious. Always looking to make these little visits better, you know? I thought of having comment cards, but I just don’t feel like you’d be honest. Oh, whoops, you’re probably trying to decide how much you love your kids right now, right? Well, I’ll let you get back to it, for the next… well…” He glanced toward the clock before offering them a shrug. “However long you have.”

Mother and father fought uselessly against their bonds for a few seconds, pleading through their gags for mercy while their eyes snapped back and forth between each other and the clock, whose face they couldn’t see. In the background, the masked man made a soft ticking sounds with clear amusement, occasionally glancing toward the camera while making pantomime gestures as if to ask, ‘Can you believe it’s taking them this long?’

The mother and father looked toward their bound and gagged children, a keening sound of desperation escaping the mother before she snapped her eyes back to her husband. A brief moment of silent communication passed between them and both slumped a little as they came to a mutual decision. 

“Ohhh, ladies and gentlemen and tied up offspring currently sitting on the couch,” the man started, “ I believe we have a—“

Two terrifyingly loud bangs filled the room as mother and father shot one another in the head, spraying blood and brain matter in every direction. The echoes of the shots were followed by barely muffled screams from both teenagers. Wails and sobs flooded from the pair to form a distinct soundtrack of horror against the grisly sight. Their violent, wretched grief, painfully visible on the camera for a moment, was blocked then as the masked man knelt in front of it. 

“Well, I guess that’s it for today. But don’t worry, we’ll see each other again. Maybe some of you sooner than you think.” With a wave of one hand, he used the other to reach out and turn off the camera. 

“Holy shit!” The new voice filled the room as soon as the camera was off, as the teenage boy lunged to his feet, his ‘bonds’ falling as he ripped the gag from his mouth. “Holy shit! That was amazing! That was so fucking cool! Wasn’t it, Manda?” 

He turned a bit, seeing his sister on the couch, still staring at their parents’ bodies. “Amanda?”

With a loud, gleeful squeal, the fifteen-year-old girl spat the gag in her mouth out and sprang just as energetically to her feet, fake bonds falling to the floor while she threw her arms around her sixteen-year-old brother. “Nick, Nick, that was so great! Did you see the look on their faces before they did it?! Oh, that was incredible. That was the most beautiful thing ever! That was amazing!” 

She continued to hug her brother tightly for a few seconds before turning to kick her mother’s lifeless leg. “Who doesn’t get a new phone now, bitch?!”

Nick tugged her back by the shoulder, barely sparing their parents a glance. “Come on, Manders, our little scene here looks pretty good, and the video’ll help. But we need to call the cops soon or it’ll look suspicious.”

The girl wound herself up to spit on their parents before Nick covered her mouth. “It’d look pretty weird to find your saliva on their bodies. Just saying.”

The two turned away from their parents, walking past their dead uncle without a glance or care before stopping in front of the masked man, who had stood there watching the whole time. 

“Good job,” Nick congratulated, “you sounded perfect.”

Reaching up, the man pulled off his mask, revealing a fairly normal looking pale man with red hair. “Shucks, all I did was follow your script. That was pretty fucked up, man, I ain’t gonna lie.”

Nick shrugged. “It’ll convince the investigators that our parents’ deaths were absolutely not our fault. So the inheritance and life insurance should pay right out. Hell, we’ll probably get donations from concerned citizens who just want to help us get past the grief.” He chuckled then, before reaching into his pocket to pull out a bundle of wrapped hundred dollar bills, which he handed over to the man. “Five thousand, just as promised. The remaining forty-five will be after we get paid. You know how it is.”

Amanda was already standing over next to a nearby door. She’d opened it to reveal stairs leading down. “Come on, you’ve got to go out through the cellar so the neighbors don’t tell the cops which way you went. There’s a trap door near the bushes at the edge of the fence.”

Nick nodded, heading that way first. “Yeah, I’ll show you how to get past the junk.” He patted his sister on the head before clomping down the stairs, with the other man descending after him. 

Reaching the bottom, the man paused at the crinkling sound as he stepped off the last stair and looked down. “Hey, why is there plastic on the—”

That was as far as the man got before Amanda, using the greater heights of standing on the stair above him, suddenly leapt on the man with a banshee shriek and drove a knife into the side of his throat. He screamed, the sound turning into a gurgling mess as he collapsed to the floor with Amanda on his back, cackling madly. The man choked and died there on the plastic wrap as the girl whispered sweet nothings in his ear. 

Finally, he was dead, and Amanda rose to reveal the plastic apron she had put on to protect her own clothes from his blood. “See?” she directed toward her brother, “Told you I could do it.”

Nick gave his sister a high-five before they rolled the body up in the plastic. He took the time to pick up the wig-covered mask that the man had dropped, looking at it for a moment before tucking the thing away. Together, they dragged the body in the plastic across the entire basement, past mounds of boxes and random junk until they reached the far corner, where a dresser stood. Brother and sister moved the dresser, revealing a hole that had already been prepared. In that hole was an old freezer. The two of them dumped the body into the freezer, added the mask and Amanda’s apron and knife before closing the lid, then dragged the dresser back over to cover the hole. Working quickly, they took a minute to stack random junk all around the dresser, making it look like no one had gone over there in quite some time. Once a bike with one wheel was shifted in front of the pile, the two of them ran back up the basement stairs to re-join their murdered family members. 

“Ready?” Nick asked his sister. Getting a quick nod from her, he reached out to pick up the phone, dialing 911. It rang twice before being answered, and he immediately began to sob about how they needed help, while Amanda provided a chorus of tears and pleading in the background. 

Soon, the sound of sirens filled the air, while brother and sister looked to one another. “Nick,” Amanda murmured with delight, “that was so amazing! We have to do that again.”

The boy chuckled. “Well, it’d be pretty hard to do that again. That was kind of a one-time thing. But don’t worry. We will definitely find ways to entertain ourselves.”

With a grin, Amanda started to respond. Then she paused, head tilting as she stared past him. “Hey, Nick…

“What’re those glowing orb things?”

********

Present Day

“So that’s how my sister and I got our powers and got rid of our parents at the same time.”

Nick, or Pencil as he was now known by the world at large, stood in the middle of the convenience store, surrounded by kneeling, sobbing figures. The now twenty-year-old wore the same sackcloth mask with blonde wig that he’d had their parents’ killer wear four years earlier, having retrieved it from the freezer before he and Amanda disposed of the body. 

Smiling under the mask, Nick gestured to the kneeling people. “Thanks for letting me get all that off my chest. I don’t know why, but I really felt the need to talk about it with somebody lately. And it’s not really the kind of story you tell the therapist. I mean yeah, sis and I are super-motivational speakers. You should see the way we get worked up in all the schools about overcoming adversity and shit. It’s just… I don’t think they’d accept this particular nugget. But let’s be honest, you guys aren’t gonna tell anybody. You’ll be dead.”

His words brought a renewed round of sobbing from the group of employees and customers, before one tried to lunge to his feet in a desperate bid to either escape or attack. 

Unfortunately, the man barely stood before Nick casually buried a knife in his stomach. The man choked, looking down at all the blood with a whimper. 

“There there,” Nick murmured. He withdrew the knife from the man’s stomach, turned it around, and placed it in his hand. The man was slumping against him, whining as he closed his fingers around the knife.

“You wanna try it?” Nick offered. “I know, I know. You’ve heard all about how nothing can kill me. But go ahead, give it a try. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

There was a brief pause, before the man rammed the knife into Nick’s stomach. Nothing happened. The knife passed in and out of his body with no apparent effect. No blood was drawn, and no wound was left behind. 

“Well, that’s unlucky,” Nick murmured. “Why don’t we try again?” With that, he waved his hand, and the wound in the stomach of the man he had stabbed was abruptly healed. There was no damage whatsoever, as the guy gasped in surprise while straightening up. 

Covering his mouth in mock surprise, Nick then explained, “Yeah, see, I’m not actually completely invulnerable. The truth is, everything I do to someone else, I become completely immune to. But it only works three times for every time I do it to someone else. And it’s super specific. Like, a stab in the arm won’t protect me from a stab in the head. Or if I set someone on fire, the only parts of me that are protected from burning are the parts of them that burned. So I tend to be pretty thorough.”

With a sudden curse, the other man tried to cut Nick’s throat. Again, nothing happened. 

Nick, with a roll of his eyes, drove a knee into the man’s groin, dropping him to the ground. “Dude, do you have any idea how often I’ve stabbed people in the throat? Yeah, I’m only protected three times per. But I’ve stacked like… pffft, hundreds by this point. It’s pretty ridiculous.”

Stepping over the man, he continued, addressing both him and the rest of the kneeling, crying people. “You’re wondering how I healed you, right? That’s the kicker. See, every time I do something to someone else, I get three slots of immunity from that thing. But I can spend one of those slots to heal anybody else from that specific thing. Yeah,” he laughed, “Probably one of the best healers in the country is a goddamn Abyssal-worshiping serial killer. Isn’t that just profoundly fucked up?”

Getting no real response from the terrified group, he sighed. “You people are no fun. Oh well, let’s—”

He was interrupted by the chime of the front door of the shop, as a uniformed police officer burst in with his gun raised. “Get your hands up! Get them up!”

Rather than comply, Nick simply turned to watch. Just as the police officer started to shout again, Amanda casually stepped out from behind a nearby shelf. Cup, as she was now known by their naming rules of using completely mundane objects for their ‘supervillain’ titles, wore a white bodysuit with a matching white cloak and hood. Her white mask was cloth, covering the lower half of her face. Pure white, the color of innocence. She thought it was funny. 

Stepping by the startled cop, she spoke up casually. “If a balloon floats up in the air, will it float down under water?”

The cop turned his pistol to her with a gasp. Then he stopped, his mouth moving as he repeated the question under his breath. A frown furrowed his brow and he repeated it again louder. His shoulders slumped, as the gun lowered. 

This was Amanda/Cup’s power. She could ask any nonsensical question, and a person’s entire focus and attention would be completely taken up with trying to answer it. They would become obsessed with the question for a short time, depending on just how absurd it was. The more ridiculous, the longer they would be distracted.

Cup plucked the gun from the cop’s hand, checked it, then shot the man in the face. He collapsed while everyone in the store screamed. 

With a sigh, Pencil regarded his sister. “Really? Now we have to hurry, and I can’t enjoy myself.”

Shrugging, Cup replied, “The rest of the Scions are waiting for us anyway, dude. It’s time to pray to Typhon.” It was a thing neither of them actually believed in, actually ‘praying’ to some poor fucked up loser who ended up turning into a monster. But it freaked people out, and they thought that was hilarious. Plus, most of the other Scions actually went for that stuff, so the siblings played it up. 

Checking his watch, Nick blinked. “Huh. Guess you’re right. Time really flies, huh? Oh well.” He turned back to the gathered group with a bright smile. “So…” he started while reaching out to pick up a jar with warning labels plastered all over it out of a nearby bag. 

“Which one of you wants to add to my acid immunity?”

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