Chapter Text
“Eugh.”
The little scratches on Minx’s shoulders twinged when she touched them. They did not dig as deep as she feared, estimating that a light douse of water should be enough to solve any other problems.
She looked around at the vast, cluttered room around her. Finding a clean source should be easy. This was a place for eating, after all. And just as she thought, the bar’s marble counter glimmered at her many yards away, looking harrowed yet inviting even in the flickering yellow lights.
Minx walked toward it gingerly, moving along the stained walls. The ichor and viscera from the cursed spirit may have disappeared, but the floor was still soaked with water from the sprinklers and various fluids from the food scattered all over. She was not in the mood right now to entertain more grime.
With a sigh of relief, she finally reached the bar. A quick search took her right to a fancy cooler mixed deftly with the drawers beneath the countertop. She knelt as she opened it, pausing for a bit while the cool air nipped at her sweaty skin. It made her eyes flutter shut in contentment. Then, she took out a bottle of sparkling water, sneered at the concept of the thing, and unscrewed the top.
After making sure there were no glass bits on the tiling, she sat down and began pouring on her shoulders. The wounds stung, but she did not make a sound or a twitch, measuring out the fluid on both sides before tipping the bottle into her mouth.
Minx was no stranger to such sensations, especially the circumstances that caused them. She used to brag to her classmates back home that the roundness of her face was no accident. Fists left their mark in more ways than one.
She remembered her mother shouting her ear off for it. “A bad example,” she said. There was trouble enough with the regular folk peering over the border for “piss-taking.” The last thing she wanted was for her dear daughter to catch the wrong kind of attention.
Her mother knew her well; she would not have hesitated to defend herself with her powers if push came to shove, an act that would put her on the Covenant Keepers’ radar.
“Lay low.”
“Why?”
“You know why! Frank, tell her off!”
Yes, Minx knew. Ever since she first found a leprechaun and nearly turned her room outside down, her mother told her why.
They were Cu Sidhe. Black Dogs. Grims among the English. The name was a reference to the supernatural beasts in their folklore later conflated with Nordic traditions of church guardians. Her ancestors on her mother’s side were said to have sold out the last of the druids when their cults lost sway over the Gaelic tribes in favor of the new religion. They gladly took up the name when British covens allied themselves with Cromwell, and they enjoyed a reputation as folk heroes before most of the north was completely caged by the empire. They dwindled into hiding, though the English government remained wary of them. And this forced silence continued as the royals turned against the witches they once treasured to secure the rotting peace they now clung to.
Long story short: if they knew what she was, they would hound her. Minx scoffed at it, of course. Most of the people who already leered over the walls and threw rocks and bottles at her for studying the graffiti did it because she was on the other side.
But she did her best to heed her mother. She really did. It was just that years of flimsily keeping herself back made her resent the feeling of not being able to do anything when you had the power to do otherwise.
That feeling sputtered out a bit when she first stepped out of the escorted plane to Texas. It was a new place, and that meant new freedoms and new restrictions. She was also still a teenager, which, besides the prospect of having to now live as an international asset, was a nauseating experience.
That was how she fell in with the Misfits. She hoped their collective confidence would give her the space she needed to navigate this massive shift in her life.
But eventually, she found them to be a group of bullies and their whipped dogs. Disillusioned, she cut herself off from the others, drifting aimlessly as she wondered if she made the right choice.
Until she finally talked to Niki and Wilbur and found that feeling again.
“The answer doesn’t matter. Most people justify who they picked after the fact.”
“That’s not in the spirit of the question, isn’t it?”
“If it bothers you, just close your eyes, point, and go with which one your finger falls on. That’s how I did it.”
“Gosh. What do you think, Fundy?”
A voice crackled from a phone left on the grass. “I don’t… know, guys. That sounds like college stuff. Why are yo—”
“What’re you muckers doing?” Minx muttered, coming up slowly behind them on the pathway. Niki eyed her with curiosity while Wilbur glared up from the turf. He lied on his back next to the girl, a gig bag across his chest. The shadows of darkening trees draped over them, and the sky above was a rich purple dappled with gold and red from the sinking sun. Far into the distance, the lonely calls of evening birds rang in the air.
“Trolley problem,” he drawled.
“Missus Puffy, eh?” Minx replied, crossing her arms. “He’s kinda right, you know. The justification’s all there is.”
Niki puffed one of her cheeks, the voice on the phone crackling some more but going ignored. “I think it’s cold.”
“Just how it is,” Minx replied with a shrug. One of her brows perked up when the girl shook her head, her expression hardening.
“We’re in here to save as many people as we can, right?”
“Oh, Niki…”
“You’re on the auxie track, yeah?” Minx interrupted, easing her arms as she took a spot on the grass. Wilbur slowly reached for the head of his gig bag, probably preparing to swing it at her.
Niki lowered her gaze and pouted. “Don’t have other options. So?”
“Then you should know you can’t actually save everyone.” Minx went on, her gaze locking on to the little tremors in her eyes.
When the girl finally turned to her to speak, they seemed to crackle with lightning. “Doesn’t mean I should explain away me doing nothing when there could be something to do.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes. Minx, however, merely blinked, an odd, floating feeling climbing up from her stomach.
The phone crackled again. “Hello? You guys still there?”
Minx woke up with a start. Did she actually fall asleep?
She cussed at her carelessness, hurriedly checking her phone to look at how much time had passed. The screen told her it was eight minutes to six.
That long. If some random curse user did not kill her in that time, her embarrassment just might.
Clucking her tongue, she stood and stretched, patting herself down for any other problems with her body or her clothing. Then, she felt how stiff her throat actually was at the moment.
Her eyes fell on the fridge. With a strict edict on herself not to get carried away by the comfort, she ran through its contents and took out a Coke can. The drink fizzled as she opened it and took one long chug.
As she lowered it from her face, she felt something wet run down the side of her chin. She swiped at it, thinking it was the drink spilling over.
But as she blinked, she realized it came from her eyes. Gently, she dabbed it away, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Tossing the can aside, she turned to the damaged glass on the other side of the room. Outside, the sharp, heady smell thickened in the air. The sky continued to rage. The battle was still on.
Wonder if I should’ve asked them about compensation.
Eh. They’ve got other problems.
The cover-up’s gonna be a bitch.
ALERT
Veil I evac 98% complete, pursuing sighted curse users fleeing from site
87% of evacuees in Evac Point I already turned over to civil authorities
60% of evacuees in Evac Point II following suit
No sign of Dream, Special-Class curses, and enemy ringleaders yet
Maintain extreme caution
5:48 PM, elsewhere in Downtown San Antonio
Drista hummed as she stared at the myriad blue, beeping screens before her. Each one was under the control of a cultist with technopathic abilities. He currently squatted near her feet, his eyes closed and the veins in his temples bulging. On the back of his shaved head, several plugs were locked into a socket that grew out of his very skull.
He twitched sharply. In a monotone voice, he said, “Another station is picking the story up.”
“Show me,” Drista replied.
One of the screens crackled with static before showing a live feed of what was currently happening, though only at a distance. A bunch of panelists talked about it, their discussion turning hot as accusations of conspiracy began flying around.
This channel was one of a few that braved the sudden and persisting media blackouts following the Skyfall. Social media and news sites filled the gaps they left, though some talking heads still wanted to hold on to the mechanisms that once ran the world they knew.
Useless, but not for the New Humanity. At least their story was being cemented in the remainder of the American public’s minds. If there was anything that made something online sound more legitimate, it was when old people took it seriously.
As she watched one of the panelists lunge for the other across a table, a thought came to her mind. It was a long while since they last received an update from the spy they planted for Dream.
Of course, she and the rest of the upper circle knew that was eventually going to happen. They agreed to take that as a sign that he was stepping out of line.
A part of her gut twinged with disappointment. Showing his hand so soon? His cockiness matched his apparent power.
She turned at the sound of footsteps approaching her rapidly. One of her companions walked up to her, looking pale and breathing hard while holding up a phone.
“They’re decimating us,” he rasped. “Those newcomers are really helping their damned star squad out.”
Drista knitted her brows. Was this part of Dream’s scheme? Was this really a ploy to get the group crushed during their official manifesto?
Suddenly, her own phone rang. Much to her surprise, it had their plant’s number on the caller ID. She motioned at everyone to stay silent as she answered it, putting the call on loudspeaker.
Immediately, the voice she dreaded spoke.
“Sorry about your friend. The agents got to him before I could help.”
Right.
“That’s unfortunate,” she replied, glancing at all the faces turning furious around her. “I hope he proved useful.”
“Oh, he really did,” Dream replied with a painfully clear tone of mock pity. “It was thanks to him that I saw how much this cult is really all talk.”
Drista raised an eyebrow. “Some of our guys are new. But if you have a problem with how well they’re performing, I could just join the field myself along with my best players.”
There was a moment’s silence. And then, Dream spoke again, though the zing in his voice gave way to a sudden hardness. “I told you not yet. The star squad needs to be dealt with before we can make a full sweep. I will make sure of it.”
“Then, get to it!” she snipped, picturing the sorcerer grinding his teeth. “Don’t forget that this is really our outing. And if everything falls apart, I’m going to cash in your little slip.”
She cut the call without waiting for an answer, holding down a chuckle at everybody else’s curdling expressions.
“Let’s give it a few minutes. Then, we take over,” she said in assurance. “You know who we’re getting at first, of course.”
Her companions glared at her at first. But then, they all grinned in assent.
Satisfied, Drista shoved her phone back into her pocket. She felt something stiff flick at her fingers as she took her hand out. It was a piece of paper Dream handed to her before they set out. Nothing special: just a ripped slip of bond paper with a crudely drawn smiley face. “For when it has to go down,” she remembered him saying. That could only mean the duel she was promised if he left them dissatisfied.
It was no mere memento. Drista could sense the residuals clinging to the thing’s surface when she took it from him. Probably a conduit for his technique.
She scoffed at it internally, her eyes settling back on the screen with the broadcast. The angle was askew; it seemed that a full-on brawl erupted just as Dream called her.
I’m so looking forward to it, you cocky bastard.
5:49 PM
Tubbo sat by the pool again, watching his own reflection as Ted handed over the curse user to the auxiliaries. A couple of chocolate wrappers laid strewn on his lap, and an empty juice box sat by his shoes, which tapped absently at a half-formed rhythm.
Earlier, they perused the available fare at a little resto bar sitting on the tower’s first floor. Tubbo, as usual, was iffy at the idea of taking stuff without permission. But the drop in adrenaline soon made it hard to deny the stuff Ted waved at his face.
“Want a Coke?”
“No thanks. I can’t stand fizzy drinks.”
“What? You’re missing out on half the American experience!”
Personally, Tubbo was thankful that he gave in. The snacks helped soothe his nerves as the sky continued to frown over them, threatening to rain.
A few seconds passed, and Ted sat next to him, huffing as if he just dropped off a package in a particularly rowdy neighborhood. He gave Tubbo a warm look and said, “You okay?”
“Totally,” Tubbo replied with a smile. The agent nodded.
“If you’re still up for it, I’m gonna check the other spots and lend a hand. We could go see your uncle first.”
Tubbo’s face lit up upon hearing that. His reaction touched something within Ted, lifting his spirits.
“Sure!” the boy cried, leaping to his feet. But then, he flushed and looked down. “I mean, yeah. I don’t feel like backing out, anyway.”
Ted clapped a hearty hand on his shoulder. “Good to hear. If you’re finished, let’s take off.”
Tubbo nodded in return, patting his pants down and straightening his jacket. As he fixed the hem, he felt the Stinger jostle against his leg. His lips pressed into a line as he thought back to what transpired moments ago.
“Ted.”
“Yeah-llow?”
“Sorry I didn’t really do much that time,” Tubbo went on, his shoulders drooping a bit.
“What are you talking about?” Ted asked while shaking his head. “You did everything you could. I was actually worried you’d be forced to do something more if I messed up.”
Tubbo soaked in those words and felt his body lighten. He looked up at the man and smiled. “You’re cool for that, Ted.”
“And you’re cooler than cool,” the agent gamely answered. “Let’s give J-fucking-Schlatt a quick wave, shall we?”
He was about to gesture at the boy to come along when he felt a shift in the air.
“What’s wrong?” Tubbo asked. He tensed up as Ted’s expression turned grave.
Above them, the clouds made a long, low rumble.
“Someone’s coming.”
At the same time, further southeast
“It’s probably safe to pull back now,” Sykkuno said after looking at the latest alert. “A few more minutes, and Claus will come online. Evac point II will be totally safe. We could try helping out at Veil II.”
“No,” Sam muttered off-handedly. Ahead of them, Callahan was finishing off the last of the lumbering curses. The creature could only reel in agony as a single clap from the agent’s hands flattened it like an upright pancake. “Phil’s probably finished there, for all we know.”
“Then what about Veil III, over the convention center?” Sykkuno suggested with a shrug. “Biggest one out there.”
Sam gave pause at that while Callahan dusted his hands and checked himself for damage. “Matthew’s assigned there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, it’s taken care of, too,” Sam added. “If anything, we gotta focus on those strays they’re pursuing. We’ve managed to keep casualties low so far, but we shouldn’t take chances.”
The auxiliary nodded in agreement, taking out his phone again. “I’ll send word in about our course of action.”
Sam nodded in turn, then turned to Callahan as the agent proceeded to sign out a short sitrep. “No more targets within their range,” he said. All clear.
That would have given Sam a modicum of relief. But things were going a little too smooth for his liking, not with Dream still being unaccounted for.
Nonetheless, he tilted his head northward. “Next stop’s Evac point II. Watch our six.”
Callahan gave a thumbs-up, and Sam and Sykkuno began walking up the largely silent street. The wind filled the lack of noise with its own howling, and the auxiliary had to rub his arms for warmth.
The quiet had to be a sign that their operation was getting by on good footing. Again, a source of unease for the veteran sorcerer. He kept his face straight ahead, his eyes swiveling this way and that. He kept count of each footfall they made, each little scrape of leather on asphalt and debris. His arms stayed tight by his sides.
Then, a strange prickling ran through all of them. Not goosebumps, but a beam of heat that shot straight and from a distance, like the line of sight of a massive eye. It made them flinch.
“A technique? Where’s it coming from,” Sykkuno hissed, turning toward them with stiff shoulders. Sam chewed on his tongue before turning around to Callahan.
“Current power level?” he asked in a harsh whisper. The agent responded by raising two fingers.
Sam screwed his eyes shut, stretching his field of perception as far as it could. The tension in his body crystallized, covering him from head to toe in a sheet of thrumming cold.
He whipped around, clasping Sykkuno’s shoulder. “Let everyone know. Send in backup. Don’t attack until you’ve got numbe—”
Several yards above them, the air throbbed with purple lightning. They caught the flicker of shoes, the fluttering hem of an open jacket, a facemask, and above them, the glare of flaming green eyes.
“Cover him!” Sam barked.
Callahan and Sykkuno fled, the former firing shots that were merely shrugged off. Down their target sailed from the heights, placing his hands in his pockets as he landed gently like a feather on a road that felt emptier than ever before.
Sam merely popped his knuckles. “You saved us some time.”
Dream smirked. “Did I?”