Port City USA

6:30 AM Friday morning

by autodelivery

the email inbox of every member of the Port City Dockworks Cooperative Collective

Re: Today's operations

 

Friends, colleagues, comrades,

 

It has no doubt crossed your minds, with the suspected death of Gerald Bright and the discovery of a note implicating workers from the docks, that we will again be subject to police and Bright Society member presence during our workday. It has come to our attention that some of the membership has already been approached by, and even apprehended by, the authorities.

 

It is certain that some of you will feel uncomfortable coming to work today. Anyone who informs their team that they are ill will receive the day from work with pay, unquestioned.

 

This is not job action. This is merely concern for your well-being and your safety. If you are worried about yourself, your future, your family, or have any reason to want to avoid direct confrontation with the Brights and the PCPD, you should remain home or go to where you are safe. Even if you fear being taken from your homes, you will be less likely to be in harm's way if you are not on the docks today. It is possible that this is paranoia, that we will see a calm and measured response and no serious consequences, but it was not even a week ago that we saw direct, targeted violence as a reaction to peaceful demonstration, so we felt it prudent to issue this directive.

 

We also ask that those who do come, come by rideshare, bus, or on foot. If you must drive, please leave your car away from the docks. The muster point is as usual the parking garage on Water and Reading, and rideshare drivers will be available to retrieve you from or return you to there at any time of the day.

 

It is our hope that there will be no authoritarian interference into our workplaces today. We prepare for the worst, and hope for the best.

 

We wish you all well,

 

Sincerely,

 

Your Conflict Resolution Team

 

Andrea

Brenda

Jonas

Larry

Sterling

Tahiil

Veronika

William

Yolanda

Bright Tower

A fourth-floor meeting room

10:30 AM, Friday

Five superheroes in costumes occupy the room.

At the front of the room, furthest from the door, Flamehammer stands stock-still, watching the others. Vigilant. Strong. Commanding. Dressed in his full armor. Arctic Angel is nearby, seated, her wings folded against her back, resplendent in her shimmering rainbow dress crossed with a Bright Society sash, the only one in the room with her face uncovered. Near the door, reclining with his feet on the table, was the bulky, blond, and barely-dressed Axe, trying to make himself look like some barbarian from a fantasy novel cover in fur-lined leather shorts and boots, his identity-concealing grey mask doing little to cover his bored expression. Completing the circle are the pair of The Mechanician, a small, grey-haired, middle-aged man wearing an array of protective gadgets over his fairly normal worker's clothing, sitting at the table, and his protege, the twenty-something, pale, red-headed Psilocyber standing nearby, dressed in torn jeans and a heavy-metal band t-shirt that hangs loosely over her waifish form, with oddly colorful nanobot traces up and down her arms running up her neck to obscure her features.

"^{OUR SIXTH MEMBER WILL NOT BE JOINING US,}" Flamehammer says by way of introduction, lying easily about the fate of their colleague. "^{MISTRESS WEB HAS AN ENGAGEMENT TOMORROW AND DOES NOT WISH TO TIRE HERSELF.}" 'Mistress Web' is currently in a stasis chamber below the tower under heavy guard; the last thing any of them need now is a security breach. There were four tables there to hold those deemed an immediate threat to operations, generally left unused—they draw a lot of power to keep someone safely in a state of suspended animation—but this operation is worth using up two of those spaces for a few days.

"DISAPPOINTING," Axe responds in a thick Scandanavian accent. At least, Flamehammer thinks it's Scandanavian. With Axe's exposure to the film system, half the time his accent sounds like an American pretending to a Scandanavian accent

"We will be more than enough for the rioters," the Angel says. "Mistress Web would have provided added security, nothing more." Exactly what Reggie had coached her to say.

The Mechanician grunts. "_{DO YOU NOT FEAR UNDERESTIMATING THEM AGAIN? AND SILVER TONGUE? GERALD BRIGHT UNDEREST—"}

"^{BRIGHT WAS FOOLISH, IT'S TRUE,}" Flamehammer interrupts. Only the Arctic Angel and The Mechanician know Flamehammer's identity, so Reggie maintains the fiction that he is not his father's son for the sake of Axe and Psilocyber. He's never truly felt like his father's son, so it's not a great challenge. "^{AT EVERY TURN HE SAW A NEED TO RECONCILE, TO COMPROMISE, TO TAKE INDIRECT ACTION INSTEAD OF CONFRONTING THE ROT ON THE DOCKS HEAD ON. HIS OUTDATED ATTITUDES COST HIM HIS LIFE. I WILL NOT FAIL AS HE DID.}"

The small red-haired girl coughs daintily, and all heads turn towards her. She shrinks back towards the wall, though not apparently from fear. Her voice is thin and soft. "_{there must be consequences for the blatant attack on our organization.}" The lines running down from her forehead to her arms seem to pulse and shift faintly. At a thought, they could produce a cloud of airborne nanobots that she could use to infiltrate and influence both people and electronics. In many ways, Psilocyber is the Bright Society's most unusual member, both for her attitudes and her powers; there's little doubt that without the Mechanician's support she would never have been inducted into the Society. Which naturally leads to the conclusion that she and her older colleague are much more than master and apprentice, although that gossip has never been confirmed.

The Mechanician, for his part, is decidedly old-school. He is the Brights' go-to mechanical problem-solver, able to construct machines to do just about anything given enough time and resources, and he goes into the fight with variable-effect sonic weaponry. One of Gerald's first recruits to the Society, lured in by the promise of nearly limitless money at his back, the Mechanician spends most of his time these days building, repairing, and upgrading equipment for others. Unlike his apprentice, his gear is entirely offline and essentially self-contained. Psilocyber will control a crowd from within each individual, Mechanician will influence them from without.

Everyone at the table is there for their ability to work in urban spaces and to deal with crowds of civilians, rather than fighting superpowers. Axe seems dangerous, but his abilities are well-regulated by his power; the fields of energy that he projects also have the effect of shielding his victims from harm. Swinging his ethereal battle-axe in a crowd will send people flying, only to have them bounce almost cartoonishly off nearby structures and land speedily but safely on the ground. Rumor has it that Axe is able to use his weapons without that safety—certainly he's sliced through walls and vehicles, both in public demonstrations and in times of crisis—but no one has ever seen him do harm to another human being.

Of course, the Angel's pacifism is well-known, and perhaps a bit unfortunate, but it does align with her abilities. Flamehammer has no idea if she can alter the intensity of her cold blasts to cause real harm, but it is clear from the night before that her ability can lead to harm. That alone can be a useful threat in a wide variety of situations. Not always as powerful as the threat of his own flaming fists, of course. But he's supposed to act only as the dragon-killer, the weapon of last resort to deal with the most pressing attacks, since his powers are best suited to one-on-one combat. He's the leader, the coordinator, the reserves, all at once.

A showcase for his obvious ascension to a dominant role within the organization. Taking down the PCDCC would be the perfect first project. Bringing in the murderous Silver Tongue would cement his rightful position and sweep all the politics aside.

He could almost convince himself that Silver Tongue had been responsible for his father's end. It isn't that he feels any affection for the blind fossil, but like Psilocyber had said, the attack on the organization was enough of an affront. In its way, the greeting card Silver Tongue had sent was a greater offense than the death of Gerald Bright, a public undermining of the Society's authority.

The Mechanician clears his throat. "_{WE MUST STILL NOT FORGET THAT THE CO-OP IS UNITED AGAINST US AND THE POLICE. AND IF SILVER TONGUE IS WORKING WITH THEM THEY COULD BE EVEN MORE UNITED AND EVEN MORE DANGEROUS.}"

"NOTHING IS EASY," Axe replies, sitting up in his chair. "WHAT ARE OUR TACTICS?"

Flamehammer taps on the desk. "^{THE GOAL IS FIRST TO CUT OFF THEIR COMMUNICATIONS CENTER, AND THEN SECURITY, TO MAKE SURE THAT THE POLICE HAVE UNIMPEDED ACCESS TO SEARCH ANYWHERE THEY NEED TO AND PREVENT THE DESTRUCTION OF EVIDENCE. AS FOR US, WE STAY FLEXIBLE AND IN COMMUNICATION AT ALL TIMES. WE MOVE LITTLE BY LITTLE AS NEEDED.}"

"_specifics?" Psilocyber asks in her soft, small way.

"YET TO BE DETERMINED," Axe says with a grin, putting his feet back up on the table and crossing them at the ankles.

"^{AXE IS CORRECT,}" Flamehammer continues. "^{WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT WE WILL MEET IN THE DOCKS, AND SO WE MUST BE FLEXIBLE. WE WILL BE IN THREE PAIRS; AXE, I WAS GOING TO HAVE YOU PAIRED WITH WEB, BUT—}"

"I WILL DO WELL ENOUGH ALONE."

"_{NO DOUBT YOU HAVE ME WITH PSILOCYBER,}" the Mechanician concludes.

"^{YOU DO WORK WELL TOGETHER.}" And no one else wants to be around the weird girl. "^{ARCTIC ANGEL WILL PROVIDE RECON AND I'LL MANAGE THINGS FROM THE FORWARD COMMAND CENTER ON THE BOAT.}"

Axe gets to his feet. "YOU WANT ME TO COME IN UP THE MIDDLE?"

"^{YES, AND MECHANICIAN AND PSILOCYBER FROM THE WEST, DOWN COASTLINE DRIVE,}" Flamehammer concludes. "^{WE CAN SORT OUT THE FINER DETAILS AS THE DAY PROGRESSES. MAKE ANY NECESSARY LAST-MINUTE PREPARATIONS, WE MOVE OUT AT SIXTEEN-HUNDRED.}"

"THAT'S PLENTY OF TIME FOR A GOOD MEAL AND A NAP," Axe says, heading towards the door. "I WILL GO HAVE THOSE, IF THERE'S NOTHING ELSE..." Not waiting for a reply, the barbarian left the room.

"^{WE SHOULD ALSO BE ON OUR WAY.}" Flamehammer looks to the Arctic Angel, who nods. "^{WE MUST PREPARE THE FORWARD COMMAND CENTER AND POSITION OURSELVES AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.}"

"_FLAMEHAMMER," the Mechanician interrupts before they can go. "_{I HAVE SERIOUS CONCERNS.}"

"^{IT MUST BE NOW,}" Flamehammer responds. "^{THERE IS NO OTHER TIME.}"

_{"WHAT IS IT TO WAIT A FEW DAYS? THE DOCKWORKS WILL STILL BE THERE—}"

"^{YOU HEARD WHAT PSILOCYBER SAID. EVERY DAY THEY REMAIN IN EXISTENCE IS AN AFFRONT TO PEACE AND ORDER. THE SOONER THEY ARE DEALT WITH, THE BETTER.}" He steps closer to the senior hero. "^{IT IS WHAT GERALD BRIGHT BELIEVED.}"

"_{IT IS YOUR DECISION. I JUST URGE CAUTION, RECONSIDERATION.}"

"^{PLENTY OF CONSIDERATION HAS GONE INTO THIS DECISION ALREADY.}" Flamehammer waves to the Angel and they head to the door. "^{WE WILL SEE YOU THIS AFTERNOON.}"

"_{BE CAREFUL, SON.}"

Flamehammer hesitates. "^{YOU TOO, OLD MAN.}"

The Angel is two steps behind him as they leave, returning with him to his office. "^{WE SHOULD PROCEED IMMEDIATELY TO THE DOCKS, WE CAN REST AND PREPARE THERE.}"

"Of course."

Nothing more is said between them. Flamehammer calls for a secure transport, a boat to transfer them to the marina. The Angel waits for him, as she ought.

Meanwhile, back in the meeting room,

"_{did you see her eyes?}"

"_{I COULD HARDLY MISS THEM.}"

"_{what's happened to her?}"

"_{A LOT OF EXPOSURE TO THE INDUCER, I THINK.}"

"_oh"

There is a moment of tense silence.

"_why?"

"_{I CAN ONLY SPECULATE.}"

"_{and you don't want to be doing that.}" There is amusement in Psilocyber's voice.

"_{DEFINITELY NOT.}"

"_{can we trust the angel?}"

"_{I WOULD TRUST HER AS MUCH AS I TRUST YOU.}"

"_good"

Another uncomfortable quiet.

"_{and flamehammer?}"

Mechanician's lack of response to that question is telling.

The corner of Water and Pardie

11 AM, Friday

Devon very carefully parks the red smartcar directly in the middle of the intersection, pulling the parking brake. He'd had to very carefully slip through a field of similarly badly-parked vehicles, but he is an excellent driver.

He hops out of the car, putting the keys in his pocket, walking through the literal parking lot that he and the other rideshare drivers had made of the major roadways within the docks. It doesn't take him much longer to walk back than it usually would, and he's greeted by the smiling maternal figure of the lead dispatcher, Millie. He tosses the keys to the middle-aged woman, who catches them ably.

"Water and Pardie."

Millie gives him a warm chuckle, making a note on her computer. "That's hardly the place to leave such a small car, dear."

"Well I think that's all the spares, blockading important roads. Leaves us enough for the drivers to drive people around, anyway."

"Just enough. Glad we gassed up the fleet last night, probably going to need it." Millie looks at her screen a moment. "I think we've pretty well got everyone to work, so it's just the waiting game today, just like usual but more tense."

"Definitely more tense," Devon agrees. He scratches his chin. "How's the coffee this morning?"

"Awful. Raheem made it."

"Why would that make it awful?"

"Oh those are two unrelated facts, Devon. The coffee's always awful, you know that." This statement doesn't stop Millie from taking a large swig from her mug. She grimaces, taking off her glasses and letting them hang down on their chain. "You know it's rideshare coffee when it's better cold."

He snorts. "I think I'll continue to get it elsewhere."

"You do that, hon." She sighs. "Pity about the cafe, we could use a place like that around here."

Devon shrugs. "It'll be back. We always get back on our feet."

"I expect that we won't be winning taxi status anytime soon after this stunt, Sterling Grey or not."

"We'll just have to get co-op members on the utilities board. Problem solved."

Millie smiles. "Sounds like a great idea, hon. When are you running for city council?"

He laughs in reply. "Right after you."

"Ooh, no thank you," she chuckles. "Did that once about twenty years ago, when the internet was a little less prevalent, and now I've got too many secrets to keep."

"Really, Millie?"

"The world does not need to see certain pictures of me plastered all over the front page of the Crier."

Devon laughs. "So you were young once, so what?"

Millie puts her glasses back on and turns back to her work. "Some of these pictures are definitely not from my younger days," she says without a hint of irony or shame.

"Millie!" He laughs again. "You're telling me that you—"

She cuts him off by looking up at him over the rims of her glasses, a sly smile on her face. "Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Devon."

Devon's eyes widen and he goes beet red. 

The matronly figure winks at him. "Or maybe you do want the answers to them. But this is a workplace, and so we'll drop this discussion for now."

"Probably a good idea," Devon agrees, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

"It's only too bad we don't have more big vehicles to put in the way."

Devon is about to reply when an idea hits him. "Millie?"

"You look like you've just had a flash of inspiration."

He smirks. "Do you suppose that Maintenance might have their snow-clearing machinery available?"

She smiles at him. "I don't know, dear, why don't you go and ask them?"

"I think I'll do that."

"What a fine idea."

"Thank you, Millie," Devon says, turning to leave.

"Don't forget your coat!"

"Already wearing it."

Catelli's Restaurant

Downtown Port City

12:25 PM, Friday

Astra walks to the back of the kitchen, her smile carefully composed. Her cousin Jenny, another server in the restaurant, pulls her aside.

"I know that look."

Astra lets her façade fall and sighs in frustration. "I hate overhearing stuff sometimes."

"The big table?" Jenny frowns. "Who are they, anyway?"

"Police group, lunch break. They come in here sometimes. It's just..." She shakes her head. "You know how some people just don't think we can hear if they're not giving us an order?"

"Shit, Astra, what'd they say?"

Astra puts her tray down and puts a hand to her head. "Just that they're planning to shut down the dockworks tonight, and that a certain Sterling Grey might 'try to escape.' Which I took to mean that they were hoping he was going to run so they could hurt him."

Jenny tilts her head a bit skeptically. "Sure you're not reading into that?"

"You didn't hear them," Astra retorts. "And you haven't served them before."

"So you're not exactly inclined to think good things about them," Jenny points out.

Astra takes a slow breath. "Hate to admit that you're right, but..."

"But you still want to talk to Dominic."

"Shit!" Astra hisses, looking around. "I didn't even think of that! He's still doing auditing there, he'd have—"

"You don't have to thank me," Jenny cuts in smugly, turning to grab the latest orders. "Just give me a cut of the tips."

"Like the cops tip."

"The way Uncle Franco pays us, it doesn't really matter all that much." Jenny breezes out of the kitchen carrying two full plates.

Astra checks the clock on the wall; her parents' rule of no phones on the restaurant floor meant that she would need a few minutes to run to the staff room and get her device and put in the call. She asks herself if it's worth taking the time away from her job. There's not a great danger of her being fired, obviously, or even seriously disciplined, not when she's the owners' daughter, but any sort of trouble can strain that relationship, and it had taken an intervention from Sterling Grey to repair her connection to her family when her college grades had been too poor to continue. In contrast to her academic failures, she has positively thrived working at the restaurant, something her parents had never wanted for either of their children, but something that had turned out to be right for Astra. It had taken a good life coach to help everyone realize that.

A good life coach that was currently in the sights of the police.

The orders will have to wait. Or someone else will have to take care of them. "Momma!" she calls, "I need a few minutes!"

From the other side of the noisy kitchen, Ignazia Catelli calls back, "Not too long! You have customers!"

It is the expected reply, and Astra knows that even if she takes a while, the restaurant will be fine. She doesn't plan to be long.

She ducks quickly into the staff room and heads to her locker, digs out her purse, pulls out her phone. "Call Dominic," she tells it, and watches as her instruction is carried out.

"Astra?" comes her brother's familiar voice on the line. "Must be serious if you're calling during lunch rush, are Mom and Dad—"

"They're fine, Dom, don't worry, there's nothing wrong, it's not them, it's for me."

"Okay great, because I didn't need that on top of everything else today." He sounds frazzled, shaken.

"Everything else?"

"Yeah, I've got the police here going over the books of the PCDCC with a fine-toothed fucking comb, pardon my French."

Astra nods and sighs. "Yeah, that's kinda what I want to talk with you about, you know what's going down?"

"At the docks?" She can almost hear his aggravated shrug in his quiet reply. "I'm guessing that they're looking for anything that they can find relating to Wednesday's fire. And they're probably going to investigate in force tonight."

"Shit, thanks, bro, I'll let you get back to your cops, I've got a batch here to deal with."

"No trouble there?"

"Nah, they're not being unruly, and hopefully I get them their food in time and it'll stay that way." Astra bites her lip, thinking. "I'll call you after the rush, I might need some information if I can get it."

"If I can give it. Talk later."

"Yep."

Astra hangs up and quickly puts the phone back in her purse and the purse back in her locker. She dashes back to the kitchen, an idea forming in her mind.

Sharon Marrol's living room

2:45 PM, Friday

"Alright, fuckwit, what the Christ did you do to me?"

Tanya's sharp accusatory question makes Sterling sit up on the couch, still groggy. He looks over to see her standing halfway across the unfamiliar room, naked but for her black panties, her hands in fists and perched accusingly on her hips. Oddly, she doesn't look as upset as her words or tone would suggest.

"Only what you asked," he replies tiredly, trying not to stare. "I like the tattoos. I didn't take the time to admire them the other day." The ornate sleeves ran from her elbows to her shoulders and a little beyond, but he wasn't able to get a good look at the patterning with his eyes unfocused and bleary.

She snorts. "Thanks, asshole, but I did not ask you to make me parade around my friend's place half-naked for your pleasure."

"Funny thing, that," he says with a yawn. "I didn't ask you to parade around your friend's place half-naked for my pleasure, either."

"Well shit, then I guess I'm just a fucking nudist now," she shoots back, clearly not believing him.

He stretches and shifts in his spot; despite the animosity, Tanya is a very good-looking young woman, and his body is responding involuntarily to her presence. "I was thinking about that, before I fell asleep, and—"

"Yeah, I bet you were just 'thinking.'"

"—and the best I can come up with is: Do you remember what I said to you before you went to bed the other day, at my place?"

"What, the whole six hours of brainwashing? Is that when—"

"No, Tanya." He shakes his head. "Right before you went to bed, I told you to make yourself at home. We even joked about it in the morning when—"

"When you walked in on me, yeah, you think I don't remember? It was like two fucking days ago."

He nods. "Alright, well..." He lifts his hands up. "Do you feel at home?"

She blinks. There's a pause. "Oh, no, no no no, you... anytime I feel at home, you mean? I'm just gonna fuckin'—"

He holds up a hand, and Tanya stops talking. "Let's not forget last night you asked me to use my power on you. Things were similar to the way they were the other day, circumstantially. You were stressed, tired, and in a place that's not your own, and under my influence. Sometimes the repetition gets in someone's head a little."

Her hands finally fall to her sides. "So you think that if everything lines up again..."

Sterling nods, standing up. "Pretty well, yes."

"Well at least someone's fucking enjoying this," she snaps, eyes on his crotch.

"You're not?" he asks back.

She follows his gaze to her chest. "Shut the fuck up, dockie, it's chilly in here." But she also doesn't move to cover up or to hide herself.

"So shall we get dressed and head to work?"

"Is it wrong for a hacker to want a bit of a fucking lunch first? Christ, what is it with you, work, work, work, all the time. Jesus."

Sterling sighs. "That's fair, shall we get dressed and get some lunch, then?"

"You gonna make me again?"

He stares in disbelief. "Am I going to... What are you talking about?"

She laughs as his confusion. "You apparently can control me so much that I'm okay standing here practically fucking naked and letting you eye-fuck my tits, even without telling me."

"I thought you hated that."

"I do!" Her sudden outburst of anger causes Sterling to flinch internally. "It's fucking disgusting! But what I don't get, what I don't understand is why, when it's so fucking easy for you, don't you just tell me what you want me to do?"

He manages a gentle smile. "Don't you have enough people in your life telling you what to do already?"

She puts a hand to her forehead. "How do you give me a fucking headache every goddamn time we talk?"

"Maybe things would be easier if you'd just go with the flow instead of being angry with me all the time."

She looks him straight in the eye. "Was that one of your weird magic voice things? Because that makes sense."

Sterling shakes his head. "Sometimes, things just make sense, magic voice or not."

"Well could you stop making sense? It's annoying." Despite herself, she smiles back. "I don't get it, Sterling, I really fucking don't. But the weirdest thing, the thing I just can't wrap my own stupid fucking head around, is that I really, really want to understand. It would be... I dunno, maybe it's just too fuckin' easy for me to just write you off as a villain, and I wanna take the hard way out. Maybe it's just that I wanna know what the fuck makes you tick, or what your voice does, or... I dunno, some shit like that. And the whole... fuckin'... not knowing thing makes me so mad, you know? This is supposed to be so fucking simple." She points at him. "You're a villain. Evil." She puts a hand on her bare chest and adopts an angelic smile. "I work with the heroes. Good." She sighs in exasperation. "Simple, right? But it's not. Every goddamn time I turn around you're being nice or decent or, I dunno, human or something and not the fucking monster you should be. And the Bright Society, the heroes of this little story if you'll recall, tried to fucking kill me. So you'll forgive me, I hope, if I'm a little goddamn mixed up. And the worst, the worst part of it all, is that you can make it all make sense with, I dunno, a wave of your hand or a snap of your fingers or some shit, and—no, fuck that, the worst part of it all is that some piece of me wants you to make it all simple, to turn me into your good little obedient hacker puppet, and I know the world is infinitely complex and all that garbage, but part of me, a part of me that apparently hates me, wants it to be easy."

There's a moment of silence, between them.

"Okay, I'm done," she says. "Don't take that as a fucking invitation, by the way, when I want you to mess with my head, I'll let you know."

He nods. "I will treat any such request with all due solemnity. And I will try to keep your clothes on when I do."

She snickers. "Guess it kinda undercuts the seriousness of what I'm saying when my tits are just... right there, huh."

"It does make it a little challenging to concentrate." He grins. "Still, I think I got the gist of it."

She smiles. "Good. So. Can you just make everything simple for a bit?"

"After all that?"

"Goddamn it Sterling, when a hot naked girl asks you to brain-fuck her, why would you refuse? I really don't understand you, and it's fucking obnoxious." Her tone is still cheerful, almost laughing.

He can't help but laugh in reply. "You think I'm a challenge to understand?"

Tanya actually grins. "Yeah, yeah, I'm weird as fuck, I get it. Now you mind making with the magic, or to I have to charge you with a knife and make you stop me?"

He pauses for a moment. "You said last night that you thought being exposed to my power would protect you. I should maybe warn you that you're not building up an immunity, not with me. Near as I can tell, anyway, the more you're successfully exposed to mind control, the more susceptible you get to it, not less. Each time I slip an idea in, the next time is easier. And not necessarily just for me."

"Okay, so like with pizza girl—"

"Years," he says. "I barely need to use my power with her, most of the time."

Tanya shakes her head. "Alright, fine. Don't care, not right now. Maybe that's something to worry about in the future. Seriously, Sterling, I just want some lunch and some time away from everything being so... I dunno, stupid and complicated."

"If you're sure—"

"Just do it."

"Then it's simple," he says. Tanya shivers, and he half expects her to tell him off, but she doesn't. "You can just let everything complex fall away. I'm a villain, Tanya, and you're under my control now. You work for me, because I use my powers to make you. And here, and now, you're weak to my voice. Susceptible. Vulnerable." He steps closer, feeling taller. His erection returns, and he makes no effort to hide it. Tanya's not looking there anyway, her blank gaze fixed on his eyes. "With the force of my power, I could make you do anything. Feel anything."

Unbidden, unasked for, Tanya slowly falls to her knees and bows her head. "Fuck," he hears her whisper. He's not sure how to interpret that.

"Beside you are the clothes you discarded last night," he says. "We are going to leave this place. Put them on." This is not the order he wants to give, but even letting his power flow as he is, he maintains a modicum of morality.

With a speed and precision he might expect from an eager soldier, Tanya snaps into action, snatching up her bra without a hint of inefficiency and quickly putting it on, then doing the same for her black t-shirt.

"I need to freshen up before we go. Return to your room, make ready to leave, sit on the edge of the bed and wait for me."

Tanya hops to her feet, her expression impossibly neutral, her features flushed. She moves purposefully but unhurriedly. Sterling watches her go before picking up his own pants and making his way to the bathroom.

He pauses at the bedroom door and considers going inside, just to see how far he can push a simplified Tanya, to see if she would help him deal with his arousal, but opts against it, instead going to the washroom and willing his stiffness to subside. Cold water on the face is a great help. He makes a silent apology to Sharon for using a bit of her deodorant; he has an image to maintain and no time to shower, so at the very least he could smell decent. And finally, after all that, he's ready to use the toilet.

He'd hung his jacket in the closet by the door. His dress shirt was folded and laid on the coffee table.

And my puppet is waiting for me in the bedroom.

He pushes that thought aside. That's not what she wants out of this experience, or if it is, she hadn't expressed it, and he isn't about to assume.

He goes into the bedroom. Tanya's gaze snaps straight to his face. She's sitting rigidly, feet almost to the floor, hands folded in her lap. Her face isn't blank anymore, but shows a mixture of awe and admiration.

"You could make me do anything," she says, and he can tell that she means it.

He nods.

"I would kiss you. I would suck your dick. I would let you fuck me."

"I'll settle for a hug," he says with a wry smile.

She gets to her feet. "Spoilsport," she jokes with a grin.

But she does wrap him in an embrace.

"Everything is so clear," she continues slowly as she lets him go. "You're an evil villain. A monster. I can see that so easily now. And... and I can't resist you. I don't want to. If you want me to be a monster like you, I'll be a monster like you. If you want me to be helpless and forced to do your bidding... It's like the fog lifted when you started to talk and for the first time I could actually understand." She looks up at him. "If I said that I never want to go back to that complicated world..."

"I could make that happen," he replies. "But I'm not going to take your word on that now. You're not in your right mind."

She nods. "I know. And I know that when I am in my right mind, I'm going to look back on this and be absolutely terrified of it, what you do, how I'm... responding. But right now... everything feels so right about it. It's so easy. Clear."

Sterling smiles. "You don't have to be scared of it. You set the rules. You told me not to do it unless you ask. You know I won't abuse it."

She giggles, a sound he wasn't expecting. "It's not like I want to blow you, you know. Even with your hooks in me it's not like I want to just get on my knees and undo y—"

"I understand," he says, cutting her off before she goes into enough detail to get him painfully aroused again.

"Heh, but even if I don't want to, you can make me, because right now you're an evil monster and I can't resist your power."

He nods and resists the urge to pet her dark hair. "Even if that's not who I am at other times."

She weaves a bit unsteadily on her feet. "Do you mind... uh, please... not shattering the illusion for the moment? At least until I'm back at work. It's... it's really weird, when you're... both of you. I just want the monster right now, okay?"

"We'll talk about that later," he says.

He only realizes that he's used his power when Tanya bows her head and meekly says, "Yes, Silver Tongue."

"Very good. I need to finish dressing, then we will return to our work."

"Yes, Silver Tongue."

She follows at his heels like a lost puppy. She wants so much to believe that I'm an evil supervillain that can do anything with my voice, he reasons as he buttons his shirt, that she's willing to let me be that supervillain, at least to her. Still, that doesn't give him license to be villainous to her; he has no idea if this is a temporary state of mind, brought on by the strangeness and stress of the last week and a half. He also has Sharon and Chelsea to consider, and he doubts that either of them will be thrilled if he brainwashes their friend into compliance. And there's the budding relationship between Tanya and Crystal, if they can locate the security officer. Both of them deserve the chance to experience that relationship with one another.

He retrieves his coat from the closet. "The world must not know who I am, so you must act normally when we are in the company of others."

"Of course, Silver Tongue," she says obsequiously.

This is what she thinks a minion acts like. And, he admits to himself, it has definite appeal. He puts his coat on and opens the door. "Follow. Lock the door behind us. Act normally when we're outside."

"Yes sir, Silver Tongue."

He steps outside and fishes his phone from his pocket, checking the messages as Tanya turns her key in the lock. "It seems we have been invited to dinner," he says. "Let's head to Maintenance, there's apparently a feast."

"Sounds good to me, Sss—uh, Sterling."

"Perfect." He holds out his arm out of habit more than anything, and Tanya links hers with his. Together they walk down the road, villain and thrall, bound for the headquarters of the maintenance department on the west end of the docks.

A block away from PCDCC maintenance headquarters

on the streets of the docks district of Port City

4:10 PM, Friday

Monica gets out of her car, unable to get any closer due to the blockage on the roadways. It's like traffic, but it isn't moving. Fortunately, she doesn't have to be any closer.

She checks the address again, sure she's in the right place.

"Hey, are you Monica?" a friendly voice calls.

Monica turns and sees a tall, cheerful redhead walking towards her. "Yeah, you must be Astra, right?"

"That's right! I can give you a hand with stuff. It's not far but we can't drive nearer."

"Yeah, so I see." Monica opens the back door of her car. "I know what you told me, but it's still kind of weird to see cars just sitting there on the street."

Astra smiles. "It's just a little bit post-apocalyptic, huh?" She walks over to the car. "What've we got here?"

"Well, Argent gets so much business from the docks that it was easy to convince the boss that this would be a good cause." Monica grabbed a weighty box and handed it to the other restauranteur. "Careful with that, it's heavy and warm."

"Oof, it is," Astra replies, getting a good grip on the box. "Smells great, though."

"That's like fifteen servings of potatoes," Monica replies, reaching for another box. "Ugh, I think this is all the chicken in the kitchen. The chef put about half of it in the butter sauce and breaded the other half."

"Nice, I love butter chicken, I'll have to try some." Astra leans her box against the car, waiting for Monica to find her footing. "If there's more we can come back for it, we don't need to do it all in one trip."

"Yeah, no worries, I bet we can find a couple of volunteers, hm?"

"Yep, lots of good, strong people there to help out." Astra grins. "Follow me."

The two of them carried their load down the quiet street. Monica shivers a bit, despite the warm burden; there's a chill in the air, a breeze coming off the ocean. "Clouds rolling in," she says idly.

"Supposed to storm tonight," Astra replies. "Could be a big one."

"Well isn't that great." Monica shivers again. "I should've done the smart thing and put a sweater on, instead of dressing like I was going to be at work."

"Restaurant work is warm work," Astra concurs. "Bet you get a lot of tips dressed like that."

Monica laughs. "Yes, it's all part of the master plan. Get all the guys worked up, take a little extra home in my pocket."

"A little extra money, or a little extra guy?" Astra snickers. "No judgment here, I do the same when I'm on the clock. Though I have to dress a bit more conservatively, my parents own the restaurant, they don't really like thinking of their little girl taking guys home, whether the 'little girl' is actually little or not."

Monica nods. "Expectation at a nightclub's a little different from upscale Italian place."

Astra laughs. "That's true. Hey, we're almost there, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just chilled. I've carried more, further."

"Get those server muscles working," Astra says as she steps out into another street. The intersection has a front-end loader parked right in the center, blocking traffic in three directions.

The two of them cross the road in silence and head to an unmarked building. Two good looking young men hold the doors open as they head inside. They walk into what appears to be an ordinary office lobby, with two large tables set up. A number of catering containers were already laid out and opened. Several people were milling about, chatting quietly or eating. A friendly pair of hands took Monica's box from her, and a familiar face greeted her as she let go.

"Sterling," she says with a smile.

Astra, meanwhile, hands her box off to a small Asian woman. "Oh, you know him too?"

"He usedta be more of a regular," Monica explains. She looks around conspiratorially. "We take bets on him," she mutters quietly.

"Oh no," Sterling says, returning. "You're not telling Astra about the pool."

"What pool?" Astra and the girl who had taken her box ask in unison.

Monica grins. "I'll tell you on the way back to the car."

"Oh, but I wanna know too!" the small Asian woman complains.

"So go with them," Sterling suggests. "I'm sure it'll come out eventually."

"I could use an extra pair o' hands or two," Monica points out. "Got all the drinks to bring."

"Can we three handle it?" Astra asks.

Monica shrugs. "Don't see why not."

"Well let's go, then!" The other woman grabs their hands and practically drags them out to the street.

Astra laughs as they head out to the road. "Enthusiastic, huh."

"For something that makes Sterling Grey uncomfortable? You bet. Anything at all I can use to get under his fuckin' skin is A-plus in my book."

"Uh... alright," Monica says, a little suspicious. "Who are you and why do you want to get under his skin?"

The diminutive woman grins a bit like a wolf. "My name's Tanya Nomura and Sterling Grey is a positively unflappable asshole who's fucking my two best friends, and I just want anything I can get to tease him with."

Astra laughs. "Yeah, that sounds like him, other than the 'asshole' part." She offers her hand to Tanya. "Astra Catelli."

Tanya takes it. "'Catelli,' like the restaurant?"

"Yep, it's my parents', I just work there."

"And organize food drives," Monica points out, also offering a hand and getting a shake. "Monica Sridhar, I work at Club Argent."

"Okay, sure, makes sense, so what's this pool thing?"

Monica feels herself flushing a little. "Oh, it's a little, um, inside joke with us at the club." She shakes her head. "When Sterling comes in, he almost always comes alone, and almost always leaves with someone. So, we have a little bet, half our tips go to a pool, and we guess who he's gonna go home with."

"Winner takes the pool?" Astra asks. Monica nods.

Tanya frowns. "That doesn't feel weird to anyone other than me?"

"Restaurants have weird traditions," Monica responds with a shrug. "Ours just happens to be betting on who a regular's—"

"Gonna fuck," Tanya cuts in. "Shit, we were there last week, were was the smart money?"

"W-well," Monica stammered, "He, um... It wasn't the first time he'd gone home with more than one girl..."

"Ooh!" Astra giggles. "Sterling's still a ladies' man, huh."

"First time he'd taken three home, though."

Tanya coughs, surprised. "He did not 'take me home.' I mean, I drove home in the same car, but he and I didn't... that. Jesus. Gross."

Both Astra and Monica laugh at her outburst. "So it was just the other two, then? Alright, don't tell anyone at the club or I'll lose my bet!"

"You were betting on me?"

"Sure! I mean, the way you were lookin' at him, you were getting all starry-eyed like the other two cuties, I'm surprised he didn't bring you with 'em."

"Fucking fuck, no. Christ, I don't swing that way at all, and if I did, I wouldn't be with..." Tanya shudders. "Not him, I'd sooner sleep with Axe or something."

Monica looks over at their other companion, who has a thoughtful expression on her face. "What's on your mind, Astra?"

"What, are you one of his conquests, too?" Tanya snaps.

Astra nods. "Long time ago. About... two years after he joined the co-op? I mean, I knew him a little before that. He helped me reconnect with my parents."

"Shit. I mean. I was joking, I didn't think—"

Astra laughs kindly. "It's not a big deal. I still... care for him. Deeply. But it's not like he's marriage material or anything." They reach Monica's car as she's talking. "I don't regret it for a second, and I'd do hi—it! I'd do it again!"

The three of them laugh at the near slip. Monica opens the trunk of her car, revealing cases of soda. "I couldn't bring booze, of course, but the boss told me to take all the canned drinks I could."

"Oof, I wasn't fuckin' thinking straight when I agreed to this," Tanya complains, looking at the load.

Astra puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't all have to go in one trip. If you can carry two of the pallets, and we can carry two each, then you can stay and enjoy the food and Monica and I can come back and get the last few, sound good?"

Monica hauls out a pack of drinks and hands them to Tanya. "You good with that?"

Tanya staggers for a moment. "Yep." She takes a deep breath. "Alright. More weight!"

Monica and Astra share a grin. "You ever think about serving drinks?"

"Fuck no. This is a one-time-only thing."

Astra giggles, accepting her first case of drinks from Monica. "That's a good plan. Serving's like ... well like all kinds of jobs. It's too hard to do for long if you're not meant for it."

Tanya puffs. "Mind if I go ahead? I'm not sure I can just stand here forever."

"Nah, go," Monica groans, hauling out another case and setting it on the roof of the car. "It's gonna take me a couple minutes to get everything in order and close up the car."

"We'll meet you there," Astra says. "Just be a couple minutes. Thanks for the assist."

"Urgh," Tanya grunts as she starts making her way to the maintenance building. "No... problem," she says over her shoulder.

"She's a funny one," Astra mutters once Tanya's out of earshot.

"She sure is," Monica agrees as she hands Astra a second case. "Anyone else coming to the party?"

"My brother checked the records, and there's a pizza place that they often order from. I got them coming in for a second shift a little later. Got 'no thank you' from a couple other places, and I get it, it's not like running a restaurant is so easy that you can just give food away, even for a good customer."

Monica nods and goes back into the trunk to pull out a second case of cans for herself. She's struggling with the awkward package when she hears the unmistakable sound of two soda pallets hitting the ground. She quickly gets out from under the trunk.

"Astra?" she asks, turning to see what had happened. The redhead stood with a goofy smile on her face, arms limply at her sides, her tight skirt being sprayed with lemon-lime soda from a busted can. Before Monica can react further, there's a strange hum in her ears and a pink tinge to her sight.

Her worry melts away. She feels herself smiling, and it's a smile that goes all the way down to her toes and back through her mind. She recognizes that something is unusual, but she does not in any way care that it is.

"_{would you be so kind,}" comes a soft voice from everywhere and nowhere all at once, "_{as to tell me what you two ladies are doing with large crates of soda, nowhere near a restaurant?}"

Of course Monica will help. Monica is helpful. She knows Astra is helpful, too, though the pink haze makes it difficult to see much beyond itself, like a fog that has closed in directly behind her eyes and settled right on her brain. It will take her a few moments to get oriented—for some reason, the pink haze makes figuring out her directions a challenge—but she and Astra will definitely guide the soft voice down to the maintenance building. That's where everyone's gathered for their meal, after all.

As soon as she and Astra can get reoriented, they'll be very helpful guides.

4:32 PM

Tanya bursts into the maintenance building.

"Code fucking red," she shouts.

Everyone stops talking and turns to her.

"Well pardon me if I don't know all the language, but the two restaurant girls just got swarmed by Psilocyber, and they're going to be coming here next."

Sterling jumps into action. "Alright, everyone get where you're going and do it now. The Brights aren't going to want to hurt anyone, but let's not give them the opportunity. Tanya, you and I need to get to communications HQ now."

"Sterl—"

"Now."

That voice, her mind says. Everything goes simple in an instant. "Yes," she says, then thinks, There are other people around, I can't use his proper name, "Sterling."

He leads her back out the front doors—a risk, she recognizes, but one he'll take in exchange for moving faster. Time is of the essence if the Brights are already on the scene. The two of them move quickly down the street, provided cover by a series of vehicles parked haphazardly all over the road. The first drops of a spring rain are starting to fall. Silver Tongue is talking on his phone, but he's told her to pay attention to their surroundings, not to him, and that's simple, so she doesn't have to focus on what he's saying. A drone flies overhead, and she can tell by the coloration that it's not one from the Brights or the police, so it must be from the docks. Not something she needs to worry about. On a nearby rooftop she catches a glimpse of someone with a camera; again, likely someone from communications, not an issue.

"WELL WELL," comes a thickly-accented voice from her right. She grabs Sterling's arm and the two of the come to a halt. A brute of a man is standing there in an intersection between two large pickup trucks, wearing only fur-lined leather shorts and boots and a grey mask and carrying a glow vaguely shaped like a battle-axe. "IT SEEMS OUR TWO MOST WANTED CRIMINALS ARE WORKING TOGETHER."

"Hello, Axe," Silver Tongue says, turning to face their interloper. "So nice to finally meet you."