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Kurt rested his elbows on the faux-mahogany bar, letting his eyes run over the resin material. He could see the minute flaws etched into the surface, whether they were scratches caused by Rebecca’s invulnerable nails tapping the counter or circular water stains caused by David not using a coaster. Superfluous details flowed into his mind as he rested his head on one hand and looked closer. Width of countertop: one foot and ten inches. Height of the barstool he sat on: two feet and six inches. Diameter of his whiskey snifter: two point five inches.
Distance between him and a wasted Contessa: two feet, one point two five nine nine three inches.
The bogeywoman of Cauldron was slumped over a half-drained wine glass. She had buried her hatless head in her arms, unbrushed hair draping over a line of empty drinking vessels, including a mead horn Kurt knew she had torn off the head of a bovine Case 53. A little bit gauche, but he couldn’t begrudge her her trophies.
Contessa raised her head morosely and downed the rest of her wine. She stared at her reflection in the ruddy dregs (Refractive index of remaining wine: 1.3525) and mused, “I wonder if Alexandria and the others have reached the fight yet.”
Kurt opened his mouth to answer an affirmative, already having crunched the flight speed numbers versus the Simurgh’s predicted movements versus the rotation of Earth Bet’s stratosphere at 43.0722°N—
“Don’t answer that. You can get so smug sometimes.” Sighing, Contessa raised a hand at the gentle vortex behind the bar that marked the Custodian’s presence. “Tequila, neat. Please.”
Watch out, the Custodian signed.
“You’re not in charge of me,” Contessa retorted. “Watch out for yourself and your loveless relationship with Doctor Mother’s secretary.”
A portal unseamed the air behind them. The Simurgh soared past in the space beyond, orbited by a halo of gleaming weapons. She inclined her head toward the two on the other side of the portal, the movement accompanied by the Shepard tone of her angelic song. Visible through the gaps between her wings was a glowing green figure.
Contessa waved jauntily at Eidolon before he sent a flurry of energy blasts at the Simurgh, at which point the portal snapped closed.
The Custodian flourished her power to blow Contessa’s hair into her face. Told you to watch out.
Somewhere else in the labyrinthine facility, Doormaker cursed at his failure to do what Clairvoyant had sworn was impossible— scaring the Number Man into admitting that death wasn’t just “a shared delusion, like friendship or the stock market.”
“Dragon will eventually try to contact Legend, asking how the Triumvirate arrived so early to today’s fight,” Kurt said before taking a sip of his whiskey. The dour mood of the darkened company bar dampened the heat of it as it slid down his throat. He took another sip and tried to savor the taste. Even without activating his power, he could predict how much time would elapse between this moment and a miserable hangover.
A glass of tequila slid to a stop in front of Contessa. Patterns in the swirling air revealed the Custodian shaking her head judgmentally before pacing away to wipe down spare cups.
Contessa considered her drink, then downed the glass in one gulp. She coughed; a drop of liquor flew from her nose. She glared at Kurt and wheezed, “Path to erasing records of Doormaker activity. Already complete. Easy. I can do better. Ask me to find a way to get the Custodian to serve better drinks.”
“It’s not her fault that your tastes have become too rich for the company bar.” Kurt lifted his hand to his chin and struck a Rodinesque pose. “For example, when was the last time you had a cup of coffee that wasn’t made from freshly-ground Panamanian Geisha beans? Children on Earth Tav die to harvest those beans, you know.”
The Custodian gestured for his attention from behind the bar. She drank from your coffee this morning. She backwashes.
Contessa waved a middle finger in his direction and flopped back onto the bar. “And factory workers die on Earth Aleph to crystallize your instant Folgers.” Her voice, slightly slurred, dropped to a thoughtful mutter: “Path to stopping people from dying to make coffee.”
Kurt watched her expression change from day-drunk to daydreamy. “Well?”
“Eh, too many steps. Path to stopping children from dying to make coffee. Oh, that’s doable.” Contessa struggled up from her stool and knelt on the bar, reaching feebly for a bottle of spiced rum on the shelf against the wall. “Kurt, help me here.”
He retrieved a pen from his breast pocket and tossed it at the bottle, sending it rolling at the exact angle required to bounce it off of the shelf below and into Contessa’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said primly, before biting the cork off and pouring rum into one of the Solo cups scattered around her. Some sloshed onto the already-sticky floor. She made no moves to get down from her perch, instead taking a swig and toasting Kurt. “Door to Madison.”
Another portal opened in the middle of the room, showing a peaceful field and a dilapidated red barn. A cow poked its head into view.
“Wisconsin,” Kurt clarified. “Not Alabama.”
There was a flash of white, then the door opened to a top-down perspective of the Simurgh as she opened fire on the attacking capes. The sirens from the city below were barely audible, much quieter than the sound of Contessa lobbing her drained glasses through the portal at the Endbringer’s head.
Kurt watched idly as the volley of drinking vessels plummeted 75.928 feet to crash against the faux-seraph’s head. He golf clapped as Alexandria took advantage of the opening to deliver a flying dropkick.
The Simurgh rocketed back from the hit, song suddenly stopping as her concentration was broken. Her marble-like face contorted with frustration and she threw her lithe arms up like a toddler throwing a tantrum. A few telekinetically-controlled weapons were tossed away, much like how alphabet blocks would be tossed away by the aforementioned toddler.
In an instant, the Endbringer twirled upward with an exasperated beat of her wings, disappearing into the atmosphere like a reverse shooting star. Below her, the attacking capes stared in confusion.
Alexandria seemed to be the only one to notice the tiny window into Cauldron’s headquarters. The set of her shoulders indicated disappointment in their operational security and general disapproval of Contessa’s inebriated state.
The portal closed with an air of finality. Unseen, Doormaker sighed and forked over a wad of bills to the Clairvoyant. It seemed as if Cauldron’s resident accountant would be cowed by nothing more than the wrath of the IRS.
“See, Path to stopping the current Simurgh attack completed,” mumbled Contessa. She ran a hand through her messy hair and settled into the countertop. “Easy. Just needed to ruin her cool moment. Custodian, grab me dinner from the break room fridge?”
There was a portentous stillness as the eddies of air went still. Eventually the Custodian turned to look at Kurt.
Kurt looked back. From his back pocket he drew his bullet journal, already uncapping the attached pen to take notes. “What exactly did you say, Contessa?”
She can’t do that, gestured the Custodian in visible bafflement. Since when has she been able to do that?
Contessa looked back at them, blissful expression faltering as she replied, “It happened just now. I ought to tell Doctor Mother about this.” Then she clutched her stomach, retched over the side of the bar, and silently Doored away.
“... Well, this is a promising development,” Kurt forced himself to say cheerily. He finished his shorthand transcription of what had just occurred and tucked his notebook back into his pocket. “Now, which one of us cleans her up before the Triumvirate arrive back from the field?”
Nose goes! Multiple incorporeal hands were already touching their incorporeal index fingers to incorporeal noses as the Custodian exclaimed the phrase.
Kurt waved his hand through the nearest figure to dissipate it. “Yes, yes, you’re very clever. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bogeywoman to wrangle. And some Endbringers to stop.”
Noelle shuddered as she felt the bunker shift above her. “Krouse?”
“Yeah, Noelle?” His face on the computer screen flickered. “What is it?”
“I’m scared,” she admitted, fidgeting with her keyboard. Her sweater didn’t relieve the cold and damp, not as much as she’d like. When she tried to shift to get comfortable, the snarling animal mouths across her lower half got louder. “Is it true that Leviathan is attacking?”
He paused, attention drawn somewhere else for a second. “I thought you were asking about the game. Christ, Mars, stop that hunter before he ganks Noelle!”
“Leave me alone, Krouse!” shouted Marissa from off-screen. “The node needs defending!”
Noelle exhaled heavily through her nose. She kited the enemy hunter approaching her, quickly killing her opponent and sending them back to respawn. That opened up enough time to secure the top lane’s defenses, leaving her position safe for the next four minutes until the second item drop.
The others had suggested a game of Ransack to take their minds off the imminent Endbringer attack, but… people on Earth Bet sucked at Ransack. Even Luke, who didn’t play more than a game a week, could solo queue and carry his team to victory without breaking a sweat. Dominating the game meant that any distraction was short-lived and her thoughts could spiral back to Leviathan’s approach.
She watched without satisfaction as the enemy team resigned, and the other Travelers made celebratory noises over the video call.
Krouse smiled at her, reaching a hand out to the screen. “Listen, Noelle. Coil told me that he and his Thinker have the situation under control. Tattletale even said that they know how to stop Leviathan, just that final preparations are being made. Hey, Jess even said that the Endbringers have gotten less dangerous since when we first got here.”
Helpless to resist his reassurance, Noelle smiled back and nodded. “Okay, Krouse,” she said softly, “I’ll follow your lead on this one.” Not that the reminder of their arrival on Bet was a happy thing, or that it didn’t make her think of the Aleph headlines comparing the Endbringers to monster-movie 9/11s, but his words helped.
The sound system of Coil’s base blared to life. Tattletale’s gleeful voice radiated from the speakers nestled in the corners of Noelle’s vault: “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, villains and heroes… Welcome to my master plan to defeat Leviathan!”
“Before he can tank Brockton Bay’s tourism even more than its homegrown Fourth Reich,” snarked Krouse to himself, barely audible.
Marissa’s voice was audible in the background, demanding, “Wait, what’s happening? Skitter, stop, what are you handing me?”
Krouse turned away from the webcam, red-and-black gamer chair blocking the camera. There was the faint buzzing sound of a swarm of insects. “Ooh, thanks, Skitter. I love myself a good bug airdrop.”
He turned back to Noelle and lifted a pair of swim trunks and a bottle of sunscreen up to the camera. His grin was enormous as he asked, “Are you feeling up for a beach day?”
Eidolon hovered above Brockton Bay, mapping the neat line of Boardwalk shops and the web of downtown office buildings. Light rain fell in curtains against his back and shoulders. There were capes, spots of color and metal, congregating in the streets far beneath him.
A voice crackled in his earpiece: “Are you not going to join us down here?”
Legend. Sounding far too cheerful for the situation.
“Legend, I don’t trust Contessa’s judgment on this. She hasn’t failed us before, but organizing this gathering with the help of a villain is just… too strange.” He struggled to keep his tone even. It was frustrating to argue about his colleague, especially since her binge-drinking episode months ago had apparently unlocked the limits on her ability to predict Endbringers. He drank all the time, and that had never helped with his powers!
“Eidolon, please. I won’t deny that she’s been acting unusually since Madison, but it really does seem like her new plans are stopping the Endbringers without the usual loss of life. Tokyo was a success even without Scion!” Legend’s tone veered on patronizing; it was the same tone he used to prompt Keith Junior into eating his peas.
Eidolon huffed, and began flying down to meet Legend on the ground with the rest of the converged forces. Either they would fight an Endbringer, or they would end up experiencing a villain-organized party as uncomfortable as the average Protectorate team building event was. “Yes, and that was awful. What was with the enormous ‘mecha’ she prompted me to create? And yelling at me to ‘get in the robot, David’?”
“It was an homage, apparently, and it worked. Listen, Alex is calling me over, I’ll talk to you in person.”
He landed in front of Legend a minute later, releasing the flight power in favor of a sensory one that would allow him to drown out the sound of eager conversations and excited cheers at his arrival. Eidolon looked around at the crowd and blanched.
They were all wearing… swimsuits. And inflatable floaties in the shape of flamingos and dolphins. Eidolon couldn’t help but lament the situation. Getting massacred by kaijus had once been a respectable affair, but no more. Hero must have been turning in his grave, though each half would probably rotate in a different direction.
Legend, to his horror, was wearing his normal costume with the addition of matching blue swim goggles and flip-flops. “Listen,” he cajoled, “this is our day to relax. Brockton Bay is a nice city, isn’t it?”
Alexandria flew in, stopping before she crashed into a group of capes in matching red-and-black wetsuits. She wore a dark gray tankini, with a frilly skirt wrapped around her waist patterned with the same tower emblem as her costume. “The local Thinker Tattletale assures us that, although there are doubts as to whether the predicted Endbringer attack will occur, most capes are taking this as a rare opportunity to come together and celebrate a shared victory for humanity after the success in Tokyo. Oh look, that’s Leviathan.”
Eidolon whipped his head around to where Alexandria pointed, in the direction of the open ocean. He felt his blood pressure drop further at the sight of a large ripple in the sea, too large to be anything but the Endbringer. To be caught unawares, surrounded by revelers instead of capes prepared to lay down their lives?
Leviathan breached the water like his Biblical namesake, tail lashing as he clawed his way across the beach. His green eyes gleamed like emeralds set into his glass-smooth face.
One of the capes in red and black shouted into a walkie-talkie, “Noelle, that’s your cue!”
There was a rumble beyond the crowd of gathered defenders. Eidolon held his breath as he and the many other capes turned to look at the source of the disturbance. The ground rumbled beneath their feet.
A mass of flesh and contorted animal limbs reached around the corner of a building, crowned by a diminutive shape. As the creature drew close, he realized it was a young woman, almost cowering as her lower body gnashed and snarled at the parahumans around it. But she wore a colorful striped swimsuit top in opposition to her grim appearance, and the beach-themed attire extended to her bottom half. Every animal head was topped with a pair of sunglasses or goggles, and the eerily-human hands reaching from the bottom of the mass of flesh wore floaties.
The girl— Noelle? —lurched through the quickly-parting mass of capes. She raised her head, brushed back her braided hair, and extended a hand towards the approaching Endbringer.
“Um, we invite you to our all-capes-allowed celebration on the Brockton Bay waterfront,” she recited. Her voice was quiet, either because of shyness or the ridiculousness of what she was saying. “Let’s party!” finished Noelle weakly.
Leviathan bounded past the dinky stalls set up on the Boardwalk and leapt over the levees set up in advance. A tidal wave followed him, sweeping water into the streets, threatening to drag the massed people away. Eidolon shot upwards and grasped for a Blaster power to begin driving him away.
But the monster stopped the wave at a comfortable knee-height, and lifted his tail to avoid bisecting any unlucky capes. He shook his head and legs like an overexcited dog, and sidled up to the tower of flesh that was Noelle. The Endbringer cocked his head and splashed some water at the girl’s lower body.
The mess of animals growled and barked and screeched happily, and soon Noelle and Leviathan were racing towards the beach, looking like two kids bouncing around a water park. In their wake, the gathered capes were beginning to cheer. Their movements sent the new carpet of water a-splashing, and soon people were beginning to paddle around and generally act like fools.
Legend looked up and smiled at Eidolon. He asked, “So, do you think Contessa’s crazy now?”
“I never said that,” Eidolon fumed. “I just said that staking our defense against Endbringers on a beach party was strange.” He felt a new power tugging at the corners of his awareness and accepted it in favor of his Blaster power.
Immediately, a beach ball spawned in front of him. It fell, hit the water, then was picked up by Alexandria.
She punted it upwards and a chain of events took place that Eidolon would have to replay with a postcognitive power later: a blonde girl in white flew to catch the ball, the girl spiked it towards a mousy teen that Eidolon recognized as Panacea, Panacea flailed and sent the ball careening into a seven-foot-tall man and the blue-haired boy next to him, and the two promptly fell face-first into the water and stopped moving.
Eidolon would have gone down to check on the two, but Alexandria flew up to meet him.
She wore a wry smirk on her face. “Contessa says I shouldn’t tell you the details of the next Endbringer attack, but I thought you might want some prep time.”
Eidolon felt his mouth open behind his mask, but his words stalled. He thought about when he had gained his powers, how the energy had rushed through him like lightning in a bottle. He felt so drained now. “Let me guess, driving off the Simurgh will involve a dance party. Or a party of any kind, really.”
“How do you feel about family therapy?”