When the bombs went off, they didn't even sound like bombs. Or, at least, they didn't sound like what he expected bombs to sound like. There was no booming sound, nothing to indicate that half the city had just gone to shit. But it did come with a warning sign.
He woke up to a rumble.
It was like a light earthquake, really. When he woke up at three in the morning, he noticed that his room was vibrating. Not hard enough to do more than rattle his alarm clock, but strong enough that he felt it travel through his body. For an almost embarrassingly long time, he didn't realize what was happening.
When he walked out to the hall, he could see that Vista and Velyra had emerged as well, Velyra fully clothed whilst Vista was in her PJs, the two of them in a fierce, whispered conversation.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Some kind of earthquake?"
His bodyguard shrugged. "Haven't the slightest. It's too soon to be an Endbringer, and according to Vista, there isn't a cape she knows of that can actually do something like this."
Something was supposed to happen today. Something important, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. If he had been more alert, then maybe he could have figured it out, but the fog of sleep had him confused.
It was only when a Trooper came in, sprinting, that he realized how bad things were.
"All hands on Deck," the man yelled. "Wards included! Armsmasters asked for everyone to get ready by the entrance, we have vans coming!"
"What's happening?" Vista asked sharply.
The man shook his head in disbelief. "Bakuda. She's gone off the rails. She hitting the Bay."
"Whose territory? Which capes?" Vista demanded.
Huh, that seniority wasn't a joke. The kid was asking the right questions whilst he was just standing there stupidly.
"All territories. Even some of the ABB holdings. This isn't a gang fight, it's a terrorist attack.
"There's bombs going off all over the Bay."
Those words sent a shiver up his spine. This rumbling that had been going on for almost three minutes now…this was all Bakuda?
And she was hitting everywhere?
It didn't take him long to change; his robe was designed so that he could just slip into it, like a shirt. Velyra was waiting for him in the fall, but Vista was suited up and waiting by the entrance, a grim look on her face.
It was probably so grim because he could count five little mushroom clouds erupting all over the city, the orange glow of fire lighting the Bay up.
"Christ above," he whispered to himself. "She's getting a kill order for this, right?"
"Maybe," Vista answered. It seemed he hadn't been as quiet as he thought.
"The fuck do you mean, maybe? She's blowing up the goddamn city! That's the kind of shit that earns you a kill order!"
Vista was shaking her head even before he had finished ranting.
"It depends. Hookwolf's slaughtered almost a hundred people. He's only Birdcage bound. Lung's burned down entire streets before, and even he just has a Birdcage sentence. Oni Lee's done stuff similar to this in the past, just on a smaller scale, and even he'd just be Birdcage-bound. Maybe they'll give her a Birdcage sentence, but even then, I doubt it'll do anything."
"Why?"
This didn't make sense. This was America. If someone bombed a city, no matter how small it was, the government sent three different agencies after them and shot them by dinnertime. Terrorists don't get to roam around the streets. Serial Killers don't get to go home scot-free. They get thrown into the deepest darkest hole America can find and are left to rot or get executed.
The bad guys don't get to win.
…right?
He didn't have any more time for those kinds of thoughts, though, because Armsmaster pulled up on his motorcycle, a couple of vans trailing behind him. The man parked his bike, got off of it, and strode toward them in one smooth motion.
"Alright," he said. "Gallant, Aegis, Clockblocker, Shadow Stalker, and Kid Win will be here shortly. These vans will take them-and you-where you need to go. Wards are on search and rescue duty. The fire department and a few PRT captains will supervise you. If possible, you may also engage in peacekeeping efforts, but your main responsibility will be saving lives, not getting into fights."
With every word he spoke, Vista became more and more alert, as if she was mentally recording everything he was saying. She would probably have to relay it to the others when they arrived.
"If you encounter any capes, hero or villain, immediately inform them that the Protectorate is under Truce conditions, and any help will be welcome."
"But-!"
"Vista."
Armsmaster's voice was cold and brittle.
"We cannot endanger the people we serve. Not today. If we can avoid a fight, then take that chance. Even if you have a golden shot at taking Kaiser in, I want you to walk away. Hundreds of civilians are counting on us right now. We cannot afford to be distracted."
Slowly, the girl nodded, a prominent scowl on her face. Satisfied with her response, the Protectorate leader turned to him.
"Mahito, normally, we would set you up in a hospital and funnel patients to you, but Brockton General was hit. Some kind of cryokinetic explosion. Anyway, Panacea is there now, so the situation is considered stable. What we're going to do is gather up the injured in specific spots, and set up triage centers. I'm told you can fly?"
Hurriedly, he nodded.
"And Velyra is strong enough to jump over buildings. In about thirty minutes, I'm going to send you two sets of addresses on your PRT-issued phones. In the order they are sent to you, you will travel there, heal as many people as you can, and then move on. When you get to the last address on the list, circle back to the first, and rinse and repeat."
"For how long?" he asked numbly.
Armsmaster gave a huff of exhaustion. "Can't really give you an estimate on that. You'll get thirty-minute breaks throughout the day, so don't worry about that. Just…save as much as you can, as many as you can reach."
Welcome to Brockton Bay.
"And the rest of the Protectorate?" Velyra asked. "What will they be doing?"
"Stopping riots, getting things under control beating back the gangs, and getting civilians to shelter. Me, on the other hand?"
Armsmaster started walking back to his bike.
"I'm going after Bakuda."
***********************************************************
When you think of healing, you think of someone in a hospital bed, the healer putting their hands on them, maybe a golden glow to signify healing, and then a happy ending for everyone involved. Clean and nice and safe. At least, that's what he envisioned when he thought of healing. Going from room to room, healing people for two hours a day? That was so easy in his head. He thought he could handle it.
However, when he was pushing Idle Transfiguration to its max as he was trying to stop a scared woman from turning into silicate, healing became a lot more messy, and the stakes became a lot higher.
When you read about the Bakuda bombs, you don't think of how much destruction the woman had wrought. You thought about the types of bombs she had, how strong her power was, and how she had replicated Greyboy's power. You thought about her power, not the person. Bakuda's power was undoubtedly powerful, and he hoped his clone would get his hands on her first; it was too much of a game-changer.
But Bakuda the person?
She was the fucking devil.
Restaurants. Gyms. Libraries. Parks. High Schools. Parking Lots
Hospitals. Daycares. Playgrounds.
He had never really hated anyone before. Not in his previous life. Oh, he had resented others of course. He had gotten jealous of those who had pulled ahead of him. And yeah, he had even resented some people. But truly hate? With every fiber of his being? No, he had never hated anyone.
But he was quite certain that if Bakuda magically appeared in front of him, he would kill her. Even if he was healing someone on death's door.
Fuck his image. Fuck the fact that he was supposed to be a hero. Fuck the way he was supposed to smile at someone as their soul faded in front of him so that their last thought was that they had been saved.
He wanted to curse Bakuda to death.
Third-degree electrical burns that left lightning bolt scars seared into the skin. Extreme frostbite that would normally mean amputation. Nerves that had been fried in such a way that the victim was in perpetual pain. Appendages that had been turned to dust or diamond. Cancerous growths that were ballooning in people's lungs.
Too much exotic shit. Too much shit he actually had to focus on. He couldn't let Idle Transfiguration fill in the blanks like he could in a hospital. He needed to amputate the limbs, turn the growths into something that could be squeezed through the pores, and keep the brain intact as the nerves continuously sent signals that it was dying in the most gruesome fashion possible.
It soon became a cycle. Heal. Fly. Heal. Fly. Heal. Fly.
He tried to keep track of how many times he had changed healing stations, but he stopped after he hit ten.
He supposed he should have been happy; the bump in his popularity was undoubtedly going to help. Every now and then, he could see someone with a phone or a camera pointed at him. But-
"You can heal him, right?" the man begged. "I-I saw you! You healed that lady who was turning to dust, and you fixed that guy who got his chest turned into glass. You-you can fix my boy, right?"
For every ten successes, there was one failure. And those failures really hurt.
The man was right. He had done those. As arduous as it had been, he had been able to piece that woman together and restore that man. However, that had been because the woman's soul had been strong, and had been forcing itself to stay together, whilst the man's brain had been intact, and that had been enough for him to remove the giant glass shards that had replaced his lungs and ribs, and put flesh in their place.
He could do nothing for the four-foot crystal statue that the man was carrying.
It was curious, really; he should have been focusing on the injustice of the boy's death, but he was really rather focused on his features.
No fear.
No pain, no anger, just surprise. Like he'd said 'oh', as soon as it happened.
Like when you get a surprise party for your birthday, or your sister buys you something you weren't expecting.
Oh.
He shook his head and walked away.
"I can't do anything for him," he said in a raspy voice. His throat hurt. When had he last drunk something? Shit, when had his last meal been?
"Please! I'm begging you, just-just try something! Anything! I-I can't-he can't die like this! He-he has a spelling bee next week, the-the semi-finals, he's been so excited for it, been studying for weeks, I-I even got time off of work to see him-!"
Miss Militia appeared from somewhere, and grabbed the man's elbow gently, trying to move him away.
"Sir, why don't you come with me?"
"No! NO! He's not even fucking trying! He's a fucking hero, and he's not even fucking trying to save my boy! That's not fucking fair, none of this is fucking fair!"
It was almost entrancing, how the fragile hope in his eyes turned to burning hatred.
And all of it was pointed at him.
If he was a jujutsu sorcerer…this would probably become a curse…
"Fuck you! Fuck all of you! Fucking Capes! This shit is yourfault, and you fuckers can't even fix it! I hope you fucking die in the darkest ditch-!"
***********************************************************
"Mahito?" Velyra asked softly. "Are you okay?"
He nodded robotically. "Yeah. I'm good."
They had gotten him a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich that was surprisingly good. It was the first thing he'd eaten in hours. A big, greasy thing that was practically escaping the buns, and had utterly soaked the bag with oil.
A true American meal.
And yet it all tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Velyra, on the other hand, was eating three platters of ribs, with no sauce, and steadily inhaling them.
"What that man said…he was grieving. He didn't mean it."
"I know."
Of course, he knew. He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't going to needlessly blame himself for a death he couldn't stop. None of this was his fault. This was all Bakuda's campaign. Every death fell on her head. He had saved hundreds of people today, maybe even a thousand.
And yet.
"When I joined up," he said softly. "I thought this healing shit was gonna be easy. That I knew what I was getting myself into. I thought I was so smart; that I could avoid the pitfalls that every doctor and nurse had gone through. I thought, for some reason, that I would be…special. That none of this could hurt me. That it was just a job."
"But it's not. I don't think it really hit me before; just howmuch people would need me, you know? Intellectually, I sort of thought of it as supply and demand. Just business. You pay me three million dollars, I slap the cancer out of kids for a cute little photo-op. But that guy…his kid…it didn't feel like business. It didn't feel as impersonal as I thought it would."
"It hurt. It really fucking hurt, ya know?"
He finally understood Amy Dallon.
That constant nagging ache in his stomach, that little voice whispering in his ear that every moment he sat here, eating and chatting, dozens of people were literally dying.
The fact that the sky was a brilliant blue when it should be a stark, horrible grey.
Like the world had deemed all these lives not worth stopping for. That these souls, in the grand scheme of things, were…nothing. That the world had to keep spinning on when it should have stopped.
He understood her now.
How had she lived like this?
Well, he knew the answer to that; she hadn't lived. She had practically chained herself to the hospital, going out at midnight to help others, hating the people she saved, and then hating herself for resenting them. After all, that was how he found her and got Idle Transfiguration.
And he had thought he had been so fucking smart, thinking that he was better than her, able to handle it better because this was his second chance at life.
What a fucking joke.
Velyra didn't say anything though. She just put down her food, and pulled him into a soft, but unbreakable hug.
And if a few tears spilled out while that was happening…well, neither of them was really sure who had started it off.
***********************************************************************************************************************************
The city was on fucking fire, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
She had done this. Her, Grace Nakamura!
Well, of course, she'd fucking done it! She was Bakuda! She was the villain who had broken the stalemate between Coil, E88, and the ABB. She was on fucking top right now!
Where she belonged. Where she had always belonged.
Years of fighting for scraps of affection from her botch of a mother and her ghost of a father. Forcing herself to go nights without sleep to make sure she always got the perfect grade, pushing her body to do its best in each and every situation her mother had forced her into; piano, gymnastics, ballet, fucking tea pouring.
She had wasted her whole life for that fucking bitch, and a B from her dick of a Calculus Professor had flushed all of that down the drain.
Why can't you do anything right Grace?
Do you think this is a game? Your father and I have invested so much into you, and this is how you pay us back?
You're coming back home. Obviously, trusting you to be responsible for yourself was a mistake. No more living on campus.
You'll stay here, where I can keep an eye on you.
Was it any fucking surprise that she had triggered?
One of her favorite memories, oddly enough, was her mother disowning her on live television after her attack in Boston.
It had hit her then; she was fucking free. No more killing herself for a pat on the head. No more being hit with a ruler on the knuckles when she got less than an A. No more school.
No more Mother.
So, naturally, she had gone a little overboard when Lung had brought her here. And of course, the piece of shit had denied it, not wanting to reach for more than what he could hold in his fingers. So, when Lung had gotten himself fucking eaten, she had…let go, for lack of a better term.
And God, it was glorious, the kind of shit she had made. Right now, the heroes were stretched thin with rescues and healing and all that unimportant shit, whilst the Empire and Coil were in their hidey holes, not wanting to get blown up.
And that meant she was able to work on her EMP bomb without impediment. She didn't know how long this thing would take, but she knew when she finished, it could cripple the Eastern Seaboard. No more electricity, no more television, no more hospitals, and no more phone. It'd be like living in the Dark Ages.
She'd call the PRT when she was done, and issue an ultimatum. Clear out her city, or she fucks over America. The E88 would follow soon if they knew what was good for them. Coil, on the other hand…he was a slippery little shit. There were a bunch of times his mercs had nearly caught her, and she'd had to blow up quite a few hideouts because of him. She'd have to dog him out, piece by agonizing piece, but it would be oh-so-delicious when she caught him-
The door to the apartment opened creaky, the creaky hinge sounding like an alarm.
She paused.
"Cheng? Is that you, you fucking dumbass?" she yelled, trying to hide her fear with bravado.
Cheng was one of the dumbasses that wanted to get in her pants, and he had offered her his apartment as a workshop. Regrettably, she hadn't had time to booby-trap it; she'd only gotten here a few hours ago, and she'd immediately started working on the bare bones of the EMP.
That didn't mean that she didn't have a few grenades on her, though.
Footsteps.
She grabbed the grenade, one of the pain manipulation ones.
Well, she was pretty sure it was.
Either way, it would fuck up whoever she was up against.
"Listen here, you son of a bitch; I don't know who you are-!"
Then the figure walked into the light.
"Lee?" she said, lowering the grenade. "Where the fuck have you been?"
She hadn't seen Lee since the night before he'd gotten taken out by that Fester guy.
In answer, the man held up a bunch of bloody rags.
"Oh, right, you got fucked up. Not gonna lie, dude, thought you were dead."
Lee shrugged.
"Well, now that you're here, you can help me. Um, I don't have a lot of grenades on me, I got about four, but they're all doozies. Here, take this one."
She tossed the grenade to him, and the man caught it neatly, adding it to his bandolier.
"Oh, you know what? Take that shit, and the others, and go to the mayor's house. Just fuck his shit up. I heard he's got a wife and two little kiddies. If you can glass them-
Lee moved much faster than she had thought. In less than a second, he had the machete strapped to his leg up in the air and had it flying down by the time she realized what he had done.
The steel did not cut through her arm like butter. It stopped halfway through the bones of her forearms. Then, Lee twisted the blade like a cork bottle top, causing the bone to break, and for blood to fly into the air.
She screamed.
It Hurt! It hurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt!
So consumed by the pain, that she wasn't ready for the downward slash that neatly cut through the meat of her thigh.
She fell, screaming and crying as white-hot flashes of pain seared up her mangled arm and cut up leg. This hurt so bad, so so bad! But, she needed to push it away, She needed to ignore the pain, the way she had she had pushed the pain in her bleeding feet away as she forced herself to pirouette through the air. She just needed to grab the other grenades on the table and throw them at this fuckers face. Then, she could-
Lee stomped on her leg wound, and the pain was too much.
She blacked out.
**************************************************************
"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!" an annoyingly cheerful voice called out.
She woke up, her limbs numb and unresponding. Her mouth was thick and filled with dry blood, and it felt like it was full of cotton balls.
She remembered what had happened. Lee, the fucking traitor, had attacked her, nearly killing her. But now, she was in…some kind of clinic? She didn't recognize the place, but it looked like a hospital. She was in a bed, with a single light shining down on her face.
And in the corner of her vision, she could see three shadowy figures. One of them was undoubtedly Lee, the other someone a bit shorter than her, and someone taller than the both of them.
"Man, you are a deep sleeper," the other figure said with a laugh. "I kept expecting you to wake up during the operation, but you were in deep. Nice drugs, Lee."
"The ABB doctor always carries the strongest ones on hand," the mad bomber said quietly. "Though, I was worried he might have given Bakuda too much despite our wishes. His granddaughter was injured in the bombings."
Lee can speak? She thought incredulously. Wait: operation?
A cold chill ran down her spine.
"Ah, Bakuda," said the short figure with a sigh. "You made this so unnecessarily hard, you know? You could have just let us find you, and take you down, nice and easy. Instead, you had to end the souls of three hundred and seventy-four people and maim four hundred more. Were it not for my brother and his skills, this would have ended as a horrible tragedy."
"FUFGH YOUGH!" she tried to shout. But her mouth wouldn't cooperate.
"Witty comeback," the other man said dryly. "The only reason you're alive is that your power is much too useful. I'll admit, the variant you gave is delicious, and almost as strong as your own power, but you have variety, something I lack. So, here you are. Alive, despite the souls you've stolen."
Okay. Okay. She didn't understand everything that fucker said, but she knew that he wanted her power. She could figure something out, a way out with her abilities.
"Of course, we had to make sure that you, ah, couldn't try your usual tricks. I didn't have the stomach for it, but Lee was unusually enthusiastic, and Kuro was really hungry."
Bakuda froze. No, no, no, no, they wouldn't, these fuckers wouldn't, they wouldn't dare-
She did her best to sit up, and her eyes widened as she realized why she couldn't feel her limbs.
They were gone.
Just little stumps ending at her elbow and knees.
And nothing else.
"I also knew that you could use your tongue to finagle your way out, so, I had to take that too."
Oh. Oh god no.
She was in the hands of psychopaths.
A hand grabbed her face, and she was forced to look into the eyes of a Japanese boy only a few years younger than her.
There was fury in those eyes.
"You don't get to end people's stories like that. " he spat. "You don't get to interrupt people's lives, to take love and pride and happiness from them. That was never your choice. Did you really think that I would let you walk away?
"Monsters don't get happy endings. Remember that."
He slammed her head back and moved away.
"Of course, we'll fix you up. But you've lost the right to an identity, a life, a mind. Three hundred plus souls, Grace. Gone, because of you. Nah, you don't get to choose anymore."
What the fuck is he talking about?
As if hearing her unspoken question, he continued.
"Every night at midnight, my brother releases Idle Transfiguration for ten minutes, allowing the rest of us to use it as we see fit. It is now eleven fifty-five; in five minutes, I will have the power to completely and utterly destroy you as a person. I will rip apart everything that makes you, you. There will be nothing left of Grace Nakamura, or Bakuda."
"So enjoy these last few minutes, Grace. They're gonna be the last you'll ever remember."