Somers Bar was just like dozens of other run-down dives: dreary, depressing, and filthy, crawling with bugs in both the kitchen and basement, riddled with rat tunnels, overflowing dumpsters, and so many health code violations it would make the Department of Public Health in Brockton Bay faint.
"It's like neutral waters. Or Switzerland," Tattletale explained, dressed in her 'work' attire—a tight lavender bodysuit and a half-mask covering the top half of her face. She had a pistol in a molded plastic holster on her belt, throwing knives strapped above her knee, and spare mags in pouches at her waist. All together, she looked like a character in some video game marketed to horny teenagers—way too much latex and way too many weapons. Just what the target demographic loves.
"This is where capes meet when they want to talk business without devolving into a bloodbath. Sure, there are some who don't give a damn about the rules, but most stick to these unspoken agreements. As for Coil… that bastard believes in rules too much. I think he'll follow them. I doubt he'll attack us here. I'm worried about something else."
"I get it," I nod. Tattletale's worried that he'll 'drip poison into my ear', like Hamlet's uncle. Charm me with sweet talk. Well, good luck with that, Mr. Coil. Let's see what kind of monster you really are. What could possibly make me follow someone who forced Lisa to work for him at gunpoint, really meaning his threats? Tattletale can smell a bluff a mile away—if Coil hadn't been ready to carry out every one of his threats, she'd have never bought them. He made her form her own crew, ran his games through them, and now what? What could a two-bit crime boss say to seduce me to his side? Threaten me? Please. I'm the one who can threaten anyone in this city. My power, my strength, my skills—they're enough to take any cape off the board. Kaiser, Hookwolf, Fenja and Menja, Purity, Armsmaster, Miss Militia, whatever. And don't even get me started on those pathetic Merchants. I'm just getting started. One of my powers is Tinker, and it means little in the short-term, but if I give Toku enough time to build von Neumann machines, buy up thousands of clock mechanisms and build mechanical spiders controlled by my bugs, arm them, plate them with armor and silk… machines building machines in my basement, in the Hive. Flying drones, every size and shape. Someday, I'll move beyond this insect curse. I'll have vehicles, ranged weapons, ideas just spinning in my mind. Just give me time and leave me alone, and I'll become so much more.
So yeah, threatening me now is pointless, even self-destructive. Especially since I'm not exactly in a friendly mood. If Coil dares even one threat, he dies—right here and now, at this very table, as I watch the life fade from his eyes, squeezing his throat and breaking his spine. Just let him try.
"Chill, Taylor," Tattletale said. "What's up with you? Get a grip. I mean, I wouldn't mind burying him myself, but you're being impulsive."
"I know," I reply shortly. I close my eyes, exhale. What's wrong with me? Why did the fight with the Dallon sisters hit me this hard? Is it all just Victoria's aura? Did she really get under my skin, make me dependent already? Because I'm acting like some love-struck idiot, worrying over nothing and ready to snap for the smallest reason. If I'm honest, from the very first meeting, Glory did something to my brain; I can barely think rationally around her. And it's not like she's even nearby—I could flatten her like a steamroller does an egg. But no, I'm drooling over her like a horny teenager at a Hooters. Victoria Dallon—the real Mastermind? I grit my teeth and open my eyes to see Tattletale's lavender-and-black mask across from me.
"Wait. Hold on…" she says, two fingers pressed to her temple. "Seriously? Wait, wait… are you crazy? You had such an advantage! You could have figured out his civilian identity!"
"What are you talking about?" I ask, genuinely confused.
"This," she thrusts her wrist at my face. "Don't think I don't know about your beacons! They'd be useful right about now. We could've uncovered Coil's identity—had some kind of leverage."
"Lisa—"
"Tattletale. In costume, we're capes. You're Lady Bug. I'm Tattletale," she cuts me off. I sigh. She's right. In costume. Tattletale in her lavender and black, me with my face covered by bugs. Ordinary insects, while the Kunoichi hide in my hair, and the Medici and Stings lurk above the ceiling. Right now, there's enough neurotoxin in Somers to wipe out half the city. My mask is made of black-chitin bugs—brooding as night, centipedes, spiders, beetles. Convenient, actually—if I get an itch, I can have a centipede scratch it for me. Those jaws are strong.
"Tattletale," I say, "listen—"
"Not going to argue. My opinion stands: it was a dumb move. And Glory's got no power over your head, your brain's just bent that way. You just idolize her, that's all. You've got a thing for cute heroine-capes. Look at your room! If you had a swimsuit poster of Tattletale, you'd be mooning over me, too. But I'm just a villain—villains don't get merch. No posters, no figures with anatomically correct ratios, no hug-pillows or undies with my face on them. My condolences."
"You sure? It's just, with Glory…"
"…You're a little too soft on her? Ha. That's the very definition of 'fangirl.' Sign up for the club, there's one just for you. I think it's called the Glorious Fangirls. You'd be perfect—she noticed you! Next time you meet, she'll probably try to bash your brains out, but hey, worth it, right? You're the only fangirl who ever got under Glory Girl's skin—literally, sticking your worm inside her, not just metaphorically. Or, you know, 'stuck it in'? Penetrated? Entered? Tell me, did she moan when you did it?" Lisa bites her lips and lets out a breathy, theatrical moan. "'Oh, I'm Glory, put your worm inside me! It's so big! So… wormy! Oh yes, Lady Bug, I'm on fire!'"
"Li—Tattletale! Stop. Right now!" I hiss at her.
"Come on. Drop those silly girls from your head. Not worth it. Victoria Dallon isn't worth the dirt under your toenail, honey. Amy Dallon, that's another story. Stay away, at least until her urge to turn you into a sentient suffering jelly wears off. Either way, it's just teenage drama. 'Oh no, the popular girls don't want to hang out with me!' Focus on the here and now. We have important business."
"You're right," I nod. Classic Tattletale—gets under my skin just to show me how dumb I'm being. Okay, I think, one problem at a time. Priority now: Coil.
"There's a car pulling up outside. Black, luxury model, armored. Not a single bug inside," I say. "That him?"
"Most likely. Bastard's always prompt." Tattletale checks her watch. "To the minute."
I don't turn. I already know—the door to Somers opens and in comes a tall, lean figure in a slick black suit. His face is completely hidden by a full-face mask, black and white in a swirling pattern. He's alone, though I notice two heavily armed men, also masked, posted outside.
"Fifteen. Tattletale," he says dryly, giving us a polite nod. "May I?"
"Go ahead. Coil, I presume?" I rise. Tattletale purposely keeps her seat, arms crossed.
"The pleasure is all mine to meet such promising young women." Coil shakes my offered hand, ignoring Tattletale's silent protest. He pulls out a chair and sits at our table.
"Let's not waste time," he says. "I don't like you, Fifteen. You're impulsive, reckless, always making snap decisions without thinking. You jump from crisis to crisis. You react, not plan. You're chaotic and careless. You're cynical and cruel. Far too cruel, in my opinion."
"Hah." I fold my arms. So that's the last thing the infamous Coil is going to say? Maybe I shouldn't even wait until he's done talking—just smash his skull in now. I picture flipping the table onto him, pinning him to the chair and driving my fist down like a hammer. Seriously, he's going to lecture me, of all people?
"He's pushing your buttons. Relax," Tattletale says. "Puppeteer."
"You, on the other hand," Coil turns to her, "I've always liked you. Not as smart as you think, but that'll pass. It always does. Experience—"
"What?! You? How… when… You bastard! I'll kill you!" Tattletale shoots up, frantically grabbing for her belt, tearing her gun free.
"Wait." I catch her hand, stopping her. "Didn't you say Somers is neutral ground? What's going on?"
"You don't get it… He—every month! Every fucking month! You! Bastard!" Lisa's hands shake. "Every goddamn month! How did you do it?! Aaargh! I hate you!"
"That wasn't you," Coil says calmly, folding his arms. "You're safe and sound, threatening me with a gun. On neutral ground, mind you."
"What the hell is going on?!" I raise my voice.
"Perhaps I can answer, Fifteen." Coil's voice is eerily calm in contrast to Lisa's rage. I've never seen her like this—she's always sarcastic, composed. Now her face is blotched with red, her breathing rough, pistol clenched in her fist.
"Every month…" she mutters. "On the fifteenth. You did it by schedule? You sick asshole, you did it by schedule?! Shit! Let me go! Okay, I'm done, fine. I won't kill him here. Let go of me, Lady Bug."
"All right." I let her go, and she lingers, weighs the pistol in her palm, then spits on the floor and holsters it. Sits down, arms crossed, eyes burning holes in him.
"Tattletale—that is, her power—figured out that I tortured her. Every month. On a schedule. Yes, I had a schedule. But now, it's not my problem anymore. Now it's yours, Fifteen. Your problem is making sure she doesn't betray you or stab you in the back. Know how many times I tortured her while we worked together? Twenty-five times. Know how many times she plotted to betray me, plotted ways to destroy everything I built? Twenty-five times. Every single time, she was planning something."
"You tortured Tattletale?" I clarify. Somewhere deep inside, rage starts boiling, and my bugs on the ceiling start buzzing in protest. The Butcher stirs within: nobody tortures my people but me.
"Unfortunately, yes. However—" Coil raises a finger, "before you sic your bugs on me, and Miss Wilbourn puts a bullet in my brain—don't you want to know why I did it? I could have skipped this meeting entirely, knowing Tattletale's power would expose my secret. More than that, sitting with you here, she now knows exactly how my power works. But unlike you, Fifteen, I'm only human. You could kill me at a whim, with a single finger. So could Miss Wilbourn. And if you're really just a child, maybe you will. Why ask tough questions and search for the truth, when you could just kill everyone, right, Miss Hebert?"
"You know my civilian identity," I narrow my eyes.
"To save us all some discomfort…" In one smooth motion, Coil removes his mask: "Thomas Calvert. Pleased to meet you, ladies."
"What does this mean?" I ask. Coil revealing his civilian identity, just like that? Why?
"It means you and I are allies," he says, breathing out. "Fifteen, you're the first Butcher who hasn't gone mad. PRT thinks it's temporary, but I know you've figured out how to keep them under control—probably thanks to your bug powers."
"You tortured my friend. How? Did you do it in her dreams, wipe her memory, heal her after? Or—"
"His power, he lives through two probability lines. In one he tortures me, in the other he doesn't. Then he drops the one he doesn't like, with only he left remembering it," Lisa explains, arms crossed, voice flat. "He's running two lines right now—one where he came to this meeting, one where he packed his bags and bailed on the city. If we kill him here, he loses nothing, and we'll just think he never showed up. Slippery bastard."
"You flatter me, Miss Wilbourn," Coil—no, Thomas Calvert—replies, adjusting his cuff. "But you're right. Killing me here wouldn't be much of a loss on my part."
"Skrr-skrr-skrr…" Lisa makes a weird noise, and suddenly Thomas Calvert, confident up to now, flinches. He gulps, neck muscles twitching. I glance at Lisa. Her usual sly smile is back, but this time with something dangerous behind her eyes.
"So you figured that out too," Coil mutters under his breath. "Always were a sharp one."
"I know exactly what you want," Lisa says. "Maybe you'll get it. But you don't understand what you're getting into, Thomas. You've bitten off way more than you can chew, and soon you'll be choking on it. Greed isn't a virtue."
"Let's start at the beginning." Thomas Calvert pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his brow, trembling. He swallows and closes his eyes, exhaling.
"I'm not just Coil. I'm also a PRT consultant, under contract," he says. "That's how I know your civilian ID, Miss Hebert. The PRT leaks like a sieve; it always has. This info won't stay secret for long. Soon, everyone will know. That'll mean big trouble for you and your dad, who, if I recall, leads the dockworkers' union. Miss Hebert! Relax, I'm not threatening you or your dad. I could, maybe, given my power and resources. But you and I—we want the same thing: to make this city safe and prosperous. To start, just this city. I've got enough highly paid professionals to keep order, but they're just people, well-trained and well-armed. To deal with capes, you need capes. And that's where you come in, Miss Hebert. Nobody wants to mess with Butcher Fifteen."
"And why the hell would I dance to your tune, Coil?" I demand, seeing where this is heading. "Why ally with you? Even if it was in 'other realities,' you tortured Lisa. That's reason enough for me to kill you. Slowly. And now you want me to work for you? For what? To serve this city up on a silver platter? You got your wires crossed, Coil?"
"Oh, you misunderstand. I'm not offering you a job," Coil shakes his head. "I'm offering to work for you. All my resources, my mercs, my connections, all my money—yours. I, and my power, will be at your service."
"What? What the—"
"It's simple, Miss Hebert. You and I, we have the same goal. Make Brockton Bay safe and prosperous. What does it matter who's in charge? I admit, I hurt Miss Wilbourn, but I assure you it wasn't for pleasure. I'm not some deranged sadist; I take no joy from torturing young women."
"Sure you don't…" Lisa mutters, "but you do love being the smartest guy in the room."
"That's your job, Miss Wilbourn," he acknowledges. "You're the smart one. And I sincerely apologize for my actions, though let me remind you one last time: all this happened in different realities. I can't be blamed for something that only 'might have' happened. I'm not making excuses—everyone plays out probabilities in their heads, right? In this timeline, I've never even laid a finger on you, Miss Wilbourn, and the most you can accuse me of is initial blackmail recruitment. That's all. In territory controlled by my people—we don't sell drugs, steal, rape, or extort at night. No racketeering. I want the whole city to be the same. If that means I hand power over to Miss Hebert, so be it."
"Slick bastard…" Lisa narrows her eyes, turning to me. "Let's just kill him, huh?"
"The assets will be ready for transfer Friday. You'll have access to all money and accounts by this evening, I'll send you the logins and passwords. The financial reports are in there too. Folks will be notified by Friday, and command can be officially transferred whenever you wish, Miss Hebert. I also have access to a decent lab and Tinker workshops. Your father, Mr. Hebert, is already under 24/7 discreet protection, but my people would prefer not to have to sneak around. Still, that's your call. And… here." He slides a ring of keys and cards onto the table. "These are the access keys to the main base, the vault, and the armored command post."
"Slick, isn't he?" Lisa says. "Already worming his way into your head, Taylor! You see it!"
"Orders, boss?" Coil ignores her with practiced ease, turning to me. "We have a lot to do."