The Girl

Taylor Hebert. "I'll tell you right off the bat, I really hate all of this." - Marvin Milk said into the void. That's how the man was introduced, anyway, by Mallory. - "I didn't take this job to be the first to arrange an escape for these same supers from the hospital for these same supers. No offense, Skitter." "I understand you perfectly. But I don't have much choice, and neither do you," Mallory made her position clear about the few members of their future... team. And frankly, at this point, the whole situation seemed rather amusing to her. Perhaps Contessa's Path was not without some wicked sense of humor. She, Taylor Hebert, the former Weaver, the former Khepri, was now relegated once again to pathetic Skitter, a mere handyman working for the big bosses with the same kind of misfits. It was as if the wheel had taken a complete turn, stopping again at its starting point. Marvin had an impressive build and the rather distinctive habits of a professional military or mercenary. At any rate, Taylor had often observed similar manners in the Coil's Mercenaries. However, despite what she had said earlier, Marvin didn't seem overly enraged by what was going on. Rather displeased, but as far as Taylor could tell, not enough to make a difference in future interactions. It was something to work with. At the voice of her swarm, everyone in the room shuddered. "Putain de merde!" - Quietly the second person in the room cursed. Mallory said his name was Serge, but she either forgot or didn't give his last name for some other reason, and it wasn't that Taylor was particularly interested. The main thing was that the vice-director introduced him as a specialist in weapons, design of gadgets and extraction of other useful materials, which interested Taylor a lot. However, the guy's appearance was... Anyway, if Taylor had been on Earth, in Brockton Bay in its most sinister years – and the guy might well have been confused with some member of the Merchants. She knew that kind of face all too well, those distinctive bruises and the general drabness of his face. However, she had long since retrained herself to judge people by their appearance. "I agree with Serge here. What the fuck, Skitter?! You should've warned us!" - Marvin continued the thought. "We have to work together. And it'd be better if you got used to me dong those things without jumping up every time." "The hell you can't get used to that around here, Skitter. Fuckin' supers with their fuckin' habits." "I knew a guy who had a habit of freezing people in time. One handshake and the next thing you know, ten minutes have passed, a crowd of gawkers have gathered around you, and there's a pigeon sitting on your head. And believe me when I tell you that this isn't even in the top twenty most fucked up habits I know. I'm the least of the evils you'll encounter." - She had of course embellished Clockblocker's habits a bit, but given his character, she wouldn't have been surprised if those rumors would be a real thing. Judging by the thoughtful look on her interlocutors' faces, you could guess that they were pissed "But I think we've had enough leisure. We should move on to a discussion. What do you think?" Serge nodded. "I like it. I like the discussion. Do I understand correctly that we need to get you out of a heavily guarded hospital in the middle of Washington, DC, with not only the nursing staff watching you around the clock, but also Black Noir?" "In general terms, that's the idea" Serge clapped his hands together and leaned back in his chair. "Brilliant. Because, ladies and gentlemen, there's no way in hell that we'll manage something like that" Marvin raised an eyebrow. "Not that I disagree, but can you clarify?" The self-proclaimed "Agent Leon" sighed and began to speak, constantly interjecting obscure French words. "This is Washington, crétin. Half the people in this city are either big shots or their guards. Even if we work for the CIA, that doesn't mean the police, the FBI or the Secret Service know about us. The police response time within the city limits is four minutes, tops. We try something like that and we're screwed. No one will look into it, they'll just shoot us. Not to mention Noir. Putain de Merde. That guy is the Devil. A couple of my friends used to sell guns to the cartel goons. There was one guy among them. Survivor of one of the Black Noir raids. Out of forty guys in the warehouse, he was the only one left alive because he fell asleep on the crapper. Said he'd never seen so many dismembered bodies in his life. We just couldn't handle him. Not in open combat." "I was under the impression that you were a specialist in creating a means of countering the supers." Frenchman grimaced. "Countermeasures, mon amie, not miracles! The supers I usually encounter don't wear metamaterial-enhanced Kevlar from head to toe. Ordinary supes, they're ordinary supes, not Seven!" "Okay. Let's say the option of doing everything out in the open is ruled out. What about the stealthy option?" Here Marvin already shook his head. "I don't think it'll work. Skitter, you said yourself that they're watching you all the time, including Noir. Even if you can disable the alarms and CCTV, which would certainly draw attention, it doesn't throw Noir off the scent. And with no civilians around, he'll have far less reason to hold back." Taylor, herself in the hospital chamber, tried to think more about presented situation. The mobility she'd lost was now returning in leaps and bounds, but she was still a long way from full recovery. Nor was Taylor's unaccustomed one-armedness helping matters. The loss of her main arm was... disarming. A good portion of her melee and medium-range combat skills required precise coordination, and the loss of her right arm made her usual tricks much more difficult to perform. Breaking through the virtually inevitable battle with Black Noir, whose abilities were unknown to the general public, was an extremely dangerous decision, even with outside assistance. An option of last resort, if there was nothing else. Suddenly an idea popped into her head. The jigsaw puzzle of the disparate information that had been coming into her brain as background noise over the past few days finally came together into a more or less coherent picture. "Then the only option we have left would be to attack the transport." And she really hoped that idea would work.

***

Friday. Early morning. With an unbelievable effort of will, Taylor forced herself to wake up four hours before her scheduled morning rounds. Strictly speaking, she didn't like the idea of being sleep-deprived on the day of her scheduled escape, but she didn't have much choice. Yesterday, Zachariah, with his face drained of despair, had informed her as neutrally as possible that today would be her, Taylor's transfer to the "superhero recreation center," as he called it. Taylor was well aware of the name of the place and the very creepy reputation of the place, at least according to the few comments and emotions on the faces of the people who were aware of its existence. As a consequence of the inevitability of this event, there followed the necessity of putting into action her intended escape plan. And the first step in her escape was the necessity to disarm all the specialized syringes intended for the supers. Previously, she had learned through experience that ordinary syringes simply could not pierce her skin, so the nursing staff had to use a highly specialized, expensive, and sparse set of super-syringes with increased penetration. The problem was that these devices, along with a set of specialized needles, were stored in a tightly secured room. Accessing it head on, would've another suicide plan. But two weeks of reconnaissance did the trick. The hinged ceiling in the secured room concealed an ordinary concrete ceiling, albeit reinforced. There, in the gap between the plastic panels and the actual ceiling was a fairly wide hole designed for the wiring and CCTV. This hole had originally been sealed with plaster, but not too neatly, and as a result, her insects were able to make the necessary holes to gain the access from an adjacent but far less protected room. The next obstacle was to be the surveillance system. Insects were certainly a very inconspicuous weapon, but in the numbers she needed for the next phases of her plan, the surveillance had to be disabled in some way. However, this phase of the plan was not difficult and had been completed a few days ago. The guard on duty soon noticed the camera not working and passed the information on upstairs. But this storage room was not at the top of the priority list, and as a result, the repairman was not due until this afternoon, which clearly played into Taylor's hands. Finally, the final obstacle was the special cabinet, which contained the machine and a set of needles. The situation with the cabinet would also seem hopeless, because judging by the stickers on the doors, the cabinet was equipped with tight magnetic locks. And if getting inside wasn't too difficult for a swarm of insects, due to the air vents in the back of the cabinet, but she needed open doors to get the needles out. But luckily for her, the hospital management apparently decided to save money on these cabinets, figuring that the security level was already high enough, so while investigating the cabinet it quickly became clear that the magnetic locks are fairly easy to disable along with the cabinet thanks to an almost invisible toggle switch on the back panel. It took a fair amount of effort for her insects to make the coveted click happen, but it all worked out in the end. The next step was a matter of technique. She pushed more insects into the room, gradually opened the door with the help of ants and flies, and then began systematically pushing the needles lying on the shelf to the floor. As soon as several packs of rather heavy syringes fell to the floor with a slight clang, an entire team of insect engineers stepped in. Several dozen spiders wrapped their webs around the packages, creating a kind of threaded framework with web cables for the other insects. Then dragonflies, flies and other large flying insects were involved. The working spiders carefully wrapped the web around the flying insects, securing the ropes to these bodies. The insects were then lifted into the air in an imitation of the methods of air transportation used by humans. Ants guided the process of movement. Such an operation could by no means be called fast, but that is why she had to wake up so early. In the end, however, it was a success. One by one the packages fell to the floor, dragging the insects, which were bound with spider ropes, with them. Having restored order with fresh strength and moved the bodies out of the way, Taylor quietly moved all the needles to a dark far corner of the room under another cabinet, and then carefully masked the packages with a bandage unwrapped specifically for this purpose. This concluded the first phase of her plan; all she had to do next was to wait.

***

Senior nurse Joy, could barely contain her yawn. Her usual daily routine was interrupted today by the disgusting fact that the coffee machine was out of coffee. At all. She had no idea how something like that could even happen, let alone at the wrong time. It was totally unacceptable, but there was nothing to do - she had to work. Especially in view of the very strict instructions Dr. Sard had left for one of her patients. Joy remembered exactly what was going on in the hospital the day Ann was brought in. There had never been such excitement in all the eight years she had worked in the hospital. All the doctors in charge, all the specialists – everyone was on their toes. However, Joy understood them well. She had helped doctors with medical examinations and tests for supers, and she couldn't help but realize how rare such patients were. Metahumans didn't get sick, very rarely injured enough to require hospitalization, and had an average lifestyle that was beyond the reach of the common man. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, she appeared. When the girl was taken to the intensive care unit it was very difficult to know if she would survive. A very young girl, possibly even a minor, she looked extremely bad. Two penetrating bullet wounds to the head, to the average person it sounded like a death sentence carried out twice. But by some miracle, with Mr. Strange's help, Ann had pulled through, albeit not without consequences. At first things had gone very badly - Joy remembered how badly the girl had looked in the first weeks. But then Dr. Sard obtained a powerful nerve-recovery serum, which was administered to the girl. Of course, it didn't restore her arm, it was closer to a miracle of God, but the result was amazing. A couple of days ago it was decided that Vought would pay for Ann to stay in a real recreational clinic somewhere in the Appalachians. Not that their hospital was bad at this sort of thing, but clearly it had to be inferior to specialty clinics. But since the trip to the clinic promised to be quite long and exhausting, Dr. Sard asked that Miss Ann be injected with a rather strong dose of sleeping pills, so as not to exhaust the not too recovered heroine. Opening with a magnetic pass the door to a special box, where various equipment was stored, Joy, for the second time that day was shocked. The door of the locker, where the apparatus for injecting metalmen were lying, was ajar, but not only that, the needles were nowhere to be seen! The machines themselves were there, thank God, but the lack of needles killed the whole point. Joy looked around for needles, but there were no needles anywhere in sight. After standing there for a few minutes, unable to think of a solution to the problem, it suddenly dawned on Joy. We could inject sleeping pills into the IV solution. You wouldn't have to use a specialized machine for such a solution, and the job would be done. No, of course we would have to explain where the needles had gone, but Joy really hoped that the cameras would show that it wasn't her. Somewhat emboldened by her decision, Joy made her way to Miss Ann's room. Quietly opening the door so as not to wake the girl, Joy went inside. As she approached the IV, Joy gently injected the sleeping pills with the syringe, then checked to see if the bag of saline was intact. After confirming that everything was in order, Joy quietly left the room, leaving the long-suffering patient alone. As she left the room, the patient's eyes widened and her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

***

"I don't mean to be rude, but are you sure this is going to work, Skitter?" "The odds are pretty good, but I think I'll have time to signal in case they do find the right needle or I start to drift off to sleep." "Let's assume you remain conscious. What are we going to do about the route of travel. We have no idea where they're taking you, and following a car within the city limits isn't a good idea." "We're the CIA. Do you really think Mallory won't lend you a tracker?"

***

Marvin T. Milk. The whole idea reeked of some goddamn insanity. No, Marvin was perfectly aware of why he'd taken the job, but when he'd agreed to be part of the team, the deputy director had somehow forgotten to say that the first full-fledged assignment for the two-man team would be to help the super escape from Vought. That's not how he envisioned his first assignment. Not at all. Not to mention the fact that this whole operation was essentially being led by a superhero snot-nosed girl who was barely twenty years old. No, Milk gave her credit, the girl held herself with dignity and felt she had really had a chance to smell gunpowder in her time. But the whole situation, coupled with her chosen method of communication, made Marvin very nervous. He instinctively expected a catch in the whole thing. After the negotiations were over, Marvin and Serge drove a good five miles away in the vain hope that Skitter would not hear them, and then contacted Mellory again, hoping to clear up the situation. The vice-director listened in silence before answering: "If we were in the Army now, I'd say that orders from superiors are not negotiable, Agent Milk, but due to the informality of our project...your team is clearly lacking an expert in intelligence and combat against the supers. If you take this girl's word for a second, she meets both of those criteria. Given the control she's already demonstrated and the injuries she's received - I'm more than inclined to at least try to give her a chance." "But ma'am, isn't she super herself?" "From what she says - she has nothing to do with Vought As for the rest... you just don't have clearance for that kind of information." That was pretty much the end of the conversation. Whatever Skitter was talking to Mallory about, it convinced the Deputy Director enough for her to decide to give the whole operation the green light, and just like that, Marvin found himself dressed as a street sweeper. Armed with a janitorial stylus and a half-filled bag, Marvin moved slowly down the street, picking up the occasional litter. In fact, Milk was following a group of nearly inconspicuous spiders that swiftly moved their paws across the pavement, carefully avoiding the occasional passerby. The end point of their movement was a decent-sized van with a clearly reinforced body, parked in the hospital parking lot. The driver, however, was inside, complicating matters somewhat, but fortunately for them the top of one of the tinted windows was down because of the hot summer day. Marvin began to pick up the garbage that Serge had scattered in the parking lot beforehand, waiting for a signal from the spiders. Finally a loud mate was heard from somewhere in the driver's cab, and the spiders formed a barely perceptible tick. Marvin quickly pulled a small device from his breast pocket and peeled off the top layer of duct tape. Hooking the gauge up with a stylus, Milk attached the device to the metal part of the underside of the car. After attaching the beacon, Marvin finished his garbage work as quickly and discreetly as possible, and then hurried out of the camera-viewable parking lot in front of the hospital. Now he had to wait for the Leon to roll up to the scene in a specially hijacked white bus, the back of which he really didn't want to look into.

***

Martin "Marathon" Thornton Truth be told, Martin wasn't too fond of attention to his person. Initially he may have been flattered by the constant attention, press coverage and Internet debates about his top speed. Over time, however, this has become a heavy burden. As his popularity grew he lost his right to anonymity and it took a heavy toll on him. Alcohol problems and a slowing metabolism didn't help the situation at all. Hovewer, Martin loved money. No, Martin loved money very much. His father died early and his mother couldn't cope with his loss, so the well-to-do family quickly went downhill. As a result, Martin spent his entire conscious childhood in a poor neighborhood, bouncing from one Woot check to the next. His superpowers were his ticket to life, a ticket he clung to as best he could. The years from Seven's founding to the present were not always pleasant, but still the happiest of his life. Martin could take care of his bank account and live his life to the fullest. Alcohol, parties, substances, expensive shopping - everything he had been deprived of as a child came back to him in abundance, and he genuinely enjoyed that time. A time that ended the moment he signed his last autograph. Now he was just a page on Wikipedia, a former member of the Seven. The fame, the wealth – it was as if he had lost it all. No, of course, his severance pay and lifetime pension were more than generous, but Martin was well aware that this was the end of him as a successful individual. What could an underachiever barely out of college do? Still, his departure was a precedent. Vought had never before been sent to retire one particular hero, with a media presence like that. And he was a lab rat for PR managers. And that meant only that he would be watched and maybe, perhaps, they could find some not too dusty job to stick him with. Marathon himself wouldn't mind being the leader of some small local team, preferably made up of young female students who had just awakened to their abilities and needed training. A couple of years ago, on one of the Herogasms, he heard that someone from the former Heronts of Hecatonheir was doing something similar. Perhaps he should try to find a number to consult? All these thoughts flashed through Marathon's mind as he overtook the stream of cars on his way to Washington. Noir had to arrive at the Vought International building by a specially called helicopter, while he had to make his own way on his own. The situation was not helped by the fact that yesterday Martin could not resist emptying his minibar for the umpteenth time, pouring indiscriminately all the alcohol he could find. Fortunately, there wasn't much alcohol, so the hangover wasn't too killer. But it was not a pleasant experience. When he arrived at the place, they were already waiting for him. The driver was grudgingly rubbing his cheek, swollen from some insect bite, and glared glumly at the late Marathon. "With us or on your own?" Martin thought for a moment. Stillwell hadn't said anything about him having to accompany the load on his own two feet. And he was getting a little tired of running from New York to Washington, D.C. So Marathon nodded, moving quickly to the passenger seat door. Once inside, Martin tried to look around, trying to see what mysterious cargo they would be delivering, but the metal wall was his answer. After a couple more minutes, their truck moved off, heading toward the highway overlooking the interstate. "Who did that to you?" - Queried the sting on the driver's face, Martin. "Wasp flew into the cab while I was waiting. I don't know what the hell it was doing here. It itches, it's infected," at these words, the man scratched the inflamed spot. "I can relate to this... I hate all these insects myself. You wouldn't believe how tiresome it is to scratch the gnats off my visor," the hero commented. There was silence for a few minutes before the former member of the Seven decided to ask "How long do we have to go?" - Martin inquired as if in between. It was a question he was very interested in because he sort of had plans for the evening. Driver shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I'm supposed to answer such questions, but six hours if there's no traffic." With a long groan, Thornton leaned back in the passenger seat. It was going to be a long ride.  

***

  Taylor Hebert It could be said that the initial stages of her plan went off without a hitch, which was somewhat surprising. Despite the extensive preparations, everything that was happening was, at its core, a very large and extremely dangerous venture. Especially the plan involving the theft of syringes for the Brutes. Had Sister Joy been more insistent, desiring to create a bit more of a commotion, a major part of her original plan would have gone downhill before it even started. Yes, there was certainly a backup plan involving a malingering sleight hidden within the nurse's clothing to sabotage the injection at the most critical moment, but Taylor wasn't too keen on resorting to that. But in the end, everything went as needed. Nurse Joy injected the sedative into the saline solution and left the room of her ward. The pre-sabotaged catheter, which only appeared to be functioning properly, prevented the sedative from entering the bloodstream. Of course, bending the needle with the only hand she had left was a definite challenge, but she had enough time for attempts. In fact, with that, the preparation for her escape was complete, but just lying there pretending to sleep was not at all in her style. Her old friend - adrenaline - was already surging through her blood, demanding release. And looking at the IV drip with the sedative, an idea came to her. She redirected the portion of wasps, bees, bumblebees, and hornets that were already in the ventilation system directly to her ward. Of course, there was a chance that her guard might notice something, but over the past few hours, he hadn't shown any sign, even when Taylor shifted on the bed trying to damage the catheter, which gave her a small amount of confidence that Noir either didn't have X-ray vision or had simply fallen asleep like all normal people. She was quite content with either possibility. Waiting for the swarm to reach her room through the ventilation, Taylor gave a new order. The wasps and other stinging insects buzzed into the air to concentrate around the IV stand. It took the insects about a minute to find the hole previously made by the medical needle. Having found the passage, the insects began persistently pushing their stingers inside, hoping to moisten them with the sedative solution. It was quite difficult for Taylor to judge how successful this venture was, but even the chance for an additional advantage was not superfluous in her eyes. The next hour and a half passed rather uneventfully, if not for a few routine procedures of loading insects into a hermetically sealed van brought in by Leon. Under normal circumstances, airtightness wasn't a critical condition, but considering that her assistants would have to chase the van carrying her, and consequently, insects might slip out of her control, it was better to play it safe. The sign that the appointed time had come was her watcher's figure, which suddenly stiffened and, getting up from his perch, quickly moved towards the hospital roof. A few minutes later, a helicopter adorned with the Vought Industries logo landed there. However, this was to be expected for a variety of reasons. The tabloids were abuzz with talk of the handover ceremony in The Seven, where the entire group was expected to be present. Nevertheless, it would have been typical of Vought to send a body double in place of Black Noir, similar in build; the difference would hardly have been noticed by anyone. But apparently, PR was more important to Vought than her, Taylor's, transport which, for the first time in a long time, left her without surveillance. This, however, was to be a very brief respite. From the numerous telephone conversations she had eavesdropped on over the past couple of days, it was clear that another super would be assisting with the transport. In theory, now was the best time to escape, while Black Noir was airborne and his replacement had yet to arrive. But credit had to be given to her teammates—the paranoia of government agents in Washington was truly great. Even while monitoring a quite distant suburb of the capital, one couldn't help but notice the sheer number of agents from various government services. Aside from the observation post set up by Mallory, she had managed to count at least a dozen agents in civilian clothes, not to mention the police. Some of them lived here, but others were quite clearly on official duty. Perhaps this was a reflection of the locale—a well-equipped large hospital funded by a mega-corporation that effectively had its own capes was bound to be a magnet for various types of government agents and their staff. Therefore, an escape attempt was doomed to either failure or very close scrutiny by various government agencies, with whom neither Taylor nor her... benefactor wanted any problems, especially given their current, very controversial legal status. The wait dragged on a bit due to the fact that Sard, who was supposed to hand her over to the truck driver, who had been parked in the hospital parking lot for an hour, was stuck in a traffic jam. This was somewhat irritating to Taylor, but she had long since learned to wait for the opportune moment without giving herself away, a skill honed by rich and sometimes painful experience. Sard arrived almost at the same time as her expected but unwelcome escort. Based on the situation, it was reasonable to expect Vought to send a sufficiently useful and loyal super for her guard, but from the second or third tier to attract less attention. However, Taylor could not have anticipated that Vought would send one of the two main heroes of the day to guard her convoy. The departing star of The Seven, her first hero to retire after years of hard work - Marathon. This news complicated an already difficult situation, yet it was not something that would put an end to their plans. Yes, Marathon was bad news - Taylor did not often encounter Movers of Marathon's type, and so she was not too confident in her abilities. On the other hand, they had the important element of surprise on their side, the enemy's lack of information, and a couple of other similar factors. Moreover, if one were to believe the statements of various unreliable tabloids that the fame-seeking Marathon had significantly slowed down both in speed and in show-off, it could be somewhat advantageous for Taylor. While pondering this information along with simultaneously relaying the changed circumstances to Marvin and Serge, Taylor hardly noticed as Sard peeked into her room, accompanied by several orderlies. To eliminate any chance of detection, Taylor had long since moved the bulk of the insects out of the hospital, leaving only a nominal amount inside, suitable only for basic navigation. Therefore, she couldn't make out the expression on her doctor's face. And she wasn't too eager to do so. The doctor clearly had no time for chit-chat, so after a quick and frankly superficial examination (for which Taylor was infinitely grateful to the Washington traffic jams), the orderlies finally loaded her pseudo-unconscious body onto a gurney and wheeled her towards the parking lot, where a car with Marathon and the driver was already waiting for her. Vought didn't even want an additional orderly to monitor her condition. This was actually a rather questionable move. No, Taylor understood the concept of Operational Security, but to spare not even one more employee to watch over the condition of an important patient who might also wake up? This wasn't Operational Security; it was just plain staff cutbacks. Not that she wasn't grateful for it, as it made her potential escape easier, but it was somewhat offensive. However, perhaps there was another reason, Taylor had long since learned not to consider herself completely correct in all things, a lesson taught by bitter experience. Minutes that felt subjective to her, Taylor's body left the hospital building. For the first time in the past month since her final encounter with Contessa, she felt the unusually warm May sun on her skin, starved for fresh air. Officially, this was the longest time Taylor had spent in hospitals for about… her entire life. Though two gunshot wounds to the head is an injury not easily recovered from, and certainly not within a month. As always - the devil is in the details. As the orderlies finished loading her body into an unmarked white van, she completed the transfer of a portion of her collected swarm into the same van. Taylor had to hide the lion's share of the insectoid mass within the ventilation system of the medical compartment, which the metal box of the van had been converted into. Here, she had moved part of her wasps coated with a sedative, dragonflies, and other flying insects that could effectively block the view and cause potential problems. A particular challenge was the discreet placement of insects in the driver's cabin without drawing the driver's attention. Something large and noticeable like flies or spiders was almost impossible to sneak in, so she had to be content with only ants, fleas, and other extremely small forms of insectoid life. But the mass she managed to get in was enough to reliably listen to the conversations in the cabin. The orderlies carefully strapped her body to the stretcher, then hurriedly left the van, closing the doors behind them, leaving Taylor in complete solitude and darkness, as none of the orderlies thought to turn on the light, nor was it necessary in the current situation. Not that it was a major inconvenience, but it was quite unpleasant. Finally, the van started moving, marking the penultimate stage of today's plan. Once they finally left the city, her part would be relatively simple - essentially, to escape.

***

Marvin T. Milk “We've got cops on our tail.” - Serge said casually, looking into the side mirror. “Cops? What the hell, Frenchy?” - Marvin burst out, boiling with anger. Only ten minutes had passed since their charge's van had left the hospital and headed towards the suburban exit. The tracker under the van’s chassis was working fine, so their route to the destination was more or less constant on the tablet screen attached to the dashboard. But cops... cops were very bad news. “How should I know, Milk? Maybe because we're two sketchy-colored guys driving a stolen white van?” - Serge snapped back, making a sharp turn at the intersection. The van swayed noticeably and a clear buzzing could be heard from the back, but worse - the police cruiser followed them. “This is bad,” - Marvin could only sigh, ” - Can we shake them off?” - he asked without much hope, realizing the rhetorical nature of the response. “In this clunker? Even if we manage to, we'll rouse half the department.” “What are our options? If they stop us, we're screwed.” - Marvin did not want to fail his very first task just because they were being followed by cops . “How the fuck should I know what our options are? I said this was a shit idea!” “And I agreed with you, Frenchy! But now we're almost in deep shit!” “Yeah, but out of the two of us, I'm the one at the wheel! Come up with something!” Marvin started frantically looking around for ideas in vain. The situation was not enticing and it was quite difficult to come up with something viable on the spot. The cops obviously wouldn't give up so easily, especially considering they were driving a stolen van… Marvin’s eye caught a sticker on the passenger side dashboard. "God in Heaven, All's right with the World," it read, accompanied by a picture of God sending his angels to Earth, the central figure suspiciously resembling Homelander. Looking closer, Marvin realized that this wasn't the only sticker on the dashboard. Several small crosses were stuck to the ventilation grill, and even the air freshener hanging from the upper handle was a scented cross. “Frenchy… where exactly did you steal this van from?” - Some vague suspicions were forming in Marvin's mind. “Fuck, M.M, does it really matter now? From the back yard of the Collective Church!” - Serge said, making another sharp turn. Following his instincts, Marvin felt for the glove compartment lever. Pulling on it, he looked inside the compartment. There he saw two packages wrapped in white-gold fabric and a small book with a black cover. A moment later, an idea struck Marvin. “Turn off the highway, we need to head into the residential areas. I've got an idea”.

***

Sergeant Kyle Urban, WPD The traffic light where the police cruiser stopped was surprisingly problematic. The sun was blinding even behind sunglasses, and sweat streamed down in spite of the air conditioner working almost at full blast. Kyle squinted against the light, scanning the streets for any signs of trouble. At some point, Kyle spotted an unmarked white van emerging from somewhere near Springfield. It moved slowly, almost cautiously, as if trying to blend with the other cars on the road. Yet there was something about the way it maneuvered that caught the officer's attention. The driver seemed to be nervous. The officer felt a knot in his stomach, an unease that told him something wasn’t right. Following his instincts, he discreetly began to tail the van, maintaining a safe distance as it continued through the streets of Washington. The van clearly noticed the officer's presence, as it made several sharp turns in an attempt to shake him off. But the officer was persistent, and after ten minutes of this cat-and-mouse chase, Kyle finally caught up with the van, which had stopped at the beginning of a residential district. Approaching the van, the officer saw two men in the front seats. One was African American, the other appeared to be Middle Eastern. However, both men were dressed in familiar white-and-gold garments. Kyle was a devout Protestant, but his department occasionally had dealings with members of the Collective Church. Looking at the spirited faces of the two seemingly devotees, all Kyle could feel was a rising irritation. Dealing with these beatifics never brought anything positive. Moreover, the Church had very good lawyers and serious lobbying power in the form of the district attorney. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I noticed that you seemed to be in a hurry. I wanted to check if everything was alright," the officer asked, maintaining a neutral tone. The driver lowered the window and smiled at the officer. "Hello, officer. We apologize for our earthly concerns distracting you from your duty. We are very sorry. Would you like to join us in prayer for the safety of our streets?” Officer Urban felt annoyed. He had dealt with religious zealots before and he didn’t have the patience to endure the sermons of “the Collective” fanatics. Even though the individuals before him looked extremely suspicious, Kyle was sufficiently reluctant to deal with the Collective Church that he was prepared to turn a blind eye this time. "Have a good day, gentlemen," he said curtly. The men in the van tried to insist, offering to share their message of salvation with the officer. But the officer shook his head and walked away, feeling some relief that he wouldn't have to deal with these madmen more than absolutely necessary. No sooner had the police cruiser left the white van's field of view than the van immediately set off, swiftly turning onto busier streets leading out of the city.

***

Martin “Marathon” Thornton. The journey through the desolate expanses of Columbia state was exceedingly dull. Martin tried to take in the scenery outside the window, but the landscape was filled with dreary trees and empty fields. He even wondered why Stillwell had assigned him such a straightforward and utterly boring task. Especially since he didn't understand the importance of the girl they were transporting in the back of the vehicle. He attempted to start a conversation with the driver to alleviate his loneliness, but the driver wasn't very talkative. Perhaps it was the general air of tension, or maybe the driver realized he should keep mum about… wherever they were headed. Martin spent the next half hour in futile attempts to fend off boredom. Because of a hangover from last night's drinking, he had forgotten to charge his phone, which now lay in his pocket like a half-dead brick, and, to make matters worse, the driver didn’t have a charger for an iPhone. This only deepened Thornton's gloom. To pass the time, Martin tried to ponder why the girl behind the thin metal wall was so valuable. He hadn't paid much attention, but she seemed quite alright at a glance. Yes, a bit skinny, but that was understandable given where they had picked her up from. And she was still quite to Martin’s taste. Not that he was too picky when it came to the opposite sex, preferring quantity over quality. But a good time with heroines was something he always valued far more than a quick fling with mere mortals. After all, the body of a heroine and that of an ordinary woman were two very different things. A half-forgotten scene from many years ago floated into Martin’s memory. When he, still green and inexperienced, received an invitation to his first Herogasm. At the time, he assumed it was just some exclusive party for supers, but the reality turned out to be so much wilder and hotter than anything his imagination could have given up in the face of what he experienced then. How, half of the sex symbols of his youth, the Enchantress Arataz, Starburst, were here, happily greeting the newcomers in whatever the hell they were wearing. That day, the still young Martin was the hero of the evening due to his unthinkable speed and tirelessness. Remembering the racy moments of his youth, Martin suddenly felt that his younger friend was also aroused with him. Simply put - he had a hard-on. Not that it was a big problem, but Martin was bored, and the hormonal spiral was starting to unwind at full force. Against his will, his thoughts drifted back to their passenger. His fantasy, fuelled by the hormonal surge, began to draw out some very savoury details he couldn't have known about. That sheet she was covered with was so thin, so thin. Those legs, those trained and developed muscles. He could just imagine those thighs clenching on his groin, the way they jiggled in time with his methodical movements. All these images were too captivating, too seductive, too tantalising. Today was his last day as a hero of The Seven, damn it. And Stillwell knew all too well how unbearably boring this mission would be! They were transporting this girl God knows where, and Martin knew exactly what happens to people like her; he had been in this business for far too long. Even if something happened to her - nobody would find out! Besides, she should be grateful that a member of The Seven, even on his last day on the job, graced her with his presence. No one had complained before, at least. Having finished this internal monologue, Martin turned to the driver. "Hey, man. Pull over for a sec. I'm gonna hop inside." The driver didn't even look at him. "Not allowed. We were told to go non-stop." Martin sighed. "Dude, let's not pretend you're working for Amazon here. We stood at the traffic light longer than our stop will take. I'm Marathon, I do things quickly!" But the driver shook his head. "Sorry, Marathon, can't do it. We keep going." Thornton felt a wave of anger rising within him. Who was this driver anyway, to tell him what to do? "Man, it seems you don't understand. When a member of The Seven tells you to stop for two minutes - you stop for two minutes, unless you want to end up with more problems than you have now." The man behind the wheel turned his head and looked at Marathon. His eyes looked practically dead, but apparently, the survival instinct won out, as their van almost immediately began to slow down and soon came to a stop. "We're moving again in two minutes." Martin could only manage a sardonic smirk as he got out of the car, heading towards the rear door. The girl inside beckoned him despite having only caught a glimpse of her. He was already savoring the splendid few hours they would spend together, even if she might initially disagree. And five and a half minutes later, another unmarked van slammed into their white unmarked truck.

***

Taylor Hebert. The journey in complete darkness in an unmarked white van, while tied to a bed, was far from the most engaging or enjoyable pastime in her life, yet it was undoubtedly a novel experience. However, it did nothing to solve the problem of the agonizing and tense wait, which was impossible to alleviate due to nearly complete sensory deprivation. The ability to feel the world through insects was practically useless when moving at high speed. While they were still within the city limits, with its speed restrictions, it was relatively bearable—she could perceive and somewhat process the situation around her. But as soon as the van hit the freeway, her sensory range shrank to a miserable few thousand specimens inside and outside the van, a number that was slowly but surely decreasing due to the strong headwind. Certainly, it would be incorrect to say that she didn't feel the insects around at all, but the insects inhabiting the woods and fields didn't provide the same vast amount of information about the surrounding world that she was accustomed to. Not to mention, at the current speed, she was losing connection faster than she could manage anything with her new subjects. This... was irritating and even made her doubt her own escape plans. After all, her expertise was urban warfare. As for her potential colleagues, their van occasionally flashed within her control range but kept at a respectful distance. Initially, when their van turned off the road and vanished from her detection radius, Taylor was frightened that her colleagues had no intention of aiding her escape. However, after fifteen minutes, she felt the familiar mass of insects again, which relieved her heart slightly. Being in such, albeit partial, sensory deprivation, she was left alone with the biggest threat to her own well-being—herself. Loneliness disrupted her concentration and led her thoughts away from productive channels into the abyss of self-reflection and attempts to comprehend what was happening. If she had learned anything from her talks with Dr. Yamada, it was the understanding of just how psychologically detrimental her current situation was. Her very being was practically literally on the edge of a precipice, and a collapse seemed inevitable. Throughout her... career, she had encountered various people who were insane to various degrees. Not all of these people remained human, and a very large percentage kicked the bucket for one reason or another. Realizing the problem undoubtedly was the right step... but not right now. She couldn't afford to lose focus. She couldn't afford to think about the past. She couldn't afford to think at all. She needed to concentrate. Concentrate and wait. With all her might, Taylor bit her lip and, feeling the sobering metallic taste, she focused on her breathing and managing the swarm. A minuscule part of the swarm available to her dispersed throughout the truck's cabin, forming precise geometric patterns that changed according to a complex principle. Breathe in Form the swarm into octagons. Breath out Form perfect dodecahedrons. Breathe in Form perfect circles. Breathe out Form a projection of a cube onto a plane. Breathe in… This was one of many exercises she had learned on her own, in attempts to cope with anxiety, emotions, and nerves. It was one of the most effective ones. Inhale replaced by exhale. Insects forming one line after another. Insects appeared and disappeared at the edge of her perception.. She was in control. Until she heard Thornton's voice. “Hey, man. Slow down for a minute. I'm gonna move inside.” Adrenaline surged into her blood, slowing down subjective perception of time, shattering the illusion of control. Why did Marathon need to move inside? That wasn't in the plan. She... she had listened to the plans about her transport. Black Noir was told about them. Sard knew about them. Why did Thornton want to move inside? Did he have other orders? Taylor's mind raced. A deviation from the plan could mean anything. Was it an unforeseen circumstance, or something worse? She needed to stay alert and ready to adapt to whatever was coming. The comfort of routine and control she had established with her insects was gone now; the only thing she could do was wait and see what Thornton's next move would be, and react accordingly. Kill her? Did he receive orders to kill her? No. It's absurd. That cannot be; it's illogical—she's still of use to "Vought", they know nothing about her. Or do they? She can't be certain she was the only arrival on this Earth. Perhaps they found out everything? No… no, she refused to believe that. Too improbable. Too foolish. Unprofessional. Not in line with what one could expect from “Vought.” Then why? Why move inside? Did he guess that she was conscious? But how? Marathon had barely seen her, arriving at the very last moment of loading. Such vast experience? Did he have enough time to understand that she wasn’t asleep? Perhaps, but it's unlikely. The insects inside the cabin showed no signs of activity; her orders were absolute. An unknown power of Marathon? Some sort of Thinker? Uncharacteristic. It doesn't resemble Marathon's modus operandi. All known biographies and all confrontations she could glean from her reading mentioned speed, strength, and a healing factor. Nothing more, no extrasensory abilities beyond accelerated perception. But why the stop. Why is he arguing with the driver, why is he demanding to stop? All insects in the back have already received orders to hide from human eyes. Maybe she can hide them before the truck stops. The van... the van was already slowing down. The correlation between the speed of new insects appearing in her radius and their disappearance clearly indicated this. But why? Why now? Only half an hour, maybe an hour's drive from the city, if her biological clock is to be believed. The highway could still be busy. Suboptimal. Response time could be at risk. The speed is dropping lower. They will stop soon. Close your eyes. Pretend to be asleep. Even out breathing. Calm down. Marathon’s actions imply an opportunity. The deceleration means that Marvin and Leon will catch up to her faster. She just needs to hold on and signal them. Calm down. The situation isn't hopeless. Just wait and see what Thornton wants. The van stopped. Judging by the preceding shaking—it was on the side of the road. The passenger door slammed shut, and just a moment later—the external latches clicked, opening access to the interior of the van. A cool, faint breeze brushed over her body, barely stirring the edges of the thin blanket that covered her. Through half-closed eyelids, Taylor could see the dull light of a cloud-shrouded sky. Marathon leapt inside. A switch clicked, activating the electric lighting. The light became almost unbearably bright, even through closed eyes. The door shut, after which Thornton hit the metal wall partition between the driver's cab and the truck's cabin several times. The vehicle started to move. Insects in the ventilation finally completed forming the base necessary for her to properly see with their eyes. A few fleas were already on Thornton’s body, providing her a semblance of reassurance. Yet, the main problem remained. She was still bound, and this negated nearly all her combat capabilities. Marathon approached her cot unhurriedly and with a single motion of his hand, yanked the thin blanket away from her body, leaving her in nothing but a hospital gown. “So here you are, Vogelbaum's new toy. Between you and me, you're ugly in the face, especially since you're handicapped. But that's okay, girl, I'm not squeamish. Uncle Marathon will welcome you to the world of real supers.” - Marathon's voice sounded sarcastic, but was clearly laced with what could not help but be recognised as lust. Inside Taylor, everything froze in mute horror. She understood Thornton's intentions. That... that... asshole was going to rape her! Her! God damn it, what the fuck was going on with her life? Why can't any fucking person in her life be just fucking normal? Why does the first hero she meets on this Earth try to rape her?! However... however... however even so, Thornton didn't live up to the expectations Taylor had. Marathon reached for the clasps of the restraints that held her body to the bunk, but the clasps, as well as the restraints, were apparently designed to hold the supers in place, and as a result... Marathon simply couldn't manage the lock that held her legs together. I said into the void. "Fucking hell... what kind of moron thought of that. What the fuck kind of fucking locks they come up with. I lost my boner." After that, Thornton found nothing better to do than pull down his trousers and masturbate to her immobile body. It was very difficult to describe the emotion that was now raging in her mind, watching the whole story from the sidelines. It was a completely inexpressible combination of disgust, fear, and disbelief at the sheer absurdity of what was happening. After about half a minute of this almost silent scene of the theatre of disgust, a familiar mass of insects appeared within the radius of her sphere of detection. As soon as she sensed their presence, the insects inside the back of her accomplices' truck began synchronised movements designed to sound the alarm. Despite all the fucked upness, the situation remained quite controllable. Especially since, by his own stupidity, Thornton had quite literally exposed his weak spot. And she was bound to exploit it.

***

Marvin T. Milk. After a close encounter with the police, the journey continued in tomblike silence. Neither of them could believe that this utterly idiotic plan, coupled with an incredible stroke of blind luck, would work and that the cop would actually prefer to not deal with the Collective Church than to check two individuals who were truly suspicious in appearance. They didn't bother changing back into their regular clothes, as there simply wasn't time. Exiting the city, they occasionally caught disbelieving glances from passing drivers, but they were hardly concerned about that. Thankfully, they managed to catch up to the van transporting Skitter quickly enough for it to look relatively natural. Well, at least that's how Marvin saw it. For the next half hour, they simply followed at a relatively safe distance from the van, never completely losing sight of it. The plan was roughly to drive about a hundred miles out of the city before they started their operation. But, like all plans, this one didn’t stand a chance against reality. At one point, their radio beacon showed that the van carrying their charge had suddenly reduced speed and then stopped for half a minute before moving again. When the distance closed sufficiently, their connection with Skitter—well, more accurately, all the insects in the van they were monitoring through a small wireless camera—suddenly sprang to life. The bugs then began to buzz in pseudo Morse code. Two short, two long. The agreed-upon signal to start the operation. Marvin, taking a sharp breath, adjusted his seatbelt and then pulled a semi-automatic rifle from beneath his feet. After checking the magazine and cocking the weapon, Marvin grunted to The Frenchman, who was already guessing what was up. "Serge, hit the gas, Skitter signaled." There was no need for repetition; their van promptly started to gain speed, closing the distance between them and the target that was now looming on the horizon. As they drew level with the "Vought" vehicle, Marvin caught the look of surprise in the driver’s eyes. “Do it!” - Marvin yelled, preparing for the impact that followed a second later. Marvin was jolted and hit his head on the side window, which cracked and almost shattered       The Vought van was bigger and wider than their car, but that meant nothing at such speeds. The unexpected impact threw off the driver's concentration and the car went into a skid, off the track and almost immediately hit a tree at full throttle, then flipped twice on inertia before coming to a halt.       Upon impact, Frenchie hit the brakes almost immediately, spinning the car ninety degrees. As soon as their drift was complete, Marvin unbuckled himself, kicked the slightly jammed door open with a mighty kick of his foot and literally rolled out onto the carriageway, keeping the Vought van in his sights. Frenchie, on the other hand, ran round the other side of the van at the same moment, opening the side doors to let loose a black insect cloud that immediately concealed their car.       A few seconds later a human figure formed inside the cloud, under two metres tall and composed entirely of a mass of chitin, wings and facets. This monster spoke out:       “Keep the van at gunpoint, but do not approach. I'll take the driver and Marathon.” Marvin only had time to nod before the cloud, which was only growing larger as more and more insects streamed out of the forest, moved forward, led by the monster. “What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into, Frenchie?" was all Marvin said, keeping his finger on the trigger.       All they could do now was wait.

***

Skitter The anticipation of the impact was quite an... interesting experience. Not least because of the peculiar proximity of her head to the erected phallus of one of The Seven's heroes. However, she had no time left to ponder the clearly botched rate attempt. She was bracing herself for the imminent battle. As the van carrying her backup nearly caught up to their vehicle, Taylor decided to take action. A mini-squadron of bees, launched from a dimly lit corner, suicidally attacked Marathon's exposed manhood. The superhero managed to notice this sudden onslaught, but it was too late; there were too many bees, and Thornton was clearly too preoccupied with other, more pleasurable activities to be on guard... the stings were almost instantaneous. Marathon howled in pain... and the next moment, the van was struck from the side. The vehicle swayed and shook as it veered off the road. Then came a powerful blow, during which the restraining belts painfully bit into her skin. The vehicle rolled several times, finally coming to a stop. The crash nearly knocked her unconscious, but the pain from the digging straps quickly brought her back to her senses. Swiftly assessing the situation, to her fortune she found that the blow had caused her one free hand to slip out of its restraints, and now she could attempt to free herself. But to think of herself was premature. She needed to assess the condition of Marathon, who had also remained conscious, but was clearly in a state of shock. His trousers around his ankles didn't particularly help his situation. Soon, Leon unleashed her swarm, and she finally set to work. Initially, she wanted to form her usual swarm clone, but she decided to opt for a more terrifying form to make a stronger impression on Marathon. Leaving Marvin with instructions not to intervene, she began to surround the van with a swarm of insects. In the time it took to bring the swarm to the van, Marathon had recovered enough to begin cursing foully. "Fuck, it hurts so damn much. What the fuck is going on? What kind of fucked-up shit is this?" Thornton's arm looked unnaturally positioned. Her swarm was already outside the van, but her clone didn't have the physical strength to fully pry open the bent door. However, her swarm could speak. "I have found you, Hero of The Seven" buzzed the myriads. Marathon was not impressed with her swarm clone's acting. "What the fuck is this? Who are you? What the fuck are you doing here?" “My name is Legion, for we are many.” "Legion? From which city? Do you even realize what you've gotten into? I am Marathon!! Marathon!!! A hero of The Seven!! If you don't fuck off right now, I'll crush you like a bug!" Thornton boasted, hurriedly pulling up his trousers, wincing from the clearly pained spot. He didn't even pay attention to Taylor herself. "A bug? A bug you might crush. But what if there are a million of them?" At that moment, her entire swarm began to filter inside through all the available cracks created by the accident. Thornton couldn't be allowed out in the open. Dozens of spiders managed to crawl into Thornton's underwear before he could properly tuck in his pants and began to sting him relentlessly in every accessible spot. There were no black widows among them, but the bites were meant to be painful enough. Wasps, bees, and hornets attacked his face and hands, trying to get under his nails - the only exposed areas of skin. Marathon began to scream, and she started to send flies and moths into his mouth. Centipedes began to crawl inside and climb up his body. The insects kept arriving; she sent them inside, densifying the gray-black mass of chitin that was now writhing above the van. Using fireflies, she created a semblance of a face out of fireflies, forming a vague figure around the face from clones. “Do you feel us, Hero? How we swarm within you? Sting you? Devour your flesh? Will you be able to crush us all?” Marathon tried to scream again, but failed. It was becoming difficult for him to breathe; his lungs were inflamed from the bee venom, and the remnants of the potent sedative on the stings of some wasps made this lethal cocktail all the more effective. He began to suffocate. Consciousness was slipping away from him. Taylor saw it. Felt it. But she continued. Maybe it was momentum, maybe anger, maybe due to the fear she had endured. Meanwhile, she groped for one of the locks that held her tied to the bed and began to feel it. However, it did not last long. Perhaps fortune smiled upon her, or the mechanism itself was damaged from the collision, but with a bit of fiddling with the movable parts of the mechanism, the lock clicked open. She fell out of the gurney, landing next to the slowly fading Thornton. Her whole body hurt, and barely noticeable abrasions were left on her forearms, where the straps had cut into her skin, preventing her from flying off the gurney. With great difficulty, however, she got to her feet, surveying Marathon, who was clearly in a semi-conscious state. Obeying her will, the swarm clung to her skin, forming a semblance of her Skitter armor. The native chitinous mass was now dearer to her than many other things. It was the only way that she could feel protected. She felt in control. Marathon was no longer a threat to her. But he was still dangerous. When discussing the details of the operation with Mallory, she asked about this very scenario. Not specifically about Marathon, but about killing. And as it turns out… if you work for black-ops divisions of the CIA, the ability to leave no witnesses is highly valued. She fell to her knees before the hero. Her single hand struck his temple with all her might. Blood spurted. She struck again, to be sure that the superhuman strength was not her imagination. And again. At some point, she grabbed his face with her hand, lifted his head, and smashed it against the metal floor of the vehicle, leaving a bloody dent. She continued to beat and batter his head until she realized that the contents of his skull were on her hands. Then, getting up, she staggered towards the metal door that separated her from the long-awaited freedom. One bloodied fist bent the metal. The second made the doors wail plaintively. The third knocked the door out of its frame. She felt that wind again. Real. Cool. Tempting. She literally fell out of the vehicle, landing on the cool grass. She would have remained lying there, but she could no longer show weakness. Not now. Later. She would think about everything later. She would pay the price later. Right now, she needed to get away from here. Show everyone that she was here, that she was useful. That she was what the CIA needed. The driver… the driver had died in the collision. Taylor got to her feet. Shards of metal and glass prickled uncomfortably but could not cut through her skin. She trudged towards the car where Marvin and Leon were waiting. Blood and brains dripped from her bloodied hand onto the heated asphalt, where they were immediately devoured by the numerous carrion insects she had brought from the surrounding woods. Slowly. Step by step. She took her first steps in this world. And swarm followed her. "Holy fucking hell..." - were the first words she heard spoken aloud by Agent Milk. "My name is Taylor. Thank you for helping me escape."