Chapter 32 - 1.9

May 4nd 2011, 7:22 AM

Suburbs of Brockton Bay, Brockton Bay, Solar Dominion of Brockton Bay

The sky above Brockton Bay split open with a thunderous crack.

Three streaks of power carved through the air, trailing vapor and light, their descent so fast the atmosphere screamed in protest. The Triumvirate had arrived.

Legend, Alexandria and Eidolon hurled themselves toward their target, leaving behind contrails of energy that shimmered against the crimson-tinged morning. The distant thunder of artillery and the cracking of guns echoed in the distance.

Below them, the city groaned under the weight of chaos.

Sirens keened in every direction, a chorus of dread echoing through cracked streets and crumbling neighborhoods. Emergency lights pulsed like a failing heartbeat, casting erratic strobes across the concerned masses below.

Smoke rose in thick, dark columns from a dozen locations, each plume marking another wound in the city's ravaged body.

The Dawnguard moved through the throngs of citizens with purposeful coordination. Their armor – sleek, obsidian plates articulated over dark grey bodysuits caught the early light and reflected it back. Each soldier wore a stylized sun emblem on their chest and helmet, the insignia of their new leader burnished to a golden shine. They carried rifles, but these remained holstered or slung across backs as they focused on evacuation operations, their hands free to assist those in need.

"Keep moving! Shelter access remains open! We'll ensure everyone gets to safety before the battle reaches this sector!"

Citizens responded with grateful nods, moving quickly but without panic. In the two months since Taylor Hebert, now known to all as Sol Invicta, had taken control of Brockton Bay… the Dawnguard had proven themselves not as jackbooted thugs, as many had feared, but as firm and fair protectors. Where the old PRT had been hamstrung by regulations and political considerations, the Dawnguard operated with decisive efficiency, and the people had noticed the difference.

Families moved together, children holding parents' hands. The Dawnguard shouted directions, their faces partially visible through the transparent front sections of their helmets, revealing expressions of determination and focus.

An elderly man stumbled, falling to one knee. Before his companion could help him rise, two Dawnguard soldiers appeared from the crowd, gently helping him to his feet. One offered a supportive shoulder while the other cleared a path ahead, ensuring the man wouldn't be jostled by the moving crowd.

Protection offered through competence, earning respect despite their controversial allegiance.

Buildings shuddered as artillery thundered in the distance, windows rattling from the shockwaves. Glass panes vibrated in their frames, some cracking under the strain, sending crystalline shards raining onto empty sidewalks. Laser fire sliced across the skyline, sharp and sudden, brief flashes of brutal light. Invicta's anti-air laser batteries had unleashed their full defensive might – laser turrets locked onto the heavens, their beams crisscrossing the sky like a protective net, cutting through clouds and mist with precision.

From defense installations constructed atop skyscrapers, automated targeting systems tracked the three approaching figures. Batteries of energy weapons pivoted in unison, seeking a lock on the Triumvirate.

The defensive grid, a testament to the engineering talent Invicta had managed to recruit in her short reign, had been prepared for this inevitable moment: the return of those who would challenge Sol Invicta's vision for the city.

But the Triumvirate did not slow.

They were unrelenting. They were unbreakable.

Legend banked sharply, his form blurring as he accelerated beyond human perception. Laser fire converged on his position, only to pass through empty air as he transmuted himself partially into his energy state, the beams refracted harmlessly through his transformed body. Where they struck, he absorbed their power, his own radiance growing with each attempted interception.

Alexandria didn't bother with evasion. She flew straight through the defensive barrage, energy weapons dissipating against her invulnerable form like water on stone.

Eidolon cast his hand forward, and a ripple distorted the air before him. The incoming fire bent around an invisible barrier, diverted by forces that defied conventional physics. His other hand gestured sharply downward, and three of the defensive turrets crumpled as if crushed by an immense, unseen weight, their metal frames shrieking in protest as they collapsed.

The wreckage of the USS Spruance loomed ahead, half-sunken and ablaze, its once-proud form broken and spilling black smoke into the gold-streaked morning. The destroyer now lay gutted like a sacrificial offering, its hull torn open from bow to stern. Twisted metal jutted from the water at unnatural angles, the ship's superstructure collapsed upon itself. The flames painted the ocean in vivid orange, waves churning with oil and ash.

And above it all…

She waited.

Sol Invicta.

Suspended in the air, she floated with the stillness of inevitability.

Her golden armor blazed in the early sunlight, a mirrored halo around her form, each plate engraved with intricate patterns. Her dark hair danced on the breeze like a war banner, unbound and defiant, obsidian strands catching the light. She watched them approach with a smirk carved from arrogance and certainty, the expression of someone who had discovered power beyond imagining and had embraced it without hesitation.

Her amethyst eyes locked onto theirs.

They gleamed – not just with power, but with scorn, with the silent laughter of someone who had been underestimated her entire life and was now watching those same people realize their mistake far too late.

The Triumvirate slowed their approach, forming a loose triangle in the air above the ruined warship. Legend's hands glowed with gathering energy. Alexandria's fists clenched at her sides. Eidolon's aura pulsed with shifting colors as he reached for the powers he would need.

"Sol Invicta," Legend called, his voice carrying across the water with unnatural clarity. "This ends now. Surrender, and-"

*CRACK*

She vanished.

"Damn it!" Alexandria bit out sharply. Her perfect composure, the mask of the invincible hero, fractured for an instant, revealing the raw frustration beneath. "Not again!"

Eidolon's reaction was immediate and visceral. His aura flared with unstable energy, crackling and spitting around his cloaked form, tendrils of power lashing outward like vipers striking at phantoms.

"She's toying with us," he snarled, his voice thick with frustration. His gloved hands trembled, not with fear, but with rage barely contained beneath the surface of his control. "It's a fucking game to her!"

"Focus, David," Legend warned, his eyes scanning the wreckage below. His voice held steady, though the light emanating from his body pulsed with suppressed tension. "This is exactly what she wants. To piss us off. To make us emotional, careless."

Eidolon took a sharp breath, his mask hiding all but the downward twist of his mouth, the clench of his jaw visible even beneath the fabric. The space around him wavered as he reached for something, anything, that could help them track her. Powers flowed through him, discarded in rapid succession as he sought the right combination.

And then-

"PRT HQ. Downtown." The words came through gritted teeth.

Alexandria moved closer, her cape settling around her shoulders as she hovered beside her teammate.

"Don't let her get to you," she said, her voice pitched low, meant only for her comrades. "Remember what happened last time. Her power… it has a Master component. She gets in your head, makes you doubt, makes you hesitate." Her tone hardened, becoming the voice that had commanded thousands of heroes, that had faced extinction-level threats without flinching. "It starts with frustration, then becomes rage, then despair. Do not let her get to you. Either of you. You both know what's at stake."

Legend nodded grimly, his luminous eyes narrowing. "We go in together. We finish this. No matter what she shows us, no matter what she says… we trust each other, not our individual perceptions. She may be new to her power, but she's learned to use it with frightening speed."

No one questioned it. They turned as one, leaving the burning wreckage behind, a symbol of conventional military might rendered obsolete by a young woman's will.

The city blurred beneath them, a complex tableau of destruction and renewal. From this height, the dichotomy became clear: neighborhoods once ruled by gangs now patrolled by Dawnguard units, streets damaged in the initial conflict now under repair by construction crews working around the clock. The closer they drew, the more they saw: the devastation of the old order and the emerging foundations of something new.

Beyond that lay the commercial district, its towers repurposed but not defaced. Office buildings had become administrative centers, their electronic billboards displaying practical information about shelter locations, resource distribution, and emergency procedures alongside occasional propaganda.

"STRENGTH THROUGH UNITY." "A NEW DAWN FOR BROCKTON BAY." "SECURITY, PROSPERITY, PEACE." The messages alternated with evacuation instructions, a blend of ideology and pragmatism that characterized Taylor's two-month reign.

And at the heart of it all, the PRT Headquarters, once a monument of law and heroism, was now the command center of Sol Invicta's nascent government, transformed but not unrecognizable.

Crimson banners hung from its facade, emblazoned with Sol Invicta's golden sigil: a burning sun, radiant and determined, its rays extending outward like the spokes of a wheel.

The building's original architecture remained largely intact, though reinforced with new defensive systems. The windows gleamed with a golden tint that reflected the morning light.

And there she stood.

Sol Invicta waited at the grand entrance like a monarch at court. She stood with hands clasped behind her back, her stance confident and utterly unafraid… a queen in the heart of her kingdom.

She looked at them not with fear, not with anger… but with determination and a touch of amusement. Like a chess player who had anticipated their moves long before they made them, prepared but not overconfident.

"Ah," she said, her voice carrying across the plaza with practiced projection, the voice of someone who had learned to command in months rather than years but had learned it well. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes displaying a complex mix of emotions – determination dominant, but with undercurrents of both wariness and satisfaction at seeing her predictions fulfilled. "The heroes return. Come to be humiliated again?"

Eidolon's jaw tensed visibly beneath his mask, his power fluctuating around him in response to his agitation, green energy spiking and receding like an erratic heartbeat. Alexandria placed a hand on his shoulder – a warning, a reminder of their earlier conversation. Her touch seemed to ground him, the wild fluctuations of his aura steadying, though the tension remained evident in every line of his body.

"You're going down for your crimes, Invicta," Eidolon managed, his voice tight with restrained fury. Each word emerged with deliberate control, as if he feared what might follow should he give his emotions free rein.

She blinked, not in theatrical surprise but in genuine bemusement. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, her head tilting as if considering his words from multiple angles.

Then she turned, her golden gauntlet gesturing toward the city skyline in a sweeping motion both graceful and purposeful.

"Crimes?" she repeated, her tone mocking and sardonic. "Look around you. The gangs are gone. The people eat. There is law. There is peace. I've given them more in two months than your endless committees and red tape did in two decades."

She faced them again, taking a single step forward, power radiating off of her form.

"You are the ones dropping bombs on schools and clinics," she continued, her voice gaining a sharp edge. "You are the ones tearing this city apart to punish it for refusing your rule. I merely showed them another way. A better way. A way without the compromises that left this city bleeding for decades while you looked the other way."

Alexandria floated forward, positioning herself slightly ahead of her colleagues. Her posture was rigid, unyielding, a bulwark against Invicta's words as much as her power.

Then, louder, in the voice that had addressed nations: "Sol Invicta, Taylor Hebert, you are guilty of treason, sedition, armed rebellion, multiple counts of murder, and terrorism. You have been sentenced to death in absentia by the Massachusetts Supreme Court. Your reign ends today."

Invicta merely laughed in response to the declaration, a scornful and mocking cackle cutting through the tension that had set upon the plaza.

Then after a few seconds, she calmed down and replied with iron certainty, "Oh Alexandria… my reign has just begun!"

Legend stepped forward, light gathering around his hands. "Enough talk. It's time to finish this!" And then, silently, more to himself, "And save this city from your madness..."

Light built around her, a radiant corona of energy that intensified the gold of her armor and cast her shadow in sharp relief against the pavement. The air shimmered as heat and energy distorted it slightly, creating the impression of a mirage around her form.

In her hand, a blade of light formed – long, curved, its edge a searing arc of gold, humming with pure force. The sound it made was clean and precise, the whine of perfectly controlled energy. Where the blade passed, it left brief afterimages, golden traces that faded quickly, evidence of its energy.

She raised it-

And pointed it at them.

Her eyes narrowed. Her smile widened into a mocking smirk.

"Come then," she said, her voice clear and steady, "Try."

For one tense second, the world seemed to hold its breath.

And then, the battle began.

Legend moved first, a streak of blue-white radiance arcing high into the sky, positioning himself for an aerial advantage. Alexandria launched herself forward, a dark missile aimed at Sol Invicta's heart, her fist drawn back for a blow that could shatter mountains. Eidolon spread his arms wide, reality warping around him as he called upon three powers simultaneously, the air crackling with ozone and possibility.

Taylor stood her ground, her blade describing a quick, efficient circle in the air before her, leaving a trail of golden fire. Her smile faded into focused determination and the blade came up in a blinding arc just as Alexandria reached her, a collision of unstoppable force and immovable object that would determine the fate of Brockton Bay.

And perhaps, should Invicta prevail once again, the beginning of a transformation that would reach far beyond a single troubled city.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The heroine was deflected by a slash of her sun-blade, but she righted herself immediately and turned to face Invicta once more.

Sol Invicta stood ready, her blade of radiant light humming with power in her grip. The glow bathed her golden armor in ethereal luminescence, transforming her into the divine figure she had become. Each plate of her armor caught the light of her weapon, reflecting it outward in a corona that made her appear as if she were wrapped in the embrace of a newborn star. Her eyes, once human, now blazed with inner fire, windows to a power that no mortal was meant to possess.

Across from her, the Triumvirate needed no words. No speeches. No hesitation.

They were legends incarnate – Alexandria, the invulnerable tactician; Legend, the master of light; and Eidolon, the wielder of all powers. For years they had stood as Earth Bet's greatest defenders, the pinnacle of heroism, the unassailable fortress against which all threats broke themselves. They had faced monsters and gods alike.

But they never faced anyone like her.

The air between them crackled with tension, a stillness that seemed to stretch before shattering like glass as they launched forward at once. They moved like a single organism, their assault a coordinated execution designed to end her immediately.

No games. No mercy.

They came to kill me.

Sol Invicta surged forward to meet them, the golden light of her blade carving a brilliant arc through the air as she parried Alexandria's first strike. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the atmosphere, rattling windows across most of Downtown. The collision of powers created a momentary flash, a miniature sun born of their conflict.

A mistake.

Sol Invicta barely had time to register the force behind Alexandria's blow before the sheer impact sent tremors radiating through her arms, vibrating down to her very bones.

Her strength is monstrous. Every one of her blows could turn a skyscraper to dust. She's not holding back this time…

Alexandria moved with terrifying speed, her dark costume a blur against the golden light. For all her enormous Brute power, the heroine had the precision of a surgeon and the grace of a dancer. Each movement was calculated, each strike engineered to kill. Her eyes, hidden beneath her visor, glinted with nothing but cold determination.

Sol twisted, ducked, let her body flow between the devastating force of Alexandria's fists. The air displaced by each missed punch created vacuum pockets that collapsed with thunderous cracks. The ground beneath them began to splinter and crack under the pressure of their exchanged blows.

Tch. Too slow, Alexandria. Invicta smirked.

Eidolon pressed in from the flank, his emerald aura flaring as his powers shifted constantly… telekinetic bursts that distorted the very air, kinetic barriers that materialized like crystalline walls, pressure waves that sought to crush Sol outright. With each heartbeat, he cycled through different powers, adapting, evolving, becoming whatever was needed to counter her movements.

Sol dodged one assault, her form leaving a trail of golden afterimages as she moved faster than the human eye could track. She slashed through another attack, her blade cleaving through Eidolon's energy construct, dissipating it into motes of light. A third hammered against her defenses, forcing her to brace her legs against the concrete, leaving twin furrows as she was pushed back.

I need to move, I need to-

A flash of blue light seared throughThe phone rang.

"This is Captain Harper of the PRT, to whom am I speaking?"

"This is Doctor Peterson. Have you had any other calls since we last spoke?"

"No, thank god. You got cut off last time, though. Hell, every time I get called the phone cuts off seemingly at random."

"We're still trying to figure that out ourselves. Our best guess is that the anomaly causing the phone we are using and your own device only has a limited amount of energy to maintain a call."

"So whatever is making you call me can't do it indefinitely. What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Our personal suggestion would be for you to get a new device, and to either leave your current one in the hands of your foundation equivalent or destroy it."

"... What do you mean 'foundation equivalent'?"

"The SCP foundation is active in multiple realities, Captain Harper. In order to contact them, your best option would be to find an organization or business that has a similar, or even identical, acronym. Either that or the Shark Punching Center, if your reality's foundation is feeling cheeky."

"... You're saying that there is another of your foundation sites here on earth Bet."

"More than likely, yes."

"Are they aware of the mountains of treaties we have against interdimensional travel? Almost every nation on earth signed them."

There is a pause.

"The foundation does not typically establish interdimensional branches of its own accord. However, we've found alternate variations of the foundation in enough of the realities we've interacted with to be fairly sure that the foundation exists in most realities where human civilization is present. You've no need to worry about treaties signed by governments, as it's entirely possible that if your world does have a foundation equivalent, they were the ones to draft the agreement in the first place."

"... Fine then. So, find an organization with the SCP acronym, or the Shark Punching Center, and try to get in contact?"

"That would be the best course of action. If you think you've found an agent of the foundation, ask them 'Does the black moon howl,'"

"I've heard that before. The first time my phone rang, it sounded like someone… or maybe multiple someones, asking the question, and then giving a different response each time."

"If you have the chance, I'd like a transcript of what answers they gave. In the meantime though, if the person looks confused or gives a mere 'yes or no' when you ask, you know you're in the wrong place. If they say something more cryptic, you're probably in the right place and they can take it from there."

"You're kidding, 'something cryptic'? Do you guys not have any kind of standard operating procedure for this kind of thing?"

The phone hung up.

[-----]

Taylor sat on her couch in her living room, looking across the coffee table at her father, who sat in a wooden chair he'd taken from the kitchen. He held a mug of tea in his hands as he leaned forward. He wore a frown on his face, but otherwise held no obvious expression.

Taylor had finally broken. She'd told him everything. Everything she has been too afraid to say, too afraid to admit. In her own mind, she questioned why she was willing to tell him as much as she had, then justified it to herself with the thought that the spider lilies -- and whatever cape was behind them -- likely would have revealed her secrets sooner or later.

And all things considered… she wondered if the lilies hadn't been genuinely trying to help or not. Their words were… strange, now that she could look back on it without panicking, but they had gotten her and her father talking.

"So you have powers, now." Her father said, not asking, but seeming to run the idea through his head.

She nodded, "I did a lot of research on how trigger events worked, after everything. They are supposed to be when someone is pushed to their limit, or when there's no way for them to survive without powers." She shrugged, "It's not always like that, but that's the generally accepted theory."

He nodded, "And when you were… shoved into the locker, it put you into the perfect position to trigger." he expanded. He sat in silence for a few moments, and Taylor genuinely wondered for a moment if he was considering doing something rash. He was quiet, but she could see the fury behind his eyes. If he had been talking to anyone else -- to anyone but her -- she wondered idly if she would get a repeat of how she had seen him when she'd woken up in the hospital.

"You're not going back to that school." He said finally, and she could tell by his words that he didn't want to argue the point, "We'll figure something out. Get you into Arcadia somehow. But under no circumstances are you to go back there." he said, a tone of finality in his voice.

Her heart leaped in her throat, and she almost dared hope that things might actually be making a turn for the better. She crushed the thought, however, her own pessimism and the number of times she'd tried to get herself transferred, only to be denied by the staff, kept her from holding out too much hope.

She was about to ask what his plan was when he looked up from his mug of tea to give her a serious look, "And you are going to be joining the Wards," he said, though it lacked the same tone as his statement about her not going back to Winslow.

"No, I-" she stopped herself short, the denial coming out before she really had the chance to formulate an actual response. She didn't want to join the Wards, didn't want to be put under the thumb of someone else.

He blinked at her, and his expression went from one of determination to one of surprise, "Why not?" he asked.

She sighed, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to form the argument in her head, "The Wards… I've looked into them. They don't… I can't trust them, dad. I can't trust that they won't be just like Winslow. I can't commit to something like that."

He frowned, before leaning back into his chair and sighing. He disagreed with her, she could see it on his face, the look in his eyes as he avoided making eye contact with her. It made her heart wilt at seeing that look.

"Look, Taylor… I know you don't like the idea of the Wards. And who knows, maybe your right, but I want you to be safe, Taylor. And besides," He let out a half-chuckle, though he wore no smile to match it, "This time I won't let them get away with anything stupid."

The way he said it made a chill run down Taylor's spine in a way she didn't normally feel. It wasn't like the cruel remarks thrown at her by school bullies, or the errant feeling of unease that came with being chased by boys bigger than her… but it was similar, only unlike before, the sensation wasn't being directed at her.

[-----]

"Hey, boss?"

Tattletale's voice on one end of the phone made Coil smile. She was usually diligent when the threat of making good on his promise was brought up. His smile fell, however, when the subject of why she was calling her in the first place came to mind.

"What have you found out about your new tinker?" he asked.

"Well, he agreed to join, so there's that. I was going to call you later to say that he does want to get a meeting with you, though."

That was odd, Coil thought to himself, "And you couldn't persuade him?" he asked.

"No, not really. He's older than me, by… well, not a lot. He's older than Brian though, enough that he didn't really take me too seriously."

That made him pause. He'd gathered from their previous conversation that the Administrator was on the older end of recruits, however, hearing that he was now the oldest member of the Undersiders -- an adult in his early twenties, according to tattletale -- certainly threw a wrench into things. More prone to skepticism, more prone to ask questions, and as it appeared, more stubborn in wanting to meet his new, elusive employer.

"Very well then. I will organize a meeting, and you can inform him of the date and time." He told her. It would serve a dual purpose, in the end. Creep hadn't been able to find any information on the Administrator, except on the few occasions that Coil would send him to look, only for the timeline to close abruptly. Sometimes it took a few minutes, sometimes a few hours, but it would always end with him no closer to finding just who the Administrator was.

An in-person meeting would save him time and, it could help him figure out what it was about the man that caused him to interfere with his timelines. After all, what would a bio tinker have that could disrupt his power to such a degree?

"I'll tell him, boss. Where and when?"

"Three-oh-three Elm, at five-thirty in the afternoon tomorrow," He said, "There is an empty lot behind the church there, no cameras or police patrols. It's in Empire territory, but Kaiser and I have been on fair terms as of late." he explained.

Once the pleasantries were said and the phone line hung up, Coil went to work on his other projects.

[-----]

The time for the meeting came quicker than Coil had expected, though that was less due to the actual passage of time, and more to do with his own efforts to bury himself in his work, as much as he loathed it. Still, the time came, and Coil split the timeline.

In the first, he was wearing his costume, sitting in a limousine parked behind the church. A pair of guards were present, and a handful of mercenaries were hidden in the windows of the church and surrounding buildings.

In the second timeline, a body double held the same role, and he sat in his safe shelter, video, and audio feed linked to him so as to perceive the meeting.

In both timelines, a car drove up to the lot, though Coil couldn't make out the driver at first. Tattletale exited the passenger seat in civilian clothes, and the driver-side door opened to reveal-

In a single instant, Coil all but had a heart attack. The timeline with his safe shelter snapped shut, leaving him in the presence of the man that could be no one other than the Administrator. He split the timeline almost in a panic, in the first trying to calm himself and regain his composure, while in the second he genuinely did begin to panic.

"What are you!?" the divergent version of himself shouted as he stumbled out of the limousine.

The administrator was surprised at the man's outburst, and Coil was glad that he had a separate timeline in order to let off his fumes of anger and confusion. It wouldn't do to be irrational in the real world, after all.

In the first timeline, introductions were made, with The Administrator playing the role of a suspicious man, though given his age, Coil was sure much of it was an act more than anything else. At the same time, with no knowledge of him combined with his greater age, he would be far harder to manipulate than the other Undersiders had been.

In the second timeline, Coil ran Up to the administrator and grabbed him by the collar -- it was at this point that he realized the height difference between them, with the administrator being a few inches taller than Coil himself.

He felt the sensation of peeling skin a moment later, and the timeline closed.

The feeling was an unpleasant one, and one that carried over into the first timeline as the two men shook hands. Coil went stiff for a moment, and wondered idly what had happened, if the Administrator had killed him, or if Cauldron had sent their attack dog after him. All the same, there was barely a second of stiffness that came after the timeline closed, and Coil focused on the task at hand. It had been a throwaway timeline at the end of the day, and so while it was no great loss, it also served as a learning experience.

The Administrator was far more dangerous than he at first appeared.

"With introductions out of the way, while I was the one to schedule this meeting, I was not the one to request it. You wished to meet with me, Administrator. Here I am." He said, despite the fact that it was becoming increasingly clear that he should not be.

The Administrator smiled, "I have two questions, truth be told," he said, "The first pertains to my employment. I already got the money spiel from Tattletale, however… I'm curious. I looked over some of the jobs the Undersiders have done in the past, and while some of them were profitable… none of them are quite worth what you're paying them."

In a way, Coil felt like he'd been caught, though at the same time, he doubted the others of the group hadn't figured it out. It meant that the Administrator was either too dumb to make the logical leap needed -- to which he sincerely doubted -- or, there was something else he wanted. Something he was trying to get at.

"Well," Coil started, "I'm sure you are aware that the Undersiders are not my only investment." At the Administrator's nod, he continued, "There is much within this city that goes on behind the scenes, my friend, as I'm sure you are aware. While the Undersiders ventures may not always be profitable in and of themselves, I can assure you that they open up many avenues of capital that would not be available otherwise."

The Administrator nodded in understanding, before placing one hand in his pocket, "Understandable. One more question, then." he said, "What's the most you've ever lost on a coin toss?"

Coil blinked. "What?" he asked, genuinely taken aback by the question.

"A coin toss," the younger man repeated, "How much have you bet, and lost on one."

Though it was unlikely the man could see the narrowed eyes underneath Coil's mask, he likely knew how… irritating he was being. Still, it was entirely possible that he could take advantage of the situation.

"I don't believe I've lost a coin toss in recent memory," Coil answered. His senses proved correct when the Administrator pulled an oddly shaped coil from his pocket. He flipped it, caught it, then placed it on the back of his hand, covering one side. Immediately after, he split the timeline.

"Call it."

Coil blinked, suddenly aware that there was something else going on. "What for?" he asked.

"Just call it." the other man said with a shrug.

"I'd like to know what it is you are trying to wager."

"It's a coin toss, Coil. You've already made your wager. Now call it."

Coil frowned beneath his mask, hesitant… and yet, this sort of situation was the exact reason he had separate timelines in the first place.

"Heads."

"Tails."

In both timelines, the hand came off the coin. And in both timelines, it was the same as what Coil had called. Heads in the first timeline, Tails in the second.

The man smiled, "Lucky."

It shouldn't have been possible. He'd split the timeline after the coin had flipped.

The smile on the Administrator's face showed that he knew something Coil did not. In the second timeline, he gave the order for the mercenaries to shoot, and no sooner had he heard the sound of gunshots, did the timeline collapse completely.

"... Who are you?" Coil asked, finding himself, for the first time in a long time, truly on the back foot. It was not a pleasant sensation.

"My name is Michael Scranton." he explained, "I think we'll be seeing each other quite often, Coil."

The Administrator made a swift hand motion, flipping the coin over in his hand before launching it with his thumb toward Coil. He caught it, though only just, and spared a glance toward it, before turning his eyes back to Michael. He and Tattletale were walking back to the car, and with a hint of panic in his voice, he called out to them.

"Wait- Who do you work for?" Coil asked suddenly.

The Administrator just smiled, "Not for who you think." he said, before stepping into the car with the younger cape and driving away.

Coil looked down at the coin, half expecting to see a Cauldron C on one side, only to find something else entirely. A golden coin with a symbol he didn't recognize, and on the opposite side, an image of a broken lock. In the span of a hand motion, the administrator had either switched the coin… or changed it.

Or, now that Coil thought of it… perhaps the coin hadn't ever changed its appearance. After all, he couldn't remember what it had even looked like before the Administrator had given it to him.The phone rang.

"Look, Doctor Peterson, I haven't found my foundation equivalent yet."

"Am I a good boy?"

"... You're not Doctor Peterson, are you?"

"Are you a good boy?"

"Who am I talking to?"

"Good boys contain anomalies."

"What do you mean 'good boys'? What are you talking about?"

"Disembowel forty-two male Felis Catus, hang the remains around site seventeen."

"What the fuck…"

"Am I a good boy?"

The phone hung up.

[-----]

Lisa stared at the back of Michael's head as they walked into an antique shop. She'd loved watching him mess with her boss, and while it screwed with her power, watching Coil internally panic was something she thoroughly enjoyed. Whatever his power was, the Administrator and his little coin trick had fucked with it enough to cause the snake-themed man significant distress.

She wondered for a moment if he would have sicked his mercenaries on them. But then, her power had told her he already had.

Already ordered mercenaries to kill Tattletale. Mercenaries failed.

Inside the store, An old man sat behind a wooden counter at the front reading a book and gave Michael a smile and nod as he walked past, which was returned.

Doesn't get many customers, glad to have business.

"What exactly are you looking for now?" She asked.

Michael paused his perusal of the various shelves and boxes, "For a pair of eyeglasses," he started, "Normally I try to put off making things, but it's rare that I get two in a row that are so useful." He chuckled, "Admittedly I'm somewhat dreading the next thing I have to build, but until then," he paused as something caught his eye. He reached behind a set of picture frames.

He pulled out a pair of spectacles -- and they were spectacles, she noted within her own mind. Thick, round lenses with thin wire frames. They had a couple of scratches, but beyond that, they seemed in quite good condition.

"I want to make use of what I have." He finished.

She raised an eyebrow at the implications, her power being, as ever, completely useless when it came to him. He was a bit excited, if the way he spoke and the smile on his face was taken into account -- though far more reserved than Alec, or even Brian had ever been -- but the way he held the glasses seemed… off to her.

Her power was unhelpful, and while she was good at reading people, she started to realize that she probably relied on her power more than she realized.

"What's with those?" She asked.

"These," he informed her, "Will let me go wherever I need."

The purchase of the glasses went easy, and while she didn't appreciate the cryptic answer, she'd come to expect it from him. He was usually fairly forthcoming with answers -- but, like with the glasses, and when he flayed himself alive, there were other times where he was more reluctant.

Yet again, she wished her power worked on him.

The two left the store, with Michael paying the old man behind the counter. They left and walked back to Michael's car. After she got inside, and once he started driving, she started to think about what he had been doing, and how he did it.

"What exactly did you do to Coil? He was practically panicking near the end of your conversation." She asked. "Come to think of it, what was the deal with that coin?"

"The coin is easy," he started, flicking his blinker on as they stopped at a light, "It's heavily weighted to one side, depending on… well, stuff neither of us control. But basically, it's only weighted to one side in the real world." He explained. "The reason it messed with Coil so badly is because of his power; he can simulate having two timelines -- he's a bit like a precog, in that way. However, if he is simulating it, it's just a normal coin. If he flips it as normal, it'll always land on heads. If he flips while he's got his power running, though…"

"There's no telling what it'll land on." She finished, realizing his thought process. It was convenient, in a way. But the more she thought about it, the more questions she had.

"Why didn't you keep it, then?" She asked, "If he's simulating the world, and your caught in it, you could just flip the coin and know whether or not you're being simulated."

He gave a so-so gesture with his hand, "The problem with that line of thinking is that you are assuming I don't mess with his power."

"What?"

"You said your power doesn't work on me, right?" He asked, to which she nodded, "I had always theorized that might be the case, but knowing that you're power doesn't work on me confirmed it; Coil's power, and other precognitive abilities, can't take me into account, and don't work properly when they are forced to try."

"So, you don't actually need to coin to know if you're being simulated?" She asked.

He shook his head, "Whatever I'm doing, unless something has gone significantly wrong, is real. And now that Coil has that coin, an object that messes with precog powers, and is probably going to keep it close at hand…"

Lisa's mind clicked into place, "... It's going to mess with him regardless, making his power unreliable." She finished.

"Bingo."

She leaned back into the passenger seat, partially coming to terms with the new information. Learning about Coil's power made several things click into place; he had ordered his mercenaries to shoot her and Michael, but something that happened in that timeline had made him choose the other. She shuddered as she thought back to the number of times her power had given her odd feedback when talking to Coil; and now she knew why.

"... So what now?" She asked.

"Now, I get to make these work," he said, holding up the pair of spectacles he had purchased, "And we wait a day. Tomorrow I'm going to fuck with Coil a bit more, now that I have his phone number."

"What are you planning on doing?"

Michael smiled, getting that same look he had when he first picked up the glasses, "Coil has a bunch of moles in the PRT. I plan on taking advantage of that fact."

Lisa gave him an incredulous look, "What does any of this have to do with the PRT?" She asked, ignoring his casual mention of moles within the government organization. She'd suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed by the partially omniscient cape was something she didn't want to consider much, lest her power give her a headache.

"There's a few people I'd like to get into contact with," he started, "As well as a few people I'd rather not be on the radar of. I'll admit, I went after you and the rest of the Undersider's somewhat intentionally, though that was mostly thanks to the things I was able to build at the time. There are things I need to set into motion that require the resources Coil has, and I'd like to get those before I remove him from the board."

"And how long is that going to take?"

He sighed, "Ideally? I'll have eyes and ears inside the PRT by tomorrow… but, knowing my luck, Murphy is going to try and use me and his personal punching bag."

[-----]

Thomas Calvert spent far longer than he would have liked staring at the coin he had been given. He'd tried flipping it, both while running a separate timeline, and while not. When not splitting the timeline, it would almost always land with the odd symbol landing face upward.

When he split the timeline, however, it was never so consistent. He wondered if it was weighted, before dismissing the idea. The Administrator was a tinker, and while Coil had believed him to be a form of Biotinker, at first, he had now discarded the idea. Probability, perhaps? But then, Tattletale's report disagreed with the notion. He had made equipment that was consistent with Biotinker abilities, and so while that in and of itself was unlikely to be his specialty, it was well within his ability.

He flipped the coin again. Heads.

He split the timeline, and flipped it again. Tails in both.

Again. Tails in one, heads in the other.

He flipped it again. The same result, only in opposing timelines.

He closed the second timeline, and flipped again. Heads.

It irritated him. But, in a way, it also proved that the meeting had not been a waste. While it was surely meant to be a form of threat to Coil, a sort of insurance so as to ensure the Administrator's independence, it had given Coil a very key piece of information.

When the Administrator was involved, he could not rely on his power.

It was an irritating thought, but it was not something he couldn't plan around. He could still give orders to Tattletale, and through her, maintain a grip over the Administrator. It would be a loose one -- looser than he would have liked -- but until he had a way to control him completely, it would have to suffice.

He flipped the coin again. It landed on heads.

He sighed, before moving to the changing room of his office. His snake costume was useful, but it was less than comfortable. Changing out of the costume and into a far more professional suit, he exited the room and began shutting down his computer. He had a meeting to attend, and it wasn't one he could miss.

He exited the hideout, not as Coil, but as Thomas Calvert, PRT consultant. It was a role he played well, and it offered quite a degree of freedom. Eventually, the role would change, however, and hopefully sooner rather than later. The obstacle provided by the Administrator was one that he hoped to avoid, and while the man's words had eluded his connection to Cauldron -- even if it was not a professional connection -- proved he was dangerous.

Driving to the PRT headquarters was a quick affair, and getting inside was even easier. The number of agents he had under his employ assured him such a thing would be easy. Entering a meeting room -- three minutes early, as expected -- he found himself in the presence of a number of individuals he recognized, Director Emily Piggot, Deputy Director Rennick, Armsmaster, and a pair of clerks who would be disseminating the information discussed to the proper channels. There was one individual he did not expect for the meeting, however.

"Captian Harper, I did not expect the response teams would have a representative for this meeting," Thomas said, keeping his tone casual. While the man being present was unexpected, that didn't mean all that much.

"Captain Harper will not be representing the field agents at this time, Mr. Calvert." the Director said, her voice grinding in a way that expressed her displeasure at the fact Thomas was even there in the first place. In a way he couldn't begrudge her for it, she was the only one that knew what he had done all those years ago, and she certainly held a resentment for him, misplaced as it was.

"Oh?" he asked, splitting the timeline.

"If he is not representing the response teams, then why is he present?" he asked in one timeline, "Very well then." He said in the other.

"Captain Harper is, in fact, the reason for this very meeting." Emily stated, making Thomas' brow raise in surprise, "We are here to discuss the nature of the calls Captian Harper has been getting on his personal phone." She explained, in both timelines.

"What kind of calls?" Thomas asked.

"He's been receiving calls every two to eighteen hours from differing sources, however, one source appears to be from an individual named Doctor Peterson, who claims to be part of an interdimensional organization." She started, before gesturing to Captain Harper to elaborate.

"As she said, I keep getting these calls seemingly random, though Doctor Peterson is the only one I've had a repeat of. The first one was… strange. Someone talking about the Black Moon, and from what I've managed to glean from Docter Peterson, it's part of a codeword. 'Does the Black Moon Howl' is apparently something rather specific in their organization." he explained.

Thomas wasn't sure why, but the phrase made a shiver go down his spine.

"The second was even more peculiar. Like the first, I didn't get a response when talking, but there was someone on the other end, they called themselves 'the Administrator'."

In an instant, Coil was alert. He suppressed his reaction in the first timeline, while in the second, he let his reaction show.

"You recognize the name, Calvert?" Emily asked.

"Only tangentially," He started, "There is a cape I've heard of active on the east coast that goes by that name."

The first timeline went on, with Thomas remaining quiet while Captain Harper went on to describe the events of subsequent calls. In the second, however, Thomas was subject to both interrogation of himself, and of Captain Harper.

"I don't know his abilities exactly, but he appears to be either a Trump, a Tinker, or both." He explained in the second timeline, "Pinning him down has been… difficult. It doesn't help that he tends to keep a low profile, and the rest of the PRT has been rather unhelpful in finding more information on him."

Emily leaned back in her chair -- well, as much as she could, given her weight, "So, I guess that answers how they got your number in the first place. If the Administrator is a Tinker, Doctor Peterson may be his identity, and he is simply posing to try and get a rogue toy back…"

"Or things just got a lot more complicated." Rennick finished.

Thomas closed the second timeline just as soon as the Deputy Director finished speaking. Already, he was closer to learning more about 'Michael Scranton' than he ever had been, and he would rather keep that information to himself. Almost as soon as the timeline closed, Captain Harper finished explaining the latest of the phone's attempts to call him.

"... And it kept repeating something about 'good boys', which in and of itself is kind of creepy." He finished.

Thomas sat, mulling over the information. The hypothesis put forward by Emily and Rennick was clearly a sound one -- a tinker putting on a show to try and test his technology, or perhaps, given Doctor Peterson's suggestion to give it to one of the foundation's branches, perhaps the Administrator was trying to get his hands on it.

And as had been said in the previous, discarded timeline, if it really was some sort of interdimensional organization, things would become very complicated.

"Protectorate records have no mention of this 'SCP' foundation," Armsmaster pointed out, "If this individual calling themselves Doctor Peterson was telling the truth, the Protectorate and PRT would have been informed of such an organization."

Thomas split the timeline, in the first, he stayed silent on the matter, while in the second, "Would you be so sure?" he asked.

All eyes turned to him, "Would the Protectorate and the PRT be given contact information to such a reclusive organization? Doctor Peterson had said they worked with world governments, and while most of them are shadows of their former selves, the United States government is still a notable organization, and Europe and Australia are still in good condition." he explained, "It's entirely possible they have neglected to contain capes and other such things due to their widespread nature."

Already Thomas was beginning to suspect he was treading on dangerous ground. The things Harper had described reminded him, eerily so, of the kinds of things Cauldron was capable of. If things were on the complicated end, if there really was a shadow organization that collected anomalous objects within alternate dimensions, was Cauldron Earth Bet's equivalent?

Regardless of his doubts on the subject, his words seemed to make the group at the table think, before Armsmaster spoke up, "I do not believe this to be the work of interdimensional actors." He said, "While the possibility is certainly non-zero, I find it much more likely that we are dealing with a rogue tinker. One who would very much like to get his hands on anything that is being affected by, or is interfering with his equipment."

"Whatever the case," Emily started, "Be on the lookout for any organizations with the SCP acronym. Unlikely as it is to be an interdimensional organization, they mentioned a way we can try to get a hold of them. The sooner we can do so directly, the sooner we can apprehend them and get this whole situation sorted."

The next several minutes -- in both timelines -- played out similarly. Thomas was able to glean quite a bit of information on the situation, and at his suggestion, they would be first inspecting any such organizations with suitable acronyms within Brockton Bay. He figured he could set up a shell corporation rather easily, in order to circumvent the issue, however that also posed the problem of complicating things.

Still, once he had left the PRT headquarters, he went through the process of creating a shell organization of the 'shark punching center' that had been mentioned. It could very well serve as a way for him to get his hands on the mysterious tinker tech, and a way to get closer to the Administrator if the effects on Captain Harper's phone were indeed a result of one of his creations.

The complication that arose soon after he had tried to create the shell, was that it appeared the 'Shark Punching Center' already existed, though notably, no address was listed, with a phone number being the only way to contact them.

It made him wonder if the Administrator had set up the website, and in a moment of curiosity, he split the timeline. In the first one, he dialed the number associated with the SPC. In the second, he took the coin the Administrator had given him out of his pocket, the weight of it suddenly notable to him. It hadn't changed, but he felt it appropriate.

The phone rang for a moment before a voice on the other end picked up.

"Thank you for calling the shark punching center, this is Swann speaking."

Not the Administrator, Thomas immediately discerned. The voice was different, higher pitched. Still male, but younger.

"Yes, my name is Thomas Calvert. I stumbled upon your website, and was curious why your organization didn't have an address attached."

The voice on the other end -- Swann, he mentally corrected himself -- chuckled in amusement, "I'm sorry, I'm just, you realize this is a joke site right?"

Thomas was already beginning to feel stupid but pressed on. He began flipping the coin. Heads in the timeline where he was on the phone, tails in the timeline he was not.

"I apologize, I was curious. Though, such a thing doesn't particularly surprise me. I should ask, though, do you know anyone by the name of Michael Scranton?" he asked, flipping the coin again. Heads in both timelines.

"Oh! Is he the one who showed you the site? Yeah, he's a buddy of mine, gave me the idea."

The coin flipped. Heads in both again. Thomas gave it an incredulous look.

"Yes, he is a… business associate of mine."

Heads in the first, tails in the second.

"Oh, really? What do you guys do together?"

Heads in the first, tails in the second. Thomas' heart began to beat faster, wondering if it was a trick. The odds of a coinflip going one way five times in a row were certainly not unheard of, however, when the Administrator was involved, he couldn't be sure.

"I'm afraid our work is strictly behind NDA," He said, before trying to close off the first timeline.

The second one closed instead.

"Ah, yeah, I should have figured. Michael does a lot of government work, at least, that's what he's told me."

The coin landed on heads.

"... I'm afraid I'm going to have to go, I'm getting another call."

"No problem man, and hey! Call us if you have any shark-punching needs! Oh, and tell Michael I said hi!"

The phone rang.

"Thank you for calling scan-copy-print! This is Joseph speaking, how many I help you?"

"Does the Black Moon Howl."

"What? Sir, I think you might have the wrong number."

"I apologize, do you know anyone by the name of Doctor Peterson?"

"I'm sorry sir, no one by that name works here."

"Never mind then, have a good day."

The phone hung up.

[-----]

Thomas was no longer sure he could stay within Brockton Bay. If things had gone according to plan, he would have had control of the city within months; The underworld would be under his sway, and the PRT and Protectorate at his beck and call. But of course, the one cape in all the world that could screw with his power had shown up.

He was glad that Cauldron had, seemingly, no knowledge of the Administrator, and given that his abilities as a Trump -- whether they be innate, or a side effect of one of his tinkered creations -- seemed to interfere with them as well. With any luck, they wouldn't ask questions.

He still had one last plan. One thing that would let him take over the Bay, and not have to worry about the Administrator's interference. If he could get him to leave Brockton, to go somewhere that they would never interact with each other again, he could proceed as he had intended.

He still tried to have a second, safe timeline, open when he called the Administrator. Unusually, the phone did not ring, and instead gave him a tone, and a generic message that the phone number he had been given had been disconnected.

He stared at the phone, perplexed, before trying the number again in the alternate timeline, gaining a similar result. He tried closing the second timeline, and then trying again, only to be greeted with the same message.

Growling in frustration, he dialed Tattletale's number instead. Fortunately, she picked up the phone rather promptly.

"Whats up boss?" she asked.

"Do you know why the Administrator's phone number has been disconnected?" He asked.

She hesitated, and Coil wondered if she would hang up, but eventually she did answer, "So, his number is… weird. You can get calls from it, but if you try calling it or looking it up, it shows as disconnected. My best guess is that his phone is one of the Anomalies he made before meeting us." She explained, which brought up another quandary.

"Your 'best guess', Tattletale?" He asked, somewhat curious. Did the Administrator interfere with her powers as well?

"Yeah, um… so, his power fucks with mine. I can't read him at all, and even though I can get a basic idea of his tech, even that is usually sketchy." She explained.

So it wasn't just him then, he thought. It would seem that he interfered with all thinker powers, or similar.

"Very well then. Is he close by, or failing that, is there a place where I can contact him?" He asked.

"He's not here at the loft, but if you want to talk to him, I can give you his address. He's usually there tinkering."

After the address was exchanged, he thanked her, before hanging up the phone. While he hated the idea that he would have to deal with the Administrator in person, rather than using his timelines and mercenaries to manipulate the outcome of the event, he could do it.

Rather convenient, he considered, that the only way he could get in contact with the Administrator was to get within close proximity to him. It seemed that Michael had made every attempt to stack the deck in his favor, should someone become hostile to him.

Was it simple paranoia, or did he suspect Coil might try to harm him? It was not an unfounded fear to be sure, but not one that he should have known to act on without knowledge of who Coil was.

Whatever the case, the Administrator had forced his hand. In a way, at least.

He needed to be careful. The address he'd been given was in a fairly public suburb, enough so that if Coil appeared out of hand, the neighbors or any random passer-by would recognize him.

He had two solutions, then. The first would be to have his mercenaries clear the area of civilians, and then approach the house. The second would be to appear not as Coil, but as Thomas Calvert.

Yet again, the Administrator's ability to cut off spare timelines was becoming the bane of his existence. Still, he could not compromise his identity, and so he would have to settle for clearing the area of civilians first. He would send an agent in first, hopefully to prompt the Administrator out of the building and into the open, where any tricks he might have would be harder to employ.

Yes, that would work. He began making calls to the mercenary commanders, as well as his plants within the BBPC. With any luck, he could have the area cordoned off, and the Administrator would be leaving Brockton Bay, or dead, within the next twenty four hours.

[-----]

The area surrounding the Administrator's home had been cordoned off by feigned construction work, with a number of Coil's agents posted outside with weapons ready to kill the Administrator should he attack him, or if he gave the signal.

An agent was sent in first. A knock on the door, only for there to be no response.

"Open the door." Coil ordered. It was possible the Administrator was not home, but he doubted it. Still, if the door was locked, it would complicate things.

The door swung open. The mercenary walked in, and seemed to be exploring for a moment.

"There's no one here, boss. Just a- hold on."

"What is it?" Coil asked, eyeing the house warily, wondering if a trap had been laid.

"There's some kind of shrine in here. Like, a Mexican, Catholic thing. Sending an image."

Coil's phone vibrated, and he looked down at it to see the attached picture. Indeed it was a shrine of some kind, and it reminded him of the handful of Mexican celebratory decorations he'd seen over the years. Was the Administrator of Mexican decent? Coil tried to think back to what the man looked like, but couldn't remember whether he had looked Hispanic or not.

Shaking his head, he turned his focus back to the matter at hand, "Investigate some of the further rooms. He is supposedly a Tinker, so be careful not to touch anything, but see if you can find out where he may have gone."

The next several minutes were spent in eager anticipation, with occasional updates on what the mercenary saw in each of the rooms. Finally, he had explored the last of it.

"That's everything, wherever he is, he's not-" the agent cut himself off, and Coil was about to ask what had happened, when he spoke again, "That wasn't there when I first came in."

"What wasn't there? What's happening?" Coil asked, controlling his voice and trying not to panic. The Administrator was up to something, but he didn't, couldn't know what.

"There's a note on the coffee table. Except it wasn't there when I came in." The man explained.

His heart was beating out of his chest, and he hated not being able to use his timelines effectively, "Read it, what does it say?" He ordered.

The sounds of unfolding paper came over the audio before he spoke again, "I'm still here. Let him know I want to talk to him, and I would appreciate it if he would come inside. Bring as many guards as you would like."

An invitation to a Tinker's lair. Under most situations, it would be considered suicide. But then, the offer to bring guards. It was either a peace offering, or a threat that it didn't matter what Coil brought.

Still, he needed to have the Administrator removed from his city. He had poured too much time and effort into it to let it all go to waste without at first trying the most basic of tactics; simply asking him to leave. He would even be able to supply the Administrator with funds. Perhaps Accord could make use of his abilities, or even the Protectorate. As long as he left Brockton Bay.

Coil looked up at the three mercenaries sat in the vehicle with him, "You three, come with me. We are going inside." He gave the order for the one already inside to stay, weapons ready to be drawn at a moments notice.

He split the timeline. In the first, he sent the guards in alone; the timeline closed as soon as they crossed the threshold. Coil ordered them to go in, but nothing happened. Why had the timeline collapsed?

Finally, he stepped into the house. He expected a call down his spine, or perhaps goosebumps on his skin. But there was nothing of the sort. Just him and his guards on the hallway leading deeper into the house.

The mercenaries began scanning the house. Coil himself wandered the living room, trying to figure out where the Administrator might be hiding. It was a fairly spartan house, with two couches, a coffee table, and a wall mirror in the living room, connected to a fairly empty kitchen with a table and four chairs.

On the table was the strange shrine that the first agent had discovered. Oranges, greens, purples and blues covered the strange decorations, a single empty cup set before a set of statues. It confused him.

"I never told you what my power was, did I?"

Coil jumped in surprise, spinning on his heel to find the Administrator sitting on the couch in the living room, a set of glasses sitting on the coffee table into which he began pouring alcohol, filling them one by one.

He split the timeline. In the first, he calmed himself, channeling his emotions into the second timeline where his heart beat faster and faster, his lungs wanting to hyperventilate even as he forced himself to take long, calm breaths.

"You never did, no." He asked on the first timeline, even as he forced himself to stay calm in the second, the Administrator giving him a blank, sideways look.

"I'm a tinker, sort of." He started to explain, "I make things that defy the laws of reality. Anomalies. Things that shouldn't exist."

"What do you want?" He asked in the second timeline.

"There's a lot that I want, Thomas."

A motion from his hand was all it took for the guards in the room -- already pointing their guns at the Administrator, in both timelines -- to shoot at him… only for the timeline to collapse before he saw what happened.

Coil's identity had been compromised, and he'd walked into the lair of a Tinker with a dead man's switch. Everything that could have gone wrong, did.

"Why is your power of any consequence?" He asked, "Why tell me this now?"

He smiled, "Because there are things that I want, Coil. Have a seat, your guards can keep their guns on me if they want."

Coil walked over to the couch, but didn't sit down, instead choosing to stand above the younger man. He was in a position, and so needed to appear in control. "What is it you want in my city?" He asked.

The Administrator looked at him with a raised brow, "Your city? You're certainly an ambitious man. But you want to know what I want, right?" He smiled, an expression that by all rights should have made Coil feel something, fear, anxiety, confidence, anything.

But he felt nothing. Like watching a random stranger on the street smiling at something they found amusing, it conveyed no emotion to the one seeing it.

"I want to do the right thing." He said, "I want to do right by the power I was given, even if it means going against the laws of nations or reality."

He pulled out a phone from his pocket, and dialed a number. It rang for a moment, before someone on the other end picked up, "Make the call." He said, before hanging up.

Coil blinked, "Who was that?" He asked, before a ringtone distracted him.

A ringtone calling the mercenary captain that was serving as one of his guards.

"What's going on?" He asked the man, who gave him a look, as he held his phone to his ear. The captain was silent for a moment, before he lowered his weapon away from the Administrator.

"Weapons down." He ordered, before giving Coil a shrug, "Sorry boss."

Coil froze, before turning back to the Administrator. He was no longer smiling, and the lack of expression gave Coil a feeling of dread deeper than anything he could have said.

He split the timeline.

"What did he offer you?" He asked the mercenary, "Consider it doubled."

"What have you done!?" He shouted at the Administrator.

"No can do Coil, you don't have the funds." The captain said, and his blood turned to ice.

In the first timeline, he pulled out his phone in an attempt to check the balance in his bank and stocks, to check his finances. He had plenty of money! Only to find that he could not access them. His passwords didn't work, nor his biometrics, and what little he had showing his accounts showed them as empty.

In the second timeline, he pulled out his pistol and tried to shoot the Administrator. Oddly, the timeline did not end with the pain of being shot, and instead simply closed like every other time he'd tried to affect the Administrator within a spare timeline.

He froze, before turning to face the Administrator. He was caught in a trap, one that he could not worm his way out of through brute force.

"Very well then. Congratulations," he spread his arms out wide, "You have me cornered. Negotiations are at your demand."

"For the record, a good while ago, I didn't even know who you were." The Administrator, "And, given circumstances were different, I probably wouldn't have ever known."

He stood up, before reaching into one of his pockets and pulling out… a pair of Glasses?

"Listen, Coil. You have to understand that the two of us aren't directly opposing forces. We are similar, we operate in similar ways, we have similar methods, the only difference we have, is in our main goal." He explained.

"Captain, if you and your guards could hold him?"

Coil panicked. He split the timeline and ran in opposite directions, but in both, he was too slow. He'd been caught. He struggled, trying to escape the grip of the men he had once commanded.

"No!" He shouted, "I have money! I can pay you triple your rate, no, four times!"

"It's too late for that, Thomas." The Administrator said. He reached forward, pulling at the mask that covered Coil's face, revealing Thomas Calvert beneath.

He placed the glasses on Thomas' face, and no matter how the villain split the timeline, begged, promised, shouted, screamed… it didn't do anything.

"People like you and I, Thomas Calvert, have a role to play. We die in the dark, so that they may live in the light."

The last thing Coil felt was the instant sensation of his skin peeling from his flesh

The phone rang.

"Thank you for calling the Shark Punching Center, this is Swann, how many I help you?"

"Does the black moon howl."

"Only when the Thinker sings. Who is this?"

"Uh… okay, yes, excuse me. My name is Captain Harper, I work with the PRT. I was told by a man by the name of Doctor Peterson that I could contact your foundation through this line."

"Doctor Peterson was correct. May I ask why you called us today?"

"I have something for the foundation. A phone, it gets calls every few hours from differing sources; sometimes it's from Doctor Peterson, other times, different sources that are… strange."

"An anomaly, then. I am assuming the PRT wants to hand off the device?"

"Correct. How would we go about doing so?"

"Where are you stationed?"

"I currently operate out of Brockton Bay, Protectorate ENE."

The man on the phone chuckles.

"This just became easy then. We can send an agent to the PRT headquarters to pick it up tomorrow at eleven AM. Is that reasonable?"

"I believe that would work, yes. How will we know who you are sending?"

"The individual will ask the secretary if they have had any rain recently. You can verify their identity by asking 'Does the black moon howl', and they will respond with 'Only when the door is open'."

"Alright then. We'll see how things go tomorrow then, good day to you."

"Good day to you as well, captain."

The phone hung up.

[-----]

Taylor was reluctant to join the Wards, but her father was insistent they at least look into it, which resulted in the two of them going to the Protectorate headquarters to ask about such things.

Her father has called ahead, scheduling an appointment. Their identities would be kept on record, but she would be free to make whatever decision she wished. It rankled her that the Protectorate would know her identity from then on, but she considered that if she were trying to be a hero, was there really an issue with that?

She could think of several. But in the end, it was a compromise she and her father had come to. She would see what the wards had to offer her, good or bad.

When they entered the PRT headquarters, her first thought was that it was remarkably clean. There were bugs in the building, of course, but there were far fewer than she would have thought. Whoever was in charge of being the janitor must have taken pride in his work.

Her dad spoke with the clerk at the front desk, who gestured for them to sit in a designated waiting area. They'd made an appointment, but in true Hebert fashion, they'd arrived a few minutes early. She wasn't surprised they'd need to wait, but it did make her wonder if they were truly taking her seriously; or if they thought it would just be some kid looking for attention.

The two of them waited for a couple of minutes before the scheduled time for their appointment came; eleven o'clock. The front door opened, and Taylor turned to look at who came in, more out of curiosity than any real need; the man had bugs on him, so she was able to tell where he was.

He was a tall black man, rather skinny, wearing black slacks and a dark blue button-up shirt. She blinked as she looked at him, something about him not adding up in her mind. Her bugs crawled around him, trying to determine if he was hiding something; a concealed weapon, or some other device. Instead, she found something odd -- the clothes he was wearing didn't match what her bugs were feeling. His hand's weren't bare, he was wearing cloth gloves; his face wasn't bear either, there was a pair of glasses on his face…

She stared at him warily. Was he a cape? Was he hiding underneath some kind of stranger power? He said hello to the Secretary, and she seemed to recognize him. They spoke for a minute, with enough familiarity that Taylor suddenly wondered if he was one of the protectorate heroes. But if that were the case, then who?

She didn't know of any Strangers in the protectorate. Or anyone who was black, for that matter, though if he was able to disguise his clothes, could he disguise his skin color as well? She shook her head. She couldn't find any weapons on him with her bugs, and he was coming to the waiting area where she and her father sat. As much suspicion as she held toward him, he had given her no reason to think he meant her or the heroes harm. And as she thought on it more; would the protectorate even say if they had a stranger cape? She considered it, and all but smacked her head in realization. If he was a member of the Protectorate and had ways of disguising himself, it would make total sense that they wouldn't announce it.

Announcing to the world that you had someone capable of infiltrating your ranks was practically asking to get him killed.

"Hello there," the man said, sitting across from them, and Taylor immediately tensed up as his eyes appeared to linger on her for a moment, before moving to her father, "You must be Daniel Hebert. You're the manager for the Dockworkers union, yes?" he asked.

Her father blinked, surprised at being approached, "Um, yes… who are you?" he asked.

"Ah, apologies, my name is Thomas Calvert, I am a consultant for the PRT and Protectorate, as well as an investor and businessman. I was planning to make an appointment with your office after my business here was concluded, but seeing as you are already here, I figured I would give you my pitch," he explained.

Her father's eyes glazed over, "Pitch? What does this have to do with the PRT?" he asked.

"Nothing, actually. I own a notable stake in Fortress construction, the company that builds and maintains a number of Endbringer shelters along the east coast, I assume you've heard of them?" he asked. Her father nodded, and the man continued, "Well, to put it bluntly, Fortress Construction would like to look into reclaiming the material from the boat graveyard."

Her father blinked, and she could see the surprise on his face, "You want to… reclaim the material?" he asked.

"Yes," Thomas said with a smile, "There is quite a bit of material going to waste, and it may surprise you to know that steel is becoming quite expensive thanks to Behemoth's attack in Indiana last year and the price has only climbed since. Fortress Construction is looking at the possibility of reclaiming the ships in the graveyard for the steel, while also revitalizing the area's tourist industry." he smirked, "Though, I suspect they also wish to use the opportunity to poke the mayor to pay for more Endbringer defenses along the coast."

Taylor wasn't unknowledgeable about her father's dreams; the idea of clearing the boat graveyard and getting the ferry running again had been something he'd wanted done for quite some time. And now, here someone was, offering it on a silver platter… It sounded too good to be true to Taylor.

"I… I'll have to know more, you understand." Her father said.

"Of course!" Thomas said, his voice cheery, "As I said, I was planning on setting up an appointment with your office anyway. With my pitch already said and done, you can get things in order and have a more thorough discussion later, once your business here is concluded," He smiled, before glancing at Taylor.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two cards, the first he handed to her father, "This is the card for Fortress Construction. You should be getting a call from them within the day, either by myself or a representative. And this," He turned to her, and almost in an instant, Taylor felt like her blood was turning to ice. She kept as calm as she could, shunting her feelings into her swarm as best she could, with what little help it provided, given how clean the building was, "Is for you, young miss. If you're not happy with any of the deals the Wards give you, give it this number a call."

Her fear must have shown instantly, and her father started to move, "Relax," Thomas said, "It's not much of an inference. Parent and child in the PRT building? Not exactly a common sight… well, more common than it should be. Besides, bugs don't usually try to crawl down my sleeve," he said, giving her a look. She was still afraid, but his demeanor was still as calm as ever, "Please, take the card. Rogues have trouble in this city as it is with the gangs acting up and the Protectorate giving quite the stifling contracts. It's an offer, nothing more." he said, continuing to hold out the card.

Her father eyed it like a live wire, but in her own mind, she wondered what it was he was talking about. She hadn't heard of another cape organization in the city… not one that was legal, anyway. She took the card and looked it over. A phone number, a stylized R&G, with 'Rogues and Galleries' inscribed beneath.

"As I said, should you find the Protectorate's terms unfavorable, there is a standing offer," he explained.

Her father still looked like he wanted to jump out of his chair, only less so, after the explanation, "... We'll take it under consideration." he said.

Thomas smiled, "That's all I ask."

The elevator dinged, and all eyes turned to see three people come out, none of whom Taylor recognized.

"Ah," Thomas noted, getting up from his seat, "That would be my appointment. I look forward to talking with you later Mister Hebert."

Thomas walked over to the people that had come out of the elevator, leaving Taylor and her dad alone. She handed the card to him, and he looked it over, the back and front, "... this is a nice card," her father muttered, and for the first time in a while, Taylor struggled to hold back a chuckle that came forth unprompted.

[-----]

"Calvert…" Emily said, looking at the man with a higher-than-average level of disgust, "I didn't realize you played multiple sides."

He shrugged, "Not as such. I simply have multiple priorities, neither superseding the other."

She frowned continuously, "Does the black moon howl?" she asked.

"Only when the door is open." he said back, and she cursed inwardly.

"No wonder you were so quiet during the meeting. You knew this would happen, didn't you?" she asked.

"There are things in motion you're very much unfamiliar with Director, though I will admit, I am surprised you were never informed about the Foundation's footing in the area." he tilted his head, "... I will have to make an effort to set some things straight, it seems. Though, the look on your face was at least somewhat worth it." he admitted.

Her teeth ground in her mouth. She hated the man, the hate had started all those years ago, but in his time as a consultant, he'd only made things worse. The fact that he was right more often than not, was only salt in the wound.

Captain Harper handed a case to him, which he took with a smile and a nod. If it had been anyone else, he would have been detained… a tinker looking for their tech… but Thomas' presence complicated things. It made sense, in a sick, twisted way, he'd been unusually quiet during the meeting, and if he knew what was going on from the start, then that meant he would have known what their actions would end up being. He had guided them to call the right places, and in doing so, had provided the perfect opportunity to get it out of their hands…

"Thank you for making this easy. I'd hate for you to have to do any more paperwork on the account of detaining a random tinker."

… still, as twisted as it was, it would be less paperwork for her to deal with. A secret organization affiliated with the world governments wants to take a ton of paperwork off her hands? So be it. She'd put them on record as a group of interest, but that'd be it. She didn't have the time or resources to deal with it. They hadn't acted up before then, and she doubted they'd act up any further unless someone went poking their nose. Idly she considered sending a report to the chief director asking why they hadn't been informed, but she discarded the idea, again, in pretense of paperwork.

They hadn't given her any support before, why would they now?

As she watched Calvert leave, she hummed, and turned to Rennick, "Are they tailing him?" she asked, in reference to the PRT cruiser she'd had parked in the front.

"Yes, they should be able to find out where he takes it." he said.

Good. She wanted as little paperwork as possible, true, but she also wanted to know everything that went on in her city.

[-----]

Lisa rubbed her temples as she sat in the office of the Endbringer shelter turned villain lair -- or vigilante lair, she supposed, given the Administrators less than villainous leanings. In front of her was a computer that held all of Coil's files, data, and information. Thanks to the Administrator, she'd been able to hijack Coil's funds and co-opt his mercenaries, which led to the Administrator being able to oust the snake-themed villain.

In his place, the Administrator was eager to get things rolling. Apparently, many of Coil's contacts were time sensitive -- Accord, his moles in the PRT and the Gangs, and a whole host of other miscellaneous projects. In a way, she was glad the Administrator had given her the job of managing it all, she was good at it, and it showed he had a level of trust in her that… given what he knew, was probably the right call.

He knew things about her she'd never entrusted to him. Things she never would have entrusted to him. She guessed he was trying to make amends, in his own way, but without her power, she couldn't tell for sure, and it frustrated her.

The rest of the Undersider's were also under her jurisdiction, with the only stipulation from the Administrator being that Brian be given the funds needed to get custody of his sister, and Rachel and Alec be kept on the pay roll.

The door to the office opened, and the Administrator walked in, "Hey, what have you been up to?" She asked.

"Losing the tail the PRT had on me, for one. You'd be surprised at her persistent they can be, took me almost ten minutes before I could even take the glasses off." He explained.

He sat at a desk adjacent to her own, setting a small package down onto it, as well as a bag of… notebooks?

"You planning on switching everything to analogue?" She asked, gesturing to the books. They were the cheap, seventy page notebooks she'd seen students use all the time, and it looked like he'd cleaned out an entire office store of them.

"No, not really. The notebooks are for a tinkering project; they might be cheap, but let me tell you, even cheap stuff adds up, having access to Coil's funds helped out a lot on that front. I still need a few hundred more." He explained.

She put aside the curiosity on what tinkering project could possibly require hundreds of notebooks, and instead turned her attention to what he had gotten from the PRT, "What did you get from the PRT then?" She asked, gesturing to the box. She'd known he was going disguised as Thomas Calvert, but for what reason, she didn't know.

He frowned, "This is something I'm really not sure about. I got a call through a shell company; something I set up shortly after I… well, after I got back to earth. I really wasn't expecting to get anything from it, but… well, I would be lying if I said it didn't worry me."

She didn't like the sound of his voice, and she continued to loathe that her power didn't work on him, "What are you worried about?" She asked.

He didn't answer right away, instead taking the box and opening it. Inside was a flip phone, relatively unremarkable, and her power said as much, though it did note that the phone had belonged to a PRT agent, and had been factory reset. Likely before it had been given to the Administrator in the guise of Thomas Calvert.

"Apparently, this phone has been getting Anomalous calls," he explained, "You remember I spent a long time outside of Earth Bet?"

She nodded. The whole concept felt… somewhat unbelievable, but no more so than some of the things he had shown her.

"Well, apparently they are getting calls from where I went."

Her blood ran cold, "You mean they are getting calls from… what, higher dimensional beings?"

He shook his head, "Not quite. Yes, I went to a higher plane and got to see Earth Bet from that perspective… but, well." He sighed, "I'm not a hundred percent sure, honestly. Earth Bet wasn't the only Earth I saw. And I wasn't alone there, either." He chuckled, "It's part of why I am doing what I am in the way that I am. But… the other Earth I saw…"

She could see the look in his eyes as he trailed off, and even without her power, she could see he was thinking back to what he'd seen. She had seen the look in other people who thought back to their trigger events.

"... There are things on that Earth that are far worse than anything we have to deal with here. Even the Endbringers. Even the stuff I haven't told you about yet."

She knew he wasn't telling her things, but she didn't begrudge him for it. It irritated her, but if he really had looked down on Earth Bet from a higher plane of existence… it would make sens, she supposed. He knew things about her that she herself probably didn't realize. Would it be any wonder that he knew about things that could possibly have been worse than the Endbringers?

As much as it made her gut spin, she didn't really have a hard time imagining something worse.

"So what are you going to do about it?" She asked.

He shrugged, "Keep this close at hand," He said, tapping the phone, "Hope that whatever is causing that Earth to bleed over into this one stays where it is. I really don't need to deal with Sarkites on top of everything else."

The name sent a shiver down her spine. Sarkites. "Do I want to know?" She asked. If it was anyone else, she'd have poked him for answers, but given just how much he knew, it was entirely possible she would regret asking.

He shook his head, "They're a Cult from an alternate earth. They have Parahuman powers, sort of, but… it never ends well. Hopefully we'll never have to deal with them."

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a minute, neither quite willing to probe one another for more questions. Lisa was thinking about asking about the alternate earth he had seen, before a ringtone interrupted her thoughts.

The flip phone was ringing.

Award