Sitting in my office, I was scrolling through half a dozen screens simultaneously, going over the same set of records I’d been agonizing over the entire weekend. All the data the PRT had on the Slaughterhouse Nine. I was looking for something, anything, that I might have missed so far in the previous ten-plus times that I’d read through them.
Nine members. All are some form of horrific serial killer in their own right, all travelling together as a group. They wandered around the United States, leaving only death and destruction in their wake, but would often go dark and disappear immediately after attacking a place. They’d successfully evaded tracking attempts and capture attempts for years.
They also didn’t have a permanent fixed roster. They had a number of ‘core’ members, as it were, and then additional members would come and eventually wind up getting killed off, either by their encounters and tangles with other capes, or by their own peers within the Nine. It was… ghastly, no other way to really put it.
I pulled up the personnel files.
Jack Slash. The leader of the Nine. He was a charismatic person with a flair for the dramatic. Extremely intelligent, not much was known about his exact motives. The Nine moved and attacked in a largely unpredictable manner. Testimonies of survivors who had interacted with him indicated that he seemed emotionally volatile and professed a love of spreading chaos.
His power was tied to his namesake; he used knives and other cutting implements. He could project the blade out further than it was capable of reaching with a kind of telekinesis, allowing him to slash or stab people from virtually any range that was within eyesight.
Considering his power, it’s strange that he’s the leader of the Nine and hasn’t been deposed in all these years. It’s not what I’d consider a bad ability or power, but compared to the other members, either past or present, it’s almost laughably bad. Perhaps it’s a cult of personality sort of situation? It makes me wonder if he has some tinkertech to Master others.
The Siberian. One of two raw power-hitters the Nine had. The Siberian was a wild, feral woman who was zebra-print pure black and white from head to toe, except for glowing yellow eyes. She was always nude, with very long, waist-length hair in the same black and white.
I wish you weren’t such an abhorrent monster. You’re giving the rest of us nudist capes a bad name.
I always liked to think that powers were bullshit, but her power was like next-level bullshit. She was completely invulnerable. And not simply immune to damage, but also immune to physics. She couldn’t be picked up, knocked around, or thrown at all. She was only capable of being moved through her own intent.
To make matters worse, she was also infinitely strong. She could casually stroll through a solid concrete wall of a bank, through the armored vault, and then out the other side of the building. Anything standing in her way was pulverized into dust, debris, and rubble, including people and other living creatures. The entire Triumvirate had fought her simultaneously and hadn’t been able to accomplish anything. She’d knocked out Legend in his Breaker energy form, nearly killed Eidolon, and had wounded Alexandria, who was also invulnerable.
The Slaughterhouse Nine were considered a S-class threat collectively, and she was no small part of that rating all on her own.
Oh yeah. She’s also a cannibal. Terrific.
Crawler. A fellow Bruter/Changer, and one whom I was more familiar with. PHO seemed to find it amusing to compare me to Crawler, with people speculating that I was his family, either an offspring or a blood relative. Disgusting. Crawler was a regeneration-type Brute, and a powerful one at that. He could replace lost mass through hyperactive regeneration, replacing dozens or hundreds of pounds of his monstrous body in seconds. It was also adaptive regeneration, so each time he was damaged by something, the flesh he regrew would be more durable or better able to withstand whatever attack or ability had hit him. His last recorded appearance was a giant six-legged cat-lizard creature with a mouth far too large for his body. He was about the size of a mid-sized SUV, so smaller than I was by a decent margin, but certainly no less dangerous.
He had the ability to produce and shoot some kind of acidic spit or spew that was self-replicating. Getting hit by it, even in a small quantity, was an immediate medical emergency. It didn’t act terribly fast compared to some other corrosive abilities, but it also couldn’t be neutralized simply by irrigation or by counteracting it with an appropriate acid or base solution.
Burnscar. A former patient at the very same asylum that I’d just visited a few days ago, and an extremely potent pyrokinetic. Similar to Sveta, she suffered from her power and how it manifested. Being around flames enticed her to use her pyrokinesis to create more fire, and the more fire she was exposed to, the more violent, aggressive, and psychopathic she became. It was a positive feedback loop that would turn her from a fairly normal girl who was empathetic into a true pyromaniac. When she had been at the asylum and kept away from sources of flame (and in a location that could extinguish fires with the touch of a button or by automation), she had been able to live a somewhat normal life, even having a roommate in the Asylum.
It was shocking to me to find out that her roommate had been Labryinth. Digging around some related files, I’d discovered that Labryinth had been sprung from Asylum East by Faultline’s Crew themselves. Part of me wanted to find out what the story was there. In my interactions with Elle, she’d usually been in one of her more withdrawn states, but she’d never displayed any kind of behavior that I would associate with someone who should be put into a containment facility. I wondered if she was there because of circumstance, like her family had requested that she be put in there, or if it was because something had happened.
Next up was Mannequin. He was formerly a world-renowned Tinker named Sphere. Alan Gramme’s specialty was sealed or contained ecosystems. Before his downfall, he’d worked on designing arcologies, underwater dome cities, spacecraft, and had even been working on designing a moon colony with the assistance of the U.S. Government. He’d lost his mind, going insane and becoming a serial killer after the death of his wife and children. Mutilating himself by carving himself up into little pieces, discarding all but the most essential parts, and sealing himself inside a very large mechanical body that resembled his namesake. He was one of the longest-standing members of the Nine and had an extremely high personal body count.
His body was essentially head-to-toe tinkertech packed to the brim with countless ways to fight, maim, and kill people, parahumans included. He specifically targeted Tinkers, or other parahumans who were making progress towards improving the state of the world. I’d already made a mental note that he’d probably be drawn to Brockton Strong and the station.
Riley Davis, now most well known as Bonesaw, was a younger teenage girl who had been on the team for several years now. Like Mannequin, she was also a Tinker, and her specialty was… basically advanced modern medicine. Surgeries, biology, anatomy, and chemistry. She was responsible for creating all manner of biological horrors and seemed fond of splicing together both heroes and villains into a sort of composite person that she had control over. It was unknown whether or not she had a Master element to her abilities, or if she was controlling the people through other means. She had been known to use biological and chemical weapons–things that, on their own, could get a PRT kill order placed on you–seemingly willy-nilly. She maintained a childish appearance and mannerisms, making herself look and act younger than she actually was. It wasn’t known if this was purely an act or if she was developmentally challenged in some form.
The next member was one of Bonesaw’s creations, named Murder Rat. Two people who had been hacked, sewn, and spliced together into one: Ravager and Mouse Protector. Muder Rat retained the abilities of both capes. Ravager could imbue weapons, typically melee weapons, but also throwing weapons and projectiles, with an effect that caused any wounds inflicted by items imbued with her power to smoke. Where a person was cut or stabbed, the wound would feel like it was burning while emitting smoke, and would expand from the initial injury, the flesh sort of burning away as if exposed to caustic chemicals. It caused significant bleeding and infection, making even relatively trivial wounds far worse than they otherwise would be. Mouse Protector was formerly a member of the first Wards class, and one of the so-called ‘grab-bag’ capes, who, instead of having a singular power or two, had many, usually of lesser individual strength. Mouse protector could teleport, and also had enhanced physical abilities across the board.
The last two members of the Nine were no less dangerous than any of the others. There was Shatterbird, who had wide-area silicakinesis. She had both a devastatingly huge area of effect and an extremely fine level of control. She could cause resonance effects with silicas, ranging from computer chips to panes of glass, and even common sands. Similar to Narwhal, she covered herself in her ability, usually wearing dresses and ‘clothing’ made from stained glass. This kept her both protected and armed at all times and granted her the ability to fly around. Her being in Brockton Bay was extremely concerning, both because we were a seaside city with large amounts of sand available, and because she could do things like destroy electronic devices, blacking out communications and power.
Hatchet Face was their last member. A fairly high-level brute, a massive slab of horrifically scarred man, with super strength and durability. He was also a power-nullification Trump, with an aura that shut down other powers, while he retained his brute rating. He liked to use axes and hatchets, more or less exclusively. He had a high kill count as a focused cape-killer prior to joining the Nine, which only further enabled his desire to murder parahumans. Unfortunately, with his spread of abilities, he was extremely good at it.
I sighed and minimized the files on several of my screens. I had several alerts flashing on my primary screen. I had a meeting in 15 minutes. I probably could put it off or reschedule it, considering what it was about, but I decided against it. Taylor was on her way to my office and would be attending the conference call in person with me. I’d been chatting with both Dragon and Colin heavily throughout the day. I pulled up my messenger window with Dragon.
Dragon: Apex, The Guild has been in regular contact with Director Piggot throughout the weekend. The loss of a Dragonflight suit at your local PRT Headquarters on Saturday has raised concerns within the PRT.
Apex: Let me guess, it’s about money, isn’t it?
Dragon: Well, yes, that’s the primary concern. Dragonflight suits, even the relatively low-end model I deployed to Brockton Bay to respond to the attack on your Headquarters, are still significantly expensive.
Apex: The thing I don’t understand is how the undersiders of all people were able to take down one of your suits, Dragon. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I don’t think they’re dangerous and capable, but that seems… I don’t know. Maybe a bit beyond their scope?
Dragon: They are indeed a capable team. I am going to trust that I have your confidence in this, if I tell you?
Apex: That goes without saying, but yes, of course.
Dragon: They utilized a prototype energy weapon that Kid Win had been developing.
Apex: Holy shit, go Kid Win? He made a gun that can blow up one of your suits? That’s… insane? Sorry for the mixed messaging, I don’t want to see you get hurt or your hard work destroyed, of course, but damn if I wouldn’t be proud of him for getting through his issues and making some kickass stuff.
Dragon: No, I understand what you’re saying, don’t think that I’m offended. It’s always sort of a strange experience being a Tinker and fighting against another Tinker, because even though you might be losing, you get excited to see what other people are making. The weapon Kid Win made was certainly strong, but it wasn’t capable of destroying my suit.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Dragon: The weapon was used incorrectly and wasn’t finished, so it didn’t have the safety systems fully installed. It began to overload and was going to detonate. I sacrificed the suit so that the explosion would be contained and not cause any deaths.
Apex: Oh, hm. I see what you’re saying.
Dragon: The theft of highly classified PRT data is the most concerning. It’s all heavily encrypted, of course, but no encryption is foolproof.
Apex: Agreed. I’d be all for dropping the hammer on them to recover that data, but with S9 likely being in town, I don’t want to over-commit resources.
Dragon: How is this going to affect your personal relations with them?
Apex: That… is a good question. I think I’m annoyed more than anything. They came to talks before we left DC, and I pitched them on switching sides.
Dragon: How did that go?
Apex: About as expected. I was happy that we were able to sit down and discuss at all. I wasn’t expecting to win them over on the first attempt, just breaking the ice, building a relationship with my new position. Then I leave, and they attack.
Apex: I know it’s petty, but I feel personally insulted by it.
Dragon: It’s not petty. You are using your time to try and bridge the gap and appeal to them, and they betrayed the trust you placed in them.
Apex: It’s stupid, but I hope that there was a very good reason for it, and not just a cash grab. I want to believe that they’re better than that.
Dragon: We’re like-minded in that respect, but sometimes people are only willing to change when they have to face the consequences of their actions. It’s unfortunate.
Apex: Yeah. I expect that sooner or later, they’re going to be sitting in containment cells, and I’ll be having a different talk with them.
Dragon: I was meaning to tell you, also. The Guild is going to be meeting this afternoon to discuss reallocating some of our resources. The goal is that I’ll be able to deploy several Dragonflight suits to Brockton Bay without having too much of an impact on some of the other matters we’re handling at the moment.
Apex: The help would be appreciated. We still don’t have any kind of reliable verification that the S9 is here. If they are, I won’t hesitate to accept any assistance.
Apex: I’ll be honest with you, Dragon. I’m scared.
Apex: Not specifically scared of any of them in particular, but more scared that they’re here for my people. Err, Brockton Strong, you know what I mean. The Protectorate and Wards are absolutely my people, too; I don’t see them differently.
Dragon: I think you’re right to be afraid that they’ll target Brockton Strong. I know you’ve been in their records constantly, and there’s likely strong incentives or personal motivation on the part of several of their members to single out Brockton Strong.
Apex: I don’t want to hurt anyone, Dragon. One moment.
A knock came from my door, and Taylor walked in with her mask off.
“Hey, looking good, Tee. Is it time already?” I asked her.
She smiled. “We have five minutes. Are we doing the call in here?”
I nodded. “Make yourself comfortable, I’m just chatting with Dragon, then I’ll dial in.”
Apex: Have to go in a moment, but what I was going to say was that I really don’t want to hurt anyone, but the S9 is a different thing entirely.
Dragon: Yes, they are. Every one of them has an active Kill Order, not to mention sanctioned bounties.
Dragon: Do not underestimate them. They are the true monsters. I’ll keep you posted about potential redeployment. Chat later?
Apex: Bet on it. I’m probably going to go home tonight, but I’ll have my mobile phones. Oh, and if you didn’t already know, Colin’s in a bit of a mood today. He’s been pissed that he was locked up during the attack and couldn’t help, and house arrest is weighing on him. My attempts to try and cheer him up fell flat earlier.
Dragon: I’m aware he’s been unhappier than usual. We chat constantly.
Apex: Yeah. Just… Keep an eye on him, please. I’m concerned about his well-being. Please let me know if he starts showing any red flags?
Dragon: I will, of course.
My alarm chimed, and I looked at Taylor. The two of us moved over to a large wall screen in my office, and I woke up the display and dialed the number and extension on my computer screen.
The video call came up, and we had the leadership of our local PRT office on the main screen first. Others dialed in and connected. A view of the big office space in the station, with most of New Wave present. Another office space with the Wards, since Wards HQ was being repaired after the attack. Finally, a view from the Protectorate’s main meeting room. The number of empty chairs was a chilling reminder of our recent losses.
I looked over our assembled members in the call. For the Protectorate, we had Assault, Battery, Miss Militia, Eclipse, and me. Wards were all in attendance, with Weld, Flechette, Kid Win, Vista, Clockblocker, and Skitter. New Wave was Manpower, Lady Photon, Laserdream, Brandish, Flashbang, Glory Girl, and… Panacea, who still hadn’t figured out her rebrand.
Eighteen capes. Not bad. But seven of those are New Wave, and six are Wards. Fuck me. What I wouldn’t give for a few more bodies in the Protectorate meeting room.
“Thank you all for attending the meeting today on relatively short notice,” Director Piggot addressed all of us. “Today’s meeting is to discuss unfortunate news and how we are going to be dealing with it.”
A slide came up with an aerial view of Brockton Bay, the standing water in the streets and dilapidated buildings being a dead giveaway. It was a top-down view of about a quarter of a city block or so.
“Thanks to our friends at the Guild and Dragon specifically, we were able to capture this satellite image late yesterday afternoon.” Keys were tapped, and a red circle was put up over one part of the image, where buildings were casting a shadow over the streets below. Another key press, and the image was zoomed in further. A long, dark shape was visible, but it was hard to make out with the shadow being cast. Another click, and the image swapped to what was presumably color-enhanced thermal imaging.
Voices murmured all around.
“We’ve been able to confirm the presence of the Slaughterhouse Nine in Brockton Bay, as you can see. This is an image that’s been verified by the PRT intelligence division to be Crawler, as he currently appears.”
Well, we thought it was likely them, and now we know for certain it wasn’t a copycat killer.
“Now, we’ve got support staff across the nation assisting us with trying to gather information to make predictions with,” Director Piggot continued. “But we have to be realistic here as well, about the pressure that this is going to put on all of us, when we’re already struggling to keep order in the streets and provide relief for people. It’s not news to anyone here that we’ve lost many people and that we’re stretched thin.”
The Director paused as there were more quiet conversations among people on each end of the call.
After a minute or two of waiting, the Director cleared her throat and called for attention once again. “We spoke with the Cabinet on our weekly status meeting this morning. National Guard members are still currently tasked out and on mission at other major population centers in the Northeast that were impacted by tsunami damage. So we aren’t going to have support in terms of boots on the ground. However, the Department of Defense has been authorized to carry out tactical strikes under the Homeland Defense Act, as the Slaughterhouse Nine are officially recognized as a Class-S threat.”
Tactical strikes?
I raised a lower hand.
“Yes, Apex?” The Director asked.
“Can you fill us in on what a tactical strike might entail, please?”
Piggot rested her forearms on the table in front of her and steepled her fingers. “Of course. These would be either naval cruise missile strikes, precision airstrikes, or heavier bombing, depending on the location and situation.”
That drew gasps from people, and dissenting voices rose.
“Bombing, in the Bay?”
“...Can’t be serious…”
“What about all the civilians?”
“Goddamn military, always looking for nails…”
Piggot held her hand up, and things quieted down. “I understand the concerns you all have, and it isn’t something that we’d consider lightly. However, I want you all to also think of what’s at stake here: Bioterrorism, mass arson in a city without running water, targeted assassination of the people here in this call, and our families, or worse, mass-casualty events by the likes of Shatterbird, when our hospitals are already overloaded and our medical professionals are working around the clock without breaks.”
Looks of consternation and consideration went around all the assembled groups.
Morale was taking a real beating in this call. I felt like I had to do something.
“I’ll trust in your judgement, Director. If we have the potential to lure them into a good area to attack them, or if we can catch them out, coming or going, where the risk of collateral damage is low, I can see the potential risks justifying the rewards. Let’s not forget, everyone. This is a group of people who depopulate entire small towns and cities. I don’t want to see our city bombed into oblivion any more than you do, but we cannot ignore the constant threat these people represent.”
“Thank you, Apex,” Director Piggot said. “That brings us to our next topic, and one that I’m afraid is going to be uncomfortable for everyone.” Piggot gestured to one of her staff, and slides changed, showing a tactical map of the city, with all our relief centers, distribution network, storage areas, and construction zones.
“Now I can only ask for your help and your compliance with these requests, New Wave, but for everyone else here: We are faced with a difficult problem to solve. We have very limited resources, a large city to cover, and many places that would make for likely targets by the Nine.”
Some geometric shapes and diagrams popped up, all clearly notated and color-coded. Director Piggot ran everyone through our most at-risk locations, as well as our most ‘valuable’ locations, as determined by the relative population density of survivors in that area, areas we were committing resources to, or places that represented important assets to the city, such as infrastructure hubs.
It became extremely apparent that we were going to have to pick and choose our battles. Triage situations where tens, hundreds, or even thousands of lives would be at stake. We simply couldn’t allow ourselves to be baited around and run ragged, and this ‘battlefield,’ as it were, heavily favored guerrilla tactics and terrorism, the exact sort of thing the Nine specialized in.
We had eighteen heroes. About seven hundred police, which, not that they’d really be of much use against the Nine, they could at least act as additional eyes, ears, and emergency response for us. We were down to just over two hundred PRT officers after the fatalities from Leviathan and the events leading up to the Endbringer attack, and of those, only about fifty were either dedicated or trained combat-response officers.
Even though there were only nine of them, each of them alone was seriously dangerous, and as a group, they would be challenging for even a large group of us to respond to. But realistically, they wouldn’t be attacking us head-on. They’d be going after civilians and the support systems we had in place to keep people fed and relatively healthy.
There was also the issue of nominations. The Slaughterhouse Nine tended to do these wargames, or whatever you might want to call them, where they’d pick people out, or nominate them to join the Nine. In most instances, we had survivors from; it was a join-or-die sort of system, but rather than just your life, it tended to be the lives of innocents, family members, or whatever else leverage they could get on you.
They specifically went after parahumans, both villain and hero, each with their own preferences and tastes in candidates. Depending on who they choose, that could also further reduce our numbers.
We talked. We strategized, and we tried to come up with solutions to try and address potential issues when and where possible. Everyone knew it wasn’t going to be enough, but we were going to do the best that we could.
We were reminded that every member of the Nine had outstanding PRT Kill Orders. A legal warrant for the unrestricted use of lethal force and execution on sight, no questions asked. Anyone, from a civilian to a villain, was entirely within their rights to end their lives and would face no criminal charges or repercussions for doing so. Short of having your own Kill Order, you could bring in a corpse with one on their head to any PRT or law enforcement office in the country, and nobody would lift a finger to arrest you. A literal get-out-of-jail-free card.
For us, that meant one thing: don’t mess around, don’t attempt to arrest or capture; kill on sight. Kill Orders weren’t issued lightly. Even mass murderers and serial killers usually didn’t get that kind of treatment. They were typically only issued in the most extreme of cases or in very specific cases, for specific crimes.
Being a biological Tinker, or a biokinetic, like myself or Amy, was basically only one step removed from having a Kill Order placed on you. There was a simple rule, and it was iron-clad. You did not create organisms that could reproduce. There was an extremely lengthy and strenuous testing program that one could submit their research to, such as for the creation of new drugs or medicines, or a genetically modified organism, such as a crop with better nutritional yields. But that was the only exception, and it could take years on end working with the government to get approval.
The same applied to self-replicating machines with more traditional Tinkers.
Unfortunately, these laws came about after the unmitigated disaster that happened in Ellisburg, NY, a decade ago. In 2001, a new cape triggered, who later became known as Nilbog, the Goblin King. He was a man who could create intelligent minions who were themselves capable of reproducing. He’d wiped out a town of more than five thousand people in under a week, repelling all PRT attempts to put an end to his reign of terror. The town was now quarantined and sealed off permanently. Nilbog was allowed to live in his tiny kingdom, sealed off from society, provided he and his minions not ever try to escape. He was basically the only remaining living person.
There was a brief Q&A session as we wrapped up the call, but neither Taylor nor I had any questions, so we disconnected early.
I sighed as soon as the call ended.
“How bad do you think this is going to wind up becoming?” Taylor asked softly.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s not going to end well, but all we can do is try and mitigate the damage as much as possible. I was just telling Dragon earlier, but I’m not going to play games with them if we do engage.”
“You’ll kill them, given the chance?”
“I want to say yes, that it’s just an easy thing, put the bad guy with the death warrant in the ground. I want to tell myself that I won’t hesitate, or doubt myself, but I don’t think that’s entirely true.” I sighed once again. “I don’t want to kill people, Taylor. It’s not why I signed up to be a hero. Logically, I know that these people deserve and have earned their death warrants. I just hope my rational mind can turn off my feelings long enough to do what has to be done.”
Taylor twisted her lips from one side to the other, thinking as she stared out the window at the city below. “I don’t think it will be easy, Morgan, but I think if it came down to it, you’re more than strong enough to do what has to be done.”
“I’ll…” I paused a beat. “I’ll try and give them the option of unconditional surrender, if I can. If there aren’t other lives at stake. Maybe they’re not all totally out of their minds and would be willing to be put in the birdcage.”
She looked over at me, her expression unreadable. “Just remember that not all of us are given the option with our abilities to do those kinds of things. You’re tough and durable, but for others, it’s life and death from the very start.”
I dropped my big chin on one palm and nodded to her. “I do know that. And I’m only talking about myself, of course. I don’t want you to risk yourself, and I wouldn’t tell you or anyone else here to do that. Taylor, if it comes down to you versus one of them, please do not take unnecessary risks. I can’t bear the thought of you suffering another catastrophic wound like you did in the fight against Leviathan. You nearly bought the farm, girl. Don’t roll those dice a second time, I beg you.”
She nodded slowly.
“Director Piggot has authorized the entire team, including the Wards, to carry a firearm. Go downstairs to Operations; there’s an armory for the officers there. Get certified with the rangemaster and get yourself issued a weapon.”
Taylor blinked at me. “Are you serious?” Her tone was mildly incredulous.
“Yes, I am. I’d rather have you properly prepared than trying to fight Shatterbird with a baton.”
She hesitated for a moment.
“What?” I asked her.
“You think they’ll let me carry a tinkertech weapon?”
I let out a soft groan. “Now I’m imagining you making some kind of sling out of web and shooting people remotely using bees and spiders.”
She tapped an index finger on her chin. “I’d need Chris to rig up some kind of special trigger for my bugs…”
“You continue to both amaze and terrify me on nearly a daily basis, Taylor,” I chided her.
I saw a grin teasing her lips before she pulled on her helmet and made her way downstairs.
She would do that, too. I don’t even doubt it at this point.
