The River King 14

The River King 14

Thomas Calvert

I won. Despite setbacks, the introduction of an unpredictable variable and the loss of the Undersiders, I won. I had Dinah Alcott, a priceless thinker. The Undersiders would have to be broken free or neutralized, but that was a cheap price to pay for such a perfect pet.

And she really was perfect. She was innocent and weak, her meekness contrasted by the sheer utility that her power promised. Weak-willed enough to never rebel against me, too inexperienced to use her power to sabotage me, and more useful than any other asset in my possession. I felt that even if I had to flee the city, so long as I had her and a modest seed fund, I could rebuild all I had here anywhere in the world. Yes, she was the ideal pet.

I watched as Pitter rubbed the crook of her elbow with an alcohol-soaked swab. Dinah trembled in terror. The smell of urine filled the room as she relieved her bowels. She’d been forcibly dressed in a set of medical scrubs and strapped to a bed, her arm stretched out for easy access to her vein.

She didn’t need to be awake for this. Then again, she didn’t need to be unconscious, either. Her fear was delicious. To corrupt, to destroy, to choose, it was the unique privilege of someone with my power and I delighted in it. Hell, it even served the practical purpose of establishing myself as a figure of authority over her. As Machiavelli said, it was better to be feared.

The cocktail was meth, plain and simple. It was cheap, easy to manufacture, and difficult to overdose, especially when administered by a trained nurse like Pitter. Further, its long-term effects were somewhat manageable with oversight. I could ensure Dinah got proper nutrition and sleep and saw a dentist regularly. So really, this was exactly like keeping a pet.

I did consider other options. Opioids, fentanyl, and similar “downers” were ruled out. If I ever needed my pet in an emergency, the inability to wake her might cost me dearly. I also ruled out good ol’ marijuana because its withdrawal symptoms were not harsh enough. I needed my pet to feel my dissatisfaction when I withheld her “candy.” I needed her to fear my disapproval more than anything.

There was, of course, the tinkertech option. There were some truly sophisticated drugs on the market, if one knew where to look. However, such products had a sole supplier, giving this hypothetical, external tinker far too much control over my organization. That was unacceptable.

So, meth it was.

“Administer her ‘candy,’ Mr. Pitter,” I said, smiling behind my mask as the young girl whimpered through her gag.

“Yes, sir,” he said dutifully. It was a duty born of fear and blackmail, but that was the best kind, the kind that came with tangible assurances.

Dinah thrashed as he pressed the needle into her elbow. She was twelve. She didn’t know what meth was, or why it was bad. What she did know was that this was wrong, that I was doing something awful to her. That wide-eyed panic as her power confirmed the inevitable nature of this made me smile.

I headed back to my office, almost tempted to hum. As enjoyable as that was, I still had work to do. Perhaps, when I got Lisa back, I wouldn’t even have her tortured for missing so much of Monarch.

X

Arranging for the breakout of the Undersiders was a trivial matter. Annoying, yes, but only because it meant throwing my moles in the PRT a small bonus. A part of me considered killing them off for that alone. Truthfully, there were several reasons to let them die.

The Undersiders were not powerful capes. Their reputation as the “Masters of Escape” was a complete fabrication built on the back of mediocre powers, a single heavy-hitter in Bitch, and my curated intervention. Losing them would mean losing a bit of firepower for my organization, but they were ultimately replaceable.

Lisa specifically was a much more valuable asset that could be applied outside her team. Already, she’d identified most of the Empire capes, one more dead man’s switch should that ever be required. Even for me, it was hard to know what she did and did not know, not without hours of dedicated torture across multiple timelines. She was almost too much trouble to keep and killing her off would change all of that.

Right now, the PRT was drafting a press release; I knew because I was looking at the report as Calvert. Predictably, they were minimizing the role of Monarch, instead emphasizing the role of law enforcement. This was proof the system worked, proof that there were reliable, unpowered heroes among the police force, never mind that they just showed up to load the villains into the van.

That really made me want to kill off the Undersiders. It would be hilarious if, after the PRT tried so hard to make law enforcement look competent, everyone in their cells suddenly died on them. I could even blame Monarch, the known teleporter, framing her as the jealous gloryhound who felt jilted for not being appropriately credited.

I shook my head to scatter the intrusive thought. As funny as it could be, I wasn’t the type to misuse resources. Lisa was still useful. Patsies who were seemingly independent of Coil were always nice to have. Besides, I’d recently recruited the Travelers. Killing off the last team I had on my payroll without even a breakout attempt was bound to send the wrong message.

No, I’d let them stew. A few days from now, a careless sergeant would misplace his keys. One of my moles would set them loose, framing his superior so he could simultaneously move up the ladder. An incremental benefit perhaps, but that was how the game was played in the long-term. The work of a true mastermind was the product of years of carefully managed losses and seemingly minor advancements.

The real question was what I ought to do about Monarch. She was an unpredictable variable that I hadn’t expected to encounter. Somehow, she barged through my timelines as if she was an entity entirely divorced from the idea. She’d been manageable thus far because she kept to a distinct territory, but that was apparently no longer the case.

The original plan had been for the Undersiders to distract the Wards. I’d had them attack the bank specifically at lunch, full well knowing the Wards had half-days at Arcadia. They were meant to buy more than enough time for my men to acquire Dinah.

They hadn’t even encountered the Wards because Monarch ripped them apart in minutes. It was purely my good fortune that she’d chosen to respond to the conspicuous robbery. Had she stumbled upon the kidnapping, I had no doubt I’d be burying my men.

She had to go. She was too strong, too unpredictable, too uncompromising. If she continued to expand her operations, she’d eventually stumble on more of my timelines, completely by accident. That was a variable I refused to accept.

The Travelers had the means, but not the motive. They had no grievance with her and killing an infamous hero wasn’t how they announced themselves in a new city. Right now, Trickster’s goal was to remain off the radar while I “searched” for a cure for Noelle. I could push him to act against Monarch, but I doubted I could get the group to kill her without burning more bridges than necessary.

At least, not alone. An independent, nomadic villain group wouldn’t want to draw attention, but if I could give them an external motivation, that would change things. It was a matter of perception, the kind of response it would invite from the locals.

In the end, I decided to use the recent chaos in the city and call a meeting at Somer’s Rock. The Empire lost Hookwolf and Purity, two of Kaiser’s three lieutenants. The ABB was capitalizing on that weakness. The mayor’s niece just went missing. At this point, a gang war or some other calamity seemed all but unavoidable for the city.

I was a small-time crime lord. I claimed modest territory and had no ties to either Kaiser or Lung. It wouldn’t be strange for me to feel nervous, and as a neutral entity acting outside the law, I was uniquely positioned to call for a summit.

The meeting was a longstanding tradition in Brockton Bay, a holdover from the more “civilized” days of Marquis and the mobs. A gang leader could call for a neutral meeting to air his grievances. It was nominally meant to avoid greater bloodshed, but was largely used as an opportunity to posture and intimidate. 

Because I held so little visible power, Kaiser and Lung could be seen answering me without seeming weak. In essence, I was a minor lord asking for the grace of his much bigger neighbors.

Good. Monarch had done a great deal to cripple the Empire. Painting her as the source of instability in the city would not be difficult. From there, perhaps I could offer the Travelers’ assistance in eliminating her.

I did not know if Lung would participate, he’d found himself in a position of strength simply by doing nothing, but he didn’t have to. All I needed was his continued inaction. So long as he remained content to watch, it should be a simple matter to point the Empire towards Monarch.

X

Melanie Fitts

Somer’s Rock was a dinky dive bar in the docks area of the city. It had seen better days, with peeling paint and cracked brickwork. The individual letters of the sign had been lost to time. The whole thing was only legible now the missing letters revealed clean sections of the signboard.

It was a pub with grit, the kind of place with an average clientele old enough to know what the docks used to look like before some idiots grounded a tanker into the bay. In other words, I felt it captured the spirit of Brockton Bay quite well, inasmuch as that spirit was of spite, piss, and vinegar.

I was surprised to have received an invitation, truth be told. With five capes, I supposed I headed one of the larger factions in the city, but everyone knew the score. I claimed my club, the Palanquin, and the small hill it sat upon. That was the beginning and end of my interest in Brockton Bay. Perhaps this was Coil’s way of extending professional courtesy, from one minor villain to another.

Regardless, I made sure to arrive early, my team at my back. Gregor was an unflappable bastion of calm. Newter was nervous, but also thought this “mafia stuff” was cool. Labyrinth was doing her best to stay awake and was assisted by Spitfire. Spitfire herself was an anxiety-ridden mess, though she grounded herself by fretting over Labyrinth. 

We were early, but not the first. Coil, as the one who called this meeting, was waiting. He sat at the central table, hands clasped before him as if he were a businessman in a board meeting. Perhaps that was how he saw himself. He came with no guards of his own, a bold move that implied that he placed a great deal of faith in the sanctity of neutrality.

I took a seat across from him with a courteous nod. Gregor led the others to one booth for themselves. I wondered how many capes would show. The meeting seemed rather premature, but two of Kaiser’s lieutenants were dead, so maybe not.

The waitress, deaf, came over and handed me a menu. I had a feeling I’d get more rat piss than beer if I asked for something on tap, so I ordered a glass of whiskey, neat. It was more of a prop than anything else, anyway.

One by one, they arrived.

First came the ABB. Not Lung, he clearly did not see fit to grace us with his presence tonight, not that I doubted anyone felt particularly put out about that.

No, in walked an aged, Japanese man in a dark-green hakama with a red sash. Embroidered on his hakama in metallic red thread was a dragon that wrapped around his torso and settled on his back. Tucked into his belt was a thick, metal pipe that was as large as my forearm. Behind him walked the oni, as silent as a true ninja.

I nodded to him as he took his seat. I wasn’t too surprised when Oni Lee claimed a seat at the bar, leaving the unmasked man to negotiate on Lung’s behalf. By all accounts, the teleporting suicide bomber was a man of few words. The most anyone ever heard from him was to relay his master’s orders.

“Faultline,” I introduced myself. “You are…?”

“Kanda Hiroshi,” the yakuza said gruffly. “I speak for the Dragon of Kyushu.”

Hiroshi took the menu and flipped through it briefly before growling in disgust. He instead lit his pipe and called for an empty plate to use as his ashtray. The acrid scent of tobacco filled the air.

Next came the Empire, injured but too proud to show it. Kaiser arrived with Krieg at his right and most of the roster trailing behind. The only three missing were Victor, Crusader, and Othala; it hadn’t been too long ago since Oni Lee bombed the two and Rune had to carry them away. They were probably still being patched up by the Nazi healer.

Of particular interest was a cape, about Rune’s age, who trailed uncertainly behind the valkyrie twins. He wore heavy plate armor with a black-iron cross over the breastplate. It was, admittedly, excellently fitted. He matched the dark knight theme to a tee. Unfortunately, he carried himself awkwardly, ruining the aesthetic.

And right behind them came the last, and least, of Brockton Bay’s gangs. The Merchants were barely a gang, more of a loose network of drug dealers led by Skidmark. They lurked on the outer edges of the docks and trainyard, surviving off of “territory” no one else cared about.

Skidmark took a seat next to me and I did my best to shuffle away. He’d tried to claim a “tax” from me and mine when we first arrived. That ended when Labyrinth mired Squealer’s truck and I cut the whole thing into rubbish. They didn’t “get away;” Gregor had simply considered melting them into a puddle to be too much trouble.

The disgusting, pistachio-teethed man promptly set his feet on the table, only for Kaiser to form a blade on the surface. It damn near skewered Skidmark, which was his version of courtesy; I doubted Kaiser would have missed had he really cared.

“I understand that manners are difficult for subhumans like yourself, but do pretend,” Kaiser drawled as he set his armored ass on a chair that barely contained him.

Skidmark hastily pulled his foot back. He only barely managed to avoid tumbling to the floor. “Fuck you! You wanna start something?”

“You would be the first to die. Sit down with the rest of your rotten ilk in the booths. This table is for men, not refuse.”

“Fuck you! You ain’t the boss of shit, Kaiser!”

“I hear no disagreements.”

To his credit, there were none. Kaiser picked his target well. It was a blatant power play, but no one cared. It spoke ill of Skidmark that a literal Nazi was more respected than him.

Then, the door opened and four capes I’d never seen before sauntered in. They were well-dressed, with a consistent theme of black and red. That, more than anything else, told me they were newcomers to the city. Everyone native knew black and red were Empire colors.

Their leader wore a tailored suit, complete with a top hat that he flourished like a nineteenth century railroad baron. He had a full-face, red mask with an open mouth that curled into a grin. It reminded me of something a friend wore for his high school drama club. 

I took special interest in their rearguard, a big, six-armed gorilla with muscles atop muscles. They were of indeterminate gender, with shaggy, burnt-orange fur that made me think of an orangutan.

A Case-53, I’d have to speak with them after this, maybe trade notes on exactly what they remembered. I didn’t hold out much hope, but every individual account was a data point. If this meeting gave me insights into what their group wanted, then attending might be worth my time.

The newcomers were quick to catch on. Their leader took a seat at the central table as the other three filed into a booth. I noticed then that though all the others seemed surprised by their arrival, Coil did not.

“Well now, everyone is here. Shall we begin?” Coil said, spreading his hands out in a gesture of welcome that no one trusted.

“You were expecting them,” Hiroshi said, still puffing away on his pipe.

“I have a robust information network. When I saw that they’d arrived in the city, I figured they may as well receive a seat at the table, to listen in if nothing else.”

“Don’t mind us. I’m just going to sit back and take stock, make sure me and mine don’t step on any toes while we’re here,” the boy in the top hat said. Seeing the yakuza’s pipe, he pulled out a cigarette of his own and took a drag through the mouth hole of his mask. “I’m Trickster, by the way, leader of the Travelers. We’re a nomadic group, if our name didn’t make that obvious.”

“So be it,” the yakuza replied gruffly.

“If we are to speak of people who do not belong, we must speak of you,” Kaiser said. It was impossible to see the face he was making beneath his helmet, but he was no doubt glaring at Hiroshi. “Not only does your boss refuse to show his face, he sends an unpowered grunt in his place.”

“I am here on behalf of the Dragon of Kyushu. That is the only qualification I need. I do not require the approval of petty kings.”

“Your ‘dragon’ is a belligerent fool. He gives insults where reason must prevail.”

“Believe what you wish. Lung cares not for the opinions of dead men. He will do as he pleases, as he has always done.”

I saw Kaiser clench his fist subconsciously. If Kaiser killed the messenger, Lung would no doubt take the field in short order. His pride had yet to be insulted, but the death of his lieutenant under the banner of truce would suffice.

As it was, I was considering leaving the city on an extended job for a few weeks. I’d been meaning to follow up on a lead in Las Vegas, anyway.

“Then, if I may ask, why are you here?” Coil cut in before things could get more overtly hostile. “The ABB accepted my invitation so I presumed he would grace us with his presence.”

“You presumed too much,” the ABB lieutenant said as a steady column of smoke curled from his pipe. “I take care of his light work. Listening to the thoughts of our lessers is light work. The Empire has lost four capes to a single vigilante. The ABB has never been stronger. That is the truth of the matter.”

I had to give it to the yakuza; the man had nerves of steel. It took a very special person to be willing to say that in a room full of highly lethal capes, truce or no truce.

Just in case, I leaned back in my seat, just far enough to not be in the line of fire should any of the Empire capes decide they wanted to address the insult. It didn’t even have to be Kaiser. I could see several of his contingent bristling and Nazis weren’t exactly known for their self-restraint.

“Yes, I agree. The acquisition of the Cornell Bomber has indeed strengthened your organization greatly. I suppose when you only have two capes, even a single addition is a big deal,” Coil said sardonically, a backhanded compliment if there ever was one.

Hiroshi glowered at the snake-themed man. “Your network is indeed impressive. Keep your nose out of our affairs, lest you find it ripped off.”

“Oh, my apologies. By your phrasing, I hadn’t thought that was meant to be a secret,” he replied, in a way that implied precisely the opposite.

“No matter. You have called this meeting, snake. Why?”

“Peace, of course.”

“Peace? Man, look at this bitch-ass pussy,” Skidmark laughed from his corner, spitting globs of fetid spit onto the table. “You must be smoking better shit than me to be sayin’ that, fuckwad.”

“Unlike others, I am of the opinion that peace is not weakness. My interests are best served in a stable city. A gang war ruins many of my plans.”

“Stability can only be had when the aggressors withdraw and pay tribute for their sins,” Kaiser sniffed imperiously.

“A delusional king with a fragile crown,” Hiroshi sneered back.

“You will pay tribute. In blood, if need be.”

“You will try.”

I watched as Kaiser and Hiroshi fell into another pissing contest, this time egged on by Skidmark. It was embarrassing. Once more, I was glad I’d had the foresight to avoid claiming territory in this city.

One by one, I eyed my fellow faction leaders. It was obvious enough what they each wanted. Skidmark, I dismissed immediately. That imbecile didn’t know what he wanted because he didn’t have considerations beyond his next high.

Kaiser wanted breathing room. He’d never admit it to present company, possibly not even to himself, but he was bleeding. The Empire had sustained injuries unlike any since the Slaughterhouse Nine’s brief tour of the city. He needed time to rest, time to reinforce and reassure his forces.

Hiroshi was the opposite. If the ABB really had the Cornell Bomber, they were in a worryingly powerful position. Oni Lee was famous for one thing and I shuddered to think what he could do with access to tinkertech explosives. It wasn’t out of the question for him to clone them either, at least the simpler ones.

So Hiroshi would likely continue to push. He probably came here under orders to incite violence, to give them an excuse, not that Lung needed one. Was that it? Had Lung refrained from taking the field so far so that he could give his pet tinker time to prepare? A stage to shine upon?

Coil… I believed him for the most part. Thinkers all thought they were smarter than they actually were, but they did tend to consider the consequences of their actions, simply as a function of their powers. Coil had been the cautious sort, unambitious and broadly inoffensive. Past performance was the best indicator of future actions. I believed him when he said he preferred stability.

That left Trickster of the Travelers. I wasn’t familiar with their group, and that alone made me cautious. If a gang was nomadic, there was usually a good reason for that. Either the Travelers were running from another entity, or they themselves had skeletons in their closet.

Coil quieted the table and the meeting began in earnest. That mission to Las Vegas was looking better by the minute.

Author’s Note

Tom remains the sketchiest son of a bitch in a city full of Nazis and Asian Nazis. All is right with the world. As always, Tom isn’t a rapist or pedophile (fanon notwithstanding). It’s the authority, the fact that he has the choice to enable such things with zero consequences, that does it for him.

Another bit of fanon for y’all: Marquis did not establish Somer’s Rock as neutral ground. We actually don’t know when it started or why, only that it was a thing long before Bakuda. Somehow, Marquis got tapped with the reputation of a gentleman warlord so it gets attributed to him a lot.

In the original Somer’s Rock chapter, we are introduced to Skidmark, Squealer, and Moist. Moist is never mentioned again, replaced by Mush. Presumably, it’s a typo or early retcon that Wildbow made and simply forgot to correct.

Animal Fact: Humpback whales have beef with orcas. When they hear the sound of orcas hunting, they'll interpose themselves between the orcas and the prey, even if that prey is not a humpback. They will willingly sustain bites and one was even observed rolling on its back, allowing a seal to ride its stomach above the surface of the water.

It's unclear why humpbacks do this. It could be some kind of misplaced instinct to defend calves, cross-species empathy, or simply an impulsive need to troll one of the few species capable of preying on them.