Orb Weaver: Plague chapter 22

The Empire knew that they couldn’t be too obvious, so the fighting ring was an old abandoned warehouse. The Bay had far too many of those.

And they had guards. Teams with walkie-talkies, set up to observe the regions around the structure.

Pushed rather further out than normal, and using PRT standard anti-Master tactics—units ensuring that they were always within line of sight with each other.

I had been having an impact, it seemed.

The food stands were doing a bang-up business, the meat seasoned to appeal to the diners.

It also did a very good job of disguising my additions, which after all, was one of the original uses for seasoning.

It was going to be a… memorable meal.

I wasn’t in the hall. I had considered it, but no. The Empire might not know who I was, but they did know The Investigator, and it wouldn’t be wise to assume a disguise could stand up to close scrutiny—and revealing the Investigator in such close proximity to Orb Weaver? No.

So I was a block away, in a sewer. I’d examined it with my bugs, and there had been no sensors. I had come in before the set up started, and just sat. The mass of bugs, cockroaches, ants and other things that covered me, provided me with heat as they vibrated their wings, and I didn’t need to directly see, so I just sat, in the core of my writhing mass of bugs, waiting in the pitch black tunnel.

At the far edge of my senses, I had set up my external ‘command post” bugs covering my phone system—but the phones weren’t transmitting. Oh no. That would be silly in the extreme. I had linked them to other phones by just over a half mile of line. If anyone could find me by my transmissions, they’d just find a phone on the ground, and by the time they traced the line, I’d be long gone.

Listening directly via my insects was still difficult, but the last thing I wanted to do was to put active listening devices in the hall. The Empire had far too many resources.

Fortunately, I’d found a… kludge. Bugs could detect vibrations, and even if I couldn’t directly understand those vibrations… I would have bugs near me, imitate what their remote counterparts “heard”. Thousands of insects, on the other side, acting like normal bugs, but serving as little “Sensor” nodes, like some radio telescopes made use of dozens of individual detectors.

And so in the drainage tunnel, I sat, cross-legged, my bugs moving around. My arms were comfortable where they were, so a bucket brigade of scorpions hauled up some beef jerky for me to eat.

And then I heard the first news.

“Boss, something’s got the fighting dogs spooked.”

It was a kludge. I had to strain to hear it. On the other hand, maybe this would help show me how to directly understand what people were saying around my bugs.

Another buzzing voice. “What the fuck? Did someone drug them?” The voice was just a buzzing chorus in my little command post, but I knew who it was from a few bugs that had tagged him.

Hookwolf.

His approach was easy to mark, and he said nothing for a while, save for some grumbles that even the insects in the walls couldn’t make out. Then. “They ain’t drugged. Anyone get to them?”

“No boss, we were on guard.”

“Sure you were.”

Oh, now that didn’t bode ill for the guards, no, not at all.

I didn’t smile.

Much.

But now the first bits of entertainment were starting as Hookwolf walked to the center stage. He lifted his mic to his lips…

And several of my bugs, deep in the circuitry of the soundboard, killed themselves, bridging connections—and everyone winced as a squeal of feedback washed out what Hookwolf was about to say.

He glared at the sound guy—or at least I assumed he did.

This time, I held the bugs back for a few moments.

“Right, Are you—“ then I sent some more suicide bugs in, and once again the booming voice dissolved into an earsplitting squeal. The howl of the dogs from their cages joined with the shouts of discomfort.

God, I wanted to make an appearance as Orb Weaver, but that would turn this into an attack and make it easier for the Empire to play up the martyr route. Even if Hookwolf would know—and I bet he would—an open appearance wasn’t in the cards today.

I sternly reminded myself of Mom’s saying that sometimes you had to go without cake for a few days, and that would make it taste better in the end.

But man, that didn’t help right now. Just one move and I could unleash a swarm—

Focus. Taylor.

Hookwolf went stomping over to the man again, and now I could detect his snarls, the buzzing bugs on the wall of the tunnel sounding it out. “Get that fucking thing fixed or you’ll be in the pits next!”

The man, perhaps wisely, didn’t say anything. He checked the settings, checked the power connections, and the wires—but he didn’t open it up, because that would be a job that would take a little too long for someone under the gaze of an irritated Hookwolf.

A few moments later, and I ‘heard’ Hookwolf’s booming voice again.

“Right! We’ve got some dogs, real prospects are you read—“ This time I jammed my insects into the right place to cause a complete short out, and with a squelching sound, Hookwolf’s voice fell silent.

He remained still for a moment. Then, started talking again, pitching his voice to carry.

The show must go on… Hookwolf was many things, but a quitter, or someone unfamiliar with unexpected issues? No.

“We’ve got some dogs out, gonna warm ‘em up while you get ready, so eat up and have fun.”

In my chamber, bugs crawled, black widows flexed.

I longed to show those people a tenth of the fear and terror they enjoyed. But not yet.

As the first dogs came in, big, scarred beasts that were oddly nervous, I flew small bugs into their ears. Not for nothing had I spent time associating the feel and sound of bugs in their ears with terror. I had also provided bugs with stingers. Not enough for training, but enough for…

Well. This.

“Go after ‘em, Rex!” someone showed, and a squalling Persian cat was chucked into the ring.

The dog growled, the pet cat backing up, yowling in terror and then…

I started the buzzing in the dog’s ears, louder, softer louder, softer. The dog whined, shaking its head, backing off… and the panicking cat did what many animals do when backed into a corner, and especially detecting weakness on the part of their attacker. With a yowl of fury and fear, a white mass of fur and claws attacked the dog, at the same time I set my bugs to hammering its sensitive ears, like they had in the cages.

Meanwhile, at the edge of my range, I sent the call to the other phones.

“PRT, is this an emergency?”

“This is Orb Weaver. Hookwolf, Stormtiger and Cricket are at a dog ring at the following address. They have no other support from Empire Capes. The police are already enroute to deal the unpowered individuals…”

“We’ll see if we have any parahuman support—“

“Armsmaster is at Fifth and Main, Velocity is on patrol with him, and Miss Militia and Dauntless are patrolling by Green Park. Assault and Battery are on reserve.”

“Right… We’ll get in touch with them.”

“Very good. Do tell them to wear gloves. The aftermath may be a little… messy.”

The crowd was actually starting to laugh, and not in a good way, as the panicked dog ran around the ring, this time with the cat attached to its face.

The dog was a victim. I did not laugh, though I comforted myself by imagining some of the cheering crowd in its place.

From where Hookwolf was, my bugs could sense short, sharp movements. He was furious. Hookwolf idealized the “Warrior ethos” which seemed to mostly be an excuse to beat people up. But this was making a mockery of it.

I checked the timer. We were coming up on about thirty-five minutes after the first people at, and yes… there were some growing lines at the portapotties.

Another dog came out, and “Tyrant” actually refused to even get out of his cage in the face of a yapping, angry, poodle.

There was more laughter, but mixed with sounds of discomfort. Someone in line to the bathroom, vomited. Another spewed—from both ends. And those around them suddenly noticed their own intestinal discomfort. People were getting up and leaving and Hookwolf was down bellowing at some of the dog trainers.

In the empty lot they’d parked their cars in, my bugs went to work, pulling wires. Not of every car. Just a third. If it happened to be the third blocking the others in… well that was just bad luck.

Then someone came running up to Hookwolf. Through the noise it was harder for my bugs to notice, but the words ‘cops’ and ‘capes’ were loud. Over that, my phones were now hearing the sound of police sirens, just over eight blocks away.

Will you stay and fight, or flee?  The Protectorate probably wouldn’t be able to get Hookwolf if he ran. The stands were now full of people, many of them with suddenly empty stomachs… and full pants. In the streets outside, I could hear cars starting up—and the crashing of metal as some of the unaccountably stalled vehicles proved to be quite difficult obstacles to get around.

Ah yes, time for the final touch.

The rats I’d herded into the tunnels, the ones that were imprisoned behind walls of chittering insects…

It was time for them to be freed. Suddenly buzzcut E88 members screamed like little girls as the squeaking tide erupted out of drainage ports and ran through the building, climbing anywhere they could to get away from the bugs, lurking invisibly below. And if “anywhere they could” included pants and dresses?

Well.

I didn’t have any direct control over the rats, and they just wanted to get away. They were already dispersing, but the damage had been done, as tables full of food were toppled, people dove out of windows and ran into the parking lot just in time for the first BBPD units, along with Armsmaster to arrive.

And Hookwolf? I hardly needed my bugs to hear his bellowed curse as he punched the sound board operator, then turned and, with the other three, took a clearly pre-planned exit route. I could have stopped him…

But that wasn’t the point. There was no recovering this fiasco, and the smart thing to do was to leave.

But that still meant that Hookwolf, Cricket, and Crusader had all fled the field of battle.

How… Un-warrior like.

As the police and PRT started to take people into custody, with a quick argument rising over who would expose their vehicles to the ah, leavings of the ill partygoers, I leaned back. Leaving here would be foolish, because they were no doubt on the watch. The lines to the phones were being pulled in by bugs as the phones themselves were wiped and turned off. No way to find them without an in depth search of something like thirty city blocks.

If it left the PRT and Protectorate assuming I had a vastly wider range than I did, well that was good.

But now it was time to wait—and maybe relax. The bugs around me shifted, becoming a soft mattress made up of interlocking insects, while others formed a comfortable blanket and pillow for my head. I would wait here until everyone left and then head home.

The bed was very comfortable. Maybe I should try this more often.

With that, I relaxed and waited for the aftermath to play out.