Lung's record was terrifying.
He was rumored to have fought an Endbringer singlehanded… and if Kyushu had sunk beneath the waves, Lung still walked the earth.
The wiki listed as 'unconfirmed' rumors that the Yangban had tried to hold him… and failed. Right alongside the rumor that he was a CUI agent of influence, actually, sent to fight a proxy war with Gesellschaft's ally (or puppet, depending on which story you believed) Empire Eighty Eight.
The rumors proliferated along a continuum of believability that currently terminated in the one that he wasn't actually a cape, but rather a shapeshifting immortal dragon who'd taught the Yellow Emperor his supernatural knowledge. Or possibly that was more credible than the one where he was the shapeshifting immortal dragon who'd been been great-grandfather to the first Emperor of Japan, and summoned by the last Emperor to its defence in the nation's final hour.
The most recent addition was that he'd killed his entire gang rather than give Bakuda a promotion.
Rumors.
I knew personally that one of those was totally false, and I was pretty sure the others were too. The thing was, his confirmed fights were scary enough to give credence to rumors like that.
The known facts of his time in Brockton Bay were these: he'd come to town. He'd fought the entire assembled Brockton Bay Protectorate, and won. He'd walked away and the Triumvirate very pointedly hadn't come to take him down, even when he started a gang, taking the name of an existing gang that was a minor player out west.
No one really thought he was loyal to the ABB hierarchy scattered through the California prison system.
Unlike E88, he'd almost avoided recruiting other capes to work for him. There were only two known exceptions: Bakuda, whom I had killed, and Oni Lee, reported possibly injured/deceased after a clash with Victor on Sunday. With them gone, and so much of ABB's unpowered leadership, I — with my tiny amount of eavesdropping — might have more insight into what he cared about than most.
What did he want?
He cared about fear, and being feared. He cared about possession and revenge. He cared about power.
Would that be enough for me to predict his actions?
Fighting him would be chancy at the best of times. The first time we'd crossed paths, I'd caught him off-guard, ambushed him and hit him with as much poison as I could as fast as I could. Through no preparation of my own, I'd followed that up with a five-cape (and three van-sized monster dog) ambush. That was as close to a perfect setup as I was likely to get: massive force deployed before he could really begin to ramp up.
End result? He'd lost his dick. Without speculating on what fraction, exactly, of his bodymass that represented, it was still clearly a minor wound.
I indulged a morbid bit of curiousity, and checked the apartment's bathroom. Toilet seat up… so Lung didn't even take a week to heal up. Probably his healing rate was better measured in 'fights' than 'days' anyway.
If we fought again, I could sense through my swarms instead of having to maintain line of sight. It would be harder for him to find me — though still just as easy to kill me. I still didn't have anything capable of killing him, and wounding him wouldn't do anything helpful in the long run. Worse, almost no one could put him down — Eidolon, probably, or Scion. Dragon… maybe.
Getting any one of them to intervene here would take work. And time.
If it was even possible: Scion had talked to people all of once in recorded history, and Eidolon and Dragon both had worldwide calls on their attention. It was kind of hard to argue that Lung was a bigger problem than the Endbringers, or even a bigger problem than some of the warlords squabbling over territory in Africa. Lung's kill count wasn't even a fraction of Moord Nag's, and he wasn't the kind of existential threat that, say, Nilbog or Sleeper were.
Scary as Lung was, it had to be said that the greatest heroes had bigger problems to deal with.
And even if I somehow got one to come, it might not even work.
Let's face it, if Leviathan can't kill you, the only sure escalation is to bring in Behemoth or Simurgh, and I wouldn't even joke about having one of them hit Brockton Bay. I'd been born less than three months after Behemoth hit New York City, and I'd grown up with stories from my parents and other adults about what that had been like… along with occasional footage from other attacks the world over.
So: there were really only two things I could do.
Option A: hit him, fast and hard, and hope that I could knock him out the way I had last time… with none of the backup I had last time. And then hope that — with his gang more or less gone — the Protectorate could hang onto him this time. Also, that the Birdcage could hold him once he got there: putting someone whose power scaled with the fight he was in into a prison full of the meanest villains ever seemed like it was just asking for an inmate riot.
Or — option B.
A swarm of bugs gathered in the room, and promptly combusted.
Good reflexes there.
More gathered, sweeping in through windows and vents. Determined effort at the screen door out back yielded a small hole that quickly grew larger, and insects flooded the apartment.
Lung was on his feet, flames dancing in either hand, a six foot radius about him clear of bugs. The ground and sofa were black and rippling with chitin, and the air buzzed thick with insects. A living cylinder centered on Lung, with a subtle clockwise rotation and crosscurrents. I was suddenly reminded of the last time we'd faced off like this, only three nights past. Just before I killed Bakuda and took off his right hand.
Which, I noted, was very much present right now.
I formed a swarm-clone before him, visible as a silhouette through the cloud, and spoke.
"Lung."
He didn't answer, just swayed, balancing on the balls of his feet. His smile wasn't really a smile.
"If I'd wanted to kill you, this would have been a surprise. This isn't a fight."
"You know I will kill you." He sounded almost… happy, every word delivered slowly and separately.
"Not today."
My parents had always told me not to lie, but I thought they'd understand.
"You couldn't, anyway — I'm a Changer. When my body's like this… you'd have to kill every insect around to keep me from reforming."
His eyes narrowed. "A lie."
The clone shook its head, and then exploded into insects as Lung's fire lashed out, cutting a gap in the cloud of bugs.
I piled them up into a clone again, this time to his right, and filled the rent in the veil of flying insects, putting them into a slow counterclockwise rotation.
He turned to face 'me'.
"You've burned me before. It didn't take then, either. Didn't even hurt."
He fisted his right hand, flame squirting out to surround it, burning hotter. Even without an outright fight, the longer this dragged on, the stronger he'd get. Keeping it a verbal fencing match only postponed the point where I wouldn't be able to touch him.
"And yes, someday you'll come for me. If you can find me. If you can catch me. But right now…"
Getting this guy to talk was like pulling teeth. He just waited.
"Right now, you want Kaiser, don't you?"
He blinked.
And laughed, a sharp barking noise.
What?
"Yojimbo." He shook his head, actually smiling.
What the actual fuck?
"Where?"
I blinked, searched my memory. "The construction site two blocks southwest of Memorial Park. Tomorrow. Sunset."
"For a price." His voice was cold once more, and his face stony.
My swarm-clone tilted its head.
"Coil lairs beneath the Heritage Insurance Tower."
"What do you want me to do with that?"
"Do as you please."
That not-smile flashed again.
"While you live."
With that, he lay back down on the La-Z-Boy, closed his eyes, and reclined it fully.
A stunned moment passed before the whine of the built-in back massager started up.
My swarm clone dissolved, and I began moving the insects out in an orderly fashion while I stood up and moved back toward the bus stop.
That… went about as well as I could have hoped.
The easiest way to stay in someone's blind spot is to point them the wrong way and stay close. The lie about being a Changer was part of that. Keeping him focused on E88 was another. The fact that he was literally laughing at my planning was… not a good sign.
I really needed to find an Option C before I was forced to try Option A again.
And I still had to make sure that Kaiser showed up tomorrow. A confrontation like that wouldn't be small or quiet. There would be fire, and blood.
Maybe I should make sure my new costume was ready in time.
···---···
The morning dawned cold.
That might have been the fatigue talking, actually.
I'd stayed up all night, and I once more had a costume. And a persistent throbbing pain in my temples.
It wasn't dyed, making it the same sort of grey/off-white that the silk was naturally. Not quite as stealthy as my old black one, for now, but it shouldn't stand out all that much. It had pouches and a kind of backpack, partly for my gear, and partly for my swarms: there were always lots of bugs around, but there weren't always lots of the right kind of bugs around. This way, I could carry the rarer and more useful types with me.
I'd carefully packed the gear away, my small army of spiders still weaving. I could make rope from thread… or a new costume, if this one was incinerated like the last one. Either way, it would be useful.
Getting Kaiser to the showdown would probably be the easy part.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Purity.
"Hello?" Her voice didn't actually sound any different, but it seemed much… more human. Less impersonal. Probably the fact it wasn't coming from a woman-shaped blaze of light.
"Purity — this is Skitter. I found out where Lung will be tonight."
"Where?" Her voice had quickened.
"The construction site a couple of blocks off of Memorial park, at sunset."
"I'll be there." Quieter now, but no hesitation.
"It'll be a trap. Lung's trying to call out Kaiser. And… look, you know I'm no friend of E88."
"Oh, it'll be a trap all right. For him. With this kind of warning? On Kaiser's turf? Everyone wants that animal dead. For this? We'll take the losses if we have to."
We. Guess those old ties did run deep.
"Good hunting, then." I hung up. It would be time to cycle to the next phone in a few more days.
Well — this would be an interesting evening out.
I lay back, spiders weaving, and set an alarm for 5 pm. I didn't know if I could get any sleep, but I was sure going to try.
···---···
The phone rang, jerking me out of restless sleep.
It took my eyes a moment to focus, and it was… odd, seeing myself from every angle while I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. I grabbed the cell phone, checking the time: 4:36. I would have had to get up soon anyway.
"Hello?"
"Skitter?" A warm male voice.
"What?"
"It's Quinn. Most of the arrangements are in place. Could you be available for a meeting with the PRT tomorrow morning?"
I blinked.
"Sure…"
"Afterward, we can get lunch and discuss housing and some other ideas I've…"
I cut him off. "What?"
A pause.
"Are you alright?"
"I… the call woke me. I've had trouble sleeping."
"Well, you wanted a place of your own. A safe one. Construction or modification will take time, but I think I can get you out of that motel as soon as tomorrow, if you want — foreclosed property. Actually closing the purchase will take a little longer, but hey" I could hear his smile "if you know whom and how to ask, there are ways. We can get you settled in there quickly."
I looked around the room I was in.
Peeling wallpaper in what had once probably been eggshell white, but was now best described as 'dingy'? Rough sheets, half-faded stains still visible on them? A shower that never really reached 'hot', even if it did occasionally spike to 'boiling' before running lukewarm again?
I could stand a change, sure.
"That would be… nice. And… maybe there's a way to get around town? I've been using busses, and I'm too young to drive, so…"
A chuckle.
"Skitter, have you…"
"Call me Taylor."
"Taylor. Have you ever heard of a farm permit?"
I blinked.
"No?"
"I'd been going to ask you how you felt about some agricultural work anyway. We'll talk in more detail over lunch, after the PRT meeting. Suffice it to say: you're not too young to legally drive."
"You want me to work on a farm? What… what does that even have to do with anything? I just wanted to be able to make my own decisions."
A sigh.
"Taylor, you hired me to advance your interests. And what you ask me to do, within the law, I'll see done. If there's more than one good way to do it, I'll offer advice and counsel on different ways to go about it, and then take your decision as to means. But if I see something important I think you haven't considered… I'll use my initiative, and bring it to your attention. It's always your decision — but I wouldn't be doing my job if I wasn't on the lookout for ways to help you do what you want."
Neither of us spoke for a while.
"Look, get some rest. I'll see you at the PRT headquarters tomorrow morning? Eight-thirty."
He hung up.
Going back to sleep wasn't exactly in the cards. In about two and a half hours, Empire Eighty Eight was finally going to fight Lung. One cape against a dozen; one man against hundreds. And I wasn't at all sure who would win.
And about twelve hours after that wound down, I'd get to walk into PRT custody.
Funny how the prospect of a three-cornered fight with Lung and the whole E88 was less stressful than having to explain myself to the authorities.
Well, maybe I wouldn't live that long.
A smile tugged at my cheeks.