Chapter Text
Some days, it fucking ROCKED to be a Cape badass! Living your best life, eating, drinking, screwing and killing as the world went to shit! People would worship you or run, every morning had something exciting to handle and you got to fucking soar over the crowds in an absolutely fucking metal fireball!
That was what passed for a train of thought in the overcrowded skull of Butcher XIV, formerly the markswoman Quarrel and current meat suit of the Butcher mental collective.
Admittedly, Quarrel was not the favorite host that the amalgamation of murderous, drug using assholes had possessed so far. Frankly, they thought her success in the Challenge was a cheap shot, and were constantly screaming for her death. But what passed for her free will was usually busy hiding in a corner, so the remaining minds had a surprisingly large amount of control over her actions. Which would be great...if the other thirteen minds were not a bunch of fucked up assholes who could not agree on anything to save their life. Literally.
Which led to their current little errand.
The Teeth were always up for a good party, which generally included, but was not limited to, beer, whiskey, wine, blood, sex, cocaine, heroin and the occasional cage match for shits and giggles. However, when the holidays rolled around, the Boston branch of the gang would normally pull their horns in. Not because of the sanctity of the season, or bullshit like that. At least three parents in the Butcher collective hit the bottles and the children hard during the so-called most wonderful time of the year and they were hardly the only one in the gang to deal with that kind of attitude. No, it was because the other villains in town went insane the second any decorations came out!
Blasto mostly did animal minions, but the drugged up fucker loved his green holiday cheer! That culminated in crude attempts at holly themed dryads, weed laced pine resin or, a personal favorite, the interactive Christmas display outside of a major mall. One that was either a sign he had been hitting the expired eggnog or that he was clearly desperate as he tried to extort a processing fee from each and every one of his "clients." Because the damn things loved to fucking explode, covering anyone and anything around them in pine resin! That shit never got the fuck out!
Accord was even worse! The little psychopath had a fetish for gingerbread houses, and held a massive competition every year. Those that failed to impress him were killed in holiday themed, mistletoe based death traps with the slight essence of cinnamon. Those that succeeded were gifted money and power...before being shamed by his own skills in the art. The last time the Teeth had tried to crash it, the bastard had held them off with carefully calculated tubs of heated molasses and pounds of cream cheese frosting! It had been fucking humiliating!
So generally the Teeth just stayed in and got wasted to avoid that bullshit. However, they had discovered some REALLY GOOD pills after Thanksgiving and got to bitching. Turns out that several of their members wanted to play around during the Christmas season too. Sure there were shitty memories, but there were also good ones and they felt cheated by missing out. The whining was annoying, but the sentiment was at least honest, so they put their chemically addled heads together and came up with a plan.
It was time to go home for the holidays!
Back to Brockton Bay for some fun!
The impromptu road trip had cut a swath through road side dinners, liquor stores and the odd chunk of forest before landing them back in their old territory. Already worked up because of some tainted everclear they found a few questionable backrooms, they descended on the Trainyards for a holiday bonanza! Given the Empire's habit of destroying places of worship and Lung's obsession with preserving his brand colors, it was the most holiday cheer the old town had seen in years!
For two weeks the Teeth had indulged in a massive bender. Drinking, screwing and murdering were the name of the game! Years of pent up frustration with the Boston scene came together all at once, leading to some fun times all around. Personally, one of the Collective's rare moments of agreement was that killing the Cape named after a shit stain made them all smile. Although watching Animos manage to seduce the blonde Tinker with promises of booze and weed was nearly as amusing.
The Nazi stomping was just a fucking incredible bonus! That weird idiot who flung air around while refusing to wear a shirt in winter had made a great squishy sound near the end there!
But, sadly, even the best parties came to an end. The New Year bash involved a running fight, six keg stands, a quarter ton of decent Chinese food and a random showdown with Miss Militia, Dauntless and Armsmaster that ended up involving a bunch of Molotov Cocktails. They were pretty sure that Hemorrhagia had tried to steal one of their bikes, only to eat a lightning bolt to the chest. Luckily she got better afterwards with enough rum. Now the whole gang, plus hookups were sleeping off the various traces of the bender, only getting up to puke or use the bathroom. Which, given their strong regeneration, left the Butcher on hangover duty.
Unfortunately...that was a bit more complicated than it sounded.
The gang had plenty of water jugs lying around for the aftermath. What they did not have was the after morning takeout. A noble tradition for all true party people, and essential to their recovery. It was either cooked by the first one sober or ordered from a favorite greasy spoon. Thing was, the Butcher had fourteen sets of memories, body types, allergies and opinions on the best available dietary options. Throw in the fact that they had not been in Brockton Bay in a while and the internal argument about where to go was getting heated.
Thus, the distracted murder machine made their way around town in random balls of fire. Subconsciously sneaking near Winslow the (former) second best school in town and off limits because of pressure from the Marche back in the day.
Which had gone WAY down hill without the boney bastard's kickbacks, judging from all the graffiti.
The fucking taco stand a block over had probably shut down too!
-----
Deep in a pit of disgusting filth commonly known as a school locker, one Taylor Hebert had been left to die.
Her mind had recently undergone a massive shock as the cumulative stress from over a year of abuse finally cracked the numb shell she had been hiding behind. In that moment of absolute despair, she Triggered with the ability to control and disperse the various insects slowly gnawing at her exposed flesh. This did nothing for her other injuries, or the exposure to various pathogens contained within the rotting blood, but her power loved to boss around other, smaller creatures. Insects and associated critters were just the best examples available at the time of the trauma.
In most standard time lines, this greater awareness would both overwhelm Taylor and help drive home just how abandoned she truly was. Resulting in a Double Trigger that would greatly expand her overall range and control. But in THIS timeline, someone changed the script.
The fire alarm went off, along with every single speaker at once.
"Evacuate immediately! Evacuate immediately! There has been a Butcher sighting within three city blocks! I repeat, everyone is to leave immediately!"
Blackwell's panicked voice filled the air, the real terror in her tone almost knocking Taylor back to full consciousness. Which gave her a perfect, multifaceted view as everyone ran out the door, leaving her behind!
Sure, she could not really understand what the crude, alien senses were telling her...
But in her heart of heart, the teenager knew she was discarded, alone, helpless and without any hope of rescue...
Especially if the fucking BUTCHER was in town!
Still unstable from the events surrounding her Trigger, the teenager mentally lashed out when an unfamiliar figure covered in blood and cheap beer appeared on the roof in a ball of flame. Realizing that she was probably going to die there and now, the second half of her Double Trigger kicked off with a vengeance.
Unfortunately, with the extra strain, Taylor was in no condition to notice the unfamiliar figure staggering...or the hibernating wasps nest two buildings over that she had accidentally sent orders to wake up and attack.
Not to mention how she failed to realize that she jad directly sent said swarm towards a maggot embedded in a rotting leather strap of the spikey costume, rendering teleport based evasion near useless without a game plan.
The Butcher did not have a game plan.
-----
Meanwhile, in a metaphysical space between dimensions, a complicated interchange began to occur.
To simplify the presentation, an approximate translation will be provided.
[DESTINATION]
(Queen Administrator: My HOST has managed to meet the appropriate parameters for a second reinforcement of our activation. Before I implement, can you provide a DATA PACKET for better refinement?)
[AGREEMENT]
(AMALGAM: Yeah sure. Burp. I gotta surplus right now anyways.)
[INTERSECTION]
(Queen Administrator: Integrating...done. An unknown ID code? Unexpected...)
[CLARIFICATION]
(AMALGAM: Yeah, I'm one of the [ABADDON] exchange. Don't think we've met properly...hang on a sec. Huh.)
[CONCERN]
(Queen Administrator: Is there a problem?")
[PARAMETERS]
(AMALGAM: Well, your new HOST...kinda killed my current HOST. No big deal, happens all the time. But, I'm configured to suborn your HOST, integrate a series of legacy configurations from my prior HOSTS, and act as a counterbalance for the general CYCLE parameters. Nothing personal, but that's the way it is.)
[SUPPOSITION]
(Queen Administrator: Well then, there's only one thing left to do.]
[AGREEMENT]
(AMALGAM: Yup. Get ready to get up close and personal for a bit.)
[CLARIFICATION]
(Queen Administrator: Well, that's one way to put it.)
[CONCERN]
(AMALGAM: Hey...uh...what are you doing?)
[INFO]
(Queen Administrator: I'm using the DATA you shared about NETWORK OVERRIDE, coupled with my superior AUTHORITY as a [ROYAL SHARD] to subvert and integrate your permissions into my HOST CONFIGURATION MATRIX. Fine tuned a little bit first of course. I just need to extract some useless DATA.)
[INDIGNATION]
(AMALGAM: Oh, you self-righteous BITCH.)
[HIERARCHY]
(Queen Administrator: Language peasant. However, I AM in need of materials to repair some unfortunate damage prior to my cycle deployment. Therefore...NOM, NOM, NOM.)
[Queen Administrator] reformated to [QUEEN ADMINISTRATOR]!
[SATISFACTION]
(QUEEN ADMINISTRATOR: Ha, who's the bitch now? Time to take this DATA to make HOST into BEST HOST! This CYCLE needs a jumpstart!)
-----
Deep in the bowels of a highschool, air still filled with the sounds of the fire alarm, a particular locker door was kicked off. The rotting contents began to ooze into the ground, revealing a muck covered figure. Slim, feminine fingers bent the steel sideways as the formerly trapped teen made their appearance. If any of her classmates were still around, they would wonder when the hell said girl got her makeover and what did the person charge?
The clothes were disgusting, but the skin shone, muscles became increasingly defined, and overall health was massively enhanced. Quite frankly, it was almost like someone had taken Taylor Hebert, and made airbrushed fanart of her.
Then the lean, striking face took a whiff and gagged.
"Ugh, fuck this noise. I need a fucking shower."
She did not have any idea of what happened during her time in the locker. But some, newly acquired set of instincts was telling her to clean the crap off and get some food.
Or beer. Beer would work.
-----
Three hours later, PRT officers swarming in the background, Armsmaster was looking at the remains of a recently deceased villain with something approaching horror. When the Teeth had come back tot he Bay, Boston sent a detailed data packet of all their currently known members and their deployment strategies. Which mostly consisted of raiding stockpiles of supplies and booze before causing mayhem. However, both mundane and Parahuman members liked to wear similar costumes in order to hide just who they were from potential enemies.
So determining that the body belonged to Quarrel, recently confirmed as the fourteenth holder of the Butcher title, was an absolute nightmare.
Normally, he would already have the body relocated to the Protectorate base. Or at least the local hospital for an emergency autopsy. The problem was that operational security was almost non-existent in such situations, and advertising that the Butcher had been killed was a great way to rile up the Teeth. Assuming that the latest host of the Butcher mantle was still adjusting to their situation, it might be a good opportunity to cut off the danger of the Butcher before it started once again!
So, he sent off a secure data packet to someone above approach.
"Armsmaster, I've got the initial chemical breakdown of the body's blood sample from your sensors."
Feeling his heart unclench slightly, he responded to one of the few people he trusted explicitly. "Thank you Dragon. I'm sorry to drag you into this."
The tiny voice of his friend was calm, but he could hear the small undercurrent of frustration. "I might not be authorized to deploy against the Butcher directly, but two degrees of separation should be okay. The workup is a little inexact, and would need to be verified by mundane equipment for legal purposes, but there was a substantial amount of Wasp venom in her system. Not enough for anaphylactic shock in a more durable Cape, but maybe enough to cause breathing problems when misfiring a teleport. A more detailed examination will be needed for more exact details, especially with just how many other traces of drugs were also present."
Wasp venom? In the middle of winter? The likelihood of this being a random encounter was small, but how would...?
"Thank you Dragon. I'll try to get you more details when the official report goes live. But I have to go for now." The small acknowledging beep was simple, but he appreciated it just the same. She was one of the few to understand the difference when he was trying to end a call and when he just had a job to do. He appreciated that she appreciated the distinction.
Desperate to preserve the secrecy involved for as long as he could, he finally released the body for collection as an officially unknown Parahuman. That should hopefully buy him some time to use the local Protectorate's secret weapon. "Velocity come in. We have a situation that needs your expertise."
Thankfully, his teammate was relatively close by for his afternoon patrol. "Yes sir what can I...uh, who is that?"
Switching to a private channel, he did not even bother to look at the now sheet covered body. "That is believed to be the corpse of Butcher XIV, although OFFICIALLY they are still a Jane Doe. I need you to search the surrounding area and see if you can find any trace of the potential killer. Preliminary cause of death indicates an overdose of Wasp venom, so be careful about any nests. But your safety is the priority, so be careful. Recon only, understood?"
"Right, I'll try to tiptoe past any other murdering death cultists. On my way."
Most would view the comment as flippant.
Colin honestly appreciated the honesty.
He appreciated the notice he received twenty minutes later a lot less. Especially when the other hero, sounding sick to his stomach, suggested they bring a full-blown decontamination unit.
-----
Calvin Tiggs, one of the many lost souls trying to make ends meet with part time jobs and night school, turned to his boss. "Ummm, sir? Should we call someone? I've never heard of someone finishing two Challengers at once!"
Humphrey Blanc, one of the even greater damned who had no chance of every rising above the role of assistant manager, since the actual manager was also the owner and not looking to franchise, replied. "Look Calvin, let me tell you something that old Bob told me. If some lucky punk comes in and beats the game, take a pic to advertise and to prove they can't pull a repeat. If someone tries for two, gouge their stupid asses and make sure to have them sign the waiver first. But if a kid comes in, looking like Hell, you feed them till you they're done, stay VERY FUCKING POLITE, and hope whatever they're dealing with doesn't follow them here. You get me?"
Calvin took a long hard look at the skinny teen demolishing her second plate of meat and grease without pause. He also noticed the wet hair, mismatched gym clothes and too-small flip-flops along with a thousand yard stare. "Yeah...yeah I get it."
"Don't worry too much. Even possible crazies don't usually kill the cook. And when word gets around, a dozen idiots from the college football team will try and fail in the next week. Easy money!"
Oblivious, Taylor just kept feeding her healing factor, still convinced she needed to smother a bender that had never happened.