The Web of the Weaver: Chapter 9

I wasn’t certain if I was more annoyed that I was taking time out of my schedule to come to a tutoring meeting, or if the only reason someone was doing their job was because I’d been jammed into a locker.

Or the fact that Arcadia was so damned cleancompared to my school. The students were leaving labs as I arrived with Greg Veder and some other Winslow kids, including oddly enough, someone I’d pegged for an E88 ganger and an ABB girl.

Except I’d noticed that the two had been shooting gaze—Oh God, were they actually attracted to each other?

Suddenly, Mr. Thomas’s odd comment to the boy made more sense.

Get a good education, and you can hop on the bus for LA and never see this town again…

How had he known? I hadn’t known, and I had bugs all over the school. And I’d been there for a lot longer than our new administrator.

I’d have to do better.

I’d have to investigate them. If I was right, why was he E88? Not all whites were. Was it because of his family? Or because he believed their propaganda.

My bugs twisted and turned. I’d have to leave it for later. Right now it was time for my first tutoring class, and then get back and finish my special presents for the merchants.

When I got into the room, the clean room with no graffiti, I stopped for a moment. There were other students in the room, from Arcadia.

In fact… The girl I’d encountered on my first night out was muttering as she glared at some homework.

Would she recognize me? Would sh—

“Right everyone,” the young man who breezed into the room triggered some Gladly memories, but he walked to the front of the table without trying to act like one of us. “You know why you’re here. Some of you have suffered from poor teachers. Some of you have suffered from the strange belief that video games make up for homework. Some of you are here for reasons beyond the comprehension of man.”

“Some of us are here because of our brother,” Aisha muttered. “Kill joy.”

“That is true,” the man said. “I’m Mr. Green, and no, it’s not a secret agent codename, my parents suffered from poor imagination. We’re going to start with placement tests, each one is focused on your specific needs, and we’ll set up your curriculum from that. No grades here. You’re either working, or you’re not, and if not, we’ll have chats with your parents.”

Then he was handing out papers, and I stared at mine. Time to get to work.

And when I handed it in, two hours later, I felt my face burning. I’d known my grades were bad, but of course they were, because of everything that had been done.

I’d assumed that without the bullying, I’d just go back to where I was when I’d started at Winslow…

God it was terrible. I didn’t know half the answers, and when I glanced at another student, his writing was better than mine.

But Mr. Green didn’t say anything as he collected the work and then nodded. “Okay, the thing is, I can see from some expressions that you’re not thrilled with how you did. That’s good. The first step in getting ahead is knowing you don’t want to be where you are.On the other hand, for a lot of reasons, I expect you’ll find yourselves moving faster, so don’t let the test scare you. This is just to see where you are right now.”

Not where I should be.

That was annoying. No, I was pissed.

Fortunately, tonight, I was going to be in a position to introduce the Merchants to some of my new toys…

Because if I was pissed, I didn’t see any reason I shouldn’t take it out on them.

*****

The Sun was going down when I started my first walk into the Merchant “territory” I’d learned it wasn’t so much a territory as islands. Little deserted places the Merchants took over until they either got bored, burned the building down, or were chased away. The Archer’s Bridge Headquarters was the only permanent structure they had, largely held on to on a long-term basis. I hadn’t gone there. I wouldn’t. Not yet.

I wanted to prepare the ground first.

I had dropped my idea of surveillance beyond getting targets. The Merchants didn’t have a lot of organization. No secrets. Nothing of value. Just the fact that the longer they existed, the more trouble they’d make for someone.

I spread my bugs out, walking in my “Merchant disguise” keeping to the shadows, a duffle bag slung under a shoulder. The diner would be empty—nobody wanted to risk Hookwolf coming back, but I soon found another place, groups of people coming and going.

It had lights, probably a tap on the local power line, and I heard music and could once again trace the bodies by the number of insects nesting in them. Like many of the buildings, it had been prepared by my earlier walk, insects nesting in the basement, out of the cold.

Now it was time. I stood in an alleyway, the building in sight at the other end, and opened my duffle bag.

This time I was careful to make certain I didn’t get distracted, but nobody was standing by me.

Nobody saw me as I ordered my legions to get my weapons.

Did you know that fireworks were legal on the East Coast? I’d spent over forty dollars on the genuine, tinkertech based (according to the blurb), smoke bombs that could generate more smoke and non-toxic smoke than any of the competing brands. It’d taken me time at home, but I’d modified the fuses, match heads cut off and crudely attached, that my bugs could rub against, fast enough to ignite the matchhead, and then the fuse.

The bugs flew, spider webs holding the smoke bombs. It was a little unwieldy, but in this place, nobody was going to notice. I had some other ideas for later use, but this would be their first test.

The music continued, as the bugs moved in and I set the crickets to rubbing their legs against the match heads. Other bugs headed to the fusebox, and started biting at the wires.

And last and not least, I sent another group of bugs to my last secret weapon, before I got my shotgun mic ready so I could hear what they were saying.

Fluorescent, glow in the dark paint. Non-toxic, as various types of bugs lightly dipped their bodies in it, spiders and moths alike.

And then there was a sudden silence. The music had died, along with the lights.

“What the fuck! Where’s the smoke coming from!” I gestured, and my glowbugs flew for the doors, the smoke already pouring out of them.

“Gentlemen.” I rumbled. “You didn’t think I saved your lives from the Empire out of kindness, now did you?”

“Who the fuck—“ the voice broke off into a scream. I knew why. Someone had been running for the door, only to see the eerie humanoid outline of a glowing figure… Actually my glowbugs, but they didn’t know that. The addicts outside were heading for all points of the compass.

“I can taste your fear… that is not all I taste. I know your sins. I know what you fear… Because I am what you fear…” I sent a few streams of my glow bugs, looping and spinning around the people I’d marked by their own bugs, daemonic spirits twirling around them, yellow paint giving the impression of some daemonic set of eyes.

Without the smoke, without the dark, they’d just be clouds of moths, the odd tugging feelings some felt, just spiders landing on their heads after dropping down from the rafters…but in the dark and smoke…

“Why are you fucking with us!” the man tried to shout. It came out as a whine.

“You harm the Bay. You trade poison… when you aren’t devouring it.” Spiders spun their lines and moths and wasps took them up, lifting some syringes on the floor, looking like the inhuman figures were holding them. “I can see you. I am the city, and I know where you have been, where you will be… forever.” I dropped them or rather released them, and the little crowd heard the sound of the syringes drop onto the dirt.

“I’m a little hungry, perhaps…”

“Oh, God, please…”

“You would ask God for help? After your sins?  How did you know he didn’t send me? But you can distract me. For a day. Purchase a day of freedom…”

The men and women were clustered, looking around, unable to see anything but smoke and my ghosts. Someone was crying. Someone had shit themselves.

“Wh—“

“Bring out the drugs. All of them. You have some gasoline. Take them and pour the gasoline on the drugs in front of this building.”

“You’re fucking crazy—Ski—“ The man fell silent with a shudder, as I sent my moths up and around his body. In the dark, I had no idea what he imagined they were. But suddenly he also crapped himself.

“Skidmark is not here. I am. And I’m getting hungry… But you can choose. I’ll let you. But remember, I’ll be watching. Set them afire, pour them out, leave this place.  Or I’ll return. Tell your friends, this is the time to get clean. Skidmark can’t help you…”

And then I sent my bugs into a frenzy inside the walls, a hideous chorus of laughter, as I  dispersed the bugs inside the room, looking like a swirling vortex of glowing lights, pouring out the windows.

“He’s… he’s fucking gone.” One man said. “Let’s get—“

“Ahem. Don’t forget your drugs,” I said from inside the walls.

Terrified whimpers answered me. The group fled, tossing their drugs onto the ground in front of the building. Someone fumbled with some fluid, another with a match, and then there was a cheery little fire on the ground. Then they were fleeing.

I recovered my bugs and waited. The place was deserted. I walked into the back door, looking around for a moment. There was actually a pile of cash on the table, next to the scattered drug paraphernalia. The product of crime.

And exactly what I’d need to make some purchases that would help me. I didn’t grab it with my hands. But opened a bag and let a swarm of moths and spiders pull it in. I didn’t touch anything, save for one last action, the real reason I had to be in here.

Spiders and ants came out of the walls at my command as I opened several small pots of paint. They marched up to it, dabbing legs and abdomens in the paint. And then they marched up to the wall and started painting.

Any one ant or spider would take forever, but I had thousands. And in a few moments, under my watching eyes, the symbol took shape on the wall.

A stylized orb  weaver.

My duffle bag held more paint. I wouldn’t just be drawing here, after all.

*****

For the next few hours, I happily terrorized Merchants. I knew of two other drug houses, and I repeated my actions in them. I didn’t know where Skidmark was, probably high, but he wouldn’t be happy when he came off of his high, especially when he found out about how many of his dealers had politely destroyed their drugs at my request.

I couldn’t set the stage on the street as well as I had in the houses, but it was dark out, and a few glimmers of my glowing bug “spirits” were enough to send people fleeing. When the morning came, and light rose up, they’d find that more than a few Merchant symbols had been eaten away by some strange power (especially if you didn’t know much about cockroaches), and replaced by the symbol of the Orb Weaver.

I would have to be certain to deposit my cash on the way home. I’d made just over 1200 dollars, and there were a few expensive tinkertech-styled two way radios, light enough for my bugs to move, and vastly more sensitive and longer ranged than my walkie talkie listeners.

There was also a tinker-tech service that advertised selling any chemical you cared to name.

After all, Skidmark didn’t care about what other people thought of him, so I didn’t think he’d mind overly much if I introduced him to some Thioacetone…

But when I got back home, and Dad and I had our pro-forma talk about the tutoring and my later stay “at the library” I found something very interesting waiting for me.

A private message on my PHO account. The one I’d left on the USB I’d given to Cho.

From: Capesnoop

To: CapeGroupie1

Nice name. Got some stuff about Squealer. Skidmark is normal story—was a druggie before he got powers, and got worse since, but Squealer… I think you’ll like this. When can we meet? I ain’t gonna talk about this on PHO.

I quickly responded:

I will call you, tomorrow, 6:00 AM.

Normally the time of my jogging, when I’d be away from the house and in a crowd. I’d take a burner phone with me.

Her response came back.

Great, another morning person. Fine. Don’t forget.

I wouldn’t.

*****

I actually started a little before six, jogging a different path. If she was trying to find me, she’d be disappointed.

I muffled my voice with a scarf. I couldn’t use my bugs, not here, not without risking being detected, but I wanted to hear what she’d found, now, before she got nervous or changed her mind.

I called, and she answered on the first ring.

“You have news,” I said, my voice muffled.

“Yep. Gonna owe me for this.”

“We’ll see.”

“Okay, first of all, got her DOB. She’s 18.”

Wait, what? Squealer had been with Skidmark since…I shook my head. Why should I be surprised?

“Interesting.”

“Oh, it gets better. You know that triggers often have a component of need in them,  right.”

“Yes.”

“Sherral Bailey grew up in a nice community, everyone goes to church. White picket fences. Not a parahuman. Just a kid who got a prize in seventh grade for building a scale model steam engine.”

I rolled my eyes. I could tell that Cho enjoyed being dramatic.

“And?”

“And Sherral Bailey got knocked up and claimed it was the local mayor. Community closes ranks, bad seed, she delivers the child, parents disown her… and next week she’s in the Bay driving a truckosaurus, right before she runs into Skidmark.”

“Was she telling the truth?”

There was a pause. “Well, would it surprise you to find out that our small-town mayor is currently spending a ten stretch in for playing hide the cabbage with a 14-year-old intern whose parents were a little  more loyal than Bailey’s?”

“So why didn’t she return?”

Cho’s voice lost her amusement. “I did some digging. Not a lot, I don’t exactly have sources in every town in America, but Mom and Dad appeared to have come up in the world monetarily, about the same time they were calling their daughter a conniving, lying, slut. Their words.”

“It would make sense…” I said. I’d done some studying on trigger events, even if most books about them spent every other page warning that the exception was often the rule.

Already predisposed for a tinker trigger, but caught in a no-win situation. The trigger lets her escape…

And she came to Skidmark, likely never even thought about anyone else. Why should she? Authority had failed her. Or maybe it had been bad luck that she’d run into Skidmark. Someone older, with… An ability to play on her. To convince her that her parents were right. To make her Squealer.

“What about the child?”

“Dunno.”

“Find out.”

“Hey, Spooky, I don’t owe you that much, and I don’t have that kind of pull. She might have gone into the system, been handed off to parents or…”

I knew what she was hinting.

“Then I will need to take a little trip. Who wouldhave the pull?”

“PRT, maybe. They have a lot of authority over parahuman-related affairs. But they aren’t going to help you.”

“I will have to… convince them. Also, I have some pictures of a group of Merchants choosing to just say no to drugs by burning them. Are you interested?”

“Yeah, I could use a humor piece. What’s next, demolishing the E88?”

“One step at a time.”

“Hah. Funny joke. That was a joke, right?”

“Send me your files to the email address I gave you. I will be in touch.”

I would destroy Skidmark, and how better than to first take his right-hand woman…

“Sherral Bailey, Sherral Bailey…” I murmured. Time to write a little script for our next meeting.