Prologue
3 Years Ago
Angela R. Ceigh, AKA “Harlot,” stared down in total disinterest at the frolicking ducklings in front of her. She had never had anything in particular against ducks, but in the current circumstance, they did little to improve her rather foul mood. In fact, the more she stared at them, the more irritated with them she became. She was really starting to hate them. Fucking ducklings. She let out a long breath and leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, looking up at the water stains which dotted the dirty ceiling. Her honorary uncle, Hector Hopper, AKA “The Roach,” pushed the duck puzzle in question out of the way. “Christ, I hate that fucking thing.” “Then why do you always have it with you whenever I come to visit?” She asked in confusion. “Take a guess.” The old man gestured to their surroundings. The interior of the visiting room in the Mesa Verde Super-Person Retirement Castle wasn’t exactly the most luxurious of accommodations that someone could hope for. In fact, it was basically just a plain white room with a dozen folding tables and rusty metal chairs. “The ducklings are the only thing to do in this goddamn hellhole.” He looked around the room suspiciously. “Closest thing we got to currency on the inside.” He tapped the box to the puzzle. “There ain’t a wrinkled motherfucker in this place that wouldn’t kill to have The Ducks with them, girly.” He pulled the object closer. “But they ain’t getting them today.” He raised his voice and glared at his fellow residents. “You hear me, you grasping sons-a-bitches!?! MINE!!!” She rolled her eyes and started picking at the scrapes and gouges which marred the surface of the dingy tabletop. “So, what do you think I should do?” He looked confused. “About what?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If you’re after The Ducks now, you can just…” “No,” she cut him off before he could finish the paranoid threat, “I don’t want your stupid puzzle.” She made a face at him. “I mean about the Agletarians. Someone’s going to have to do something about them.” “Why don’t ya quit your bitching and do it yourself then?” He threw his hands wide in exasperation. “Any villainess worth a damn should be able to handle a half dozen paper pushers, right? I killed enough foreign diplomats in my day to fill the goddamn UN.” “Because I’m not an assassin, for one. I steal things, not kill things.” She let out another sigh. “For another, I’d be recognized before I ever got into their embassy. And finally, I have an exam in college that I still need to study for. If I miss it, my whole GPA will crash and burn. And you know Syd will never let me hear the end of that, and it’ll all end with my professors tied to chairs while he beats better grades out of them.” Hector took on a wizened tone. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: education is just another route to the commie infested waters of intellectualism.” She ignored that. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do, Uncle Hector. We need someone who can get in there and get the job done, and we just don’t have anyone who won’t be recognized, and who can also handle themselves against a small army.” She ran her hand through her hair. “But if we don’t do something, they’ll send someone else to kill us. Frankly, I’m still not entirely sure why the last assassin they sent is being so cooperative.” “Who’d they send?” She shrugged. “Big guy. Purple hair. Super strong. I think his name’s… Hazard something?” Hector shook his head. “Never heard of him. Local boy?” “Brit.” He scoffed in annoyance. “Fucking foreigners coming in and stealing our good hired killer jobs.” He tapped his finger against the tabletop, obviously believing himself to be making an important point. “Back in the old days, that contract would have gone to an American psychopath.” “Yes, that was my main complaint about someone sending a killer to murder my father in front of me, as well: the killer’s accent.” She rolled her eyes again, long used to her uncle’s insanity. Hector hated everyone, which, unsurprisingly, was making his retirement a nightmare for everyone. The man was habitually incapable of letting things go, no matter how minor they were or how many decades had gone by since. “Can we just forget about the increasingly multinational nature of costumed crime-for-hire and refocus on my real problem, please?” Hector lit his cigar. “Christ on a pogo stick, do I have to do everything?” She shook her head. “You can’t smoke in here.” He ignored her. “What’s your daddy paying you for if you can’t handle one little suicide mission? Your whole generation is failing in the evil business and it’s because you have no follow-through. No wonder all the best evil is now getting outsourced overseas.” At the table across from them, another resident in the retirement home looked up. “Her generation is failing in the evil business because they’ve finally seen the light and realize that crime doesn’t pay.” Hector turned to glare at the eavesdropper, something akin to disgusted horror on his face that the man would even speak to them. “Hey, was I fucking talking to you, Gary? Huh?” He sounded annoyed. “Do I hassle you when your grandkids come in here and screech and scream about what a great Cape you were? Do I tell them what a fucking pussy you were in the War? No. So SHUT UP!” He refocused on Harlot. “Where was I? Oh yes. Like I was saying, I know someone who can help you with this. He specializes in… unorthodox warfare.” Hector’s evil smile grew, obviously imagining some horrible scene he had witnessed firsthand and was now just itching to tell her about in extreme and unnecessarily gory detail. “Best I’ve ever seen at sabotage, demolitions, espionage, infiltration, assassinations… You name it. All that ninja shit I can’t spell. Ice water running through his fucking veins, this guy. Can kill a man just by staring at him hard. One soulless motherfucker. Evil straight down to the bone.” He took a puff from his cigar, completely ignoring the warnings on the oxygen tank which was hooked to his wheelchair. “Sort of an adopted kid of my idiot fucking Cape brother, Roy– may God ensure his loser soul continues burning in Hell– but I try not to hold that against him, because he’s family.” “Can you put that out, please?” She pointed at the cigar. “You know it’s not good for either of us.” Roach made a face, but obediently extinguished his cigar on the warning label affixed to the side of the oxygen tank. “Happy?” At some point in her life, that type of behavior probably would have surprised Harlot. Sadly, she’d known her uncle too long. “Ecstatic, Uncle Hector. Thank you.” She let out a weary sigh and tried to get back on topic. “You’d really want to risk your nephew on a suicide mission?” “Aw, we ain’t close.” Hector waved a hand in dismissal. “Doesn’t even talk to me much; wants to do his own shit. A ‘crazed loner’ type of deal-y, works alone, only calls when he’s drunk or suicidal. But it wouldn’t be risking a nephew. Niece, either.” She stared at him in confusion. “Huh? What does that mean?” “It means I got no fucking clue which the kid is. Never even seen his face. Even when he was young he preferred masks and baggy clothes. Could be a niece, a nephew, a fucking opossum from Jupiter, for all I know.” He shrugged. “Don’t matter much in my book; a badass is a badass and it’s none of my business. When you get stabbed in the throat with a goddamned katana, you don’t exactly ask the ninja fucker who did it if he’s got cunt or cock, now do you?” He laughed at the very idea. “Besides, it won’t be a risk. Walk in the park. Kid’s earned his villain chops… mostly by chopping people up.” He chuckled in amusement again, obviously thinking back on another blood-soaked scene of carnage and mayhem he’d witnessed. “Used to worry about him turning to Caping, but he’s more than proven he’s got a pair. Waaaaay tougher than Roy ever was– may his torment never end.” He set about searching his pockets for another cigar, forgetting about her constant dire warnings of lung cancer and assurances that smoking near the oxygen would turn the entire building into an explode-y fireball of death. “’Honorable’ is just another way of saying ‘asshole,’ girl. Let me tell you something, if you want to truly be at your best, you need to forget all about…” Harlot cut him off, not needing to hear his latest crazy idea about how she should be behaving. “So what’s his power?” “Depends on when you ask him. It changes by the day. He’s a stone cold villain though… just crazier than a shithouse rat on bath salts.” He made a swirling “insane” motion at his temple. Typically, her uncle described truly delusional people as “a visionary” or “a dude/bitch that makes sense, for once,” so for him to recognize someone else’s insanity was very rare indeed. And terrifying. If Hector Hopper said you were nuts, you must be REALLY friggin’ nuts. Like more nuts than the Planters factory. Like “squirrels must follow you home from the park,” kind of nuts. “You want someone to terrorize your enemies, he’s your guy.” Her uncle assured her. “He’ll take care of your little political spat for you… for a price. And it won’t be cheap. The best never is.” “How much?” “I’ll see if I can get you the family discount.” He placed the duck puzzle on his lap and started to wheel himself from the room, eyes scanning the other residents, waiting for them to make a play for his prize. “Goes by… ‘Multifarious.’” **** Two days later, Multifarious was standing on the street in front of the Agletarian embassy, insane and alone and planning a series of horrible murders. All in all, it was a fairly ordinary night. A lesser assassin would have brought a team of mercs, but Mull worked alone now. She wasn’t about to let anyone that close, ever again. She’d had her fill of partners. And, honestly, humanity. Which was fine, given her job. Generally speaking, “hired killer” was a bad profession to go into if you were a people person. On the other hand, having “nothing but irritated contempt for everyone” was definitely something that every killer should include on their resume. Most solo assassins would have gone all ninja on this bitch; sneaking in by zip-lining onto the roof or tunneling in from the sewer, but Mull had never been a fan of unnecessary steps. That was just bullshit mercenaries did to make themselves look cool. There were quicker and easier ways to get into a building, especially when there was a party going on. If there was one thing all evil rich people loved, it was parties. There were a shitload of galas, masquerades, and charity benefits in this town, all of which provided the perfect cover. Someone really should tell them one day that if they’d only stop having parties, none of their shit would get stolen, killed, kidnapped, or blown up. But no one had asked Mull for advice on that yet, so she didn’t bother to tell them. Personally, Mull had wanted to simply blow up the entire building. No fuss, no muss. The targets would be eliminated and the explosion would be awesome. But her clients had insisted that there be no collateral damage. Which was stupid. Why would you hire someone like Mull if you were at all worried about a little bloodshed? It was like hiring Monet and then complaining about all the damn water lilies. Everyone wanted to stand in the way of her art. Philistines. She turned her head to look at the large security gate and the guards which were patrolling the grounds, checking invitations. All in all, they were doing a fairly competent job. Good for them. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be blamed for what was about to happen. There weren’t enough people in the world who enjoyed their jobs, even if the jobs were in the “evil dictatorship” sector. Mull was personally always looking for a career in the evil dictatorship sector, but she was really holding out for a management position. Generally speaking, you shouldn’t ever take a job which put you on the bottom rung of a totalitarian regime. There was little chance for advancement and the company benefits all involved toiling. These particular guards didn’t seem to be letting the situation bother them. They were focused. Professional. Orderly. Mull didn’t trust order. Because it always depended on things staying orderly. But that just wasn’t the way the world was. Order was only temporary. As soon as you introduced an unknown element into the mix, order crumbled into chaos. And Multifarious was chaos. That’s where she lived and thrived. Order limited your options, it told you what to do and who to be… but anything could happen with chaos. She casually threw several tire spikes into the road, just as one of the limousines made the turn into the driveway of the building. Three tires immediately exploded, the rims causing a shower of sparks and smoke to be thrown into the air as they ground against the pavement. The limo lost traction and crashed into one of the security planters next to the gate. The guard in the security booth frantically waved at the driver, and the occupants of the limo rushed out, obviously worrying about there being some kind of bomb. The best part about killing rich assholes was that they either arrived at a party without a date, because they were losers, or they arrived with a dozen skanky women, because they were losers who wanted everyone to think their dick was bigger than it was. And that was Mull’s ticket into any party in the world. Because Natalie Quentin was welcomed pretty much everywhere. She was a complete nonentity. The partygoers milled around, watching security fuss over the stricken vehicle and try to clear it from the entryway, and Mull figured she had about twenty seconds before the guests got sick of waiting for their chauffeur to settle the matter with the guards, and would just walk through the gate instead. And once that happened, all Mull had to do was nonchalantly walk through the gate with the rich asshole and his entourage. It wasn’t like the guy who arrived at a party with a dozen skanks really took the time to learn all of their names anyway. He wouldn’t notice one more. Sure enough, the partygoer and his gang of slutty women got bored and were making their way towards the building itself. The man flashed his invitation and pointed to his dates, and they were ushered forward. Mull smiled flirtatiously at the guard as she strolled by him, taking her “date’s” arm and being escorted inside. All too easy. Technically speaking, it would have been just as easy to sneak into the party dressed as herself, but Party Line was more at home at parties than Mull was anyway. People were generally suspicious of a guest wearing a full facemask with a Kilroy symbol etched into it. Since casualties had to be kept to a minimum, Multifarious had chosen to wear Party Line’s dress and Natalie’s face. It had been a group decision, and like all group decisions, it left no one particularly happy. Plus, Mull’s way probably would have involved strolling up to the guard booth and putting two into the security guy’s head and one in his chest with a silenced .45, which would have gone against the client’s instructions. No unnecessary casualties. Which meant no fun. Being forced to listen to the inane demands of idiots completely sucked. If Monet’s clients had told him he couldn’t paint what he wanted and instead had to paint something hideously soulless, Mull would have bet he’d paint Impressionistic haystacks and colorful water lilies all over their fucking corpses! But whatever. Natalie’s wholesome little cherub girl-next-door of a face did put more people at ease than Multifarious’ mask and white combat gear, which was good. And Mull did like nice things. Particularly if they were shiny. She spun in a small circle, admiring her tight blue sequined evening dress. It set off Natalie’s candy apple red hair and sparkling smile quite nicely. On a normal day, it wasn’t really something that Natalie would ever consider wearing, but Party Line had insisted, so Multifarious was helpless to stop it. It was all very confusing, but Natalie looked too nice to even care at the moment. Not that Natalie herself would have thought so, but no one listened to her anyway, so who cared. Nat was ridiculous and the rest of her knew it. Getting advice from her would be like getting advice from Hello Kitty. All rainbows and sunshine and bullshit. Mull couldn’t stand Natalie most of the time. Even when they were both Party Line. She surreptitiously abandoned her date as soon as they were inside, and made her way towards the buffet area. Mull hated to work on an empty stomach. She popped some shrimp cocktail into her mouth, hoping that she wasn’t allergic to shellfish today. You could never really tell. Some days she might be, some days not. Her whole life was like that and it all depended on the luck of the draw. She absently looked around the room, noticing with a frown that there were quite a few members of the Freedom Squad in attendance at the Agletarian embassy. Her client had not mentioned that Capes would be involved. Particularly the most powerful Capes around. These weren’t the “corner store robbery” kind of superheroes, these assholes were pure “giant asteroid of space dragons is going to collide with the city!” style heroes. They were big league shit. It was a small matter, since Mull could handle them, but it did complicate things. Party Line’s powers were not at a level where she could go toe-to-toe with the entire Freedom Squad. Last Tuesday? Mull would have owned all those jackbooted little bitches and sent them cryin’ home to mama. But today was a brand new day, and the powers she had today weren’t going to damage the city’s go-to protectors, even though the protectors in question were shady as all fuck. To her right, Captain Dauntless was talking to someone who was dressed in a military uniform, looking like the champion of freedom that he claimed to be. Personally, Mull had always hated the asshole. He was fully capable of twisting her into a pretzel today though, and not feeling badly about it after. But he had absolutely no idea who Natalie even was, which meant that Mull was safe as houses at the moment. No, Natalie wouldn’t hurt anyone, asshole. Just look how cute she is. Sure enough, the man in question paid no attention to her. His superhuman vision passed over her without a second thought. Mull smiled a devious smile. Deciding that the shrimp wouldn’t kill her, she grabbed another handful and started up the stairs on one side of the ballroom, paying no attention to the guards which surrounded the landing. Guards were Multifarious’ problem. Party Line was running the shots right now, which meant that Natalie needed to be an innocent little redhead, who was simply lost. If Mull were calling the shots, she’d “gun and run” the whole party, mowing down her targets and leaving. If Nat were calling the shots– which was an absurd idea– she’d be at home watching some stupid TV drama about the trials and tribulations of a group of handsome veterinarians or some such silly bullshit. But no, Party Line was in charge at the moment, which meant that the situation called for a little more… finesse. A dark-haired man with a ponytail was talking to the security guard at the top of the stairs and pointing out the window towards the front gate. He was wearing a military uniform, complete with enough ropes and fringe to make a window treatment at a bordello jealous. He was yelling at the other man about something, his voice tinged with the distinctive Agletarian accent. Mull had always hated it. There were a lot of really cool accents in the world, but that one was a shit one. “This is unacceptable!” He screamed. “My father will have you hanged for this!” He tossed what appeared to be a magazine at the guard, apparently upset that the other man might be reading during work hours. On the cover, teen sweetheart Bekki Bartlett posed in swimwear with her Olympic silver medal. “Tell your people outside I want that vehicle moved and searched, and until then, no one is to be allowed in. Bar the gates!” “General Ponytail” turned on his heel and stalked back down the stairs, glaring at her as he went by. She smiled at him shyly, trying to look charming. Nat couldn’t do a lot as far as sex appeal went, but she could manage “flirtatiously innocent” if the situation called for it. It wasn’t a lot, but it could be a momentary distraction for some men, since they’d start to imagine what she’d look like doing not-so-innocent things. Predictably, it worked fairly well and she could feel his eyes on her as she continued up the stairs. Technically speaking, it was probably a bad idea to attract attention like that, but Party Line liked an audience when she worked. Mull might prefer to move silently and kill quickly, but Party Line enjoyed being watched. It was like… foreplay. For her part, Natalie didn’t like strange evil men looking at her, ever. Because Natalie was boring and frigid, which was why no one liked her. Fuck Natalie. She wasn’t even real. The ponytail guy stopped on the stairs behind her, either about to question where she was going… or maybe just watching her ass. Either way, if he became an obstacle, Party Line had four different ways she could kill him without the guard seeing and Mull had more than a dozen. Natalie had none. Because there was no situation in which Nat was useful. And Mull had spent years looking for one, so she spoke from personal experience. Party Line had only known Natalie for a day, and she already found her tedious. At a social event, Natalie would be the woman Party Line avoided or made fun of with her other friends. Not that she’d tell Natalie that, because it would require actually speaking to her, but Natalie got the message anyway. “General Ponytail” got called away by someone and he rushed off to handle some new evil related emergency. That was the other thing Mull disliked about potentially working in the Evil Dictatorship sector: everything had to be such a big damn deal. Mull reached the top of the stairs and smiled at the guard. “Oh, excuse me.” She giggled in feigned embarrassment. “Can you tell me where the ladies room is?” “Downstairs.” The huge man with the automatic weapon pointed to a hallway which branched off the far wall of the rotunda below them. “You’re not allowed up here. This is private.” “Oh dear.” She pressed her hand to her chest, drawing his attention to the low cut of her dress. “I’d really rather use this one, if that’s okay.” She took on a slightly ominous tone and leaned closer to him. “I have,” she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “…girl stuff to do.” She warned, meeting the man’s eyes seriously and raising both of her eyebrows to drive home the horrific gravity of the unspecified problem. “You don’t want to know.” The man looked vaguely ill and immediately waved her through. That was Party Line’s favorite excuse for doing something she wasn’t supposed to do or being someplace she wasn’t supposed to be. It was perfect. As long as you were dealing with men, anyway. Women would obviously ask just what kind of “girl stuff” could only be handled in an off-limits area of a foreign embassy, but men were so afraid of learning something new about women’s bodies that they avoided the specifics like some horrible mysterious plague. Party Line smiled at the man in thanks and strolled down the hall for several steps, then stopped, grabbed one of the expensive-looking marble statues which was sitting on a table, and smashed him in the back of the head with it. He crumpled to the floor and she dragged him over to prop him upright in a nearby chair, then she stooped to grab his weapon. An UMP40, firing .40 cartridges. Yep. Multifarious could handle that. And its matte black finish looked really good with Party Line’s dress. Some women wore handbags, but Mull had always preferred a good quality automatic weapon. It just said: “Hey boys! Look at me! …Or I’ll fucking pump your guts full of lead!” She gave a contented sigh, pleased with how well this party was working out now. It had overcome some initial bumps and was now really turning into the highlight of her social season. She’d have to send her host a thank you note. After she killed him. “Assassin” didn’t have to mean “rude,” after all. She made her way down the hall again, absently dancing with herself to the sound of the orchestra downstairs. They were wonderful. She’d asked them to play “MMMBop,” which they’d been reluctant to attempt, probably because it was such a classic. But $200 and a gruesome death threat had convinced them that they could do the song justice. Repeatedly. She’d really do her best to remember to try not to shoot any of them tonight. Or at least leave them a tip if she did. Maybe it would help pay for their funerals or whatever. It was the least she could do. The other partygoers looked a little perturbed to finally be hearing real music for once, staring at the city’s most accomplished classical orchestra in confused bafflement and barely restrained annoyance, as they played the song again and again. It’s Hanson, motherfuckers! The greatest musicians of our time! Listen to them until you love them! She stopped at the end of the hall and made her way into the room on her left. It was a study and it overlooked the back gardens of the embassy. She popped her head out the exterior window and casually tossed her weapon onto the balcony of the room next to it. She walked into the hallway again, straightened her clothes and tried to look as vapid as possible, then knocked on the large doors at the end of the hall. A moment later a huge man threw them open and leveled a gun at her. “You ain’t supposed to be in here. This is off-limits! Who sent you?!?” The world was so paranoid sometimes. What had happened to manners? “I’m not? You sure?” She made a show of looking down at a slip of paper in her hand, which was actually a receipt for a Mega-Burger she’d eaten an hour ago, but which she was apparently pretending was some kind of reservation slip. “This the… Agnatainian Governing Council?” She deliberately mispronounced the country’s name, possibly going too far with the “dumb” act, but whatever. Could a girl ever really be too dumb for men? The man cocked his weapon. “What of it?” Mull shouldered her way inside, secure in the knowledge that there wasn’t a man alive who would gun down a pretty lady in an evening gown, unless she did something really unacceptable and posed them an immediate threat. And even then, they’d hesitate. Breasts were better than any body armor you could buy. Your ticket into any party, social event, or building in the world. A pretty face and a low-cut dress was the ultimate superpower in this all-too sexist and objectifying society. “Then I think I’m in the right place.” She spun in a circle to look at the whole room, and made a low whistling sound, as if impressed. “Nice digs, boys.” The room was actually fairly ordinary, but she doubted they wanted to hear that. Generally, people preferred lies to the truth. Masks were always more interesting than the faces they concealed. The not-so-great room was filled with a large conference table which stretched from one end of the room to the other, and around it were seated a dozen depressingly ordinary old guys. She was always hopeful that one of these jobs would involve like… an octopus man or something, but they never did. Sadly, most of the world’s problems were caused by old dudes just like these, sitting around tables in not-so-great rooms just like this one, and doing worse things to people than even the most badass Octo-Badass could ever dream of doing. It was all very disillusioning. Evil used to be about the show. Now it was too focused on the awards season. The guard roughly slammed his hand down on her shoulder. His thumb moved along her skin for an instant though, obviously liking the feeling of power and control he got from manhandling her… which would have actually been kind of hot if she were a complete whore. Sadly, she was not. It just made her kind of pissed off and disgusted. Party Line bordered on the whorish though and had no objections to the action, despite the fact that it made Natalie’s skin crawl. Nat really needed to calm down and embrace the often insane elements of life. For all her hippie bullshit though, Nat didn’t like being touched by anyone. Natalie had… issues. Which was another reason why no one liked her. That and the fact she was a fucking lunatic, obviously. Mull was more inclined to agree with Natalie on the issue, but to be fair, she was about to kill the man, which kind of ruined the potential romance of the evening. True, she’d made a few exceptions to that rule over the years, but she was really trying to cut down on killing the people she’d slept with or sleeping with the people she had definite plans to kill. It just made things messy. Not in the literal sense, as she also always tried to avoid shooting them while in the physical act itself, just in the metaphorical sense. Having to figure out a way to get some dead naked guy out of her apartment at 9AM on Christmas morning was a pain in the ass and she wasn’t about to make that mistake yet again. Aaaaawkward. “Who is this?” Shouted an important looking bearded man from the end of the table. His silly military uniform was crammed with even more medals and brightly colored sashes than General Ponytail’s had been. It was a wonder the weight didn’t tip him over. Half of them were probably just bottle caps or some shit. It looked like the dude coated his chest in Elmer’s glue and then rolled in glitter and ribbons until he looked like one of the goddamn My Little Ponies. “What is she doing here, Bolten?” Party Line spun around to flash Natalie’s most beguiling smile at him. “I’m the entertainment.” She prowled towards him, reaching up to the straps of her dress. “Your friends sent me here as a gift.” She let the garment drop to the floor. “They thought you’d like me.” If the man had half the sense that God gave a rotisserie chicken, he’d realize how truly stupid that excuse was. He’d question who these supposed “friends” were, how she’d gotten past the guards in the hallway, and why someone would send a stripper to a foreign embassy during a formal gala event. But the man was an idiot. When you really came down to it, most men were. Once they saw a half-naked woman, they stopped caring about all of the trivial stuff like security and common sense. Generally speaking, no man would ever ask too many questions of a woman who was taking off her clothes for him. She pursed her lips in thought. Huh. Evidently, Party Line had issues with men in general. Every other thought in her head was some complaint about them. Interesting… The nature of Multifarious’ powers meant that she had a new ability and persona each day. Some days, the difference in personality was negligible and she barely noticed. Some days, she was suddenly a raging bitch who not even she could stand. Some days her power was useless, some days it made her a very effective criminal, and some days it basically made her a god on earth. It was all the luck of the draw. Still, on days like this one, it was kind of exciting to discover something new about herself, even if she’d only be “herself” for another fifty minutes before being replaced by some newer version. Not a completely new person or anything, just a new set of powers, beliefs, and ideas about the world. Every 24 hours, she got new little quirks and exciting ticks, which made her her. It was the equivalent of putting a few thousand people’s personalities, passions, and powers into a blender, then slamming back a fresh glass of “Multifarious” every morning. The core of Multifarious remained mostly unchanged, she just sometimes spoke weird languages, could move shit with her mind, or lost the ability to recognize faces. Once, she’d had a tail. That had been a weird day. Today though, she was Party Line, and although being basically powerless, she’d apparently developed a rather hefty amount of distain for the abilities and intelligence of the opposite sex, as well as being far more flirtatious and comfortable with her own body than Multifarious and Natalie would ever dream of being. But either way, Multifarious was more than happy to let Party Line use Natalie’s face and body to put these guys at ease. Which sounded weird, but made sense if you were as insane as she was. Natalie was the mask which Multifarious wore to look normal, and right now, Mull was letting Party Line use that mask to more easily wipe out the heads of a sovereign nation so that she would get paid, and Multifarious could then afford to pay for Natalie’s apartment and her tendency to purchase Steve McQueen movies on Amazon late at night. It made perfect sense. She sat down on the man’s lap and put her hand to her breast. “Oh, there are so many of you.” She bit her bottom lip nervously. “I’ve never had so many men at once before.” Mull almost scoffed at Party Line’s words. That was probably the most idiotically slutty thing to ever pass Natalie’s lips. Still, she had little doubt that it wouldn’t work. …Little doubt that it would work? Or “wouldn’t”? Fuck, Party Line sucked at grammar too. Mull hated it when that happened. Whatever. Whichever one meant, “men are fucking stupid,” that’s the one she meant. Sure enough, the man chuckled and smoothed a strand of hair from her face. “We’ll be gentle.” “Oh, that’s a relief,” Party Line smiled, adding a sinister edge to Natalie’s disgustingly innocent face, “…because I won’t.” She smashed the back of her head into his nose, pulverizing the cartilage and driving it into the man’s brain, causing blood to explode from his face. She pushed off the table with her foot, knocking the chair they were sitting in backwards and crashing through the balcony doors behind them. She continued her roll and came up holding the silenced automatic weapon she’d thrown onto the balcony from the neighboring room moments before. The guards at the entrance to the room raised their weapons to fire, but she gunned the men down before they got the chance. The Agletarians at the table stood up in shocked disbelief, drawing their own weapons. “Gentlemen,” she hopped up onto the table, “The Consortium of Chaos says ‘payback is a bitch with a machine gun.’” She opened fire, emptying the clip into the Agletarian assembly, exactly as she’d been hired to do. For some reason. To be perfectly frank, even on the best of days, it wasn’t Mull’s policy to get overly involved in the reasons for doing what she was doing. If she did that, her whole life would collapse. She was like the Coyote in one of those old Looney Tunes shorts: she was fine as long as she didn’t look down and see that she wasn’t walking on anything. Because the second she took the time to really think about it… well, it wouldn’t be too good for the Coyote, that was for damn sure. Another guard burst into the room and Mull silently cursed Party Line for not paying more attention to the number of people. That fucking girl, man. Her and Natalie. Their inattention to details was going to get Mull killed one day. She tossed the empty gun at the man, catching him above the right eye. She dashed across the table, leaping off of it and kicking the man in the face before he could recover. He turned and brought his arm up to viciously backhand her. The force of the blow caused her to stumble in the stupid fucking high heels which stupid fucking Party Line had chosen for this stupid fucking mission, and crash into the table. It was embarrassing to be hit by someone so unskilled. Normally, the impact would have been cushioned by her Kilroy etched facemask, which Mull always wore, but sadly in her stupid fucking brilliance, Party Line had taken that off before ever beginning this job. Multifarious missed her face. She hated being without it. It was sooo much better than Natalie’s. Nat’s wasn’t cool or memorable at all. Everything about that girl was lame. Party Line licked the blood dripping from her mouth and was oddly turned on by the violence. …Mull was really going to have a heart-to-heart with herself when this was over, and tell herself that she did phenomenally stupid things sometimes, and to wizen up before she kicked her own ass. Also, that she was being really creepy at the moment. Ew. The guard pulled a knife from his pocket and tried to stab her, but she spun to the side, long used to dodging knives. She’d spent many years living with an expert at stabbing things– occasionally her—and the motion was second nature to her now. This dude wasn’t nearly as skilled with a blade as Ronnie had been, and she’d survived countless spats with that asshole. Her relationship with Mercygiver had been a ‘love/ hate’ kind thing. In that he loved to hit her, and she hated every fucking bone in his entire body. This guy, though, was a walk in the park. Like a tropical vacation, only with switchblades instead of little paper umbrella drinks. The movement caused her hand to slide across the table and she instinctively grabbed a cake server in the process. She twirled the wide bladed utensil around in her hand for a moment, then smiled at her new friend. “Let’s have some fun.” The man lunged at her with the knife and it was all she could do to keep from laughing at his appallingly bad form. She grabbed his wrist to redirect the attack, then plunged the blunt serving utensil downward into the base of his neck. He made a gurgling sound as blood flowed from the devastating wound, and collapsed to the ground. “Piece of cake.” Mull made a face at Party Line’s stupid joke. She stepped over the body, trying not to get blood on her shoes. Fucking men. They were all useless. Mull frowned. And again with the men bashing!?! What the hell was with Party Line, anyway? Why was she so down on men? It was tiresome and weird. Men were awesome. Well, most of them. Okay… some of them, but the ones that were worthwhile more than made up for all the assholes out there. But apparently Party Line just wanted to be a bitch. A bitch who was having waaay too much fun being naked and fighting dudes. Again, she was finding herself creepy as fuck today and she needed a good talking to. Frankly, she was beginning to long for midnight, when a new persona would appear and Party Line’s oddities and perversions could be forgotten. At this rate, Party Line would frighten Natalie and then there’d be trouble. Nothing on this earth could complicate a situation like Natalie, and Mull went out of her way to keep the girl uninvolved. Mull often dreamed of there being a day when she’d be… normal. Some new version of herself which wasn’t completely insane. Or as boring as insipid-ass Natalie, obviously. Those days were a rare treat. She relished them the same way others might remember being a happy child on Christmas morning opening the gift they dreamed of, or the sensual embrace of a lover. Those days… those days were nice. She felt like herself. She felt normal. But she hadn’t had one in years now, and she suspected they were gone for good. Most of the time, whoever she was on a given day… well, shit got dark. She casually wiped the blood spatters from her body with the table cloth and her fingerprints from the weapons, and then tossed the fabric into the large fireplace to destroy the DNA. She bent to collect her dress, and slipped it back on. Although she fully intended to still have that conversation with herself about respecting her victims and herself, she did have to hand it to Party Line: stripping first was a good idea. In retrospect, it allowed her to kill a room filled with men without getting one drop of blood on her gown. Now, she could stroll out of this room without anyone being the wiser. Sometimes, you just needed to trust yourself. Even if you’d only be yourself for another fifty-eight minutes, and when “yourself” kinda creeped you out. Besides, a room filled with dead men was hardly something anyone should care about. They were dogs. All men were. Shut up, Party Line! Go away, you freak! She walked out of the room and started to make her way down the hallway and back towards the party. The girl was just so… An arm appeared through a partially opened door ahead of her, carrying a silenced pistol. She grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled him forward to slam his face into the back of the door, then threw her weight against it, closing his arm in the jamb. She repeated the process several more times, then wrenched the gun from his hand and absently shot him through the door four times. A second later, Mull heard the distinctive “whoosh” that Captain Dauntless asshole made whenever he started flying, and she instantly collapsed to the floor, playing dead. The Cape noticed the bodies in the doorway, including her, but was too preoccupied with the possible fate of the faaaaar more important people in the council room. Generally speaking, the deaths of security guards and bystanders went unnoticed in these kinds of situations. Capes paid attention to the VIPs. Saving rich people got you on the news. Saving poor people got your costume dirty. The hero continued down the hallway before disappearing into the room to check on the wealthier victims. Mull calmly got back to her feet, rolling her eyes. No one ever checked the bodies. Sloppy. Given the man’s enhanced senses, he probably could have heard her heartbeat on his way by… but not over the sound of the orchestra downstairs, which was continuing to loudly belt out MMMBop again and again like their lives depended on it… because in a very real sense, it absolutely did. Mull killed people for money, but if someone disrespected Hanson, she’d go all pro bono on their shit. Pieces of them would rain down from the skies like some kind of Biblical plague. She stopped next to the unconscious security guard she’d spoken with on the way here, and inspected her makeup in one of the hall mirrors. Yep. She still looked goddamned perfect. “Perfect?” Mull had never thought of herself as “perfect.” Hell, even Natalie could only manage to call herself “kind of pretty” and that girl was all about happy sunshine and seeing the best in people. But apparently, in addition to being a tad sexist and a little into BDSM, Party Line was also conceited. Was it really conceited to like what you saw in the mirror though? What, just because she might not be particularly “exotic” or have “bedroom eyes” that meant that she should be ashamed? The hell with that! That was JUST the kind of shit that the entrenched masculine patriarchy liked to tell millions of impressionable young women and… Shut up, Party Line! Jesus Christ, girl! You look like fucking Becky Thatcher and you know it! Now stop being weird and focus on just getting out of here before the world’s most powerful Cape figures out there’s a victim missing. Yeah, yeah. She made a face at herself, rolling her eyes. Some people just didn’t want to see the big picture, that was all. She’d accomplished her mission, killed a dozen men and now it was just a matter of getting out of the building… and past security which was now blocking the exit and checking IDs… Uh-huh. And I bet you’ve got some incredibly cunning and ingenious method for getting out of this, don’t you, Party Line? Something that no one could possibly see coming? Of course she did. Party Line always had a way to get out of these types of situations. Even when she was Multifarious. Or Natalie. It was a method which never failed. You just had to plan it carefully… She beamed at the first man she saw, flashing him Nat’s all-too innocent smile. The guy was broad-shouldered and tall, with a shaved head and an absolutely gorgeous face. His suit was impeccable and so pristinely white that it looked like bridal fabric. He was… striking. Important looking. There was no question that this was a man. The kind of guy Nat would hide from in nervousness and the kind that Party Line was already having nasty thoughts about. But even Party Line hesitated for a second, recognizing that someone who looked like that would obviously have a date for this event. And high standards of beauty which Natalie couldn’t hit on her best day. With a ladder. And a jetpack. Fucking Natalie was going to ruin this for Party Line. How typical. “Hi!” She greeted him excitedly. “Can you take me back to your place?” She rubbed up against him and “accidentally” gave him a view down her dress. “I really wanna get out of here.” The man swallowed, looking uncomfortable. To Party Line’s surprise however, he ignored the view of her cleavage she was offering. Instead he took a small step back away from her, giving her more space. “Umm… Uhh...” He looked around the room like he was nervous or checking for something. “Okay, miss.” He quickly nodded. “Yes, I can escort you home if you need a ride.” “That would be wonderful, lover.” She put her arm in his. “This party’s dead anyway.” Oh, Jesus. Party Line liked puns. There was no possible way she could become any more annoying. It was going to be a loooong night. The man in question ushered her through security, who completely ignored him for some reason. Like he was above all suspicion. He cleared his throat. “My name is Oswald, miss.”
