
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10805982.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Worm_-_Wildbow
  Character:
      bambina, Blasto, Miss_Militia, Flechette, Foil, OC_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Porn_With_Plot, Smut, Parallel_Universe, Alternate_Universe, Sex_World,
      Lolicon, LEWD
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-03 Completed: 2017-06-03 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 5736
****** Earth Tet Adventures ******
by noc_lilo
Summary
     A young man bound for the Birdcage for his own safety is instead
     hurled into a parallel universe alongside two notorious villains,
     where he must take advantage of this second chance to start a new
     life.
Notes
     [This is also an ongoing quest on QQ. If you like what you see - or
     don't like it and think you can fix things - go ahead and vote on the
     quest over there!]
     https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/earth-tet-adventures-
     worm.5596/
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Hey. Hey, fucktard. Jesus, do you smelly, old assholes just spend the whole
fucking day sleeping? Wake up!”

With a groan, you stir into the realm of the living, eyes blinking the crust of
sleep away. There’s a kink in your lower neck, a downside of nodding off while
in an upright position. You try to sit up to your full height, only for your
forearms to yank you back down as if by an invisible force.

You look down to see yourself glued, chained, and practically welded to a metal
bench. If you were blearily awake before, now you’re alert and on edge,
adrenaline pumping through you. That hum in the back of your head, it’s from a
moving vehicle, the tread of tires along a highway. Your knees are cramped
because this pile of foam is restricting all movement below your mid-chest. And
that annoying, childish-sounding voice is…

“Motherfuckin’ finally,” the girl complains. She raps her manacled wrists
against the metal wall of the van to draw your attention. “Sweet, dribbling
asscracks, please tell me you aren’t blind or deaf or...retarded or some shit.”

It takes a second to register that she’s talking to you, but you shake your
head slowly. “No...no, I’m fine.”

Except for being stuck in what appears to be a mostly-empty containment van.
It’s all coming back to you now - the accident at the club, the hushed
interrogations and under-the-table deals, and then the expedited trial…all to
bring you safely to this point. En route to the Birdcage.

Your eyes roam around the cramped quarters. Directly across from you is a beat-
up Hispanic guy who is still conked out. He looks to be in his mid-twenties. If
you thought you had it bad, he’s up to his neck in the containment foam and has
an uncomfortable-looking blindfold bound tightly around his head. They really
spared no measures on him.

To the man’s right is the girl who called you out. Her appearance is markedly
different: her dirty blonde hair is up in curls as if ready for sunday school,
her face is spotless aside from some telling red splotches around her eyes, and
she looks like she couldn’t be older than ten. Maybe eleven, if you were
feeling generous.

Her restraints are a bit more conservative compared to your own. Her legs are
still mostly buried in a mountain of the stuff, but the only thing hampering
full range of motion for her arms is a pair of handcuffs. She appears to be
wearing a prettied-up gray jumpsuit.

But still...she’s just a child. She sneers at you. Maybe even a cute kid, in
more forgiving circumstances. She notices you staring at her silently for a
minute and shrugs, turning away to scowl at the front wall of the van.

“Bullshit, right?” she says, indicating the oversized manacles that are clamped
against the skin of her slim, tan wrists. “I tried to get my lawyer to get me
off easy, but I still have to deal with this fucking up my skin. I’m probably
gonna have chaffingon my wrists. You know, it’s hard enough on the rep if I
look young, now I’m gonna have this emo-looking bullshit bringing down my
rankings.”

“Um,” you manage to respond eloquently. Her nose crinkles up.

“Oh. You weren’t in the game for your rankings were you? So what was it? Money,
revenge? Were you just bored?” She taps her chin. “Or maybe you liked killing.
That’s what you did, right? You don’t get sent to the motherfuckin’ Birdcage
unless you did something real fucked up. Or did a lot of shit. C’mon, dude,
spill! What was it?”

“Accident!” you finally blurt out. She raises an eyebrow in disbelief, but
seems content to sit back and listen. She gestures at you with her cuffed
hands, as if to say you’ve got the floor. “It was an accident. Didn’t kill
anybody, but...what I did, people probably won’t come back from. It wasn’t a
proud moment. I...I fucked up.”

“Aw man!” the girl complains, sounding incredibly annoyed. Like you’d
inconvenienced her by having a tragic backstory, or something. “I thought I was
gonna meet a bunch of badasses in the Birdcage, but so far it’s just a Mister
Siesta over here and you, a little bitch.”

You frown at her. “I-”

“You should know something about the Birdcage, bitch. About capes, really. When
it comes down to it, you either watch out for yourself, your rep, or you act
like a bleedin’ heart pussy and get your ass handed to you.”

You’re not sure how to respond at first. I’m not a little bitch, bitch,you
think childishly, offended. Too late, you realize you must have said that
aloud. The girl seems to be holding back a broad grin. Before you can parse the
fact that you’re defending yourself to a little girl, you add, “I can be badass
if I want!”

This time the girl doesn’t even bother to hold back her peals of laughter.
After almost a minute of indulging herself, she tries to cover her face with
her mouth, but several unladylike snorts still escape her. She coughs in a
futile attempt to break up the bout of giggles. “Okay, now this I have to hear.
What exactly is so badass about you, Mister Bee-Ay-Em-Eff?”

You narrow your eyes. This is just getting insulting. Against your better
judgment, you decide to show this kid what you’re really capable of. “How about
this?”

Like a magician flourishing his hands for a trick, you shake your arms out in
front of you. The heavy, arm-encasing shackles that were pinning your hands
down disappear, instead materializing over the girl’s daintier handcuffs. She
lets a shriek as both pairs of restraints almost immediately slip off of her
slender arms and clatter to the floor of the van.

Two bottle-glass green eyes dart up to meet yours. “Okay. You’ve got my
attention.”

“That’s all I can do right now,” you admit, a bit sheepish after the more
impressive display. “I need people watching me to use my power. Maybe if
thatguy were awake - and, you know, not blindfolded - I could move you.”

“A voyeur, huh?” she says cheekily. “Or is it exhibitionist? I think both can
be pretty hot in the right circumstances…”

“Um...”

“Wow, you really are a tightass, huh?” she muses. She gives you a once over and
seems to find something about you lacking. “Don’t act all high and mighty,
dude, I bet you’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m nineteen,” you tell her, deadpan.

“I’m eighteen!” she shoots back. She wilts a bit at your expression. “Well,
seventeen. But close enough for government work. Literally.”

“But...you’re a kid.” You scratch your head, trying to look like you know
what’s going on but utterly failing.

“I have mcfucking superpowers, dickwad!” She waves a hand in the air, mimicking
some sort of mystical gesture. “I just...age slower is all. I’m not a kid.”

“Seventeen is still a child, technically.”

“Oh, blow me, asshole,” the girl snaps back. On cue with her outburst, the
containment foam at her feet bubbles dangerously. Quick flashes of orange fire
escape, nothing substantial. When you look back up at her, though, her whole
outfit is smoking. The pants of her prison uniform hang in smoldering tatters,
revealing the unblemished flesh of her legs. You jerk your head away, focusing
on Mister Siesta.

“Fuckin’ prude,” you hear the girl mumble. The next half hour is spent in
relative silence, but for the clank of discarded restraints on the floor.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you finally say quietly. She takes awhile to
respond, likely exulting in the fact that it was you who broke the silence.
Seconds tick by.

“I’m Bambina,” she says. She sounds proud at the revelation, but the name
doesn’t mean much to you. That just serves to annoy her. “The terrors of Las
Vegas? Assault, battery, kidnapping, homicide, et cetera?”

“Sorry.” You’re inexplicably feeling a bit more tense. “Doesn’t ring a bell.
Las Vegas, though? Why are you here in New England?”

“Endbringer,” Bambina answers, as if that explains everything. It sort of does.
“Came to fight Leviathan, got bored, so I bounced. Unfortunately, looks like
the heroes were waiting for that. Somethin’ about my killing a guy while the
truce or whatever was still in swing. Very hush-hush, which fuckin’ bites.”

“How do you mean?”

“Are you kidding me?” Her face splits into a childlike smile. “I’m finally
going to the Birdcage! Only problem is that nobody knows I made it big. ‘Cept
Star, I guess, since she was my phonecall. Lazy twat probably didn’t even call
my mom. Much less the media.”

You’re starting to realize that, maybe, the people who go to the Birdcage are
sent there for a reason. This girl, young as she might seem - young as she is -
is no exception. She’s got a rap sheet and her one regret is probably that it’s
not longer.

“I never caught yours,” Bambina calls out to you. You look back at her,
startled and confused. She clarifies, “your name, dumbass. I show you mine, you
show me yours, is how it works in prison, right?”

You’ve never been to prison before.

“I’m Thomas,” you inform her. She rolls her eyes, gazing heavenward.

“Fine, fine. Screw it, my rankings don’t mean anything where we’re going.” She
screws up her face in distaste. “I’m Helena.”

“That’s a pretty name,” is your automatic response.

“Not as pretty as Bambina, though, right?” Helena preens. “Speaking of, where
we’re goin’, you’re gonna want a cape name like me. Like that asshole over
there.” She jerks a thumb at the blindfolded guy who’s still sawing logs. “It’s
not about rankings, though, it’s about staying alive. Sounding important enough
to stay alive, at least.”

“Can’t think of any good ones,” you remark, injecting a bit of annoyance into
your voice. “You already said Voyeur, right? And Exhibitionist is a bit too
long. I was thinking of calling myself Audience, before the accident, but it
seems...dishonoring.”

“I dunno, sounds fine to me,” Bambina replies. She rolls the word around in her
mouth. “Sounds pretty hoity-toity. Think you can live up to that?”

“Where we’re headed?” you ask. She shrugs. “I think I can do what I have to do
to get by.”

Mister Siesta lets out a groan that is probably not too dissimilar from the
sound that you made when you first woke up. He jerks back, banging his head
against the wall of the van behind him, when he finds himself blind and
restrained.

“W-what the fuck?? Where am I? Accord? Who’s out there?”

Bambina sighs mightily and mirrors the man’s action, letting her head thud into
the wall of the van. Loudly. “Shut him up somehow, will you, Audy?”

You shoot her a glare for the unwarranted nickname but nevertheless comply.
Your eyes narrow in focus, you stare straight at the man’s blindfold, feeling
the combined gazes of yourself, Helena, and him, and…

The blindfold disappears from existence with a deafening crack of thunder.
Without the blindfold, you recognize the man as a hometown villain. His name is
Blasto, and he’s some sort of bio-tinker.

Helena’s eyes widen in shock. “Holy shit! What just happened?”

“The same thing that landed me in here, with you,” you respond grimly. Your
hands ball up in your lap, but the girl leans in, enraptured. “Sometimes I move
stuff across space, but sometimes...it goes across dimensions.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Blasto finally speaks. “I’m stuck in here with the crazies,
aren’t I?”
===============================================================================
                             Earth Tet Adventures
===============================================================================


It takes a bit of fast thinking to keep Blasto and Bambina from each other’s
throats (they’re acquainted), get introduced to him, and get the poor man a bit
more comfortable. Once that’s settled, though, he seems a bit more cordial.

“I shouldn’t be here either,” he confides in you, sounding conspiratorial. “I
wasn’t a saint or anything, but Accord is the one who almost got me tagged with
a kill order. Thank god I turned myself in to the PRT first.”

Bambina looks put out at being excluded from the conversation, however futile
the attempt to whisper is. Meanwhile, you’re not so sure of Blasto’s - of Rey’s
- innocence. Maybe he had been dealt a bad hand, but you also knew that he was
responsible for a lot of property damage and more than a few missing person
cases.

Hell, even Bambina is distrustful of him for that. She claims he snatched kids.

“I never set out to be some sort of crime lord,” Rey continues with a shrug.
He’s an animated speaker, but can’t make full use of his hands. “I just wanted
to tinker in peace. But you can’t be a tinker and be an independent, especially
not in Accord’s town. Had to go villain.”

Bambina snorts, and Rey turns on her. You can feel the start of a killer
headache in the back of your skull.

“Nobody asked you, little Miss Murderess. Remember the last time you ran afoul
of Accord and got a dozen people killed? I never did something that reckless.”

“I wasn’t judging you for your misdeeds, Assto,” the girl snarks in reply. “I
just think that for the rep you’ve got, you’re a fucking pussy. Only wet-tinker
on the East Coast that isn’t a fuckin’ psychopath, big deal. Bet you can’t get
us out of here.”

“No shit,” Rey says flatly, casting a meaningful look at his containment foam.
He turns to you. “Teleporter, right? Can you get us out of here?”

“Uh, it’s not that simple, unfortunately.” You rub the back of your head to try
and soothe your building migraine, feeling self-conscious about your powers for
once. These two people are big-name villains, as petty as they may be in the
flesh. “If you didn’t guess, I need an audience to really use my powers to
their fullest. With you guys watching, I could maybe juggle us around the van.
Not sure about the foam. But without several people watching from outside, who
I can see, who have a clear line of sight for the-”

“We get it, we get it, your power fucking sucks,” Bambina interrupts rudely.
Her power flares again around her bared legs, drawing your and Blasto’s gazes.
The two of you avert your eyes almost immediately, but you can imagine the smug
look on her face. “Guess we’re stuck here.”

“Where is ‘here’, anyway?” Rey inquires, his curiosity or fear outweighing his
pride.

“Ten miles until we hit Brockton Bay and counting,” the girl answers precisely.
She cocks her head to the side. “Or what’s left of Brockton Bay, I guess.”

“How did you know that?” It’s your turn to be curious, despite how much it
hurts to even work your jaw. Bambina just looks...contemplative, though, not
even reveling in how she has become the center of attention yet again.

“Guess they’d call it a Thinker power or somethin’. It lets me know what’s up
or down, left and right, but when I’m not moving, it gets better. I know
exactly where I am - exactly where we’ve been, since I woke up.”

“And I didn’t even get to keep my fungi,” Blasto mutters. He sounds jealous.
“Sometimes I think Tinkers get dealt the worst hand. You know how rare a
secondary power is for us? I’ve asked around Toybox, trust me, it’s rare as
hell.”

“I suppose I’ve got a Thinker power too,” you muse aloud. Your eyes are
squeezed shut but you can still tell when the van’s other occupants turn to
you. “Shit. Ow. Yeah, when someone looks at me, it lets me use my power, right?
So I can tell when people are looking at me...where else they can see…”

“You okay there, Voyeur?” Bambina prods. Her voice feels like someone took a
metal bat to the back of your skull. “Lookin’ pretty wasted right now. Is it
‘cause you have to look at this asswipe’s face, because I’m not feeling too hot
either.”

You hiss in through your team. Taste blood. “Shut up, just shut up,” you growl.
Your hands press against your temples but it doesn’t block out the pain. The
physical sensation is starting to build into something more. A visceral, vocal
scream. “Someone’s watching us. A lot of someones. Or...something big.”

Rey sounds concerned. “Could it be Dragon? I know she runs the Birdcage, maybe
she has some cameras or-”

“It’s not like that! It’s-”

The whole world flashes white. The scream in your mind starts to rescind only
to be replaced by those of Blasto and Bambina. It feels like you’re in
freefall, every hair standing on end and your skin stretched to its limits
until…

Until the van crashes to the ground again. You can feel the tires shred almost
immediately, followed by the shrieking of the van as it begins to tilt
dangerously to one side. The others with you are eerily silent, which only
makes your screams seem louder.

The van skids on its side for what feels like a hundred meters, bouncing and
jostling the lot of you until it halts suddenly.

It takes you a few minutes to get your bearings. You can feel blood dripping
down from your head - the van, as sturdy as it was, did not treat you well. It
was only the layers of thick containment foam that kept you all from being
killed upon landing. Or hurtling across what felt like a rough terrain. Or
crashing into...something bigger than the van.

Needless to say, it’s not surprising that the containment foam has mostly
remained intact. When you wriggle your legs, however, you find that there’s
more give than there was before.

Apparently even the PRT’s miracle concoction can withstand your particular
brand of transport. The kind of transport that you suspect took you...well, a
lot farther than a containment van is designed to go. It’s nighttime, from what
you can see through the gaping holes in your van, but you can tell the sky is
far too clean for this to be the normal Brockton Bay.

Another mighty thrust and you wrench free of the restraining foam - and the
wall that it kept you plastered too. With the van careened on its side, you
fall downwards onto the plushy form of the yet-foamed-up Blasto. The man
appears to be unconscious, which you don’t blame him for.

“Holy shit,” Helena groans from beside you. You manage to push yourself up to
check on her and wish you hadn’t. Sort of.

Her clothes - what’s left of them - look more like a “trashy action heroine,
post-battle” aesthetic than is appropriate for a girl her age. Or with her
biological age. Whatever. Her once-gray top hangs in shreds from her shoulders,
ruined. Her smooth belly rises and falls with each deep breath, left exposed to
the cold air when her shirt flipped up.

Sirens scream in the distance, stirring the two of you into panic. She hisses.
“Fuck, I can’t move. And that asshole is unconscious. Again.”

“Goddammit,” you mutter. You grab a handful of the rubbery foam that is sealed
around Blasto’s torso to no avail. It’ll take you awhile, but from the sound of
those sirens in the distance, you’ll barely escape by the skin of your teeth.
“I don’t think I can get the two of you out of this.”

“Don’t bother,” Bambina snaps out. She tries to jerk herself out of her
position with her power, only for her legs to snap back into their position.
“My foam is loose around my legs. Use your power, poof this stuff offa me, and
I get us out of here in two bounces.”

You cast another look down at Blasto. The man is unconscious, but he did seem a
bit more put together than Helena. Definitely more responsible and mature,
although that was a low bar to surpass.

“What’s he gonna do? Build you a pair of stones? C’mon and help me before we
run out of time!”

“I...he could help,” you try, floundering. “Setting up in a new city, getting
territory…”

“Do you wanna play House or do you want to fucking live?” The girl finds the
leverage to turn herself on her side and face you, eyes burning with anger. “I
don’t know know about you, but I don’t actuallywant to go to the goddamn
Birdcage. So what’ll it be, Audience? Me and freedom, or Sir Napsalot here and
a nice, cushy domestic life...in a literal hell on earth?”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     [This is also an ongoing quest on QQ. If you like what you see - or
     don't like it and think you can fix things - go ahead and vote on the
     quest over there!]
     https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/earth-tet-adventures-
     worm.5596/
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Containment vans don’t just disappear.” Piggot strides down the halls with a
hero at her side, confidence and authority supplementing up for what she lacks
in physical grace. “It must be somewhere off the grid.”

“I would have agreed fully, Director, had not Dragon informed me of the details
of this….undesirable development,” Armsmaster replies. “She has the data, or
lack thereof. One moment it was there, the next there was a surge in energy -
she’s calling it arift - and the next the entire van was gone, along with her
instruments.”

“Remind me why this is my problem?” Piggot growled, punching in the PIN code
that led to her secure private office. “Those containment vans came from
Boston. The prisoners were Boston villains, with the exception of Bambina who’s
not even from New England. This failing should fall on their shoulders.”

“An unfortunate side effect of the PRT’s current structure,” Colin answers,
sounding far too smug despite his deadpan tone. “Given that this issue concerns
several major villains, however, I’ll be happy to take it off of your hands.”

“I’m sure you would,” Piggot says sourly. The hero’s face falls, a fact which
does not escape the Director’s notice. “You and Dragon are the best equipped
for it, I suppose...but I can’t have an outside heroine be encroaching on
something that’s already become territorial. You can have your pick of the new
PRT troopers, and either Miss Militia or Battery to assist you. Dragon remains
hands-off.”

Armsmaster frowns. “Director…”

“You get her equipment and nothing else, Armsmaster. I can’t have a member of
the Guild interfering without bringing up questions of our competence. Is that
understood?” Piggot stares the larger man down, her sheer presence again making
up for her physical weaknesses. “Armsmaster?”

“...Yes, ma’am,” Colin finally relents, bowing his head in defeat. “I’ll
contact the others immediately.”
===============================================================================
                             Earth Tet Adventures
===============================================================================
"...So what’ll it be, Audience? Me and freedom, or Sir Napsalot here and a
nice, cushy domestic life...in a literal hell on earth?”
“Goddammit,” you growl under your breath. “Fine, just look down at your legs
and hold still.”

Bambina complies, however fidgety with apprehension she may be, and you exert
your power. With a series of smaller puffs from the miniature vacuums formed,
you tear the containment foam off of her legs. Some of the displaced foam
scatters around the wreckage of the van, while other bits likely vanish into
alternate earths or dimensions.

In only a minute or two, you’ve managed to remove almost all of the foam from
the girl’s legs. She shoots you a wide grin and then activates her own ability
which obliterates the rest of the restraining measures in a blast of flames.

“That’s a lot fucking better,” she grouses, rising to her feet. After the
repeated abuse that her clothes have gotten, her prison uniform has ended up
more like a ragged skirt and crop top than anything. The girl has,
unsurprisingly, almost no curves to speak of, but the flash of bare legs
catches your eye anyway. Again. She follows your gaze and scoffs. “In your
dreams, bitch. Do the words ‘almost legal’ mean anything to you?”

You clear your throat uncomfortably. That’s...that’s not what you were thinking
of. “Hey, just help me with this guy now, okay?”

“Fuck no!” This time, Bambina doesn’t even attempt to hold back the explosion
that accompanies her anger. The metal around her gleams brightly from the
sudden release of heat. “Let me give it to you straight, Mister Charity: you
look out for numero uno first and foremost. This asshole is only gonna slow us
down and the cops are right on our heads!”

“If I get all of us out of here, we’ll come out on top in the long run, trust
me,” you insist.

The girl turns on her heel to pointedly look away from you. You can see her
cross her arms and kick up a toe behind herself, digging it viciously into the
ground. “Make it fast.”

God-fucking-dammit, you rephrase mentally, turning away from her. You can hear
the sirens almost on top of you two, and you’re no closer to unburying Blasto.
Without any other spectators to supplement your power, progress is almost
nonexistent.

This would be a hell of a lot easier if there were more people around, a bit of
cruel irony that twists your face into a grin despite yourself. Tons of people
are what got you into this mess in the first place, it’s only fitting that
they’re also the key to getting you out of every tight spot.

The sirens stop. Tire treads crunch over the gravelly turf that you’re standing
on. There’s a click and a flash, and then several glaring spotlights are
piercing the darkness of the spring night. Great. They’re going through all the
motions.

“This is the PRT!” a tinny voice bellows over a megaphone. “Unidentified
parahumans, please raise your hands above your heads and consent to be
restrained until you can be processed.”

“Hell no is that happening again,” you say, only loud enough for your younger
companion to hear. With the eyes of half a dozen PRT troopers on you, it’s
almost child’s play to teleport Blasto out of the containment foam. He flops to
the ground a scant few feet away from the van. Just a false start. You exercise
your power again, and he reappears a dozen yards away from you, in the opposite
direction of the cops. “Shit.”

You attempt to teleport the tinker to safety once more when you hear the sharp
crack of an explosion. In the next instant, Bambina’s smaller arms are wrapped
around your waist and the two of you are virtually flying over a stack of
shipping containers and far out of sight of the PRT.

“Fuck!” you holler over the roaring of air in your eyes. You hit the ground and
bounce again, almost diagonallythis time. Bambina just lets out a whoop of
delight that dies out as soon as the two of you touch ground on a rooftop.

“Holy fuck that was so awesome!” the girl crows, throwing out her arms
jubilantly. She twirls around like a ballerina, gleeful smirk plastered on her
face. “Tell me that wasn’t awesome. Go on, Tommy-boy, fuckin’ try! That! Was!
The best!”

“What the hell, Helena!” you snap. You grab her by the shoulder and jerk her
around to face you. “I was trying to take Blasto with us, goddammit! We need
all the help we can get!”

You’re so caught up in your anger that you hardly notice as Bambina’s
expression darkens. At least not until she reacts. She slaps your hand off of
her shoulder, exceptionally strong for a girl of her size.

“First of all, don’t ever fucking touch me like that,” she intones, taking a
step closer to you. She shoves you in the middle of your gut, and you stagger
back, startled. “Secondly, don’t fucking call me that when I’m in cape mode,
shitbrains. You get to see a bit of leg and ass ‘cause my clothes are torn, and
you think we’re buds? We’re not. Pal.”

You manage to hold up a hand in an attempt to placate her. “Bambina…”

“And thirdly, stop being such a motherfucking pussy!” Bambina snaps. Her finger
jabs into your chest. “Soon as I started yelling at you, you fucking folded.
What are you, a baby? I can’t be seen with Assto because everyone knows he’s a
goddamn pushover. If you start acting the same, well…”

“I’m not being a pussy,” you reply. Your voice is quiet, but firm, and the girl
relents. “I’m trying to be practical. I could have talked us out of a bad
situation with the PRT and we would be better off. We’d come out on top, rather
than running and looking like cowards for our first impression.”

“First impression?” Bambina scowls. “I’ve run into the PRT before, newbie. They
know me.”

“These guys might not,” you shoot back. You point a finger skywards. “See that
sky? Not Brockton Bay’s normal sky, trust me, I’ve been here more than once.
The temperature’s way too cold for Brockton Bay, too - it can’t be warmer than
mid-fifties right now. It should be almost seventy degrees in Brockton.”

“But…” The girl furrows her brow cutely as she stops and concentrates. “My
power says we’re in Brockton.”

“Parallel universe,” comes your response. You don’t even hesitate. It makes
sense, now. “Whatever was making my power go haywire in the van, it gave me the
juice to bring us over here. Wherever...here is.”

Bambina mouths the words ‘parallel universe.’ “Okay. Maybe you’ve got a point.
We coulda hashed things out with the pigs. I owe you one there. But then you do
me a favor.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Stop treating me like a child!” she says angrily. Fire flares around her
feet. “Maybe I don’t look like it, but I’ve been fending for myself for long
enough, got it? I could’ve handled those cops just as easy as you. Easier, with
my looks.”

“You can fight, but can you hold a civil conversation?” you retort.

“Hell yes. I. Can.” Bambina grits out through clenched teeth. “You want to play
it safe? Fine. I can digit. But don’t treat me with kid gloves. I’m not a
baby.”
The two of you glare at each other in uneasy silence for several tense moments,
her piercing green stare boring into your own brown eyes. This time, you note
with some pleasure, she’s the one who gives in first.

“Whatever. We should split before someone finds us. I’m still practically
naked,” Bambina grumbles. “And I need a goddamn shirt. My nips are hard as
fucking titanium.”

“I can assure you, the PRT won’t condemn a parahuman of all people for indecent
exposure,” a new, feminine voice cuts in, sounding amused. “At worst, you’d
receive a gentle reprimand. And those are nothingto shy away from.”

The two of you, not expecting an audience, startle at the intrusion. You look
up, and see the familiar figure of Miss Militia. Sort of.

“What.” The word falls out of your mouth before you can contain yourself...not
that you can think of a better response in the following moments.

The woman who stands before you is hardly recognizable as the famous heroine.
Her signature flak jacket is missing, and the only thing that covers her torso
is a camo-print sports bra. This serves to expose miles of toned belly,
trailing down to the low-slung waistband of her fatigues. The pants aren’t that
much more modest, with strategic cutouts that expose the bronzed flesh of her
hips, thighs, and calves.

In fact, the only parts of her costume that seem unchanged from what
yourecognize are the heavy-duty combat boots that are laced up to mid-calf
(which does not make her outfit any less sexy, in your humble opinion) and her
flag print scarf. Even then, one end of the scarf drapes down tantalizingly
over her straining bust.

You swallow hard. You’re pretty sure Helena does too.

The Protectorate member isn’t alone, either. Hell, you recognize the girl at
her side - Flechette, a New York Ward who’s made more than one appearance in
Boston. What is she doing in Brockton Bay?

More importantly, what is she wearing?

The girl’s costume has been similarly abbreviated; gone is her stylized armor,
her unwieldy quiver, her utility belt. She wears a ragged purple tank top with
arrow-shaped tears made across her taut stomach, her breasts, and her
shoulders. A bandolier stretches from shoulder to hip, which is quite possibly
the only thing holding up her high-waisted booty shorts. You swallow again. Now
you get why they’re called booty shorts.

Your eyes meander down from her shapely hips to her very nice-looking legs,
reach the pale ankles that peek out over the low tops of her converse shoes,
and snap back up to see her amused half-smile. Shit, even her usual visor is
gone, replaced by a pair of Ray-Ban’s. A pair of metal chopsticks pin up her
dark, mussed hair. Seriously?

What kind of world is this?

“Disappointed to see us?” Miss Militia asks teasingly. “You looked rather
frightened when we interrupted you.”

Her words aren’t threatening, but they convey the tone of a woman who is
expecting compliance. If she wears that outfit around the containment cells,
compliance might not be so bad.You quash the inappropriate feelings. Now is
really not the time to indulge in sexual fantasies...you’re pretty sure of
that.

“Actually-” you start to speak, only to be cut off by a small, cold hand that
clenches around your forearm. You look down into the most serious expression on
Bambina’s face that you’ve seen. With her cheeks flushed pink from the chilly
air and her delicate features twisted in an attempt to convey some meaningful
intention, she actually looks rather alluring. You’re definitely not counting
the half-naked part. Definitely.

“Let me do the talking, Audience,” the girl hisses to you. She musters up her
best approximation of doe eyes, but only manages to look slightly less angry
and slightlymore appealing. That is, relative to a discount ‘Lolita,’you remind
yourself firmly. She tugs on your arm again, harder. “Trust me, I can deal with
heroes just fine.”

“Well…” you try again.

Miss Militia arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you. Flechette leans forward
on her oversized crossbow like a crutch, doing a lot to accentuate her modest
bust, but the Ward is obviously impatient. Bambina continues to gaze up at you,
her countenance pleading, and surprisingly devoid of anger or annoyance.

“Just give me a shot, Audience.”
Chapter End Notes
     Votes:
     [] Contact Hannah. She’s got far more on her plate than Battery, but
     she knows Colin better and he finds her easier to relate to.
     [] “I know you’re not just a child.”
     [] Let Bambina direct the conversation.
     [] [Name] Prestige
End Notes
     Votes:
     [] Helping others matters to you.
     [] Use your powers to free Bambina from her containment foam. The
     girl is a bit unstable, sure, but she seems to like you, and you
     can’t deny that she has firepower. Heck, aren’t the younger
     parahumans supposed to be stronger by nature?
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