Chapter 59

Miss Militia

The first thing that Hannah realized, as Avalon made his way over to their truck, was that the man had changed.

In multiple ways.

“Are those… elf ears?” Velocity, agitated and anxious after witnessing the latter half of a mountain erupting from the earth, hissed at her out the corner of his mouth.

She didn’t trust her voice to be quiet enough to respond without Avalon knowing, so Hannah didn’t say a word, merely nodding in affirmation. Her senses were sharp - they had to be, to survive her childhood, but the way that his silver eyes flickered over in their direction at that simple murmuring… 

Even from a distance, he’d heard her teammate - hell, his ‘elf ears’ even twitched. The sight brought her back to her second meeting with him, when he’d noticed her reaching for her weapon but dismissed it in the same breath it would’ve taken her to begin to draw.

He was scary, but in that fear, she also found a deep-rooted respect.

Normally, they wouldn’t publicly approach an unmasked independent hero in costume, but desperate times called for desperate measures - and the minor earthquake that had rippled its way through the city definitely seemed like it required the full attention of the Protectorate for a wide variety of reasons. There had been no reported damages caused from the ‘natural’ disaster since it only barely registered as a magnitude 3 on the Richter scale, but the exact same technology they used to calculate these disturbances were the ones used to detect the Behemoth’s arrival.

No one could blame them for their caution, then. Or their expediency. Not with the three month time limit for the next Endbringer attack right around the corner. 

They were just doing their job.

So why, as she watched her leader and friend march back towards their post with his teeth gritting against each other in clear frustration, did Hannah feel like they were still being made out to be the ‘losers’ here? Maybe it wasn’t Avalon’s fault entirely, but public opinion for the Protectorate had been at an all-time low ever since he’d really dug his claws deep into the villainous underbelly of the city and ripped out the head players.

Ever since he killed Lung, and then proceeded to expose Kaiser and Coil on live television.

And killed them too.

Seemingly overnight, the Protectorate had gone from being Brockton Bay’s staunchest protectors to the governmentally-sanctioned rejects who couldn’t do in years what the new kids on the block accomplished in under a month. Forget the fact that there were rules set in place by the PRT, and the law at large, that shutdown the unsanctioned killing of parahuman criminals that weren’t given an explicit kill-order. Forget the fact that they’d still spent year after year throwing their bodies, minds, and hearts into fighting the good fight in spite of these restrictions, in an attempt to stop further bloodshed.

Forget the fact that leaving rapists, slavers, and neo-nazis alive and well to escape and commit their heinous crimes all over again went against every single instinct in her well-trained body.

Hannah wasn’t blind. She wasn’t deaf, dumb, or stupid. She knew that blaming Avalon, or Invictus, for this feeling of incompetence and inadequacy that was ignorant at best and shameful at worst. That was why she didn’t blame him or his team. No, Hannah, over the last few days, found her blaming herself more than anything, because these weren’t just sudden thoughts that had cropped up out of nowhere after Avalon took Brockton Bay by storm.

No, she’d been feeling inadequate for years. Going from working beneath Alexandria herself, and the Triumvirate at large, to playing second fiddle for a man who wore his envy of heroes more powerful and ‘popular’ than him  on the seams of his sleeves… well, it chafed. Hannah didn’t hate Armsmaster, just as she didn’t hate Brockton Bay. If anything, she held a professional respect for Colin and viewed Brockton Bay as her home. 

Colin was a better man than most, and the Bay was leagues greater than that damned forest.

But even that professional respect was beginning to wear itself down over time. The man’s closeted jealousy over Dauntless’ gradual incline of popularity and his potent Trump abilities was one thing, but he’d always kept it just on the right side of professional and unprofessional. Tiny snide comments that Shawn, bless his socially dense heart, couldn’t pick up on. Patrol schedules designed to place Armsmaster at the head of all the big cape action, while Dauntless dealt with street thugs and muggers. Slicing him a slightly smaller cut of cake at the the Protectorate’s biweekly barbecue night…

They were things that, if looked upon with a critical eye - like hers - would stand out as petty and unprofessional, but to the common denominator would simply seem like coincidence.

For Avalon, and Invictus as a whole, though?

The energy was like night and day.

Hannah could count, on her fingers, the amount of times Colin had ever screamed at a fellow Protectorate member. Her memory was perfect, a product of her trigger, and nothing was lost to the degradation of time within her own head.

The number was seven. Seven times, before Avalon’s arrival, did Colin break his thin veneer of stoicism and scream at a teammate outside of cape fights. Even in personal arguments, he wasn't the type to raise his voice, like a disappointed uncle, but never outright scream.

At least, until Assault made the decision to commend Avalon’s work ethic during a very tense, very awkward team meeting. 

The very same team meeting that took place mere hours after the young hero had reportedly told Colin to ‘suck his dick and fuck off’. In Avalon’s defense, it was only said after he attempted to move past the Protectorate heroes without confrontation, which Colin took offense to. And, in Colin’s defense… 

…

Hannah couldn’t find a good defense for attempting to bring a clear threat of Avalon’s caliber in, actually. Maybe Colin deserved the insult.

But after that evening, and after Colin had gotten done yelling himself red at a suddenly stoic and dead-eyed Assault, things had… changed, both in Brockton Bay and in Colin himself. It wasn't anything as drastic a change of him suddenly becoming a tyrant of a team leader - Hannah would not have simply taken something like that lying down. No, it was moreso that he became a more bitter, more drawn-in version of himself. His fixation on Avalon, and Invictus by proxy, pushed into an avenue of paranoia and hatred.

He treated the mere mention of them as a personal insult, and spoke of their team as dangerous, highly unsanctioned vigilantes. The same team that, while admittedly unrestrained, had single handedly kicked the biggest gangs out to the curb and was actively patrolling everyday to flush out crime before it could take root. 

They’d even gotten another member. While, strangely enough, she couldn’t remember her alias, Hannah did remember that she was apparently an extremely sneaky Stranger. They weren’t just resting in their laurels after their big win. No, Invictus was showing initiative. They were pushing forward without regard for popularity or the opinions of others. They were recruiting, growing stronger, and showing just why their initial debut had been so successful.

They fought for a greater purpose.

While, in the foreground, the Brockton Bay Protectorate bickered amongst each other and spun their tires in the fucking mud, stagnant and angry and divided. Something had to give for things to move forward, and Hannah wasn’t sure what it would be. Sophia was already on indefinite console duty for ditching her comms and going AWOL - almost definitely to plead her case to Avalon, considering the timing - and the other Wards were getting antsy with the increasingly shittier morale plaguing the heroes. 

They were getting restless.

‘Like me,’ she realized dully, sheathing her bayonet on the holster on her hip. It shone green within the dark leather, and not even a second later, Hannah unholstered the blade and shifted it into a Beretta M9. ‘Something will break if things continue like this.’

In her eyes, it seemed like Armsmaster would end up being the first.

“Yo, what’s good?” Avalon greeted them in his deep, lazy drawl as he stepped up from behind the scowling Armsmaster, one hand raised. 

There, without his mask and costume, dressed in gray sweatpants and a black tank top, it was easier to see just how healthy the exceedingly powerful young man looked. However his Trump abilities worked, it was extremely obvious at this point that it did irrevocable changes to his appearance. It wasn’t just the elf ears, either, even though Hannah could tell that they were the centerpiece of everyone’s immediate scrutinization.

No, it was everything. And, once again, she found herself mentally cursing this young man for unintentionally fanning at flames that were not supposed to be smoldering inside of her.

Shoulder-length white dreadlocks trailed down his neck in a carefully controlled chaos of kinkiness. Silver and gold beads weighed on the few locks that fell over his face, carved with symbols that she couldn't recognize, and as she studied him, Avalon brushed the locks back and cracked his neck - revealing the black, branch-like tattoo that ran down the left side of his face, disappearing into the muscular cleft of his chest.

Silver and black eyes glared out from beneath a lidded, half-mooned stare that, despite the cool cheerfulness of his greeting, watched them all with a detached, almost clinical sharpness. Hannah felt her hackles raise immediately as those oddly intense eyes passed over her, but with that spike of adrenaline came a sudden and uncomfortable excitement that made her heart thud in her chest.

It was something primal in her spirit. Something she’d felt days ago, beneath the rain, after Avalon and his team saved them from that Empire ambush.

Hannah wasn’t blind. She wasn’t deaf, dumb, or stupid. There were a very scant few men in her lifetime that had invoked similar feelings within her, though not to such a primal degree as this young man.

With that hooked smirk, intense glare, and damn near glowing, chiseled body slathered in writhing ink… Hannah could admit to herself, if shamefully, that something in her body found the bad boy attractive. The fact that most of the internet agreed with her helped with the acerbic disgust at being attracted to someone close to Triumph’s age. No older than eighteen, maybe. Definitely a teenager.

It was immature and girly and not at all what she should’ve been thinking about with a freshly grown mountain staring her in the face, but it was uncommon for the heart to be entirely logical. That was the responsibility of the head.

But then, the professional soldier kicked in, and Hannah forcibly shoved any and all thoughts of attraction down into the pit of her stomach to deal with later, in the darkness of her bedroom, with the door shut and the television on max volume.

She had work to do now.

________________________________________________________________

“Good evening, Avalon,” Miss Militia said politely, if a bit stiffly, nodding her head in greeting. “Thank you for complying with Armsmaster and coming to speak with us. We won’t take up too much of your time, but there are questions that we need to ask you, and reassurances that you’ll need to give us. The… mountain scared all of us a little.” 

Despite the relatively laxness of her body language, it was easy to tell, in both his and Hidden Intuition’s ‘eyes’, that she was tense - for a small spread of reasons. Words were whispered into my ear by my eternal snitch of a perk, practically giggled in its disembodied voice, and I found myself tilting my head and simply staring at the woman for what was probably a bit too long.

Miss Militia is scared of you. Miss Militia is attracted to you. Miss Militia is frustrated and ashamed that she’s both scared and attracted to you. Miss Militia feels awkward.

Had it been a goal of mine to seduce the uptight soldier girl? I couldn’t remember, but damn if it wasn’t amusing now. Guy goes from a smooth seven and a half to a twenty and even the older women found themselves thirsty. I could duck my head and say that it didn’t make me feel some sort of deep, manly pride, but that, obviously, would be a bold-faced lie.

A shit-eating grin formed on my lips.

“It’s no problem. Like I told Armsmeister here; if there’s an issue with me takin’ up residence over the beach, I’ll hit up the mayor’s office myself and handle it with him.” I responded easily, shrugging my shoulders. 

There were probably a lot of laws that I’d broken by, number one: Birthing a mountain out of a hill on the outskirts of Brockton Bay, and number two: dropping a veritable palace on top of it. I was no lawyer, but there were most-likely a series of channels you went through in order to get the permits and permission to do something like this. If I’d been just Jason Black, and not Avalon, I probably would’ve done my research beforehand and turned this into a whole thing.

But I wasn’t just Jason Black. I was also Avalon, and I’d just gotten done cleansing this city of white supremacists, a Bonds villain, and a fucking dragon. If I couldn’t lay claim to one simple hill and a small portion of a destroyed beach after something like that, then the mayor could suck my dick.

Was I being a bit petty? Sure, but I was also exhausted and hungry after using Qhaysh for the first time. I deserved to be a little pettiness.

Before Miss Militia could rebuttal, there was Armsmaster again, stepping forward and breaking our staring contest. A shame, since I’d been preparing to throw in a cheeky little wink. Maybe an eyebrow waggle.

“You caused a magnitude 3 earthquake that was felt through half of the city, and you think we’re here because you don’t have a deed of land from the mayor’s office? Like I told you, it’s everything - including the earthquake half of the city felt when you did that.” 

He pointed back at my mountain, even as he glared at me through the tinted screen of his visor. His tone was a weird mixture of forced stoicism and impatience that was extremely obvious through the hiss of gritted teeth. It was clear that he held a bunch of vitriol in that fuzzy frown of his.

Armsmaster is frustrated. Armsmaster detests your magic. Armsmaster is jealous. Armsmaster dislikes you. Armsmaster heavily dislikes you. Armsmaster hates you.

Ah. That wasn’t as fun.

My grin turned colder.

“‘Ight, so what- you want a ‘I’m Sorry’? ‘Cause I’m not above posting an apology video on the Brockton Bay subforum, complete with real tears and a ukulele solo piece. I get the caution, trust me, but also… trust me. If I wanted to fuck over you and this city, I would’ve done so already. Why harm something I saved?” I kept my voice low and cool, even as I took a step forward to match the one he took towards me. In my peripherals, I saw the other heroes stiffen, as if preparing themselves to move, but one ‘halt’ gesture from Miss Militia stopped them.

Good woman.

Armsmaster, in his defense, didn’t back down. I had an inch or two of height on him, but his suit gave him a more broad silhouette than mine - which he utilized by bowing out his shoulders and glowering. It would’ve been more impressive if he didn’t remind me of a blue Power Ranger waaay out of his prime.

“Yes, saved,” he grunted, derision coating his tongue like poison. “And I’m sure you’ll be here to take responsibility when the Teeth come back because of all the free real estate? The Elite? The Fallen? Saving a city isn’t as simple as throwing around lightning bolts and fireballs like you’re some sort of fantasy wizard, kid. It’s putting your nose to the grindstone and actually giving a damn about the people around you.”

…

Unbidden, a disgusted sneer warped my face. 

‘Oh, what a fucking piss baby.’

Miss Militia stepped forward, close enough for me to smell the anticipation and annoyance - the Aqshy - wafting off of her flesh like smoke. When her hand came up to separate us, pressing lightly yet firmly against my chest… I let it happen.

Who wouldn’t?

“Alright you two, that’s enough! Armsmaster, we didn’t come here to browbeat Avalon and throw a fit, we came here to assess the situation, ensure the Bay is safe, and return to base. Invictus is not our enemy. They’ve never been.” Though her face was shrouded by her bandana, the glare in her sharp eyes were enough to convey the scowl on her lips.

Armsmaster didn’t care. He stared down at her with the same dogged frustration he’d shown me, his arms crossed over the gleaming metal of his chestpiece.

“I’m leading this investigation, Miss Militia; not you. Whether you think my ‘people skills’ are up to snuff or not doesn’t matter right now - we’re handling things my way, because if we don’t, Avalon will slink off without giving us any actual answers again and then we’re back to squa-”

“Gonna cut you off right there, homie.”

His jaw clicked close, his head turning towards me. In the back, the rest of the Protectorate watched the three-way argument like it was an Olympic level tennis match, only they didn’t know which team they were supposed to be rooting for; Miss Militia’s or Armsmaster’s. Assault seemed like he was practically bursting at the seams to butt in and talk, but Battery’s grip on his arm was tight. 

I couldn’t find it in me to even fake caution at the way Dauntless’ hand hovered near his arclance.

“You’re borin’ the fuck out of me, and frankly, the whining is making me cringe - so I’m gonna dispense with the niceties and be an asshole. Either get to the point and stop borin’ me, or get the fuck out. Your choice.” I took a step backwards, his close proximity annoying me. One gentle push of my feet and I was airborne, stepping on currents of wind as easily as I would the sandy beach. 

Armsmaster went to speak again, but a muffled voice came from his visor - one that sounded like it was on the verge of screaming. He raised his hand to his ear, a grimace taking the place of his previous frown. It was impossible to decipher what the voice - more than likely Piggot’s - was saying through his ear comms, but at that volume, it was fucking unlikely that the words were anything good.

Miss Militia stepped away from her ‘leader’, a disgusted twist to her brow.

“Understood, Director.” Armsmaster grunted, his voice emotionless and tired all of a sudden. Swallowing down the spicy bitterness of his anger, the hero looked back up to me. “Avalon, I apologize for my behavior; it was unprofessional of me as the reigning leader of the Protectorate. Can I ask you a couple questions about what occurred here so we can all go about our business?”

God, it sounded like he was reading from a fucking script.

‘Somebody just got a Boy Scout demerit. Yeeeesh.’

I could’ve made it even worse for the clearly depressed man, but the sneaking urge to be petty had already passed for the most part. Now I just wanted them to kick fucking rocks so that I could show off my super badass new place to the team, maybe plan a housewarming party. Cassie had mentioned to me that Sabah was feeling put-out, and I could probably invite Aisha’s mom to cheer them both up and put the girl at ease.

Yeah, a party sounded awesome.

“Shoot,” I finally said, chancing a quick glance over to Sherrel’s truck. Cassie was standing up in the gunner’s hatch, her hands around her eyes like binoculars as she watched, and Sherrel leaned out the driver’s side window with her phone shamelessly out, recording the exchange from a distance.

I smirked, throwing up a lazy wave.

“Fine.” Armsmaster cleared his throat, and I looked away from my beaming girlfriend to pay attention. “First question, then, involving the earthquake. Will we be having a repeated occurrence, and if so, will you agree to give the PRT an hour warning beforehand? The legality of you… living on the beach isn’t our jurisdiction, but you using an unknown source of energy to grow an entire mountain out of nowhere-“

Assault snorted.

“-is more of our concern.” 

It was a reasonable question, and one he probably should’ve started off with instead of wasting time bitching about how I did his job better than him.

“If I decide to pull something this huge out of my ass again, I’ll hit Miss M up on PHO and she can slide the details your way,” I acquiesced, nodding my head. 

The heroine in question stiffened as all eyes instinctively turned towards her. “I- That would be great, actually, Avalon. Though I’m not on PHO very often, so it would probably be better if you sent the warning to me directly.”

I knew that Miss Militia didn’t mean it in the way that I was thinking. The way that she spoke was dead serious, and the frustration that had been clear in her exchange with Armsmaster was gone when her sharp, bottle-glass green gaze honed back in on me. Even then, knowing that she was trying to be entirely professional, I couldn’t help but wink at her as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and clicked over to the contacts book.

Her sharp gaze buckled, brows scrunching in confusion.

Miss Militia is unsure now.

And nervousness, apparently.

“Put your number in, and save it as ‘Miss M’. I’m pretty shit at remembering to reply to texts and phone calls, but it’s honestly better than PHO messages and emails. Iris usually checks through my inbox for me.” I tossed her the phone in an easy, graceful arc, and she smoothly grabbed it out of the air. There was a pause as she stared down at the phone, her half-covered face becoming inscrutable, before she breathed softly from her nostrils and began typing.

“... That makes sense. It’s the logical decision,” she murmured beneath her breath, clicking another key before shutting down the screen. One toss later and I was sliding the device back into my pocket, as Miss Militia took a step back and inclined her head towards me. “Thank you for your trust, Avalon. It won’t be forgotten anytime soon.”

“You’ve been pretty chill throughout this whole awkward ass exchange,” I shrugged my shoulders, giving her an easy smile. “Relax. And call me Jason - I don’t have my mask on right now, anyway.”

“That would be unprofessional, Avalon. I’m on duty.”

Miss Militia is smiling.

Ha.

Armsmaster looked between the two of us, his nose wrinkling.

“If you’d prefer dealing directly with Miss Militia, then that’s fine - but we will need the warning beforehand.”

“Sure.”

“Then the second order of business…” Armsmaster took a second to school his features again, straightening his spine and staring up directly into my eyes. A voice grumbled from the side  of his visor again, and his jaw stiffened. “In light of everything that’s happened over the past few weeks - the fight with Stormtiger, the thunderstorm, and now this… Do you agree to come in for a PRT Power Testing trial? It would help ease the tension my behavior has caused, and ensure we’re all on the same pa-“

I didn’t even need to hear the rest.

“Nah.”

Armsmaster’s frown returned. “Avalon, we know almost nothing about you or your true capabilities. Do you not understand the situation we are in here?”

“If you wanna know all of my lil’ secrets, Armsmaster, you just gotta ask nicely. I’m not runnin’ in a hamster wheel for PRT eggheads, though. You should’ve already known that.” 

In the awkward silence that followed, Assault pushed forward. “Heh, I’m not as prideful as Armsmaster. Pretty freakin’ shameless, actually. So, oh powerful and wise Avalon, I gotta ask; What all can you do? And those ghosts cleaning up the beach- I’m surprised nobody mentioned ‘em, but what the fuck are they?! I was thinking Pac-Man, but-“

“Assault!” Battery hissed, pulling him back by the wrist. He brushed her off, but the hastily stifled grin on his face betrayed his amusement at her mortification.

“What? You were literally just whispering that they looked like Boos from Super Mario, so don’t lecture me woman!”

The abrupt absurdity, and Armsmaster’s subsequent visor-palm, almost broke me. Instead of laughing, though, I relaxed my twitching face into a mask of apathy, raising one hand to silence the bickering couple and regain their undivided attention. 

“They’re definitely the ghosts from Pac-Man-“

“Ha, called it.”

“And since you asked so nicely… I’m a wizard, dude. I do magic. Take that back to your Think Tank and let ‘em ruminate on it, but I got a house party to plan. Peace out!” Throwing up the deuces, I allowed my magic to carry me higher into the air, the stiff, salty breeze of the beach brushing my locs away from my face. 

Armsmaster blanched. “That’s nonsense. Magic isn’t-“

“Text me, MM.” I cut him off, my apathetic mask cracking to reveal a lopsided grin. “Maybe I’ll toss you an invite.”

The wrinkles around her eyes deepened, a glint appearing in their green depths. “I’ll be in contact, A-… Jason.”

I didn’t say anything else; there was no need. With one last wave of my hand, I disappeared, leaving behind a group of heroes that were more confused now than they were before arriving.

___________________________________________

“You got the camera rollin’, Cass?”

A few feet ahead of Sherrel’s truck, I walked backwards up the ramp of smoothened marble, both hands up and gesturing to safely guide the vehicle. Still sitting in the gunner’s hatch, her visor activated, Cassie gave me a double thumbs-up. 

“Yup! What’d you say this kinda show was called back on your Ea-aaaah… back in your city? Hehe-“

“MTV Cribs,” I snorted, turning around and waving the truck forward. “We’re headed up to the garage… ‘cause what else could be up here, hm? Keep up, Sherr!”

HONK!

“Aye, Mousy and Trainy’s both back there fallin’ asleep! How ‘bout you speed it up a little, jackass?” The blonde shouted out the window, a broad, excited grin on her face.

A quieter, muffled voice drifted out from the open window, “I’m resting my eyes after reading so much, cow tits. And don’t call me Mousy!”

I chuckled, picking up the pace.

After leaving the Protectorate heroes scratching their butts in confusion, I’d teleported over to the rest of Invictus to lead them up into our new base, which, surprisingly enough, contained a ground-level entrance on the right side of the mountain. It looked like a large garage door made of marble, cleanly carved into the packed dirt and soil.

When I’d been trying to figure out how to open it, a small weight had found itself in the pocket of my sweatpants.

A key fob.

And that was how we found ourselves walking (and driving) into a winding tunnel made of limestone and marble, the way illuminated by golden torch sconces that shone bright with flickering white flame.

It was only a minute into walking up the ramp that I got the idea to record a video of the base - not because I wanted to steal more internet microcelebrity points, but because not everyone had perfect memory like me, and giving Cassie’s hard drive more content than just hentai and smut seemed like a ‘good boyfriend’ thing to do. The smile on her face after I’d explained what ‘MTV Cribs’ was made the potential embarrassment well worth it.

I just had to own it, right? There was no cringe if you became the cringe! That’s the mentality that got me through high school, at least.

I felt the ramp begin to even out before I saw the winding corridor open up. The somewhat damp air was blown away by the distant scent of flowers and the cool breeze of central air. Anticipation hastened my steps, and I extended my arms out to the side as I walked right into…

A massive garage. Or, at least, I felt it could be one.

The floor and walls were made of the same smooth, reflective marble that the ramp was made of, except the walls were carved and etched with intricate, winding patterns that were speckled in a golden dust, like metallic glitter that glinted in the unnaturally bright white light of the torches. There was no furniture, tools, or shelves - just a large, clean, and beautiful expanse of stone that seemed ready and prepared to be designed and used in whichever way we saw fit. If I had to guess, I’d say that it could probably fit about twelve or so cars inside.

It was a fucking impressive sight.

I turned around again as I walked backwards into the room, a wide smirk on my lips. Sherrel’s truck pulled up and over the lip of the ramp, and I was blessed with the sight of Cassie’s mouth dropping open in shock as she scanned the ‘garage’.

“Holy…”

“Yoooo, welcome to the self-patented I-G, otherwise known as the Invictus Garage! Like my homie 21 Savage said; ‘Jason, why you got a twelve car garage when you only got six cars’? The answer’s simple: Magic, bitch. Hop out and feel this marble finish.” I gestured around with pride. It didn’t take much effort at all to shift my mannerisms into that of a cocky celebrity, maybe because I was already cocky by nature - but, like I’d decided to do earlier, I put my whole ass into being cringe.

And the others immediately spotted it.

“Ewwww, hehe, you’re such a frickin’ nerd! Goddd I love you. Okay, I’m getting down, but who the fuck is 21 Savage?” Cassie snickered, her shock bleeding into a conflicting mixture of amusement and cringe as she pulled herself up and over the gunner’s hatch.

“And please don’t tell me you’re going to be doing that throughout the entire tour,” Amy added with a shiver, dropping out the backdoor of the truck. She landed gently on the smooth floor, her chunky botany book tucked beneath the crook of her elbow. Why she was lugging it around everywhere, I had no clue, but it made her happy so that was good enough for me.

I shrugged my shoulders, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“That’s the whole point of MTV Cribs - though, I guess I can call it Invictus Crib? IVT Crib…” I trailed off, tapping my finger on my chin. “Whatever, haters. And 21 Savage is a rapper from back home. He’s kinda shit, but- I’ll show y’all his music later.”

“Uh-huh. How ‘bout you cuties move out the way so I can properly park my baby? It’s about fuckin’ time my poor boy gets a stable home. Stayin’ in Trainy’s shitty storage unit’s done traumatized me.” Sherrel eased the truck up slowly, eyes wide and a grin on her lips as she practically cracked her neck to look around the new space. Amy and Cassie gravitated towards me, Cass doing her best to get as many angles of the room and truck as humanly possible.

“Park it wherever you like; there’s more than enough room.”

As we watched Sherrel expertly park her War Machine beneath one of the bright gold sconces, I slid my arms around Cassie and Amy’s waists. It wasn’t a conscious decision as much as it was simply instinctive - I wanted my hands on both of them after that little scare of not knowing where they were, and now they were here, beside me. On my left side, Cassie wasted no time in snuggling against my side, one of her hands reaching down to grip the one around her waist.

On my right, Amy froze for only a moment before a shudder ran through her body, and she melted into the half-embrace. My skin was warm, a side-effect of the near constant veil of Aqshy that I kept around my body, and the garage was fairly cool. Her face fell against my chest, snuggling into the fabric of my tank top, and-

Did she just sniff me?

“Did you just sniff him?” A bemused Cassie whispered, her mouth falling open.

“Shhh!” Amy hissed, her freckled face growing crimson. “You’re recording, Cassie. Don’t say things like that on camera.”

She smirked. “It’s a recording for us, silly. And it’s okay! I sniff Jay all the time. ‘Specially after we’re all sweaty from training. Did you know that his sweat can make you h-“

Alright now.

“Sherrel,” I forced a grin, my left hand sliding up to gently pinch Cassie’s lips closed. She counterattacked by ruthlessly tickling my side, but my skin was too tough to yield to such novice tactics. “Wake Trainwreck up and get him out here, yeah? Fucker acts like a Pokemon, snoozin’ away in the back like it’s a Poke-Ball.”

She slammed her door shut, her own key fob swinging around her finger. There was a bright, ecstatic glow to the woman’s face that made her smile seem all the more bright. “And he was the one whining ‘bout wanting a home. We finally get one, with a big ass garage no less, and the guy’s asleep. Hey, Trainy - WAKE THE FUCK UP!”

...

HISSSS!

The back of the parked truck unraveled like the jaws of a massive, monster truck-sized snake, and Trainwreck tumbled out and landed in a loud, raucous clang of metal crashing against marble. He didn’t even grunt in pain - I wasn’t sure if he even felt any, considering the majority of his meat body was in the center of the massive metal suit. 

Instead, he just laid there, his helmet visage turning left and right.

A few seconds passed, and then-

“Well?” Sherrel pushed, her hands on her hips. “Looks fuckin’ amazing, right?! Majestic as hell.”

His deep voice cranked out through the grates in his helmet, as apathetic as ever… except for the slightest of tremors that I doubt I would’ve caught without the increased awareness from Hidden Intuition. “It’s ‘ight. Kinda gay, but usable. Too much white.” 

Trainwreck is grateful. Trainwreck is happy. Trainwreck is excited.

A warm feeling pulsed through my chest, even as Sherrel yelled at the metal giant for being ‘ungrateful’. 

“Look at all this fuckin’ space, you big dumbass! We can make so much badass shit with this! We’ll need a lotta kit- shelves, mats, work stations, tools, a fuckin’ speaker…”

“Eyup.”

“You know that schematic we were workin’ on? The power armor with the jet engines in the back?! We can hang the chassis up right there, towards the middle - make that the area for suits an’ shit - and I can finally get started on my Chomper project since we got more space…”

“Mmmhm. Need more scrap.”

“Didn’t ya see all them torn up ships outside? We got loads of scrap right there!”

“I was sleepin’.”

“Oh. Right. Well regardless, there’s freakin’ loads. And speakin’ of metals, I saw-“

Holy yap session.

We just listened to them ramble for a few more minutes, Sherrel loudly proclaiming all the shit they would need to get while Trainwreck responded with monosyllabic acknowledgements. At some point Amy’s hand slid down to grip mine, and she stiffened again, but it only lasted for a moment before her body relaxed.

Cassie prodded my side, and I released her cute little lips. “Should we stop them, Jay? I think they’re gonna work themselves into a fugue…”

“I think your callout was a little too late,” Amy dryly pointed out, amusement coloring her quiet voice. “Sherrel’s going for the toolkit.”

Sure enough, the mechanic was yanking a big red toolbox out of the back of her truck, and her giant ‘helper’ was right behind her. A tire came bouncing out, followed by a surprisingly nimble Trainwreck carrying his massive rocket hammer out to lean against one of the far walls. 

I cleared my throat. “Yo, we’re gonna head upstairs and check out the rest of the place. You two wanna come?”

“No.” Trainwreck grunted, fiddling with the clasps on a bulky black box. “‘Preciate it.”

Sherrel paused, her entire torso buried in the back of her truck. When she pulled herself out, there was a streak of oil on her cheek, and she had a small wrench clenched between her teeth. She shamelessly spat it out on the ground to respond to me. “Thanks for thinkin’ ‘bout us, boss, but we’re gonna start turnin’ this room into an actual garage. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong - big and beautiful, just like me, but it’s too clean. Too barren.”

A rough grin formed on her lips, showing sparkly white teeth. “We’re gonna get it dirty. Trainy’s gonna head down and start haulin’ some of that scrap your little ghost pals collected, and Imma go buy some essentials from the auto shop Downtown. You can show us around later, yeah?”

They were such… tinkers. But I guess I couldn’t fault them for being excited about having such an enormous place to lay their roots. Sherrel had been living out of fucking crackhouses, and Trainwreck’s only place to work had been a junkyard that he also slept in. 

If they wanted to make this garage their own, then I was happy to let them.

“Sure,” I smiled warmly, tossing her my key fob. “Use that to get out through the garage entrance - but don’t lose it. I’m gonna get Cass to make us all copies.”

“Heh, already on it. Not really. I’ll need to open it up, but my notes-“ the hacker shook her head, pouting at a smirking Amy. “I’m shutting up now. Stay safe, Sherr!”

“Cya, cow boobs.” 

“I won’t be gone long.” Sherrel promised, clutching the fob to her chest. She stared at me, a familiar heat building in those beautiful, bright green eyes… “Thank you, Jason. For real. I don’t know what I did for that Goddess or whatever to have sent ya here, but I appreciate you more than you know big guy.”

Sherrel wants to kiss you. Sherrel wants to make love to you. Sherrel is beyond grateful.

There was an understanding. Now wasn’t the time, no matter how badly I wanted to bend her over the hood of her truck and christen her new garage with our sweat. Not when I was actively trying to show Amy just how desired and adored she was.

“You deserve it, second in command. Don’t worry; I’ll show you everything later.” I promised, sending a wave of Aqshy through the cool air of the garage. It flew through her body, warming and prickling at her skin, and Sherrel’s eyes widened.

“R-right. Yeah! Take care of him, girls.” She swallowed, pocketing the key fob.

With a wink and one final wave, I gently extracted my arms from around Cassie and Amy’s waists, turning towards the back of the garage - or, I guess the front. There was another door, larger than a normal one you’d see in your average house, but significantly smaller than the garage door that we came in through. 

“You two ready?”

Cassie hopped forward, twisting around and beaming through the holographic screen of her visor. “Hell yeah. Jay, if the garage is this pretty, imagine the upstairs! There was a fucking waterfall in the front yard. A waterfall.”

“How did you even manage to create water out of nothing?” Amy asked, shaking her head in amazement. She ducked around me, her book cradled against the bouncy softness of her freckle-specked boobs. “I want to see the front patio. And the trees. Do you think there’s a greenhouse?”

Though not as energetic as Cass, the excitement in her voice was palpable. Whether or not she noticed it, the smile on Amy’s face was bigger than it had been for the past two days, and there was a freshness to her eyes now. A light.

Behind her back, a grinning Cass pointed at Amy, pointed at me, pointed at herself, and made a big heart with her hands.

I snorted. ‘Fuckin’ geek. That’s gonna be in the video now.’

But maybe that was the point.

“There’s only one way to find out what the rest of our new home looks like,” I said, stepping forward and placing my hand on the large door’s gilded doorknob. It was cool to the touch, a feeling not unlike static electricity sliding against my palm.

“IVT Cribs, comin’ at you live. If you’re broke and magicless, stay the fuck outsi-“

“Jason, open the frickin’ door!”

And, with a bark of laughter and an embarrassed grumble from Amy…

I twisted on the door knob, yanked the door open, and stepped right into a new beginning.

___________________________________________________________

A/N:

1200 CP remaining.

Yooo! Sorry for the late post, the first half of this chapter was kicking my FUCKING ass and it took longer than I expected to wrangle together something that I was actually somewhat satisfied with. We're in the base now, after a minor altercation with the Protectorate - who, as you well fucking know, will not start any type of conflict with Invictus if they can help it.

Except Armsmaster is spiraling. And I've dropped hints on that throughout the story. The whole 'Armsmaster came to an ugly, bitter realization that he hated Trumps' thing wasn't just a funny ha-ha. Avalon gave this motherfucker bystander trauma, and he's... not being a very good leader.

You know who is a good leader, though? Miss Militia. Wonder how that's gonna go behind PRT doors...

But yeah, we only got to the bottom part of the base here. I decided to give it a garage because, well - the Dojo has fucking wifi, so why not a garage? I ruled it as just magical convenience, but I'm sure some people will call it BS. It's okay, though - magical garages are cool, man. Chill.

We'll get to the upper portion of the base next chapter, and theeeeen more progression! Amy is interested in learning Ghyran, Cassie still needs to work on making her MagiLink, and the others (Sherrel and Aisha) haven't really had time to mess around with their magic.

With the base, though, now's the best time to learn. Right?