CHAPTER 35: ESCALATION CURVE
The emergency scanner crackled with chaos.
"—multiple detonations, repeat, multiple detonations—"
"—casualties confirmed, requesting medical—"
"—Protectorate en route, ETA fifteen—"
Lisa sat at the loft's communication hub, headphones on, fingers moving across three different screens. The bomb site map on the wall had gained two new pins since last night—red for ABB, black for casualties.
"Two this morning," she said without looking up. "Commercial district and warehouse row. Different effect signatures—one was a gravity pulse, the other some kind of crystallization. She's showing off."
"Escalation," Brian said. He stood by the window, watching the distant smoke plumes that marked the blast sites. "She's trying to prove she can hit harder than anyone can stop her."
"She's succeeding." Lisa pulled off her headphones. "Protectorate just issued a citywide cape advisory. All heroic capes to maintain patrol readiness. Villains encouraged to avoid ABB engagement until the bombing threat is neutralized."
"They're scared," Alec said from the couch.
"They're practical. Bakuda's bombs don't discriminate—cape or civilian, hero or villain. Anyone who engages ABB risks becoming collateral damage."
I studied the map, tracing the bomb pattern with my eyes. The sites formed a rough spiral outward from the Docks—ABB's core territory—spreading into commercial and residential areas. The psychology was clear: Bakuda was demonstrating reach, proving she could strike anywhere.
But the pattern also showed something else. The bombs were getting bigger, more exotic, more indiscriminate. She was escalating because she was losing support within ABB itself. Lung was distancing himself from the campaign—letting his lieutenant burn herself out rather than reining her in.
In my meta-knowledge, this escalation led to a dead man's switch. Bakuda would implant explosives in her own ABB soldiers, turning them into hostages against Protectorate action. Anyone who tried to stop her would trigger a cascade of civilian deaths.
The solution, in canon, had been Taylor's bugs—swarms capable of disabling bomb triggers without physical contact. But Taylor hadn't triggered. The solution I'd read about didn't exist.
Three to five days, I calculated. That's how long before she reaches the switch point.
"We have a problem," Lisa said. She pulled up a new screen. "Scanner traffic says ABB is pushing into contested territory. Not Bakuda's bombing campaign—standard ground forces. They're testing boundaries while Protectorate is distracted."
Brian straightened. "Our territory?"
"Adjacent. One block from the expanded patrol zone."
"Then we respond."
The ABB incursion hit us at the corner of Fifth and Market.
Six soldiers—armed, aggressive, wearing the red-and-green colors that marked Lung's people. They weren't expecting resistance. They were expecting empty streets and easy expansion.
They got Undersiders instead.
Brian's darkness flooded the intersection before they could organize. Rachel's dogs emerged from the black—Brutus hitting the lead soldier like a freight train, Angelica circling to flank. Alec's power flickered across the group, introducing stumbles and misfires at critical moments.
I held the perimeter with echolocation and metal-sense active.
The fragments worked in concert for the first time—hearing mapping the soldiers' positions through the darkness, metal-sense tracking their weapons. I called targets to the team as I detected movement, painting the battlefield in sound and steel.
"Two moving left—Regent, they're reloading."
Alec's power hit them. Both soldiers dropped their magazines.
"One breaking for the alley—Bitch, angle Angelica right."
The dog intercepted, blocking escape.
"Brian, the leader is rallying in the center. Three feet back from the mailbox."
Darkness coalesced around the position. Brian's enhanced strength connected. The leader went down.
Fifteen minutes. Six incapacitated. No deaths on either side.
"Clear," Brian called, and the darkness dissipated.
The aftermath was efficient—zip-ties, confiscated weapons, an anonymous tip to the PRT about the location. Standard Undersider protocol. We didn't kill if we could avoid it, and we didn't leave evidence that could trace back to the loft.
Rachel checked her dogs with more tenderness than I'd ever seen her show a human. Her hands moved over Brutus's flanks, probing for injuries, and she murmured something too soft for the echolocation to parse. This was why she was here—not for the money or the power plays, but for these moments when her family came through intact.
"Good work," Brian said. His eyes found mine. "Revenant. Solid intel. The positioning was clean."
"The fragments are synergizing," I said. "Hearing and metal-sense together—I can map combat spaces better than before."
"Keep developing it." He almost smiled. "That's the kind of tactical edge we need."
The warmth from last night's conversation hadn't dissipated. If anything, it had grown—professional respect layered over personal connection, the combination stronger than either alone.
We extracted before PRT response could arrive.
Back at the loft, I spread the bomb site map across the table and started counting.
Seven confirmed detonations over four days. Escalating frequency, escalating severity. Bakuda's pattern suggested psychological breakdown overlaid on tactical planning—she was losing control but channeling the chaos into maximum impact.
Three to five days, the calculation repeated. Maybe less if she accelerates.
The dead man's switch would come when she felt cornered. When the Protectorate finally moved against her, when her own soldiers started questioning the campaign, when Lung made it clear she was expendable. The switch was her insurance policy—a guarantee that stopping her would cost more than letting her continue.
In canon, Taylor's swarm had disabled the trigger mechanisms. Thousands of bugs, each one carrying a piece of the solution.
But Taylor hadn't triggered. And even if she had, she wasn't Skitter yet—she was a high school junior with a new friend named Charlotte, finally starting to heal from years of bullying.
I can't use Taylor, I thought. I need another approach.
My phasing fragment would have been perfect—the ability to reach through matter, to touch bomb triggers without physical contact. But Oni Lee's spatial awareness was gone, overwritten by the Cricket death. I'd traded one utility for another.
The echolocation was defensive. The metal-sense was detection. The firearm handling was muscle memory. None of them could disable a bomb.
What can I use?
The door to the storage room opened.
Lisa stood in the frame, tablet in hand, expression unreadable.
"We need to talk," she said.
"Now?"
"Now." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The lock clicked with finality.
"This conversation has been building for weeks. I'm done waiting."
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