NO PLUMBERS ALLOWED: Shroom 3-8

PRT Expedition - Ruined Landscape

The drone had emerged from the pipe into what appeared to have once been a tiled courtyard, with ruined brick walls on all sides. What might have once been roads and alleys were piled with loose brick and stone and, to the south, vines.

The vines had given its controllers some pause, but the Piranhas seemed to be barricading the road entrance, packing the roots and vines so tight they were almost a wall themselves. The lizard-drone had scratched at the wall cautiously, and aside from a twitch, the greenery didn’t react.

The drone turned its attention back to the courtyard. The everpresent fog that hovered less than fifty feet above had kept the sun from bleaching the tiles too badly, though the thunderstorm motif was still washed-out and dusty with time. The drone had dug up a piece of shattered ceramic--a pale yellow one that was part of a lightning bolt--and swallowed it, then turned its attention to exploring, squeezing through the gaps in the west road’s rubble.

And now it clambered over a rock, finding dirt and scooping some of that up for study as well.

The wind whipped in from the northwest, strong enough to whip up the dry soil into a short storm, and the drone had to huddle in on itself, bringing its plates close to prevent as much of the dust from getting into its joints as possible.

The scouting drone was not directly controlled by Dragon, though it could be if she so chose. As long as it stayed within the control dish’s range. Armsmaster could seize control as well from his console, though that would be less sophisticated. But as a scout drone, it was expected to have to venture beyond the dish’s area of broadcast, and so it had a sort of simulated intelligence. By itself the drone was about as smart as a dog, without the personality.

It was enough for it to navigate unfamiliar terrain with relative ease, and to identify samples it didn’t already have. Like this grass it just stumbled upon.

It pulled up a few blades, roots and all, and swallowed once more. It had three storage chambers remaining before it returned with its preliminary reconnaissance.

The next sample came from a puddle of brackish water, and then bark scrapings from a dead, bent tree.

The drone came to the edge of its broadcast range, and instead of exploring further, its observers made it look around at its surroundings. More ruined buildings, all burnt gray brick. Most of them were in such bad shape that they were hardly recognizable. Of the ten or so distinct buildings they could make out, none had all four walls still standing and only one had any amount of roof left.

It was directed to look up at the sky as thunder rolled in the distance. The dense white fog obscured everything, and the towers in the distance extended up out of sight into them. But here and there, there would be a break in the clouds, and the night sky could be seen for brief moments.

The drone’s observers directed it to take a second soil sample from what appeared to have long ago been a streetside flowerbed to round out its initial collection, but before it could the soil shifted, and a singular Piranha Plant Burst from the ground. It swiveled in place, apparently checking its surroundings. The drone froze in place, utterly unmoving, and the plant’s “gaze” passed over it without stopping, then dove back into the soil.

A minute later another Piranha, or possibly the same one, popped up from a different planter further down the road, and the drone moved again, swallowing the dirt sample and making its way back to the pipe for collection.

------------------------------------

Director Piggot’s Office

The Director, not for the first time, considered parahuman healing. She dearly wished to be drunk, but her body would make her suffer more than it was worth if she tried. She read over the… the request Clockblocker had presented her for the third time, still incredulous.

It was less of a request, honestly, and more of a research paper.

Koopalings are a lesser or perhaps juvenile form of the Royal Koopa, also known as the Dragon Koopa. They resemble bipedal turtles and possess heavy, spiked shells and thick hide.

The only thing keeping it from being in MLA format was the lack of a works cited page.

They were powerful, if what the paper said was accurate. From the description alone Piggot would estimate them as at least a Brute 4, maybe 5. Tough as nails, nearly as strong, and able to breathe fire. And Ms. Hebert expected her to approve of this?

…It was tempting, in all honesty.

Her minions thus far were impressive but hardly imposing. The mushroom people were weak enough that a normal untrained civilian could probably take several of them and come out the victor. The bombs were more of a threat, but a splash of water would douse their fuse long enough to deal with them, as without the explosion they were just a ball on legs, and though it hadn’t been confirmed Emily suspected that that key in their back was important. The Chomp was much more imposing, but it also acted like a dog and could presumably be easily distracted by throwing a stick in the opposite direction.

This “koopaling,” however, sounded much more impressive.

Shell is powerful enough to withstand small arms fire without damage, and becomes even tougher with maturity. Claws can be sharpened to the point of gouging iron. Occasionally possesses powers unique to the individual, but I’d have no control over that. I’ve got plans on modifying the TWEAKer to give me more control over what pops out, but--

She went on a bit of technical rambling, and then the next page devolved into symbols that weren’t even the English alphabet before she seemed to remember herself and got back on topic. Clockblocker told her that her initial request had been a page long, but before he could deliver it she’d snatched it out of his hand and insisted on a more comprehensive explanation. This was certainly that.

Speed is lacking compared to other feats, but is still impressive for their size, with fit individuals able to match human athletes despite the proportionately shorter limbs and bulkier frames.

This next bit included a schematic describing how the turtle monster could pull itself inside its shell and induce spinning. Emily didn’t understand any of it, which she found oddly relieving.

Yes, she was half-tempted to allow it, for the simple fact that if even half of this was accurate, it meant Toymaker could essentially make her own capes. And since she was on the side of the PRT, that meant more capes on their side as well.

Some shriveled, neglected part of her soul that still told her how to hope suggested that Ms. Hebert might let her creations join the Protectorate as capes themselves. She certainly let them have their independence, after all.

And aside from all that and what it meant for the PRT, there was the ultimate impetus of the request; the gangs closing in on the former Merchant territory. Toymaker felt she needed the extra muscle, and Piggot was torn. She didn’t want to spare her own men to protect the Docks, but she was obligated to as Toymaker was providing them with equipment. The issue is that she didn’t really have the men.

Technically speaking, the Parahuman Response Team ENE employed over three hundred troops, but only a fraction of them were actually in the Bay at any given time. Brockton Bay was a hotspot for villainous capes, but the smaller cities and towns surrounding it also had cape trouble that fell under ENE jurisdiction. They had patrol cars all over the county, a smaller base in a couple of towns, and teams on standby to move at a moment's notice if something big happened in their area. A large fraction of their forces were kept in the Bay, but it was still only a fraction, and if the gangs brought their capes to the imminent fight--well, Lung by himself invalidated any PRT Troop presence, let alone the sheer number of powers the Empire could bring to bear.

Which led to her dilemma. Did she allow Toymaker to create her big Brute minion who could go on to become a threat themself, or did she put her soldiers at risk?

Or the Protectorate capes, of course, but even then, if they got between Lung and Kaiser she didn’t fancy their chances either. Maybe the koopaling was a good idea after all--if Toymaker could just make them out of thin air, they were the most expendable piece on the battlefield…

Emily hated thinking like that, but if it came down to her people and the turtle monster, it was no choice at all really.

There was a knock at the door, and she looked up, grateful for the distraction. “Come in.”

Armsmaster stepped inside, wearing his light armor and looking disgruntled. “The initial exploration is complete, Director.”

Emily set the papers aside, vaguely hoping that they would vanish like so many other things were in her office lately. “You have a report then?”

He nodded, and stood patiently at attention. Emily raised an eyebrow, but his lack of response was explained when she received a request for access on her computer. She accepted, and Dragon’s avatar appeared on the screen before blinking out and reappearing on her office’s television screen.

“Good afternoon, Director Piggot.”

“Dragon,” she acknowledged. “What are your findings so far, you two?”

Dragon nodded, and Piggot’s computer received an info package with multiple images for her to follow along with. “The place on the other side of the pipe, which Armsmaster and I have given the placeholder name of ‘Scorched Ruins,’ displays immediate signs of civilization, albeit one long gone.”

Piggot pulled up the picture of a crumbling thoroughfare, taking in every detail she could. “No signs of life at all?”

Armsmaster shook his head. “We’ll get to that. The Putrid Piranhas are there, which confirms that they were not creations of Toymaker.”

Emily wasn’t aware that that was a point of debate, and said so.

“It might have been simpler if they were,” Armsmaster noted. “I had almost hoped that, since Pipes are apparently some form of plant, that the Piranhas were simply what their flowers looked like, but alas, we truly are dealing with an entire other world.”

“The soil samples were mildly toxic, with grass samples the drone recovered barely able to survive.” Dragon looked troubled. “The ruins themselves are something else though. The scale of the buildings indicates that whoever the natives were, they averaged at approximately two-thirds the height of modern humans. The architecture resembles an odd mish-mash of Roman, Romanesque and Gothic, all done in black and gray brick. Any wood there might have long since rotted away.”

Emily nodded slowly, thinking. “...And you saw the plants around?”

“Yes, they have a section of the city as their territory. The drone encountered one instance during its exploration, but the Piranha didn’t appear to notice it.”

This was all fascinating on the intellectual level, but Emily had concerns. “And you found no other signs of life?” Armsmaster glanced at Dragon’s screen. Dragon of course couldn’t return the look, but it was enough for Piggot to get the idea. “You did.”

“Not in the ruins,” Armsmaster said cautiously. “But after the drone set up the signal relay and we began receiving input, Dragon noticed that it was detecting radio waves, and not from our end.”

“I’m still interpreting the signal,” Dragon said, “but from what I can tell it was a geographic positioning signal. I suspect it was coming from--or being directed toward--an aircraft traveling overhead. It faded after a few minutes.”

Emily perked up, focusing. “Did you get a visual on it?”

Armsmaster shook his head. “The cloud cover is omnipresent. It’s not possible to see anything in the sky.” He paused while the Director grumbled about that. “Have you heard anything from the Chief Director regarding what to do?”

Piggot laughed grimly. “Oh, yes. When I told her about the possibility of one of our affiliates breaching into a different dimension, she said, in full and I quote: ‘Make observations but do not engage for now.’ Whatever that’s supposed to mean.” She pulled a stress toy out and started strangling it. “I tried for more detailed instructions, but all it boils down to is don’t rock the boat, as if the boat isn’t damn well capsizing all by itself. Hopefully this gets Costa-Brown to actually do something about it now.”

Dragon frowned. “That’s… irresponsible. And most unlike her.”

“Is it?” Emily scowled, picking up a letter opener. “She’s never done anything about my requests for more men before, why should she do anything now? It’s not like--HAH!”

She snaked out with the small blade and stabbed it into her desk, missing the red flipper by centimeters. The intruder squawked, flinching back from where it had been trying to steal her stapler. The red-robed midget scrambled away from the desk, and Piggot practically crawled over it to try and grab it.

“C’mere you little--!”

The masked freak dodged her swing and scampered towards Armsmaster, diving between his legs when he tried to block its escape. He spun around and grabbed it by the strap holding its mask in place, and when the mask came loose it squealed in distress, pulling its hood low enough to keep covering its face. Then it ran to the filing cabinet in the corner and opened a drawer, jumped inside, and slammed it shut behind it.

When Armsmaster pulled the drawer open again, it was only files inside.

“Damnit,” Emily groused. “Those things keep getting in here and stealing my office supplies.”

“I’ve begun seeing them on the security footage as well,” the hero grumbled. “I suspect they have tried to take my tools, as I’ve found them in different places than I set them down.”

Piggot eased back into her seat, her body making its complaints over her sudden motion known. “I don’t know how,” she groaned, “But I’m sure this is Toymaker’s fault too.”

-----------------------------

The Docks

“Hut! Hut! Hut! You there, blue one, what’s the holdup?!” Sterling barked, marching over.

Gloom inched away from the ledge, twiddling his fingers nervously. “I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t…”

“It’s a three foot gap, lad,” Sterling snapped, hopping up onto the platform next to him. “You just need a running start!”

“I’m not fast enough, I can’t jump high, what if I fall?” Gloom moaned.

“Then you fall two feet and get up and try again!” Sterling said, stamping his foot. “Perhaps you need some motivation.”

His fuse sparked to life, and Gloom fidgeted, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t--”

The fuse ran down in less than a second, and Sterling made snapping sounds while Gloom cowered. “BANG!”

Gloom threw himself away from the Bob-omb with a terrified scream, huddling with his hands over his head.

Sterling coughed, and a puff of smoke emerged from the hole before his wick grew back. “Urgh, that’s almost worse than actually exploding,” he muttered. “And look at you! Well done, blue Toad!”

“Huh?” Gloom looked up to find that he’d dived over the gap without thinking. “Oh… I… did it?”

“Now see if you can do the next one on your own.” Sterling hopped back down to the ground and stepped away, taking in the rest of the obstacle course. It was the best he’d been able to build, after cajoling a few of the Dockworkers into helping him. A climbing wall, swings, jumps, a place to crawl, and he wanted to put in some barbed wire but Nobel wouldn’t let him.

Which was probably a good idea. The Toad’s heads were so big that it wasn’t really possible for them to get through the un-barbed wire patch without getting snagged at least once.

Sterling had been wanting to do this for weeks, but the encroaching gangs had lit a fire under him and he was determined to make their meager army a proper force to be reckoned with. And there were side benefits as well.

The blue one, Gloom, had crippling self-esteem issues, and Sterling hoped that it would help him gain confidence. Cheers was the flightiest of the lot and needed the focus. Fly… was mostly alright, but needed to take things more seriously. And Guy…

“Oy, clown!” Sterling called, hurrying to the swimming section. “Do not drink that, that water’s foul!”

Guy grinned up at him, spitting the water out on a fountain over his head. “OH, LIVE A LITTLE, SARGE!”

Sterling suppressed a wince at the orange Toad’s grating voice. “You’re dawdling, you! Get moving or you will have a poor time!”

“But I’m having a GREAT time!”

Sterling harrumphed and turned on his heel. The clown was the most aggravating of all of them, in his opinion. He scanned the course again, and squinted suspiciously.

“One, two, three, four… Wait a tick, where’s the other two?”

Guy honked a bike horn, pointing past Sterling, who turned and found the remaining Toads talking over by the nearest wall, which belonged to an old warehouse that once belonged to a clothing retailer, and now mostly contained moths.

“And hwhat,” he demanded, “Are you doing? Because I can certainly see what you aren’t.”

Fleur T. scoffed. “You don’t really expect moi to do all that, do you? What if I sweat? It would ruin my clothes!” She tossed her hair back with a huff.

Nass nodded, folding his arms. “I’m not being paid enough for exercise, pal.”

“Wh--yo--paid?!” Sterling sputtered.

Nass just shrugged dismissively. “If you don’t got cash, you don’t got Nass. What can you do?”

“No, we are spending our time much more productively,” Fleur said. “We were having a riveting conversation regarding the Princess.”

“Oh yes?” Sterling asked. “What could be more important than working to keep her safe like your fellows are?”

“Oh non, she has everyone else to guard her,” Fleur waved his concerns away. “So many big strong dockworkers to wield hammers in her name, non. I’m spending my energy on something more pressing: her appearance!”

Sterling’s face went blank. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, our Princess Thistle needs a dress befitting her station, don’t you think?” she asked, smiling widely. “That raggedy set of overalls is just awful! I was thinking something like this,” she said, pulling a piece of paper out.

Sterling looked it over, dubious. It was actually a fairly good sketch, with lots of purple and lavender and a spiked hem that he had to assume was meant to make the bell of the dress look like an upturned thistle flower.

The issue was that he couldn’t see his commander wearing it at all.

Fleur beamed. “I have heard of a trés bien costume designer living in the Bay, called Parian, and I am hoping to get it commissioned as a surprise for Princess Thistle after the current looming conflict is over.”

Sterling raised a brow at them. “...I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Miss Taylor isn’t the dress-wearing type.”

“She will come around once she sees it, I’m sure.”

“With what money, by the way, since you’ve pointed out your lack of it?”

“Nass agreed to pay for it,” Fleur said, pointing at the red Toad. Nass looked less than happy about it.

“But you just said--” Sterling stopped, and asked what seemed like the more important question. “And where is he getting this money from?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nass said, smirking. “Hey, here comes the boss.”

Sterling turned, expecting to see the commander, but instead it was Tess T. stomping forward with her fists balled up by her side. “Ah, Miss Tess, what brings you out he--Agh!”

Tess smacked the hat off his head, and pointed in his face. “Oh, I wonder. It’s not like my workforce is all gathered here on your playground while I was trying to figure out where everyone was!”

“Play--P-Playground?!” Sterling sputtered. “How dare you! This is my training course! I’m preparing them to fight back when we’re invaded!”

Tess looked at him with a flat expression. “Oh yes, I’m sure Cheers’ talent with the monkey bars is sure to make the nazis scream in fear.”

“See here--”

“But I suppose it isn’t the worst idea,” she allowed. “But I still need help getting the plots ready, and I don’t want that scary one left alone, it’s basically shaking nonstop now. You two!” she snapped, making Fleur and Nass jump. “Break time’s over!”

“Ah, but madam Chief,” Fleur said nervously, “I am actually working on a personal project--”

“Then you can work on it in your own time,” Tess said. “Those spores won’t plant themselves. C’mon, I want to plant some Slow Shrooms in this batch.”

Nass shrugged and started walking, giving Fleur no help at all.

Sterling watched them go, feeling bemused, then finally turned back to his course. “Oi, Fly! No showing off! There’s no one even here to show off to!”

“I can’t help it, general dude!” Fly called back. “My swag doesn’t turn off!”

Sterling rolled his eyes. Guy had finally gotten out of the swimming hole and was now attempting to swing across the monkey bars by grabbing with his feet and walking across upside down. As he didn’t have toes, and also hadn’t even taken his shoes off, it wasn’t going well.

Sterling watched him fall on his head for the third time, and sighed. “Nobel should be out here, if he wants to be the leader,” he grumbled. “I respect him wanting to keep an eye on the commander, but she surely doesn’t need him all the time…”

---------------------------

Toymaker’s Workshop

“Boss, watch your head.”

“Hm?” Taylor looked up, and then ducked backwards as the panel fell off and dropped where she had been standing. “Thanks, Nobel!”

She picked the sheet of metal back up and inspected it, then set it aside for now. It really didn’t serve a purpose beyond covering the innards of the TWEAKer, so she might as well wait to replace it.

The SP Globe had been removed and set aside, and was quietly churning with liquid Star Power on the table. The console had been completely removed, to be replaced in its entirety, and an enigmatic assortment of wires and tubes lay in piles around the floor. Taylor had barely been aware of what she was doing when she made it, relying almost entirely on instinct provided by her power. Now that she had more of an idea of what she was doing, the TWEAKer was almost painful to look at, and so now it was lying mostly disassembled around her workshop.

She was going to give it such an upgrade; a screen, an actual keyboard instead of a digital piano aliased to letters instead of notes, a better interface in general, a security system so no one but her could use it--

“You should add an additional cooling fan,” Rigel suggested from where he was spinning in the chair. “What do you think is a better way to apply the SP to the input? A showerhead to administer the liquid power, or a mister to turn it into an aerosol?”

“I think,” Nobel said testily, “That the Boss should build it herself. She knows what she’s doing, she’s got all the blueprints in her head already.”

“There is no blueprint,” Rigel argued. “I designed this thing on the fly, I was kind of impressed it worked at all--”

Nobel’s key sped up in agitation. “Oh, that inspires confidence, don’t it Boss?”

“I’m just making a suggestion!”

“I think she should make the basic version first and only modify once she’s got it down. It’s safer that wa--”

“That’s what she’s doing now!” Rigel thumped his foot, upset. “And again, I built the thing--”

“Taylor built it.”

“With my instruction! Kind of.”

Taylor pulled her goggles up and looked between the two of them. “Is there something you two want to talk about?”

Rigel and Nobel looked at her, then each other, and then at anything else.

“No.

“No, Boss.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I appreciate the support, Nobel, but I still don’t really know what I’m doing, and Rigel’s suggestions can’t hurt.”

Rigel smiled smugly and Nobel sulked.

“I think the showerhead would be easier to find,” Taylor said, turning back to the machine, “But if I could take a few humidifiers apart that might work to turn it into a mist, which I think would be more efficient… I wonder how hard it would be to build a forge?” she mused. “I think I’m reaching the limit of what I can do just beating metal into shape with a hammer.”

“You reached that limit a while ago,” Rigel said cheerfully. “But it’s a really good hammer.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Nobel muttered.

“You don’t make any sense!”

“Oh, hush.” Nobel loudly cleared his throat before Rigel could speak again. “So Boss, do you have any ideas what to do about the gangs?”

“The what?” Taylor asked, arranging tubes on the ground while she envisioned the most efficient formation for the misters. One on each wall, plus the ceiling? Minus the wall that was the door to the booth, of course. Might need a bigger booth in general, actually.

“The--”

“The gangs, right. Sorry, I didn’t hear you at first.” Taylor hummed. “Man, I really need to build that computer already. Uh, I don’t know what else I can do. I’m still waiting on the yes or no from the Director, regarding the koopaling…”

Rigel groaned loudly. “Taylor, are you sure you want to make one of them? Koopalings are jerks.”

Taylor frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rigel’s ears fell. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just trust me, they’re mean.”

“Well she can’t not do the turtle-man,” Nobel shot back. “Her symbol is one of their shells.”

“It is?”

“It is?” Taylor asked, blinking. “When did that happen?”

“Don’t you remember agreeing that your company name would be Shellout?” Nobel asked.

Taylor’s brow furrowed in concentration. “...Vaguely? Man, I better get some Koopas then.”

Rigel groaned again.

Ignoring him, Taylor counted on her fingers. “Aside from that, I’ve got every member of the DWU outfitted; hammers, good Wear, badges of their choice, boots, and a couple of the Time Stops that Clockblocker didn’t take. Everyone’s as ready to defend themselves as they can be, but hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“And what about you, Boss?” Nobel looked up at her seriously. “What if they come for you?”

She smiled and patted his head. “You mean if they get past you?” She laughed at his pleased expression. “Well, I’ve actually been thinking about that, among other things. Check this out.”

She walked over to a chest in the corner and pulled out something blue. Then she twisted around with it covering her face. “RAAR!”

Rigel squeaked and fell off the chair, scrambling to get away until he hit the wall. Nobel blinked, feeling alarmed and not really understanding why. After all, it was only the Boss wearing an ugly mask.

She took it off and laughed at Rigel’s expression. “It’s a Fright Mask! It’ll scare off anyone who tries to mess with me here, and I was thinking of a way to expand it into a--Rigel, are you okay?” she asked, concerned, when Rigel didn’t stop shaking.

He kept shivering until she put it back in the chest. He let out a massive shuddering breath and glared at her reproachfully. “Give me some warning next time, please.”

The door opened and Taylor smiled as Danny came in. “Dad!”

“Hey, Taylor,” he said, half-smiling. “Remember that thing you asked me to do?”

“You found something?”

“Unfortunately,” he mumbled. He set the massive, spiked bowl down on the table with enough force that it knocked several tools into the floor, and he winced. “Oops. Sorry.”

Taylor stared at the shell, mouth agape. It was 18 inches across and nearly two inches thick in places. It was monstrous. “I was expecting something like a bath toy, or something. What is this?”

“Well,” Danny said, scratching at his cheek. “You asked for, I quote, ‘turtle things,’ and I remembered this monstrosity.” He scowled. “Your grandad fancied himself a hunter, and this was one of his old trophies. One alligator snapping turtle shell. Dad used it for all sorts of things. Ashtray, footrest… soup bowl.”

Taylor made a face, one mirrored by her minions. “He cleaned it out between uses, right?”

Danny just grimaced.

“...Gross.”

“Yeah. I always hated this thing, and it’s been collecting dust in the top of my closet for years. Hopefully you can find a good use for it.”

“Oh yes,” she said, smiling slowly. “This is a very good basis.”

He eyed the pile of parts scattered everywhere. “What are you using it for?”

“I’m making a monster turtle,” she said, picking the massive shell up one-handed and setting it to the side.

“Oh, good,” Danny said, for lack of anything better to say. After a moment, he said, “The guys are all aware of the situation as far as I know of it. Last I saw Lacey was trying to organize some of them into patrols.”

Taylor nodded. “Can’t hurt. But hopefully it won’t be needed.”

-------------------------------

Underneath Brockton Bay

Coil was preparing an experiment.

After Toymaker had presented the PRT with her mushrooms and flowers, his power had begun malfunctioning more often. He had been planning his “safe” timelines much more carefully, as he now had no way of knowing for certain which one was going to end up the one he was stuck with. He had managed to get some sort of control back by withdrawing his men from the docks and performing small stings and robberies away from any PRT presence, but while those were successful, they weren’t furthering his goals.

But then, the other day, he had tested something. As Thomas Calvert, in his capacity as the PRT’s primary construction consultant, he had inspected the mushroom crop with the excuse of considering the best way to build a greenhouse for growing more. He had split the timeline and in one he continued to provide advice as Emily decided how best to distribute them, while in the other he snuck one out and away to his base to experiment.

It was the oddest experience. He’d had the luck to directly compare his two timelines, with Calvert in Timeline A suggesting they check the shroom’s potency on an injured trooper, while in B, Coil inflicted the exact same injury on one of his agents.

He’d watched as the trooper’s wound vanished as if it had never been, while his agent was healed slowly and left behind a scar. While he’d been pondering why the shroom would have different levels of effect, he made the choice to close a timeline, and the one where he’d been Coil was the one that ended.

He had a theory, but he needed to test his hypothesis before he made a conclusion, and he knew just the way to do it.

A gang war was brewing in the Docks area. Not in what he would call Union territory, but close. He was going to send some agents to make sure it spilled in that direction. With any luck, this would give him the clue he needed to confirm his theory.