Case Zero was Scion. He was also, I presumed, the last case. Case One was the Siberian, technically the one who had first started the case files, as the PRT consolidated old data and tried to get information from other government agencies. Case Two was Behemoth, his rise had incited the creation of the PRT. The case series had been an excuse to gather data from international agencies, too. Case Three was the lie of the virus, an early claim about the origin of powers, propagated by an early online newsgroup. Case Four was The Player, an early thinker–mastermind who had required some greater cooperation across multiple agencies to root out. Later on, The Player would be a case-in-point for the formation of Watchdog and its core purpose. Kenzie’s would-be group.

The first cases had inspired things, major functions and interests. Committees had been formed and those committees had become something. Even though a whole chunk of the early ones were minor or fabrications in the end, the virus theory included, they’d led to things like a dedicated parahuman science department.

Ordered, interesting, familiar. It was calming, even if I didn’t want to be calm.

We’d talked about how to deal with him. Tricks, techniques. I’d thought I could use my aura, to try to override or distract. I’d been right.

I’d gotten two Fallen killed and the ensuing fracas had led to roughly half of them being injured. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The idea of death weighed heavy, even if it looked as if it was Beast of Burden and Nailbiter’s doing. Violence and death didn’t weigh heavy for them.

“Our side matches yours in number. From what I’ve been told, you’re divided, fighting among yourselves. We aren’t. The strength of faith,” Valefor said. He said it almost ironically. “Let’s tip the scales. You’re going to serve us. You’re going to fight for us. I’ll talk to you one by one and I’ll have you pledge allegiance, starting with—”

I heard Damsel’s power, brief.

Beast of Burden said something, his voice a growl.

“I said not to be clever,” Valefor said. He drew in a deep breath, then tilted his head as far to the left as it would go, where ear would have been touching shoulder if his mask didn’t cover it. “Do you want to see what I can do if I get creative? Someone assist me.”

A Fallen woman near him hurried to his side, supporting and guiding him. She had her tits out, and every inch of her was caked in goopy black paint, which obscured her features and hid details. Where her lips parted, the paint had cracked, so there was only a broken hard ridge, with lips, teeth and tongue behind. It even caked her hair.

It didn’t look like a Tempera sort of thing. Just costume.