The Clockwork Dogs were a partnership. Masterminds, apparently. The pair were a man of average height, skinny but for a protruding belly, and a short man, both with fine masks that looked tinker-made, glinting as they moved and adjusted in the firelight. Men and women that looked anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five stood behind them. Four people in clothes that looked more suited for a cocktail party with the rich and famous.

There were bikers, obvious enough. There were others who stood too far into shadow to be seen—and they probably stood in the shadow because they weren’t tough enough to stand among those in the light.

Orchard was one named group, but they seemed to be absent. Slave peddlers, they were a pair who used the ability to mutate others and the ability to alter others’ minds to turn mundane slaves into custom orders. Their ‘fruit’. Ashley surmised they stayed away because that kind of behavior drew the attention of the authorities in an unforgiving way.

There were others who walked finer lines. Heroes were out there, their teams flocking to the city.

This was only one area of the city. There would be other meetings like this in the center-north area, and there would be more to the south and southwest. They would happen at villain bars, or where trucks and cars pulled together into a ring, the masked individuals gathering in the center.

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t stop smiling as she walked on the beach, sand worming its way between her toes. She paced around the perimeter, taking stock.

If the heroes came for her, she would make them regret it.

She wouldn’t concern herself with other areas. She liked the sound of ‘Deathchester’. She wanted it.

It meant she needed allies. There were lone villains at the periphery. There would be others. She would have her henchmen within a day or two. She kept an eye out for anyone who might serve. People who looked strong or put together.

For now, she wasn’t so insane as to step into the light. Better to stay with the faceless, the nondescript, so she could surprise her enemies. To put herself on the map, and to take her place at that inner ring, where she had that respect, she would have to unseat one of the major players.

She would remove them from the picture.

A flicker of power crackled at her hand at the thought.

Eclipse x.3

“…would be the terms of war. Boilerplate.”

“That’s only if we go to war,” the Clockwork Dog with the potbelly said. “We have a proposal.”

“We’ve heard your proposals before, Detente,” Digger said.