The Doomed Plan

Five figures sat around a table in a dingy warehouse south of St. Louis. Anyone with even a passing familiarity with villains would take one look at this table and walk out the door hurriedly. Each one was widely considered among the most dangerous individuals on the planet. They were part of a team that had terrorized the globe for almost 20 years. Arguably longer. The age of this organization depended on whether you put its birth at its official incorporation in Paris. Or when Five individuals gathered together to put an end to three warlords in Tuscon.

They were the Five. They were arguing.

The argument revolved around two sides of the table. Each member of the Five clung close to the two senior members, the central figures of this argument. Truthfully, arguments only occurred within the Five when these two men disagreed. It was a rare occurrence.

On one side stood a gracefully aged white man dressed in an expensive suit. His particular abilities were the subject of debate. Some insisted he had a precognition quirk. Others argued that he possessed a reflex enhancement quirk. Still more suspected he has a probability manipulation quirk. The official story, that he was just a man with a steady hand, was widely regarded as propaganda. He was Desolator.

Next to Desolator sat a young black woman wearing beige shorts and a green tank top. She wore red light-filtering sunglasses. Hanging from her back was a bovine tail whipping from side to side as if it were swatting flies. She was considered one of the strongest mutants on the planet. Her calloused hands, which now rested on the table solemnly, had taken apart tanks in long-forgotten battlefields. She was Maddox.

On the other side of the table, across from Desolator, was an old Hispanic man. He was stooped with age. Over his mouth was an electronic muzzle with a filter that allowed his voice to be heard by those around him without fear. In his youth, before other even more terrifying quirks manifested, he was the most feared existence on the planet. His whisper could drive a man to suicide. His word could turn an innocent man into a murderer. His shout could destroy cities. He was Jabberwocky.

Clinging close to Jabberwocky, as was her wont, was a young woman with an unnatural coal-black skin. Her eyes and hair were that same eerie darkness that coated her skin. She seemed too dark to be real. Looking at her was disorienting, her form seemed to pulse under scrutiny. Her quirk was poorly understood. She drew power from actions she felt guilt for. Her guilt was great. She was a sweet girl that Chance had thrown into the role of a psychopath. She was Bicorn.

On the other side of Jabberwocky was a Vietnamese man with an arrogant smirk. His hair was tied in a tight braid which hung to his waist. He was the third most senior member of the Five. He’d been a member since its official incorporation 20 years ago. He’d earned the dubious reputation of being their most ruthless member. He was the catalyst for the current argument. He was Commander Slaughter.

“If you have another plan, we’re all ears.” Slaughter grinned.

“Your ‘plan,’” Desolator began. “is based on the only real piece of intelligence we have on Miracle. Which is that she acts recklessly when children are endangered. That’s not enough intelligence for a plan. That’s a prayer.”

“And what do you suggest?” Jabberwocky cut in. His electronically garbled voice caused shivers up the spine of all who heard. Even filtered his voice made one’s sanity fray. “That we gather more information? Would that we could. We’re on a timetable.”

“I would suggest we give the client back his deposit.” Desolator thumped the table.

“Hah!” Slaughter guffawed.

“That’s a nonstarter,” Jabberwocky warned.

“Sir!” Maddox stood. “Des is right, we don’t have enough intel, it’s better to scrub the mission and fuck off to Mexico.”

“We have reams of intel from the client.” Jabberwocky sighed.

“Data which we don’t have the time to verify.” Desolator cut in. “If we could verify anything about her quirk, that’d be one thing, but my sources in Japan tell me ‘Matter Motion’ isn’t her quirk’s original name.”

“Those sources of yours know how their bread’s buttered.” Slaughter waved his hand. Desolator’s expression darkened, and the room’s temperature dropped.

“… explain yourself.”

Slaughter straightened. “I mean no disrespect. But paid sources prey on insecurities--”

“If you mean to imply I’m a coward Slaughter. Say so. I will happily explain why that is a hazardous opinion.”

The room froze. Jabberwocky sighed. Maddox leaned forward. Slaughter squared himself against Desolator. Bicorn broke her silence.

“We know you’re not a coward Sam,” Bicorn whispered. Her mouth oozed black energy at every punctuated syllable. “But, we’ve gone in with imperfect information before. Why are you so against this job?”

Desolator’s expression softened. His eyes passed away from Slaughter. The room breathed again. “Imperfect information is a severe understatement, Bianca. We haven’t been able to corroborate anything. That’s not intel, that’s hearsay. Unless somebody’s sources came back with something?”

The room was silent before Slaughter, sensing he was losing the room, answered his concern. “The data matches with the testimonials we’ve gathered. It’s safe to say her quirk’s psychokinesis, is dangerous, but nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Do we even know the extent of her psychokinesis?” Maddox asked. “Lord Just popped eyeballs. Terrorcopter turned people’s insides into mush.”

“Miracle’s limited to holistic manipulation,” Slaughter informed her. “She’s all or nothing. According to testimony, she can’t manipulate a single limb. She has to grab the whole body. She’ll grab you, she could crush you, but she can’t break your arm with a look or anything like that. She usually grabs her opponent and slams them on the ground until they stop moving or surrender.”

“If that’s the case.” Desolator challenged. “Explain Mongrel.”

Silence.

Mongrel was a notorious criminal mastermind based out of St. Louis. He’d clashed with Miracle. Eventually, the scumbag kidnapped her kid. He was found after Miracle rescued her son. His head had been popped like a grape.

Miracle must’ve had a sense of irony. Exploding a victim’s head was Mongrel’s favorite pastime.

The District Attorney had declined to press charges. Human Rights groups nearly rioted. The Hero Administration was called in to conduct an independent investigation. They declined to charge her and to give an explanation. Desolator hadn’t really questioned that. Mongrel was a horrible bastard. By killing him, Miracle had done the world an incredible service.

“My own sources.” Jabberwocky rasped. “Suggest that it was not Miracle who killed Mongrel.”

“What?” Desolator questioned incredulously.

“They say her son is a quirk mimic.”

Desolator was struck to silence at that.

“That’s fucked up.” Maddox breathed. Desolator was forced to agree. However, it would explain why the investigations kept getting dropped with little explanation.

It’d also make Slaughter right, but that wasn’t why Desolator didn’t want it to be true. He’d killed his father at sixteen. That action haunted him for decades. Even now, with the graveyard he’d filled throughout his career, he could still see his father’s headstone shining like a star.

Miracle’s son had been 4 when he’d been kidnapped. Desolator had no idea how such a young child would cope with killing a man, especially in such a manner.

“Was that episode your only concern with her quirk’s function?” Jabberwocky asked.

Desolator didn’t want to say it, but it was. What kind of psychokinetic could only manipulate whole bodies? What kind of sense did it make that a quirk would be limited in such an arbitrary way? Quirks were pernicious things, but usually, there was a logic behind their limits.

He didn’t want to say it, but he wouldn’t lie to Jabberwocky.

“Yes.”

“Then I move Slaughter’s plan got a vote. Do I have a second?”

“Second.” Slaughter chimed in, wearing a smug grin.

“All in favor?” Bicorn asked.

Jabberwocky, Slaughter, and Bicorn raised their hands.

“All opposed?”

Maddox looked at Desolator. Unlike the other three, they’d been soldiers. Desolator in Mastermind’s military. Maddox did merc work before Desolator recruited her. Soldiers, at least the ones that lived, had a sense of when an officer was going to get them killed. Both of them had that feeling now.

Desolator knew it wasn’t Jabberwocky or even Slaughter being incompetent. The plan was serviceable with the information they had. Kidnap the mayor’s kid. Lure Miracle into a killzone. Jump her. Simple, elegant, with little room for error, it was something they’d done a thousand times in a hundred cities.

Desolator couldn’t say why, but it felt like a doomed mission. If it were up to him alone; he’d scrub the mission, damn their employer’s influence. But, at the end of the day, they were a team. For all his instincts, he couldn’t just ignore the will of the Five’s other members.

All he could do was let his dissent be known.

Desolator raised his hand. Maddox followed.

“61% ownership, to 39%. The aye’s have it.” With those words, Bicorn concluded the final meeting of the Five.