Arachne had ties to every variety of crime that occurred in Fairfield. From ordinary gangs to superpowered art thieves to corporate embezzlement, their mark could be found anywhere. As the only major crime syndicate in the city, their territory couldn’t be found on a geographical map. Rather, it existed in the form of industries and contracts and products and even more abstract things like certain categories of supernatural abilities. Their influence extended far beyond the Fairfield city limits, probably even outside of the country, though of course its leaders didn’t share details about the syndicate’s scope or inner workings. They permitted smaller gangs to exist, but anyone who attempted to encroach on what Arachne considered theirs faced brutal reprisals.

Shudder supposed it was better than the alternative of rival criminal organizations competing with each other, but that didn’t mean that she considered Arachne a friend. When someone found themselves indebted to Arachne, they usually had to perform work to pay it off. Much of the criminal world ran on favors rather than money. So, in theory, if Arachne did someone the favor of lending someone money, doing a job for them should be enough to work off the debt. Yet, somehow, Arachne always had a way of finding more debt, more that was owed to them. Either the job wasn’t done entirely to satisfaction, or they had provided assistance in some other way, meaning another job would be needed sometime in the future. Lost, injured, and on the run, Shudder had gone to Arachne for help after the fall of Dr. Tlön, and she still found herself doing jobs for them. Still, it wasn’t all bad. At least they usually offered a cash payment in addition to erasing some of her invisible debt.

Unfortunately, Shudder didn’t get to meet with her Arachne contact in any expensive restaurant or executive board room. Instead, her usual meeting place was a rundown pawn shop just outside of downtown Fairfield. Since these meetings happened out of costume, there was no need to change her clothes and she came directly from the cafe. Normally, she looked around a little, playing the role of customer even if no real customers were present, but today she was surprised to see a familiar face standing at the counter, chatting with the clerk.

“Hey, Quetzal.”

Quetzal looked over with a grin. “Scaregirl! They called you for this job, too?”

Quetzal was a short Latina woman with a buzz cut and who always seemed to have at least one grease stain somewhere on her face or clothes. Only a year or two older than Shudder, she had built her own power armor several years earlier at the age of sixteen, assembling it from stolen and salvaged parts, and made a name for herself after destroying dozens of police vehicles, costing the city hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages. She was one of the few small fry who Shudder considered a friend, or at least one of the few who didn’t consider her particularly untrustworthy. She even knew Quetzal’s first name. Jessica.

Seeing her here meant changing her expectations for what this job would entail, however. Most often, Arachne wanted her to help intimidate someone. Those jobs were easy. Break into the house of the debtor or politician or whoever, and remind them of what would happen if they continued to inconvenience Arachne. It was the most obvious application of her abilities for an organization like Arachne, and like all of her jobs it had become routine. But why team her up with Quetzal? Quetzal was someone they hired when they wanted something destroyed.

The answer would come quickly enough as they were ushered into a back office to meet with their contact, White Tail. White Tail was an unassuming middle aged man with a bald spot and a permanently annoyed expression. He seemed to fall somewhere in the middle of Arachne’s ranks, high enough to earn himself an arachnid-themed codename, but low enough that Shudder could see the fear spark in him any time he interacted with members of Arachne’s leadership, the Widow Council. This office was likely nothing more than a meeting place for him, since it contained no decorations, or anything remarkable at all aside from the necessities of running a pawn shop.

“Shudder, Quetzal,” he greeted. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

“No prob, Tailypo,” Quetzal replied. “What do you need?”

White Tail took a deep breath, as he usually did when about to explain something complicated. “You probably aren’t aware of this, but Arachne counts among its contacts a number of extraterrestrial organizations. Last night, we were contacted by a group of Yamosian mercenaries who will be arriving in Fairfield tomorrow evening to search for a renegade thought to be hiding somewhere in the city. Because of the advanced tech and additional contacts a good relationship with this mercenary group will provide, Arachne has committed to assisting them. Normally, our agents—perhaps even the Council themselves—would meet with them personally. However, our local resources are…” He hesitated, his expression growing even more annoyed for a moment. “...occupied with other matters at the moment. So we need you to meet them when they arrive and help them get oriented.”

For the first time in recent memory, Shudder felt excited. She was going to meet aliens? And get to show them around the city? Aliens in Fairfield weren’t unheard of—Titan himself was one, after all—but she had never gotten to talk to one. She had so many questions that she couldn’t begin to decide where to start. Thankfully, Quetzal had no such difficulty.

“So, what, we’re supposed to help them find this bounty they’re after?”

“No,” White Tail said with a firm look. “You are to help them get accustomed to Earth and keep them occupied. Do not attempt to find their target. Arachne will handle that.”

Then it was just a babysitting job. Shudder might have been insulted if it didn’t mean an easy job and more time to ask questions about what life was like on other planets.

“Sounds simple enough,” she said. Quetzal nodded in agreement.

White Tail tightened his lips in an approximation of a smile. “Good. The Widow Council requested the pair of you specifically for your social skills. Keep them entertained.”

The Widow Council had asked for her in particular? And for social skills? Since when did she have social skills? For her part, it seemed that something else in White Tail’s words had caught Quetzal’s attention.

“The Widow Council themselves, huh? Must be a pretty important job.”

White Tail’s eyes narrowed.

“Important enough to erase whatever remains of both of our debts?” Quetzal continued.

White Tail hesitated. “I would have to confer with—”

“Bullshit,” Quetzal interrupted. “I know you have the authority to cancel our debts.”

“The two of you are valuable resources, losing both of you at once would not please the Widow Council.” There was a spark of fear, just barely detectable to Shudder.

“They’ll be even less pleased if there’s no one to meet with these Yamosians,” Shudder added. She resisted the urge to attempt to manipulate White Tail’s anxieties. Whatever mental balance he maintained between the various forces that could endanger him was foreign and delicate enough that Shudder couldn’t be sure if she were manipulating him in the right way.

White Tail made an annoyed sound. “Very well. If you perform this job, all debts you owe to Arachne will be erased. We will not ask any more of you unless you ask for our help again. However, I suggest that you remain open to the possibility of working with me again. Pleasing the Widow Council could be advantageous to you as well.”

“Yeah, yeah, as long as we’re officially in the clear,” Quetzal replied.

White Tail gave them the meeting location—a park not far from Shudder’s apartment—and the two took their leave. Shudder didn’t really believe that she was free of Arachne, and she doubted that Quetzal did, either, but she was surprised that they’d managed to get White Tail to state directly that their debts would be ended. Perhaps this would mark a change in their relationship with the syndicate.

“What do you think Yamosians look like?” Shudder asked as they passed back through the shop and made their way outside.

“Most of the aliens who show up on Earth look at least a little human,” Quetzal replied. “Makes sense, I guess. If they can live comfortably here, they must be from planets with somewhat similar environments. But if these mercenaries are just here to capture someone and leave, they could look like anything, really.”

“As long as they’re physically able to speak English,” Shudder noted. “White Tail didn’t say anything about interpretation.”

“Not necessarily. They could be telepathic.”

Shudder shook her head. “White Tail would have mentioned that.”

“What do you think they’ll need to know about getting around on Earth?”

“How crosswalks work?” Shudder suggested. “And, I don’t know, politeness? They could have completely different customs.”

“I guess we won’t know until tomorrow,” Quetzal concluded.

They continued to walk together for a time, imagining what the Yamosians might be like, until their respective paths diverged and they parted. Shudder made her way back to her own apartment, in a decrepit converted office building downtown bristling with air conditioners. The building’s owner was the only type of landlord who would rent to someone under-the-table, an unscrupulous cretin who had no interest in repairs or safety or ensuring that an apartment was in any way livable. Still, she’d developed a certain comfort here, even a degree of affection for the ancient wallpaper, the torn couch someone had abandoned near the mailboxes in the entryway, and the steep, narrow staircase. It was on those stairs that she encountered her neighbor, a rail-thin older man who leaned heavily on the rail as he slowly made his way up to the third floor.

“Hey, Mr. Winter,” Shudder said. “Need an arm?”

“I can manage, dear,” Mr. Winter replied. “Besides, remember the last time we tried that? These stairs are too cramped and my shoulders are too broad.”

“Not that broad,” Shudder observed.

“Well, one of ours is.”

Shudder chuckled.

“There is one thing you can do for me,” Mr. Winter continued. “Pick up my groceries again tomorrow. I’ll make up a list and find some cash tonight.”

“I’d be happy to.” It wouldn’t be the first time she’d picked up his groceries. He never gave her enough money, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“I hate to trouble you. I’ll be able to do it myself, you know, once they fix that damned elevator.”

The elevator had been broken since Shudder had moved in and showed no signs of being fixed any time in the near future, but she said nothing as she slipped past Mr. Winter and continued up to her apartment. Once inside, she shrugged off her backpack, letting it drop to the floor, then collapsed on her couch. The superpowered world was constant large-scale dramas. It was a world full of rogues with ruthless ambition, paragons who could command armies, the occasional mythological creature, and powerful entities beyond human imagination. Since her own drama had run its course, Shudder was now a pawn being moved around by countless players, each playing a different game. Her role was always small, and she had long ago learned not to try to absorb the full scale of whatever she became involved with, but being part of so much, constantly having her world reshaped around her, still weighed down on her. She needed these moments in her apartment, where she could come home and know that everything was just as she had left it, to recuperate from the chaos around her.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the yellowed ceiling. Had those scientists really been hit by an Uqbar? Perhaps she’d simply made the connection because Dr. Tlön was on her mind after she learned they were stealing a psionic wave detector. Tlön’s Uqbar had been large and unwieldy, making it nearly impossible to get it into that building unnoticed unless the thief had designed a smaller model. Of course, she knew that thoughts of those dazed scientists wouldn’t leave her until she had found a definitive answer. But how to investigate? After all, she was a crime committer, not a crime solver.

However, she knew how to get information.

She could contact Snapshot.

---

Later that night, in another apartment a few dozen blocks away, Elise Hargrove hunched on a chair in her living room, hugging her legs, lit by the glow of her computer’s monitor. She combed through superhero blogs, conspiracy theory boards, and even leaked government files, finding anything she could on Singularity.

A few days previously, a contact had arranged a meeting between her and a man who identified himself only as Byron. Byron was suspiciously evasive; he would only speak to her over the phone, and would not explain why he had chosen to contact her instead the police or STRIX, which meant that she was reluctant to trust his word, but she chose to listen to him anyway. He had given her a day and time, telling her that someone would steal the psionic wave detector at Charles Ranium University. When Elise was reluctant to listen, he had explained that given her history of investigating similar crimes, that she would not regret stopping this one.

And so she had, against her better judgement, traveled underground to Charles Ranium University during the day, using her phone’s GPS to guide her to the correct building. Inside she had found a tour group clearly under the effects of an Uqbar, and encountered Shudder. These facts seemed to point to a single conclusion; Shudder had partnered up with another scientist and provided them with Dr. Tlön’s schematics as part of another attempt at world conquest. Except that the more she thought about it, the more she found that the pieces didn’t quite fit together.

Once she was away from Shudder’s paranoia-enhancing influence, and the part of her that was Whisper had calmed down, she had realized that this didn’t quite fit with what she knew of Shudder. Two years ago, Shudder had been a one-girl cult dedicated to the worship of Tlön. It was believable that Shudder might seek out a charismatic replacement in hopes of recapturing the sense of direction and dedication she had experienced under her mentor. However, based on the information the Aerialist had shared with her, Shudder had been homeless and completely lacking in agency before Tlön. No replacement could ever offer Shudder as much as Tlön because Shudder would never again hit as much of a low point as she had just before meeting the doctor. So it seemed impossible that another supervillain could so replace Tlön in Shudder’s mind that she would dismiss Orbis Tertius as “child’s play.”

Furthermore, while Shudder had occasionally let clues slip about the nature and scope of Tlön’s plan, she would never have foolishly announced that she was planning world conquest, even in her most fervent monologues about her mentor’s brilliance. So why announce that she was planning something even bigger and risk getting Nova Legion involved? It was possible that she was so confident in her impending success that she felt free to boast, but the much more likely explanation was that it was all a lie designed to coax out Elise’s fear. She had been played.

Then what was Shudder up to? What would she want with a psionic wave detector? And did she really have an Uqbar? It certainly wasn’t there when Elise had attacked, but one of her accomplices was Hedge, a magic-user, so perhaps he’d teleported it away or hidden it in a pocket dimension. It certainly seemed more believable than the idea that two unrelated attempts to steal the same item had occurred at the same time, but there was something in Shudder’s eyes in that moment of hesitation when Elise mentioned the Uqbar that led her to wonder if Shudder didn’t know anything about it at all.

She had tried to look for Byron, hoping the informant would be able to enlighten her, but the contact who had connected them had completely lost track of him, leaving Elise with nothing more than the memory of his deep voice and short, slightly over-enunciated sentences.

So she was stuck investigating whatever connections she could imagine. Since Tlön had created the Uqbar and mentored Shudder, she was the only place Elise could think to start. However, Tlön had been imprisoned in Singularity for the last two years.

Located in Montana, Singularity was the world’s most advanced superhuman detainment facility. Most superpowered criminals would be held in ordinary facilities, with their abilities held at bay either with specialized containment procedures or—generally in countries with a less punitive justice system—a desire to legitimately reintegrate into society through the use of rehabilitation programs. However, some superhumans were deemed too dangerous to ever be allowed freedom. Those unfortunates, should the multiple layers of criminal justice systems needed to inter them there allow it, could be sent from anywhere in the world to Singularity. As for what happened after that, it was anyone’s guess. Any details about Singularity were highly classified, and there was no communication permitted with any of its inmates. Those who went in were never seen again.

The decision to imprison a person without superpowers there had been surprisingly uncontroversial. Despite the fact that nothing prevented a normal facility from holding her, it was determined that the sheer existential threat Tlön had posed made her worthy of a place within its walls. This was proving to be an inconvenience now, however, since it meant that Elise couldn’t find any actual proof that she was still there. She did, however, come across a number of conspiracy theories. Singularity immediately executed anyone who entered it. Singularity was secretly a lab performing horrifying experiments, combining all of its inmates into a sort of, well, singularity. Singularity was actually part of a recruitment tool used by a secret branch of the government plotting to take over…the country which they already controlled, it seemed. Each was more ridiculous than the last and, unfortunately, no one seemed to have a way to find any details about the inside of the facility or get into contact with any of the inmates.

She felt the part of her that was Whisper stir. He—she wasn’t sure why she had taken to thinking of that part of herself as “he,” perhaps it was simply because she was usually mistaken for a man while in costume—would normally be at his most active at this time of night, but the effort of staying active under the bright lights of the lab and the indirect sunlight Shudder had lured her to had worn him out. She usually avoided doing capework during the day, but Byron’s cryptic words had sparked both Elise’s curiosity and Whisper’s paranoia, and demanded investigation.

Whisper had first become part of her several years earlier. One night she was walking home from her hated retail job when the sky was suddenly lit with a blinding white light. She had felt a mixture of fear and disappointment stemming from an absolute certainty that her life was over before she had lost consciousness. When she woke up in a hospital, she was a different person. It wasn’t clear at first what, exactly, had changed, but she knew something had and so did anyone else who knew her. She held herself differently, with a sort of readiness that most people seemed to misinterpret as confidence. She moved as if she was completely aware of everything around her, able to navigate her surroundings, avoid obstacles, pick up objects without looking, all with a smoothness that she had never had before. One coworker had described it as “sylvan,” which Elise felt was as close to accurately explaining it as possible.

The scope of her changes became clear a few nights later when she had first transformed. It wasn’t the sudden carapace or clawed fingers or the fact that she could walk through walls which had frightened her, rather her body seemed entirely natural in that moment. But she was afraid, and angry, feeling betrayed and full of despair. Not knowing what to do she had fled from her apartment and wandered Fairfield. Hiding, running, occasionally hurting, until the sun came up and eased Whisper’s instincts. In time, she had learned to control Whisper, turn his instincts into her protection like a mental guard dog. But by that time she had done some things which ensured that registering as a superhero with STRIX would now be impossible, not that she ever would have to begin with.

As for what Whisper was, exactly, Elise wasn’t entirely sure. The news had claimed that the bright light that night had been an exploding alien spaceship, but Elise wasn’t sure if it was really from space or another dimension or if, perhaps, it wasn’t a ship at all. Whisper was all instinct. Fear, violence, and mistrust, but also awareness, reflex, and intuition. There was no memory, little reasoning, and nothing that resembled knowledge. He was an animal at most, certainly not someone capable of piloting a ship, at least not in the state she knew him. She wondered, however, if he was a fragment of a ghost, the leftover impulses from the ship’s pilot, the lingering fear and anger being the only part of him strong enough to cling to existence long enough to attach himself to Elise, permanently changing the both of them.

Whisper’s awakening shifted Elise’s perspective on her investigation. The various names and mysteries were swept aside in favor of the practical. What was she trying to achieve? To discover whether a new Orbis Tertius was being built and to prevent it. How could she prevent it if she couldn’t find the person building it? By keeping them from getting the parts. She knew at least some of what made up an Orbis, after all she had repeatedly hampered Shudder’s efforts to steal many of the components. Shudder had inadvertently provided her with a shopping list of what was needed to build a mind control bomb, a map of places her quarry might appear.

Smiling, she pushed away from her desk and stood, stretching her legs, then made her way to the kitchen to brew some coffee. A whole new avenue of research was open to her, and one of the advantages of being Whisper was that she no longer needed to sleep.