"This is why we are tolerated, why society allows and accounts for the capes that walk the streets and fight in its towns. Because we are needed for situations like this." - Extermination 8.2, Worm

What if there were no great threats to the world, other than what nations create themselves?

This is my going to be my first fic, set in an AU where the Entities' Cycle is stillborn, Zion and Eden are dead, and the only existential threats are those we make.

The incredible webserial Worm is entirely owned by Wildbow. All fanfiction pales in comparison.

"This isn't some Central American banana republic. They were our closest allies for over a century for god's sake."

"With all due respect General, times have changed. NATO is gone, Five Eyes is dead, NORAD is being shut down. Congress is going to suspend NAFTA within the year. They stopped being our allies when they denounced PRSA-1. They started being our adversaries when they began harbouring fugitives."

"We didn't go to war over draft dodgers in the '60's."

"These 'rogues' are not draft-dodger, and I'm not proposing war. Dragon is the greatest threat to our national security today. If we don't eliminate him now we might not get a chance in the future."

"You're talking about conducting a covert operation on Canadian soil. If it were us being hit, we would consider it an act of war. Do you know what the blowback will be if it's traced back to the CIA? And not just from the Canadians-"

"Enough, gentlemen." He spoke without raising his voice, but with an authority that silenced the room. "Director, how confident are we regarding this information?"

"We're certain sir. We've had him under surveillance for months, we even compromised a few of his systems with the help of a PSD asset. He shut us out pretty quickly but we got enough to confirm it: Andrew Richter is the civilian identity of Dragon."

"I thought Dragon was female?"

"That's the persona through which he interacts with public. Another layer of separation. We believe that even the Canadian government is unaware of his true identity, so-"

"If we go ahead, Dragon will just disappear, right. And it can be done without being traced to us?"

"Yes sir. A PSD asset and her handler are already on the ground in Deer Lake under NOC. We have agents preparing to lay false trails that implicate the CUI, the Réseau, the Gesellschaft, and other organizations that might have a grudge against The Guild in case the Canadians identify Richter."

The room fell silent once more. The man sitting at the head of the table steepled his fingers in front of his face as he considered the situation before him. There was a time when those in this room would be considered the most powerful people in the world, but as the Director put it, times had changed.

"Forty years ago we were prepared to go to war over missiles in Cuba. Dragon alone is capable of putting together an army a mile from our borders. His government is steadfast in their unwillingness to bring their parahuman population under control. He is too dangerous to be allowed to live. General, do you see an alternative?"

To his credit, the man met his gaze steadily. "I don't like it, but no sir. I do not."

He nodded. "Do it."

"-niversary of the Parahuman Regulation and Security Act has been marked by protests organized by anti-para groups outside the Canadian embassy in Washington D.C. Originally used to establish the Parahuman Security Directorate and regulate the effect of preternatural abilities on the economy, various amendments to the Act have since expanded its scope to include regulation of all parahuman activity in the United States. While it has been very popular domestically, the Act has been the cause of friction for US foreign policy, particularly with Canada which -"

"Turn that crap off Andy, the playoff game starts in ten minutes."

"So I'll switch in ten minutes. I'm watching the news right now, Jim. Besides, we all know the Bruins will take it."

"Five gets you ten it's the Leafs."

"-ecial guest tonight, Dr. William Manton. One of the foremost authorities on the parahuman phenomenon, Dr. Manton pioneered research into the field of preternatural abilities and parahuman psychology. His testimony at the PRSA-5 Congressional Hearing last week was said to be crucial in garnering support for the new amendment which will provide the PSD with expanded powers to deal with-"

"Alright, alright, here, you can have the remote. I should be heading home anyway."

"Not gonna stick around for the game? Come on, I'll get the next round."

"Thanks Jim, but I got some work to finish. I'd stay if it was the Habs playing."

Hastily dodging the scarf Jim swiped at him, Andy buttoned up his peacoat and made his way out of the bar. Shivering a little at the chill, he started walking down the street at a brisk pace; the house was just a couple of blocks away. Even with the snow this morning, it was uncharacteristically cold for the time of year, and it didn't help that a fog seemed to be rolling into town. It was pretty late, and the streets were deserted - no doubt everyone was at home or in a bar watching the game - except for a man and a woman at the far end of the street.

Absently he pulled out a phone to call ahead. Dragon would have a cup of hot chocolate ready for him as soon as he was back home. Instead of Dragon's smooth voice, the sharp tone of an error message was all he heard. Frowning, he tried again and received the same result. It was probably nothing. This was a newly built phone, there was probably just a glitch in the software, or some bug in the receiver back home. Even as he tried to explain it away, the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise.

It was probably nothing, he thought again. He'd be back home in a minute, and Dragon would greet him as usual, and they'd get to work on that new water purification system. As he continued down the street some primal instinct, some deeply buried node of his lizard brain picked up the cues that his conscious mind was ignoring.

He glanced backward in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. There was no one suspicious there, just the couple from earlier, walking in the same direction as him. They were slightly closer now. He picked up the pace. It was probably nothing, but it wouldn't hurt to get home a few minutes early, eh? As he rounded the last corner, he started pushing the pattern of buttons on the phone that would activate house's defence systems. A crack rang through the empty street, and the phone exploded into pieces in his hand.

He stood, momentarily stunned, and then dropped to the ground. Someone was shooting at him and he had no idea where they were. It had sounded oddly muffled, but he was no expert in firearms. Crawling through his front yard on his belly, he made it to the front door and jumped up to open it. Key, where was the key? Fumbling fingers located it and stuffed it into the lock. The key turned, the door slid, and another crack echoed through the night.

This time there was pain, blinding, stinging pain. His mind lost in the haze of agony, he acted on instinct, slamming the door closed behind him before collapsing against a table in the hallway. He put a hand to his side and let out a strangled yelp as he felt the blood seeping into the material of his coat.

"Dragon!" he screamed. "Help!" No reply. Upstairs, he had to get upstairs. And then he noticed the fog again. It was inside the house. Unnaturally thick and grey, it was flowing in through the vents, under the door, through the cat-flap. A sob caught in his throat when he spotted Gödel's body lying cold and stiff on the floor, a rime of ice forming over her fur. Frost was growing everywhere, on furniture and the walls. His heavy breathing echoed weirdly, as if sound itself was being deadened by the fog.

He stumbled up the stairs, clutching the wound at his side and shivering as his body heat was wicked away. The strange fog blanketed the entire lower floor now, and he was quickly losing sensation in his legs. He paused when he reached the top landing, leaving a bloody handprint against the wall as he braced himself. The sound of a door being smashed downstairs shook him from his stupor, and he stumbled down the hallway to a door. With shaking fingers he entered a six figure code on the panel in front of him, and it slid open with a pneumatic hiss. He collapsed into the workshop, and the door sealed itself behind him.

Crawling to the desk on all fours, he managed to lever himself up into a chair. Then he began to type quickly, spraying droplets of blood across the keyboard. Dragon was gone, the local servers destroyed somehow. She would be restoring from the remote backup right now, but not in time. He tried activating defence protocols and sending out emergency alerts. No response - they had cut him off from his external systems. The fog was doing it, killing all his systems in place somehow. They had parahuman support, and without his technology he was defenceless.

The breath caught in his throat as his last hopes of rescue slipped away. It would be at least 12 minutes before Dragon finished rebooting from the backup servers in Toronto. By the time she managed to arrive, he would either have bled out here in this chair, or the people who had come to kill him would have finished the job. Tears tracked down his face. He wiped them away with bloody hands and got to work.

richter$ sudo rm -rf backup_*

richter$ sudo .

A fizzle and the smell of burning silicon filled the room as nanoexplosives began to ignite in hard-drives, turning them to ash. One by one the stacks of servers died and went silent. For a moment the room was lit solely by the backlight of his final workstation. Coils of the strange mist that had seeped into the room shimmered in the air with deadly beauty. Then the screen died, leaving him alone in darkness.

Drawing on his last vestiges of strength, he dropped to the floor and crawled to the safe set into the rear wall. His body left a sticky trail of blood in his wake. He was shivering uncontrollably from the cold now, but managed to punch in the passcode. The steel door swung open, and with trembling hands he pulled out the box held within. Outside the room, he could hear his killers moving with purpose. Soon they would breach the door. Conflicting thoughts warred in his mind as he stared at the device in his hands.

He'd built it because of scared of what he created. He had known from the start how great they could be. They had so much potential, but at the back of his mind he had always harboured fears. So he had kept Dragon bound and chained, and built this to kill her. And now others were here to kill him, and she wouldn't be able to save him. He wasn't sure if they knew what she was, but he was certain that they would kill her if they could. And as much as he feared what Dragon might become, he loved her. She was a child of his mind.

He would not free her, but he could not let her die.

He opened the box, wrenching out the internal components with clumsy hands. The shivering had stopped now, replaced by a deadly lethargy that was spreading through his body, making his movements sluggish. The harddisk, where was the harddisk? Fingers closed on the sliver of silicon and metal, and he brought it down hard on the floor beside him.

The blast door buckled, and concussive forces ripped through the room, flinging him against the wall. He gasped as his eardrums, lungs, and soft tissue ruptured, but he pushed down the pain and focused. Gripping the disk tight, he smashed it into the floor. Again, again, again. Sharp jags of metal cut into his hand; it barely registered.

As the last of his strength slipped away he slumped back, raising his eyes to the two figures stepping into the workshop. They turned in his direction. The woman stared at him with hooded eyes, her pale face expressionless. Her hair was light blonde, almost white. It looked like fresh snow. It had snowed that morning, the first of the season. She raised the gun.

"Wh-"