“You know, right up until this moment I thought you were a robot.”

Erich frowned, putting aside his recently acquired copy of ‘How to Make Friends and Influence People’ as the assorted ‘leadership’ of the Block Party filed into the room.

Ethan, Darius, a very uncomfortable looking Spit, and Natasha. A few others whose names he didn’t know were present, but based on the fact that they had positioned themselves behind the aforementioned four, he assumed they were his underling’s underlings.

My underlings have underlings, he realized as he saw enormity of his organization arrayed before him. How the hell did I reach a point where I have underlings? Let alone have under-underlings?

He decided it was better for his sanity if he didn’t think about it.

“And why would you assume I was a robot?” He asked, directing a dry look towards Natasha.

“Dunno,” the girl in question shrugged. “Never seen you without your suit before. Thought you might have been one of the Master’s creations that had just reactivated.”

Well, he couldn’t fault her for that kind of logic. There had been a report just that morning of some mechanical monstrosity rising from the sea to attack New York – only to be put down by Iron Storm after a few hours of fighting and hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages.

The story had only barely made frontline news. By this point it was practically routine.

The Master had been nothing if not prolific.

“Well I’m not,” he said, remembering to maintain eye contact and speak with a ‘kind, yet authoritarian tone.’

Whatever the hell that means.

“You ok, boss?” Natasha continued, ignoring the looks of alarm and reproach from just about everyone around her. “You sound a little… ill.”

Well, at least she stopped just short of saying constipated, he thought.

“I’m fine,” he growled as he slid the waste of ink and time that was ‘How to Make Friends and Influence People’ into his drawer.

“So Boss, what did you want us for?” Ethan cut in before Natasha could speak again – or Erich could give any more thought to vaporizing her if she did.

“Status report,” Erich said, turning has attention once more to the far more interesting and logical set of blueprints before him; a proposed set of upgrades to Overdrive’s vehicle now that her opponents were adapting to counter her.

Which was why he was totally oblivious as his collected lieutenants exchanged confused glances.

“About what Boss?” Darius put in.

“Everything and anything,” Erich responded.

“I… Uh…” Darius trailed off, as that answer really didn’t give him a lot to work with. Or rather, it gave him too much to work with, and most of it was bad.

In his experience, Supervillains wanted to hear about results, not issues. You were either expected to solve the problem yourself, or they’d find someone who would. Given that most of the problems facing your average gang lieutenant didn’t really have a solution, your average supervillain led criminal organization had a high turnover.

“Ethan, are we still getting people from the Saints asking for roles within my areas of influence?”

Specifically, jobs that kept them around his factories and shop. Not for the role itself, so much as because it meant they were clearly aligned with his faction.

“Well… yeah, but I’ve been sending most of them back to Bronte like you asked,” the man said.

“Stop doing that. Accept them. All of them that you think have something to offer. If we don’t have a role for them then I’ll make one.”

It was time to face facts. Bronte wasn’t his ally anymore. For whatever reason, she’d decided he was a threat. To be humbled back into mindless servitude or removed. He considered the latter option unlikely given the fact that he was currently constructing a secret army for her; but given how small the incident that had brought them to this point was, he couldn’t be totally sure.

“Wha… but I thought…”

“That I didn’t want to appear on anyone’s radar?” Erich said. “Well, that clearly hasn’t worked, so we’re changing gears. We’re expanding. As fast and as big as possible.”

He deliberately ignored the palpable wave of excitement that ran through the room at his words. Instead he turned his attention to Darius.

“Are our people still being harassed down at the junkyards?”

A little shaken at suddenly being thrust into the spotlight, the young man nodded slowly.

“Yeah, a little. The gangs know they can’t do anything overt because of the Helots, but they’ve uh, started to booby trap the scrap piles.”

Ah, Erich hadn’t considered that.

Probably because it’s self defeating, he thought. Even if they drive off the Block Party with it, the traps will remain.

“Do we know who’s doing it?” He asked.

Darius shook his head. “Could be anyone. Or everyone. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was one gang trying to push us out, a coalition, or even just other scavengers that don’t like us muscling them out of the best scrap. It’s not too bad at the minute, but it’s getting worse. A few kids have lost fingers and eyes, and I’m getting more people asking about how things are going with Natasha’s treatment.”

The girl in question scowled as she gestured to her still missing fingers.

Not that Erich noticed. He was too busy focusing on the problem at hand, which was in a word, annoying.

He had no one to strike at, and even if he did, he didn’t want to get involved in an open conflict with who knows how many other groups.

Especially if this situation with the Saints goes as south.

At the minute it was probably the reputation of the Saints – as the group currently stonewalling the Kings – that kept his scavengers from being harassed.

Well, that and the cost vs reward of tangling with accompanying Helots.

Still, that wouldn’t last forever, especially as his scavenging operation continued to expand. Eventually, someone the value of scrap would rise for the other gangs enough for them to fight him for it.

Erich ignored the nervous shuffling of Darius as he tabbed through his Omni-pad to reach the ‘scrap log’. A small database of the currently available bits of scrap present in the pile down on the workshop floor.

True to Darius’s word, there was a small but noticeable dip in additions in the last few weeks.

“The traps themselves aren’t that bad,” Darius continued, growing more nervous as Erich’s silence continued. “There aren’t actually that many. The problem is the randomness of it, and that kids are getting nervous, so they work slower and hesitate more.”

Erich didn’t blame him. He knew he would be a lot more cautious if he risked losing and eye, a finger or even his life every time he picked up one of his tools.

Even if it was only a one in a hundred chance.

The kids wouldn’t stop. They were accustomed to risk, but as Darius said, they would be slower.

“Where does most of our decent scrap come from?” Erich asked, turning his gaze back the teen.

“Monger Scrap, near the docks.” Darius and Natasha said without hesitation.

“Portland gets a lot of imports,” Darius said as he shot the unrepentant girl a dirty look. “Gangs aren’t great at maintenance though, so a lot of it gets chucked out again. Monger used to export it for cheap before Blur caught him trying to build a giant robot in Florida. He’s still in supermax, so it doesn’t get exported anymore, but a lot of the gangs still dump there scrap there. Guess its habit.”

Erich ignored the little tinge of distaste that crossed his face at the mention of his sibling. He could remember when she caught the Monger. Zero civilian casualties. She’d been ecstatic and wanted to take the whole family out to celebrate.

He’d declined.

“Who controls it now?”

“No one,” Natasha cut in before Darius could answer. “None of the gangs in that area have an Artificer, so no one’s really interested in it. It really is just a dumping ground now. Which is why most of the kids use it.”

Convenient.

“Do you think you’d be able to maintain a decent supply of part if you were to utilize that location solely?”

“If we didn’t have to worry about traps?” Darius asked.

Erich nodded.

It didn’t take Darius long to come to a decision, he wasn’t slow. Uneducated, but definitely not slow.

“So long as the gangs keep dumping there, then definitely,” he said. “Depends on whether the Helots scare them off, or if they’re the ones sabotaging the scrap in the first place.”

“How long could you maintain supply if they did stop dumping?”

Darius frowned. “A few months? Maybe a year? That’s a total guess though.”

Total guess or not, Erich could work with that. With any luck, by this time next year he would have a strong enough industrial base to make relying on scrap redundant.

“Keep utilizing the other scrap yards for now while I see about seizing that location. After I’ve done that your people can rely solely on Monger’s scrap yard until we drain it dry.”

Darius nodded, relief clear on his features.

“Spit,” Erich said, causing the girl in question to flinch as his gaze swung toward her. “I’ve set aside four Helots. Two to act as payment for the Clerics services, and two to transport you to and from her clinic. You may leave tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“Natasha,” Erich said ignoring the stunned silence that fell over the room as he turned towards the mildly maimed girl. “…Why are you here?”

“You said to gather the leaders,” the girl said, a hint of defensiveness edging into her voice.

“That I did,” Erich acknowledged. “Ethan leads my enforcers. Darius leads the workers. Spit leads my growing group of drone controllers.” Something her burgeoning reputation as a result of her aid in killing Manacle helped with. “So what are you the leader of?”

The teen frowned, biting her lip as she thought the problem over. Given that the girl needed to think about what she was ostensibly in charge of, Erich was getting ready to ask her to leave when she spoke up again.

“The cripples!”

This time it was Erich’s turn to frown.

“…The cripples?”

If his scepticism in anyway fazed the teen, it didn’t show as the girl nodded eagerly.

“Uh-huh, with all the accidents and traps and all that, we’ve got more than a few kids missing fingers and eyes and hands and all that,” she grinned. “They’re all too afraid to bug you about it though so they’re hanging around me.”

Erich’s frown only grew. He had been aware of the growing number of ‘mildly maimed’ workers. It was inevitable really, even if one ignored the ‘trap problem’. He had a workshop full of power tools and industrial equipment staffed by children; many of whom were quite illiterate.

Personal protective equipment could only go so far.

When they even bother to wear it, he thought.

Still, he hadn’t kicked any of them out yet, even if their work output suffered in the meantime.

As soon as he got his cybernetics working to a standard he was pleased with they would all be back to full efficiency, and he was loathe to dispose of even middlingly experienced workers when they could still be repaired.

So yes, he supposed, Natasha was in fact in charge of denomination of his workforce, as temporary as that denomination’s existence would be.

Still, there was an opportunity there, and if Natasha was so eager to claim the position, he was willing to let her have it.

“You’re right,” he smiled.

“I am?” “She is?” Natasha and Darius said in unison.

Erich ignored the minor interruption. Instead his thoughts were occupied with an idea that slowly beginning to form.

“What’s with that smile, boss?” Natasha asked, a hint of nervousness coming to the fore.

“I’m not smiling,” Erich said, a shark-like smile gracing his features.

Yes, an opportunity indeed.

“Natasha, tell me, how good are you at dealing with blood?”