E.L.F, Extraterrestrial Lifeform

[Shujin]

Or Taylor is an Eldar Farseer and gives Piggot headaches.
FF.net link

E.L.F​

The ocean was hungry. As soon as I thought that, I knew I was dreaming. That didn't change the fact that I could feel the turbulence, shifting currents and waves like a sixth sense pressing into my head. The dream was vivid. I was sprinting through the corpse of a city with my armor clinging to me like a second skin. It was raining. The fabric fluttered in the thick air. I could feel the drops of water pelt my hair and slide down my face just like I could feel the dull throb of a cut I had on my head. I raised my hand to it and felt the hard crystallized scab.

Good. I adjusted my grip on my spear. Blinking blood out of my eyes was always annoying. A shift in the current, and I leaned to the side. A flash seared past me, leaving behind the stink of ozone. The forms of people in power armor like most Tinkers only dreamed of were the vanguard. Swooping forms with wings, soldiers in hard crimson carapaces and squatter figures crawling shattered skyscrapers one moment, gone the next.

I watched the firing lines of men in Kevlar jackets wielding rifles that spat lasers shatter.

Straight through, I thought and that thought had a weight that pushed at the ocean. I felt, more than saw the nods of those at my back. A shift, again, and I leaped straight up already reaching. The low whine of a jet buffeted my ears and I gritted my teeth at the painful jerk as I caught on to the bottom of the jetbike.

The vehicle tilted, just enough. The bike's cannon shot. A hailstorm of razor sharp disks perforated the regrouping flank. Limbs, torsos, heads severed. A few of the shorter ones with large, bulbous modules on their backs and extra arms on their armor that made them look like bugs blinked in among the survivors.

My ear piece hummed. "No farseers on my bike. You're throwing off Anosil's aim."

Lie. I could feel the gunner's amusement as he easily adjusted, and fired at what he'd originally been aiming at. I snorted. "You're welcome."

Up here, the view was far from idyllic but I still felt a certain kind of peace. Swift and decisive. The men in Kevlar uniforms were a stubborn holding action with a fraction of the numbers they might have had. They would lose. Minimal deaths.

A knot of pandemonium caught my attention. A single man in Kevlar armor expertly wielding a thick saber in hand, pistol in the other was holding off two women in bone white armor, red plumes on the back of their helmets. I felt a frown tug at my lips and a note of dissatisfaction.

"Tomas Harkin," I sighed.

Shift, again.

I let go.

I woke up with a gasp. The air was uncomfortably warm and humid. No matter how many times I blinked, I still couldn't see anything. Up, down and diagonal were completely academic for one disorienting moment before I realized that my back was resting against something cool and smooth that I also felt beneath my feet. I reached out with my hands and barely two feet away, my palms hit another smooth wall. Trapped. And just like that, the memories of everything that had happened before I fell asleep came rushing back in terrible, vivid clarity.

I was still in the locker, was my first thought. My blood turned to ice and it suddenly became hard to breathe. I was suffocating.

I bucked like a wild animal and threw myself against the wall. My shoulder screamed as I bounced off it. I just went at it again with my hands. Clawing, pounding, kicking. I was dying. I was going to die if I did not get out!

The wall opened and I fell through the gap, sprawling out onto the school's linoleum floor and blinded by the light. I blinked the stars out of my eyes even as my stomach scrunched up so hard, I swore I was on the verge of throwing up. I could feel the floor on that bare skin of my thighs and hips. A glance down revealed the truth. I was on the floor in the middle of the school hallway as naked as the day I was born. Fuck. Shit. Mortified, I looked up.

Double fuck!

Staring at me wasn't a crowd of high school students, but two men in what was clearly PRT issue body armor behind a police line. The strip of bright yellow didn't bother me, they did. What the fuck were the PRT doing here? Why were they here? My heart leapt into my throat as I imagined more people seeing me like this, after that.

PRT stands for Parahuman Response Team.

The one on the right lifted their hand and what was clearly a radio.

No!

He froze as I scrambled backwards, fighting my own limbs to get onto my feet. I was not entirely sure what exactly I feared happening, but the facts were in front of my face. No one had gotten me out of that locker. The PRT blocked off the site, no one else around. I glanced to where I knew my locker was. What I saw instead was a protruding bone white growth, and the hole I had fallen out of.

Not me, that wasn't me, my mind gibbered almost hysterically, almost willing them to believe me. More than having no clothing, I felt exposed like I never had before. I needed to not be here, so without even thinking about the consequences I turned and ducked under the police line. I ran.

The end of the hallway came up a lot faster that I thought it would. I slammed through the door and took a moment to breathe. The lights were off here, but still enough for me to see clearly. I listened for any hint of being followed and heard nothing but the low droning from the nearby radiator. Heating was still on, explained why I wasn't currently freezing my ass off.

I quickly skirted through the halls with hands over my chest and privates. This must have been what Greg felt like when the other guys stole his clothes after gym and made him run for it. I really, really, didn't want to see any of the janitors right now. The way my heart was pounding in my chest, I felt like I might literally die of embarrassment.

My first destination was the gym for my other locker. The small one that held my gym clothes. I didn't make a habit of stashing underwear, but pants and a shirt sounded like a good idea. I crept in, electing not to turn on the lights. I could still see perfectly. All the lights would do was tell someone I was in here. I spun my combination lock once before I finally took a good look at my hands.

Clean. How was I clean after all that filth? The second thing that I noticed was the length of my fingers. These were not my hands. I dropped the lock to run for the bathroom and the mirror above the sink in it. Two steps into the room and I saw my reflection. I gasped, grabbing onto the sink as my legs threatened to give out. The door fell back on itself with a bang, but I found it hard to even care about the noise.

That was not my face.

I'd never been a particularly pretty girl but the face in the mirror was in a way that made my skin crawl. She had cat eyes, large and almond shaped on a slant that matched her cheekbones. There was a sharp chin, small mouth and straight brown hair that did nothing to hide the pointed ears rising from the sides of her head. The girl in the mirror raised a hand to them, and I felt my fingers brush the tip. The only thing I recognized was my father's green eyes. I choked on the cry.

I was a motherfucking elf.

I ran back to the locker room and just, tried not to think about anything but getting clothes and getting out of the school. I spun through my combination and breathed a small sigh of relief as I pulled my gym pants and T-shirt out. No socks, but I had my other sneakers. I had to squeeze into my shirt as other differences made themselves known. My shoulders were a bit broader and my chest, by that I mean my ribcage, wasn't quite as thin? Not barrel chested, but different and I think I went up a cup size.

My pants didn't fit on me like I was used to but at least they were the right length. The unfortunate belly I had was completely gone. I pulled the strings tight. At least, some good was coming out of this mess. My feet were smaller, but not so much that my sneakers were uncomfortable. Alright, now to get out of here.

I went to the gym doors and put a hand on the push handle of the metal double doors that led out to the parking lot. I stopped as my stomach dipped a little. I pulled back. What had I been thinking? The PRT was definitely parked in front of the building and were probably watching all of the main exits if they weren't already scouring the school for me. There were only so many places I could go.

I could turn myself in. I should turn myself in. I didn't exactly make the best first impression, but elf. All they had to do was ask whose locker just got covered in bone, and they had me. What else was I going to do? Go home looking like this? The fuck was I going to tell my Dad?

Shit, Dad. How long had I been trapped? Hours? Days?

Had there been an investigation? Did the PRT know who did it? It should have been obvious to anyone that I didn't shove myself in the fucking locker, but I came out of it like this. There was only one explanation and the reason why the PRT was here. I was a parahuman. I had powers.

Being an elf wasn't the greatest power in the world. Maybe I could change shape? I stood there for a few minutes, eyes closed, and thinking of what I used to look like. Wide mouth, lanky, a bit of a long nose and my hair had a curl to it. I spared a moment to think of my vanished glasses, but when I opened my eyes one look at my hands told me nothing had changed. I couldn't hide.

Fuck.

No good options, only less bad. I let out a shaky sigh and pushed open the door. Light blinded me again, but in a few seconds of blinking my view cleared. Fast. Another difference. The parking lot was home to two of the white PRT vans and four people in body armor approached me cautiously, large guns with large barrels up. I put my hands up.

"I – I'm not going to cause trouble." I was already shaking like a leaf. I tried to swallow the fear, but it just bubbled right back up again. My heart was jack hammering. The armored woman in the center brought up her radio.

"Johnson, report in."

The radio crackled. "Johnson here."

The four exchanged looks and my stomach dipped again. "Status of the locker?"

"Uh – shit!" The silence between was tense. "Containment broken, I repeat, containment broken."

"See anyone?" The woman barked.

"Yes, ma'am. Brown haired girl, couldn't get a good look. Took off running."

"Why didn't you call it in?"

Johnson's reply was swift. "Wasn't her."

The floor fell out from under me. What? I could clearly remember my panicked thoughts, begging. Not me, wasn't me. And they hadn't run after me. For all I knew they were still standing there in front of my locker, and it was my fault. My eyes prickled with frustrated tears no matter how many times I tried to school my face. It was like I had no control over myself anymore. Of all the stupid powers I could have gotten, I got one that turned me into a mind controlling Lord of the Rings reject!?

"Johnson, Adams, Master Stranger protocol!" They surrounded me, guns trained on me. Intellectually, I knew they were probably containment foam launchers but it was hard to feel calm with barrels and triggers pointed at me. It was hard to feel calm, period.

"I didn't mean to." That was my only defense. I should have run.

The only indication the woman in charge gave that she heard me was a nod. "Please accompany us to the van."

Yeah, at this point, it wasn't like I had a choice.

 

[Shujin]

E.L.F​

It was not the most comfortable van ride I've ever had.

I was sandwiched between two PRT troopers in the back section, behind the steel net and what was probably bulletproof glass divider while wearing gym pants, shoes with no socks and an ill-fitting T-shirt. The atmosphere was tense, unsurprisingly. My shirt was chafing my arm pits and the woman officer had a bench to herself right across from me. Strange as it sounds, that was bothering me the most. The lack of personal space and that it could have been resolved if either one of my bench buddies had decided to sit on the other side.

I used to be a touchy-feely kind of person. Handshakes, pats on the back, the usual stuff. I can clearly recall Mom's – and Emma's – brands of enthusiastic hugs and my Dad used to have the habit of kissing my hair. Things changed. I haven't given anyone a handshake in months. Still, I don't remember being exactly antsy about it. Worried I was going to get a pencil to the gut or shoved into the wall, yes. Antsy?

Another one for the list, I thought. I had palm lines, but they were in a completely different configuration and paler. My skin was soft like I came straight out of five-star spa treatment and hairless. The protruding tendons by my ankles looked like they were shaped strangely on top of being here instead of there. My ankles were the cause of my brainstorming session. Or to be more accurate, looking at my ankles had caused my brainstorming.

I was the typical unfit fifteen-year-old girl. The extent of my physical exercise was gym class twice a week. Before dodgeball, badminton, running around the football field or whatever torture was on the curriculum that day, there was stretches. They were supposed to prevent us from hurting ourselves. I was leggy, and not in the good way. Touching my toes while standing was likely to hospitalize me.

I'd twisted my leg into a half pretzel trying to get a better look at my ankle before one of the troopers coughed. Trying to ignore the stares I knew they were giving me, I'd put my leg down and I didn't even have the slightest twinge of pain. My toes rubbing against the side of my sneaker caused more discomfort than bending my knee half out of joint. A quick test of my fingers confirmed that I was ridiculously more flexible now than I had ever been.

So what else about me was different? If I was going to be stuck like this, I needed to know how deep it went. My ears could probably be altered back to human standard round and my face proportions corrected with cosmetic surgery. That was just me wishing though. We'd never be able to afford it. My heart was still beating fast. Not as fast as it had, but still noticeably quicker than usual. Stress, probably but I wasn't going to rule it out. I had 20/20 vision, better than 20/20. Now that I was paying attention to it, everything around me looked uneven. Straight lines, weren't. I could see the individual fibers of my shirt with such clarity that I almost looked fuzzy. If I had to describe it, it's like I was seeing pixelation in real life. Imperfections glared out at me. My emotions were like a buoy on a stormy ocean, and I could mess with people's minds.

This was the new me, pros and cons, inside and out.

"What's going to happen to me?"

The officer's hair was probably brown to match her eyebrows but that was all I could really see under the bowl like helmet the PRT shared with SWAT. She had on sunglasses and a plaid scarf against the cold that I wasn't feeling.

"We must confirm how compromised our troopers are."

I think she phrased that as diplomatically as possible, but I still cringed. If it turned out that it wasn't a temporary effect and that I had those two men under my control permanently? My breathing hitched as the tension in the van tightened like a stressed violin sting. As we stopped at a red light, I averted my face feeling like I could fall down a pit of shame. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. My blood didn't taste metallic; it was strangely sweet. I inhaled through my nose, and exhaled out my mouth a few times. The downward spiral had stopped, maybe even reversed a bit.

Okay, so permanent. Well, they probably lost their jobs. I didn't know if there was a pension or something for casualties of parahuman abilities. As for me, it would mean no leniency. God, I hoped it wasn't permanent.

"And after?"

"Are you Taylor Hebert?" So they had figured me out. I nodded and the woman gave me a bit of a reassuring smile. "We'll get in touch with your father. He's been worried sick about you."

How my father would react to seeing me was not something I wanted to think about. My own reaction was bad enough, how much worse would it be to see him looking at me like I was a total stranger with his daughter's memories?

"Yeah, that would be great," I said, unconvincing even to my own pointy ears.

"When they arrive on site, you'll be invited to talk with Director Piggot and senior members of the Protectorate about your options."

What even were my options? I doubt anyone wanted a Ward that could mess with their heads, so what was left? Jail? I hadn't been clapped in handcuffs and had my rights read out to me, so I hadn't been arrested yet. And maybe. I chewed my lip.

Maybe they weren't going to. "My options?"

She shook her head. "I don't know all the details on how the department operates. I don't want to say something now that will be untrue later."

Fluid, I thought. I'm not sure why, but the more I thought about that strange thought, the more I agreed. Set standards or procedures, the PRT troopers would know those even if just by precedent. I wasn't the only teenage parahuman in Brockton Bay, and I probably wouldn't be the last. Case by case basis? I knew there were a few rumors online about Shadow Stalker of the Wards. Her time as a solo vigilante and then why, suddenly, she was being debuted as a new Ward. Not sure how much I believed, but it made me think.

Thinking was good. Think more, feel less.

"You said, senior Protectorate members?" I couldn't kill the grin that formed on my face. "Like Armsmaster?" Of all the government sponsored heroes here in Brockton Bay, he was my favorite. No super strength, super durability or natural weaponry. Everything he accomplished, he built from his own two hands. How was that not awesome? I even had Armsmaster underwear!

Wait. No, oh god, anyone but Armsmaster.

The officer's lips quirked. "No promises, but it is likely."

Goddammit!

I ducked my head, well aware that my face was probably a lobster red that wasn't going to fade any time soon. The trooper on my right chuckled and I could almost physically feel the tension break. I passed some kind of test. It was the Armsmaster thing, I guessed. Maybe they liked the guy?

No, because I did. Said good things about my inclinations. It would be different if I was a fan of, say Leet and Uber instead.

"Can I have names?" Came out of my mouth without my input. "I'm Taylor and I'm…calling you officer, trooper one and trooper two in my head and it's kind of…?"

The silence after my question only lasted a heartbeat. "Rodriguez," said the trooper to my right that had laughed earlier. He was about my height, tanned with dark eyebrows. No scarf, but he did have gloves on.

"Brabant," the man on my left said and he had an accent to go with it. I pointed a finger at him.

"You didn't pick that up in the Bay, did you?"

He flashed a pearly white grin at me. Lighter brown eyebrows, and he was bundled up. Scarf, head covering under the helmet, gloves and a turtleneck underneath the body armor. "St. Louis."

That was quite a way away. Brockton Bay was New England through and through. Maybe he got transferred for one reason or another. I really couldn't imagine anyone moving into this pit without a solid incentive.

"Bernard," officer finished. "Should be arriving any minute now." As if agreeing with her words, the van took a sharp right turn slow and then another right that went down a ramp. "Any more questions?"

A few. "How long was I…" I waved a hand in the air vaguely.

"Five days."

Better than I feared, worse than I hoped. That was nearly a week, Dad must be pulling out his hair by now. Had he reported me missing? Had the school been closed? Thinking of school just made me realize: everyone already knew. Someone must have known that I was missing from class, and when that bone started growing out of my locker, someone must have called it in. PRT officers arriving, quarantining the area with the police tape and troopers, it must have been a spectacle.

Emma probably knows I had powers. I would gladly sit in a cell if it meant I didn't have to go back to Winslow High.

Bernard's radio crackled. "We're ready for you, come on in. Stand by for parahuman escort."

The van whined to a stop and the back door opened. I was ready for the light this time, closing my eyes so it just shined through my eyelids before opening them again. The PRT personnel got out first. Rodriguez bumped my shoulder.

"Nothin' to worry 'bout."

Then I climbed out, focusing on just breathing. I could feel the knot of panic and paranoia threatening to bubble up from the pits of my stomach as I took in troopers wearing exoskeletons, riot masks and foam canisters on bandoliers. Something in my head popped, and I swayed. My hands shook. A year of constant bullying, being on the bottom of the totem pole had atrophied what little social skills I had. I always felt too awkward or embarrassed, or didn't belong.

For how strongly I felt now, there hadn't been a shred of that in the van. What was that?

"Easy," someone said. I didn't recognize the voice.

I think I hated my loss of control just as much as I hated my mind fucking ability. More even, maybe. I took deep breaths, trying not to feel like I needed a paper bag. I – I needed a better shirt. I was choking.

"Can I get a new shirt?" My voice warbled. That's the only reason I noticed it too was different. Christ, did I have anything left?

Think more, feel less.

"I can get you something," a female trooper I didn't know told me softly. Blonde, pale skin. "Follow me, please?"

We were in the basement of the PRT building. An underground garage with a sturdy steel door and holding the white PRT vans and a few interceptor cars. The officers I had rode with and the ones that I had…influenced had gone ahead. The only evidence were the keys, radios and wallets left behind in a plastic bin before the series of doors that made my skin prickle. I occupied myself with watching the walls and doors, taking in the white and grey paintjob over large bricks as well as the number of times we turned.

I got a small room. Bed, desk and a chair with an attached bathroom. I sat on the bed.

The blonde trooper came back with a large Miss Militia T-shirt and star spangled socks, as well as an Aegis hoodie that I took gratefully. She smiled at me.

"If you need anything, just press the button by the door, alright?" I nodded. Locked door, electronic, room was probably soundproofed? Had to be monitored, listening devices, hidden camera. The roiling pit hadn't calmed but I was keeping it in check.

Once she left, I put on my new clothes in the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Okay, that expression fit my new face really well, but so did a small smile. Alright. Okay. Fine.

I could do this.

 

[Shujin]

E.L.F​

I could hear footsteps approaching my room. Whoever it was broke off from a group of three, slightly off balance…forwards? Carrying something? Irregular steps, like a slight limp, their right foot came down harder than their left but still light, smaller person. Female? Jingling, loud so it wasn't in their pocket and the telltale scrape of metal against metal. Carabiner holding keys? I knew by now what the PRT armor sounded like and it was missing, plain clothes officer. My ears didn't twitch like a dog's while doing this, thank god for small mercies. That would have been one indignity too far.

They stopped walking and a few seconds later, I heard three quiet, but firm knocks on the door. "Taylor?"

Woman, same one from before but she took off her body armor. I felt the pleased smile on my face as I opened my eyes. The room was upside down. No muscle fatigue yet or blood rushing to my head.

"Yup!" I called back as I scissored my legs back together. A few breaths to control my giddiness before it got away from me, then I stood up. What girl doesn't wish she could do splits at some point in their lives? Just to test myself as I couldn't in the van, I did a standing split against the wall and then bent backwards until I could lay my palms against the floor. Too easy. I went through all the gymnastic poses I could think of. My balance was great, and well, I know double jointed is a thing. Is triple jointed a thing? It was now.

There was just something great about doing things you know should have you screaming in agony.

"We thought you'd be a bit hungry." There was a buzz and the metal shutters over the small window on the door pulled back. A lunch tray was slid through the gap onto the metal slab that was bolted to the inside.

Thinking about it, I was a bit hungry like I could nibble on something. Considering I haven't eaten in five days, that was a bit weird. I grabbed the tray. It was Taco Tuesday with a kind of siesta salad, sliced orange and a lemonade Capri Sun. Normal stuff, so what was I smelling? I sniffed a few times. Something…artificial. The meat?

I swallowed, and decided to give the PRT cooks the benefit of a doubt. "Thanks."

After I moved the tray, the officer slipped what looked a lot like a laptop through. I put dinner on the desk and grabbed the computer. "It's just a few basic questions. Name, birthdate, next of kin, last thing you remember before the incident," she said in a hopeful, upbeat tone. "What you've noticed about yourself, things like that."

"I can do that." I hope they weren't expecting clear answers about the mind screw thing. 'Avoid thinking hard at people' was about all I had.

"Your father's here." My heart jumped into my throat. "He's talking with the Deputy Director right now but you should be able to speak with him soon. The laptop has WIFI while you wait. Sound good?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Hang in there a little longer, sweetheart."

I sat down cross-legged on the bed with the laptop. Flipping it open, I was greeted with a spinning blue and silver PRT logo. A grey progress bar filled up and the form the officer talked about showed up on the screen. I filled out my name, gender, DOB and essentials as I munched on black beans and corn from the salad before my curiosity got the better of me. I opened the browser and typed 'Winslow High' in the search bar. The first page instantly flooded with links to news articles dating 5 days ago to yesterday.

"Crap." I knew it. I knew I knew it. Seeing it confirmed just made me feel exhausted. I clicked on the video link of a male reporter in front of the school thumbnail.

The first thing I heard was the granulated sound of high wind from the small speakers. A newspaper whipped across the sidewalk. "This is Ryan Shannegh of Daily News out here in the eye of the storm at Winslow High School in Brockton Bay!" I raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound good. "I know all of you can see it, but just – just look at this, Maron!"

The camera man swung the camera up.

There was a hurricane above my school. Dark purple storm clouds as far as the camera could see swirled above the city. The video panned back and forth a few times as the reporter chattered in the background. Instead of creating a vortex like a tornado, the clouds just didn't go any further. They curved up instead creating a tunnel as the eye of the storm. The eye must have been a few blocks across but if anyone was curious about where the exact center was, pale rippling energy like lightning arced down above the school. Looking at it sent a small shiver down my spine. Not out of fear, but it was like I just had a déjà vu without knowing what about. I guess this explained why everyone was so cautious.

And then I come out of the locker and control people. They must have been terrified I was going to go Carrie on everyone. I skipped ahead in the video.

A second after it started playing again, my yearbook picture was on the screen. "Preliminary reports suggest that this phenomenon is actually centered around the locker of Taylor Hebert, fifteen-year-old girl who was missing from afternoon classes and discovered to have actually been locked in her locker by unknown individuals."

Unknown!? The sheer rage I felt swept over me like a wave, drowning me. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. I almost blacked out.

There was a crunch and a louder pop.

I reflexively pried my fingers apart but there was nothing in my hands. I looked down in my lap and found the laptop crushed into a sparking ball of melted plastic and metal. "Wha – " Something in the computer chose that moment to burst into flame. "Shit!"

Some vague idea about getting battery acid on my pants had me jumping to my feet. Which was stupid, because it was on fire. The laptop ball tumbled out of my lap and with a burst of anxiety, I caught it with my knee. I don't even know why I bothered. It was already broken. I stood there on one leg, balancing the laptop on the other as the fire died down and just tried to breathe. The flip from outrage to shock left me feeling lightheaded. Or maybe it was the fact that I had apparently turned into an elf ninja on top of everfuckingthing else that did that.

Inhale. Exhale. I had started crying again, for the second time in a half an hour. I'd always wanted powers. Ever since I was little tying towels around my neck and pretending I was Alexandria. Now that I had them, I was wishing I could throw them away.

I needed to think about something.

I wiped away my tears and gingerly plucked the laptop ball from my knee. It wasn't even warm to the touch so I deposited it on the desk. It was metal with varnished wood pulp designed to look like planks on top. If I was just resistant to higher temperatures like I was to cold, at least it wouldn't destroy much there. From what I could see it was crushed evenly, which was a bit strange in and of itself. Thicker sections like the keyboard would need more force to crush in compared to the screen but the sphere was just about perfect. The plastic had melted evenly too. Either the heat source was also evenly distributed, or it hadn't been heat.

I sighed. Get scared, mind fuck people. Get angry, break shit. I had a very promising career as a hero in front of me.

I went over to the door and hit the button. The intercom cracked.

"Taylor Hebert." A man said in clipped, brusque tones. "I see you require another laptop."

That would be one way to put it. So, camera. I hoped there wasn't one in the bathroom. I bit my lip. "Yes, sorry."

"I will requisition another one for you." I faintly heard the sound of typing. "Can you tell me what happened? You are not in trouble," he said quickly. "I am simply curious."

You and me both, buddy. "I got angry. I'm not sure what happened." I looked back at the ball of plastic. "But it wasn't super strength."

"I see. What had angered you?"

My forehead hit the wall above the speaker. Breathe. "No one came forward about who shoved me in that locker."

"Untrue." My eyebrows raised against the metal. "It took longer than was ideal, but are the names Emma Barnes, Madison Clements and Sophia Hess accurate?"

"Yes." My voice had a slight echo.

"I cannot share details about ongoing investigations, but what happened to you was no less than assault." Hearing someone else say that, someone else acknowledge that made me smile. "We are pushing for the harshest punishments feasible."

"Probably helps that it was very public," I muttered. I really had no illusions about how much it fucking took for anyone…to see me.

"Yes, it did."

I snorted. That's the way the shit cookie crumbles. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"Master Stranger protocols have a standard seventy-two-hour length – "

"No," I cut him off. And there was the guilt for that again. Thank you very much, officer. "I mean, the storm."

He paused. More typing. "The storm covered the entirety of the city limits up to roughly twenty thousand feet. Planes grounded, air traffic was circumvented to Portsmouth International. One plane crash, forty six casualties. Another plane has been reported missing along with its passengers."

I leaned against the wall and just listened. He had a nice voice, strong and nonjudgmental.

"I-95 was congested for several hours of public panic, minor incidents. The PRT and Protectorate handled cases of civil unrest in various populated areas."

"Okay."

The intercom crackled with the clothy rumble of an adjusting microphone, as if he was leaning in. "None of this is on you. This was done to you. You had no choice or control in the matter and as much a victim as those in the hospital, understand?"

He wanted me to believe him. I could feel that. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I could hear the slight smile in his voice. "In approximately ten minutes, there will be an escort to take you to your father. Director Piggot is now on site and wishes to speak to you both."

Ten minutes to figure out exactly how I wanted this all the end. "Understood."

"Armsmaster, out."

Oh.

That was Armsmaster?

 

[Shujin]

ELF​

Forty-six casualties.

My hands had started trembling shortly after I got over the embarrassment of unknowingly talking to Armsmaster. I sat on the bed, head against the wall as I struggled to breathe through quick, shallow gasps that sometimes strangled in my throat. Forty-six. I killed at least forty-six people. Armsmaster may not believe it was my fault, but still, it was my powers. I wouldn't forget that vision of a hurricane over Brockton Bay any time soon, and neither would anyone else.

Media shit storm.

Forty-six casualties.

Fuck me.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I blinked stubborn tears away. I would not break down now. I refused to. I started hiccupping then. It was a stupid, minor annoyance, but it was such a normal problem in the face of everything else that I started laughing through my hiccups. Kurt, a family friend told me once that humor solved everything. It really didn't, it wasn't enough to fix all of this, but the nauseating mix of emotion no longer threatened to overwhelm me.

I ate the rest of my salad and picked up the orange slices. Biting into the first one surprised me. I didn't exactly have super taste so much as a super sweet tooth. If I didn't want super cavities, I was going to have to watch that. I finished it quickly, then washed my face and hands of any juicy leftovers. I had no interest in eating the tacos, and not just because of the artificial smell. Apparently, I didn't need to eat much despite going five days without. I poked the straw into the Capri Sun and sipped at it.

Think more, feel less. Easier said than done, but as mercurial as my moods were, some control was better than none. I was going to be okay.

Later, I heard my escort come down the short flight of stairs, two people wearing body armor before the intercom crackled to life. "Taylor, as circumstances have prevented you from submitting the form, I must ask you several questions concerning safety."

It was Armsmaster again. I smiled weakly and tried not to think about how, ironically, I was not wearing underwear under my gym pants. I quickly stuffed myself into my Aegis hoodie. "Ask away."

"Earlier, we discussed your power usage, and that it coincided with anger. Are you currently under significant emotional distress?"

Was that a serious que – no, what am I saying, it was and if he had asked it five minutes ago the answer definitely would have been yes. As it was? "Had better days, but I'll be fine."

"Do you feel you have control over your abilities?"

I was tempted to lie, but he'd been nothing but honest with me so far. "I don't even know what all of my powers are." On the surface, there was nothing similar about the storm, the laptop, what happened to the agents, what happened to me in the van. There was only one common factor: me. "But I will do my best not to hurt anyone." Else.

He approved of my answer even if he didn't respond right away. "Accurate self-assessment is a good skill to nurture. We know the risks but in light of your cooperation," the door buzzed as the electronic lock opened. "I believe you."

Behind the door were two agents. One had his head bowed, hand to his right ear as he nodded while the other smiled at me. The blonde agent with the slight limp. A handler, I guessed. Someone familiar that I would feel comfortable with. It was probably one of the oldest tricks in the book, but it worked. She wasn't putting on much an act, just a genuinely nice person that wanted to help. I smiled back.

"What happened to your leg?" As her eyebrows inched up, my smile shifted to a smirk and I pointed at my ear. "Could hear it."

She shook her head in exasperation. "Powers." Not offended, or even that bothered. Her partner was less comfortable. I don't know if it's the way he stood with his back ramrod straight or the way that he stared like he knew he shouldn't take his eye off me that tipped me off, but I didn't like it. The woman beckoned me with a hand. "I'll tell you on the way."

"Names?" I asked as I stuffed my hands in my hoodie's front pocket.

"Annabelle." After a moment, she elbowed her partner.

He grunted. "Miller."

Annabelle was the only one to give me a first name so far. "Nice to meet you both." I fell into step beside them. Pulling back the length of my stride was a bit awkward, but I got the hang of it. "So?"

"Right." Annabelle laughed. "It was in college, oh, twenty years back and over Christmas break I took a trip to the Alps with friends."

"Skiing?"

"Snowboarding! If you asked me anything, I would swear myself blue in the face that I knew what I was doing. And I did!" She laughed again. "Turns out the mountain knew better."

We got into the elevator where Miller silently pressed the button. We were on the first sublevel and heading up to the second floor.

"It was a mild winter over there, Italy I mean, so up on the slopes it was half ice, half fresh snow which is really not a good combination." The doors closed with a ding as she chattered. The deluge was reminding me of better days in middle school. "We'd been up there all day, but I wanted just one more run even though it was getting dark and my friends wanted to go back to the hotel. I took the black diamond path, hardest course that went all the way to the base of the mountain. Never got there! Wiped on ice, broke three teeth, busted a lip, concussion and broke my ankle."

I winced as a sympathetic twinge ran down my right leg. "Never healed right?"

She shook her head. "Was up there for hours before my friends noticed I was taking too long. Had frostbite."

"Wow." We reached our destination with the usual stomach lurching stop. "That's – " The doors opened and my Dad was right there in the foyer. "Dad!"

"Taylor?" His head jerked away from the agent he'd been talking to. He looked terrible, like he dressed himself in the dark and then slept in it. Hair uncombed, bags under his eyes and he looked at me like he wasn't entirely sure where his daughter's voice had come from. My heart clenched painfully.

Yeah, that's what I'd been afraid of.

Annabelle gently pushed me out of the elevator with a hand on my back. "She's been through a lot, Mr. Hebert. Please."

"Taylor?" He repeated, his eyes tearing up. "I – "

I rushed forward and he met me with a giant hug that for once, I couldn't get enough of. I burst into tears in his shirt because I don't know if it was just because he was family that made me sensitive or that we were hugging but under my fingers I could feel my Dad bleeding grief like someone had just run him through with a rusty spike. It boiled over, chilling and burning me to the bone, and droplets were falling like ripples on a pond.

"It's me, Dad." I don't know who I was trying to convince. "It's me."

He just hugged me tighter.

__________​

"You have a delicate situation on your hands, Emily."

Emily Piggot, Director of the East-North-East branch of the Parahuman Response Team, snorted around her coffee mug. There really was nothing like caffeine, clusterfucks and understatements at half past eleven at night. Rebecca Costa-Brown didn't look any better, with hair gone fuzzy in the cool humidity of California in winter and creased floral dress shirt. The bags under her eyes were almost artful in how they emphasized just how much of a long week Costa-Brown had.

Emily had no sympathy. Brockton Bay was in fine fucking form lately. Spread the joy around.

"I don't want her in my Wards." Costa-Brown's eyebrows inched up in a wordless question. "We don't have the facilities, the budget or the personnel for a case like this. Not just – " she waved her mug at her office. "But the response. High level Shaker, at least."

"I'd advise keeping the Master Stranger rating quiet, for now."

That was a nice cherry on top of the shit sundae. "If I didn't, this whole city would go to hell in a hand basket."

"She'll scare the villains." Brown filled that sentence with so much derision, Emily could almost hear the words bounce off her floor.

It would be as if Legend made a habit of stopping by. The E88, ABB, the Merchants, etc. were so used to the balance of power and having run of the city that any threat to that would be like taking a toy from a spoiled child. Temper tantrums to prove that nothing had changed, that they weren't cowed or weak or whatever justifications deluded minds dreamed up. Give an inch, and they would take a mile. Push, and they would push back harder.

"She scares everybody."

"But she is cooperating, correct?"

"For now." That had been this week's highlight; that the media's darling 'Maelstrom' was not someone that needed to be hunted down and arrested. For now. She wasn't going to get her hopes up. That situation could turn on a polished dime.

"This is not someone we can just let loose. You know how much is riding on this, Emily. She must be in the Wards."

Except this wasn't Legend, but a teenage girl fresh off a trigger. Unstable, confused. Vulnerable.

"I know." Emily took another bitter sip of straight black coffee. "Can I count on assistance with the DA?" Because talking to lawyers never got any easier, especially when they were trying very hard to be absolutely fucking stupid on the government's behalf.

"I'm taking it out of your hands." Thank God. "I've taken the liberty of hiring representation for Hebert for all current and ongoing criminal cases. Trust your PR?"

"They do good work."

"I will leave that to you then. Do you mind if I speak to her and her father for a few minutes?"

Yes, she minded but she could also tell that wasn't a request. She hoisted herself from her seat with a stifled groan and straightened the bottom of her blouse and suit jacket. "By all means."

She walked out of her small office and knocked on her Deputy's door. "Room 24B is all set," he called back with the half muted volume that told her he was on the phone. At this time of night, it was probably his family.

"Thank you."

Time to get this fucking show on the road.

She arrived before they did, as planned. Making them wait was reserved for disciplinary action, letting the perp stew in imagined scenarios. The last thing she wanted was to increase anxiety levels here.

The girl's father was the tall, lanky type with a good eye for clothes he wasn't swimming in, sharp gunmetal grey glasses and thinning dark hair. He also looked about as tired as Emily felt with clothes so creased she suspected he slept in them and a protective hand on his daughter's shoulder. Taylor herself provoked a rare sympathetic twinge. Case 53s, often coined as 'monstrous' parahumans were those whose powers changed them to something profoundly inhuman. They had no memories, just a bowl or C shaped tattoo hinted at an origin.

From descriptions, Taylor Hebert had been tall and skinny with green eyes like her father. That was all that stayed the same. She had the enviable hourglass figure, except her waist was a circumference Emily was certain would kill the average human being with hips that were similarly crushed together. Her proportions were too thin, too long, too sharp. If someone had told her the girl was missing memories and had a strange tattoo, she wouldn't have batted an eye. Not monstrous, but unsettling.

In a way, that she wasn't a Case53 was a shame. You can't miss what you can't remember.

Emily gestured towards the seats around the table with a refilled coffee mug. It was unremarkable as far as meeting rooms go, just a large rectangular room with a large rectangular table in the center and coffee machine in the back. The projector on the ceiling was on, but the screen behind her was mostly blank with just a smallish square in the bottom right corner occupied by Rebecca Costa-Brown's face.

"The Chief Director had a few things to say to both of you."

Taylor's vivid green eyes shifted between the faces before looking down with a bit of a chagrined expression. "Made a mess?"

"That's one way to put it," Costa-Brown said. "I'll be frank. Five days ago has been the worst setback of public opinion about parahumans for the past ten years."

Aggressive opening. Not that it wasn't true if a bit overstated, but aggressive. Emily leaned back in her chair, surreptitiously kicking off her shoes.

Danny Hebert got defensive, as she expected. His face reddened. "I find that hard to believe, with groups like the Nine around."

Countering one extreme statement with another rarely worked out well.

"Dad." Rather than being pleading or submissive like one would expect from a child addressing their angry parent, there was a tinge of command there that Danny responded to. He took in a breath with the look of someone counting, slowly, to ten.

"It is hard to believe," the Chief Director continued as if there had been no interruption. "But how often are the Nine on your mind in your day to day activities? How often do you consider your windows, or a bug going around?" Ah. Emily saw where she was going with this. As ironic as it sounded, the public was almost comfortable with villains like the Nine. Jack Slash was a crafty son of a bitch, and knew how to lay low and disappear.

Danny had figured it out too judging by his severe frown. Taylor was placid.

"The perception of control has always been a delicate balance. Five days ago, that shattered. The public now has evidence that all it takes is a prank gone wrong on the right person – " With impeccable theatrical timing, the larger screen was filled with a scene of the unnatural hurricane above Brockton Bay. "And we just lost a city."

The terror once reserved for Endbringers expanded to every potential trigger event was a fail condition for the PRT. They were far off from that yet. It was likely the knee jerk reactions would peter out and die when the media frenzy did, but in the meanwhile, it was a pain in the ass.

"The DA is considering pressing charges, and likely will."

Danny nearly leapt out of his chair. "They can't blame her for this!"

"I agree." Costa-Brown flashed Taylor a reassuring smile. "Unfortunately, it would not be about culpability, but about making an example of her. The storm lasted two days, and Taylor was interned for five. That is unusual for a trigger event by any standards and while we often excuse trigger event collateral due to trauma." She shrugged. "No one is happy with the idea of excusing a city's worth of collateral."

Technically speaking. Ellisburg was the aftermath of a protracted trigger event, Emily recalled. No, no one was happy with that idea at all.

Danny opened his mouth, but Taylor smoothly slipped in before he could speak. "How can I make this easier for you?"

Join the Wards, Emily thought, as much as she hated the idea. She did not need one more powder keg on the fire but if she had to. Well, considering how invested the Chief Director was in this, she might be able to swing some concessions and the additional resources to make this work.

"Join the Wards." Rebecca gave Emily a nod. "It is the purpose of the PRT to guide and train parahumans in responsible, legal use of their abilities. It would be an excellent first step in soothing fears."

Emily restrained herself from nodding vigorously. What she said, listen to her, couldn't have put it better myself, yadda yadda, etc., etc. Don't make this difficult for me.

Instead, Taylor frowned. "Something…" She trailed off. A power at work, Emily assumed. Jesus H. Christ, how many abilities did the girl have? "Something about what you just said is not true."

The Directors looked at each other in mild confusion. "But it is?" Emily Piggot spoke up to Costa-Brown's defense. "New powers are frequently confusing until the particulars are figured out."

Taylor stared at her like she was a particularly clever dog that had just showed off a new trick she hadn't been expecting, and then there was a ripple of realization widening her eyes and shifting her gaze to Rebecca. "You know something she doesn't."

Costa-Brown took that accusation about as well as one would expect. "I have no idea what you are talking abou – "

"I see…vials?" Taylor's distracted murmur brutally shut the Chief Director down. "Vials with labels. Aegis. Deus. Pyla – "

Rebecca Costa-Brown vanished, replaced by a blue screen and the obnoxious warble of a dropped connection.

In the silence that followed, Emily glared over the table at Danny who looked confused and Taylor, whose eyes were closed and her face pale. She brought up her own hand and pinched the bridge of her nose.

It was too late to toss the girl out and pretend this never happened, wasn't it?

Damn.

 

[Shujin]

ELF​

My chair screeched across the linoleum as I stood up. My two tablemates, my Dad and Annabelle, both turned their attention from the paperwork strewn across the plastic surface. Miller started paying attention again from his post by the cafeteria doors. Even people without powers had a vague sense when someone was watching them, and a yearlong bullying campaign had particularly honed mine. I could feel when his eyes snapped to that spot on the back of my head like a tense rubber band.

"Everything okay?" Annabelle asked first. She had no idea what had happened during the short-lived meeting, aside from Director Piggot calling a break and locking herself in her office. No one was any closer to figuring out what to do with me, thanks to yours truly. My handler had taken one look at my face and that ended with us in the cafeteria with hot chocolate going over the standard employment pitch for the Wards.

Teenage government sponsored superheroes. The very group I might have just completely torpedoed my chance of getting into. With nuclear warheads.

Tinkertech antimatter warheads.

"Yes," I managed to say evenly. "Just need to go to the bathroom."

Dad bobbed his head over his steaming mug, his hand squeezing mine under the table before letting go. I knew he was concerned about what had happened, less about my abilities and more what they meant for me but he didn't bring it up. It sounded bad, but we've had a lot of experience in just not talking about things we probably needed to. He didn't consciously make the decision, but he was going to stew silently in the implications to avoid worrying me.

My father and I were cut from the same cloth.

"Oh, right. I mean, right down the hall." Annabelle pointed, like she expected me to be able to see through walls. Maybe I could, but just hadn't found the switch yet. Who fucking knows at this point? "Should be able to follow the sign then."

"Thank you."

I walked out of the cafeteria with Miller behind me. I kept a tight hold of Dad's presence, for lack of a better word.

It would not be a good way to keep physical tabs on him. I realized that by the time I passed the vending machines and water fountain. The particulars were not the easiest thing to put into words. It was like trying to explain sight to someone blind from birth. How do you describe the color blue? Was this how every parahuman with a sensing power felt? Like English just didn't have the words?

My power, whatever it was exactly, it was subtle. My Dad made me notice it, but that didn't mean he was the only one I could feel once I knew what I looking for. Ripples, except they were also threads, flare guns and unorganized manila folders stuffed to bursting with papers all at once which really didn't make any sense at all, but that's how it felt.

Ugh, this is what I mean about not having the words.

To make what was probably a very poor art analogy, the world was a cardboard cutout painted white. Positive space. The sense I had was like trying to parse the negative space into a coherent picture. I don't think there even was a coherent picture, but I was saying that after having only having maybe an hour of looking. As for why it took so long to realize I even had this power?

Replace the cardboard cutout with the sun. That was me. Drowning everything else out. Dad was like the shadow of a shadow that never moved from where I 'spotted' him. Either my power didn't really work off physical distance, or distance didn't mean much.

Far as I knew, Rebecca Costa-Brown's office in the main PRT HQ was clear across the country in California. For just a little while, back in the room? I could feel her just like I could feel Dad, like she was sitting right across from me. Wariness, a lot of it but tempered with something that rang like – like brittle iron? Tired and, ruthless? Not quite. Everything about her just screamed 'intent to deceive' at me. Not lying, exactly, just not true.

Blegh. Words. I don't have them.

The Restroom sign with the little green arrow beneath the letters pointing the way was by the elevators. There was no getting out that way. On this floor at least, you needed a keycard and the windows were a ticket to a nice twenty-foot drop. Even if I wanted to make a break for it, I'd be buried in agents before I reached the sidewalk.

I slipped into the bathroom without a backward glance at my shadow, Miller. Once again, I found myself standing before the mirror.

Bathrooms were kind of a safe place for me. Out of necessity, I found myself in a stall lunch period after lunch period just so I could eat in relative peace. At least with the lock on the door, and most kids out with their own friends I could avoid the bottom feeders, hanger ons and everyone else in the mood for kicking someone when they were down to make themselves feel better. It didn't work all the time, but it was better than being out in the open at the cafeteria where I would find all kinds of junk in my hair or down my shirt. Bathrooms were safer than the classrooms where my homework would be stolen, or destroyed. Juice in my seat. Safer than the hallways.

Safer than my locker, I guess.

Absently I closed the drain and turned on the cold water. I watched the ripples flow outwards, and then bounce back from the sides muddling what had initially been a clear pattern. I glanced up at my reflection.

"So I fucked up." I hated being lied to, and something so important like the purpose of the PRT and by extension, the Protectorate superheroes? From the mouth of Rebecca Costa-Brown herself? How could I let that go? I couldn't, but that didn't mean I went about it the right way either. How could I salvage this? They hadn't locked me up again, but how much should I read into that?

I stared into the water.

No matter what happened, I had to make sure Dad was safe. Brockton Bay was full of villains and criminals. Anyone interested in Taylor Hebert, the parahuman, my Dad would be a prime target for them. If I couldn't protect him myself, the PRT was my best bet for options. Getting a secret identity somehow, relocating or just watching the house when I wasn't there.

Next priority? I wanted to be a hero. I had powers. They needed to be used making people safer. I owed that. I would not accept anything else.

If I had those, was anything else really important? My bullies were facing criminal charges. If I was in the Wards, I could go to Arcadia, a completely different school. Even if that didn't work out, Winslow couldn't be as bad as before. I could crush a laptop into the size and shape of a baseball with my mind. If the Chief Director had secrets, let her keep them. For now.

I'll work around her if I had to, when I had more control over my powers and more leverage than a few vague images.

Feeling a lot better about myself, I dragged a finger through the water and watched as my disruption create bigger ripples that almost drowned the others out. Then the inertia faded and it was like it had never happened. I unplugged the drain before the sink overflowed. The water drained quickly. I paused on turning the faucet off. Biting my lip, I took a step backwards until my back collided with a stall.

Ripples.

Descriptions, they were going to be a real pain in the ass, I could tell. I don't know how to describe my moment of insight, just that the comparison to water felt right. I lived in Brockton Bay on the Atlantic. The Boardwalk on the water was a raised platform for the seagulls as much as it was for the tourists. The concept of high tide, low tide was not unfamiliar.

Push and pull.

I had pulled on the Chief Director. As gently as I could, barely feeling like I was doing anything at all, I pushed at the space only I could feel.

The bathroom wall exploded.

I was left standing there with a broken pipe spewing cold water in my face, my finger raised like the pulled pin on a grenade as a man on the other side of the wall screamed from the urinal, yellow stream spiking, shattered glass and pieces of ceramic skittering across the floor. Miller burst through the door, pistol out.

I lowered my hand.

"I can explain everything."

____________​

Director Emily Piggot was nearly a half foot shorter than me, and she still managed to make me feel like I was three feet tall. Dad was sitting on a couch, hiding behind a Sports Illustrated magazine but I knew he was snickering at my expense, the traitor and so was Annabelle but she hid it marginally better. She got me new clothes, including underwear, and I changed out of my wet ones at another bathroom on the other side of the building. Marginally. She handed me the shoes, Velocity sneakers, and told me not to break anything.

The man I scared the piss out of was in a Dauntless hoodie made to resemble hoplite armor and gratefully sipping at hot chocolate.

Piggot raised an imperious eyebrow. "I see you've met Deputy Director Renick."

Fuck.

Dad ripped a page turning it.

"Hello, sir." I said. He smiled awkwardly. Oh, right, getting caught in the men's bathroom by a teenage girl would be awkward, wouldn't it? And here I was feeling worse about almost hitting him with the sink while his pants were dow – don't think about it, don't think about it!

I met Piggot's eyebrow with my own.

She pinched the bridge of her nose again. "I don't get paid enough for this."

I had the distinct feeling that it was a good thing I wasn't in the Wards yet.

"No unauthorized power testing." She jabbed a meaty finger in my face.

"Yes, ma'am."

She didn't say anything else on that topic. As far as I was concerned, she didn't need to. I, Taylor Hebert, can be a bit of a dumbass. This is known.

"After your other stunt, the Chief Director was forced to observe opsec protocol however, for reasons," she sneered. I could feel Piggot. Resentful, paranoid. "She wishes to speak with you. You'll be using the conference room this time."

I'll be using the conference room? Alone? "I'm…very sorry for – "

Piggot held up her hand, palm out. "Just. Go."

I went.

The conference room looked exactly as I would have expected. A gorgeous cherry wood donut table surrounded by plushy office chairs dominated the center of the room. Small terminals were imbedded in the table in front of each seat and a large see through computer screen was held in the center. Costa-Brown was on it with the camera zoomed out further than it had been during the other call. I could see her hands clasped on her desk in front of her this time, papers with handwriting and the edge of a window. She peered at me intently, calculating.

"Hello again, Taylor," she said without a trace of anger or fear. "Please, have a seat."

 

[Shujin]

E.L.F​

The door finished closing behind me with a tiny click and the majority of all the little sounds I'd gotten used to with my improved hearing muffled into a dull drone. Soundproofing, and good soundproofing at that which was an interesting choice for a conference room on the second floor of the Parahuman Response Team building. Everyone knew the PRT was part of the federal government's Alphabet Soup in the same vein as the NSA, FBI, CIA. Their PR machine on the other hand made them cops with magical nerf guns.

They had a protocol for agents compromised by parahuman powers. Considering the various forms of thinking or sensing powers, including seeing into the future, I shouldn't be surprised that the PRT had classified information. If 'Need to know' had an interior design, I was looking at it. And yet, I was the one standing here and not Director Emily Piggot.

I sat down in a chair I could see the door from and mimicked the Chief Director's posture. I clutched my hands maybe a little too hard. The line between 'feeling strongly' and 'overwhelmed' was far too thin for my taste and I was anxious. About what The Chief Director had decided about me, about what she wanted to talk to me for, about everything.

"What do you know about Thinker powers?" Costa-Brown started with. Aside from the obvious 'powers that deal with thinking,' I couldn't say I knew much at all. I browsed the Parahumans Online forums once in a while, but no real research.

What was the point? Getting powers, becoming a hero; those were the kind of pipe dreams that it didn't matter how hard you tried, it was out of your reach. Like being an astronaut. You couldn't earn powers.

"Define 'thinker.'"

"That is the classification for any and all powers that allow the parahuman to obtain information or skills with greater accuracy, speed, range and or breadth than the unassisted human norm." Costa-Brown then smiled with a wry quirk of her lips. "Legal definition. We have to be thorough."

"Like the Library of Alexandria." Rebecca Costa-Brown's face froze. "Eidetic memory, can think faster and, something about expressions?" Hadn't I read that somewhere? My head dipped contritely. "Sorry, I don't know really know my heroes, but Alexandria's been my favorite since I was little."

Legend was 'Pew Pew Lasers' in a costume and Eidolon's power was 'Yes.' Brockton Bay didn't have any Thinker heroes, so I named the only one I knew that fit.

Her eyes made a slight movement to the side of the screen and then back. "Exactly. The PRT rates parahuman powers on a threat scale of one to twelve, although very few parahumans reach ten or above." I frowned at the words 'threat scale' and she picked up on it. "The criteria rubric was first created as policy for the PRT in parahuman confrontations, nothing more. I wish every parahuman was at least law abiding." Truth. "But that is not always the case."

"One is?"

"Slightly more capable than the average human."

"And twelve?"

Now it was Costa-Brown's turn to frown. "Beyond the PRT's paygrade."

Wait a minute. "Even Thinkers?" I stressed. I really couldn't see how having a really good memory or being able to tell what people were feeling as being that dangerous.

"Yes," she said, deadly serious.

Oh, ouch.

"An ability to obtain sensitive information from someone roughly twenty-eight hundred miles away through a phone call is a concern, to put it lightly."

I winced. Hearing it put like that gave me a new, anxious appreciation for the 'government branch' part of the PRT. "I'm sorry, it's just, the PRT is important and – "

"You didn't like the idea of it not being what it seemed." She cut off what was threatening to be a babble. "I understand, however purposely attempting to reveal said sensitive information will have severe consequences. Understood?"

A prickle went down my spine and I reflexively glanced towards the door.

I didn't even understand the sensitive information. Nothing about it seemed relevant to the PRT in anyway but at the same time I couldn't shake the feeling that it must be. I saw what I saw but I didn't have context for it yet. What is the purpose of the PRT? The temptation to just pull more information out curled in my head with an unfamiliar twisting heat. I kept my eyes locked on hers and sifted through the ripples pressing deep into my head.

She was farther.

"Could have had Director Piggot tell me that," I observed to mask my surprise. I didn't think my power even recognized distance but I could definitely feel it now. It wasn't in a lateral direction but more, underneath? Like the ripples of her presence were emanating from another layer, one that was extremely thin. Where was she? Maybe here to California was a soft limit on my range? "Why do you want to talk to me?"

"Because unless it's absolutely necessary, security breaches are not solved by bringing others in."

She unclasped her hands, bringing one up to rest her chin on. Costa-Brown wore small square bifocal glasses and a crisp navy blue suit with golden buttons. It was the look of someone comfortable in a boardroom or on a hearing floor, but I could feel a small shiver of unease from her.

"If you would describe what you saw in detail?"

Recalling the, vision I guess would be the word for it, was easy. "A woman giving vials to people."

"Describe her," Costa-Brown cut in.

"Dark skin, long black hair and wears business casual." I searched through the memory. "Prefers to wear light colors, white, blue, yellow, sometimes with a white lab coat and clipboard."

"The vials?"

"The vials have labels. Not on them physically, but I just," I pulled my hands apart and laid them flat on the table just behind the keypad of the imbedded terminal. Between my fingers ran the dark waxy lines of the wood grain.

"I just know." I'm not interrupted this time. "I see a person receive one and drink, sometimes after signing papers, other times after just talking, and then I see the next person. The vision has…threads," I involuntarily grimace at that description. Paths would have been better. "I think I can follow them."

"Don't."

There was a bit of an intent to conceal there. It was not actively malicious, I thought, but that could always change. There were things she didn't want me to know, but she was attempting to be honest. Within limits.

"Don't ask questions, get no lies?" I made sure to pitch my voice soft and non-threatening. Rebecca Costa-Brown was playing gatekeeper. Find out what I know, then silence me. I had a…feeling she had more options for silence than making me sign a Nondisclosure Agreement. There was a reason she wasn't using it. Something about my powers?

"Classified?"

The Chief Director smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "The important question here is what to do with you?" Her gaze shifted the tiniest bit to the side again, and I caught a strange reflection off one of her eyes, like the light hadn't hit it right. "As much as it is a concern, thinker powers are a strategic asset. If you are willing, I want to test your limitations."

I barely needed my powers to read into that. She wanted to know if there was a way around my powers. If I was in her shoes, I'd be wondering that too but, between blowing up the bathroom and now, I hadn't gotten any more eloquent in describing how my powers work so this was going to be interesting.

"I'm…just figuring this out as I go along. I have no idea what I can do, until I do it."

"From my understanding, most parahumans have at least, a vague awareness of their powers if not the details."

It took being slapped with Dad's emotional clue-by-four to even notice I had a passive power. "Guess I'm not most parahumans."

"Hm," was the only verbal response she gave to that. I could feel a glimmer of curiosity though. "Did terminating the call abort your vision?"

I shook my head. "The sound did. I got distracted and lost sight of the ripples you made."

"Ripples?"

I paused a moment to put the words together in a way that didn't make me sound like an idiot. "My power seems to based off an extra sense. You know the concept of positive versus negative space?" She nodded. "Imagine everything physical is positive space. Even the air. But then, between, is negative space. I can feel people interacting with that space, making ripples. When I touch those ripples, I get a sense of what you feel."

"Can you feel me now?"

"Yes. I didn't feel any kind of distance before but, you are a bit farther now, I think."

Costa-Brown's lips pursed with a little irritation. "And this is how you perceive someone lying?"

"I didn't say lying, did I?" I asked, lifting my eyes from the table to look at her straight on. "I said not true."

A few seconds passed with neither of us saying anything. "I could feel you," I continued softly. "There were many minor falsehoods in your words and you were dripping with intent to deceive." That twisting heat in my head was back. I kept it contained this time. A repeat performance now was really not a good idea. "I do not care about the rest. Hyperbole, a little twisting of the facts," I shrugged and dropped my eyes. "Everyone does that."

The quiet that followed wasn't awkward, but tense. This was a tipping point. I could almost feel a strand stretch between us, close to snapping. She was either going to cut me off here, or reveal just a bit more of what was behind the curtain. I clenched my hands into small fists on the table and kept my eyes down, tracing the grains. I let the heat in my head curl out, just a little. Enough to bleed into the shifting currents around me. I wanted to know.

"The Parahuman Response Team," she began slowly and I snapped my eyes up. "It's part of an eight step plan to integrate parahumans into society."

Truth, but the intent to conceal was still there. That made me relax, slightly. She probably came to the decision on her own, then, since she didn't make a complete one eighty and feel like blurting everything out. I hadn't really done anything, right?

"We haven't reached the end stages of the plan." I hazarded a guess.

"We've stalled at step five." She admitted easily. "What do you know of the Endbringers?"

"Behemoth. Leviathan. The Simurgh."

Three horrific creatures that attacked roughly every three months and nearly every time, they left behind a destroyed city. Behemoth was known for its abilities over energy, heat, electricity, radiation and the one with the most parahuman deaths to its name. Leviathan was a classic sea monster, attacking coastlines and islands with control over water. The Simurgh deserved 'The' in front of its name. It looked like an angel. It caused the least amount of property damage. It didn't even kill that often.

But if it descended on a city, that city was effectively gone. Simurgh victims were time bombs. A newspaper boy one day could get the urge to build a homemade bomb vest and head to the nearest subway station. Multiply that by every person in the city. Who's rigged to blow? No way of knowing.

Closest thing to an answer we had was to lock up the city, and throw away the key.

"I know what everyone knows. Anything in particular?"

"Five days ago, precognition around the world started experiencing, glitches, for lack of a better word." She continued over the sound of the bottom of my stomach dropping out. "We didn't realize they were glitches at first. Most thinker powers are target specific and relatively short range. Powers that don't have a distance limit are rare. Range and coherency are rarer. Target specific powers were mostly unaffected. Those who were included the majority of our WEDGDG division." She waved off the unspoken question. "I will cover that later."

She reached towards the touch screen on her desk and her face was replaced by a high altitude image of an angel with six wings, looking down at the world below.

"This image was taken approximately four hours after the Brockton Bay storm began."

It was an almost artistic picture. I could see a blue expanse partially covered in wispy white clouds in the background. The curvature of the Earth was rimmed with the silver of reflected sunlight and the white angel with six wings hung motionless, looking at something just beyond the picture frame.

"The Simurgh, like the rest of the Endbringers, are difficult to predict, but – "

My heart lurched in my chest. "I can feel her."

I could feel her. If my father was a shadow of a shadow, then the Endbringer was deep, dark hole. She was the source of hundreds of small waves in the ocean that bent, curved and twisted around the currents and ripples of others. Threads of influenced touched thousands more creating a tangled, impossible weave that revealed more connections the more I looked. I was afraid to tug on anything around, half-convinced she'd be able to feel it, feel me.

Rebecca Costa-Brown's emotions spiked, hard, and full of everything. The picture on the screen instantly changed to one closer to Earth. A man of gold in a stained spandex suit and cape hovered above a forest being consumed by a wildfire, distracted, with his head turned.

Scion.

He was far, muted. I willed myself to look for him, the strongest man in the world and the first parahuman, in the shifting space. I had to reach a little, maybe he was on the other side of the world? But once I spotted him, I was able to feel what he was feeling. And what he was feeling nearly bowled me over.

Crushed.

He was grieving. So intensely my eyes welled up with sympathetic tears as I felt an echo of his pain. He was purposeless, without direction and just moving to be moving. A pit of apathy lay just underneath it; as if the world itself was pointless and insignificant. I tugged, gently, just to see if there was a way to help him or at least see what he was grieving for.

I saw an expanse of stars, and two large creatures slowly traversing it. They started to bleed pieces of themselves, shedding. I got a feeling that chilled me down to the very bone.

Dangerous.

"Yes, he is." Costa-Brown startled me out of the vision and I was suddenly aware that I had been staring at the eastern wall of the conference room, trembling. I've been talking out loud? The Chief Director's face was back on the screen. She held her glasses in one hand as she gazed intently at me.

Her eyes were different, I realized. Only the left one was real. "I am putting in a recommendation to test your ability to contribute to the PRT's Watchdog think tank. You're a minor, but I'm sure I can work something out with Emily." Wait, what? " You and your father will have to sign NDAs, but the local PRT can handle the necessary details. Do you mind if I ask you one last question?"

I blinked slowly, feeling wrung out and tired. "Depends."

"I borrowed a colleague's office. Know anything about it?"

I knew what she was asking.

So I pulled, gently, trying to focus on just the information I wanted. All I got was an image of a perfectly normal blond man in a perfectly normal button up shirt and thin-rimmed glasses pacing before a perfectly normal desk. I saw a large print of the Phi decimal in gold against black paper. Math person? On the other side of it was a morbid picture of a man crucified on a fourth dimensional cross. The only other thing of note was that the desk was in a different place in front of a floor to ceiling window looking out at a landscape I didn't recognize.

"I see a blond man pacing. The touch screen is facing the other way and there's no chairs. There's posters on the wall, one of the Golden Mean and the other one of a crucifixion. One wall has been replaced by a large window."

She nodded. "What shirt is he wearing?"

Odd question. "White button up, black stripes on the shoulders and a black and silver tie."

Her eyes shifted again and this time I was sure of it. Someone was in the room with her. Consultant? "That will do."

"I have a question of my own." Her eyebrow quirked questioningly. I smiled. "How'd you lose your eye?"

The Chief Director laughed as she stood up, slipping her amber rimmed glasses back on her face. I felt amusement and an older pain. "Later, maybe. I'll keep in touch."

Truth.

The screen went blank.

 

[Shujin]

ELF.6​

"What is this about?" Dad asked as he took the papers.

He was distracting himself. A churning pit of anger and something very close to hatred simmered underneath a steel core of resolve in my father. The resolve was driven by a small, but no less intense bubble of self-flagellation. He was blaming himself for failing me. He'd had three cups of coffee so far with the stubborn set of his jaw I was used to seeing when he was on the job that told me he was taking everything seriously.

"For the classified information unintentionally revealed during the meeting with the Chief Director," Director Piggot's eyes bored into me for a second then shifted back. "And for any subsequent sensitive information you may hear from your daughter in the future."

Dad's eyebrows jumped as he turned. "Taylor?"

My head was still spinning. It was almost five minutes to one in the morning and I had just discovered that Scion, the greatest parahuman on Earth, wasn't human at all. He was an alien from outer space and super fucking dangerous and the government knows. I had no idea what to tell my father, or even what I was allowed to say.

So instead I just smiled weakly. "I've got really strong Thinker powers."

"How strong?"

"Enough," the Director said dryly.

From the raw indignation pouring off her, I knew Emily Piggot hadn't been told anything more than the absolute basics. I'm not sure how good an idea that was, because her paranoia had only increased. Piggot was an eclectic mix of negative emotions around a will like a battering ram, but she was honest. That honesty was currently grating right up against betrayal and bitter vindication.

"You're going to be working for the government?" Dad asked me, unsure. "You're fifteen."

"She will be adequately compensated, Mr. Hebert," Piggot said evenly. "The WEDGDG is a civilian division, very low risk environment, but vital in keeping our society stable."

"What about the Wards?"

Piggot's lips thinned. Oh, she really didn't want to deal with me as a Ward. "While that is an option, the Wards program is not," she paused to think over her wording. "Structured to make full use of Thinker abilities such as Taylor's."

My father looked down at the papers he held. "You mean the training, classes and patrols?"

"Make no mistake, we have a vested interest in helping your daughter control her abilities regardless of where she goes." I didn't quite manage to hide my flinch. "We're looking at a truncated version of the Wards program to accommodate."

"What about her," Dad turned to look at me and grimaced. "Identity?"

Piggot grimaced as well but coupled with her tired eyes and blotchy skin, it made her look sick. "I'll be blunt: your daughter's status as a parahuman is public knowledge by now." Dad's hand came up to rub at the wrinkles on his forehead. "However…"

"I'm an elf," I stated flatly.

Piggot smirked. "Precisely. If we announce a new parahuman in Brockton Bay now? We'll lose that advantage. But if we were to relocate you – "

"I can't – "

"Or say we moved Taylor," Piggot continued as if Dad hadn't interrupted. "We could coordinate debuts with another PRT branch to sell the illusion. 'Taylor' shows up in, say, New York and a few months later a brand new, unknown is transferred here. It would take a fair bit of work." She looked between the two of us. "But we could do it."

I could see it. The Wards were all costumed heroes anyway so their identities were sealed. All the PRT had to do was find a body double for me, tall skinny girl with curly brown hair optional, put her in a costume with a full face mask and show her off to the public. Then they would claim that 'Taylors' only power was manifesting the strange storm and for the interests of public safety, she would not be using it. New York City was definitely big enough to hide a random girl in. Everyone would assume she went to another school, or was in another part of town. And then when the media interest in 'Maelstrom' went dormant, Brockton Bay's East-North-East Protectorate branch could toot the horn about their transfer who could do everything but storms.

It was logically sound. It would take the pressure off Dad.

"What about the court cases?" he asked.

"She's a minor. Her physical presence is not strictly required."

So why didn't I like it? Maybe it was because I felt like I had forty-six people to make up for, more than that if the disappeared plane was never found. I hurt Brockton Bay, so I wanted to help fix it. And I didn't want to wait months of the public blaming someone else for my fuck up to do it.

Dad chewed on his lip, a habit I got from him, before he shook his head and looked at me. "Wards or," he hefted the papers a bit. "This. What do you want?"

"The Chief Director is recommending me personally."

His lips quirked to the side. "Not what I asked."

"I think I can make a real difference if I'm not a Ward." Endbringers. Scion. "My powers are…really good. I can make an impact on the world. Let me do this. Please?"

I think this is the first thing I've really asked him for since high school started. Instead of new clothes, an allowance or a phone, I'm asking for permission to be a government analyst. Why am I not more surprised? It was like the sudden weird turn my life had taken couldn't just stop at elf.

Dad seemed to think along the same lines, visibly struggling with himself as he looked down at the small stack of papers. "I want to know," he said quietly, but it hit me in the chest like he had shouted. That's what he was blaming himself for? Not knowing about the bullying? He cleared his throat and looked up at the Director. "I want to be informed of everything."

"You understand that by necessity Taylor may be assigned a different clearance level – "

"Then everything feasibly possible."

The harsh lines of Emily Piggot's face softened a little as she nodded. "Why don't you take those papers home to read over?"

Dad gave her a single nod of appreciation as he tucked the papers under his arm and stood up. "Taylor – "

"Will have to stay for the entire seventy-two-hour period."

Dad sighed. "Alright."

He had already taken for granted that we were going to try to hide who I was. I bit my tongue, hard. I knew he was trying to look out for me and it was a good idea. My problems with it were just that: my problems. Once I got my head on straight, my objections might just bow down to almighty reason. Until then, grin and bear it.

"If you both will excuse me," Piggot straightened her jacket and ran a tidying pass over her desk. "There is a bed with my name on it."

I went with Dad down to the main level escorted by two armed PRT troopers. In the lobby Dad turned to look at the closed gift shop with the various shelves and racks of hero merchandise. From here, I could see where the Aegis hoodies were and I had to frown. There were red ones? Why hadn't I gotten a red one?

Dad sighed explosively, all let out in a rush. "I hate all of this."

"Cannot change what has been," I replied reflexively. "Only what might be."

He turned back to me, surprised. "Sounded pretty wise there, kiddo. That was, who was it – no, don't tell me, your Galadriel impression, right?"

I threw back my head and groaned out loud. "Dad."

In response he swept me up into a warm hug, chuckling as he gave me a squeeze. "Still my little girl, aren't you?"

For fuck's sake, look at me. Ready to start crying at the drop of a hat. "Yup." He gave me another squeeze before letting me go. I quickly wiped my eyes and poked him in the chest. "Go home and sleep. Eat. Shower and change clothes. You stink."

"Alright!" Dad sniffed himself and made an exaggerated face. "Alright. Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow."

He bundled up his papers and walked out the door to the white PRT van waiting for him. I reached out to the ripples he made as the sliding glass doors closed behind him. Goodnight, Dad.

He turned and yelled. It was slightly muffled by the glass, but I could hear him loud and clear. "Good night!"

I waved back.

________​

"I'll take it from here."

I stopped dead at the voice, heart leaping into my throat as Annabelle cut off her story about her two asshole cats. The owner of the swift, purposeful steps that I had heard approaching us was in midnight blue power armor with silver highlights. Armsmaster. He was carrying a laptop in his offhand with the head of his custom built halberd visible over his right shoulder. I was mentally pleading, fucking begging my face not to turn red as I bit the inside of my cheek.

Annabelle paused after she opened her mouth, as if about to say something and then rethought it. "Yes, sir." She flashed me a small smile. "Have a good night, Taylor."

"You too." I said automatically. Armsmaster gestured with his head and started walking. I hesitated, but caught up in three steps, faltering on the fourth as he handed me the laptop. "Thank you."

He simply nodded. "In daylight hours, we will be attempting to get a sample of the material you were encased in."

I lifted my head and forced myself to look at him. Think more, feel less. "You couldn't get it before?"

"The material you created resisted all efforts." A muscle on his jaw jumped out along with a flicker of frustration. "Not even Dragon could – "

"Dragon?" I blurted. "You mean the Dragon?" The greatest tinker in the world had been the halls of Winslow High plinking away at my locker?

"Yes." We came to a crossroad in the corridors and he gestured with a hand the direction. "Diamond tipped tools dulled." He talked with his hands. Not overtly, but little twitches of his fingers and shoulders accompanied his words like a conductor rushing an orchestra through a complicated piece. "We then attempted to see into the," his mouth worked. "Cocoon. Ultrasound, thermal imaging, magnetic resonance, we even tried X-ray in attempts. No response from the ECG, but positive results from the EEG and MEG."

I held up a hand and he glanced at me. "Probes to monitor fine electrical activity and occurring magnetic fields. Variations are used in hospital for brain imaging." I lowered my hand. "There were electrical impulses. Dragon put forward the idea that it was a brain, that it was thinking. That it might have been you."

An involuntary shudder went down my back. The very idea that I might have been stuck there in Winslow, in my locker as some thing unable to move, or talk, or eat. Just exist in my own little slice of personal Hell. Would classes have been canceled indefinitely? No, I didn't think so. It would have just been that police line and two troopers to scare away the curious. And then after a few weeks, they'd just close off the hallway or haul in a forklift to cut 'me' out of the wall and life would go on.

I could tell when a thought occurred to Armsmaster because his presence spiked with worry. "Our attempts to cut through…didn't hurt you, did it?"

"No," I reassured him quickly. "At least, I don't think so. I don't remember any of it."

Worry appeased, he kept talking. "Now that you are out, perhaps it will be less resistant. There are several parahumans with similar Shaker abilities. At times, distance or disuse weakens the material."

"And if it doesn't?" I adjusted my grip on my laptop. 'Shaker' must be the term for parahumans that can grow stuff out of the surroundings. "Will I have to go out there and try to…get rid of it?"

That would be a nice wrinkle in the 'Hide Taylor' plan.

Armsmaster's mouth twisted. "We will think of something."

At the end of the long hallway was a series of rooms with simple steel doors and little hooks beside each door with a keychain holding one key. He took one off, unlocked the corresponding door and then handed the key to me.

"For the time being, this will be your quarters. We are extending some measure of trust to you. Do not abuse it."

I grasped the key. "I won't. Thank you."

"Use of Master abilities without due cause will count as assault with a parahuman ability, which carries the same weight as an aggravated assault charge."

Didn't I just say I won't be abusing trust? I peered at him. His emotional mix hadn't changed. It was driven, very driven. In danger of washing everything else out. I took a breath and decided to just let it go.

"Okay."

He risked a smile, relaxing. "You did the right thing turning yourself in. There are many who would have reacted violently, or flee the scene."

I smiled tremulously.

"I won't keep you any longer. Get some rest."

I nearly swallowed my tongue tripping over saying goodnight to Armsmaster. Shit, what do I say, whatdoIsay? "Thanks." He says 'get rest' and you say 'Thanks?'

"You're welcome."

Right, guess that awkwardness didn't matter.

I entered my room and firmly shut the door. It held the same amenities as my former cell room but in a different layout. The room was stretched out rectangular instead of a rough T shape of the main room and bathroom to the side. This one even had a closet although it was empty. I set the laptop on the table and threw myself onto the bed. I laid there for a few seconds before I started grinning so wide my face hurt.

I'm going to be a hero.

I fell asleep like that, feet sticking off the bed in Velocity sneakers and on top of the covers with head bent in a way that would have given me a crick in the neck a week ago. It didn't take long for me to start dreaming. It was a soothing, peaceful dream with an edge. I dreamt of warm air, music and sitting on a shore of a crystal lake, weaving strands of bone in a tightly bound helix pattern. Meticulous motions almost managing to make me fall asleep within the dream.

Almost.

The ocean was hungry.

It nipped at the very edges like it was trying to take some of me, and it scraped against my mind like it was trying to give me some of it. I did not dare ignore it, not completely, but I was able to set it aside as I wove. A joyful melody played off the waves and currents of the ocean, little, gentle taps, pulls and pushes echoed and I played with them. I was careful not to drown a single note out.

A small enclave of men and women were gathered on the shores of a large, deep blue lake. Without the armor, I could see that they all were tall and thin with long ears and sharp features. Every one of us was working on something, from small tile like pieces inscribed with shapes to large futuristic looking vehicles showing battle damage. I wove. I held a stub with one hand of a tightly coiled helix cylinder that gently grew. It barely weighed anything now, but I knew I had a long way to go to reach its full length. It would be heavier still with strength sung into it.

Staff? Spear? Sword? Did it matter?

"Of course it matters, Vernasse."

I bit off a curse as the bone wove wrong and a splitting headache rammed my temples. I turned my note edged and sheared the mistake off. "Must you?"

My brother in brightly colored clothes that vaguely reminded me of a jester with almost but not quite clashing patterns, just laughed. I set my project down and bent over, scooping up a handful of water to fling into his face. He sputtered, coughing and it was my turn to laugh.

Alive. He was still alive.

Something about that felt wrong. I … I don't have a brother.

The ocean ejected me with a violent shudder and I woke up sick to my stomach. The feeling of spinning out into a hungry oblivion fresh in my mind as I stumbled to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. I laid my head on my arm as I sunk to the floor. My chest ached.

And there was a song in my head.

 

[Shujin]

Metamorphose​

According to the laptop's clock, it was four minutes past five in the morning. I didn't know exactly how long I'd slept for, but it felt like I'd had the whole eight hours. I was still laying on my bed with the laptop on my pillow browsing the internet. The lights were still off and the computer screen bathed the whole room in pale blue light. I could see my shadow, pointy ears and all, on the opposite wall. Not needing a lot of sleep was another one for the list and that list was starting to look like my powers were just shy of completely fucking ridiculous.

The general PRT website was a goldmine of information. Power classifications, the rating system, links to the individual websites of all PRT branches and corresponding Protectorate teams in the US and Canada. There was even some information about affiliated groups like the international team The Guild who boasted Dragon among its members, or hero teams like Haven and Brockton Bay's New Wave.

I switched over and closed out of my notepad page without saving. I could remember everything perfectly anyway.

Telling my Dad that my Thinker powers were 'really strong' almost seemed like an understatement. Precogs automatically started from a higher base rating, which made sense to me. Taking down someone who could see it coming sounded like a pain in the ass to deal with just from that alone. I didn't know if I had precognition, but I couldn't say with any certainty that I didn't. And that, I think, is what scared me the most.

Once I started thinking in terms of threat I could see exactly where the Chief Director had been coming from. Just from what I've read, the sheer range I seemed to have on my emotion sensing would have gotten me a decently high rating. My visions were probably a form of targeted clairvoyance? That alone was a middleish rating. My heightened senses and reflexes were lower on the totem pole but nothing to sneeze at. Super memory fell under 'heightened cognitive.'

I had all of it at once. That was just my Thinker powers. The stuff I had made in my locker was another. The storm I made yet another one.

Dragon was a Tinker Eight. They evacuated people for Eights.

That really made me appreciate the kind of capes that lived in my hometown of Brockton Bay.

We had a lot of capes. Definitely on the high side of the national average which was amazing for a city as small as ours. We weren't New York City or Chicago, but whatever it was that determined how many capes per capita clearly didn't care. Parahumans Online, PHO for short, had entire sections dedicated to the so-called 'Cape Capitals' that were organized by country. Good old Brockton Bay by cape just missed taking over Buenos Aires spot in the rankings.

It even listed historical ratings. We used to be higher.

There were the main groups, Protectorate, Wards, New Wave, E88, ABB and the Merchants, but there was a sub-section for Independents too. Lately, some guy named Browbeat had been hitting the Merchants pretty hard the past few weeks. Faultline had a crew of mercenaries, but were often out of town. Shadow Stalker's thread had been closed by a mod with a redirection link to the Wards. Leet and Uber were video game geek villains with a bi weekly web show. Parian was a clothes designer. Circus was a cat burglar. The Undersiders were a small smash and grab villain group, mostly unknown but Hellhound had a bit of a scary rap sheet. And that was it.

There were eleven pages of closed threads about independent heroes or villains I'd never even heard of, some of them were years old and no explanation of what happened to them.

A lump formed in my throat. I think I had a good idea.

We had a lot of capes, and even worse, we didn't have a lot of weak capes. That was a problem when the heroes were outnumbered by the villains two to one. The neo nazi Empire 88 had a bit of everything, Shakers, Brutes, even a Trump. Purity was a Blaster Eight.

That was one step below Legend.

ABB only had two known capes, but it was large and the guy in charge could turn into a dragon. 'Nuff said. The only 'average' group was the Merchants, and they were drug dealing scumbags.

Looking at Brockton Bay the way the PRT saw it, I wanted them out of my city. I wanted all of them gone.

I checked the time. Twelve after six. Still a bit too early to wander around, so I went back to browsing. We had a home computer but it was an old thing that liked to freeze up on anything remotely complicated, like opening two programs at once. Our internet had dubious reliability and even worse speed. I only got to really browse like this was at the Library or the last fifteen minutes of computer class at school.

A quick search of the PRT website led me to a small article page about the World Economic, Natural Disasters and Governmental Defense Group, WEDGDG for short, or more commonly called, the Watchdog. I'd never even heard of it before, but the article was making it sound like they kept the world turning.

It also had Top Secret stamped all over it without coming right out and saying it. The article was a page long and still managed to have next to no details about who, what or where. It had a Careers tab, which was a requirement listing and drop box for resumes. That actually told me more about the division than the article did. Civilian experts needed education, ten plus years of work experience minimum and a background check. Published articles, books, portfolios, references…and there was a second drop box for parahuman resumes which still asked for 'work' experience and references. Education requirements were lower, which seemed a bit unfair.

You could be superhumanly intelligent, but I knew enough about people to know that didn't necessarily mean you were smart.

'Must consent to thorough examination.'

That must be what the Chief Director fast tracked me to. I was way under-qualified. I didn't even have my GED. Why would anyone take me seriously? I just lucked into powers with nothing to show for it. I haven't really done anything.

I switched back over to PHO and looked over the villain list again. Three groups, vying for power and territory in the Bay. I had strong Thinker powers, right? A bit more practice, a bit more knowledge in how my powers work?

I'm sure I can come up with something.

_________​

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♦ Topic: New cape trying to figure things out here. Help?
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► New Capes

_Galadriel_ (Original Poster) (unconfirmed cape)
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
I've got thinker powers I need help figuring out. There is this space I can feel, best I can do is compare it to a pool of water. I can feel people splashing in it. I can feel emotions, that was easy enough to figure out. But there is...a lot I don't get. There are currents and waves and ripples, they all do something but I don't know what. I get visions sometimes? I don't know how to activate them or if there is something to activate. I also feel emotions strongly and it kind of goes out of control. I broke my computer and blew down a wall on accident. Any ideas?

(Showing Page 1 of 3)

► Lamperouge (Verified Cape)
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Wait, you have trouble figuring out your powers?

► Goirdox
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Blowing down a wall seems obvious to me. Congratulations! You're a blaster!

► Mechanical_Messiah (Veteran Member)
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
@Goirdox
Great, now I wonder what LOTR would have been like with ray guns.
@_Galadriel_
Hmm, sounds like a Striker, Blaster, or Shaker ability tied with a Thinker ability of some sort. Be careful about experimenting around others though, because even if your power doesn't hurt others directly, that still doesn't mean shrapnel isn't a danger to watch out for. Also, look up the term "Manton Limitation". That info will be very useful for figuring out things with your own power. I wish you the best here with that.

► Lamperouge (Verified Cape)
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Calibration issues maybe?

► BeerPong
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
This is prolyl fake. Geddout troll.

► Rayo89
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
rule 1, get advice from internet, do opposite

► _Galadriel_ (unconfirmed cape)
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Major calibration issues.

► ggHw
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Go to your local PRT

► XxVoid_CowboyxX
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
So you can feel all sentient beings around you, know what they are feeling and when you feel strongly your power breaks stuff. This right?

► _Galadriel_
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
@XxVoid_CowboyxX Yes.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3


(Showing page 2 of 3)

► XxVoid_CowboyxX
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Are you a jedi?

► Wild*Card
Posted on January 8th, 2011:
We've been had. Good job. Top quality.

► Fuzzy-Wuzzy (Verified Cape)
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Thinker powers are right up there with Master on 'scary bullshit' scale. She could be telling the truth given the other known bullshit Thinkers have been known for.

► Icastfist
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Thinkers don't usually break walls. Seconding the PRT motion

► Good_Girl
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Be care about headaches now. Thinkers tend to get them real bad when they stress their powers. Real nasty stuff. Make sure to stay hydrated and get plenty of rest if that happens. And I'd love to meet a real life Jedi. Think if we ever meet I could get an autograph or memento from you?

► Powerball (Verified Cape)
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Don't worry about it. You're power is prolly glitching the hell out like mine is.

► Chiefhorse
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Build a lightsaber

► _Galadriel_
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
@Chiefhorse
Not a tinker.
@XxVoid_CowboyxX
That shouldn't make sense, but it does.

► BeerPong
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Trooooolllll

► Xx_Void_CowboyxX
Posted on January 9th, 2011:
Have you tried meditating?

End of Page. 1, 2, 3

Each press of the F5 button revealed more responses of varying usefulness. It had been worth a shot. PHO had a lot of actual capes for members so chances were high someone had something to say that I could use. But it was six in the morning. If people online were anything like my Dad, their brains just weren't working one hundred percent until after coffee and breakfast.

I hadn't tried meditating and honestly? I didn't want to go back to sleep. Too unsettling to be a dream, but I couldn't call it a nightmare. I didn't want to experience it again. At least meditating, I had nothing to lose by trying but time. I checked on the Brockton Bay News thread. Even days after it happened, people were still talking about the storm. A hundred pages and counting. I didn't click on it.

I looked up some meditating basics. Breathe evenly, eyes closed, empty mind. Easier said than done, I suspected. A couple of sites recommended using a sound effect backdrop, something that would distract but also wouldn't put me to sleep. I don't know why I chose a looping audio of waves on the ocean. Thematically appropriate? I set it playing and sat down on the floor. I closed my eyes and tried to empty my brain. I didn't even know where to start. It was hard to think of nothing when my power was constantly on, distracting me with the movements of currents. I sighed and kept at it.

I'm not sure when the sound of the ocean started to fade from my ears and started playing inside my head.

__________​

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!"

I opened my eyes. I felt a slight feeling of disorientation, like I hadn't quite come back to my body yet, but it soon passed. I stood up and checked the time. Half past eight. I walked over and opened the door to see a guy that looked like a mall cop, button up shirt, black slacks, utility belt with a walkie talkie and all on the other side. He had a walrus moustache and thick eyebrows that jumped up on seeing me.

"Huh." He handed me a plastic bag with more clothes in it. "Elf. You know I – "

"Yup." I closed the door on him.

I stood there and just breathed for a bit. It took a minute or two for the soothing sound of the ocean from my laptop to get through, but eventually I was able to just feed my irritation into the space between the world and it ate the emotion greedily. I drifted a bit on the eddies and currents, flashes of images, feelings and what I was beginning to suspect was thought brushing against my consciousness. The first time that happened, I had slammed on the brakes, ripping myself out fast enough to give me a headache.

It wasn't so alarming now, but I didn't dare try to think back. The 'avoid thinking hard at people' rule was still in full force.

I took a quick shower and changed into my new clothes, which thankfully weren't stuff lifted from the gift shop. Well, not all of it. Instead, it looked like someone had raided the tourist trap at the Boardwalk and then turned around to raid my closet. That someone was probably my Dad. That didn't make the bra any less embarrassing.

I changed quickly and stuffed my old clothes into the bag after fishing the key to my room out of the pants. On the way out, I swung by the laptop to pause the ocean sound effects. I straightened my clothes, rolled down my turtle neck collar and ran a hand through my hair. Ready as I'll ever be.

I opened the door and mall cop just kind of stared. I closed the door behind me, locked it and turned back.

"Breakfast?" I prodded. I brushed up against the ripples he made, and then sunk under.

...owe Bill money now damn it how was I supposed to know they weren't playing another joke on security I thought powers didn't change how people looked must be the one percent or a case fifty three…

"Mask?" He held up a blank white plastic face covering. I had to raise an eyebrow. That wasn't going to hide my ears or how tall I was. It was not like anyone was going to look at me and see Taylor except for the people that already knew. What was the point?

"No thanks."

"Had to offer." He shrugged and waved for me to follow him. "Got any allergies?"

I walked behind him. "Not that I know of."

We walked through hallways that were more crowded than they had been last night. PRT troopers on the way to work, whatever it was they did when the city was just waking up. Sooner or later, they'd be called out to respond to cape fight. That was just Brockton Bay.

The cafeteria had transformed. Instead of two tables by the double doors, the whole floor was covered with the folding tables dragged out from somewhere and filled with people. Black helmets dotted the tables by their owners as they chowed down on waffles and sausages. I saw people of all ethnicities and both genders but the black body armor created an odd sort of uniformity. At the back of the room, the metal shutters had been pulled up to reveal glass and plastic containers of muffins, bagels, fruit and all kind of breakfast foods.

Mindful of how hungry I didn't feel, I picked out a bagel, some sausage and fruit bowl. Turning around, color that wasn't black by one of the side doors caught my eye. Was that Miss Militia? She saw me too, along with a hard spike of alarm.

Okay. What –

"Who the fuck?"

I turned and saw a black girl with her iconic dark mask on holding a tray. Pancakes, banana, granola bar and coffee freshly brewed from the machine at the other side of the cafeteria.

Shadow Stalker.

And she was pissed.

 

[Shujin]

Metamorphose​

From looking at her emotional map, it would probably be accurate to say she was always pissed. There was an odd kind of self-directed rage that seemed to make up her entire being. She was railing hard against something and the struggle defined her caustically. Every other emotion was tainted by it. It reminded me of Armsmaster. I was probably not helping at all by smirking at the picture of hardass badass Shadow Stalker with a bulbous masked head wearing sweats holding a meal tray topped with pancakes.

Hail the conquering hero.

"Is that how you usually greet people?" I couldn't help but to ask. Miss Militia had abandoned her post by the side door. The All American hero was wearing her customary fitted army fatigues with star spangled belt-sash and face bandana. It was a very simple look completely at odds with her mental state.

Shadow Stalker snorted and rebalanced her coffee cup on the tray with her thumb as she walked by me. "Your face pisses me off."

That was so like the snide comments from Winslow that I just stopped. A part of me born of experience wanted to just swallow it and move on. The greater part remembered that this wasn't the Winslow cafeteria. A hero was right there in earshot, PRT troopers were at the tables and I was not defenseless.

"You have a problem with me?"

The burst of savage anticipation told me I'd walked right into whatever game Shadow Stalker was playing. She turned, "Maybe I've got a problem with all you fucking Case 53 freakshows – "

Miss Militia's hand came down on the Ward's shoulder. Her voice cracked like a whip. "Not another word, Stalker."

Someone told her I was a Case 53? Was that the official excuse? But, then why hide it from a Ward? Technically, I wasn't going to be one but I would still be expected to get to know and work with them, right? And if I was just a random cape, why lash out at me?

Because I'm not PRT or Protectorate. Shadow Stalker was angry. She needed to lash out at someone.

The panic was churning in Miss Militia in uneven pulses, as if she was trying to calm herself down and it wasn't working. Her efforts were tinged with desperation. She knew I could sense emotions, but no one could suppress their feelings completely. There should be nothing about this situation that was worth panicking over. There should be nothing.

I brushed the ripples of Shadow Stalker and Miss Militia, and dipped under.

A thunderclap shattered the windows and the sky outside darkened as I opened myself fully to the space between to pour all of my rage and hate boiling out of me in a futile attempt to resist the urge to rend Sophia Hess to pieces.

Over the sound of drum beats and whispers in my ears I was vaguely aware that she was screaming. I did not care. I should. I knew I was in a room full of scared people raising guns in my direction, but they were all insignificant.

Pain.

I looked down and moved one hand off my meal tray to pluck the tranquilizer dart from my arm. I held it up before my eyes and watched it disintegrate. I shifted my gaze to the costumed heroine with the spangled bandana. She was saying something. I did not understand it. I could not stay here. I dropped my tray. Then I turned and walked out.

Before me, people scrambled to clear the hallway as the emergency lights flashed. Lights that shattered, white sparks cascading to the floor as I passed. I did not know where I was going but that didn't matter. Away from here was all that did.

I entered the lobby and found fully armored PRT troopers blocking the main entrance. I knew what they were going to do moments before they did it, raising the large containment foam launchers on a barked command that was just grating noise to me. I took a step and the scattered watery spray rapidly expanded towards me. The water pipes in the ceiling burst at the same time, a curtain of water meeting the foam halfway a second before the pipes connecting the sprayers to the foam packs ripped themselves out. The troopers were quickly coated with their own foam, bleating panicked grunts as I walked through the water.

I dove into their minds. I will not stay in this building.

Or I will do something I might regret.

The sliding glass door obligingly opened and I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Purple lightning arced down from the sky and struck a street light with a loud crack and squeal of splitting metal. The sparks rained on top of stopped cars. The people outside ducked and screamed.

I ignored them and kept walking.

_____________​

The Boardwalk was closed. Police lines and cars created a barricade right along with the white PRT vans. Officers of both departments held the sizeable crowd back but he could see dozens of raised cellphones and cameras aimed at the bay. Even from here, he could see the brilliant corona of pale purple lightning out on the water.

So much for secrecy, Danny Hebert thought. He shut the car door with a firm shove. "I want to talk to her."

Annabelle sighed as she shut her own door and leaned against the car to look at him over the top. Taylor's assigned PRT officer looked sympathetic even as her eyes strayed out towards the water. "Not recommended."

Armsmaster's motorcycle was already on site with the man himself standing directly on the other side of the hastily set up police line, arms crossed. Danny could see the man sized white aura of Dauntless hovering above further out. The sky was the dusky overcast grey of a New England winter morning and a light dusting of snow was falling. Not a trace of the violent, roiling storm remained but everyone remained on edge.

Including himself. The first time the storm had happened, he'd been at work on the phone when the thunder rattled the lobby windows. His call had instantly drowned in harsh static. Seeing those boiling clouds just swallow the sky, he thought of Taylor still at school. That terror that gripped him then mirrored what he'd felt a little under two hours ago.

Something happened. Taylor.

He headed straight for the gap between the police interceptor vehicles. An officer was on the phone, scribbling in a note pad when he glanced over, then back down before his head shot up. "Hey, this is a restricted area."

Danny ignored him.

"It's fine," Annabelle was right behind him, vague movement in his peripheral was likely the flash of a badge. "Legal guardian."

The journal he'd given the police had documented months of bullying he'd been blind to. Then she was shoved in that locker. Deprived of a protector, she became her own. The trail of property damage the drive here had followed told him that much. He had a hard time believing his daughter even needed a guardian anymore.

Armsmaster heard him approach, turning sharply. "Mr. Hebert," he said after a pause. "There hasn't been any developments, but the situation remains volatile."

Volatile, his left nut. "She's just sitting there."

His voice was a little rough. He'd screamed himself hoarse earlier.

"We don't want to antagonize her."

You and half the city. "I'm going to talk to her."

What he could see of the man's face was just his bearded chin, mouth and bottom of a nose and he still managed to convey displeasure and wariness in equal measure. "That would not be advised."

"I didn't ask for advice." Danny said. "I am telling you, out of courtesy. That I am going to talk to her." The hero frowned harder, but didn't protest. The Brockton Bay union boy in him made him smile crookedly. "Thank you."

Danny didn't even have to reach the wooden boardwalk to see why Armsmaster let him go so easily. The corona of lightning was a good fifteen, twenty feet out in the bay, and spilling out in crackling plumes from some kind of whirlpool in the water.

Taylor was underwater. What was she trying to do, drown herself? "Taylor!"

There was no response. The water splashed up a little over the wooden boards where an uneven line of ice crusted the edges. Then it splashed up again, further, almost touching his boots as he stepped back. He looked up and out. The whirlpool was expanding. He watched it contort into an oblong shape before beginning to stretch towards the shore. No, not a whirlpool. An unseen force was pushing the water away like in one of those bible stories he knew as a kid.

He couldn't help smiling a little as it reached the Boardwalk, a path cut straight through the water exposing the rocky bottom of the bay. He put a hand on the railing and considered. He had winter boots on, waterproof. Warm jacket and a clear invitation.

No time like the present.

He climbed over the railing and slowly lowered himself down. He hung for a bit, gloved hands wrapped around on of the railings support poles to avoid the ice until his arms began to burn. He let go and fell heavily, nearly rolling his ankle on a slimy rock.

The lichen covered foundation of the Boardwalk was in front of him as water splashed, piled high, on either side. He had to take a minute to just stare at his surroundings before he set off, picking each step carefully. Behind him, the path splashed back in.

His daughter was almost too bright to look at, but that did nothing to hide the fact that she was currently floating.

She was sitting cross legged with pale purple lightning arcing across her form as she stared into the wall of water in front of her. A bright oval spot on her sternum burned bright enough to be seen through her turtleneck. The light penetrated just enough for him to see the small shadows of fish, what might have been a turtle and plastic bags float past. He stopped next to her, wracking his mind for something to say and praying he wasn't about to screw everything up.

"…Leviathan might want to have a chat with you," came out of his mouth and he winced.

"Not before the Simurgh does."

Her voice resonated inside his head and he nearly swore. "Taylor – "

"A temporary no-fly zone was established over Brockton Bay after the first storm," she cut him off. "They were going to give it two weeks. That will be extended. The PRT will be facing pressure from the local and state government, if not the federal level to issue statements and contain the situation." She looked at him then for a moment. "Contain me."

Over his dead body. "You don't know that."

"No, I don't." she admitted easily. "But they do. The police chief on the Boardwalk hates parahumans. Our powers don't make sense to him and he thinks we're destructive." Her lips curved up. "He's not wrong."

Danny stuck his hands into his coat pockets and decided to ignore that. Even if he shared the chief's opinion. Brockton Bay was a city being slowly strangled to death by the gangs, it was hard not to. He didn't want to think that of Taylor. "You think you can read minds?"

"There's a man behind the police cordon, red jacket and jeans, blue and white Wildcats beanie. He likes elves." Taylor looked up at him with such a look of pure, distilled disdain that he felt like he had walked into the house tracking dog shit all over the carpet she had just cleaned. "His thoughts are disgusting."

His hands in his pockets balled into fists. "I'll take your word for it," he said stiffly.

They spent a few minutes in a comfortable silence. Well, silence for him. If Taylor really was breaking conventions, then his thoughts were probably racing loudly for her right now. Mind reading. That was not supposed to be a thing, not really. He'd done more than a sane amount of research on capes ever since the PRT knocked on his door. He looked up at the seawater streaming around an invisible barrier around the two of them.

He didn't think anything could have prepared him for this.

"I was supposed to stay in the PRT building," Taylor commented and he snorted.

"You have my temper." He couldn't deny that she looked different now, but not so different that he couldn't see his daughter when he looked. Her eyes were shaped differently, but they were his shade and she still had her mother's nose. Was he…allowed to be happy that she had his hair now?

Taylor shifted. "What happens now?"

"Well," Danny rocked back and forth from toes to heel. "You have a medical appointment." She turned incredulous eyes on him and he smiled. "Standard practice for powers that change your biology." He paused. "Unless you don't want to."

"That's it? No cells, ultimatums, probation?"

Rather than speaking he just thought hard about his meeting with Piggot as troopers secured the Boardwalk. She definitely hadn't been pleased and expected cooperation going forward. She hadn't played hardball, but it was a near thing. A former Ward was unconscious, but expected to recover. The attack was considered unjustified but 'understandable.' He was pressing charges against Sophia Hess for a reason, after all. That there had been very few injuries and the storm hadn't even lasted an hour made it easier to swallow.

A cynical part of him whispered that the leniency was because Taylor had gotten the Chief Director's attention, and the PRT no longer had to worry about the expenses of hiding her identity.

Bureaucracy.

Taylor stood. It was surreal to watch her just unfold and extend her legs downward to the ground. Had she grown an inch or two? "I won't freak out like that again."

Her jaw clenched as she shoved her hands into her pockets and her shoulders hunched as she curled into herself. Danny felt a lump forming in his throat. How many times had he seen her stand like that, and hadn't connected the dots? Refused to?

He wanted to hug her, but hesitated at the lightning that still crackled around her. Even her eyes sparked.

"Stick close?" She smiled weakly and the shining oval in her sternum pulsed. "I'm actually not sure how I'm doing this."

Quite suddenly, Danny was not okay with the walls of water around them.

At all.

They got back to the Boardwalk by the old Ferry dock that was just low enough for them to grab and hoist themselves up by. Taylor let the aura fade and he immediately slung an arm over her shoulders and hugged her to him.

At the police cordon, Danny gently pushed Taylor ahead and nodded to Armsmaster. "Situation resolved."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white and blue Wildcats beanie. He stopped. Red jacket, blue jeans. Following Taylor with his phone. Danny waved a 'wait a second' to Annabelle and then balled the hand into a fist. A hop skip.

He was staring so intensely at his phone that he never saw the right hook coming.

 

[Shujin]

Metamorphose​

I think my medical appointment was for patching me up after Director Piggot killed me.

Annabelle's car splashed through a deep puddle under the overpass. An orange and white traffic cone sat innocently by the busted fire hydrant. She drove slowly. Pockmarked craters tore up the pavement and busted street and traffic lights lined both sides of the road all the way down to the Boardwalk. Not even buildings were spared, glass shards and concrete rubble littered the sidewalk from broken windows and chipped walls. Red and white wooden barricades closed the entire main road to through traffic.

I leaned out the window. "Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"

Armsmaster's motorcycle purred as he maneuvered around a pothole. He appeared to give the question serious thought as he took in the damage. "Six."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Minor civilian casualties, superficial damage only." He looked up at a building we were passing. It had a cream-colored brick finish with about two dozen of those bricks blasted off the corner. "Structural integrity is not compromised. Cleaning up after the Merchants is worse, to say nothing of Lung."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," he replied. "Our abilities, used irresponsibly can and will make us a danger to those around us. You were angry and that is understandable. You also increased the PRT's workload unnecessarily, and will cost the city tens of thousands of dollars. This has not helped the public's perception of you."

My jaw clenched as I looked down and to the side. Truth.

"But," he continued. "You could have done worse."

"Yeah, I could have." I know I could have. A lot worse. Dad turned to look at me from the front seat, slight frown on his face wrinkling his forehead and I made sure to give him a little smile before turning back to Armsmaster. "Thank you."

He nodded, eyes on the road. I could feel that he was pleased and relieved, mentally patting himself on the back. "You're welcome."

On the outside, the PRT building looked pristine. If you ignored the clean-up crews visible as shadows in the glass front, then it was almost like nothing had happened. Armsmaster kicked up the throttle on his bike, pulling away with a throaty engine growl that evoked a strange feeling of nostalgia as the car slowed down. My fingers twitched as I watched the bike head for the garage.

Convincing my Dad to let me have a bike was going to be just this side of impossible right now. I tore my eyes away and unbuckled.

Director Piggot was waiting for me in the lobby. The woman stood before the front desk like an island in a storm. The floor was still wet with yellow warning signs depicting a falling stick figure set up before the elevators and continuing down the hall. All of the plaster board had been removed from the ceiling, exposing lights and wires with men on ladders underneath.

She didn't even have her arms crossed or behind her back. She just checked her watch. "If we are quite done with the property damage?"

I grimaced and ducked my head. "Yes, I'm done."

"Good." She was unsettled, but she was not going to show it.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Piggot gave me a flat look. "You've had a long five days. We've all had a long five days. It was not information you needed to know right after your ordeal." Or ever. "We have a responsibility to protect both of your identities and contact, if any, was to be limited."

"She's not, staying a Ward is she?" Staying a hero? After everything she's done?

"Her membership in the Ward's program was contingent on her following the terms of her probation. Exactly." A thrum of satisfaction went through the Director. "Her membership is no longer valid. Frankly, I've reviewed the situation and I can't see how you knew."

It wasn't stated like it, but I knew she was asking a question. "I can read minds."

"Bullshit."

I sighed. I heard something along those lines from my Dad's thoughts. Trying to peg a limit on parahuman powers we didn't even fully understand seemed idiotic to me. Honestly, insisting otherwise was more trouble than it was worth. "Fine. My ability to sense emotions and intent is acute enough that I can follow the course of what you are likely thinking with some concentration."

Piggot nodded. "Believable bullshit." I could hear her think, fucking thinkers. "Use that."

"Yes, ma'am."

She took a meaningful look around the lobby before sniffing disdainfully. "You will be seeing a counselor for anger management."

"But – "

"Mandatory," she cut me off and I almost growled. Not a Ward. Piggot slowly smiled, no doubt knowing what was going through my mind. "But under my jurisdiction. Consider it community service for your little outing."

She was baiting me on purpose. I took in a deep breath, then released it and my irritation. "If you insist."

"Oh, I do." She looked around me at my Dad. "We've contracted Panacea to assist with the examination. They should be ready for you." She gave me a last lingering look as she turned to leave. "Refrain from dropping more work on my desk, if you would."

I smiled tightly. "I wouldn't wish to cause you undue stress."

Director Piggot's stink eye was still burning a hole in my shirt when Dad laid a hand on the top of my head. "Do you," he started slowly. "Want me with you?"

In the past, Mom was the one who came with me to the doctor's office. We used to make a day of it, a girl's day out thing and it was less embarrassing that way. Since she died, I had to become self-sufficient in almost everything. Packing my own lunches, getting my own textbooks and school supplies and even getting the flu vaccine this winter by myself. That he was asking now; it meant a lot. Mom had…left pretty big shoes to fill.

I had a sinking feeling about what the examination would reveal though. I didn't want him around for that.

"I'll be fine."

Dad smiled weakly. "Alright, I'll just, uh," he held up a slip of paper. His ticket fining him $25 for Disorderly Conduct. I smiled, nearly bursting into laughter remembering how he got that. "Go take care of this."

On impulse, I hugged him. "See you later?"

He hugged me back. I had only just got my powers, but I knew he was happier than he'd been in a long time.

That was almost worth the locker. I don't think anything can make up for being betrayed by my best friend or having her make school hell for months on end. Her, Sophia and Madison. Nothing was worth being absolutely alone, but if I had known that it would have resulted in powers and my Dad and I acting like a family again? I might have walked into that locker on my own.

Maybe.

"I'll bring lunch. How does chicken wraps sound?"

That was something I knew he could make really well. For once, I could actually feel more than a bit hungry. Oh right, I skipped breakfast. "Delicious."

Annabelle waited dutifully until Dad got into the elevator for the car garage, throwing me a lopsided smile. I felt a bit of shame. PRT handlers for problematic parahumans, that was a dangerous job, wasn't it? PRT troopers were still in containment for Master Stranger protocols and the woman was there without a hint of fear or wariness or anything. I had just shown off how dangerous I could be, and as far as I could tell, she didn't think any less of me.

As far as I could tell, was pretty far nowadays.

"Ready to go?"

I nodded. "Thank you, by the way. For everything."

"Aww," she cooed, reaching up and lightly tugging on my ear. That…felt weird. "Just doing my job."

"Still."

She just smiled. "Come on, docs wanna poke ya."

The 'docs' were Doctor Cèsar Bouras who was tall, dark and potbellied and Nurse Practitioner Cathy Goodness who looked like someone's grandmother with white-gold hair and bifocals. On our way down to the PRT's medical wing, I'd gotten an eyeful of all the shit I broke. I had to have tripped a breaker or two at some point. Luckily, that hadn't affected any of the expensive hospital equipment like the MRI machine.

I had a feeling Piggot would have been a lot less happy if I cost her several million dollars instead of thousands.

"Clench your fist for me?"

I did as asked with my shirt sleeve rolled up and my veins pulling evasive maneuvers. Nurse Goodness prodded and poked my elbow joint, my wrist and checked the back of my hand before shaking her head.

"Alright, you're a bit harder to get blood from than Aegis," she finally said. Doctor Bouras chuckled from his spot at the computer. "I can feel that nothing is in the right spot." She looked up at me over the top of her glasses. "I don't want to poke something that might hurt a lot. Have you ever gotten finger pricks?"

"No?"

"I'm going to try that. We don't need too much for testing." She got out a few small tubes and a blocky bubblegum pink thing that reminded me of a tape dispenser. "How this works is that you'll feel a pinch, and then we squeeze out blood from your fingertips."

She unstrapped the rubber tourniquet and I flexed my hand. "Fine."

Just as advertised there was a painful pinch after the loud click sound as she stuck my pinky finger. My blood was a bright red, so vivid I almost thought it was fake. Goodness made a small thinking sound but didn't comment as she squeezed my finger a few times into one of the small tubes. She got about three good squeezes before I just stopped bleeding.

She sighed. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" My ring finger gave even less and by the time we got to my index finger, it was completely bloodless. "Are you adapting?"

Doctor Bouras turned around in his chair. "Do you feel anything? Numbness at the fingertips, a chill, anything like that?"

"No."

The nurse went back to my pinky. "Scabbing abnormally." She got a petri dish and a small metal instrument and scraped the congealed blood off. It fell with a tiny plinking sound I could hear. She sealed it and checked the blood in the tube with a shake. "It's congealing; we have to get this to tech quickly."

The doctor hummed. "I'm going to recommend we start with Ms. Dallon's examination then to get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Amy Dallon was Panacea of New Wave, one of the premier American healer capes, if not the premier cape. It was said that she could heal just about anything short of brain damage. Missing limbs, organ failure, cancer, you name it. 'Medical tourism' was one of the things keeping Brockton Bay afloat, and that could be solely attributed to her. That was a lot of work for a girl in high school.

I sat in the office, more than a little fidgety. Waiting to meet someone who'd personally saved hundreds of lives would do that to you.

When the door opened again, Doctor Bouras walked back in with a clipboard and behind him trailed a mousy girl with frizzy brown hair and freckles. She wasn't in her iconic white and red costume, instead opting for a red sweater with white snowflake patterns, black pants and boots. She held a mug of hot chocolate she was hurriedly trying to finish off. New Wave was a family group that didn't hide their identities, but it was still surprising how normal she looked.

Her emotional map was also a complete mess. Every bit of my excitement tanked, hard, as I took in what looked a lot like a pervading sense of guilt layered on top of depression. The chocolate was doing her some good, I thought.

"Amy, this is Taylor," Doctor Bouras introduced me.

I tried to smile and wave as Amy looked up, her eyes immediately darting to my ears and she inhaled a mouthful of hot chocolate. She exploded into hacking coughs.

"Okay," she coughed, eyes watering as she set the mug down on the counter. "Okay, you got me."

Bouras chuckled, his amusement clear coupled with sympathy and pity as he patted her on the back. I think he knew about Amy. "I thought you would appreciate it."

I sighed. "Yes, alright, we get it. Elf."

I was never going to live this down for as long as I lived.

Amy barked out a laugh as she rinsed her hands in the sink. "Oh wow, PHO is going to love you." I refrained from pointing out that Brockton Bay probably hated me by now. Then again, considering how many people were taking pictures earlier? "More than skin deep, huh?" She asked the doctor as she dried her hands.

He handed her the clipboard. It was bizarre watching a senior medical professional defer to a teenage girl. "Full work up."

She skimmed through it, flipping pages with a well-practiced air. "I'll start inside and work out, top to bottom." She rearranged a few of the pages. She looked up at me. "This is going to take a bit, with a lot of talking, just so you know."

"Do this often?" I asked.

"A few times, yeah," she said as she set the clipboard on the small table by the exam table I was sitting on. "Powers that majorly change the body aren't very common."

"Case 53s."

"Yeah." She held out her hand, and nodded down. "While I'm at it, want me to heal your fingers?"

"Oh." I had completely forgotten about them. They didn't hurt at all. "Sure, thank you."

I placed my hand in hers and watched her brown eyes immediately unfocus. She stood there, mouth slightly open and looking at absolutely nothing. I shifted in my seat and squeezed her hand a little. No reaction. "Um?"

Ladies and gentlemen, Amy Dallon has left the building.

A minute passed before the doctor clued in that something was wrong. "Amy?" He stood up and shook her. "Amy!"

I pulled my hand away and she gasped.

Amy looked at me, looked at my hand and then blurted out, "You shit crystals!"