Chapter 9.3
(Part 2)
***
The last time you'd been in New York, you and Sakura hadn't been given much of an opportunity to fully tour PRT Tower - both because your road trip to Philadelphia meant that time was limited, and because the two of you (and Aisha, for that matter) hadn't been fully inducted into the Wards program yet.
The two of you didn't make a fuss about the lost opportunity, mainly because… it all felt kind of fuzzy. Like a dream, where you're moving from place to place but don't always remember how you got there? There had been the shock of the… attack, then helping people escape in those last few minutes… then a bunch of PRT officers and the Brockton Bay Director talking at you and giving you papers to sign…
Miss Militia was usually there, though, and she'd always been the coolest heroine in Brockton Bay since you could remember. Assault and Battery were funny, too, and you felt better when they made you laugh during the trip… but you liked it more when Miss Militia was around.
Serious, calm, reserved. You and Sakura had even dressed up as her for Halloween three years ago. Well, you had gotten fewer comments on your Armsmaster/MissMilitia fic than Sakura had gotten for her Armsmaster/Dauntless slash, so you were the 'secret villain clone' - her scarf meant that you couldn't wear an Evil Goatee, so you wore a Chinese flag instead of an American one.
Not that you're ever going to admit that last part to her face, even during Master/Stranger Protocol questioning!
"Everything… seems to at least match your previous records, Ms. Kurosawa," the PRT officer hums to himself across the silver table, idly sweeping a hand through his thinning, grey hair and fixing his glasses. "I'm still not entirely comfortable with the degree of core impulse modification that you've demonstrated, however, nor at the inexplicable skill and language acquisition."
Beside him, Miss Militia nods, though she hasn't looked away from you for the whole two-hour interrogation. Even though everything below the bridge of her nose is hidden behind her flag-scarf, and her body language difficult to read under the army fatigues, you've at least been able to tell when she's been smiling or frowning by the way her eyes crinkle or narrow ever-so-slightly.
You duck your head in a light bow, trying not to fidget in your metal seat. "It's alright. I still don't get a lot of it, too."
"Yes," the old PRT agent mutters, flipping idly back through some of the pages to your earlier responses. "but it matches to what our records show for Marrow and Weaver when both were initially recovered… as nonsensical as it all sounds, even with context."
Miss Militia's eyebrows twitch down slightly, but otherwise she continues her impassive study of your behavior.
"I'm…" you hazard, empathizing but still not sure how to respond to a PRT psychologist saying you sound crazy, "... sorry?"
"Don't be," he sighs again - oh, right, Dr. Marchbanks that's his name! - while adjusting his thin-rimmed glasses to eye you with a bit more sympathy. "Ms. Kurosawa, none of this-" he motions to the papers in front of him with a hand, "is your fault, neither is your new… existence. I have some choice words for Weaver, of course, which are going in my report… but I don't see any further good coming from keeping you under Master/Stranger Protocol Containment."
Turning his gaze to the last sheet of paper in his folder, you see him sign and date a final line, before he removes a small lipstick-container-sized stamp and punches it next to his signature.
Finally, Miss Militia relaxes her posture with a relieved sigh - though her eyes are crinkled in a way that you've realized means she's giving you a relieved smile.
"Thank you for your patience and cooperation, Saki."
Inside, you wonder how she always manages to seem so focused, so cool and collected all the time. You know Taylor mumbled some stuff about watching videos of Miss Militia's interviews for 'training purposes' but Taylor is always too distracted and busy to do it right.
"Ah… it's ok," you nod again, before casting a confused glance between the two adults. "Is- Is that it?"
"From my end, yes, Ms. Kurosawa," Dr. Marchbanks grumbles to himself as he stands and offers you a wiry hand, which you shake automatically. "Your compliance has been greatly appreciated by the PRT, as we're well aware that you could have teleported away at any time. From here, you're still scheduled for some preliminary Power Testing next, since you've been kind enough to refrain from exploring your new powers until we have a safe space for you to do so."
Miss Militia nods to mirror his thoughts, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
There had been so many times you'd wanted to poke and play with the… well, they feel somewhat like the glowing lines all across your body: computer circuits. Not that you know all that much about how computers actually work - that's Taylor's and Chris' jobs - but the straight lines and hard angles that end in circles are how they look inside, right?
"Once we get a general picture of your new abilities - Weaver and Prayer have shown us that it's better to wait for a full test until you've… 'configured' your new powers," Dr. Marchbanks continues, clearing his throat at the last bit, "we'll hopefully be able to release you fully from Containment. Beyond that, there will still be at least one Protectorate member assigned to you at all times for the next week - both for your own security and… well, for further passive observation."
"Oh," you blink, thinking back. "Like Weaver had before?"
The elder doctor frown disapprovingly as he glances down at the papers on the table, but shakes his head. "No, that was a...
unique situation, and I'll be honest: I was the one who pushed for this, independent of the usual Master/Stranger Protocols." Looking up, his eyes and tone softens, though his face remains resolute. "I'm of the professional opinion that it will be good for you to have someone trustworthy and combat-capable nearby while you recover from what's happened - both for your own peace of mind and to be there in the event of a relapse. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is known to make even the strongest characters lash out when exposed to a trigger, and the ramifications of a parahuman lashing out are usually far more severe than a normal human."
Miss Militia, who has risen to her feet as well, moves smoothly to your side and places a careful hand on your shoulder. "There's no shame in recovery, Saki, and if you ever don't feel comfortable with your chaperone we can find you another one."
You have trouble meeting their eyes, mainly because your own vision is getting blurrier, but you nod and… you're just going to hug Miss Militia now, even though you're totally ruining the moment by being sad.
You breathe for a bit, and try not to focus on bad memories. Think of something else! Like… huh, it feels like Miss Militia is wearing body armor under her fatigues? Aren't you supposed the wear the armor on top?
"A-alright," you eventually manage, after thinking about armored bodices long enough to stop leaking all over Miss Militia's camo. Turning your gaze up to her, you realize this is a perfect opportunity: Begging Jutsu, activate! Form of Puppy Eyes! "Can you be my first?"
Miss Militia's dark brown eyes widen slightly, enough that you're pretty sure you just shocked her into speechlessness. Critical hit?
Oh, uh... wait... you may have phrased that wrong.
"Chaperone!"
She blinks, finally, and you can practically see her eyes focus again, resolving into a frown as she tries to figure out- ah, ok,
now she's blushing.
"I…" she coughs, turning her gaze to Dr. Marchbanks… who is giving you a very disapproving glare, "... was scheduled to return to Philadelphia, but… I can… ask?"
You nod, turning up the Hopeful Eyes again, causing her to look away quickly with a troubled expression.
"Could you… go back to your old appearance, Saki?"
You blink, wiping away the last remnants of your tears on your jumpsuit. "Eh?"
Dr. Marchbanks clears his throat, causing you to meet his scrutinizing glare.
"Ms. Kurosawa," he begins slowly, straightening his glasses to peer at you through them skeptically, "at the risk of sounding cliche, I must ask an honest, impartial question: have you not yet realized how attractive you now are?"
You reel back a bit, feeling your face heat up as your eyes widen.
"Ano… I…" you try, awkwardly disentangling yourself from Miss Militia - who seems to scoot away ever-so-slightly at the same time. "I... looked in the mirror, yes."
You basically spent most of your first day in your cell, staring at the matte-silver girl that had taken over your reflection. No blemishes leftover from your acne flare-up, no squat nose that wasn't short or round enough to be cute…
that you had expected.
You hadn't expected to look like you were always catching the light just right, that your impossibly-smooth skin radiated a glow that you'd only seen in magazine covers. The white-and-blue filligree glow running along your body, neck, and face only accentuated the white, silver, gold, and black metal studs and plates in a way that put even
Taylor's designs to shame.
You're
impossible, like the greatest models in the world got smushed into someone that kind of looks like your mom and the world around you is constantly airbrushing your appearance and tweaking the lighting to make everything just right. It was a shock at the time… but...
... you've been trying not to think about it too hard, actually.
Taylor already has way too much attention - good, bad, and
totally gross - all around the Internet because she's super pretty, but she's really good about not paying attention to it or shutting it down.
You... would rather hide. You don't… need anyone else but Sakura, anyway. But she's...
Dr. Marchbanks is still talking.
"... anything by that, Ms. Kurosawa," he speaks slowly, calmly, while keeping his hands up.
Oh, you were curling up again. It takes a few breaths and flexing of your fingers on your arms to relax, but you nod enough that he eventually seems to calm down himself. Miss Militia is still a few feet away, but she's clearly trying to give off a 'I'm here if you need it' message with her unguarded stance.
"If it helps you understand," he tries again, shooting a concerned glance to the worried-looking Miss Militia, "I have been informed that your mere
appearance rates a Master 3 rating... and I think that might even need raising."
Whatever blood - or fluids - were in your face before feel like they've quickly drained. Master ratings… are
bad.
In a fight, you always target the Master first.
"I know it might be alarming, Ms. Kurosawa," he says evenly, slowly, "but you need to understand: it is
extremely difficult to focus on anything but whatever
you are doing or saying. My first instinct is to believe and agree with whatever you say. I've had to constantly remind myself that I am
happily married… to my
husband."
"Wh- what?" you stammer, shocked. "Why didn't you say anything before?"
"We-" he stops, closes his eyes for a moment and sighs briefly. Opening his eyes again, he looks more tired than before. "After everything you've been through, I and my colleagues helping the other Wards felt that it would be best if we didn't make you feel embarrassed or ashamed of your new appearance. Since I have field experience working against Master powers, it was hoped that I could prove that the PRT wouldn't need to mandate a disguise when you're not…
weaponizing your appearance."
Disbelieving, you cast your gaze to the side - only to meet a ruefully-nodding Miss Militia.
"O-oh," you manage, looking at your hands.
Every time you look at them, some new detail, engraving, or tracery seems to jump out at you. As beautiful as Lord Grasp's opulence can be, there is a level of precision, artistry, and
power just in your
hands that puts him to shame.
With a
shove of energy into the back of your mind, a wave of hexagonal panels erupts from your fingertips and flows down your arms - as each flips, its opposite side reveals your old, pale and sallow skin tone - while your shoulders buckle and shrink to support your new frame.
A few seconds pass, and you're the old you.
You'd never really liked the old you, but maybe it's better this way: at least Sakura will recognize you when she gets back.
Avoiding the uncomfortable gazes to your side, you look up to the door.
"Can we go now?"
***
