[X]Leave the rat
Despite all the startled yells, the people talking over each other, and the sudden flashes of red light as someone triggers a containment lockdown of some sort, I can't help but feel like the PRT's scientists are missing the importance of what just happened.
The rat-shape has gotten up, scrabbled clumsily to its paws and then froze in place, with its eyeballs already turning grey and its heart muscles being turned into jelly. It's not moving because I'm not moving. It's me. It's not another me, it's just me in a place that's not where I'm standing right now. It's separate, but still connected. My flesh. I can feel the attachment, it's like looking at one of those stupid Magic Eye pictures, stop focusing on the piece of me that's standing here and the rest of the picture pops out. For a moment, I'm so giddy with excitement I can't contain myself.
I start jumping up and down like a little kid, giggling and squealing and lashing a half-dozen tendrils around wildly. Separation hurts, all of it hurts. Emma's absence, my flesh spread across the walls by Vista, all of it. But this? It's still connected. It confirms something I've thought about for a while, ever since I started filling that tote in my basement full of meatslime. No; really, I have Vista to thank for this. She broke me apart in that alleyway and all the pieces were still me, I just didn't know how to recognize it past the hurt. This body, this shape? It's not me. It's just a shape. I don't have to be in this shape, and I don't have to be in one place.
Oh man, I can't wait to abuse this.
I pick up the rat-shape and hold it close to my chest, still dancing around and laughing, then turn and face the viewing window and hold the rat-shape out, grinning so wide it's split my cheeks all the way to my ears. "Assault! Assault, look! It doesn't hurt! It doesn't hurt at all!"
* * *
Up in the observation booth, Assault stared at the spectacle in the test chamber.
He was still staring a few hours later, only this time at the wall of Armsmaster's office on the Rig, from a distance of approximately 1000 yards. Miss Militia was sitting next to him and staring at Assault, just waiting quietly, ready to be there for him if he needed a shoulder to cry on or a 12 gauge slug to the face to end a rampage. The room's owner finally arrived, juggling a clutter of paperwork and his phone, all of which he shoved onto the desk so he could turn and face the two of them.
"I left you alone for two weeks, and when I came back there's a zombie in the Wards. Then I left you alone for two hours, and now Piggot is drinking an entire bottle of antacids. What happened?"
"Welcome back, Armsmaster," Militia said. Assault was still too far away to respond. "How was your patrol?"
"Good, there was a bit of noise over by the Trainyards, but it was just a domestic-- no. You can't distract me like that." He scowled at them and moved around to his side of the desk. The chair, even reinforced, creaked under the weight of his armor. "Start talking. And about something relevant, please."
Militia gave him a pat on the shoulder; she'd tried. Assault sighed, and launched into an explanation of what his boss had missed regarding Brockton Bay's newest acquisition. Militia chimed in with her own observations and questions, when appropriate. Armsmaster butted in once in a whole to get clarifications, but otherwise just let Assault speak. Once he got to the part with the rat, Armsmaster stopped him long enough to get out a notepad, so he could write things down. The Tinker had a lot of questions, some Assault knew the answer to, but many he didn't. Did they confirm an absence of vital signs in the rat? How long did the reanimation process take? Was the rat autonomous, instinctual, or controlled? What was the transmission vector, was it a pure Striker power or something else?
The answers, in order: yes, way too damn fast, controlled, and deliberate action. Deadpan had, upon questioning, insisted that she had 'eaten' the rat. She didn't eat or digest in the traditional sense, so anything she ate was assimilated into part of her. She claimed she'd injected just a bit of herself into the rat, and eaten it from the inside out. She'd then decided to prove her claim that the rat wasn't a minion, just a glob of her own flesh, by holding the critter up and making it melt into goo. It had dripped all over her arm and the floor, and the drips had crawled back to her and sank into her skin. One of the newer technicians in the power testing room had started crying.
"And I just-- I dunno. I can't even, that's the phrase, right? I can't even. You know what she said?"
"The fact that I'm asking you should point to 'no."
"She asked if this meant she could find a spare garbage can in the cafeteria, then turn it into a sarlacc pit for the cooks to toss meat scraps and leftover hotdogs into."
"Well, that… does sound practical," Armsmaster hedged, "but not really something I want to decide on now. She only mentioned this… urge in regards to animals, correct?"
"Right," Militia said. "And she's shown no similar inclinations while interacting with the Wards. Her father is fine, too."
"That proves nothing either way," Armsmaster said, and frowned even harder. "There's enough precedent with Masters to indicate she might have a Manton limitation against, ehh, 'infecting' humans, but there's also precedent of her ignoring established Manton limitations. This is going to require some testing."
"Isn't jumping straight to 'infection' being a little unfair, Armsmaster?" Assault asked.
"No."
"Terminology aside, I agree we need to investigate this," Militia cut in, ever the diplomat. "If her first description of the incident is to equate it to just regular eating habits, then I personally doubt she's a danger in the Master sense. But, it behooves us to make sure anyway… actually, that reminds me. Assault, did she say anything about what happened with Kid Win and Vista?"
"Not really," he shrugged. "I tried asking, but she brushed it off."
"Hm. Well, if she's reluctant there's still the other witnesses. Militia, see if Vista's willing to talk to you about it. I'll question Kid Win. If nothing else, her destruction of her door makes me think I'll need to find an acid-proof material for her quarters." Armsmaster sighed, and jotted down a few more scribbles on his notepad. "I'll add it to the pile of tests. Assault, make sure she stays under observation until I say otherwise; move her into one of the M/S containment rooms for the time being."
"Wh-- you want to keep her locked up?!"
"Under observation, I said, as a precaution. Since there's been no signs of her power having a Shaker or Stranger element, she's free to visit the Wards' Commons still, but I don't want her given free reign to leave until I've had time to study her power a bit more. Hm-- speaking of, don't move anything out of her room yet, I'm going to grab some scanners and go over it right after this."
* * *
[X]Forgive Vista
My good mood hadn't entirely evaporated by the time I finally got back to the Wards' Commons. Mind you, it was under threat of doing so; as much as I was getting curious about the limits of my flesh, I was also quickly getting tired of the attention. I wasn't allowed to take a nap, either, since Armsmaster had apparently locked himself in my room with a black light or something, which was kind of strange. The Tinker had probably been my second-favorite hero for most of my childhood, and I was pretty sure I still had a poster of him on my bookshelf at home, but man. The whole Protectorate was turning out to be much more weird than I'd ever anticipated. I hope he finishes whatever he's doing soon. I want to see if I can grow enough extra ribs to make a throne of bones to replace my computer chair. I hear the PHO mods want a picture of you using your powers in order to verify your Cape tag.
In the meantime, though, there's something else I guess I can take care of.
I find Vista's room down the narrow hall from mine, and try to make my hand as normal as possible before I knock on her door. The trick works, because I hear her call out, then finally get up and open the door when I don't identify myself with an answer. She freezes in place when she sees me, holding the door half-open. "D-deadpan?"
"Hey. Can we talk?"
"Sure, um… sure. Come in." Vista backs away from the door, rather than turn around and lose sight of me. I reward her prudence by leaving a couple feet of distance between us. "Listen, Deadpan, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to use my power on you, I swear."
You know what's funny? I actually believe her. She sounds serious, not sad or remorseful. None of Madison's crocodile tears, or Emma's pursed lips and pouts. None of the fidgeting denials I get from Winslow's staff. It's… nice? No-- not nice. But it's satisfying in a weird way. "I think you're telling the truth. I don't think you meant to hurt me, Vista. You did anyway, but I hope intention counts for something.
I take a step closer, and she leans back a bit, but doesn't retreat any farther. "I've heard a saying. Once is chance, twice is coincidence. And three times is…?"
I trail off, and wait for her to finish the sentence. "...enemy action?"
"Enemy action, yes. But I don't think you're an enemy, Vista. We're teammates, right? You won't do it again, right?"
She swallows, and answers with, "I'll try not to. I'll try really hard."
She refuses to make a promise she might not keep. It makes me smile at her, and she fidgets in response. Maybe she would have prefered if I'd worn a mask. "Thanks for being honest, at least. I guess that's the best I can hope for, really. People think I'm scary, and disgusting. It's okay."
"N-no, I didn't mean that, I--" She protests, automatic denials. Vista really doesn't want to hurt me. The denials are hollow and we both know it, there's a panic in her eyes now. She doesn't want to lie to me, but also doesn't want to tell the truth; but still no fake sympathy. That's what makes me smile.
"Thanks, Vista, but really. It's okay. I know I make you nervous, but… if you really mean that, then… maybe we can even be friends, some day?" With Emma remaining stubbornly separate, I could use someone to take her place sometimes.
"O-of course, Deadpan." She hesitates, then steps forward and wraps me in a brief, reluctant hug. Her body temperature is 98.6 degrees. "We could hang out sometime, when you're not busy."
I could get attached to her.
House arrest by another name, huh? Guess I have some free time.
[ ]Spend time with someone (who?)
When the heroes aren't poking me with sticks, I mean.
[ ]Research Opportunity: choose a branch (Chemical Compounds, Discorporation, Channel Flesh, or Mimicry)
