Tuesday, 14. December 2010
I stared down at the small playground nestled in between two houses, my fists clenched and my lips pursed. It looked exactly as I had left it not too long ago; small, humble, clean… innocent if you ignored the bags of garbage shoddily stuffed behind some bushes. They hadn't even
tried to hide them properly, but I guessed that was part of the plan as well.
I cursed. Fucking
bastards. If I ever met that drone Tinker, I'd see which of his orifices were compatible with his technology. Fuck… now I needed to–
No, no time. Sorry kids.
I can always come back later, I told myself as I forced myself to turn around.
Clean everything up again after I fix the mess with Carson. I just hope they don't fire me.
I couldn't blame them if they did. Not really… but all I could do now was to dive in and hope for the best. I needed to be on top of my game and stay calm, dignified, and professional. That kind of thing had usually helped when Dad had issues at work, from what he'd told me.
At least with those he couldn't scream into the ground, a part of my consciousness whispered in a sudden burst of gallows humor. My anger issues were one of the things that I'd inherited from Dad, after all, and I could still vividly remember the day I'd spent the morning in his office because we wanted to go out in the afternoon – years ago.
There had been some issue with the mayor, and seeing my Dad lose his shit for real had scared me back then. The way his usually bewildered face turned crimson paired with the veins throbbing at his temple and a volume that made the walls of the DWA office shake had genuinely terrified me.
Sure, him shouting the poor aide into the ground had apparently fixed
something… but still, I should probably avoid displays like that.
With a defeated sigh, I began flying back toward Downtown. Armsmaster had tracked me down quickly after I'd fled from the scene; it couldn't have been more than an hour, but that didn't matter. Every second I lingered was a wasted one, another uptick to the chance that this would ruin my career before it started.
Of course, I
could just leave, a darker part of my mind whispered. It was a good excuse to pull back and fade into obscurity again. I could use it to duck out of the job and go back to my workshop. Just a few more weeks and I'd be gone. All I needed to do was… nothing, and my problems would solve themselves. Reputation for security was a good trade if someone tried to kill me, after all, right?
I squashed the thought viciously. Fuck that. Fuck them. I would not be backing out of anything just because it was fucking
easier.
I will not give up, I thought.
I will not fuck this up. And I'll make fucking sure of it.
I only hesitated for a heartbeat before I plucked three glass shards from my costume and floated them into the palm of my outstretched hand. Not too big, and not too small. They would do.
Sand began creeping out of my sleeve as I flew over the city at a comfortable speed (not that my flight was particularly fast to begin with), and it poured itself into my outstretched palm. Another melody and everything rose into the air and came to hover a few inches over my hand. I stared at the mass in front of my face – three glass shards surrounded by a lazy cloud of sand, almost like a cage around each shard – searching for self-doubt.
I couldn't find it.
The sand rippled and closed around each shard like one would wrap a candy, leaving me with three pebble-sized projectiles held together by my song. I popped off my mask and swallowed them without hesitation. They would stay in my stomach until this was over, and if I lost my control – if my focus slipped for just a bit too long – they would remind me what was at stake here.
"Woah, crazy bint," my mind helpfully supplied when the sand slid down my throat. I ignored the intrusive thought. I fucking
knew it was crazy, but it wasn't like I was thinking about harming myself. It was just… a challenge – a harmless challenge to test my self-control.
"Hah, tell that to yourself in the mirror."
The mask went back on my face, and I twisted my lips into a soft smile. Now I just had to ensure they stayed in my stomach, instead of going further in. That'd be a literal pain in the ass I didn't want to deal with, no matter the reason.
When I arrived at my destination and my feet touched the ground of Brockton Central Park, the small crowds previously there had dispersed, as had the reporters. I could still see a lone news van in the area, but it was parked a good distance away and on the other side of the road. It was – I had to admit – something that had me equally relieved and happy.
I found Andrea leaning against our van, engrossed in a telephone call on her sleek smartphone. She interrupted the call with a few words when she noticed me and approached me with long strides. It was quite the sight, from her sharp face set with a firm expression to the trendy black winter coat, trailing just behind her legs and highlighting that part of her.
"Heeeeeey," I awkwardly called out to her, trying to gloss over the fact that I was a nervous wreck with a raised hand and a smile. "I- I'm sorry for running off. I just needed to clear my head for a bit, and–" I paused, fishing for words. "I… I was shocked, and I just… had to see for myself. They really did it. I… everything we did…"
I trailed off and shook my head.
"What happened? Are you alright?" Andrea leaned over me – or she would have if she wasn't nearly a head shorter than I was. Her voice was laced with concern that didn't quite show on her face. She looked me up and down, and I focused on the little bombs in my gut to force the nervousness away.
"Yeah, I-I'm fine," I murmured, forcing myself to smile and trying not to let my gaze fall to my boots. "Had a talk with Armsmaster. Someone tried to sabotage my reputation, but we don't know who it was."
"Hey, it's fine." Andrea made a dismissive gesture, before placing a hand on my shoulder. I nearly flinched away from her. "Not my first time dealing with angry crowds, or with VIPs getting into a mess. No one was hurt, and we didn't make any blunders we can't recover from. Did you know that woman, the one who got in your face?"
"I – no. She just… " I trailed off, hesitating before forcing myself to continue talking. "Armsmaster said someone hired her to cause a scene, most likely. They couldn't prove anything. The way she went at me just reminded me too much of a person who caused me pain. A lot of pain."
Even thinking about Emma awoke a deep, simmering urge in me. One that made me want to grab the table I was sitting on, and smash it into her face over and over and over again.
"It evoked a lot of bad memories," I added quietly. "It won't happen again, i- if you're willing to give me another chance."
"Another chance?" Andrea frowned at me. "What do you mean?"
"I,uhm… you aren't going to fire me?" I asked.
"What?! No!" Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Why would you– You didn't do anything wrong, Kaleidoscope."
She sighed, rubbing her temple. "You know what? Why don't we wrap up here and go grab a coffee to relax?"
"Oh," I said quietly, confused and relieved in equal measure. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"Why would anyone do this?" I stared gloomily into my mug. It had the audacity to smile back at me, bright and wide, and in all its chocolate powder-on-cream glory. Three vicious strikes with my spoon put an end to that.
We were currently sitting in something resembling a trendy upscale cafe that was putting a lot of effort into the facade but still felt more like a weak imitation than the real deal. It was a nice place, with a fancy menu full of things with adventurous names and prices that - while not completely horrid - I wasn't comfortable paying quite yet.
"For what it's worth, I think you did an amazing job," Andrea smiled and took a bite from her stupidly oversized cookie. The thing was almost as big as a plate, with little bits of red fruit baked in here and there. She grimaced and lowered it again. "Urgh, too sweet."
I stared down at my own food, the remains of some bland brand-name cake, and gave it a poke with my fork. I was sure my trying to eat without removing my mask looked goofy from the outside. I'd ditched most of my costume for more subtle clothes, but I hadn't removed my mask yet and had no plans on unmasking to my 'employers' either.
"But what about my… slip-up?"
Andrea waved me off. "I know the feeling of wanting to sock someone in the face, don't worry. They provoked you, and if what that hero said is true, they were paid to do so. That's hardly something any of us could anticipate."
Except I could, I thought, thinking back to the attack in the alley that had kickstarted this whole mess.
"True," I lied. Even thinking about it made me sick, and I quickly changed the subject to something less problematic.
"What did you mean by 'that hero'?"
Andrea pulled a face. "Yeah, that Arm-guy. I'm not really much into the hero scene."
I gaped at her. "That's Armsmaster! One of the top 10 Protectorate heroes in the US. He's- he's like on every damn poster around! How can you not know him?"
"As I said, I never really cared much about the hero scene. They're like sports stars or politicians. Some of them do good work, sure, but not everybody fawns over them," Andrea sighed at my expression and rolled her eyes. "Well, in my defense, I guess, I spent over a decade overseas. I could tell you more about African warlords than the local heroes."
She forced herself to take another bite of her cookie. "Speaking of heroes, how'd you end up in the business?"
I made a face at that. "That's one of the questions you should be very cautious about asking a cape."
"Uh… Oh, I'm sorry if I hit a sore spot. My mistake," Andrea said, looking slightly confused.
I waved her off. Maybe… maybe it wouldn't be too bad to talk to someone about this.
"No, it's fine. It's just… that's a pretty sensitive topic with most capes. When you get powers, it's because you were pushed to your limit, and for most of us, that doesn't look pretty. It's what people call a 'trigger event'. And I… I triggered during the Winslow fire. I… don't know what happened. It's all a mix of blurry pictures and blank spots for me," I gestured at myself with a weak chuckle. "I didn't always look like this. I used to be a beanpole, all weak and pathetic. Had some issues with bullying, and on the day it happened… they locked me in the school basement, and when the school started burning, nobody came to let me out. I- I think I wasn't alone in there?" I added after a moment of hesitation. "And then it's just this… hole in my memory until I woke up in the hospital, one arm lighter and with superpowers."
"Oh, shit," Andrea cursed beneath her breath. "I was actually asking more about the 'becoming a superhero' side of things. I really, really didn't mean to try and dredge that up."
"It's fine, I think I wanted to talk about it," I replied, looking at her, studying her for a moment. "So now that we're sharing origin stories, what about you? Tell me a bit about yourself."
Andrea looked up from her coffee. "Me? Why?"
"I…" I shrugged awkwardly. Had I really forgotten how to do small talk? Fuck was my social life pathetic.
Fuck you, Emma, I thought bitterly. "Well, what is it that you do for Carson? How'd you end up working for him? I'm just curious. You said you worked in Africa before?"
"I.. okay, I guess?" Andrea set down her mug. "Well, we'd have to get into my whole life story then. I don't mind. There's not much to say about me, really. Joined the army as soon as I could so I could get away from my folks. Ditched high school and enlisted. Parents weren't the worst, I guess, but I just had to get out."
She shrugged.
"I … can understand that," I carefully replied. "I love my Dad, I'd kill to keep him safe, but… it's complicated, you know? I never even told him I had powers."
"Family, yeah. You should tell him, though."
"Yeah," I forced myself to smile, thinking:
Fuck no! The thought alone made me panic and elicited a surge of cold sweat breaking out on my skin. I hoped it was just imaginary. "Just waiting for the right moment, you know?"
"Sure. Anyway, military. Loved it. Eventually joined the special forces, and spent a decade overseas. Africa is…" Andrea bristled, grimaced subtly, and gestured with her hand. "It, eh, has some nice places, I guess?"
I raised my eyebrow at that and snorted.
"So, yeah. The end of the story is that I had a tryst with my commander, got knocked up, and he took me aside and told me to take it as a gift to get the fuck away from everything. And I did, I guess. Came back home, delivered a beautiful little boy, and tried to look for some proper work. It's been two years now," Andrea continued, and I could see her eyes brighten as she mentioned her son.
"I see, must have been nice," I said. "I can imagine it must have been quite a change to your life." I'd never thought about the topic, but I couldn't imagine becoming a mother myself. I didn't want children – couldn't have them, with the changes I'd made to my body, and that was good. Even the thought made my skin crawl, and the hefty reaction took me aback.
"Yeah, I… gave him away. I'm not a mother, and I think I don't want to be one either," Andrea said.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I replied. "Maybe you're just not ready yet?"
"Maybe, but it's fine," Andrea shrugged and took a sip from her mug. "Don't have to worry about him while I'm out. He's got a nice family up in Boston, and I can see him whenever I like."
"So, how did you end up working for Carson?"
Andrea snorted. "Eh, that. Just a coincidence. I don't regret it though. It was either him or working for Coil. I tried to do something 'normal' when I was back in shape first, but flipping burgers isn't exactly for me. I like the action, and I'm good with a gun. Tried to go to the police, but it turns out you need to have a high school diploma at least. PRT is the same deal. I'm currently in night school to fix that," she said with a hint of pride. "I'm not dumb, always had good grades and a sharp mind but I blasted all of it to get away from home. Should have just toughed it out for the last half year, in hindsight."
"Coil?" I asked. "The supervillain?"
"Yeah, a fellow vet put me in touch; apparently he's always looking for a good mercenary. Pay's good if you can sacrifice your morals. Even offered me a stipend for my kid. He's…" Andrea paused. "A bit of a sleazy prick with a questionable costume design. Dangerous – gave me the goosebumps – so don't underestimate him. Might have taken his offer if it wasn't for my kid."
She met my gaze, shrugging. "I know I'm not raising him, and I wouldn't have to worry about that if I didn't want to, but I wanted to do something proper for my kid, you know?"
"And Carson's proper?" I asked, remembering the
vibes the guy gave me. All grease and sleaze.
"Well, he's not a supervillain."
"Fair," I conceded.
The rest of my talk with Andrea was nice, and after finishing our food, and with three messages from Dad on my phone inquiring about my state and when I would come home, I decided to wrap things up today. So, after grabbing my costume from her van, I rushed back to my Tinker base to stash my things before I returned home.
No drones flew out of the shadows as I crept through the docks, costume in a duffle bag, and hoodie drawn tight around my face together with a surgical mask. No Parahuman or armed gangster was jumping out of a doorway or alley to accost me, but when I entered the range of my workshop and started surveying the area for lifeforms, a single crimson humanoid shape bloomed into view.
I crept closer, cautious, and when I peeked my head around the corner and saw a burly man trying to pry open the side door to my workshop, I… honestly couldn't say I was surprised. Of course, it was fucking winter, the building was in decent condition, and he could just be some poor vagrant looking for a shelter… but with everything that was going on here, hah, like fucking seriously? What were the chances?
I retreated back into safety before I allowed myself to groan, and slam my head against the wall –it actually took some effort to avoid bashing an imprint of my thick skull into the brick – then I picked up my stuff again and began circling the area, always keeping the interloper in view while I surveyed the skies and surrounding buildings.
The man started to try other potential entrances, and I could occasionally hear a muted garble of words drift around corners as I snuck past, torn apart by wind and distance. When I felt safe, I rose into the air and entered my workshop through the roof access. It was still locked, and when I landed on the ground, security bots came shuffling.
Good, no one made it inside, I thought.
He may not know that this is a lair but I have to make sure.
I needed a change of clothes.
I quickly changed into my tinker outfit, grabbed my bolter handgun from the workbench, and left the building the same way I'd snuck in. I silently dropped down behind the man. He was big – bigger than me – with a thick beard, and when I snuck up to him and wrapped my arm around his throat from behind while pressing my bolter to his neck, I noticed that he smelled like olives.
Doesn't smell like trash and BO. No vagrant then, I thought bitterly.
A scout, a spy… fuck! But why would I be surprised? Even the fucking PRT knew that my Tinker identity existed and lurked around the docks.
The man froze when I pressed the cold gun against his skin and went straight rigid when my tail came into his view from behind him, caressing his cheek and carving a shallow crimson line into his flesh before it wrapped around his body like an anaconda.
"Who are you?" I spoke directly into his ear. "Why are you lurking around here?"
"Release me, fiend! Bitch!" The man demanded, straightening in my grip. "Do you want a taste of my Viking rage?"
I blinked. Was… was he serious? I tightened my grip around his throat, and as soon as it had appeared, I could watch his courage crumble into nothingness again. He shrieked like a girl and began flailing in my grip. "Nononono, wait! Wait! Wait," he wailed. "I… uh, wait, nonono. Please! My b- boss wants to speak with you!"
"Your boss?" I asked sharply. "Who is he?"
"Uh, S-Skidmark," the man whimpered.
"What does he want?"
"T-talk! Just talk! P-phone in my pocket."
"Get it out! No tricks."
"I, uh, I can't."
I sighed, before releasing my grip and stepping away. The man relaxed immediately but before he had a chance to backstab me, my tail closed like a lasso around his throat. I didn't squeeze hard enough for him to have trouble breathing but even with his hands free, he wouldn't be able to move.
"Phone, now. Dial and throw it behind you," I commanded. "Don't turn around. One wrong move and I'll crush your windpipe."
"G-got it, boss," the man gulped. He fiddled a phone out of his pocket with shaky hands, and after a bit more fumbling, threw it behind him. It hit a segment of my tail midair, but even if it hadn't, it would have completely missed me if I hadn't caught it with my telekinesis and dragged it toward me.
I drew a shaky breath, hoping that my victim didn't notice it before I brought the device to my ear.
"The fuck is this?" I barked into the phone, with more bravado than I actually had. I had no fucking clue who this 'Skidmark' was but if I had to guess, he was a Parahuman. Had to be, with a name as shitty as that. "What do you want from me?"
I was met with silence. Eventually, when I was already contemplating dropping the phone, a muffled voice began shouting – or rather, slurring – over the speaker. "...The fuck am I? The fuck are you? What are you doing on Jason's phone, chick? Are you his cocksleeve or something?"
Both I and 'Jason' cringed at the choice of words. He tried to turn around but I tightened my grip around his throat until he stopped resisting, taking a few steps further back so I had more privacy. "The Tinker," I spoke coldly. "Found your guy walking around. Sniffing. He said you want something from me, so what do you want?"
I could hear Skidmark chuckle over the phone. It sounded as nasty as his name. "Ah, the Tinker… well, it's easy. You don't work for anyone yet, so you'll work for me now."
"No," I said flatly.
"Oh, but if you don't, I'll
make you. And I won't be nice about it. This is going to be my city, and if you don't work for me, then we'll either make you leave, or I kill you."
"No," I repeated as flatly as my previous statement. "You can try to force me, but it won't end pretty for you."
"Heh, thinking high of yourself, huh? Do you really think you stand a chance against me and my boys, you cunt? You're alone, and I have more people with powers than you have tits and holes combined. You'll beg me to join after they're done with you," Skidmark cackled, and I could hear the malice dripping from his next words. "That's why I like working with women. It's so easy to work them… and break them."
I stared with disgust at the phone in my hands. I had the intense urge to put him into the ground for his tone alone but with my future and plans at stake — with Dad — the choice wasn't hard. "I'll be out of your hair in two weeks," I finally said. "I'll leave the city, so leave me alone."
I was met with silence.
"Good. We have a deal," Skidmark finally said. He sounded surprised, and I guessed he hadn't anticipated me folding so quickly. "If you break it, accidents will happen to you. No one messes with Skidmark, capiche?"
"Like you did with that cape in the park today?" The words flew from my lips without thought.
Again I was met with silence, though this time the reply came much quicker. "Smart girl," Skidmark cackled. "Yeah. She fucked with me, and I'll drag her down for it. Destroy everything she makes, everything she does, and then, when I have her, I'll break her until she begs me to kill her. Don't make the same mistake, cocksleeve. No one underestimates Skid–"
"Understood," I interrupted him, before dropping the phone to the ground. I wiped my palm against my outfit, unable to hide the disgusted shiver. What a vile wretch.
Pathetic. How could a man fall this deep?
"It's easier than you think, girl," my mind whispered sadly.
"It's easier than you think, so always stay mindful of how far you let yourself fall… because you won't notice it until it's too late…"
I slammed my backpack against the rear wall, startling Dad who just came out of the kitchen when it hit the wall next to his head.
"Ouf, kiddo," he said. "I hope that wasn't aimed at me. Everything ok?"
I slumped with my back against the front door, shoving it shut. "Urgh, no. Yes. Just a bit frustrated," I trailed off, fishing for words, before gesturing to a non-existent spot on my torso with a huff." The f– stupid black ice. I slipped three times today. Dumped my food over me."
"Oh, you went for takeout?"
"Yeah," I replied. "I told you earlier I wanted to say goodbye to some friends. We went out to the park and hung out a bit. There was a new cape today, doing some shows."
"Oh, are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. It was nice. It's just, goodbyes suck, you know?"
I immediately cursed myself for my choice of words but it was too late. I could see Dad avert his eyes for a moment and the sudden glimmer of hurt within them. "Yeah, I know, Taylor," he sighed.
"Going to make myself fresh," I hastily dodged. "Brought something for you. Be back in a few."
I placed the signed Kaleidoscope glass card on the little cupboard in the hallway and rushed upstairs and into the bathroom to barf out the glass shards in my stomach.
Only when the scalding hot water of the shower cascaded over my scarred shoulders, wrapping me in soothing steam did I allow myself to succumb to a long sigh. I placed my hand against the wall and allowed myself to rest my forehead against the wet tiles, enjoying the de-stressing experience.
No more risks this week. I'd keep my eyes open and my head down. All that was left to do now was to wait. The fundraiser was looming ahead, and I would slay it. A part of me was still surprised that Carson hadn't fired me. Even if it technically wasn't my fault, I doubted I'd delivered a good image today.
Going through with the job was still a risk, yes, but the place would be crawling with heroes and security. Maybe even some villains, if rumors like Coil running Brockton Central were true. No one would be stupid enough to try anything there, and if they did…
I smiled, cranking the shower handle higher, and following an idle impulse, rested my forehead back against the tiles and allowed my hand to roam. After what happened today, I could use something even more de-stressing.
"Like a whole bottle of vodka and some gummy bears, fuck yes."
I didn't want to hurt anyone, but they wanted to hurt me – without reason – and so I wanted to hurt them back. Emma had destroyed my life, and I loathed her for it. What an irony that I was so much better at that now than she'd ever be.
The reassurance of just how easily I could shatter whoever stepped into my path was nice, somehow. They would come after me again, I was sure of it, and if they did, I'd hunt them through the entire city if necessary. And then I would show them what kind of terror I could really unleash.
Many thanks to Fwee for the awesome Fweedback.
