- Pronouns
- They/Them/She/Her
Fragments (Worm Altpower)
- Thread starter Telegraph Nine
- Start date
Wow, just... what a fucking chapter.
i love how there's like, five different people involved, and only the two most malicious ones are cooperating.
And this thing here, with Taylor and Emma... Emma is just the living embodiment of an abusive cycle, here. It actually makes my heart ache, makes we want to reach out and stop them, but i fucking can't, and i also cannot stop reading.
Absolutely tasty.
i love how there's like, five different people involved, and only the two most malicious ones are cooperating.
And this thing here, with Taylor and Emma... Emma is just the living embodiment of an abusive cycle, here. It actually makes my heart ache, makes we want to reach out and stop them, but i fucking can't, and i also cannot stop reading.
Absolutely tasty.
Chapter 13 - Standing By
- Location
- here
- Pronouns
- She/Her
A/N: We're back! A million thanks to my beta-readers Dysole, FuryouMiko, and Wheat Stick.
CW: Self harm.
Your fault.
The rain fell.
Taylor perched on the edge of a roof overlooking Winslow, a block or two away. She watched the fire engines huddle next to the squat building like vast creatures taking shelter from the cold and wet. The ambulances had already left. They'd only needed one.
This wasn't safe, and she didn't care. If she fell all she had to do was shatter and tear away the secret that clung like a cloying too-tight skin. Rip off the metaphorical mask, end the pretense, and let whatever consequences followed follow. They couldn't be much worse than this.
She'd thought she had time. Until Sophia got bored of waiting, declared her new toy a disappointment and forced the issue. Not much time really, just enough to prepare, to come up with something. She hadn't had a real plan. Just a delusion.
The image of Emma wreathed in flames rose up in her mind's eyes, every detail frozen and precise. Carved in lines of mental scar tissue. Engraved below it was another image, one that would never fade: a flute sinking into a furnace, out of reach.
Idiot. Blind. Failure.
She hadn't looked, she hadn't seen. It had never occurred to her that Emma could act first. Emma who'd tried to goad Taylor into hurting her or worse. Emma who had all but said she wanted to die. She'd been so focused on Sophia, she'd never even thought that—
No. She hadn't thought long before that. She didn't need powers or a looming villain to miss the obvious. After Mom died Emma had been her… her rock. The one solid place in a world that had fallen apart. The only thing that held onto her, pulled her back from following Dad to the gray empty place he'd lived in those days. Emma was strong. Emma was whole, in a way Taylor couldn't be.
Except she wasn't.
It was easier to imagine Emma as cruel than broken. The girl who had held her as the tears ran out and the world turned gray, the girl who'd stared down her own father when he tried to insist Taylor should go back to her own home, her own family. Why shouldn't Emma decide that she deserved a better friend, that enough was enough? A part of Taylor thought that already.
She thought she'd done something wrong, some final straw she'd dropped without realizing what it would ruin. That she'd been too pathetic, too broken to keep. That she hadn't recovered fast enough. A million things. Maybe eventually, in another year or two, she might have even grown to hate Emma for it.
It had never occurred to her once that Emma needed help.
Taylor bit the inside of her lip, fighting back a sudden urge to shatter. To have more than one shortsighted pair of eyes, to see the world from more than one narrow perspective, almost blind. Her best friend had been hurt in ways she didn't even understand, and she'd missed it. How many other things was she oblivious to? How much more was she going to lose because of her own ignorance? Mom's flute. Emma. Mom. Dad. Victoria…
She wanted to hate Sophia. To blame her, cling to the resentment that had kept her going, use it to push back despair and fear. But she couldn't. No matter how much she tried to find that anger, all she felt was sick. Because…
Because it wasn't Sophia who hadn't put the pieces together. It wasn't Sophia who had left Emma alone with a whispering shadow. Sophia had taken advantage, but Taylor had failed first. Refused to see what was in front of her.
Taylor, when does it take no effort to keep a secret?
When no one wants to look.
It was raining hard. The rain on Taylor's cheeks was salty and hot.
Even when she'd known, she hadn't done enough. She'd kept secrets, delayed, stalled for time. She'd had logic, justifications, a million and one lies to tell herself. All for one reason. A smile filled her mind's eye, a flash of golden hair, a comforting embrace. Victoria.
She'd wanted to keep some part of her life isolated, pure, some tiny sectioned-off fragment Sophia couldn't touch. That was the real reason, no matter what she'd convinced herself. She'd found a new friend, a tiny bright pebble of joy all to herself, uncorrupted. Too selfish to let the sides of her life mix, to risk tainting that last good thing she had left. Too cowardly to tell Victoria what was happening. She could almost feel Lady Photon's eyes on her, Panacea's eyes.
She had powers, she had a chance to help people. To help Emma. And she'd wasted it. Because she had wanted to keep a piece of her life safe, secure, separate. Locked behind a mask. That was what Sophia had offered, wasn't it? In school, powers are off limits.
And Emma had paid that price.
She wanted to scream, to lash out, to hide away from the world and hope that if she didn't touch anything ever again maybe she could stop making things worse. Taylor dragged her nails through the skin of her arm with a hiss, the rain washing blood away into long feathery pink trails. The skin closed again behind them in tiny red wakes. It helped, a little. It was easier to hurt herself than it should have been, when she knew it didn't matter. It would heal. The pain was distant, something calling from a far away planet, but it gave her a beacon to follow. A stinging path back to herself.
Emma was hurt. Emma had been hurt, longer and worse than she'd ever suspect. Her fault. Every time, her fault—
More scraps of red under her fingernails, more pink streaks in the rain.
Had to do something. She'd stood by and done nothing when Emma needed her, her response couldn't be to do more nothing. No matter how much she wanted to. No matter how scared she was of making things worse again. She couldn't just hide, say there was nothing she could do. Not again.
Little by little, Taylor broke herself. Chunks peeled away: a finger, a piece of her cheek, the tip of her shoe. Slow breaths in and out of a chest half turned to stone. That one held a tiny sliver of her fear. In this one, a fraction of the guilt. There, the part of her that wondered what she could do, if she was only going to keep making things worse and worse. Pieces of Taylor's mind peeled away, carrying with them her doubts, regret, pain. By the time she was done, what was left barely looked human. A vague shape of blackened crystal, covered in cracks and pockmarks that erased every soft edged feature, only a rough silhouette in the corner of an eye suggesting it might have once been a person.
Taylor saw herself through the eyes of her circling doubts. All the pieces she didn't need, couldn't be. The remainder looked so small from outside, a tiny shape riddled with missing parts. It didn't matter. She had a goal now.
She shattered.
No more hesitating. No holding back. She needed everything, nothing set aside or kept for herself. No limits she wouldn't cross. Not again. Countless Taylors rose into the air, speeding toward a destination.
A brief time later in the Hebert residence, an elderly desktop spun to life.
Rain streaked off Victoria's field as she flew, tiny rivers branching and forking just above her skin. Never holding still, never touching.
She didn't notice. Her attention was maybe one fifth on navigation, the rest devoted to the writhing knot of worry that had at some point replaced her stomach. It hadn't been a long conversation on PHO. Barely any information exchanged at all, really.
So how had it managed to make her feel so afraid?
She knew where Taylor lived. She'd seen her house once before, the day they'd first met. The day of Taylor's trigger. Victoria had managed to talk the younger girl into letting her walk her home, if barely. She hadn't been inside. It had taken work to get her to agree to even that much, but she really hadn't wanted to leave Taylor alone.
Victoria tried to convince herself she was jumping at shadows, reading far too much into nothing. 'Needing help' could mean a lot of things. So what if Taylor had been… terse, on PHO. And with how Taylor had made learning anything about her home life like pulling teeth, she should be thrilled she was finally being invited over to the dark-haired girl's home. Maybe she was just finally opening up. Maybe everything was fine. Right?
She was pretty sure she'd been more convincing at age five when she tried to tell Mom it had actually been aliens who got into the cookies. The problem was, Victoria had an unfortunate habit of listening to her gut. And right now, her gut was saying that in the movie of her life this was the part with suspenseful strings and the audience begging her not to go in that door.
Fuck that. Some tickets were about to be refunded, because her life was NOT a horror movie. Whatever was going on, she would handle it. Victoria dived, raindrops spiraling out behind her in her wake.
The Hebert residence didn't look any more preposessing than she remembered it from above. Mostly it just looked somehow sad, like a place that had been maintained but not truly cared for. A little house with a tiny yard, functional and not much else.
Victoria alighted and knocked, wondering what she'd say if anyone other than Taylor answered the door. Hello sir, just performing a random check-in… no, best not. She'd cross that bridge when she had to.
The doorknob turned with a click, and the door swung open. There was no one there to open it, which was creepy until Victoria spotted a couple fingertip-sized pieces of crystal retreating deeper into the house. Then it was… still worrying. Just for different reasons.
The inside of the house was a lot like the outside. Nothing broken or obviously decrepit, just… worn. It managed to give the impression that nothing had actually been replaced or restored for a long time.
Two years, for example.
Victoria ventured deeper into the hall, only the sounds of floorboards creaking under her feet and the hammering of rain on the roof breaking the silence. The lights were off, the only illumination from the pale and watery light coming in through the windows. She was dry, at least. Had been since the moment she stepped inside, thanks to her powers. To her left was a small kitchen. On her right through a doorway was a living room that—oh.
She'd found Taylor. In a way.
She'd expected to find something. This was… not quite as bad as she's been afraid of. Not quite. Tiny chips and flecks of black filled the room, hanging utterly motionless in the air like stars scattered against the darkness of space. There was something there, a pattern tickling at the roots of her brain. Without meaning to, she found her eyes following the shards, imagining lines traced between them. Something like neurons inside a brain, a branching tree. An arc, a tiny section of a greater spiral—no. Victoria shook her head sharply, ripping her mind away. She had to focus.
That wasn't important right now. Helping Taylor was. She cautiously entered the room, and the crystal flecks pulled back to let her pass. That was good. She trusted her field to keep her safe, but if somebody normal had walked into this room and the pieces refused to move… Victoria repressed a shudder. She'd seen how sharp those edges were. Not a pretty picture.
"Are you alright?" Victoria asked softly. The pieces didn't answer. Right. Stupid question. She tried again. "Can you hear me, Taylor?"
The pieces shivered. It was hard to read body language in something that wasn't really a body, but Victoria got the sense of snapping back to reality. Whether that meant waking from a daze or being torn out of some ferocious concentration, she had no idea. The inky shards swirled, forming a word. Yes.
Okay. That was good. "Are you hurt? Can you change back?"
Not hurt. There was a hesitation, a soft crystalline hum that cut off as soon as Taylor realized she was doing it. Could. Don't want to.
Victoria did her best to keep her voice even and soothing, projecting a calm she wasn't sure she felt. "Why not?"
Easier this way.
Victoria's mouth went dry. Please let this not turn out like one of those case studies she regretted reading late at night. The ones out of the parahuman asylums that always made her wish she could hug her own powers for not ending up like that. Don't jump to conclusions, Vicky. Just ask. "Does being like that make you… think differently? Or feel differently?"
Yes.
Not jumping to conclusions could kiss her extremely stressed ass. Okay. Deep breaths, except not so deep Taylor could tell she was taking them. Even if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, it could still be a duckling. Soft. Fluffy. Nothing to panic over. Nothing bad had happened yet.
As far as she knew.
"Could you change back?" Victoria said softly. "For me?"
The pieces curled around each other, forming spirals as theory drew closer together. A new word: Why?
"I want to talk to the regular you. Under the Breaker stuff. I'm worried about you."
The splinters of Taylor shivered. Need to…
There didn't seem to be a third word.
Victoria stepped further into the room, uncaring of the razor shards. "Whatever it is, I'll help. I promise. I just want to make sure you're okay first. The whole you." She swallowed. "Let me help you. Please."
The dark and broken pieces of a girl hung in the air for a moment. Then, all at once, they slammed together with a crash. Taylor stood in the middle of the room, and for just an instant her face was as blank as the glittering shards.
Then she burst into tears.
Victoria rushed forwards and wrapped Taylor up in the biggest hug she could safely give. The poor girl was absolutely soaked, the kind of dripping wet that required either far too long in the rain or taking a swim with all your clothes on. Victoria felt cold trickles spreading through her own clothes, and now she was wet too. Her power kept out the rain, but it wouldn't keep Taylor out. Not ever, not like this.
"Sh-she… she was…"
"Shh. It's okay. It's okay, I'm here," Victoria whispered as Taylor sobbed into her shoulder. They were great heaving ugly sobs, all dripping snot and gasping for air. The emotional equivalent of vomiting, purging everything toxic until there was nothing left. Victoria held her as tight as she dared, and she was struck by how tiny the girl in her arms was. Tall, yeah, but thin like she was designed to fold up and stow away. She wouldn't even need her power to lift Taylor off her feet.
Minutes passed, and little by little the sobs subsided. Victoria ran her fingers over the sodden curls of Taylor's hair, trying her best to be comforting. It was well past an awkward amount of time to stand in place hugging someone, but Taylor needed someone right now. That much was desperately obvious. Like hell if she wasn't going to be that someone.
Eventually Taylor disengaged and stepped back, not meeting her eyes. She coughed, trying to wipe away some of the snot with the edge of her sleeve. What was left of it. "Um. Thank you. I should probably—"
Victoria's eyes snapped wide. "Taylor, your clothes!"
They were charred and blackened, little more than burnt rags with entire sections gone, modest only by chance. Victoria had been too close to see before, too distracted by the crying. The skin under the places charred into nothing was pale and perfect, unblemished. Just like always. Just like Taylor's skin would always return to being. The knot inside Victoria's chest returned, twisting sharply tighter. She remembered a girl fresh from her trigger, covered in burns.
"Oh, right," Taylor said, looking down at herself. Her voice was quiet, toneless, like she'd been reminded of something that wasn't important enough to keep in mind. "I guess I—"
"Who did this to you?" Victoria hissed. Taylor took half a step back, and it was only when she noticed the other girl was staring up at her that Victoria realized she'd floated several inches off the ground. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Took two. Took five. Slowly she returned to the floor, got her aura back under something vaguely resembling control. Her fists stayed clenched. When she opened her eyes again Taylor was staring at her, and she desperately hoped that wasn't fear written across her face.
"I was going to tell you. I swear," Taylor said, staring at her feet. "That's why I asked you to come here. But then you wanted me back to normal and I couldn't…" She trailed off. "I'm sorry. I should have held it together."
"You—" Victoria bit back a bitter laugh. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Taylor." She took another deep breath because why not, it wasn't like she hadn't already had about fifty of the things since entering this house. "Do you have some dry clothes you can change into? I can listen while you do that." Taylor didn't need the Victoria that wanted to hurl whoever hurt her through however many walls were available. She pushed those feelings down as best she could. Later. Later, there would be a time for that.
Taylor nodded. "Upstairs."
A couple minutes later Victoria was sitting cross legged outside Taylor's bedroom door, leaning back against the worn and painted wood. "So."
"So." There was a rustle of fabric from behind the door, and Victoria resolutely did not picture what was happening on the other side. "I don't really know where to start."
"Is 'the beginning' an option?"
"I guess." Taylor sighed. "Growing up, I had a best friend…"
"She built a flamethrower to use on you!?"
"It wasn't much of a flamethrower," came the voice from the other side of the door, almost defensive. "It blew up in her face when she pulled the trigger. Literally, in her face. I don't think she was planning to actually use it. I—" there was a crack in Taylor's voice. "I handled it badly. I fucked up, pushed too far and she felt like she had to. She's… she's in the hospital now and—" The story cut off, her voice thick.
For a moment Victoria expected Taylor to mention Amy. To make the ask-by-proxy she heard way too often, and plunge the whole conversation into a particularly nasty species of moral quandary. She didn't. Instead the silence just stretched, growing deeper and more uncomfortable by the moment.
"She tried to burn you. She did burn you," Victoria said finally. Everything about this story disturbed her, but right at the top of the list was how Taylor was telling it. "Why is that less important than the fact she got hurt?"
"Because I'm fine!" There was something in Taylor's voice, bare and raw. "It took a couple minutes and I was back to normal, she's in the hospital. I just hurt. I don't know if she even can get better after that. And it's…"
She didn't need to finish the sentence for Victoria to know what the next words were: my fault. Something in Victoria's chest hurt. There was so much wrong with that logic, but she didn't know where to start. She had no idea how to begin untangling the things Taylor was saying, how she thought about this girl. Physical problems she could punch or throw or failing that at least go find Amy. The other kind… not so much. They had an awful tendency to leave her feeling like she had been before her trigger. No field over her skin, no flight, no aura. Just another face in a crowd, a girl so ordinary as to be forgotten by everyone the moment she stepped out of view. Nothing to anyone.
Victoria shook her head, hard, as if she could dislodge memories. Taylor. She needed to focus on Taylor. The girl who needed her. She was just… worn out, that was all.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The moment the words left her lips she knew they were wrong. Too much like an accusation.
"I was scared." The voice was tiny. "You were… nice. To me. And I thought if I dragged you into it, Sophia would…" An exhausted huff, too bitter to be called a laugh. "I don't know how to fight her. I still have no idea how she can ever be hurt. And if she gets her hands in you, she—"
"Taylor." Victoria's voice all but clicked into a new register, vaguely lecturing. Deep festering hurt, a friendship gone twisted and rotten, she didn't know how to even start there. But capes? Capes she knew. Powers, those she could break down, get a grip on. "Taylor, I haven't heard of her."
Quiet. Confused. Hesitant. "Why does that matter?"
"I follow capes," Victoria said. "Not just for my work, as a hobby. Some people keep up with sports or politics, I do capes. And the powers you're describing, they would be a big deal. You said she's been in the city for at least a year. But there's nothing about her online or anything."
"So… what does that mean?"
"A couple things." Victoria held up two fingers, even though Taylor couldn't see her. "Either she's barely had her powers any longer than you have, or… she's a nobody. Some niche D-lister. Look, you've heard of Uber & Leet, right?"
"Yeah."
"How about Mush?"
"I haven't… no, wait," Taylor said. "They sound vaguely familiar?"
"But you haven't heard of her. And neither have I." It was too easy to forget how familiar the world of capes had always been to her, growing up in her family. There were things it hadn't occurred to her even had to be explained, things Taylor needed to know. Things she'd already gotten hurt not knowing. "Rule number one of understanding other capes' powers: we lie. A lot. Even the good guys."
A pause. "Do you…?"
Victoria nodded. "A bit. I could walk off a building falling on me, but a guy with a knife could stab me just fine if knew the exact trick to it or got really lucky." Her lips tightened. "Even for capes, most of us are stuck with whatever powers we've got. Even if they don't do anything to help." Like me, a treacherous voice whispered. "Unless you're a Tinker or a one-in-a-hundred Trump, you can't pull some new ability out of nowhere. But you can fake it. If you can convince everyone you are something, it's… nearly as good as really having it."
There was more silence, but this time it was thoughtful. "I know my bits went through her," Taylor said slowly. "And I know her hand went through me. And what she was holding."
"Sometimes there's drawbacks, limitations that aren't obvious," Victoria said. "I'm not saying you should assume she's harmless, that's a good way to end up hurt. But if someone's trying to convince you they're perfect and invincible… be skeptical, I guess?"
When Taylor spoke next it was hesitant. Like saying it aloud would make it real. "Do you think she… did something to Emma? With powers?"
Victoria sucked a breath in between clenched teeth. She knew the word Taylor was dancing around, even if the other girl didn't. Mastered. The question wasn't quite a shock. Taylor hadn't quite said it out loud during the story, but the fear had tinted the way she told everything else. Victoria bit her lip, trying to project confidence through the door. "She didn't do it to you. She went for intimation instead, even though that's harder and isn't a sure thing. So if she can, it's definitely not strongly or well. Or there's some other big drawback. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah." A soft sound of relief. "...Thank you. Hearing that helps."
"No problem," Victoria said softly, trying to ignore the little voice whispering at the back of her skull. The quiet tingle of paranoia pointing out how long it had taken Taylor to ask for help, how badly she'd needed to be hurt to reach out. How convinced she'd been that her classmate was some unkillable terror. Victoria tried to push the thoughts away. It was probably nothing. The cape equivalent of wondering if something was there in the dark, baseless. She'd just… keep an eye out, that was all.
There was a gentle knock against the wood at Victoria's back. "I'm, uh, dressed now," Taylor added. "By the way."
"Let's have a look," Victoria said, floating up and out of the way of the door. Taylor was practically swimming in a gray hoodie several sizes too big for her, and the effect of the sleeves dangling past her hands was unintentionally adorable. The fabric looked soft and warm though, and it wasn't hard to imagine why she'd want something comforting right now. Her chin-length hair was still wet, but it'd been combed and pinned back away from her face. Victoria stifled the urge to wrap her up in another hug, and the silence stretched.
"I can't help Emma while Sophia's around. Or at large, whatever the term is," Taylor said, eyes locked on the floorboards. "I mean, I don't know if I can anyway. But if Sophia's gone I can at least tell someone, maybe get Emma help without…" She grimaced. "You know. I'm pretty sure I can follow Sophia in pieces, figure out where she lives without her spotting me. But I'm not sure whether I can fight her." She chewed her lip for a moment, and just for an instant Victoria caught the tips of her fingers flickering black as her words sped up. "Even if you're right and she's not what I thought, I don't have any practice with my power. Sophia does. And if I wait to get better with it then Emma might—"
Victoria cut her off. "Taylor," she said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "of course I'm helping you with this."
Taylor looked up, wide dark eyes meeting hers for the first time. "...Really?"
She shouldn't. Victoria didn't know exactly what Taylor was planning, and following a cape out of costume, maybe even confronting them in their own home was something she absolutely needed to get approval from the rest of New Wave for. She was already in hot water with Mom and Aunt Sarah for not checking in around Taylor's unintentional debut. This would crank the heat all the way past boiling if she did it on her own, no matter how well it went.
But.
Victoria remembered the charred scraps of Taylor's clothes, echoes of abuse her power had already hidden carefully away. She remembered laying in bed telling herself it was better not to push, that Taylor would open up when she was ready. She'd seen how much it had taken for Taylor to ask at all. It had happened while she was busy playing it safe, doing nothing. She was supposed to be a hero, the person helping. She sure hadn't fucking acted like it.
She didn't need to ask what Taylor would do if she said no, or even 'maybe later' or 'let me check.' It was written in every line of her face, the way her voice had hitched every time she said Emma's name. The girl standing in front of her was ready to throw herself into the jaws of a cape she fully thought would kill her to help her best friend. No matter that that best friend had hurt her, abandoned her, spat on her.
For a moment, Victoria felt a bitter spike of irrational jealousy spread jagged thorns through her chest. What would it feel like to be that kind of loved? To have someone who could care about you no matter what you did? Whatever this Emma was really like under Taylor's layers of excuses, she couldn't possibly deserve it. Didn't deserve Taylor. Not if she'd had that and tossed it away.
But she was going to save the ungrateful bitch's ass anyway, because no way in hell was she going to let Taylor do this alone.
Abruptly, Victoria became aware that the sound of rain pounding against the roof had gradually tapered off. The light was changing. Somewhere outside, a few tentative rays of sun peeked through the clouds. Victoria's lips twitched into a small smile. No sense passing it up when the universe handed you a dramatic moment like that.
"Yes, really," she answered Taylor. For once Victoria managed to feel almost as sure as she sounded. There would be consequences, and she'd set those bridges aflame when she got to them.
"What sort of hero would I be if I said no?"
CW: Self harm.
Your fault.
The rain fell.
Taylor perched on the edge of a roof overlooking Winslow, a block or two away. She watched the fire engines huddle next to the squat building like vast creatures taking shelter from the cold and wet. The ambulances had already left. They'd only needed one.
This wasn't safe, and she didn't care. If she fell all she had to do was shatter and tear away the secret that clung like a cloying too-tight skin. Rip off the metaphorical mask, end the pretense, and let whatever consequences followed follow. They couldn't be much worse than this.
She'd thought she had time. Until Sophia got bored of waiting, declared her new toy a disappointment and forced the issue. Not much time really, just enough to prepare, to come up with something. She hadn't had a real plan. Just a delusion.
The image of Emma wreathed in flames rose up in her mind's eyes, every detail frozen and precise. Carved in lines of mental scar tissue. Engraved below it was another image, one that would never fade: a flute sinking into a furnace, out of reach.
Idiot. Blind. Failure.
She hadn't looked, she hadn't seen. It had never occurred to her that Emma could act first. Emma who'd tried to goad Taylor into hurting her or worse. Emma who had all but said she wanted to die. She'd been so focused on Sophia, she'd never even thought that—
No. She hadn't thought long before that. She didn't need powers or a looming villain to miss the obvious. After Mom died Emma had been her… her rock. The one solid place in a world that had fallen apart. The only thing that held onto her, pulled her back from following Dad to the gray empty place he'd lived in those days. Emma was strong. Emma was whole, in a way Taylor couldn't be.
Except she wasn't.
It was easier to imagine Emma as cruel than broken. The girl who had held her as the tears ran out and the world turned gray, the girl who'd stared down her own father when he tried to insist Taylor should go back to her own home, her own family. Why shouldn't Emma decide that she deserved a better friend, that enough was enough? A part of Taylor thought that already.
She thought she'd done something wrong, some final straw she'd dropped without realizing what it would ruin. That she'd been too pathetic, too broken to keep. That she hadn't recovered fast enough. A million things. Maybe eventually, in another year or two, she might have even grown to hate Emma for it.
It had never occurred to her once that Emma needed help.
Taylor bit the inside of her lip, fighting back a sudden urge to shatter. To have more than one shortsighted pair of eyes, to see the world from more than one narrow perspective, almost blind. Her best friend had been hurt in ways she didn't even understand, and she'd missed it. How many other things was she oblivious to? How much more was she going to lose because of her own ignorance? Mom's flute. Emma. Mom. Dad. Victoria…
She wanted to hate Sophia. To blame her, cling to the resentment that had kept her going, use it to push back despair and fear. But she couldn't. No matter how much she tried to find that anger, all she felt was sick. Because…
Because it wasn't Sophia who hadn't put the pieces together. It wasn't Sophia who had left Emma alone with a whispering shadow. Sophia had taken advantage, but Taylor had failed first. Refused to see what was in front of her.
Taylor, when does it take no effort to keep a secret?
When no one wants to look.
It was raining hard. The rain on Taylor's cheeks was salty and hot.
Even when she'd known, she hadn't done enough. She'd kept secrets, delayed, stalled for time. She'd had logic, justifications, a million and one lies to tell herself. All for one reason. A smile filled her mind's eye, a flash of golden hair, a comforting embrace. Victoria.
She'd wanted to keep some part of her life isolated, pure, some tiny sectioned-off fragment Sophia couldn't touch. That was the real reason, no matter what she'd convinced herself. She'd found a new friend, a tiny bright pebble of joy all to herself, uncorrupted. Too selfish to let the sides of her life mix, to risk tainting that last good thing she had left. Too cowardly to tell Victoria what was happening. She could almost feel Lady Photon's eyes on her, Panacea's eyes.
She had powers, she had a chance to help people. To help Emma. And she'd wasted it. Because she had wanted to keep a piece of her life safe, secure, separate. Locked behind a mask. That was what Sophia had offered, wasn't it? In school, powers are off limits.
And Emma had paid that price.
She wanted to scream, to lash out, to hide away from the world and hope that if she didn't touch anything ever again maybe she could stop making things worse. Taylor dragged her nails through the skin of her arm with a hiss, the rain washing blood away into long feathery pink trails. The skin closed again behind them in tiny red wakes. It helped, a little. It was easier to hurt herself than it should have been, when she knew it didn't matter. It would heal. The pain was distant, something calling from a far away planet, but it gave her a beacon to follow. A stinging path back to herself.
Emma was hurt. Emma had been hurt, longer and worse than she'd ever suspect. Her fault. Every time, her fault—
More scraps of red under her fingernails, more pink streaks in the rain.
Had to do something. She'd stood by and done nothing when Emma needed her, her response couldn't be to do more nothing. No matter how much she wanted to. No matter how scared she was of making things worse again. She couldn't just hide, say there was nothing she could do. Not again.
Little by little, Taylor broke herself. Chunks peeled away: a finger, a piece of her cheek, the tip of her shoe. Slow breaths in and out of a chest half turned to stone. That one held a tiny sliver of her fear. In this one, a fraction of the guilt. There, the part of her that wondered what she could do, if she was only going to keep making things worse and worse. Pieces of Taylor's mind peeled away, carrying with them her doubts, regret, pain. By the time she was done, what was left barely looked human. A vague shape of blackened crystal, covered in cracks and pockmarks that erased every soft edged feature, only a rough silhouette in the corner of an eye suggesting it might have once been a person.
Taylor saw herself through the eyes of her circling doubts. All the pieces she didn't need, couldn't be. The remainder looked so small from outside, a tiny shape riddled with missing parts. It didn't matter. She had a goal now.
She shattered.
No more hesitating. No holding back. She needed everything, nothing set aside or kept for herself. No limits she wouldn't cross. Not again. Countless Taylors rose into the air, speeding toward a destination.
A brief time later in the Hebert residence, an elderly desktop spun to life.
| RestingInPieces: I need your help. |
◆ ❖ ◆
Rain streaked off Victoria's field as she flew, tiny rivers branching and forking just above her skin. Never holding still, never touching.
She didn't notice. Her attention was maybe one fifth on navigation, the rest devoted to the writhing knot of worry that had at some point replaced her stomach. It hadn't been a long conversation on PHO. Barely any information exchanged at all, really.
So how had it managed to make her feel so afraid?
She knew where Taylor lived. She'd seen her house once before, the day they'd first met. The day of Taylor's trigger. Victoria had managed to talk the younger girl into letting her walk her home, if barely. She hadn't been inside. It had taken work to get her to agree to even that much, but she really hadn't wanted to leave Taylor alone.
Victoria tried to convince herself she was jumping at shadows, reading far too much into nothing. 'Needing help' could mean a lot of things. So what if Taylor had been… terse, on PHO. And with how Taylor had made learning anything about her home life like pulling teeth, she should be thrilled she was finally being invited over to the dark-haired girl's home. Maybe she was just finally opening up. Maybe everything was fine. Right?
She was pretty sure she'd been more convincing at age five when she tried to tell Mom it had actually been aliens who got into the cookies. The problem was, Victoria had an unfortunate habit of listening to her gut. And right now, her gut was saying that in the movie of her life this was the part with suspenseful strings and the audience begging her not to go in that door.
Fuck that. Some tickets were about to be refunded, because her life was NOT a horror movie. Whatever was going on, she would handle it. Victoria dived, raindrops spiraling out behind her in her wake.
The Hebert residence didn't look any more preposessing than she remembered it from above. Mostly it just looked somehow sad, like a place that had been maintained but not truly cared for. A little house with a tiny yard, functional and not much else.
Victoria alighted and knocked, wondering what she'd say if anyone other than Taylor answered the door. Hello sir, just performing a random check-in… no, best not. She'd cross that bridge when she had to.
The doorknob turned with a click, and the door swung open. There was no one there to open it, which was creepy until Victoria spotted a couple fingertip-sized pieces of crystal retreating deeper into the house. Then it was… still worrying. Just for different reasons.
The inside of the house was a lot like the outside. Nothing broken or obviously decrepit, just… worn. It managed to give the impression that nothing had actually been replaced or restored for a long time.
Two years, for example.
Victoria ventured deeper into the hall, only the sounds of floorboards creaking under her feet and the hammering of rain on the roof breaking the silence. The lights were off, the only illumination from the pale and watery light coming in through the windows. She was dry, at least. Had been since the moment she stepped inside, thanks to her powers. To her left was a small kitchen. On her right through a doorway was a living room that—oh.
She'd found Taylor. In a way.
She'd expected to find something. This was… not quite as bad as she's been afraid of. Not quite. Tiny chips and flecks of black filled the room, hanging utterly motionless in the air like stars scattered against the darkness of space. There was something there, a pattern tickling at the roots of her brain. Without meaning to, she found her eyes following the shards, imagining lines traced between them. Something like neurons inside a brain, a branching tree. An arc, a tiny section of a greater spiral—no. Victoria shook her head sharply, ripping her mind away. She had to focus.
That wasn't important right now. Helping Taylor was. She cautiously entered the room, and the crystal flecks pulled back to let her pass. That was good. She trusted her field to keep her safe, but if somebody normal had walked into this room and the pieces refused to move… Victoria repressed a shudder. She'd seen how sharp those edges were. Not a pretty picture.
"Are you alright?" Victoria asked softly. The pieces didn't answer. Right. Stupid question. She tried again. "Can you hear me, Taylor?"
The pieces shivered. It was hard to read body language in something that wasn't really a body, but Victoria got the sense of snapping back to reality. Whether that meant waking from a daze or being torn out of some ferocious concentration, she had no idea. The inky shards swirled, forming a word. Yes.
Okay. That was good. "Are you hurt? Can you change back?"
Not hurt. There was a hesitation, a soft crystalline hum that cut off as soon as Taylor realized she was doing it. Could. Don't want to.
Victoria did her best to keep her voice even and soothing, projecting a calm she wasn't sure she felt. "Why not?"
Easier this way.
Victoria's mouth went dry. Please let this not turn out like one of those case studies she regretted reading late at night. The ones out of the parahuman asylums that always made her wish she could hug her own powers for not ending up like that. Don't jump to conclusions, Vicky. Just ask. "Does being like that make you… think differently? Or feel differently?"
Yes.
Not jumping to conclusions could kiss her extremely stressed ass. Okay. Deep breaths, except not so deep Taylor could tell she was taking them. Even if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, it could still be a duckling. Soft. Fluffy. Nothing to panic over. Nothing bad had happened yet.
As far as she knew.
"Could you change back?" Victoria said softly. "For me?"
The pieces curled around each other, forming spirals as theory drew closer together. A new word: Why?
"I want to talk to the regular you. Under the Breaker stuff. I'm worried about you."
The splinters of Taylor shivered. Need to…
There didn't seem to be a third word.
Victoria stepped further into the room, uncaring of the razor shards. "Whatever it is, I'll help. I promise. I just want to make sure you're okay first. The whole you." She swallowed. "Let me help you. Please."
The dark and broken pieces of a girl hung in the air for a moment. Then, all at once, they slammed together with a crash. Taylor stood in the middle of the room, and for just an instant her face was as blank as the glittering shards.
Then she burst into tears.
Victoria rushed forwards and wrapped Taylor up in the biggest hug she could safely give. The poor girl was absolutely soaked, the kind of dripping wet that required either far too long in the rain or taking a swim with all your clothes on. Victoria felt cold trickles spreading through her own clothes, and now she was wet too. Her power kept out the rain, but it wouldn't keep Taylor out. Not ever, not like this.
"Sh-she… she was…"
"Shh. It's okay. It's okay, I'm here," Victoria whispered as Taylor sobbed into her shoulder. They were great heaving ugly sobs, all dripping snot and gasping for air. The emotional equivalent of vomiting, purging everything toxic until there was nothing left. Victoria held her as tight as she dared, and she was struck by how tiny the girl in her arms was. Tall, yeah, but thin like she was designed to fold up and stow away. She wouldn't even need her power to lift Taylor off her feet.
Minutes passed, and little by little the sobs subsided. Victoria ran her fingers over the sodden curls of Taylor's hair, trying her best to be comforting. It was well past an awkward amount of time to stand in place hugging someone, but Taylor needed someone right now. That much was desperately obvious. Like hell if she wasn't going to be that someone.
Eventually Taylor disengaged and stepped back, not meeting her eyes. She coughed, trying to wipe away some of the snot with the edge of her sleeve. What was left of it. "Um. Thank you. I should probably—"
Victoria's eyes snapped wide. "Taylor, your clothes!"
They were charred and blackened, little more than burnt rags with entire sections gone, modest only by chance. Victoria had been too close to see before, too distracted by the crying. The skin under the places charred into nothing was pale and perfect, unblemished. Just like always. Just like Taylor's skin would always return to being. The knot inside Victoria's chest returned, twisting sharply tighter. She remembered a girl fresh from her trigger, covered in burns.
"Oh, right," Taylor said, looking down at herself. Her voice was quiet, toneless, like she'd been reminded of something that wasn't important enough to keep in mind. "I guess I—"
"Who did this to you?" Victoria hissed. Taylor took half a step back, and it was only when she noticed the other girl was staring up at her that Victoria realized she'd floated several inches off the ground. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Took two. Took five. Slowly she returned to the floor, got her aura back under something vaguely resembling control. Her fists stayed clenched. When she opened her eyes again Taylor was staring at her, and she desperately hoped that wasn't fear written across her face.
"I was going to tell you. I swear," Taylor said, staring at her feet. "That's why I asked you to come here. But then you wanted me back to normal and I couldn't…" She trailed off. "I'm sorry. I should have held it together."
"You—" Victoria bit back a bitter laugh. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Taylor." She took another deep breath because why not, it wasn't like she hadn't already had about fifty of the things since entering this house. "Do you have some dry clothes you can change into? I can listen while you do that." Taylor didn't need the Victoria that wanted to hurl whoever hurt her through however many walls were available. She pushed those feelings down as best she could. Later. Later, there would be a time for that.
Taylor nodded. "Upstairs."
A couple minutes later Victoria was sitting cross legged outside Taylor's bedroom door, leaning back against the worn and painted wood. "So."
"So." There was a rustle of fabric from behind the door, and Victoria resolutely did not picture what was happening on the other side. "I don't really know where to start."
"Is 'the beginning' an option?"
"I guess." Taylor sighed. "Growing up, I had a best friend…"
◆ ❖ ◆
"She built a flamethrower to use on you!?"
"It wasn't much of a flamethrower," came the voice from the other side of the door, almost defensive. "It blew up in her face when she pulled the trigger. Literally, in her face. I don't think she was planning to actually use it. I—" there was a crack in Taylor's voice. "I handled it badly. I fucked up, pushed too far and she felt like she had to. She's… she's in the hospital now and—" The story cut off, her voice thick.
For a moment Victoria expected Taylor to mention Amy. To make the ask-by-proxy she heard way too often, and plunge the whole conversation into a particularly nasty species of moral quandary. She didn't. Instead the silence just stretched, growing deeper and more uncomfortable by the moment.
"She tried to burn you. She did burn you," Victoria said finally. Everything about this story disturbed her, but right at the top of the list was how Taylor was telling it. "Why is that less important than the fact she got hurt?"
"Because I'm fine!" There was something in Taylor's voice, bare and raw. "It took a couple minutes and I was back to normal, she's in the hospital. I just hurt. I don't know if she even can get better after that. And it's…"
She didn't need to finish the sentence for Victoria to know what the next words were: my fault. Something in Victoria's chest hurt. There was so much wrong with that logic, but she didn't know where to start. She had no idea how to begin untangling the things Taylor was saying, how she thought about this girl. Physical problems she could punch or throw or failing that at least go find Amy. The other kind… not so much. They had an awful tendency to leave her feeling like she had been before her trigger. No field over her skin, no flight, no aura. Just another face in a crowd, a girl so ordinary as to be forgotten by everyone the moment she stepped out of view. Nothing to anyone.
Victoria shook her head, hard, as if she could dislodge memories. Taylor. She needed to focus on Taylor. The girl who needed her. She was just… worn out, that was all.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The moment the words left her lips she knew they were wrong. Too much like an accusation.
"I was scared." The voice was tiny. "You were… nice. To me. And I thought if I dragged you into it, Sophia would…" An exhausted huff, too bitter to be called a laugh. "I don't know how to fight her. I still have no idea how she can ever be hurt. And if she gets her hands in you, she—"
"Taylor." Victoria's voice all but clicked into a new register, vaguely lecturing. Deep festering hurt, a friendship gone twisted and rotten, she didn't know how to even start there. But capes? Capes she knew. Powers, those she could break down, get a grip on. "Taylor, I haven't heard of her."
Quiet. Confused. Hesitant. "Why does that matter?"
"I follow capes," Victoria said. "Not just for my work, as a hobby. Some people keep up with sports or politics, I do capes. And the powers you're describing, they would be a big deal. You said she's been in the city for at least a year. But there's nothing about her online or anything."
"So… what does that mean?"
"A couple things." Victoria held up two fingers, even though Taylor couldn't see her. "Either she's barely had her powers any longer than you have, or… she's a nobody. Some niche D-lister. Look, you've heard of Uber & Leet, right?"
"Yeah."
"How about Mush?"
"I haven't… no, wait," Taylor said. "They sound vaguely familiar?"
"But you haven't heard of her. And neither have I." It was too easy to forget how familiar the world of capes had always been to her, growing up in her family. There were things it hadn't occurred to her even had to be explained, things Taylor needed to know. Things she'd already gotten hurt not knowing. "Rule number one of understanding other capes' powers: we lie. A lot. Even the good guys."
A pause. "Do you…?"
Victoria nodded. "A bit. I could walk off a building falling on me, but a guy with a knife could stab me just fine if knew the exact trick to it or got really lucky." Her lips tightened. "Even for capes, most of us are stuck with whatever powers we've got. Even if they don't do anything to help." Like me, a treacherous voice whispered. "Unless you're a Tinker or a one-in-a-hundred Trump, you can't pull some new ability out of nowhere. But you can fake it. If you can convince everyone you are something, it's… nearly as good as really having it."
There was more silence, but this time it was thoughtful. "I know my bits went through her," Taylor said slowly. "And I know her hand went through me. And what she was holding."
"Sometimes there's drawbacks, limitations that aren't obvious," Victoria said. "I'm not saying you should assume she's harmless, that's a good way to end up hurt. But if someone's trying to convince you they're perfect and invincible… be skeptical, I guess?"
When Taylor spoke next it was hesitant. Like saying it aloud would make it real. "Do you think she… did something to Emma? With powers?"
Victoria sucked a breath in between clenched teeth. She knew the word Taylor was dancing around, even if the other girl didn't. Mastered. The question wasn't quite a shock. Taylor hadn't quite said it out loud during the story, but the fear had tinted the way she told everything else. Victoria bit her lip, trying to project confidence through the door. "She didn't do it to you. She went for intimation instead, even though that's harder and isn't a sure thing. So if she can, it's definitely not strongly or well. Or there's some other big drawback. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah." A soft sound of relief. "...Thank you. Hearing that helps."
"No problem," Victoria said softly, trying to ignore the little voice whispering at the back of her skull. The quiet tingle of paranoia pointing out how long it had taken Taylor to ask for help, how badly she'd needed to be hurt to reach out. How convinced she'd been that her classmate was some unkillable terror. Victoria tried to push the thoughts away. It was probably nothing. The cape equivalent of wondering if something was there in the dark, baseless. She'd just… keep an eye out, that was all.
There was a gentle knock against the wood at Victoria's back. "I'm, uh, dressed now," Taylor added. "By the way."
"Let's have a look," Victoria said, floating up and out of the way of the door. Taylor was practically swimming in a gray hoodie several sizes too big for her, and the effect of the sleeves dangling past her hands was unintentionally adorable. The fabric looked soft and warm though, and it wasn't hard to imagine why she'd want something comforting right now. Her chin-length hair was still wet, but it'd been combed and pinned back away from her face. Victoria stifled the urge to wrap her up in another hug, and the silence stretched.
"I can't help Emma while Sophia's around. Or at large, whatever the term is," Taylor said, eyes locked on the floorboards. "I mean, I don't know if I can anyway. But if Sophia's gone I can at least tell someone, maybe get Emma help without…" She grimaced. "You know. I'm pretty sure I can follow Sophia in pieces, figure out where she lives without her spotting me. But I'm not sure whether I can fight her." She chewed her lip for a moment, and just for an instant Victoria caught the tips of her fingers flickering black as her words sped up. "Even if you're right and she's not what I thought, I don't have any practice with my power. Sophia does. And if I wait to get better with it then Emma might—"
Victoria cut her off. "Taylor," she said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "of course I'm helping you with this."
Taylor looked up, wide dark eyes meeting hers for the first time. "...Really?"
She shouldn't. Victoria didn't know exactly what Taylor was planning, and following a cape out of costume, maybe even confronting them in their own home was something she absolutely needed to get approval from the rest of New Wave for. She was already in hot water with Mom and Aunt Sarah for not checking in around Taylor's unintentional debut. This would crank the heat all the way past boiling if she did it on her own, no matter how well it went.
But.
Victoria remembered the charred scraps of Taylor's clothes, echoes of abuse her power had already hidden carefully away. She remembered laying in bed telling herself it was better not to push, that Taylor would open up when she was ready. She'd seen how much it had taken for Taylor to ask at all. It had happened while she was busy playing it safe, doing nothing. She was supposed to be a hero, the person helping. She sure hadn't fucking acted like it.
She didn't need to ask what Taylor would do if she said no, or even 'maybe later' or 'let me check.' It was written in every line of her face, the way her voice had hitched every time she said Emma's name. The girl standing in front of her was ready to throw herself into the jaws of a cape she fully thought would kill her to help her best friend. No matter that that best friend had hurt her, abandoned her, spat on her.
For a moment, Victoria felt a bitter spike of irrational jealousy spread jagged thorns through her chest. What would it feel like to be that kind of loved? To have someone who could care about you no matter what you did? Whatever this Emma was really like under Taylor's layers of excuses, she couldn't possibly deserve it. Didn't deserve Taylor. Not if she'd had that and tossed it away.
But she was going to save the ungrateful bitch's ass anyway, because no way in hell was she going to let Taylor do this alone.
Abruptly, Victoria became aware that the sound of rain pounding against the roof had gradually tapered off. The light was changing. Somewhere outside, a few tentative rays of sun peeked through the clouds. Victoria's lips twitched into a small smile. No sense passing it up when the universe handed you a dramatic moment like that.
"Yes, really," she answered Taylor. For once Victoria managed to feel almost as sure as she sounded. There would be consequences, and she'd set those bridges aflame when she got to them.
"What sort of hero would I be if I said no?"
- Pronouns
- They/Them/She/Her
Such completely fine and perfectly functional people, no trauma at all, yep. 
...And Sophia is in increasingly much trouble, because Victoria's thoughts on how long it took Taylor to do this are a good point -- and even if she's putting them aside, almost certainly the people investigating Sophia possibly having a Master power are going to think of the same thing. And the stronger that suspicion is, especially with the exact mechanism of its function unclear, especially when it's possible that Sophia herself might not be fully aware of it and thus able to fool a lie detection power... well, people do tend to panic about human Masters, especially delusional ones who have already used their powers to hurt people. And that's before getting into the fact that the two most prominent victims are light-skinned teenage girls, at least one of whom is pretty unambiguously middle class, and Sophia herself is dark-skinned and from a poor background. The media bias in general is likely to be strong and not in her favor, and in Nazi-infested Brockton Bay in particular...
...Yeeeah, this is probably the sorriest I've ever felt for a still-genuinely-terrible Sophia Hess. Like, yes, she's terrible, yes, something needs to be done, but it's looking increasingly likely she's going to be run over by a drastically unfair system and mostly for something she is not actually even capable of doing.
So congratulations on that achievement, author.
And thank you for writing, in general!
...And Sophia is in increasingly much trouble, because Victoria's thoughts on how long it took Taylor to do this are a good point -- and even if she's putting them aside, almost certainly the people investigating Sophia possibly having a Master power are going to think of the same thing. And the stronger that suspicion is, especially with the exact mechanism of its function unclear, especially when it's possible that Sophia herself might not be fully aware of it and thus able to fool a lie detection power... well, people do tend to panic about human Masters, especially delusional ones who have already used their powers to hurt people. And that's before getting into the fact that the two most prominent victims are light-skinned teenage girls, at least one of whom is pretty unambiguously middle class, and Sophia herself is dark-skinned and from a poor background. The media bias in general is likely to be strong and not in her favor, and in Nazi-infested Brockton Bay in particular...
...Yeeeah, this is probably the sorriest I've ever felt for a still-genuinely-terrible Sophia Hess. Like, yes, she's terrible, yes, something needs to be done, but it's looking increasingly likely she's going to be run over by a drastically unfair system and mostly for something she is not actually even capable of doing.
So congratulations on that achievement, author.
And thank you for writing, in general!
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Oof, that's an abuse victim thought pattern right there.
Is it automatic? I've never actually seen it stated as such, what is her time limit in breaker form? As long as she can hold her breath? (Although she clearly cannot breath as a gas) I know I've seen her go solid while something is embedded in her and it caused injury. Although as an AU everything is malleable to the Author's discretion. But honestly Taylor and Sophia ironically have two powers that are very bad at hurting one another. Taylor could've just turned her chest/abd. To shards of obsidian in response to Sophia. Does Taylor only regenerate when Turning back to flesh? Or do the shardforms regenerate also ? If so how long can she stay in breaker form? The psychological aspect of bullying and learned helplessness are Sophia's likely only advantages (not that this is insignificant). Another interesting question is whether Taylor could fully regenerate from a single shard Ala Deadpool.
- Location
- New Zealand
A very strong chapter, and I loved the Emma interlude to show how deeply disturbed she is while still being something resembling internally consistent. I really liked the chapter where Lady Photon explains the values of New Wave, because it made her sound very compelling, even if her logic doesn't really hold up (she doesn't seem to grasp that the unwritten rules seem to be there mostly to protect civilians from collateral damage), but it's also compeltely understandable why she thinks the way she does.
The Wards arc when she gets shot by Ballistic.
Sentinel 9.4 said: