Hunting Wyverian (Worm/Monster Hunter)

[X0ll0X]

Summary: Taylor Hebert didn't really leave the locker a changed woman as much as she kicked her way out of it high on adrenaline after just killing an overgrown spider with too few legs. Outed as a cape by both her exit and her appearance, she has to navigate the treacherous cape scene of Brockton Bay with the power to turn ex-living beings into PR-unfriendly weaponry and armor while monster mysteriously appear around her. They don't survive the ordeal. Also kleptomaniac cats.


This idea was persistent enough that I kept coming back to it with an urge to write more and separate disjointed ideas formed a whole. It was enough for me to start a dedicated story thread. Due to the nature of the Monster Hunter series, the Hunter's apparent personality, and, well, Tinkers, I expect zaniness once the ball gets rolling.

As some may already know, this fic kinda came to be in the Worm ideas and discussion thread (SB).

I highly appreciate feedback and constructive criticism as well as posts concerning grammar and spelling errors people undoubtedly spot. I'm also open for alternative title suggestions if something cool and fitting were to come to mind.

Chances are, I'll be continuously going over back to chapters to iron out some weaknesses. Unless it's major divergence content-wise from the previous version (which is unlikely) these changes will be unmarked due to the likely large change-log I'd end up with otherwise. If the comments and quotes don't seem to match up with the chapter an improvement attempt is probably the cause.

Cross-post from SB where much of the idea was refined through omakes. Thought it might be interesting what a different audience thinks of it. Expect a bit of a text dump at the beginning.

Huge thanks to these users for betaing and proofreading the following chapters:
Microwave: 2.3, 2.4, 2.d
roffster: 2.7, 2.s, 3.1, 3.2, 3.3, 3.4, 3.5, 3.6, 3.c
6thfloormadness: 4.1

Finally, because it's likely to pop up, the choice to go for C53-like mutation isn't an arbitrary or random one.

Spoiler: reasons for the mutation

I have a couple of reasons for going with a C53 mutation. On one hand it was a (maybe misguided) attempt to try and balance for the additional Brute rating on top of the inate Tinker/Thinker package; I didn't really wanted to give it Taylor without a disadvantages but saw it was pretty much needed of you see the weapons being used. Additionally it would force her in the open meaning she had less time to prepare which has another function.

It slows down the rate of escalation that is inherent in the proposed powerset of basically being a form of post-mortem mega-manning by for example denying her the possibility of conspiring with Danny and simply farm "quests" in the countryside or fishing them out of unsuspecting passersby. Hell if she'd play her cards right she could go for a job as a bike courier which would lead to all kinds of chaos and a surplus of raw materials with which to escalate further.

Then there's also the chance that PRT will hold her personally responsible for the sudden extreme increase of attacking monsters if she's allowed to remain hidden or maybe even jump to entirely the wrong conclusions. Which in turn would likely push her hard back into her canon route but with the change that it probably wouldn't be the Undersiders who'd recruit her since the powers wouldn't fit their MO and wouldn't likely appreciate the occasional Demon-Pickle.

Then there are the lore reasons why I chose a mutation. In the Monster Hunter setting the Wyverians are probably best described as an Elf analogue and are pretty much the only ones capable of making the advanced weapons and the hybridization/meldinng between metal and monster parts in such a way the weapons retain the monster's essence. Hence I thought it would be a nice nod towards MH hunter lore even without the other considerations.

Lastly there is Taylor herself. While she does comment and lament about her looks occasionally, she also manages to simply forget about her image/looks if she's not actively reminded about it (it had to be pointed out that absolutley covered in an undulating mass of bugs is a bit creepy). This would allow me for some serious introspection to balance the nonsense, probably making the latter more effective as a result, and to play with her surroundings more by being inadvertedly creepy by accident.

So in summary, I suggested c53 mutation to "balance" her and keep her power escalation a bit more in check (there's reason why I'd limit the access to monsters as much as I do), to keep possible political routes open, to nod to MH lore, and to give avenues for some more "lighhearted" breaks in the weirdness.

If possible, I'd like to avoid complete OPness unless for true crack which I personally don't think works for a longer fic without losing interest. At least I don't trust myself enough to be able to write a long crackfic with consistent quality.

One additional thing factoring into the deal and is tied pretty closely to MH lore would be a potential explanation as to why only the Wyverians could master the various complicated forging techniques. Their wyvern ancestry is expressed in their hands and feet the most and it wouldn't be that strange if these appendages would be especially fire/ice/electricity/etc resistant, which in turn would come in mightily handy when you want to work with the vary organs capable of producing fireballs at a ridiculous rate. Especially if your goal is to incorporate these volatile attributes into a weapon which would require leaving the dangerous organ intact and thus still very potentially deadly.

Something else might worth mentioning as well for those who haven't played MH and might be a bit confused why I'm trying to limit the power in indirect ways is the beings the player/hunter kills in these games. Sure, there are the run if the mill giant creatures that swim through the ground with ease, but these are small fries. Most elder dragons could be fairly described as in-universe endbringer-lites worthy of constant surveillance and city-wide evacuation. The crimson Fatalis can conjure meteor storms as one of his standard attacks and the Dalamadur can "level mountains with a single twitch". Some things you fight are seen as literal forces of nature or are worshipped as gods. The hunter can and will (if the player is determined enough) kill every single one of them in single combat and make novelty clothing out of their corpses which empower the hunter further. One might understand why I'm a bit cautious and restrictive giving the queen of escalation such potential power.

Additional info regarding the transformation and Taylor's behavior if needed.
Concerning Taylor's behavior (SB)

Spoiler: in-universe reasons for her mutation

Imagine it as the QA shard (hence she can identify capes and their powers) freaking out over going for a powerset she doesn't stand a chance to use effectively due to lack of materials and sheer strength needed for the weapons it wants to make. It decided to bent itself a bit out of shape in a desperate attempt to patch things up and give her an additional Brute rating and making her the anchor and focus point of the trans-dimensional anomaly that allows it to "HALP!!1!" and import monsters for her weapons and armor. Taylor resonated with the MHverse and ultimately ended up in stuck in a Changer form with an irreparably destroyed on off switch due to overworked shard and trans-dimensional interference resonating with her current form.

Chapters
1.1|1.2|1.3|1.4|1.s
2.1|2.2|2.3|2.4|2.d|2.5|2.6|2.7|2.s|2.x
3.1|3.2|3.3|3.4|3.5|3.6|3.c
4.1

Omakes
Clockblocker, meet Nerscylla. Also Leviathan (SB)
Emily Piggot needs a bigger dialysis machine (SB)
A Magic Crawler Ride (SB)

I hope you enjoy.

 

[X0ll0X]

Chapter 1.1

I knew it had been too good to be true. The holidays had only just past and the spirit of Christmas was still lingering.

I pretended that the nervous laughter intermingled with the genuine deal, I heard throughout the crowds as I moved towards my locker was due to embarrassing stories being told or sweaters from loving relatives being worn.

I dared to begin hoping that the terrible trio might have truly gotten bored of me and that I might be able to witness a Christmas miracle.

In hindsight it was probably the same hope I somehow managed to hold on to throughout my tormented high school career. The same traitorous thoughts that they'd leave the tall, thin washing board walking around as a girl alone if only I endured a bit longer; after which I'd be able to make friends again.

I realized my mistake as I came closer to my locker and I began to notice a nauseatingly sweet, coppery stink oozing that only grew stronger as I moved closer to row of identical metal boxes. More specifically, my locker seemed to be the source as I began to notice more unidentifiable, revolting smells as I moved to open it.

The part of my mind conditioned to run on pure paranoia noticed that I was the only one actually moving to the locker. It knew what was about to happen while the rest of me was playing catch up in a dazed state of denial. By the time I had set down my backpack and opened the locker, I actually doubled over and gagged at the sight of rancid, moist contents of the locker. I was pushed in the rest of me came to the same conclusion.

The stumble made me hit my head against the wall, causing a sharp stab of pain to run through my nose with a wet crunch and my glasses to break. They fell on the ground with a squelch and the door was shut in behind me.

Blood filled ran down my face and the area around my eyes burned from the tiny cuts and filth as I struggled myself to stand again, my hand sliding down the slickened walls.

Panic rose as I tried to push open the door with a foot and found it locked.

Girls giggled outside of the fast growing nightmare and I took a deep breath to center myself, to get the coming, all-consuming terror under control.

I got half a lung full before the oily taste swamped my tongue and permeated my nose.

My stomach nearly followed my breakfast as I collapsed once more, vomiting, adding its acidic stench to the amalgamation of rot and funk.

Whimpering and with shaking hands I forced myself up again, away from the slimy muck on the bottom, nearly hyperventilating in the process.

I needed to get out. I needed to do something; something to focus on while I still could and to keep me from slipping further into insanity.

My baton!

I embraced the options the tool could provide, clinging to the hope I could force myself out of the locker with its help.

The cheap, collapsible baton was a bit of an impulse buy at the start of the holidays as grew wary of the very light bullying leading into it, unable to accept that they simply grew bored of me and fearing the worst.

A hysterical giggle escaped my lips as I realized I had been right all along.

Having something to defend myself with felt good as was practicing extending it with a sharp flick. Imagining using it on Sophia was meditative. It felt like a good totem to hang on to as the bullying would inevitably ramp up again.

I blinked as I noticed I was mentally rambling and breathing faster and faster. It did nothing to make my teary eyes itch and burn less.

I forced myself to struggle and face the door as I fumbled at my belt to reach the collapsible baton with trembling hands.

Now I knew that I had been stupid buying it. I probably wouldn't have enough power in my stick frame to do anything with it and would only serve to escalate thing for the worst.

Even my excuse that it would be a backup for the pepper spray my dad gave for my morning runs seemed pathetically hilarious in hindsight.

Another giggle escaped at the thought of driving off a gang banger with a hollow metal stick.

I felt like a complete idiot as my clumsy hand finally managed to entangle the baton and grab it. Only to find out I didn't have the range of motion needed to extent it.

Please, please, please please still work.

Blindly and with shorty, raspy breaths, I pressed the stick against the wall locker and brought the metal instrument to the edges of my locker door.

I knew that my skinny self wouldn't be able to brute force her way out.

Nobody had released me out of my rapidly worsening hellhole yet. I could only hear silent snickers and laughter from the outside. Nobody would come for me.

Pushing the stick into the opening between the door and locker and using it as a crowbar was the only way to free myself.

It was my only chance to escape.

The baton was too thick.

How could I've been so stupid to believe it could fit. How naïve did I have to be? How stupid…

That was the point I lost it.

I kicked and punched and screamed and wailed.

I was vaguely aware of the occasional sharp snap heard accompanied by another spike of pain from either my hands or feet as I hit the reinforced edges of the door.

I ignored the warm liquid flowing from my hands and pooling into my shoes.

I didn't pay attention to the thin, white platelets hanging from the tips of my fingers.

I rejected the burning I felt in the areas I knew on an intellectual level I was wounded and overlooked the fact that I was covered in the putrid muck.

I was fighting the pain that threatening to overwhelm me with equal measures of terror and rage.

My effort was rewarded by small indentations on the otherwise still sturdy door and a deafening quiet as my voice gave out.

Nobody would come for me.

Hopelessness overtook me and I collapsed as much was possible in the small confines of my locker, my back sliding along the rotting biological waste that plastered the back wall. Even in the dark I could somehow see my vision narrowing.

I felt something snap and passed out.

I woke up by the feeling of a sudden fall and subsequent rolling down an incline.

My brain messily interpreted the data my eyes were sending it with a reluctance that I chalked up to a concussion I had gotten either through the meet and greet with the wall that cost me my glasses or the collapse at the end.

I could recognize that I was somehow transported in a cave of some sorts. Light coming from cracks through the ceiling revealed a crystal-like formation glittering beside a someone who couldn't decide between a gun and an anvil on a stick would make.

My eyes had cleared up enough by now that I started to realize that I saw better than I had any right to do without my glasses – never mind with these light conditions.

Too bad they also revealed the corpse laying amidst the hammer and a pickaxe, chunks of flesh missing and its wounds still bubbling.

Beyond that I could make out a variety of stalagmites and -tites which anchored thick webbing. Large cocoons hung from the ceiling in the back of the cave, some of them revealing a leathery wing that stuck out of them. Also, there was a spider moving towards me, green eyes focused on my prone form and rubbing its claws in malicious hunger.

I didn't have much time to think as I threw myself out of the four-legged spider's lunge, scrambling towards the corpse clad in leather and iron armor. The baton I had still grasped in my hands was discarded as I realized its utter uselessness.

I laughed as I came to that same realization for the third time that day.

A small part of my mind was trying to figure out why my gait was so strange, what happened to my hands on top my eyes, and where I had lost my fifth finger. I liked my hands with the full amount of fingers. It was normal. It gave my bullies less ammunition to use against me.

That part of my mind was nearly silenced by the far larger part running around like a lunatic in pure, pants-shitting terror as I weaved and rolled out of the way of my skittering pursuer.

Even she was nearly silenced as I came close to the hunter's corpse and the strange weapon and something clicked into place and I recognized the hammer as well as my foe.

Gun hammer. Not of that good quality. Imbued fire. Good against current foe. Nerscylla.

I was flooded by building schematics of the weapon and far, far more on top of that. Stuff ranging from armors and creatures. From knowledge how to use the ridiculous weapon to what I could make from the remains of my would-be hunter.

I actually felt getting giddy from excitement, the previous reasonable panic pushed into the background as I went for the gun hammer.

The part of my mind that was previously busy running around, screaming, took her time to inform me that I was positively mad if I thought I could wield the monstrous instrument laying on the ground. That it would be impossible to swing a revolver cylinder around with the same diameter as my upper body, let alone when it was on a stick.

I could actually hear her sigh as in ignored apathy as my hands wrapped around the handle of the hammer and she was pushed back further by the excited newcomer.

The weapon simply felt right, a familiarity washing over me as if I had practiced with the weapon for a lifetime.

I brought the hammer up in a golf swing, batting aside the claw-like appendages descending upon my and impacting in the surprised nerscylla's face in a gout of flames, denting it in ever so slightly.

The creature jumped back with a hiss, carefully observing me as I went through a couple of additional swings to get an even better feeling for the hammers balances.

It jumped and launched globs of webbing at me as I dodged out of their way and towards the attacker. I brought the hammer up to my side and behind my back, tensing up as I ran towards the arachnid, feeling my core and shoulder muscles strain as I build up power for the next strike.

I brought the hammer down with an earth-shattering smash and another flash of fire but my strike was dodged as the nerscylla jumped up towards the ceiling and away from the side of impact.

I barely recovered quickly enough to evade the noxious poison dripping from the angry, violet spikes that grew out of the creatures back. The same one that was hanging upside down and was carefully watching my movements.

It apparently decided that hanging around wouldn't do it much good as it shot a string of spider silk - one I narrowly avoided - and pulled, hurtling itself towards me with terrifying speeds, forcing me to roll out of its way.

With its back turned towards me, I went for another charge.

This time, the nerscylla didn't see me coming and the smash connected with its abdomen, smashing spikes and splattering ichor as thick, black smoke rose from the impact side.

Tension in my face informed me that I must have been grinning like an absolute maniac

The creature shrieked in agony and managed to swipe at me while turning, scoring a glancing blow on my stomach.

I didn't have enough time to contemplate how I should feel about this new and unique fragrance of pain that was added as a dread washed over me.

I threw myself on the ground as I heard the spider's extendable jaws snap shut over me. The venom dripping from them easily eating through the hoody and shirt I wore, burning into my back.

I stood up, using the added momentum to swipe at the nearest leg and buckling it in a shower of flames. Continuing the same movement, I brought the overgrown cylinder back down on the arachnid's head, shattering its jaw and clipping a claw in the process.

The nerscylla straightened its hind legs, balancing on top of them and I narrowly avoided impalement by the stinger coming out of the back of its abdomen it thrusted forward with explosive force.

Another charge was finished just before the four-legged spider had the chance to stabilize itself again. This time however, instead of a powerful smash I brought the hammer around to the side, putting myself in a spinning motion not unlike a demented gyro. The hammer smashed into the legs as I moved out from under it, every single one of them triggering the searing gouts of flames on contact.

Its four legs gave out on it and the nerscylla collapsed into a tangled heap. The last pirouette brought me right beside it's head and I decided to finish the rotations with another golf swing to it, channeling all my rotational momentum into it.

The creature suddenly stopped it's attempt to get up and I followed up with more strike to the head. The first one caused some spasm to run through its body. The second one was accompanied by a with cracking noise as it chitinous armor gave out. The third and last one made contact with the ground smashing what remained of its ruined head.

I suppressed a cheer born from a potent mix of rampant adrenaline, pride over my accomplishment, and the thoughts of what I could make out of my price. I felt alive.

Not alive enough though to actually completely ignore the pain radiating from the shallow tear on my stomach and burning on my back as the venom did its best liquefying my flesh.

I stumbled over to the hunter's corpse as my victory high rapidly left me and I knew that would have to treat my wounds sooner rather than later.

Luckily I found a potion and an antidote after rummaging through the hunter's bags which took care of those particular problems. I still didn't feel a full hundred percent but at least I wasn't bleeding or melting anymore.

That left me with some time and capacity to think.

Or at least try to. I was too busy realizing I had become a parahuman to devote much attention beyond that. From the amount I spend researching the cape community and lurking on the PHO forums as well as the fact that blueprint swirled through my mind, surfacing and disappearing at a rapid rate, I quickly came to the conclusion I had gotten a Tinker power and possible Thinker as well on top of an obvious brute one.

I wasn't so sure how I felt the fact that my body had somehow changed and was already coming up with ways to potentially cover the changes I had already seen. But still, I had to smile, Tinkers were nice and versatile if given enough time and the good guys could always use all the help they could get. I wouldn't even have to fight in the front lines.

I didn't have much time to shudder at that last thought of never fighting again as I felt something shift and realized that I wouldn't need to worry about finding a way back home.

In a frantic scramble I made my way back to the slain monster and scooped up pieces of its shattered jaw and used one to try and cut loose the dislocated claw arm from the rest of the body.

There was no way I was going to leave without at least bringing some of the materials I worked so hard for. I needed them to start Tinkering.

I barely remembered to grab the gun hammer and hang onto the amputated claw as I felt the shifting reach a crescendo after only a minute since it began.

One moment I was in a beautiful and mysterious cave filled with an overgrown spider and the next I was returned to the hellhole known as Winslow high and in particular my own waste-filled locker that was way too cramped with the addition of the hammer and claw. A locker that also somehow had shrunk in height.

Still filled with a sense of elation after feeling alive since so long, I decided I was having none of that. I kicked the door off its hinges and strode out of the tiny prison and into the hallway.

I would have to find at least a sturdy anvil to get started somehow. And metal. A junkyard would provide the latter and I could even get some in the Boat Graveyard. My gun hammer would be able to knock some pieces off the boats there. An actual forge oven was another thing I wanted to get. Sure I could cheat with my fiery hammer – somehow – but knew that an oven would produce better results. That left the question what I wanted to make. I wanted to do something big – I was provided with the mental image of an enormous, futuristic greatsword – but knew that I wouldn#t have enough materials to do that. Well I still needed a sturdy knife for carving…

I couldn't help notice how the few alarmed whispers stopped and everybody stared at me. Judging from the amount of people still standing with books and coffee in their hands, not much time could have passed since they locked me in.

Immediately I fell back to my old habits trying to slouch a bit and appear invisible. The insidious voice telling me that people were staring at my ugly, and now even weirder features, judging me and deciding how to use that information to hurt me even better almost made me overlook where their stares were aimed at.

Sure, there were wide-eyed looks of terror glancing over my body which was absolutely covered in blood, ichor, gore, and soot, but I could guess that the looks weren't caused by my unflattering features or my mouth that somehow felt even wider than before.

Instead people were looking at the hammer I had no right to wield, let alone carry or even lift. Instead they focused on the claw arm I dragged behind me that came straight out of a horror movie.

Somebody screamed.

I had to do my best not to freak out as I realized that I had inadvertently outed myself as a cape before I truly came to grasp with the fact myself. Suddenly, the terrible trio seemed almost completely fade into irrelevance.

It was almost enough to distract me from the fact that my mind had started feeding me ideas how to possibly convert them all into low-grade equipment.
​

 

[X0ll0X]

Chapter 1.2

Suddenly interpreting my fellow humans as walking raw material dispensers was quite effective in derailing the train of thought set on running away.

The second thing that kept my mind from simply fleeing the scene was the fact that I knew I was far too okay with the thought of using the remains for anything at all.

I should have felt disgusted but try as I might, the best I managed was the detached knowledge that it was a taboo to even consider it.

That had potential for some really awkward conversations.

'Earth to Taylor. You were doing the staring thing again. What were you thinking about?'

'He? oh! Sorry mind wandered a bit deciding whether you'd make a better pair of dual blades or I there'd be enough material in you for a sword and shield.'

Real hero material right there.

But regardless of the reason why I didn't flee, I was glad that I didn't. Even if I felt my face heating up under the weight of the stares directed at me.

I've had enough of the abuse and there was no way in hell I would let Emma, Sophia, and Madison get way from this. Not when the authorities had to be contacted in this situation. Not when those bitches could tamper with the evidence if I ran.

The click and flash of a cellphone snapping a picture tore me out of my thoughts.

I turned to face the sound, I heard a mutter go through the crowd and the girl who took the photo shrieked as my gaze fell upon her. She nearly dropped the phone as she shrank back in fear.

More had their phones out, no doubt filming my whole ordeal even as we spoke.

I knew that with my physical changes, a secret identity would be a fool's dream but that didn't mean I wanted footage of me at one of my lowest points in my life and covered in filth, be the first impression the world would have of me.

I had to suppress a chuckle at the dread I felt at the prospect of asking for basic human decency. Only minutes ago I had fought and killed a monstrous spider that was hell-bent liquefying me to be its next meal and the thing that actually terrified me was actually speaking out.

The absurdity of the situation nor the fact that they all looked so fragile now did do anything to lessen the pit in my stomach.

I moved my mouth a bit, silently checking if something felt off, and formulated my request before actually speaking it out loud.

I shouldn't have bothered.

"I fucking told you no pictures, no clips, no fucking evidence!" Sophia snarled from behind crowd gathered around me.

She sounded… a bit scared – slightly hysterical even and trying to mask it with more overt aggression. If that was possible in the first place. I was used to the latter part, but seeing her apparently on the verge of losing control of the situation was something I could get used to.

The crowd parted as Sophia moved through it with only her angry stares, pushing the very few who didn't move out of her way.

Much to her obvious annoyance she had to let Emma steady her and she looked at me with murder in her eyes. As if this was somehow all my fault. But there was more in there as well.

She was afraid. Afraid of me.

Phasing. Tenebrous, gaseous wisp state. Armor. Enhanced dodging capabilities. Cerebral control unit imbedded in a matrix made from a mixture of bone and nervous matter and fucium ore enhanced by a nargacuga base. Possible synergy with chameleos. Weak to electricity. Weight manipulation. Superior weapon acceleration…

I felt my eyes grow wide at the sudden influx of information and their implications. I was only vaguely aware that I was actually staring at the approaching tormentor.

Sophia was a parahuman. I was sure of it. The armor my power suggested would be powerful, leagues beyond the pitiful suggestions it gave me for the others. I'd still needed to hunt some rather exotic animals to make it work but…

My mind reached a screeching halt. The powers seemed so familiar; phasing and tenebrous state? Shadows?

Everything clocked together. Shadow Stalker. Sophia Hess was Brockton Bay's very own dangerous vigilante turned problem Ward.

I had read the threads about the brutal anti-hero and her love for crossbows. I even encountered some of the short-lived ones speculating how long it would take for her to take it too far before those threads got locked and buried. The powers, the shitty personality. It all fit.

That also explained why she was apparently immune to trouble at Winslow and why the teachers were so happy to look the other way. They didn't want to lose their precious Ward; the grants it brought, the gang control she brought. From what I've heard the recruiters and neophytes were an even bigger problem before she came. And here I thought the school directory was afraid of Emma's dad or didn't want to lose their precious little star athlete. Madison, of course, was too "innocent" to do anything malicious. It was weird though that nobody seemed to notice the obvious differences in handwriting when she handed in the homework she had stolen from me.

At least I hoped it was just short-sighted incompetence and greed from Blackwell and her cronies that allowed it to happen. I didn't want to believe that the PRT would willingly let it happen, they would have stopped their wards from tormenting a normal, innocent girl wouldn't they? They were the heroes.

The vicious, paranoid side of me reminded that she was supposed to be under strict surveillance after her debut as vigilante which involved literally pinning people to walls. According to PHO there were signs that Shadow Stalker had even mellowed out over the last year.

Did I really wanted to be part of an organization that enabled such psychopaths?

"What the hell, Hebert, did you hit your pathetic head and got your mind scrambled or what," Sophia spat as she arrived to what I now identified as striking distance. "Stop staring at me, pervert. I know the boys avoid you in disgust but that doesn't mean you'd have better chances with us girls you ugly bitch. And the fact you assumed I'd swing that way. Eww."

"And you'd think that it couldn't get possibly get worse before." Emma stage-whispered. She didn't need to support Sophia anymore apparently and had time to throw her verbal barbs around. But it missed her usual bite. She was nervous and less eloquent than normal. Her insults reduced to the simply "you're ugly". That was Maddison level stuff and those only worked because she managed to make her entourage to repeat it in various forms throughout the day. Constantly grinding another sliver of self-confidence away in the process.

I couldn't contain a chuckle at how sad a display this was in comparison to their A-game.

It wasn't what they had expected if their sudden silence and confusion they exuded was anything to go by.

Still, I couldn't help it. Here I stood after kicking the door off my locker – a door that lay warped and in plain sight with a foot-shaped indentation – and wielding a hammer I had absolutely no right to even hold with absolute ease and they were trying to intimidate me? After I had faced the demonic spider?

If that wasn't hilarious, I didn't know what was.

Especially if you considered that the sharp claws that now grew out of my fingertips would be more than enough to deal with any of them with the exception of Sophia. But if she tried to do anything it would only serve to out herself so her hands were bound.

At least I also knew how my books and projects kept disappearing from my locker.

"The fuck? Why don't you flee like the coward you are before you suffer another mental breakdown?" Sophia continued, fear and desperation seeping through more and more.

It looked she only now realized the stupidity of this stunt. She was afraid of ending in juvie or maybe even worse.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to witness you slobbering again like you did after your mother died. It was all I could do to not simply run out of the room when you started once again. Don't know how I managed to let you ruin my clothes by offering a shoulder for you to weep on. What was it? An entire week of crying yourself to sleep because your dear mommy died?"

I felt a lance of betrayal and anger shoot through me at Emma's words. Even if she was desperately blunt like Sophia, the reminder of both the happier times when I could call her my friend and my mother death hurt. It wouldn't do. I had enough anger

"You," I pointed at a student that looked the most uncomfortable. "Warn a teacher and tell them what just happened. They should have heard something happened by now but I don't hold too much hope. And contact the PRT if –"

"WHAT? Just because you couldn't take a simple fucking prank doesn't mean you can just waste everyone's time!"

"– they don't already do it themselves. I'm sure they'd love to hear what just happened and would be glad to have people cooperating," I finished with steel behind it that surprised me and ignoring Sophia's outburst. She was grasping at straws now. Looks like she really didn't count on the PRT's benevolence.

The boy I pointed at fled the scene and a couple of others took that as an inspiration to do the same. "That said, it's probably best to stick around. I can't imagine the PRT'd like to chase after you in case they have questions or that they'd be too happy if stuff leaked."

"And why the fuck should we listen to you Hebert? You've had a little episode and now all of the sudden you're the fucking queen bossing us around. Do you really think anything will happen because you were gullible enough to be pranked?"

I simply smiled a wide, toothy smile that had very little to do with happiness and all the more with absolute contempt.

That apparently was too much for Sophia Hess as she lunged at me shrieking, accelerating faster than I somehow knew should be possible, dispelling any of the little doubt that remained regarding her identity.

Still she wasn't nearly as scary as the nerscylla I faced only minutes ago. Far weaker as well as I found out when her fist connected with my chin. It stung a little.

I grabbed the offending hand with my free hand and applied a little pressure and smiled once more.

Sophia's eyes went wide as she realized just how much she messed up. I felt the pressure under my fingertips slightly decrease before it returned to normal. Sophia struggled to free her hand and desperately suppressed the urge to simply phase through it by starting kicking at my feet (probably wanted to hit my shins bit didn't account for my changed anatomy) and hitting me in my side with her other hand. It didn't do much besides annoying me so I applied a little more pressure, careful to not us my claws.

"What is going on here? What's that awful smell? Break it up people boring adult coming through." Mr. Gladly's said as he presumably went looking for his missing class and saw the scene. Or he simply decided that he simply couldn't ignore it any longer without it looking bad on his resume.

"Break it up you two! And I hope there is a good explanation for all this. What happened to that locker?"

"Why couldn't you just have run away like you always did." I could barely hear Sophia whisper with a fragility that I had never expected to hear from her.

I let go of Sophia but didn't turn to face the newly arrived teacher. I didn't want to turn my back on this crazed animal regardless of her showing a new side of hers. She returned the curtesy by spitting in my face as she massaged her hand.

The spit didn't matter that much on the grand scheme of things with the rest that covered me but she had just ensured that I'd be heavily invested in making an electrified weapon. I knew there'd be plenty monsters I could use but if everything else failed, I was sure I could cobble something together with regular household electronics.

"Hey Mr. G," I began before Sophia could open her mouth perhaps a bit more bile as usual. "I'm glad you could join us. In case you're wondering why I held on to Miss Hess' hand, it's because she punched me on the chin without provocation and I didn't feel like eating another punch. It didn't really work out that well."

I heard Sophia sputter in indignation but I ploughed right through any excuse she might have planned. "Just ask one of the students in the audience. I'm sure more than one has filmed the whole thing."

I turned to face him as much as I could without losing Sophia out my sight and I saw his eyes wander from the gun hammer I still held in my hand, to the hand itself, to my feet, and to the filth still covering me.

"Taylor, what happened to you? Follow me to the infirmary - I need to get you checked out. Is that your blood?"

I was vaguely aware that Sophia skulked back into the shadows, towards Emma, and my suddenly overly large ears – I was wondering why turning my head felt strange before I hit the locker with one ear as I left it – picked up hushed whispers. I could make out the words "dad" amongst other things.

That would explain why Sophia hadn't tried to interrupt me more thoroughly. Looks like Alan would join the fray.

"No Mr. G, I won't go anywhere until the PRT arrived," I answered the troubled looking Gladly. "Most of the blood isn't mine. I'm fine. Wouldn't want an overly zealous janitor or student cleaning my locker in a bout of misguided' kindness'."

"Is something wrong with it?" he asked as he moved to check it out.

I saw him pale as the stench truly hit him and he was treated by the sight of rotting blood, tampons, and sanitary towels.

"What a sight, isn't it? This is what happens if everyone turns a blind eye to an extensive bullying campaign for more than a year. They've pushed me in there and locked the door while I hit the wall with enough force to break my glasses."

Gladly opened his mouth to protest but I continued with a cold anger I didn't know I was capable of, "Don't bother. I saw the pity in your eyes as you walked past them ganging up on me more than once. Have you never asked what happened to my chair and desk? Why I needed a new textbook so often?"

"So why haven't you come to me; to anyone? My hands are kinda tied without students actually informing or even warning me."

I let out a mirthless chuckle, "I have and was promptly ignored. I tried again and they told me I shouldn't make such a scene with such tall tales and stop wasting their time. They said there was no evidence, that witnesses had come forward swearing I was the one starting it all and that I better quit or there'd be consequences. That my grades put me on shaky grounds even without the added problems. All the while my bullies escalated their little games and I could only hope that a teacher would take even the barest hint of an initiative. Don't know how I could've been so sickingly naïve."

"Now you listen for a moment. I won't stand for such baseless accusations aimed towards my colleagues. I don't know whether you're aware but you have the reputation of –"

"Of what? An overly problematic, failing student craving for attention? The mean bully who goes after poor, sweet, innocent Madison Clements? The same Madison who can make any boy and half of the girls say whatever she wants with her cute little shtick? Do you honestly think I felt like stuffing my locker was with this shit was just the fun thing to do and then somehow just ended in there by pure accident? Do you believe I asked nobody for help?"

I stared him right in the eyes and noticed I had to look down to do it. The only things keeping the tears at bay was the absurdity of it all, the rage flowing through me, and the hope that, finally, things might change. There would be enough time to lament my fate when I was at home.

"If you were truly locked up in their as you claim. How did you get out and what happened to the door?"

Wow, I hadn't thought that Gladly would be this far out of his depths. Sure, I hadn't expected much and knowledge about the "birth" of new parahumans and their so called trigger events wasn't widespread beyond the inner reaches of the PHO forums and newly started college courses. But there was dense and not-seeing-the-mangled-door-in-front-of-the-locker-while-staring-an-obvious-cape-in-the-eyes dense. I even still had the hammer for fuck's sake!

Then it hit me. Gladly wasn't that much different of the other passive students standing around. He was afraid to become a victim of the very same thing that happened to me – I served a fine example in that regard. It explained his cringeworthily attempts to appear cool and everybody's friend. Insisting on being called "Mr. G", the deluge of group assignments with little oversight.

This teacher was afraid of his own students. Combine that with the pressure he was probably under by the faculties and I could see how he had reacted the way he did. How he managed to ignore my daily torment.

That didn't mean I'd forgive him for his involvement anytime soon though.

"I triggered in the locker Mr. G," I began slowly and pointed towards the remains of the door. "Then I decided I didn't want to be in there anymore and busted out. Now, if you'd be so kind to call my dad and ask him to bring my notebooks, that would be lovely. I want him nearby when the PRT arrives."

"PRT? I guess, it makes sense to have them come all things considered. I'll call him and just to be sure call the PRT as well." He answered before setting off to do just that.

Looked like he had decided that Winslow was sinking and he would better get off now. Alan would soon be a lesser problem for it.

I shot pointed look at Emma who – much to my amusement – actually shrank back a little and sat down in front of my stinking, broken locker.

I wasn't going to move away from my stinking, ruined locker. After all, I had noticed that my backpack had disappeared in mysterious circumstances in the short time I was in there. Losing my journals that way sucked but I had plenty where that came from at home.

They would not tamper with the mess they had created here. It was one of the only reasons why the door hadn't been converted in a knife (yet), no matter how much my instincts screamed at me because of it.

Instead, I started to distract myself by cleaning up the hammer and actually see the nitty-gritty of the mechanism up-close. Sure, I knew how it worked but seeing is believing and, hey, maybe I can come up with some improvements.

At the very least it should distract me enough to suppress the urge to make a cousin out of bone.

 

[X0ll0X]

Chapter 1.3

It was interesting to actually see the integrated flesh sacks nestled inside the chambers up close. I knew on a fundamental level how they were supposed to look like and how to fuse them with the surrounding metal in such a way that they'd activate on impact. I knew what tools I and what material's I'd need to improve it.

I knew those things with an absolute certainty with a certainty that was humbling. As a Tinker I was aware that I was mostly borrowing techniques and ideas from the future. Somewhere – or is it somewhen? – some über-genius actually comes (would have come up?) up with the methodology themselves from the ground up and actually invents the stuff I use if I didn't, hadn't, wouldn't change it. Stupid time traveling knowledge and possible alternate worlds messing up language.

That was if my knowledge even came from the future. Most of it didn't have the same anti-grav toting, laser spewing flair that seemed to be a common theme in Tinkers capable of making weapons and armors. It also had a certain lack of fancy lights which apparently got replaced with teeth and claws and spikes.

But still, even knowing I was borrowing the base ideas I could and, if given the chance, would make the weapons, the armors, gadgets, and items my powers allowed me to create. And then I'd experiment and expand with Tinkertech materials completely unknown to the original owners of my knowledge.

They didn't have pararhumans to work with either…

I squashed that line of thinking. I wanted to be a hero and those don't go around wearing the skins of defeated enemy capes.

Maybe they let me use bits and pieces of fallen capes? I wouldn't need everything.

Seeing where that line of thinking would lead, I Instead concentrated once more on the knowledge I had on the monster the Creatos apparently did encounter and fought. A deep seated urge tried to take hold over me once more by even thinking what I could create.

I only needed to actually hunt the right materials. And find their natural habitat.

Which might be a problem since I couldn't find a portal in the back of the private little hellhole that my locker had been transformed into. Last time I checked, attacking wyverns hadn't been a wide-spread problem in the area. Lung would like to count himself as a full-fledged dragon but I'd be the judge of that, thank you very much. He wouldn't be missed all that much but there was still the problem that he was Lung. At least for now. Making an enemy of Dragon just seemed like a very bad idea all around.

What was I thinking about? Right hammer. Flame sacs. It probably wasn't a great sign if I managed to sidetrack myself while distracting myself by flexing my Tinkering muscles. In an internal monologue.

Anyway. The sac. They were quite simply beautiful. A greyed, muscular bladder covered in veins glowing with a deep orange. They bathed the chambers of the hammerhead – which could, by the way, actually rotate and unleash all sacs at once; ideal for a mighty charged attack – in the same throbbing, fiery orange. Each one had their veins arranged structures in a beautifully unique manner.

I knew that they'd look like that just as I knew that there were better ones out there, ones that had a metallic gleam to them and burned with a bright hot white flame, and others like the elongated ones capable of producing raw lightning, ready to burn across the air and that wasn't touching on the one producing more common poisons with various effects or the other elements.

'Seeing is believing' is how the saying goes and the actual thing surpassed even my power-assisted imagination.

The wonder over these components was even nearly enough to make me forget the stench oozing out of the locker behind me. To completely ignore the stares that became more obvious and daring now that I had calmed down.

The teachers had arrived not shortly after I had asked – no, commanded would probably be the better word – Mr. Gladly to call my father and escorted the students away in small groups at the time, probably herding them in empty classrooms to make life easier on the PRT when they arrived. Sophia, who seemed to have calmed down a lot and even looked… slightly defeated - despondent even - was led to the other side of the building than Emma.

Only a handful of students remained and I was glad that the teachers actually took initiative for once. I don't know what I would have done if I had to endure a far greater intensity of whispers about me.

The teachers even came and tried to talk with me, see how I was doing and asking what happened and how I felt. Mrs Knott seemed to genuinely care.

I didn't answer them beyond nods and saying "I'm fine". I didn't know what happened to make me go as hard against Mr. Gladly as I did. Well, strictly speaking I knew what happened. More than a year of bullying and disappointment on top of what happened that day ought to be enough to make anyone lash out just a bit.

But it didn't explain how I reacted that confrontational and in his and Sophia's face. It wasn't like me and I didn't trust myself to react better if one of the teachers stepped on a sore point. Especially considering how I got more and more ideas how to use their bones to forge gear.

I doubted that I'd gain any allies if I blew up again while they were apparently actually helping for once.

And that wasn't even touching on my physical changes.

Sitting down, I had a clear view of my feet. They had lengthened and widened a bit and, similar to my hands, lost a toe each. Those toes had also grown and now resembled short, stubby fingers with similar range of movement. Somewhere in the change they must have busted through my shoes as the small tatters stuck between my wickedly clawed toes remained of the dirty old things. It was a pity since they had been pretty damn comfortable.

Combine it with how the proportions of the rest of my legs had changed – my bones of my thighs were shortened while those shins stretched by roughly the same amount – and I had the feeling that high heels would pose much of a challenge to me for the rest of my life.

Digitigrade. That was the way my new form of locomotion was called. I believe.

I could probably make girls green with envy by wearing outrageous shoes without a wobble if it wasn't for the fact that what felt like my big toe had needed to migrate further back, rotated a bit, and become opposable. Then there were the claws. Big, pointy claws probably two to three inches long each.

I had talons. I could grab things and – freaking out the various remaining onlookers as I tried it with the claw arm I brought – gained the flexibility to bring them to my mouth. It felt kind of weird being able to do that.

It would be a nightmare to find to find new shoes that would actually fit.

But it would be handy though if I wanted to smash things real good with one of the overgrown weapons my power urged me to make by picking up the slack where just friction wouldn't cut it anymore. I had the feeling that I could actually grab the ground with my talons and generate so much more force that way.

As a matter of fact, I suspected that I had already been doing it subconsciously in my battle against the nerscylla. It would explain how I wasn't simply yanked off my feet by the weight of the hammer every time I swung it.

My hands were a similar story: lost a finger, got claws, and they became sturdier. These pointy protrusions were shorter than the ones on my feet, allowing for grabbing things in a non-clawing way – as Sophia's hand could attest – but still were hard and pointy enough that I could use them to manipulate fine objects. Ideal for high-tech Tinkering.

As to my face, I couldn't really tell much beyond that my ears now stuck out half a foot on each side of my head.

I nearly facepalmed when I realized that I'd probably had to deal with elf-themed nicknames due to the ears alone. I was glad I was able to suppress the practiced motion. I had the feeling it wasn't something you wanted to try without practicing it after recently getting very pointy object permanently attached to your fingertips.

Speaking, or, well, inner monologueing, about pointy things, my teeth had become some sort of hybrid between actual fangs and regular teeth. It wouldn't hinder me too much with being an omnivore but I took it as a subtle hint from my body that meat had a bit higher priority now.

I might even try that Challenger at Fugly Bob's. It might even fit in my mouth without much trouble if my yawns were any indication. I was pretty sure that normal, human mouth couldn't open to such a degree.

It probably also meant that my mouth was even wider. As if it needed that.

Weirdly enough, one of the more confusing changes was that I had scales. Skin colored ones in the same tone as my skin that slightly darkened towards my feet and hands. All things considered, it was small fries compared to the rest but I was confronted by it more than the rest weirdly enough. This was likely due to how I hadn't seen my face and that rest of modifications felt natural to me, fading to the background. Skin was how was something that was simply there. Sure, it could get cut sometimes and it would demand attention and I took rudimentary care of it but I didn't really lose too much thought about it. Seeing something I had assumed as a simple constant change this much and to be confronted by it everywhere I looked on my body. It was… disquieting.

While on the topic on constants, apparently whatever happened to me during my Trigger didn't include a visit from the Boob Fairy.

Life wasn't fair.

At least it made crafting armors a bit easier; I could basically just wear any armor made for men. Slim, effeminate ones.

See? Sometimes I can see the positive side of things.

It was probably negated by the fact that those insights went hand in hand with self-deprecation.

I knew I looked like a freak but I wasn't certain how I was supposed to feel about it. I saw how each individual part except my face looked like but the pieces refused to form a cohesive whole in my mind. I would need a mirror to make up my mind. I hadn't asked for one.

I was too afraid what I'd see. Too afraid to lose it. I couldn't risk it when there was still stuff to do and I was holding up more or less fine.

At least I hadn't lost the one truly feminine attribute. My hair still flowed in all its, long, curly, brown glory.

My mind provided me with info on a red, flying, fire-loving wyvern that absolutely loved to spread its love to everyone in sight. And a fire spitting monkey. And multiple monsters swimming in lava, ready to produce beams of solid fire. And…

I was wistfully playing with my hair, contemplating fire and electricity proof helmet designs when I was startled by someone clearing his throat.

Efficiency optimization and miniaturization. Significant enhancement of own powers. Piercing. Infuse teostra gem with neural controller. Set in ring of silver rathalos cortex threaded with eltalite steel.

Looking up, I saw a neatly trimmed, brown beard framed by a midnight-blue helmet and silvery visor cautiously observing me.

I may or may not have actually squeed out loud when I saw one of my childhood heroes in the flesh.

Maybe he even had time to discuss hair-protection methods. He had to have at least one to be able to flaunt that beard in a town with Lung.

"Miss Hebert?" he asked, his tone serious, even concerned with the slightest hint of annoyance.

"Yes?" I had the feeling he'd have the time right now.

"Before we continue, am I allowed to record both the audio and visuals of the preliminary proceedings? It would allow us to proceed at a much faster rate and anything not necessary for a case would be kept confidential."

If it meant getting out of this place quicker and out of this set of clothes. Maybe start tinkering. It would also give the Trio less an opportunity to somehow get away with this.

I nodded.

"Miss Hebert, could you please give a verbal agreement."

An irrational spike of annoyance and anger shot through me at the apparent redundancy, "I, Taylor Hebert allow this conversation and following preliminary investigation to be recorded by Armsmaster."

The hero quietly grunted with grim satisfaction. Apparently I passed some internal test, "All right. Before we continue I have to ask you one more question. I am informed that your father is on his way as we speak. Do you wish to wait on his arrival or can we begin without him?"

Dad.

I looked at the filth encrusted, stinking, ripped remnants of my clothes; at my claws and talons.

It would break him. Seeing his girl like this. It's what I wanted to avoid after mom's death. I didn't know whether he could take another blow. He had been quiet, distant after her death and wasn't able to recover completely – a certain amount of apathy still followed him wherever he went. But still he tried to stay strong. For my sake.

It's why I didn't tell him when the bullying started. Both out of the probably misguided attempt to protect him and the believe that I could handle it myself or that it would pass.

I saw him starting to question himself when my grades started to drop apparently without reason as far as he could tell. It was due to the assignments and projects that "mysteriously" went missing or were destroyed but he didn't know that. He'd simply smile and tell me that there'd be a next time. I couldn't tell him then what truly happened believing it was too late to bring the topic. He was afraid of losing me. His constant reminders to stick to the safe routes and change them regularly; to bring the pepper spray he insisted on buying when I went for a run was enough to convince me of that. I wanted to spare him the additional pain.

And look where that brought me.

I was afraid how he'd react to see his little girl turned into a freak. A monster.

I was afraid of how much he'd blame himself when he realized how easily this could have been partially avoided if I had a cellphone. Neither of us did after mom's crash. The association was simply too strong.

I stopped myself and focused on what I had to do. On the reason I stubbornly sat down in front of the tool that had caused the agony and would probably have more in store. I could cry later.

"No. We can begin now," I answered and pointed at the grime that covered me."I want to get this over with."

"If that's the case, tell me what happened," he said before remembering he forgot something and adding. "Please."

I wanted to start at the beginning, of the betrayal at my former friend's hands. To tell the daily torment in detail. But I knew – no matter how much it hurt to admit – it wasn't directly relevant to what had actually happened that day and would have to wait until the time arrived to find the guilty parties.

And so I recounted what had happened. The weird strained quiet. The stank. The push. My glasses. The rancid contents of the locker which I showed simultaneously. He carefully stepped around the warped door as he took a closer look. He didn't look happy. The failed breakout attempt using the baton that lay now discarded in the pocket dimension. The mad struggle to bust my way out.

The ignored pain and cracks of bones as a broke my hands and feet, something I only realized had happened as I recounted the event to the hero.

Armsmaster let me talk uninterrupted but I witnessed his mouth form into a sneer of disgust when the rotting contents came up. I saw it soften again as I told them about the blackout only to actually fall open slightly in surprise when I mentioned the cave and its inhabitant.

He kept silent except for the occasional grunt of empathy. That is, until the gun hammer came up.

Even while unable to see his eyes, I knew they widened. His stance adopted a certain eagerness and he stared at the instrument of destruction with renewed interest.

"So you simply found this weapon? And it produces flames whenever it strikes something? Can I take a closer look?"

"I did find it but, if I get my hands on the right materials, I could easily make it myself," I replied as I handed him the handle of the hammer.

The head hit the ground with a resounding thump.

"Brute, and likely Tinker," I could hear him mutter before he added, louder and with a certain eager anticipation. "Could you try to explain me how it works?"

"Sure," I replied as I took back the handle and turned the hammer so we had a clear view of its business-end. "You see those bladder-like organs at the end of each chamber? Those are actually so-called flame sacs found in mainly fire breathing wyverns. They're able to produce and store flames inside the body of the beast and expel them with enough force to form fireballs amongst or let it stream out to form short ranged breath attacks."

"How many times can they be used before they run out?"

I didn't waste time to answer. Who would have known that talking Tinker would be so much fun?

Besides, I wanted to show-off to one of my heroes. "I think as long as the sacs don't get damaged and you don't skip on maintenance, you can use them as much as you like. No fuel needed."

Armsmaster managed to look at me in shock even in his power armor and with half his face covered.

"I'm able to take the organs, bones, tissue, and other things, and use them to create weapons and armors with other, synergizing materials. This often involves fusing organic and inorganic materials to a cohesive whole, imbuing the end product with their properties – the nature of the monster and materials it was made of. Here, for example, the flame sacs are temporally locked in place in their filled state after they were freshly harvested. They simply regenerate in a couple of seconds after firing. The firestones integrated in the chamber walls both accelerate the process as well as make the cylinder more fireproof and they increase the temperature of the flames as well."

"Are there any other… sacs?"

I simply saw the possible ideas and running amok through Armsmaster's head as he speculated on potential organs and their uses, appraising and rejecting ideas even as he improved the promising ones.

"There are all kinds of sacs, but most relevant to you would probably be the lightning sac. And to be honest the ones used in this gun hammer are rather low quality."

"Have you thought of…" Armsmaster began before stopping and putting a finger on the side of his helmet, probably listening to someone over his integrated communication devices.

I was sure his tech worked perfectly fine without the gesture and got the impression it was something taught himself to do during civil conversations. Either to let the other know he isn't completely listening or to shut them up. Either way it was effective.

There was no doubt in my mind he wouldn't bother in more hostile situations.

"Damnit, got sidetracked again into Tinker talk." He breathed and continued, louder. "I was just informed your father just cleared the checkpoint and that he should be here any mo- "

"Taylor!" My dad shouted as he rounded the corner and saw me.

He dropped the bundle of fresh clothes and the bag containing notebooks and nearly ran towards me.

"What happened? Who did this?" He asked, his voice trembling, as he made his way over to me.

I, meanwhile, stood frozen as the torrent of emotions I bottled up was unleashed inside of me and suppressing the urge to run or hide.

And while a war was fought inside of me, I couldn't help wonder why he had brought clothes. He didn't know what happened and I was certain I hadn't mentioned it when I asked Gladly to call dad.

Could it be…

"What am I asking? Are you alright, sweetie?" Dad continued as he had nearly reached me. "of course you aren't. I have eyes don't I."

He looked so fragile. Dad was hurting. Badly.

And still he tried to appear strong. To be there for me. To make sure I could rely on him.

He moved in for a hug and an irrational, insecure, and hateful part of me wanted to avoid it. To avoid getting my filth on his suit. Ruining it. He needed that…

The voices were drowned out as he pulled me in and would have likely crushed me if I hadn't changed. The hammer slid from my grasp and I returned the gesture, reservations long forgotten.

"It's alright. I'm here for you. You can let go now."

It was too much. The dam was broken and there was no stopping the waterworks.

I buried my face against his shoulder and cried.

 

[X0ll0X]

Chapter 1.4

I don't know for how long I cried as the hurt and frustration of the last eighteen months were unleashed.

But it wasn't just grief that made it last as long. It was amplified by the relief of not having to lie to my father anymore. Of not having to fake a smile while slowly crumbling on the inside. To stop hurting him with my good intentions.

I'd wish I he'd have learned about the problems in another circumstance but deep down I knew I simply would've found completely rational sounding excuse to not tell him every time I the pressure threatened to overwhelm me, bottling it up further instead.

Hell, if I would have looked normal, I probably would have tried my hardest to hide my powers from dad, adding another layer of stress and guilt.

The tears started to dry as I felt Armsmaster getting impatient behind me and I redoubled my hug, too bath in that warmth for a bit longer.

God, I missed this.

"Uh… Little Owl." Dad, gasped with a soft chuckle. "Ease up a little. Can feel my ribs creek."

Very little of the haunted emptiness that plagued him ever since mom's death was left. What kind of messed up world was it that I nearly had to die for us to come back together?

"Sorry," I whispered as I let go.

"I was so worried when I got the call from Mr. Gladly urging me to come, saying you needed me and asked for your notebooks as well," Dad said after a deep breath and massaging his ribs. "Didn't know which one he meant so I took all I could find."

I was torn between being amused, relieved, and mortified by that statement. I had filled a couple of notebooks with the exploits of the Trio alone so his pragmatism in taking them all would increase the chance of actually getting the right ones and it meant I got at least the opportunity to tell him about the torment instead of him having to read it in a notebook.

On the other hand, there were also that one I used to doodle in, fantasize about getting powers and which ones I'd like to get (the Alexandria package, of course), thinking of potential and sufficiently heroic sounding names.

Even costume designs. Ones involving more than a few capes and skintight leotards.

I'd have to make sure that notebook disappeared. It would probably lessen the visual impact of the spikey armor I'd be making if it got leaked.

There'd really be no escaping the fairy and elf themed nicknames on the parahuman online forums.

"It really didn't help when he told me you'd need a fresh set of clothes and refused to clarify what happened in a somewhat panicky way," he continued as he looked at me and at my clothes with renewed intensity while I was reeling with the revelation that Mr. G could care. If only he had started sooner.

His gaze didn't linger on my hand or feet nor did it halt on my face. Instead it focused on the filth that covered my clothes as well as the tears and the slash that showed my stomach.

I could feel the rage he had sworn to never show me rise and my head sank a bit in guilt.

But instead of blowing up, he managed to calm down again and gently grabbed my chin to raise my head again and he looked me in the eyes, a sad smile on his lips.

It didn't matter that I was transformed in freakish chimera of man and wyvern. I'd always be his little Taylor.

The realization hit me harder than I expected and had to fight the urge to start crying again. This time they'd be tears of happiness.

"So, Taylor. What just happened?"

"Right. We were distracted by your hammer before your father arrived and interrupted that. I still need you to finish your recounting of the events," Armsmaster added, not quite able to mask his annoyance and impatience.

I felt a stab of angry irritation go through and I shot a glare back at him before seeing the claw arm laying on the floor besides him. It brought forth a surprising set of emotions, one I didn't think I'd feel with everything else. A hungry urge to from it into something bigger, to fuse it with materials to make it shine. An annoyance that I was still standing here and the reminder that prime material was standing mere feet away from me.

It startled me as I realized how Armsmaster likely felt. For someone who's a Tinker specialized in efficiency – someone that's so devoted to being a hero that I could hardly believe the stories about his daily regime sometimes surfacing on PHO – doing nothing and waiting must be hell. Especially after I probably put so many potential new ideas in his head.

Dad meanwhile hadn't notice the hero's tone of voice and was instead staring wide-eyed at the gun hammer on the ground and at me and back at the hammer and…

I guess that detail got filtered out as he first saw me.

"Give me a sec to bring dad up to speed and I'll continue. Alright?" I answered, managing to tear dad out of his stupor and which Armsmaster replied with a gruff affirmative grunt.

I gave him the abridged of what I had already told the hero.

As expected, dad took it far worse them him but I was surprised how well he managed to hide the angry trembles as I came to the part about the locker.

Then came the time to describe the fight. Armsmaster wanted to know more information about the nerscylla I fought. What I knew about the species beyond its appearance, its intelligence, and whether or not I knew of other monsters.

I told him that I could probably fashion a detailed drawing of its entire anatomy even if I didn't know the appropriate scientific names and that it was a trapper, thus fairly intelligent.

About the monsters I was surprised to notice that while I knew the names and general characteristics of other monsters, I missed the precise knowledge I had on the nerscylla.

I choose to keep quiet that I could produce a same drawing of the deceased hunter, him, dad, Sophia, my classmates, and teachers. Each detailing small little individual quirks. That I was able to do it for every living creature I had encountered up until now.

The fact that I got a rundown of his and Sophia's skill remained unmentioned as well.

I got the feeling the PRT wouldn't like that bit and might get paranoid about me.

Especially if they learned that I could do the same with humans and capes as I could with monsters and dragons.

Dad didn't get angrier when I told them about the encounter with the demon spider in the cave. He was protective to a fault so I kind of expected him to get angry at himself for "allowing" this to happen. Instead, I could feel a combination of pride and awe coming from him after he recovered from the shock of me describing the arachnid.

Armsmaster was interested to hear that I could actually charge up my attacks to increase their destructive capabilities. It was apparently an interesting quirk of my powers. He also wanted to have a sample of the nerscylla so he could work out how much force I was capable of generating with the hammer.

He had apparently measured the weight of the hammer already when I handed it to him and after (too) much consternation (Armsmaster cleared his throat again when I took too long) I decided to part ways with a jaw fragment.

My carving knife had just gotten a bit smaller.

And then came to time to recount my after battle actions. "After I smashed the nerscylla head, I first made my way over to the fallen hunter and luckily found an antidote to stop the poison from liquefying my back and a potion to heal myself back up to full health. Then I made my way back to – "

"What. Did you just say you he had a universal antidote and something that could instantaneously heal your wounds? Can you make those as well?" Armsmaster suddenly interrupted me with an intensity that startled me.

And now that I thought about it I concluded that yes, I could actually make those things and more even more. Interesting what goes forgotten if you wield a giant-ass hammer that's also a revolver somehow to kill a giant spider.

"I think I actually could if I had the right resources," I began, letting the information flood me, trying to determine how these items work. "I could actually make better ones as well. Much better ones. The one I took was a regular one and was only able to repair a relative small amount of tissue and bone damage. Couldn't cure the poison. The antidote can cure a large variety of monstrous venomous but not elemental blights? Dousing yourself by eating a berry? Also, doesn't improve immunity. Poison retains same effectiveness after recovery. Potions could be improved by… honey? Honey from indigenous bee species. I can make flash bombs out of a stone, a sap plant, and a lightning bug?! That's why Tinkers are bullshit, I guess. Ancient potion can do what? I'd need a manufacturing chain to produce those though. I can shoot people to heal them, how does – "

"Taylor! Calm down. Take a deep breath and come back to us. Focus," Armsmaster told me, shaking me a bit to snap me out of my fugue while dad stared at me with agitated wonder. "I take it you could make it but what would that take and how effective are those potions?"

I took followed his advice and took a deep breath concentrating on the potion, pushing aside the flood of new ideas that were still bombarding me. "I'd need an herb that I doubt can be found here. It already has a small healing effect on its own. On top of that I'd also need a blue mushroom and again, I doubt I can find it here. I could also make them more effective by infusing them with the honey of a certain bee. I will look for it if I can find a way back into that pocket dimension of doom but it still would be far from enough to do anything large-scale. I'd probably need to get a farm or something to grow it first. Huh, I know farming techniques as well? But anyway, they only heal a certain amount of tissue and bone damage. You know, sealing wounds, knitting organs back together, setting bones, replacing lost tissue, but they wouldn't do anything to the cause of the injuries."

"You said it only healed a certain amount. What happens if there are still injuries left afterwards?"

"You drink another one or two, of course. Until everything is healed."

Armsmaster gave me a level stare. "This is probably more important than I realized, isn't it?"

"It would be invaluable for combat operations. For Endbringer attacks. For ER departments in hospitals. Even if it's only a highly potent Band-Aid it has the potential to safe countless lives."

Oh. If you put it that way it does sound impressive. Dad was positively radiant with pride.

"I don't know how long they'll keep though and I have no idea how to access the place."

"How did you get out of the cave?"

"After killing the monster I felt something tugging at me with increasing insistency as time went on. I had barely the time to carve off the dangling claw arm of my kill before I found myself back in my locker and I did my Kool-Aid man impression. I think I had about a minute after delivering the killing blow."

"And then the PRT was called. What happened after you've busted out of your locker?"

I rubbed my head and looked at my dad with a lopsided smile. "At first I could only think about what I'd build when I got home and what I'd needed for tools when I noticed that everybody was staring at me."

I had been standing in such a way I faced both dad and Armsmaster. I turned to face the hero fully. I wanted to see his reaction for the next bit.

"Then two of my tormentors waded through the crowd and started slinging abuse at me once again while I still dripped with ichor and rotting blood. They wanted me to run away. After the spider they seemed fairly harmless though and apparently it showed. When I then asked someone to phone the PRT, one of them flipped and assaulted me until a teacher, Mr. Gladly, managed to have her back off from me."

"And then you've sent him to phone your dad on top of alerting us as well. He did mention you were rather forceful with your demands and more than a bit scared. Who did attack you?"

"Dad, could you please fetch the notebooks you brought?" I asked before continuing. "I don't know exactly what happened there. I'm normally not like that, but I think that attack put me back into the same mindset I had fighting the nerscylla and caused me to be more confrontational. As to who attacked me…"

I looked Armsmaster straight in the eyes, or at least looked straight at the point where I reasonably assumed his eyes would be, "… It was Sophia Hess."

I could have sworn Armsmaster slightly choked at that as his mouth transformed into a thin, angry line.

"I merely held her hand after she hit me squarely in the jaw with it so she wouldn't be able to do that again. She improvised and used her other hand and feet instead while I held her with as little force as possible. I bet it has been filmed by one of the onlookers. There were plenty of phones out after all. It's weird though that she reacted that way. When she approached me Emma had to support her."

Armsmaster gave me a long, hard look at that last comment and I quietly wondered whether I had gone too far.

"Emma?" Dad asked incredulously as he returned with the notebooks, defusing the mounting tension between the hero and me.

"Yes dad. Emma," I answered as I began digging through the bag of notebooks looking for the right one. "Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, and Madison Clements have been systematically bullying me ever since I started high school with the help of a different 'friends' of theirs. At the beginning of this year I've started to document each and every instance of pushing, vandalism, and personal attacks as well as their 'pranks' since the school didn't seem willing to do something to help me."

I found the three notebooks in question and handed them to a very serious looking Armsmaster who took it and began scanning the pages. Probably literally.

"I've also included the emails that were particularly bad as a printout and glued them in at their appropriate dates."

"Taylor, why didn't you tell me. And Emma? Weren't you best friends?"

Dad…

My heart broke a little seeing him slumped over like that. It took a lot of effort to continue but I had to bring this to an end. To finally stop the abuse, the hurt. I couldn't cry again.

"We were," I whispered, my throat hoarse. "I don't know what happened, dad. We had our tearful goodbye as I left for summer camp telling how much we'd miss the other and when I returned she was hanging out with Sophia and suddenly refused to talk to me and started telling me that I was weak and that I should be disgusted of myself. Madison joined the two just after the semester started and soon nobody stood up for me."

"I was wondering why she didn't come over anymore," Dad said, anger in his voice. Anger aimed at her and the world but mostly himself. "I thought you had reached that age where sleepovers had become embarrassing. How could I have been so stupid. Do you think Alan knows?"

He started pacing now, desperately trying to retain his relative calm – to keep his legendary temper at bay, "He better not know. I've talked with the bastard just last week, discussing how nice it would be to have big barbecue feast as soon as the weather permits just like we used to do. I'llwring – "

"Dad!" I interrupted before he could finish that sentence. "This is pretty one of the reasons why I didn't tell you. I knew you and Alan were still pretty close and that you might do something you'd regret. He's an attorney. He can undo us financially."

It seemed to startle him and I moved in closer to hug him once more. A lighter one but no less genuine. I had missed those.

"You also looked so fragile after mom's death." I continued in a whisper while taking comfort from his embrace. "I didn't want to trouble you with my problems as well. I… didn't want to disappoint you. Seeing my grades drop was hard enough as it was."

"Disappoint me? How could you have done that while you endured the continuous betrayal of whom you thought your best friend. If I should be disappointed with someone it's me. If I hadn't felt so sorry about myself I might have spotted it earlier. I might have – "

I squeezed a little harder to derail him before he gathered momentum blaming himself. He already had troubles to prevent himself from crying. I wouldn't care but I knew he wanted to be strong for me. I let him.

"Oh, Annette…"

We held on for a little longer as Armsmaster was scanning the final notebook.

"So what will we do now, little Owl?"

"You're asking me? Aren't you supposed to be the adult?"

"An adult whose first reaction upon hearing the news was to go over to my friend's house and harm him over something he might not have any knowledge off. I think I'll put my trust in the one who has inherited Annette's brain and managed to stay calm even as her abuser physically attacked her. After being put into that thing, being forcefully transformed, and fighting a monster."

We chuckled softly at that. He did have a point.

"I might be able to help you with that," Armsmaster commented as he put the last notebook back into the bag. "While nothing in the notebooks would hold up as direct evidence in court, it would probably be enough to get a warrant on the three considering what happened. This isn't something that simply happens out of the blue. Add to this the witness testimonies we're no doubt getting right at this very moment, perhaps even recordings of everything and my lie detector, and we're considering starting a case against the three main perpetrators and the school. Just a couple more questions."

"Sure, ask."

"Did the staff know what was happening?"

"At the beginning I've tried to solve it by reporting it to the teachers but it was always my word against the track star Sophia, Emma, the daughter of a lawyer, the little angel Madison, and whoever wanted to join their inner circle. They waved me off and when they began threatening me with punishing me for these 'unsubstantiated' claims and attempts at 'slander', I stopped. They weren't subtle though. At least Mr. Gladly knew. Some of the stuff happened right in front of his nose."

I didn't know that calm speech could drip with venom.

"What!" Dad yelled with renewed rage.

"Calm down Mr. Hebert," Armsmaster said, deflating him quite a bit. "We will certainly start a thorough investigation in this matter. There will be no more cover ups. Taylor triggered here under abhorrent circumstances and it will not go unanswered, starting with the question why apparently no janitor noticed the stink coming from the locker.

"Taylor do you have any idea who could have thought of this idea and who has pushed you in the locker?"

"Emma's shtick was mainly trying to hurt me with stuff she knew from the time we were best friends and shared way too much. It probably wasn't Maddison's either; she did the constant barrage of the smaller stuff – put glue on the seat and 'accidentally' step on my bag with a project or taking my homework just before we have to hand it in. Sophia was fan of pushing me against the wall or down the stairs and liked to one-up the ideas of the other two. The extremity of this is something she'd do. At least I'm pretty sure she was the one to push."

"I see." Was all the hero had to say to that.

No. if his mouth was any indication, it was all he could say without blowing up.

I, meanwhile, was starting to feel the events of the morning catching up on me. I was starting to get tired, and my stomach growled occasionally. I was hungry and I started to notice my own stink more and more.

"Armsmaster, sir?" I asked. "Do you need me personally for anything else? Otherwise I could really use a shower and those clean cloths right now."

"I've heard enough for now. I can manage the rest of the planning for the legal proceeding with your father who, seeing you're still a minor, is your legal representative. If you allow it at least. Just bring your clothes to me for further analysis."

"Go ahead, Taylor. Let your old man be useful for once."

I hugged him once more just because I could and I had missed the true thing for so long before taking the bundle of cloths dad brought and setting off towards the changing rooms and showers.

It was weird walking the nearly empty hallways only populated with the occasional PRT trooper that led me through with a small nod, my claws on my foot softly clicking against the faded linoleum floor.

Apparently they had been warned of my intentions in advance.

I reached the tiled room with probably more mold than was legal in short order and stripped my clothes as carefully as I could with my newly acquired claws in the same room I avoided for so long in fear of attacks while my scrawny figure was completely exposed. They had happened a couple of times until I decided that the smell of sweat wouldn't make much of a difference.

I avoided looking in the mirrors.

I let the lukewarm water wash over my sitting form – it couldn't get hotter with any of the other showers either and all of them were too small for me to stand under– and was confronted with my new form without any clothes obscuring it.

While apparently the Boob Fairy didn't work on Mondays (didn't blame her for that), her brother the Muscle Gnome did. I had gained a bit of muscle. It was subtle but my stick limbs suddenly sported the lean, toned muscle of an endurance athlete. I was in no way buff, but it was probably an improvement to before even considering that I had picked up running a couple of months back. I even had a faint six pack.

And yes, I had scales everywhere.

Far too soon I forced myself to scrub myself until I felt halfway clean and thought about ways to break the news that I wouldn't be joining the Wards without confusing dad or making Armsmaster suspect. And also tricking his lie detector.

I still didn't feel completely clean when I turned off the shower but realized I'd probably have to take soak in boiling water before that happened.

Getting into the shirt and hoody (no bra needed for the ironing board) was far easier than trying to fit into my favorite pants with my weirdly angled legs. With a pang of irrational sadness, I ended up having to cut them above the knees due to the added mass around that area. At least now I had confirmation that my talons were very sharp.

I hadn't even bothered bring the shoes and socks.

I made my way back with the bundle of stinking, dirty clothes in hand, feeling refreshed but hungry if not a bit exposed showing so much leg. I had never worn short anything ever since starting in Winslow.

"If Annette knew how apt the name Little Owl would be somedays…" Dad started as I came around the corner. "Hey Taylor, you're just on time. We're nearly done here."

"Indeed. You will be transferred to Arcadia. The paperwork will probably still need a week to get through but you'll be able to start as soon as that's done. Your father and I also came to the conclusion that it'd be best for you to join the Wards. Now – "

"I won't join the Wards," I interjected before he could continue.

That actually managed to silence Armsmaster.

"Why, Taylor?" Dad asked, puzzled. "They'd support you, help you with Tinkering. You could join the heroes. You don't even have to fight if you don't want to. So why reject it right from the start. It won't be like Winslow. They're heroes."

And so was Sophia apparently. And they were also fellow teens.

"I'm sorry if that came out too strong." I hastily rectified, hoping I hadn't vexed Armsmaster too badly. "What I meant to say is that I don't think I'm ready now. I need time alone. To think. To get to grips with my power and my new looks. After what happened here in Winslow, I don't think I'm ready to be the new kid in a group of fellow teenager just yet. No matter how nice they are. Sorry."

My plan was just to tell an incomplete truth instead of trying to come up with some contrived reason that talked around Shadow Stalker.

It was simpler. More elegant. Probably another thing in favor of Fae nicknames if the internet ever found out.

And I really did need some time alone with my powers. I didn't know how I'd react when put in a room full of materi – capes that caused my power to whisper ideas into my head. Presenting stuff I could make and fill me with the urge to actually follow through.

I'd probably first need to find a way to hunt more monsters to distract it with before I'd manage that.

"I was afraid you'd say that," Armsmaster said with a sad smile on his face. "Either way, you're still going to be transferred to Arcadia no matter what happens otherwise even if it's just so we can keep an eye out for you. If news gets out that you're able to make those potions you'd suddenly turn in a very high valued target for the gang just because of that. Add to that the fact that you have the additional Brute aspect and can make those weapons, I'm afraid that the gangs wouldn't be able to ignore you.

"I can understand your need to be alone, but I must urge you not to take too long deciding on what you want and to be careful if you go outside. No matter how hard, don't try to get raw materials of the streets. Contact us instead. Gangs have the pawn shops and scrap yards under surveillance for people like us that just start out. Normal Tinkers already have difficulties not outing themselves by their compulsive behavior but you don't have the luxury of a secret identity.

"Talking of which, we're trying our best to keep the videos and photos off the internet and we have everyone here sign a non-disclosure form but it's a losing battle. Stuff will leak, and people will talk. While it's rarely needed due to the stubborn adherence of the criminal cape element to so called the Unwritten Rules, probably the most important one for you being that capes don't target the unpowered family of known capes, the PRT is willing to offer you and your dad a safe house just in case. As hard as it is, I'd also advice to go public on your own. To announce your existence yourself. It's the only way you have a change to effectively control the narrative. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do." I answered weakly as I realized how much was coming towards me.

"Fine. A couple of last things before you can go. First, I have to ask: Do you have any holes in your memory? Days, weeks, months you can't remember or have you observed anything strange during that time?"

"No I haven't. Why do you ask?"

"You might be aware of the so called case 53 capes. Capes that had their forms changed during their Trigger Events. All of those we were able to find and contact were amnesiac, not knowing their true name or where they came from. Considering your looks, protocol demanded that I had to ask even though I was fairly certain of the answer. Are you positive you can't change back?"

"Oh, I see. And yes. I'm pretty sure I'll have to deal with this on a permanent basis."

"Second, I want to invite you to the PRT HQ to have your powers tested. No strings attached. You'd be picked up at your house by a van and driven there. I'd recommend it to see how much you'd have to watch out with your brute powers. It will give you more self-confidence if you knew how hard you could hit an average person without maiming them. Something you might sorely need if you end up in a combat situation."

"That seems sensible. When will that be?"

"Is Wednesday alright?"

"Apparently my holidays were extended by a week, so… Sure."

"Remember to bring your hammer. Third, I need a cape name for the paperwork; while you probably won't have secret identity, it's important to have a separate alias for cape activities as well. To better separate work and private life and reinforce the idea that you're willing to play by the Rules."

My first urge was to use nerscylla. It was my very first victory and it used material harvested from its victims as armor similarly to what I'd do. But it sounded too… villainy and I couldn't trust people on PHO to write it correctly. Especially since the word was meaningless to almost everyone.

As such I decided to keep it simple. Descriptive.

"You can call me 'Wyverian'"

It was shorter, rolled easier of the tongue and it had the association with wyverns and by extension Dragon(s), giving it more of a heroic twist.

"Might I ask why?"

"It's what I am, Armsmaster. All of it."

"Something from your newly gained knowledge no doubt. In that case, it was a pleasure meeting you Wyverian. I wished it could have been under better circumstances." Armsmaster held out his hand.

I shook it. "Likewise, Armsmaster. One question though, what about the lawsuit?"

"Let the adults handle that. It'll take a while to prepare everything but I'll keep you up to date as best as possible and we will inform you if something unexpected pops up or we need clarification or a specific statement."

"Okay…"

Dad barked out a laugh at my reluctance to let go.

He stood straighter than he had ever since we lost mom and I could look him in the eye. Becoming digitigrade really made a pretty big difference when it came to height.

We left the building in relatively comfortable silence, claw and hammer in hand, and got into the car.

Dad drove directly to the nearest fast food joint and surprised them with the size of the order before noon. Fugly Bob didn't have an easily accessible drive-thru.

I sat beside him with my hoody down and my claws in it pouch, smirking at the bewildered lady as she handed dad one food item after the other which he piled on top of me.

I tore into the comically oversized meal as soon we were driving again, unable to wait until we actually got home.

The hunger and fatigue must have been worse than I thought as I could have sworn that I saw child-sized things with tails following us from the corner of my eyes. Some even popping up out of the ground.

I clutched the claw and the bits and pieces of jaw closer. Just in case.

 

[X0ll0X]

Chapter 1.S - Sophia interlude

The day had started so well for Sophia Hess.

Sure, she had to sneak into the school in the very early morning and cover the insides of Taylor's locker with the rancid contents that had been collected before the holidays and festering ever since in sealed plastic bags near the boiler of her house.

But it was worth it for Sophia, she had a good feeling about the newest stunt of her design. Maybe – finally – she'd actually get a reaction out of the ugly cow instead of the usual passive resistance she showed whenever one of the Trio put their plan into action.

If Sophia was completely honest with herself, she was already getting bored with the Hebert bitch and would have likely moved on if Emma wasn't as insistent to purge herself of that final weakness.

Sophia was mainly getting annoyed. Something about Taylor rubbed her the wrong way seeing as she refused to conform to her world views.

A prey would have been broken long ago and a predator would have retaliated as soon as it started.

"Unless they see you as so much more inferior that you're not even worth the effort," a traitorous voice whispered in the back of Sophia's mind as she opened the last bag. It was the irritating one – the uncertainty that actually moved her to this new height even as she personally already lost most interest in Taylor.

With a giddy anticipation she snuck out again. One way or the other she'd have the cow's measure when she'd be done with her.

And if she turned out to be a very patient predator – well, she felt she could take her.

She was just skin and bones after all.

With the ease of athlete runner and the aide of her powers Sophia made it back home just in time to mime the irritating morning routine. Just in case. Having an "alibi" never hurts.

Much to Sophia's surprise she found that her mother was less on her case as usual. Little of her usual nagging how she should be more patient and slower to jump to violence. She didn't even complain that much about her workload.

Her brother was already gone and couldn't bother her and when her little sister came down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and she didn't wander straight away to the television to watch her annoying shows, Sophia decided that it must have been her good mood showing.

The way back to Winslow was a torture, especially after she got the Emma's message that the others – their sad little thralls who desperately wanted to lick the boots of the top dogs – all got the message about what was going to happen and that nobody wanted to film it.

Sophia had to smile a little when both Emma and Madison made it clear that she'd be unhappy if anyone ratted them out. Especially since it was enough to convince the few doubters.

The air in the Winslow's hallways was charged with nervous anticipation.

Of course, Taylor didn't pick up on it as she guilelessly stumbled her way to the locker, unaware of her stalker.

"How could I ever think that oblivious cow would be a predator," she thought, noticing Taylor sniffing the air, smelling the reek of rotting blood and continuing anyway.

Her prey still hadn't noticed her when she put down her bag and opened her combination lock.

Sophia lunged at her with a feral smile as she saw Taylor gagging, shoving her into the stinking locker and slamming the door shut.

She had to suppress a shudder of excitement as she heard something break in a squelching impact inside of the locker in the same way she did after a fight before Glenn declawed her for the public eye.

The feeling doubled as she got the lock off the ground and sealed her prey in that small stinking, little box.

Briefly she felt worried as no further sound came from the locker but soon any concern of injury was replaced by glee as the screaming and banging started.

"Remember," she addressed the gathered crowd, letting her gaze wander over them as she made her way back to Emma. "Nobody saw anything. I'll let the bitch out at the end of the day so no need for worries."

Nobody would surely blame her if she forgot by accident would they?

"If some fucker does chicken out though," Sophia continued, carefully letting a chilling cold creep into her voice. "This would be a mere prelude of what is to come."

They'd wait for Madison to come back after disposing – or whatever she planned to do – of Taylor's backpack. It would have given away the joke too soon if it was left standing in the hallway and apparently she had something extra special planned to truly make Taylor's first school day of 2011 truly memorable.

"That was fucking great, Soph. You should have seen her empty face as you shoved her in. She still hadn't realized what happened," Emma said in between of barely contained giggles.

"Almost makes me wish that someone broke the fucking rules. Sucks to have missed that." Sophia chuckled. "But have you heard the impact? That had to be her face slamming against the back wall. The bitch was too stupid to even put her hands in front of her."

An uneasy silence suddenly spread through the crowd, ripping both girls out of their threatening giggling fit at the desperate banging of at the door.

"What the hell," Emma breathed, looking at Sophia with uncertainty. "Why did she stop? Sophia?!"

Sophia blacked out, falling to the ground where she stood in view of the few who were looking at the two of them for guidance.

She saw two eternally shifting and undulating things float through space, each of them too big to comprehend, taking on forms that threatened to break her mind – vision that where purged from her memories as she woke up again.

"God fucking damn it, Soph," she heard Emma hiss even as she noticed she was leaning against the wall, couple of feet away where she was first standing. "Since when do you simply faint like some prissy bitch? Grit those fucking teeth of yours and get up."

"Nononono," Sophia whispered in return as the knowledge of a long forgotten boring briefing flooded her mind. "Help me up and keep me standing. Don't trust myself to not fall over yet."

"Soph?" the redhead asked, her previous annoyance more than replaced by concern. "What's wrong? What just happened."

"Somebody just triggered. Heard in my club that this would happen if I were around. We have to find them, shut them up for at least a while and clean the place up. We probably have to get Hebert out as well."

Sophia grimaced in irritation as her friend wordlessly helped her up and she noticed that she indeed still needed the support. They walked back to the crowd – towards Taylor's eerily silent locker.

Her gaze was wandering over the crowd when the she heard the crash that would herald her world breaking apart.

She shuddered as she saw the door bend with three distinct indentations and simply fly off the locker.

There was no doubt in her mind that the creature stepping out of the stinking confines was Taylor.

"We have to get her away of that locker," Sophia hissed and the other nodded in return.

They redoubled their pace even as the creature that was holding the massive chunk of iron on a stick in a single clawed hand apparently had sunken in some sort of reverie.

Sophia forced herself to continue as Taylor came to some sort of shocking realization and started looking around even though her instincts were screaming to turn around and get away.

She couldn't do that. She couldn't allow herself to listen to her inner coward and let Taylor simply ruin her life; get her thrown back into juvie.

She yelled at the crowd as she saw the drawn cellphones while working through the crowd together with Emma.

That's when Taylor saw them both.

Her face had changed alongside the rest of her body. The jaw was elongated a bit and her nose seemed flatter – the angle between nose and lip less distinct. Her mouth seemed to have become even wider.

She stared and her slit pupils contracted, revealing even more of her bright orange iris that had replaced most of the white as well. She didn't blink. She didn't even blink one single time.

Emma shivered under the intensity of that stare. Sophia had to suppress the urge to do the same but for an entirely different reason no matter how unnerving Taylor's gaze had become.

She recognized the newly minted parahuman's stance and posture from all those times she was called into the office of that fat pig Glenn; when he complained how she still seemed too hostile and too eager to start a fight. It was the same way she held herself when she measured up opponents and felt them wanting.

But there was something that bothered Sophia even more. Ignoring the way she looked, Taylor's altered facial expression shifted from coldly calculating to surprised recognition and ended at angry bemusement even as the intensity of her stare redoubled, focusing entirely on Sophia.

Shadow Stalker felt the voice telling her to flee grow in tandem to the pitch black pit that had taken up residence in her stomach.

She reacted the only way she knew how. Sling abuse, try to hurt the other girl and cower her. Force her to run away.

Even though Sophia could finally stand on her own again and she tried to stand tall, to look as big and threatening as possible only to find out that she was still dwarfed by the freak who was looking unimpressed even while Sophia mouthed insults as soon as they came to her mind. Emma joined her, slinging barbs on her own only to achieve similar results of disinterest of their foe. That was until she brought Taylor's mom up – Sophia swore to herself to ask her about the juicy details when they got out of this mess – and she actually seemed to hurt only for it to be quickly replaced by steely resolve.

Worse – she actually chuckled at their efforts with absolute contempt.

And then she managed to order some random schmuck around started to talk about contacting the PRT, easily casting Sophia's angry complaints aside as soon as she shouted them. As if Sophia, the alpha bitch of Winslow, the track star that took Nazis down a notch when they tried anything simply didn't matter anymore

When the crowd actually listened, Sophia started to realize deep down that her own stupid stunt would be her downfall.

And then Taylor smiled at Sophia.

It was too much. She could not accept that Taylor was anything other than meek prey, no matter how she happened to look like. It had to be a bluff.

With a practiced lunge and a faint – impossible to actually notice – trace of her power she flew at Taylor with a battle cry leaving her lips. She felt her hand connect solidly and the blow that would have stunned a boxer did absolutely nothing.

She had to suppress a shriek as she felt a clawed, four-fingered hand close around hers like a vice.

Sophia activated her power once more to the slightest degree in a way she knew would allow her to break free with her opponent only thinking she simply slipped away, none the wiser of her powers.

Instead of being surprised at the sudden decrease of pressure, Taylor simply clamped down harder – pressing her claws in slightly and making it impossible to escape – while calmly observing her.

She was expecting something like that to happen.

The realization hit Sophia like a truck as she connected the dots. When she considered Taylor's little slide show of emotions when she first saw her, the way she expected the trick, why she was so insistent on getting the PRT in Winslow.

Taylor knew Sophia was Shadow Stalker.

Shadow Stalker redoubled her frenzied, panicked attack, trying anything besides biting. The grime covering Taylor – grime she had mostly caused herself – made that a truly last ditch effort.

While kicking and punching, Sophia was confronted by the fact Taylor still held the giant, weirdly shaped hammer in one hand and that her feet were transformed in wicked looking talons.

The fact that Taylor held back and hadn't returned a single blow.

The mutter words of desperation that escaped her traitorous lips when Mr. G broke up the "fight" were more honest than the act of spitting in Taylor's face. The latter being more a habit than anything else and the only thing that managed to do was sneak something cruel in Taylor's aggravatingly calm expression.

"What. The. Fuck. Sophia." Emma actually hissed, clutching her phone as the latter retreated back to their corner overlooking the lockers.

"What just happened there?" she continued in a whisper. "Do you want to go back to Juvie?"

"I think she knows who I am Ems."

"Shit!" Emma cursed, forcing Sophia to pay close attention. "Of course it got worse."

"Worse? What happened?"

"Got a message from Madison just before you went batshit," Emma answered in a tone that worried Sophia. "While looking through Taylor's bag, she found a notebook. It was a diary documenting every single prank we pulled on her in November and December with a date and time. Every email we wrote. Every. Single. Thing. I managed to get my father to come over with some with some BS story about how people were trying to have me suspended with false information."

Much to Sophia's dread, she felt a "but" coming, idly wondering what else had happened.

"But he didn't sound that convinced and it gets even worse – Mads hasn't answered ever since I described what happened to Taylor."

Sophia sank to the ground. She felt it. She knew. Madison had smelled a sinking ship and abandoned it. By the time the PRT would ask her she'd have her narrative as a poor little girl being forced to hurt others stuff down.

"What do we do?" she asked weakly as she felt the fight go out of her entirely for probably the first time since she triggered.

"We will keep silent and wait for dad. Let him handle it. Please, promise me to not do anything stupid. Don't say a word to the PRT. I don't want to see a friend land in juvie."

Sophia gave a small nod.

She felt empty, defeated and was actually glad when a teacher came to escort her to an empty room on the top floor. That way she wouldn't see Taylor's creepily distracted antics in front of the place that changed her – the place Sophia created.

But even as she they climbed the steps while the teacher was saying something about having been ordered to keep Sophia away from the others and behind closed doors and how sorry he felt, Sophia could feel the angry ember inside her consolidating once more as she wasn't confronted by the freak anymore.

That ember grew in size and density with every step as she fed it with her disgust over her own weakness.

By the time the door locked and teacher had to escort the next group of students due to the understaffed faculties lacking the manpower to have him stand guard, a solid, fiery core had replaced the emptiness inside of Sophia.

She had realized that there was no way she wouldn't end up in juvie at the end of this.

Looking out of the window, she saw that the PRT had yet to arrive.

Sophia was angry with herself for thinking Taylor was a predator, for falling for her bluff. The meek cow simply couldn't have become anything other than prey in just a mere instance – not after showing no resistance for so long. It was simply impossible no matter how much the craven side of her screamed at her to run. To flee.

She took a couple of step back and ran towards the window full speed, pushing herself as far into her shadow form as possible, long having decided that Taylor would out her anyway. Even if she didn't, she'd be a fugitive and piggy would come for her. Piggy was just waiting to hang her even moments after she forcefully enrolled Sophia into the Wards. The PRT knew who she was.

She glided to the roof of a nearby building, made her way to the alley and dropped down.

Hitting the ground running, she vowed to at the very least fuck up the bitch that was about to ruin her life.

She'd show Taylor what it meant to be a predator.

 

[X0ll0X]

Chapter 2.1

I'm not sure what I expected when we got home. A nap, most likely, as the large, grease-drenched meal settled heavily in my stomach and collaborated with the general fatigue that had snuck up on me during the ride home.

I didn't think it was that strange that I was tired. I didn't get much sleep due to the now more than justified anxiety at the prospect at going back to that hellhole. Then there was the panic, the fight, the stressful tension afterwards; one I probably hadn't really appreciated enough at the time with adrenaline coursing through me – if it was still that what my body used. I had all the rights to feel like needing a powernap after that. Especially after winding down in the shower and later the car.

All signs of fatigue were obliterated for at least the moment when we were suddenly surrounded by cats when we got out of the car. Mostly beige cats that were standing on their hind legs, holding pickaxes and wooden paws on sticks, and were tall enough to reach my waist.

They looked utterly adorable and if the slack, mellow – if not more than a little confused – face of my dad was anything to go by, I wasn't the only one with that opinion.

It was nearly enough to drown out the part of me that sneered at the low quality equipment those fuzzballs would make.

Surprisingly, it wasn't my barely contained squee finally escaping that broke the silence nor was it was it a similar sound from my dad.

"So ya must be the unlicensed hunter that took down the nerscylla, nya? Cocao's the name." the biggest and brownest one asked with a certain arrogance that made clear that he already knew for certain.

How do you react when cats suddenly start talking to you about things most people didn't know? While surrounded by the rest of his clowder; each and every one of them armed with some kind of weaponry and a few even wearing helmets of sorts.

Even in the mad world of Earth Bet with all its weirdness and dangers, it wasn't something that could be called common.

And we had someone who could turn into a literal dragon and solo an entire protectorate team and might even have fought off leviathan by himself.

I could feel drool accumulating as I imagined what I might be able to make out of Lung.

Just this morning I was literally changed and fought off a literal monster and shut up a pair metaphorical ones and still this was far beyond my expectations.

Dad chose to try and word an answer, his mouth wordlessly moving as he threatened to be overwhelmed by the day.

I settled to stare at the glaring of cats before me as my mind tried to untangle itself.

"What's the matter meow? Cat's got your tongue?"

He was actually enjoying himself, the smug little bastard.

"It's been a busy day already," I answered as his arrogance reached an unbearable density. "So I might not have been distracted, but how did you know about the nerscylla? What are you and what do you want from me?"

"Ah purrhaps it would have been better to open with that, nya?" Cocoa answered, rubbing his chin. "I see. I didn't think it was pawsible that ya didn't know already and was just a hunter trying to get around the fees. Especially considering your species."

"We got reports from our scouts who were stalking the hunter who had chosen to furgo of our services – ya know just in case he found some intelligence in those caves – about an unknown, unarmed, unarmored wyverian killed the nerscylla that had slain the wayward hunter before he could reconsider. Bond, one of the scouts, followed you after they determined you were not registered in hopes of perhaps selling you our services. When he repurrted to have found a whole new area, it was booted higher up and landed in my paws."

I had to suppress a shudder of excitement. These… felynes were from the same place as the cave. They could evidently travel to my home dimension and maybe even –

"Can you show me the way to your place?" I asked with probably too much enthusiasm at the thought of finding a way to hunt for materials and satisfy the urge I felt ever since I got the powers in a way that wasn't an express ticket to the Birdcage if anyone found out.

"We were wondering why ya didn't come back and claim the rest of the kill." Dad, meanwhile, was rapidly looking back and forth at the lead felyne and me. "If ya can't come back on ya own, we can't help you with it, nya. Our ways are strictly felyne compawtible and weirdly all exits center around ya."

"Taylor, are you actually talking to these cats?" dad carefully asked while I took breath for my next question with an incredulity that surprised me.

I hadn't realized that I probably – apparently - didn't speak English with the cats. "Yes… I don't know how to make it seem any less weird but I think they want to sell me something."

"Why else would we come, nya?" the cat in question replied with what I could identify as a complex string of meows, yowls, chatters, thrill, and more, now that dad knocked me out of my autopilot. "Well, that isn't entirely true. Purrliminary repurrts from our melynx squad came back very promising, nya. This place can make our tribe very rich indeed."

"And apparently they can understand English, dad." I added while increasing my hold on the claw arm.

The ringleader couldn't quite decide whether he was supposed to be smug over his abilities or offended that I that I thought they wouldn't be able to understand us. He somehow settled on both on the same time.

"So if you can't get me back to your place, what can you do for me?" I asked as I noticed that dad didn't have a cohesive response.

As I did I realize that I too was somehow able to produce the same complex string of sounds as the cats.

Great, now I probably had to be worried about being called a crazy cat lady online on top of the any elf monikers my ears might earn me.

"Our basic package entails our carting rescuing service" The cat started as we all came to the conclusion that it be best to do business inside. "We generally give hunters three attempts until they're knocked out or otherwise incapacitated befur we evacuate them entirely. No sense in losing customer meow is there?"

The boss cat had followed us inside while the rest took perch outside. Most of them at least. Looking through the window I could see one of them chasing an insect through the grass.

"If I were to employ you, could I extend the service to others as well?" The same place that provided the blueprints for the weapons and knew what parts could be used where had chosen to verify the felynes' capabilities and experience with highly dangerous extractions.

It would be something nearly invaluable if they could do the same during Endbringer attacks. That was, if I could sell the capes on the idea.

"It isn't unheared of, nya. But a sepurrate deal would have to be made in such cases and it can't be a part of regular duty. Would be too expensive for ya."

I nodded, already kind of expecting that. "What about material transport? What could you do for me there? I know that it's theoretically possible but I can't bring more than what I can carry myself."

"It would be pawssible but it would cost ya extra…"

"Would you like something?" dad asked after having changed out of his dirtied suit and into shirt and jeans, as he walked past us towards the kitchen.

"Milk, pawlease." The felyne answered while looking like he was calculating the damages he'd incur on me.

"He'd like some milk and for me some tea, please." I answered for the both of us and with a nod he continued his way.

"Alright. Considering the need of posting people out here, the difficulty of transport and the uncertainty of regular work, it'd have to ask eighty-five purrcent of your kills' mass."

"No way. I need that material. Forty percent and not higher." I replied, barely keeping myself from shouting at the smug little creature.

I instead gave him the evil eye.

Cocoa didn't seem to care that I could easily make him into a cozy hat. Instead I could see an interested and mischievous twinkle enter his eyes while at the same time he suddenly became more quiet, more serious.

By the time dad returned from the kitchen, he had to dodge around the occasional and passionately flailing arm and the look of worries were replaced by a bemused sense of recognition.

If someone recognized a tough negotiation it would be Danny Hebert – the head of hiring and spokesperson of the Dockworkers Association who was trying to keeping the union afloat in a post-Leviathan world and a gang infested city.

He was smiling when I asked for pen and papers and to let another felyne in an hour later.

Two hours later he sat behind the computer, likely doing research on his own while Cocoa and I were still bartering over the finer things. I took notes in English while he had the other cat do the same for him. I could see a couple of cats sleeping in front of the windows and on top of the fence, enjoying the surprisingly warm afternoon sun of the mild winter.

Three hours later a contract was signed and Cocoa was purring madly. He bid his goodbyes after finishing a glass of celebratory milk, went outside through the backdoor, and, together with the rest of the gathered felynes, burrowed into the ground and simply disappeared without leaving a trace.

In the end I was able to lower the costs down to a "mere" 50 percent with me getting limited priority on what parts I needed. For that, the felynes would provide me with some basic materials – those that could simply be gathered or mined like ores, plants, and bugs – as well as transport the share of my kills I couldn't carry with me when my powers decided to bring me back on top of the rescue service with chance of expanding the latter in emergencies. Additionally, I had also secured access to their information network and extraordinary item acquisitions for only a relatively small additional cost when I needed them.

The next day would already be the first delivery of basic herbs, mushrooms, and bugs to get me started. It would be enough for me to make a potion to show to the Armsmaster on Wednesday as well as some other survival tools. They'd also bring some special manure – mainly monster dung, apparently – so I could try to grow the healing herb myself.

On the other hand, I did have to agree to forge equipment for them with scraps they provided as well as my leftovers on their own on top potentially tutoring the felynes that wanted to hunt instead of simply gather or rescue if they requested it.

If I was a bit tired before, I was absolutely exhausted by the time they left and my face and throat felt weird from speaking the Felyne's tongue. Sure, they understood English but I didn't trust the sneaky fuzzballs enough – especially not Cocoa who was the recruiter for their tribe – that they didn't "misunderstand" certain details when it was convenient for them. "Talking" the same language prevented much of that nonsense and as such I was willing to humor them. Even if that meant giving muscles a workout that much rather wanted to just lay back and relax.

No wonder dad often looked so drained when he returned from work even when mom was still alive. If he had to deal with that everyday…

I would have gone mad if the negotiation would have gone on for much longer and I had a relatively strong position to begin with. Even with the coldness and distance that had grown between us ever since mom died – one that was only broken that very morning – I had to admit. It was impressive.

He put his hand on my shoulder as I still pondered, looking into the garden where the felyne had disappeared. "Everything alright, Taylor?"

"Yeah, just trying to think while tired. Thanks." I grabbed his hand and gave it a small squeeze.

It was the weird little things that I had missed the most without even truly realizing it.

"Are you sure. Nothing I might do for you? I Can understand if you want some peace and quiet – more than once I've thought about getting a big couch in my office for after the latest long meeting that barely produces any results. Especially after today."

I turned to and looked at the man that only hours ago barely knew what to do with himself, barely managed to go through the motions without any real drive behind it, and smiled.

"I wish Annette was still here to see you. I couldn't understand a word what you and Cocoa said but your fierceness reminded me of her even if she probably would have been a bit calmer than you – I'm likely to blame for that bit. She would have been so proud of you."

I remembered I didn't have the time to tell him the extent of the deal I struck and took his statement as a prompt to actually tell him as well as the verbal ticks I had to endure at the paws of Cocoa.

When I was done he looked somewhere in between shocked at the prospect of more felynes popping up around us, intrigued that they were somehow interconnected with my power, proud that I actually managed to reach a deal that left both of us unsatisfied, and frightened. "Do you really have to fight more of those monsters, Taylor? Can't you just use regular components to make your stuff?"

Ah, that explained why he was afraid. Objectively I could see why he might feel that way but when I tried to find the same feeling I came up empty. Thinking back on the fight with the demon spider, I could remember only a hint of fearful respect instead of the gut-wrenching terror I was probably supposed to feel.

I could remember how dad paled when I reported the fight to Armsmaster but I couldn't reach the same level of… investment.

I knew I could have died in that fight, easily, but that knowledge somehow didn't really matter much. I'd hate to think what it would have done to dad and I'd feel robbed of seeing – hopefully – due justice being served to the Trio and the teachers. It would also be a pity for all the gear that would have gone unbuild.

Beyond that? I was startled by the fact how deeply I had somehow thoroughly accepted the fact that I could have died – could die in any of the fights and had found peace with that fact. It would be inconvenient and not much more.

An inconvenience that did little to distract from the wonderful ideas that flooded me while fighting the nerscylla and how much fun it was. It was probably best not to mention that.

"No," I answered debating whether or not I should tell him about the other aspect of my power, the one that didn't differentiate between man and monster. "I could do so little with it. I would be so restricted I would likely go literally insane. I need the materials I can salvage from the monsters – if I ever find the way to get to them. And I can't simply be unprepared and unarmed. I can't stay hidden and news about what I can make will get out sooner rather than later. I will get sucked into the cape business especially if you consider that I have improved strength and endurance on top of that."

Dad looked at me with a pained expression, no doubt tormenting himself over something he could do little about because I hadn't trusted him. I still didn't trust him enough I realized as I came to the conclusion I couldn't – wouldn't tell him about how I could see parahuman's powers.

"I want to be able to protect you, dad," I continued, causing a rueful smile creep in his down struck expression. "Please. I'll be safe."

A chuckle escaped my lips. "After all I have a felyne cart team watching over me even if it's for the mere fact that I don't hide potential payments. Trust them. I know they'll do an excellent job in keeping me safe. Well alive."

"I'm not going to convince you otherwise, am I?" he asked and I shook my head. "And you're sure that you can't change back or something?"

I felt an irrational lance of anger and betrayal go through at the fearful sound of those last few words. Was his acceptance only played? Did he secretly hate how I suddenly looked now after the months of abuse he hadn't notice? Was he disgus –

"Fuck," dad cursed with a sadness and regret laced voice, tearing me away from my thoughts. "That came out completely wrong. You'll always be me little owl, no matter what happens or how you look. It's just… Well, while you were negotiating with Cocoa I've done some research myself. Most people don't suddenly change as drastically as you when they get their powers. Not with their memories intact or other circumstances. I've also read that some changers can't actively control their state so I thought that maybe… I know how you don't like being the center of attention. Not after what happened. I saw how you reacted when Armsmaster advised you to announce yourself before you let it slide out of your hand. I thought you mightn't have had the time to consider the angle with everything else going on. I'm so sorry for bringing it up."

Seeing my father squirm like that after finally taking active interest in me again after all those years; it didn't fully negate initial pain his comment caused I felt but I could see what he meant.

I tried to feel my body, looked my mind for some kind of switch I might have missed before but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. It was just that. My body felt completely natural to me. I felt great.

Hell, the only time I truly noticed the changes was when my consciousness had the time to clash with my subconscious. Times like when I initially noticed how my gait had changed at the very beginning before it had immediately become my new standard. My body moved as if I had been like this for my entire life even with the initial short disconnect.

Strictly speaking I felt better than ever before. Faster. Stronger by far.

Looking at my own hands – claws, the scales that covered them didn't startle me anymore. They no longer looked weird.

I hadn't thought about ever since I realized how handy my farther opening jaw was for getting greasy food inside of me at high speeds. That was, until dad brought it up.

I wasn't going to flaunt it. Far from it. But that was any different from before. My hair remained the only feminine attribute I possessed – something I wanted to protect dearly.

In short, my lizardy self didn't truly register as truly different as the human me that woke up that morning and walked into the trap at school.

And try as I might. I couldn't find anything resembling a switch and simply knew I wouldn't find one.

"It's fine," I replied with a deep sigh. "And no, I don't think it works like that. At least not for me. I feel great, actually. Honestly. I didn't even think about it until you brought it up."

Dad shrank back a little at the last bit. As much as some petty part in my rejoiced to see him realize his own mistake and being tormented by it, I didn't want it to ruin my relationship with him. Not when we could finally have a true and new start.

I pulled dad in a hug, the warm fuzzy feeling that was coupled with it not the least diminished compared to the first time this morning.

"I better have to catch up with my daughter and grow a pair, huh?" he said with a half sob and chuckle. "I was so afraid I lost you. I'm still afraid I'm going to lose you. Please, no matter what you're going to do, tell me. I've been worthless for far too long."

I gave a small nod, breaking my heart a little, knowing that I wasn't ready to tell him about the other aspect of my powers. About Shadow Stalker, a ward, being one of my bullies. That I couldn't keep the promise.

"And please, don't interpret this the wrong way; I don't have subtler way to ask. Can you actually still blink or has that become impossible?"

I stepped back and looked him in the eyes, confusion clearly showing.

"You didn't even know?" he continued with a small laugh. "Of course, it wouldn't if nothing feels different to you. I haven't seen you blink ever since I came to Winslow. Not once. If I'm completely honest, it coupled with your changed eyes it raises the intensity of your stares well into the unnerving."

"Wait, did my eyes change too? Well, considering I don't need glasses anymore and what has happened to the rest of my body it wouldn't be that strange but…"

"What you didn't know? I reckoned you must have looked when going for the shower. Your irises have turned amber, the white of the eyes are gone and your pupils have also changed into vertical slits. The final effect is rather intimidating."

That would explain why I could see as well in the cave that no doubt had to be rather dark.

I tried to actively blink and felt a membrane slide over my eyes horizontally just before my lids closed.

Huh?

"Right, you can blink but have also gained a nictitating membrane. You might have to practice a couple of time in the mirror if you want to help people relax around you."

"I would have never thought that I'd ever seriously had to think about blinking techniques," I muttered tiredly in return, massaging the bridge of my nose while carefully avoiding to poke my eyes out with my claws.

It was harder to do naturally than it sounded.

"But first, go to bed. Get some sleep. I've seen zombies in movies that looked more lively than you. The rest can wait until you feel fit again."

I couldn't help to wholeheartedly agree with that assessment.

As I was about turn and put that masterplan into action when a nagging urge reminded me of one last, pressing thing. "Dad, do you happen to know someone who has a forge or at least an anvil? I might possibly go batshit crazy if I can't start Tinkering when I'm fully awake again."

"I might know someone. I'll ask around while you get some sleep. Go."

With that I went up the stair, stumbling ever so slightly as the added fatigue of the afternoon truly mixed with the exhaustion of the rest of the day.

Going out of my way to avoid looking in the mirror of the bathroom I made a beeline to my room and simply collapsed on my bed.

I drifted to sleep almost immediately to the sound of my dad talking on the phone.

 

[Aethelius]

yay!! its aliive and on sv now

 

[TrueNeutral]

Excellent story, I'm glad to see it on SV. I love the felynes.

 

[RexHeller]

You mentioned that you wanted suggestions for a title. Have you tried anything with Wyrm in it?

 

[TotallyNotEvil]

Looks good, tho the dialogue doesn't sound natural. A Shaker effect linked to a pocket dimension should explain the weird stuff.

Wyverian

Click to shrink...

Good gods, shorten this to Wyvern later.

 

[RexHeller]

Good gods, shorten this to Wyvern later.

Click to shrink...

Seriously? Why? It's not that complicated to spell or pronounce, it doesn't sound bad and Wyvernian are an actual race from Monster Hunter, which Taylor has now become.

 

[TotallyNotEvil]

Seriously? Why? It's not that complicated to spell or pronounce, it doesn't sound bad and Wyvernian are an actual race from Monster Hunter, which Taylor has now become.

Click to shrink...

Doesn't mean it isn't a terrible name.

 

[RexHeller]

Doesn't mean it isn't a terrible name.

Click to shrink...

How is it terrible?

 

[TotallyNotEvil]

How is it terrible?

Click to shrink...

It simply doesn't sound like a proper noun, but like an adjetive.

"

 

[RexHeller]

It simply doesn't sound like a proper noun, but like an adjetive.

"

Click to shrink...

Hmmmmm, I guess I could see that. I don't think so myself but I guess that's your opinion.

 

[D.Rockstar]

Interesting...
Now I am picturing the Leviatan EB like the repel the Jhen Mohran quest.

 

[X0ll0X]

You mentioned that you wanted suggestions for a title. Have you tried anything with Wyrm in it?

Click to shrink...

I've tried but everything I came up with was what I felt misleading, have the wrong connotations, or was already taken by another Worm fanfic. It was my first reaction to try and include it due to the obvious worm/wyrm similarities but couldn't really make it work.

One of my personal peeves with wyrm is that it's linked to limbless or limb-reduced variants of dragons from which there are only really the najarala and the dalmandur in the main series. Then there's also the certain slimy, filthy, corrupted connotation that I've seen attached to the word as well.

On top of that there are plenty of other monstrous family species that get hunted in MH, that, combined with the fact that she can also make gear out of capes, it simply felt inadequate to focus on in the title.

Looks good, tho the dialogue doesn't sound natural. A Shaker effect linked to a pocket dimension should explain the weird stuff.
Good gods, shorten this to Wyvern later.

Click to shrink...

Dialogue is very much a work in progress (I've replaced chapter 2.1 with a actualized version with changes that aim to improve it a bit). Problem for me is that in the first place English isn't my first language, making it difficult for me to emulate natural speech due to a simple lack of experience. Then there the added complication that I'm more used to drier, descriptive writing. It's getting better, but I realize I have plenty work left for me.

As to the name, I'm afraid that wyvern will only be a nickname for her coined by Dennis or someone on the PHO.

Most good sounding names are already taken in one form or the other during the thirty year history. Wyvern, it being a fairly well known subspecies of dragons, should be long gone. I can't see Taylor picking it either to be honest considering their "arms" are made into wings of some kind - unsuitable for the fine work which constitutes the main, Tinkering part of her power.

I've spend plenty of time looking for other names in folklore, Monster Hunter lore, and popular culture before deciding on Wyverian. They simply lacked a crucial aspect of her power or came with villainous baggage.

Also, while it may sound strange to some (haven't encountered this complaint before to be honest), Taylor also knows the meaning of it through the tidbits of information her power feeds her. It's literally what she is now.

 

[Portec]

I find it good and a very promising start.

Thank you for writing and sharing it!

 

[Kerashana]

Well, well, well it's nice to see this idea get done, and in it's own fic too. I've been kicking around the thought of Hunter!Taylor for a year or so. Even used it is a Fic as an alt trigger for her...

Have to say, this is very enjoyable and I (not so) patiently await more.
Cheers!

 

[X0ll0X]

A/N: Tried to find a good way to portray Tinkering in this one which might have made some pieces too long. I've also decided that potion making and such should on all accounts be more complex than the "rub two items together et voila" method that's depicted for simplicity and gameplay's sake in-game. Partially this is to try and balance the items and veer away from "lulz game 'logic'" and partially because my study didn't allow for such utter and complete nonsense even if it's supposed to be Tinker BS. Trust me, as it is depicted it's still plenty of bullshit.

Went over the chapter now. The most egregious run on sentences have been killed, sentences have been smoothed out and half finished thoughts ought to be completed. I've also added a bit at the end to smooth things for the next chapter and make it less abrupt.

Chapter 2.2

The empty, dreamless sleep I initially passed out into was replaced far too soon by visions filled with judging stares coming from featureless faces and mocking laughter. Filled with insistent whispers and shadows. It wasn't enough to wake me and only vague impressions remained as was often the case. And there was also the mess I had created.

Even though I fell asleep faceplanted through exhaustion, I still managed to shred the matrass and covers with my talons with my tossing and turning.

Being completely honest with myself, I would never have thought that sleeping would be something that needed planning beyond finding the appropriate place before I woke up with the wrecked lower half of my bed.

I wouldn't have thought that finding shoes would be a challenge either so there's that. At this rate I'd have to go out of my way to lead a boring life with the unexpected problems and curveballs it managed to throw in the last twenty-four hours.

Guess I had to get used to letting my feet dangle from the bed in the future or get really comfortable with the faceplant position and hope for the blissful, relaxing dreams.

The stupid ears made laying on my side for more than a couple of minutes less than ideal as well.

Other than the technical problems that suddenly plagued my nearby future, I was surprised to find that I felt more than rested – I felt healthier somehow. The inconsequential little aches that remained from the battle the day before were gone. I didn't feel any signs of aching muscles or tendons. I couldn't even feel a strained neck or back from my less than healthy sleeping position.

Looking at the clock I was only half surprised to find out it was barely 4am. For a brief moment I even forgot what had happened to me and started planning an extra-long run to make the most out the surplus of time and energy. Mentally, I was barely outside of the block when I remembered that it might not have been the greatest idea. Not while still being an unknown to the Bay and with no way to camouflage myself. My gait had become rather unique after all.

My stomach ended up deciding my immediate plans by uttering a loud gurgle. I went down to the kitchen as quietly as possible as talons on a wooden floor allowed. The creaking of the few rotten floorboards intermingled with the scrapping tapping of my claws and were amplified with the near-silence in the house, reaching my ears with a cringe-inducing loudness.

I bee-lined to the fridge as I didn't notice a change in dad's rhythmic breathing and grudging rumbling of my stomach and began raiding it.

I was busy frying my second, large helpings of bacon and eggs when dad half-stumbled down the stairs and looked at me. At least I assume he tried to look at me but his blurry, unfocused, half-shut eyes made it a bit difficult to say for certain.

"Taylor, do you have any idea how early it is?" He grumbled as he tried and failed to actually focus on me.

I looked at the clock and saw that it was just half past. If I hadn't already felt like being caught red-handed getting midnight snacks I would be ready for the ground to swallow me for forgetting that he might wake up due to the smells alone. My stomach jumped to my defense before I could even formulate a proper defense for myself with a happy gurgle.

If the sudden rise in temperature was any indication, I hadn't lost my ability to blush.

Dad barked out a laugh. "At least I don't have to worry that you change completely," he commented on the sight of my probably beet-red face which only helped to worsen the problem. "I forgot that yesterday messed with your metabolism – an achievement after seeing you wolf down the sheer quantity of greasy fast food. Be a dear and make some coffee while you're standing and don't let me disturb you. Might as well get truly awake now."

I set the pot brewing as soon as I felt confident that nothing would be burned while cursing my heightened appetite.

When he came down the stairs a second time, clean shaven and wearing his glasses he gratefully took the cup I handed him and shambled over to the front door. I could hear his palm impact his forehead at the same time of the door opening – probably just then remembering that the paper wouldn't be there just yet – only for it to be followed up by an inquisitive and confused "huh".

I was sitting at the table, busily devouring the continuation of my breakfast as dad put a jute sack on in the middle of the table and used the distraction to steal a couple of strips of bacon.

He looked at me, sipping his coffee, daring me to object with a solitary raised eyebrow.

Considering it was technically his food I was decimating and the fact that I was silently making plans for a second breakfast I decided to grant him the small victory. I would need to think of another name though, dad had read The Lord of the Rings and wouldn't let me life it down. No matter how tall I was.

Hell, he would likely find the oxymoronic nature a source of extra amusement.

Instead of objecting, I focused on the bag he dumped in front of me. When I noticed the paw print I practically dislocated my jaw to shove in the rest of my meal post haste.

Upending it, I couldn't suppress a small whistle of admiration. Say what you will about the mobster-like tendencies of the felynes and their exorbitant rates – they do deliver.

In front of me now lay the first shipment of hunter essentials: an assortment of different herbs, berries, a multitude of still living bugs, mushrooms I didn't want anywhere near Merchants, honey, and scales.

There was also a package tightly wrapped in leafs and covered with a wax-like substance. I didn't open in to avoid ruining my father's apatite.

Even though I knew I should have expected, a pang of regret and loss still went through me when I couldn't find any additional materials harvested from the nerscylla I had slain. I brought it up during the negotiations but they were absolutely "heartbroken" to inform me that they had already cut it up and sold it. After all, they couldn't be sure that they'd find me and it they didn't have a contract by that time.

I hadn't bought it then, and still didn't when I surveyed the contents of the bag. But I had known I was fighting a lost fight.

That didn't keep me from using the "oversight" as a tool to get a more favorable deal.

Still, sucked that I lost the majority of my first kill though.

"A parcel from the cats?" dad asked in between of bites of freshly baked toast; I nodded. "Silly question looking at your borderline maniac grin. Don't let me ruin your fun."

"Actually do you know where we've stored the empty jars? I could use a couple for my concoctions."

"Sure, how many do you need?"

I shrugged. I had no clue exactly how much I'd be able to produce with the stuff they had delivered and I didn't know the exact dimensions of the jars.

"I'll just get all the more or less clean ones," he said as he walked away, taking another big bite of his toast and bacon.

Putting the material back into the bag I practically stormed into our basement. It wasn't big and there were still soot residues on the walls from the time the coal furnace was still in use but it was out of the way and had the tools I could use.

It was also dark and damp enough to perhaps start growing the different mushrooms. The old chute would be responsible for keeping the worst of the smells out of the house.

When dad came to bring the jars, I already had built the frame for the mushroom farm and was jerry rigging a home-made condenser out of some old discarded pipes and parts cannibalized from the old, defunct heater. One that would fit over one of our pots and was powerful enough to keep water vapor from escaping and more.

I carefully removed and collected the spores from the blue mushrooms I wouldn't use for my farm. The shredded remnants and the cut up healing herb in the pot dad thought we wouldn't miss if something went wrong. I let both components extract and react at 160°F while I went back down again to start making vacuum filtration installation and mix the crushed bitterbugs with some honey I put in one of the jars.

Dad regularly came by to ask whether he could help with something or simply watch and ask the occasional question in the vain hope to try and understand the specifics of what I was trying to do.

The skepticism he showed when I asked him to prepare a rare steak and checking the timer on the potion mixture was quickly replaced when I made him drink a sip of a real energy drink to try it out. Any vestiges of fatigue simply disappeared – replaced by a wide-eyed wakefulness and drive I hadn't seen in him for a while. He was only too glad to plant some of the herbs and berries in the backyard and buy panes of glass to make a small greenhouse for them. He also seemed more accepting to the idea of having the cellar transformed in one-part mushroom farm and one-part bug cages filled with things that might have come straight out of nightmares of the squeamish.

The rare steak was blended while dad – who would have been less than amused by such a sacrilegious sight – was gone and the thickened and reduced herb/mushroom extract was filtered and washed through my very own vacuum filtration system.

After adding the oil squeezed out of the mushroom spores to the potion broth and setting it to boil under constant reflux, I made my way back to the cellar and mixed together the nearly liquefied steak some water, and a bit of my freshly made catalyst in another jar.

When dad came back he found me swiveling the jars containing the nearly finished potion with my feet – occasionally bringing them up to see whether the few crystals had dissolved again – even as I was carefully mixing stone dust and the sticky juices of the sap plant and formed them in casings.

He practically dragged me back upstairs as I was just about to suck the caustic and highly reactive fluids from the flashbug into the casings the next time he reappeared. I ended up shoveling the meal he had prepared in without much ceremony, feeling slightly annoyed that he had to disturb me at just that phase.

I remember him talking at me, but in between realizing that I had made too many casings for the amount of flashbugs I had, deciding what to do with the rest, and getting the food into me, only the few questions about the specifics of the small greenhouse left an inkling of an impression.

I do remember dad sporting an exasperated but genuine smile throughout the entire meal. Asking whether he needed more energy drink only widened it.

Being upstairs anyway, I started the extraction of the antidote herb in olive oil before going to the cellar/my budding mad scientist laboratory to continue with the flash bombs.

It was after I finished the antidote and was contemplating on whether it was useful to make pills in addition to the demondrug I was currently refining to actually sacrifice more of my limited might seeds when a shake tore me out of my concentration.

"… Taylor!" dad practically shouted in my ears. It didn't seem that it wasn't his first attempt. Oops. "World to Tayl – finally. And here I was, thinking that Annette was the master of ignoring any and all things when she was buried in a good book. We have to get ready if we want to get to the smithy on time."

"What?" I asked, raking my memories in hopes of trying to remember the conversation when it would have come up. "Have you found a place I can use?"

"I told you over lunch…" dad began before shaking his head. "I should have known that you just nodded your head to move the conversation along. The grunts were very open for interpretation anyway.

"I managed to contact a smith I had recently interviewed so we could do the custom metal parts and castings in-house. He seemed an honorable enough guy, big and quiet and he mentioned that he was grateful when he got the job. Traditional smiths have it difficult enough with the competition of Tinkertech and the drop of interest in fantasy with all the capes running around – I think he might have somehow learned that I had inspired the board to create the job. He gave us access to his smithy at six pm with the sole request that we wouldn't make it too late."

"Lunch? What are you hurrying me around if we have to get there at six? I know I've been busy for a bit, but it has only been a couple of hours, right?"

"It's half past four in the afternoon," he answered, chuckling when he saw my mouth drop open in disturbed confusion. "You've been at it the whole day. Your stomach still has to be pacified, you might want to change your clothes, and we have to drive through traffic to get there. We have to go in half an hour if we want to be on time."

"What about work?" I asked, realization slowly setting in. "You've been here – with the exception of your shopping trip – the entire time. It's Tuesday. You're always so busy, especially on Tuesdays."

"I've taken a couple of sick days," he answered before continuing with more than a little hurt coloring his voice at my incredulous face. "Did you really think I'd let you alone after what you went through? I know I haven't been the best father the past years. I see that now, but I won't lose you again. The docks won't go anywhere; I'm not going to risk you over it."

"Oh." Was all I could mutter without facepalming over my lack of common sense before exploding into a frenzy of movements.

I still had to finish a few ongoing reactions and clean the place up a bit as well as store the items I had already made without risking to lose them. Sniffing at the hoodie I had worn non-stop ever since changing into it the previous day I decided that I'd also needed a change of clothes and decided on a simple jeans with t-shirt and hoodie combo. I assumed that he'd have an apron I could use and while handling the piping hot pot without discomfort, I didn't think I'd truly need much else. It seemed that the change made me more resistant and durable and it wasn't like I'd have the "right" clothes anyway.

Dinner – a lovely, meaty stew – was more mindless stuffing as my stomach enacted vengeance on my negligence during the day. The time it demanded conspired with a rainy weather that promised increased traffic to bother an increasingly impatient dad which resulted in more (near) jaw dislocating action.

If cape business turned out to be a bust, I might join eating contests or something.

"Do you think you can mass produce that energy drink of yours?" dad suddenly asked while we were waiting for the lights halfway on out trip.

"I honestly don't know." I replied, turning an exaggerated amount to enable me to see him with my face deeply hidden in the hoodie. "It depends on whether we can keep the bees over here or have to import all the honey. Why do you ask?"

"It works, Taylor. I've had a mere sip this morning and I'm still not tired without being wired like I'd be with a dose of coffee that would have achieved the same effect. Even though I didn't really sleep all that well with everything going on and waking this early. All things considered, I should have been a zombie clamoring for more coffee but I'm not. People would pay for something like this. Something that truly works instead of just pumping themselves full of sugar and caffeine."

It was worth giving a serious thought. I thought that I could probably make the necessary equipment to upscale the production, but just like the rest of what I could theoretically make, I was severely hamstrung by the lack of stable supply. The amount of honey needed for mass production… I simply couldn't see it happening

Just like I lacked so much in regards of weaponry and armors, the areas where I felt lay my power's true passion.

"I'm glad you liked it, dad, but it depends on so many factors out of my control – best no make to wild of plans. Don't worry, I'll make sure we'll have a private supply but beyond that, it's probably best to aim high. The PRT would probably want to buy some for emergencies alongside the potions. I'll ask Armsmaster about it tomorrow."

"Alright. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, it's just I saw how much fun you had today making your stuff and thought it might be something you could do as an alternative to fighting and have fun doing it as well."

I looked at his carefully calmed face concentrating on the road and trying not to show the anxiousness his white knuckles on the steering wheel betrayed. He was scared for me. No wonder with the likes of Kaiser and Lung roaming the streets of Brockton Bay, making it unsafe for anyone and for capes doubly so. Even without volunteering for Endbringers, heroes still died at a too regular rate. Too many monsters roamed earth and killed for their amusement and fights between groups did occasionally escalate to untenable levels with deadly consequences.

The realization of his fear did soften the annoyance over his perceived underestimation of me enough to actually give it a thought. I could probably make enough things to have a parahuman group protect me, to hide from the front without anyone blaming me. The potions alone would be enough if Armsmaster initial reaction was anything to go by.

But I had killed a demonic spider before I even knew what was happening – granted I felt it was relatively low on the powerscale but still… I knew could help so much more in the field. I just needed to make my first, proper hunting horn and I could actually continually buff my allies; I could shoot healing bullets at them if that made any sense.

And I could perhaps even help to break the horrible status quo that had held the Bay and much of the rest of the world in its grasp.

I might even get my hands on some of the more exotic materials my power – I – longed for.

"I'll give it a thought, but I don't think it's going to work. My guts tell me I'm going to encounter more literal monsters sooner than later and I actually want to help. I will be fighting."

Dad sighed with expected disappointment at the answer and had to focus on the road as some utter lunatics had joined the fray. It hadn't been the answer he wanted to hear but somehow I knew that he expected it nonetheless.

"Don't worry," I added with a lopsided grin. "I'll try to be careful and if everything else fails, I'll still have the felynes watching over me."

"You really do trust those cats?"

"Explicitly. I can't explain how but I simply know that they'll do a fine job. From what they've told me they even joined their Hunters in fights against things that would pale the majority of capes and kept them safe. Knowing what I somehow do, I believe them."

We spent the next couple of minutes in silence, thinking. I didn't think that the second to last bit reassured him much. I couldn't think of much to lighten the mood after my last attempt and so I kept my head down in hopes of not being seen from the masses moving outside as we rode through the busy streets. It wasn't as hard is would seem as long as nobody saw my extremities and didn't get a long enough look into my hood to notice something was off. I focused on how to best use the little nerscylla bits I had as dad was likely contemplating ways to keep me safe and cursing his perceived uselessness if his expression was anything to go by. All the while driving to the one place that could and would truly help me at this point and time.

He was the first to break the silence again. "We're almost there. Just one small thing. While the smith, Sig, did agree that he'd let you use his workplace on my assurance you wouldn't wreck anything, he also let his interest in seeing you work known. My guts tell me he isn't the type to go around telling anyone about you instead rather keeping it to himself unless you tell him otherwise."

I simply stared at him.

"Look, I know you'd rather not, but it's an opportunity to perhaps start getting used to some scrutiny from an outsider that isn't a childhood idol at the same time. In Arcadia you'll have to deal with teenagers again and you do remember that Armsmaster has advised you to go public on your own; probably before you start there. I thought it might make the transition easier and having seen you in the zone, you probably wouldn't even notice when you start working."

I shut down my initial reaction to snarl at the mere idea. As much as the idea galled me, dad had a point. I had to confront it sooner rather than later even as I managed to avoid looking in a mirror for the last two days.

And if… Sig wanted to actually see it, allowing it might grant me access to his smithy more than just today. It might help me through the time until I managed to get one on my own. I also trusted my father's judge of character so…

"Fine," I managed to mutter, almost keeping the snarl out of it. "He better not be in my way while I'm working though."

"Don't worry," dad replied while badly trying to cover up a laugh. "I think you two will get along just fine."

The place was small – disproportionately so compared to its owner – and from the outside ordinary looking. It looked like a regular small, boxy, detached warehouse that was turned into a couple of small shops from the outside, with only the chimney poking out of the roof indicating that anything other than simply the selling of goods might happen in it.

Sig looked more the part. For starters, he was huge, a head taller than both dad and me, covered in thick muscles you'd get from years of physically demanding work. The short, gruff beard with the few charred patches, hair tightly bound in a ponytail, and leather apron finished the look.

True to my dad's assessment, he was a man of few words and little patience for unnecessary bullshit. I got more reaction – a satisfied nod – out of him by how I easily replied his squeeze during the handshake in kind than when he first saw my clawed hand during our short introductions.

The biggest reaction however came when I got my gun hammer out the car to show it and the suspension visibly relaxed in return. He actually widened his eyes at that.

Entering the actual smithy and seeing the glowing forge felt like coming home without ever having set a foot in one, my newly gained instincts telling me what I could do with every single tool and machinery.

I smiled as I let the very same instincts guide me without Sig intervening or hindering me.

I didn't know what it was that led him to trust me enough to let a teenage girl simply use the forge. It might have been something dad had told him the previous day or due to something he saw in me. Maybe he was more knowledgeable about capes than his appearance would make you believe and was simply curious enough to tolerate some damages and the cost of the steel I'd use. Likely it was a combination of the above.

I couldn't care as I started grinding some pieces of the jaw fragments into fine dust, carefully collecting everything. By the time I was folding the powder into the steel billet while braiding the hunk of metal with far more ease than should be possible, I had forgotten that I had spectators.

I knew how hot any part of the blade was even when I put them through a complex series of partial heating and quenching at different temperatures and I actually enjoyed the thick acrid smell that came when I stuck it in the oil-drenched flesh of a part of the arm I couldn't use otherwise, knowing the benefits it would bring to the blade

By the time I was working in whole fragments of the jaw into the spine in a way that would connect them to pores my previous work had created throughout the blade, Sig began to hand me hammers as I needed to form the weapon. The form the material wanted – needed to reveal its fullest potential.

The carapace of the claw was used to reinforce the spine of the blade as well as to form the handle and a small guard.

The sheath was formed with more of the carapace, lined with tanned leather I had found and infused with the extracted ligaments from the claw. Additional leather straps were fitted to fasten to blade to it even as the blade underwent another cycle of repeated heating and cooling to ensure that the materials used truly fused and settled in. That they got used to each other and would play nice.

I had Sig fetch me some true whetstones when the time came to sharpen the knife and truly awaken the beast. I didn't trust the machines would be able to withstand the pressure needed to open up the pores.

In the end, I held a knife in my hands that wouldn't have looked out of place in the hands of a combat robot. The crimson blade flowed into the white spine with jagged edges near the guard with no discernable line where the predominantly steel components stopped and where the organic matter began. The handle was a grey with very slight, blue accents woven into it.

I pressed the edge against my scaly skin with only a hint of force behind it. The knife – my knife bit into my flesh with absolute impunity and ease that defied common logic. I smiled even as blood gushed out of the wound and dad started to cry out in alarm and horror.

I could actually start carving monsters now if they showed themselves again. I could actually start gathering the resources I needed.

Thanking Sig for allowing me to use his stuff took less time than calming my dad.

It didn't really matter that I started chewing on an herb that had unconsciously found its way into my pocket right after. Neither did the fact that the wound simply closed itself in front of his eyes or the assurance that I would have been fine after a nap anyway.

I knew that I probably should have had a bigger reaction as well but couldn't really bring myself to it. After all, the wound was healed, wasn't it? There was literally no trace left of it.

It was only when we only arrived home that he calmed down enough to mention that I apparently slid my inner eyelids – or nicititating membranes as they apparently were called – during the entire time I was Tinkering in the smithy.

It was interesting that I hadn't noticed anything off.

In the end we called it an early night. Dad was still a bit shaken which was probably caused by the little sleep he got last night, the early morning, and the energy drink truly wearing off.

I was simply tired from a day of Tinkering and the sense of satisfaction I got looking back on the day didn't really help to keep me awake.

When I got to my room I was pleasantly surprised to find the mattress and covers replaced. There was even a thicker plastic cover where my claws had wreaked destruction the night before.

With a smile on my face over dad's unsung work, I let myself fall on the bed while making sure my vicious claws were kept clear of anything fabric. It took a while to snuggle myself in without ripping the covers, a time during which I found out that apparently my feet didn't really get cold, but in the end I lay happily clasping my knife.

Sleep took me soon after. Not even the prospect of dealing with the PRT and probably Wards the next day could distract me enough to prevent it.

 

[Kerashana]

Knife GET!

Well, now all the wyverns are fucked. Go get'em Hunter!

 

[X0ll0X]

A/N: Huge thanks to Microwave for for both betaing and proofreading the chapter.

Chapter 2.3

Somewhere along the road leading up to morning of the power testing, something horribly messed me up.

I wasn't talking about how I had transformed into an exotic descendant of some sort of wyvern. No, it was my priorities that likely needed some looking at. Imagining being thrown into a small arena with a primordial creature with bladed wings for arms and glowing eyes filled me with gleeful anticipation more than anything.

Having to deal with peers of my own age? People whose exploits I followed, alongside the rest of the local heroes and villains?

My brain had some time to mull things through while sleeping, and came to the conclusion that a little fear and plenty of anxiety was the right response. It even woke me up to share its revelations with me. It then insisted I had to try it out to see whether those subroutines still worked.

They did.

It wasn't that I was fearing being labeled "the freak" due to how I looked, or that I'd somehow disappoint them with my powers. I could understand those… a bit. I wouldn't build lasers or anything else that truly screamed "Tinker" anytime soon, if ever.

No, it was more of a frustratingly fuzzy fear that they'd simply reject me just for being myself. Not for any specific reasons other than my very existence.

In addition, I was getting more and more nervous about the prospect of being confronted with a group of capes at once – each with their very own powers whispering ideas. I wasn't sure that I'd be able to stop myself from drooling or doing something even more stupid.

I was still expendable, and I had a feeling; the fact that my powers worked on capes as well as monsters was something people would be wary about. It was one giant foot primed to stomp on my head if I revealed it this early.

It wasn't surprising that I was surfing the internet, slowly and deliberately chewing on cured meat that had somehow found its way into our home when Dad found me. Lurking around the PHO forums and going deep down the rabbit hole that was the wiki had been a good distraction before.

"Had trouble sleeping?" he asked, somewhat mumbling as he spotted me.

"Yeah," I answered while handing him a shot glass filled with Energy Drink. "Don't know what to expect, and I really don't want to be pressured into anything. By the way, did you know that Shadow Stalker hasn't been seen since Saturday?"

"From what little Armsmaster has told me –" Dad answered as he took the shot, "Wow, that really wasn't a hallucination yesterday – anyway, he told me to expect lots of smashing. And no, I did not know that. Is something wrong with her?"

"It really does work great," I agreed, having tried out the brew myself. "It's just… there have been more suspensions and bans handed out than normal. I have seen a speculation thread disappear myself. The PRT hasn't officially made any statements. The tinfoil hat brigade is having a field day – at least, those willing to risk a strike."

"It is something out of the ordinary. How long have you been awake, anyway?"

"About three hours, I think. We might need more jerky at this rate."

"And I really hope we can grow some of your resources. I'll have to take a second mortgage at this rate just to feed you."

The guilt that lanced through me must have shown. "None of that self-blaming. I was only joking, Taylor. If anyone is to blame, it's those lunatics that did this to you. They will be held responsible, no matter how badly Alan wants to protect his daughter. No, I'm just glad that you're alright. That I still have my daughter."

He pulled me from the chair and hugged me tightly. "I'll gladly live with a ravenous carnivore for that."

I chuckled in his warm embrace. It was almost enough to make me forget the formless anger towards my tormentors for making dad's more difficult on top the shit they did to me. I had noticed the core undefined malice that was quietly brewing deep inside of me ever since the ride home from Sig's smithy.

"So I don't have go on a diet just yet?" I shyly asked, all too aware of the piece of jerky hanging from my mouth.

Dad laughed – an honest, happy laugh – as he noticed the same offending piece of meat. "Don't you underestimate me. We'll manage somehow. By the way, have you seen anything concerning yourself since you've been awake?"

"Brockton Bay's General board has come to the conclusion that a new player has joined our fair city." Dad actually snorted. "And if the amount of deleted comments and warnings from the almighty Tin Mother is any indication, they have been speculating about my identity. Some 'void cowboy' especially had a hard time realizing he was fighting a losing battle. Not much going on now, though; it's probably too early."

"Still, more than yesterday." I leveled him a confused stare. "What? I had some time to spare in the afternoon. Anyway, we'd better start thinking about how best to announce yourself before it reaches critical mass and you end up being called 'Hammer Elf' or something."

I winced. "It really can't wait that much longer, can it Dad?"

It would be really awkward if I finally had the materials to make a great sword or lance or anything other than the overgrown hammer I was using.

"Sorry, Taylor."

Conversation petered out by that point. Dad went about his morning routine and found his paper instead of another bag on the front door. This left me with my thoughts as he ate.

When I wasn't struggling with the fact that I couldn't keep procrastinating any further with a task that might endanger Dad, I was thinking about how to solve even more immediate problems.

How can I hide my cape-scan without getting caught? How do I get the topic on Shadow Stalker without forcing it or lying about my knowledge?

I wanted to find out what the Wards – the people that dealt with Sophia while she was playing the "hero" – truly thought about her. Since I wasn't able to find anything regarding her fate online, my finely trained paranoia caused that sub-division to conclude that they were covering for her. It was one giant conspiracy to keep their asses covered.

… Better actually see the people and talk to them before jumping to conclusions, no matter how hard it might seem at the moment. I was kind of certain I'd probably have to reveal that I knew who Shadow Stalker was. They would want to know why I didn't want to join the heroes, even though I was otherwise willing to cooperate with basically all of their rules.

That would be difficult, without actually lying to them and making it somehow plausible at the same time. Sure, there were some circumstances that I could use to create a something close to the truth, but that depended on Sophia's whereabouts and how the rest would react.

I really did want to become a hero, to help Brockton Bay and maybe even the world – no matter how I looked. I wanted to help more directly than just producing Potions and hope for the best while the gangs were still roaming the street, though. That meant fighting, and I knew that solo heroes didn't last long – not without being completely inept or sitting in unimportant neutral territory and not causing trouble.

The gangs suddenly found lots in common if someone annoyed them enough. They could always go back to destroying each other when the uppity girl with more brawn than brains was dealt with.

And then there was the aftertaste "vigilante" left in everybody's mouths. Knowing the kind of equipment I could make, it would be a matter of seconds before I was labeled as another Brute venting her aggressiveness under the guise of "justice". I would be a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow up in the faces of the normal people that managed to annoy me. It wasn't like I would only be able to fight other capes anyway.

All of that would also do little to mitigate the reaction people would have if they found out I could use fellow humans to make stuff. Very powerful stuff. That was Birdcage-shaped kneejerk reactions without any warming up. Or, that was enthusiastic recruitment attempts by the gangs themselves.

I really hoped my "paranoia senses" were just going haywire and conjuring another shoe to drop. At least there would be another option if something was truly rotten in the PRT…

I was eating a stolen pancake, my thoughts still circling in my head, when somebody knocked on the door. Dad opened it to reveal an average looking guy in a nondescript uniform.

"I'm from the PRT to pick up a cape with the codename 'Wyverian' for the appointed power testing," he said, with as much enthusiasm as a clerk agreeing to a mountain of paperwork, and without looking into the house.

"Give me a sec to get my stuff," I shouted across the room after hastily swallowing the last bit of pancake. "It won't take long."

"Take your time to mask, I won't go anywhere."

Mask? Why hadn't they told the guy I wouldn't have any?

I managed to spot Dad, offering his hand as I made my way up the stairs. "Danny H – "

"Please, no names. I'm on a strict need-to-know basis for both my and your safety. They've only told me the cape name, coordinates, and goal of the pickup. That's all I need."

When I reached my room and started piling my knife, a couple of Potions, an Antidote, some leftover Catalyst, and Flash Bombs into a bag, Dad still hadn't replied. That still hadn't changed after I polished up the gun hammer for good measure and changed into a hoodie I wasn't that attached to.

I returned to the living room to a supremely awkward silence. Dad was apparently successful in convincing the agent to at least step into the hall. They were staring at each other with an annoyed disinterest, like two cats trying to intimidate each other.

"Don't you have to get something, dad?" I asked as he only smiled at my arrival. He didn't move to get a coat.

"I'm sorry," he replied after one last glance at the agent. "I'm to be picked up at another location later during day after the physical part of the power testing. It's apparently for my own safety."

"That's correct," The agent agreed as he sized me up.

Weirdly enough he seemed more irked than startled at my appearance, his gaze basically flitting over my face before settling on a point in front of my feet. He gave the distinct impression of someone who'd drink to forget my features just to skip accountability, and was annoyed he'd have to go that far.

"I gather they haven't told you about my… situation, or how I'll have to choose between staying locked up or unmasking before ever donning one?"

"No, they haven't. And frankly, it's none of my business. Now if you'd be so kind to follow me. The sooner we get you to the Rig, the better it is for everyone involved. I'll inform the pickup at the beach about the changed parameters while we are on our way."

With that, the nameless agent turned and left the house, leaving the door open. I gave dad a quick hug and we said our goodbyes before I hurried after him.

He was holding open the back door of an average looking white-paneled van with the clear intention of urging me inside. I couldn't help but notice that the vehicle was parked in such a way that it obstructed the view from the road to the front door without seeming out of place.

The ride to the pickup point was a boring affair. The only real distraction, beyond idly playing with my equipment or polishing my hammer even more, was provided by a folder named "Unwritten Rules and You: Things All New Capes Must Know" by the PRT. I didn't believe that its appearance was coincidence. Not the slightest.

Interestingly, despite being written dryly to convey its content in a no-nonsense manner – mainly that unmasking parahumans and going after their civilian identities, along with killing bystanders, were a no-go (someone should inform Lung, Hookwolf, and the like about the last part) – it still assumed a threatening undertone with one clear message:

No matter your allegiance, you were bound to get the short end of the stick if you pushed it too far - with or without the help of the PRT or Protectorate.

Unless you were strong enough to scare off the factions out for your head, it seemed. Lung or something like the Slaughterhouse 9 didn't really seem to care too much.

I was sharpening my gun hammer (don't ask, thinking about the specifics even hurts my head) when the doors of the van opened and revealed the sea I had been able to smell for some time now. I was wordlessly herded towards the small motorboat, and I resumed my journey to the looming structure in the bay.

The knowledge that a structure this elegantly designed, built to conjure up images of futuristic castles with its gleaming arches and towers, started its life as a humble oilrig was all kinds of awe-inspiring. And that was ignoring the mundane and more-than-mundane defenses as well as the team of people who called it their base.

We docked to one of the legs and I was handed over to another PRT agent who didn't seem that enthused by my maskless appearance either. Or maybe it was because of the bag I was dragging along, as well as my hammer.

Since nobody asked me about either, I simply assumed that either they were informed or thought it was suicide to try and do something on the Rig. The cameras that tracked us while the newest iteration of Agent Smith led me through the labyrinthine interior of the structure (I was fairly certain that it contained countless hidden passages) made me believe that it was likely both.

After what felt like an eternity in the bowels of the rig, a journey that didn't pass any windows and was illuminated by Tinkertech lamps, we ended up in a hall that eerily reminded me of a fancy school's gym.

"You must be Wyverian," the woman standing in the middle of the court said as I adjusted to the sudden change of scenery.

Semi-sentient weapon projections. Armor on nibelsnarf basis. Scarf and neural interface needed. Synergy with chameleos materials. Good enhancement of transforming weapons and gunlance.

Even without her iconic outfit, even without her saying anything else, there was only one person who that could be. "Nice to meet you, I'm Miss Militia – an introduction that doesn't seem necessary if your grin is anything to go by. I'll guide you through the physical testing process. Any questions?"

Even though I didn't quite have Miss Militia themed underwear, the production of which she probably actively prevented, she was still a household name. Member of the Wards initiative's inception, reliable member of the Protectorate ENE and all around badass who remained approachable for the common folks.

… And someone who easily conveyed amusement at my totally-not-fangirling while having the bottom half of her face covered by the American flag by the crinkling of her eyes.

"Only physical? What about the Tinkering part? Armsmaster must have reported that bit after we went off the deep end together over my hammer on Monday. Where is he, anyway?"

She let out a knowing chuckle, something that made it apparent she had experience dealing with Tinkers and their particular focus. "Don't worry about that. Armsmaster will come to do that part in the afternoon, when he'll be joining us with the Wards. He has some… paperwork to do right now. Now, if you would follow me."

Miss Militia led me to something looking eerily like a changing room with a bundle of sporty-looking clothes. "I guess I have to change into those?"

"We won't force you into anything Wyverian, but if you agree, we will work you into a sweat. We thought that you might like your clothes to remain relatively clean and fresh. There might be chance of damages during the later tests, so that's something you might want to consider as well."

Somewhat begrudgingly I admitted defeat to logic and practicality, and changed into the tank top and shorts the PRT had provided. Both of them fit perfectly. When I asked Miss Militia about that bit from inside my booth, she revealed that my sizes were determined as soon as I got onto the Rig. From there, it was only a matter of doing some minor adjustments before delivering it to the right place.

All in the time it took for me to get to the gym.

I managed to convince myself that this level of Big Brother wasn't creepy. Not at all.

Miss Militia managed to remain completely unimpressed by the sight of my exposed, scaly form and ushered me back to the hall for a warm up. When that was done, she gave me a futuristic-looking device and instructed me to clip it on my ears.

"What about the rest? Aren't there supposed to be more people present for the tests?" I asked, once I managed to maneuver the device to the correct spot on my pointy ears.

"The tests are largely remote controlled to protect our science personnel for any unexpected interactions. They will monitor us through the installed cameras and sensors. I'm only here explain things if you have questions and to give you company. I'll leave the heavy thinking to the people who have studied for those kinds of things."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. What do I start with?" I asked, leaving the other reason unsaid and unasked. If I were to go villain on everybody's asses, she'd be in a good position to take me out before I had the chance to cause mischief. Without providing hostages.

"I think we'll start relatively easy with a condition and speed test," she answered as she led me to a formation of cones that jogged my memories in a most uncomfortable way. "We then go over to power and improvise as things pop up."

If you had asked me the day before how I'd imagined a PRT-sanctioned power testing to go, I would have answered by letting my imagination run amok. I'd have dreamed of science fiction levels of equipment, of simulated combat scenarios and virtual reality. All set in rooms sculpted out of white ceramics and chrome steel.

The thought that it might be the very same test I had done so many times already in school wouldn't have crossed my mind. Especially not one that had been ripe with "accidental" collisions and stumbles.

But there I was, lungs burning, running back and forth between two cones to the same pre-rerecorded bleeps with no real concept how well I was doing. They had taken out the announcements of the different levels, but at least I felt I was doing fairly well.

After having pushed myself to my limit under the constant shouted encouragements of Miss Militia, I had a short pause before they had me sprint. Again, they didn't tell me my times when I was done. Instead I was herded to a wall with protruding geometries meant to simulate surfaces ranging from mountain face all the way to glass paned buildings, and was told to climb.

To my eternal satisfaction, whatever happened to me also made me some kind of natural climber. Sure, I cheated by having an extra pair of opposable digits on my feet, as well as claws. Increased strength also helped a bit, but if the few comments from Miss Militia were any indication, becoming a Brute was no guarantee at all for becoming a climber, so there was that. As long as I could find footholds, I'd be able to get up. In an urban environment, that was all kinds of handy.

I shouldn't have been that surprised, considering how much the idea of mounting raging, actively thrashing monsters appealed to me.

The next phase – after I had badgered an excellent second breakfast out of the Protectorate through Miss Militia – was, unsurprisingly, strength. After relocating to a room adjacent to the gym that had no occupied rooms between it and the outside, I was told to punch a dummy as hard as I could. Miss Militia assured me that nothing critical would break, nor would I endanger any lives as long as I aimed to the right wall. It was purely to get a first, rough reading.

What she didn't tell me, and what surprised me, was that the dummy was calibrated to simulate a normal human being. That dummy was now skewered on my arm after I punched through its torso.

It made me glad I hadn't actually lashed out at the Trio, no matter how much they had tried to win a Darwin Award by bullying the girl that had gone Kool Aid Man on a steel door.

That test was followed up by more punching as they methodically increased the toughness of the material. They told me to continue until either I started damaging my fist or I simply couldn't break the plates anymore. Luckily for me, it ended up being the latter, even though it did start to hurt as well.

Then they repeated the test, this time allowing me to use the gunhammer. After the first, fully powered smash, Miss Militia asked whether I could turn off the gouts of flames the gun hammer produced. Apparently, the sensors weren't really designed or calibrated to handle both brute force and extreme temperatures at the same time.

When I thought that I was finally done with these tests, they asked me to perform a couple of charged smashes with extra sensors attached to my torso. Then, the scientists asked me to start kicking the dummy. Apparently they had noticed that I literally grabbed hold of the ground to perform my hammer swings, and perforated the hardened concrete floor with my claws to do it.

I also had to test the sharpness of my claws and gripping strength to see whether anything funny was happening while I did my stuff.

The rest of what I presumed was the morning was spent bashing the "human" dummy. Only this time, I had the goal of only knocking "him" out without any impaling or turning people into fine mulch. Getting a feeling of how much to hold back when you can actually make a shish-kebab out of meatbags was hard. Harder than I would have ever imagined.

In the end I actually managed to reach knock-out-with-barely-any-broken-bones level with strikes that barely felt like tapping the dummy. With the hammer, it wasn't much more than just lifting it against the poor dummy.

I could have never imagined that my punches would ever hurt, let alone kill a man. Perhaps that caused the troubles I had with getting a hang of it. Nonetheless, it did make me respect the so-called Brutes even more. Deep down, I knew that I wasn't that far up that particular totem pole, and I had already plenty of difficulties. It honestly surprised me that Alexandria didn't leave bloody smears in her wake when she was out to fight crime.

She could slug it out with the likes of Leviathan. For her, it must be actually painful to hold back that much power.

It was during lunch that Miss Militia had to attend other duties and my next trial started.

Armsmaster entered the room of which I had been the sole occupant just moments ago, looking on slightly on edge and frazzled. "Wyverian, I'm glad you've decided to come and be so disciplined during the tests. There have been a couple of Wards that complained more than they should have."

"No problem, sir." I replied while swallowing my presumably last bite. "I would be glad if they at least told my times or something. It would perhaps help the motivation problem certain persons seem to have."

"We tried that, and it resulted in a Thinker Brute who attempted to infiltrate by underselling his Brute power by just the right amount to fool the on-board research staff. Luckily, he got arrogant, but he only managed it in the first place by precisely interpolating the likely variations of test results for the lowered capabilities he aimed for. For that, you need data."

Without a warning he turned and started walking a way that made it clear he expected me to follow. "But enough about that, we're only wasting time with these anecdotes. We'll see to the other test we might want to do. We'll start with you explaining what you've brought and presumably build."

"Alright," I replied as I dug through my bag. "I've managed to get some of the materials I need. Probably most importantly for you, I've been able to make a couple of Potions and something else you might even need now."

Armsmaster simply stopped at the mention of the Potions and turned. Considering I had managed to find the correct jars, I pushed one filled with Potion alongside an Energy Drink jar into his hands.

"These are?"

"The green liquid is the actual healing potion. I don't know exactly how much damage it'll manage to repair per drunk volume but it should work. The yellow one is my own brand of energy drink. It works and you might appreciate its effects."

"And these are safe for normal consumption?"

"I've used this batch myself without side effects and my dad was very happy with its effects yesterday."

"Do you know of any interactions with caffeine or other compounds?"

"Dad drank his coffee just as normal on top of that without turning green, so it should be fine."

"He would have probably sooner died of heart attack triggered through palpitations than turn green, but I see your point. So you don't actually know for certain it's safe?"

"No. Well, on its own it's perfectly harmless and it does play nice with the rest of the things I make but with any medicine we use… I have no idea, actually. What about my dad? Where is he, we have to –"

"Easy, Wyverian. If nothing has happened yet, you're likely in the clear. Just keep an eye out on him and tell him. Don't give him more though until we've run some basic test to be sure, though. In here, please."

I was reeling badly enough by the realization that I might have been irresponsible with simply handing Dad the Energy Drink and potentially harming him (or worse) that I didn't notice what kind of room we entered.

When I did, I gasped at the beauty of it.

As much as I liked Sig's smithy from yesterday, this was simply another thing entirely. It was still a smithy with a forge and everything, sure but it also had a sealed biological lab right adjacent to it with workplaces for chemical work as well.

And then there was the equipment. Ranging from induction forges to high-powered light microscopes and automated cell-sorters (there was a helpful name-tag on the large machine) all the way to modular glass equipment that would allow for almost any mundane chemical reaction (and, I had the feeling some others as well).

It was magnificent.

Armsmaster led me to one of the separated workplaces and asked me to explain the functions of the items I had been able to make.

And so I showed him my Flash Bombs and explained how they worked. That was all fine and dandy, but I ran into a bit of a problem when he wanted to know how bright those things could be, as he didn't let me simply use one. I ended with settling on "very, very bright without the associated bang of a flashbang". He wasn't really happy with just that description, but it had to do if he didn't want a live demonstration.

I also handed him an Antidote I forgot to give before, which he took for testing alongside the Potion and Energy Drink.

It was only when I was showing off my darling knife when I remembered what I forgot to bring: a sample of the Demondrug. Since Armsy was way too concentrated on my newest toy – eh, tool – I didn't bring it up and instead started telling him just how sharp Mr. Carve actually was.

I was about to repeat the double demonstration of knife and Potion of the day before when I heard the door of the lab open, revealing a trio of costumed teens.

Biological improvisation and redundancies. Armor with khezu and yama tsukami basis –

Space manipulation. Armor and weapons with plesioth-plated ukanlos materials –

Time freeze. Tonfas made with dalamadur/shrouded nerscylla-fused steel and bone cores bound to the neural controller. Full body armor with same materials gives emergency complete protection.

The sudden influx of separate strands of information nearly threatened to overwhelm me. Something I couldn't quite hide.

"– Are you alright, Wyverian?" the Ward clad in red – Aegis – asked, clearly interrupting his introductions when he saw me pale.

"Yeah," I answered watching the reactions of the other wards. "I had troubles sleeping and must have turned too quickly. I blacked out a bit. I'm fine now. Thanks, Aegis."

Aegis didn't show a shred of surprise that I knew him. As the leader of the Wards, he was a public figure after all. Clockblocker, meanwhile looked at me, then my hammer I had propped up in the corner, and back to me in a way that conveyed doubt, even completely encased in his white costumes. Vista's green visor didn't quite manage to hide the intensity of her gaze nor her eager interest.

"Of course you knew me. Nice to meet you either way. I guess you're also familiar with both Clockblocker and Vista?"

"I may or may not be a regular of the PHO forums and subscribed to various cape-related magazines," I answered with an easy smile.

"Great, another geek. This one – ouch!" Clockblocker managed to mutter before Vista stamped on the ground. He suddenly started hopping on one leg, uttering carefully-picked but colorful euphemisms. I got the distinct feeling that he was recently reminded to use more PR-friendly language, as there was the occasional hitch between his curses that I wouldn't expect from him.

He was the Ward who managed to announce that name before anyone of the PRT could intervene, after all.

"Don't mind Clockblocker, Wyverian. He's missing the filter between his brain and mouth every normal human possesses, and he thinks he's funny. Tragic, really. I for one am glad to meet a fellow female cape and look forward to work with you, one way or the other."

"Nice to meet you too, Vista. Don't worry about Clockblocker – he'll have to up his game to come even close to what I'm used to. He'd also have to believe in what he says."

"Ah," Vista replied. "I guess I might ease up on him. Maybe. A little. And would you stop pretending you're still hurt to get sympathy points from the new cape? I know your costume has reinforced boots."

"You're a real spoilsport," the young cape replied as he apparently instantaneously recovered. "Are you aware of that?"

Vista didn't dignify that statement with more than a "pff". It wouldn't surprise me if she also rolled her eyes underneath her green visor. Aegis simply remained silent all together, but if his relaxed stance was anything to go by, he was smiling.

"Anyway, I do desperately hope that you have more humor in you than the rest of them. I might truly go mad otherwise."

"You aren't already?"

"Maybe a bit. But that comes with the job. Otherwise, I wouldn't actually try to touch the baddies in all my squishy glory. Running away would be so much healthier."

I blinked. I wouldn't have thought that he'd think of himself as that squishy. He only had to touch someone once and they'd be done for. If something went wrong, he could simply freeze himself and weather the storm.

"You just have to relax. You might even enjoy yourself. I had to fight a thirty-foot long spider with nothing more than a hammer and my regular clothes. It was probably the most fun I had in years."

And if that wasn't depressing. Well, a bit.

"It'll take some time to get used to that… Also, what? I'm surrounded by luna –"

The complaining teen's bobbed forward, shutting him up, at the same time as Vista's right arm slapped the air. She was standing on his right.

Just the idea of teaming up with her was grand. I could feel saliva build at the mental image of every single charged Great Sword attack hitting – from every angle imaginary. Trapping monsters would be so easy…

"Oh, it was that big?" Aegis replied, slightly shaking his head at the antics of his teammates. "I've heard you battled something when you triggered, but Armsmaster failed to mention it was that big. Would you be up for some sparring afterwards? Try and see how you fare against a normal sized target?"

I opened my mouth to reply but was interrupted before I even started. "She'll have enough time to do that after we finish here," Armsmaster said with a tone that made his impatience all too clear. "You're too early anyway. I would still like to see her Tinkering in progress. You can watch if you like, but if you're not quiet you'll help Gallant and Kid Win on the console. Am I clear? You have brought material you can use for that, haven't you?"

"Well… I used up most of my batch," I began as the Wards silently nodded. "I kinda thought that I might get an idea here and improvise."

"And has anything come up?" Armsmaster leveled me a stare.

"Well, I have a beginning of an idea. But I would need a demonstration of both Clockblocker and Vista's power to be sure." I blurted under the pressure of the hero's hidden gaze.

It was true. Ever since I had seen their powers I had this itch. One that didn't require the violent dismemberment of teen heroes, which was kind off a big plus in my eyes.

"Is any material fine?" I nodded and he handed both Wards a scrap of metal. "You've heard her."

They followed the command with a shrug. I could see the materials change even without the twist Vista put in hers and before Clockblocker simply let go of his.

Without thinking I stepped towards the scrap Armsmaster gave the Ward in white and plucked it out of the air. This would work just fine. I smiled.

In the corner of my eyes I saw Vista's scrap violently twitch back in its original form. "No. What is this? Just, no. This is utter b –"

"Clockblocker." Armsmaster nearly growled to shut up the young cape before he descended in a rant.

The teen complied with an audible gulp and a soft "sorry" even as Vista and Aegis simply stared at me.

"Wyverian, care to explain what just happened?"

"Remember when I told you about how I'm able to fix the essence of something?" I asked as I let go of the time-locked piece of metal. It stayed floating in the air. I could practically hear Clockblocker's struggle to keep quiet. "I'm fairly sure I could do the same with materials that are changed by powers."

"Any idea what the limits are?"

"I guess it has to be seen as valid materials, and it isn't like I somehow cancel the powers." I nodded to the floating scrap. "On the contrary, that would be rather unproductive of me."

"Hmm. That's something to be tested in the future when we're better prepared. So, do you think you can build something?"

"If you find a dozen wooden planks, allow me to work with some metal sheets, and grant me access to the smithy, yes. I think I will be able to give a small presentation."

The next hour was spent demonstrating my Tinkering to a silent audience.

Lasers cut complex, irregular patterns of grooves in the planks while I burned a time-locked plank to ashes (Clockblocker was surprisingly completely quiet during that) and mixed it with warped filings of steel and some Catalyst I brought. I then heated it until I got a homogenous, molten mass. When the grooves were prepared, I had them frozen and poured the glowing mixture into the three dimensional network of grooves.

When the liquid cooled down to a thick, viscous state, I had Vista warp some more sheets. I started assembling its entirety using bolts that were both warped and frozen by the Wards' powers, and the biggest hammer I could find. I felt the individual networks connect to each other as I went along, and soon I had built a box. The finishing touches were made in a matter of mere minutes. The lip and loop for the lock were bolted on with ease and the shelves and racks were a simple matter of cutting and bending the warped steel to shape.

"Tadaah!" I declared as I installed the last miniature shelf into the waist-high, wooden-looking trunk.

"It's a box. You've made both of us suffer to make a box." Clockblocker replied, apparently having reached the point where he'd accept console duty just to get it off his chest. "A box you've already filled with shelves for one reason or the other."

He shouldn't have worried, as Armsmaster was all too carefully observing my newest creation from every angle, opening and closing the lid repeatedly as he examined it.

Since the expected reprimanding of the hero never came due to Armsmaster being too busy to care, Vista also tested her luck by whispering something to Aegis.

I didn't quite catch it as I was too busy staring Clockblocker into submission. He was actually foolish enough to contest it. I won easily.

"Fine," he said as he admitted defeat. "It's a case of 'more than meets the eye'; care to enlighten us?"

I didn't have to as my fellow Tinker reached a conclusion on his own. "It's bigger on the inside. Much bigger. If you had actually taken the time to look instead of complain, you would have seen it as well."

I looked with pride as the Wards joined him around the box with renewed interest. "Actually it's more than that, if someone can get – "

"Vista, can you give me the timer from the upper left cupboard, right of the fume hood?"

I scowled at the hero as he stole my thunder by setting the timer and throwing it in my box.

"Huh that's strange, I could have sworn…"

"You have to close the lid for that to work." I managed to say, hissing only a little.

Armsmaster at least had the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed before he did just that. "Sorry. It's just that, knowing how you described the way your powers work, I had a guess about what it could do, due to what you used to make it. I got carried away."

"It's fine." I replied after a deep breath. "I can understand. The box is meant to store the materials – things that often decay due to their organic nature – I need for my brand of Tinkering as well as the equipment I make. If the time-stopping field were active the whole time, you wouldn't be able to use it, and it might lead to all kinds of complications. It also adapts its interior size to what is put in, to a certain point."

"If you had told us that instead of trying to be all mystic, I wouldn't have felt underwhelmed. And stop pouting, it looks less intimidating than you think."

I didn't pout, I scowled. Stupid Clockblocker should learn the difference. And Vista should practice keeping a straight face in these situations.

"Look," Armsmaster said, oblivious to what happened around him once more, as he retrieved the running timer that suddenly was half a minute behind.

He then went off to find the largest piece of equipment he could lift that would fit through the box' opening.

"Aegis?" I asked, deciding that Armsmaster would be too distracted for the foreseeable future. "Are you still up for some sparring?"

"Armsmaster?" The hero in question simply gave an affirmative grunt as he maneuvered an emptied out tool trolley into the box. "I think we'll start with you using me as a punching bag first so I can get a read on you, and then we'll start out with some light sparring to see how you fare. Is that alright with you?"

"How about we just, you know, spar? I've done enough strength tests today to last for the next couple of years."

"I can't really allow that. I know you have your strength enhanced, and presumably your body is fortified to be able to handle that monstrosity." He nodded towards my beloved gun hammer. "But so am I, and frankly I have a bit more experience than you when it comes to fighting. I don't want to hurt you over something this unimportant."

"You do know I have potions that can heal me?"

"Untested ones. And what happens if I actually break something. Can they fix bones? And fast enough, at that, in case of punctured lungs? No, I think…"

I started walking towards the anvil when he mentioned his fear of breaking me. I figured that explanations and reassurances would fall on deaf ears.

Just the tiniest flashes of the monster whose materials I'd need for Clockblocker made it clear that Aegis' strength was utterly insignificant on the grand scale of things.

I carefully estimated the distance and angle of the anvil's edge. It was time for another demonstration. As soon as Aegis's speech petered out, I whipped my arm down on the edge with my full strength.

Two things happened immediately: The Tinker steel tool deformed ever so slightly; and with a loud snap and a lance of pain, my underarm broke into two neat pieces standing at a right angle.

"WHAT THE F – "

"Clockblocker!" Armsmaster shouted at the cursing teen, which elicited an irritated sigh from Vista.

The shout was pure reflex though, as he didn't look away from his attempt to fit in large office chair into my box.

Vista's irritation was soon replaced by confused horror once more. "Why did you do that? Couldn't you have just, I don't know, tried to convince us by talking?"

"That would have been a losing battle," I answered as I started looking through my bag with my healthy hand. "And there was no way I could convince Aegis that I could fix bones at a useful rate."

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to be convinced by this."

"Well for starters," I replied, nodding to the tiny dent in the anvil, "It shows that I'm not that easily broken and… I should have opened the Potion before I did this. Vista, could you open the jar for me?"

The girl in forest green complied silently while Clockblocker had simply opted to sit where he previously stood in clear confusion.

"Thanks," I continued as Vista handed the jar back to me. "Like I was saying, it's also a good opportunity to show off my Potion. Watch."

With that last prompt I raised the jar to my lips and took a couple of gulps.

The feeling of bones sliding back to their place isn't something I'll likely ever be a fan of. The pain that my subconscious had nearly managed to isolate to the back of my mind roared back to life. It joined forces with the feeling of thousands of skittering insects and a wet "sucking" feeling inside my arm. It wasn't very comfortable, which made the relief all the sweeter when it was done.

"Was that able to convince you?" I asked my wide-eyed audience, which included a disapproving Armsmaster.

I guess seeing a badly broken, twisted arm slide back to its proper configuration wasn't something even capes saw every day.

"The way you demonstrated could have been better – a lot better actually – but you've certainly shown that it's effective," the sour-faced hero replied. "Just one question. Did you really have to pose when your arm was healed? If it's an involuntary reaction, we have to keep it in mind when used in the field."

"It felt right, I guess?"

"Well, that's another thing to keep an eye out during our tests. Aegis?"

"Sir?"

"We don't have more tests we can do without specific preparation. Escort Wyverian to the sparring ring while I continue testing her latest creation. I'll inform the medical staff and on-board scientists for you. Try to find her limits without risking killing her. Ramp up slowly - the both of you."

"Yes, sir!"

"One last thing before you go. I must stress: don't kill each other."

With that he turned back to face the box and put his hand to the side of his head in a manner I was still convinced wasn't needed. At least not to communicate. It simply seemed too inefficient for Armsmaster.

I considered myself lucky that I had a trio of Wards to lead the way. I would, no doubt, have gotten lost in the bowels of the Rig. Even they seemed to hesitate at more than one junction.

This also allowed me to bring my hammer. It wasn't likely that I could actually use it, but at least I wouldn't have to excavate it from my box when I returned. Armsmaster was running out of things to put into it, and I had spotted him looking at the hammer more than once.

The ring actually looked very much like a traditional boxing ring. The sole exception was that this one was reinforced with more than a few Tinker materials. It suited me just fine.

First up was Aegis. We halfheartedly exchanged some hits before he took flight and it suddenly got more serious.

I could barely avoid his first dive with outstretched fists by jumping out of the way and it left me wide open for the follow up swooping kick that nearly dislocated my shoulder.

The next dive was avoided by a simple roll instead of blindly flinging myself to the side and as such I could avoid his follow up attack.

By the time he tried the third dive, I felt the grin that had snuck on my face. I got a measure on how fast he could turn with the speeds he was flying at. As such, I avoided his torpedo impression by sidestepping, and I managed to punch his collarbone in with the same movement. He repaid the favor by cracking a couple of my ribs.

Ignoring the gasping Vista, we got truly serious right there and then.

Aegis abandoned his reckless dives in favor of plain and simple punching and kicking while floating above me, around me. The strikes, while less powerful, still hurt and they simply came from everywhere. I was already badly bruised when I identified the first tell and managed to sneak in my first hit ever since the shift.

From there, it didn't take long for things to slowly tip in my favor as I could predict more and more moves, and the strikes from below stopped surprising me.

We stopped shortly after. For one, I was getting seriously tired while the cheating bastard Aegis was as fresh as when we started – even if he looked slightly deformed. For two, Vista finally had enough of our nonsense and forcefully separated us.

I tried to convince Vista to let me try fighting Aegis with my hammer for round two, but that only resulted in her loudly shrieking before my hammer somehow disappeared beyond the horizon.

As such, after healing up and drinking some Energy Drink, it was Vista's turn.

She obliterated me. Plain and simple.

The only thing I managed to do was to run circles in one spot while she occasionally bothered to give me a slap in increasingly distracting places.

It pretty much made it clear to me that I would need a bow if I ever needed to take her out.

Clockblocker, who had been uncharacteristically tired the entire time, flat out refused to fight.

"So," I innocently started as we walked back to the labs, freshly showered. "Where is Shadow Stalker? She isn't here, she isn't on patrol, and it isn't likely she's on console duty either if Armsmaster uses it as potential punishment."

Aegis, Vista, and Clockblocker suddenly stopped and looked at me without uttering a single word.

They reminded me of deer caught in the headlights.

That promised little good.

 

[TrueNeutral]

Did she run, or has she been transferred/sent to juvie?

 

[Zanji117]

So will Taylor get a bag of holding?