Let's read Worm and its sequel Ward by Wildbow (One chapter/every day)

blackarrow · Jan 4, 2019

Hello, my people. Welcome to the last Interlude/Chapter of this Arc. I was informed that something like a rejected Interlude exists (I wonder why Wildbow or his readers rejected it because every single Chapter/Interlude was excellent , even the ones that I didn't liked too much because of the characters- but the writing style and storytelling were still top notch) but I'll read it after I'll finish with this one. Last time, various people (refugees, parahumans's wives and husbands, parahumans, high school kids, even patients from Parahumans Asylum) used Parahuman Online boards to discuss about the last events that happened in Brockton Bay. I'd like to read more Interludes in this format, because they seem more close to everyday reality (everyone prefer to discuss online more than face to face today, right?

) and I'll get to see the events through the eyes of more people than a single POV. I also found out how civilians see the territories under Undersiders' control and I'm not surprised to know that Skitter's Hive is considered to be the best one, like a Paradise in the middle of a pure Hell. And then I was hit right in the middle of my head by a cruel double plot twist

: the girl communicating with Greg (basically the main POV of this Interlude) was nobody else but Sveta, who only tried to find friends online (but unfortunately was terrible unlucky. I have to admit that the username she choose was pretty uninspired, but Greg wasn't even interested in talking with her, all he cared was to play games and to meet her and he got upset when she rejected his offer to meet. Well, I'll be an hypocrite if I'll blame him for being so suspicious about her because I WAS SUSPICIOUS myself, but now I feel terrible sorry for thinking like that about her when I know who was behind that "naughty" username

). The internet can be so deceitful, the people that you trust can be the most untrusty and fake persons in reality and the one that you see as perverts or mentally disturbed can be really cool guys if you get to know them personally. Maybe this is what Wildbow wanted to us, that anyone can be anything they want on Internet and we should not trust people so easy, unless we get to know them face to face

. This and...the whole universe must hate poor, poor Sveta. Being Sveta is suffering, I swear

. The other part of the double plot twist: Greg was smart enough to figure Taylor's secret identity as Skitter. Now that Greg knows that his former high school colleague is the same person as the well-respected crime lady, he have two choices: either to go straight to Protectorate and tell them what he knows or keep everything for himself. If he will keep the knowledge for himself then is ok, if he will go to Protectorate because he might think that Skitter is too dangerous to be free, then is ok again. He's just a worried civilian who doesn't like to see his city ruled by villains because he doesn't trust them. But if he'll betray Taylor only because he'll see her in Brian's company and suddenly become overwhelmed by jealousy (an hypothetical situation), then he'll be nothing but a little fucker. I mean, he was already rejected by her once, he should not insist with his crush if Taylor obviously doesn't want him. People should respect others' feelings and not force heir own feelings upon them, this is my person belief. I'm going to seriously dislike Greg if he'll act like a jealous frustrated prick

. Ok, let's see...oh, I wanted to guess who is the central character of the next Interlude but I made the FATAL MISTAKE to read the first phrase: "Ballet, horseback riding, modeling classes or violin. Pick one, Emma. One." So, this is an Emma interlude, right? A fucking Emma Interlude... :rage:

This is worse than anything cause I hate Emma so fucking much and a simple mention about her bothers me. Imagine what an Interlude from her POV will do to me. Now I want to read the rejected Interlude "thinks for a couple of long minutes"...fine, FINE, I'm going to torture myself with Fashion Bitch Emma only because I care so much about reading everything in ORDER. Fuck this, lets do this shit :anger:

https://parahumans.wordpress.com/2013/03/19/interlude-19/

"Ballet, horseback riding, modeling classes or violin. Pick one, Emma. One."

"Or, or, or, maybe I don't pick any, and…"
"And?" she could hear a weariness in her father's voice. He checked over his shoulder and then turned the car into a side street. A bag with assorted tubs of ice cream sat on the divider between the pair of them.
"Maybe you give a second thought to moving? There's really nice places just a little way South, and I'd still be going to the same school, and-"
"Nope."
"Dad!"
"There's three jobs I absolutely despise in this world. One is matching socks, the second is ironing, and the third is moving. I can foist the first two off on your mom, but the third is a lifestyle choice. My lifestyle, specifically, is owning the house I'm going to live in until I die."
Emma frowned, turning to look out the window. She pouted a little, "This place sucks. Brockton Bay sucks."
"What's so bad about it?"
"Everything's falling apart. It's like… show me any house, and I can point out ten things that are wrong with it."
"Every house has something wrong with it."
"Not every house! Like, when I went to Chris' birthday party? I-"
"Chris?"
"Christine," Emma injected a note of condescension into her voice, "Last weekend? Or did you forget already?"
"Why not call her Christine? Perfectly nice name."
"Because androgyne is cool, dad. It's the thing in modelling. Like, I could never have my hair short, but-" She stopped mid-sentence, answering her phone mid-ring. "Hello?"
"Emma!" The voice on the other end was breathy, excited. There was a babble of other voices in the background. She could imagine the other youths lined up to use the pay phones.
"Taylor," Emma said, smiling.
"Ok I gotta talk fast because I only have two minutes and I need my other fifty cents to call my dad. We rowed across the lake this morning to this waterfall, only it wasn't exactly a waterfall, more like a water stair, and we were all taking turns sliding and falling down this set of slick rocks, and Elsa, she's this girl wearing a bikini, she's been spending the last three days acting like she's hot stuff, she slides down the wrong part, and it catches on the strap, right? It doesn't tear it off, but it stretches, so it doesn't even fit her anymore…"
Emma laughed, leaning back against her car seat.
It was something of a relief, to hear Taylor getting excited about something, to hear her getting excited over nothing. She'd lost her mother a year ago, and hadn't bounced back, not entirely. Her smiles not quite as wide, she was a second later to laugh, as if she had to wait, to give herself permission to do it, had to hold back. Before, it had been almost no holds barred. Anything went, however they wanted to amuse themselves, whatever they wanted to talk about. Complete and total openness. Lately there had been too many movies, too many activities and topics of conversation, that Taylor preferred to avoid.
It hadn't been easy, Emma mused, as Taylor yammered on. Sometimes she'd call, they'd do their customary hanging out, and she'd feel like the time was wasted, afternoons and weekends spent with her best friend that she didn't enjoy.

So, this is her backstory, before she knew Sophia and when she was still friends with Taylor. Well, not exactly a good friend, because she made it clear that she didn't enjoyed spending time with Taylor. She wasn't supportive, like a true best friend should be, especially in a moment like this, when Taylor lost her mom. Past Emma wasn't so different from present Emma, only not a bully yet. Past Taylor was so happy and excited, she's like a completely different person compared with our self-hating, pessimistic present Taylor

. I know that her happiness is more like a coping mechanism to deal with her beloved mother's death, but I can't shake the idea that Emma and Sophia are the ones responsible for Taylor changing so much to the point of becoming almost suicidal. In fact, I'm sure that they're personally responsible for the current Taylor's dark personality (an year and a half of intense bullying can leave a lot of terrible wounds on someone's soul and mind that can't never be healed

). No Lisa (Lisa actually saved her), neither her power, her Passenger or her villainous activity changed Taylor so much, but Emma and Sophia's bullying campaign. They turned an already traumatized girl who needed support and a helping hand into a depressed, suicidal and violent person. Fuck you, Emma, I don't care how much frustrated you're because you don't want to move, nothing from your past will make me feel pity for you, you vile bitch :rage:

.

Not that Taylor was a wet blanket, but, like, maybe she was a damp blanket?

This? This inane, aimless, stupid, one-sided conversation where she'd saidone word? This was the good stuff. It gave her hope that things could get back to normal.
"…and I wish I'd listened to my dad, because he suggested at least ten times that I might want to take more books, and I only brought three, and I've read each of them twice already. My…"
Taylor's voice continued over the phone, but Emma felt her dad's hand on her wrist, lowered her phone to pay more attention to her surroundings.
The car had stopped in the middle of a narrow one-way street. A dumpster had been shifted to block the end of the alley.
She looked over her shoulder, down the other end of the alley. A white van had stopped there, the taillights glowing. There were a group of twenty-something Asian-Americans approaching, sliding over the hood of the van to get into the alley and approach.
Members of the ABB.
This isn't supposed to happen in broad daylight, Emma thought.
Taylor's voice was faint, "…I could probably recite this one book word for word for you by the time I get back. Maybe if I asked one of the counselors, I could get more."
Her heart pounding as hard as it ever had, Emma hung up. Some part of her rationalized it as needing to eliminate the distraction, to focus on the more immediate problem.
"Hold tight," her father said.
She did, and he put his foot to the gas. The car started rolling toward the dumpster, and the gang members behind them began running after them.
Too slow, she thought.
The car barely tapped the dumpster. It was only after contact had already been made that her dad put his foot on the gas, pushing against the blockade instead of ramming or crashing into it.
The dumpster didn't budge.
They blocked it. Or they took the wheels off. Or both.
There were too many people behind them for the car to reverse. Not unless her dad wanted to hurt or kill a bunch of people. Even if he did want to hurt them, he couldn't be sure he'd hit them, and where could he go? There wasn't any guarantee he'd be able to move the dumpster if he backed up and rammed into it.
"Call the police," her father said.
She barely registered it.
"Emma! Call the police!"
She fumbled with the phone. Nine-nine…
Why won't my hands work?
Nine-one-one.
The window to her right shattered. She screamed, then screamed again as hands clutched her hair, hauled her partially out of her seat, until the seatbelt strained against her shoulder and pelvis. He wasn't strong enough to actually lift her, but it hurt. She wasn't thinking, only wanted the pain to stop. Her mind was flooded with images of what might happen if the person outside tugged in a slightly different direction and dragged her face against the broken glass of the window. The phone clattered to the floor as she gripped her attacker's wrists, tried to alleviate the pain of hair tearing free from her scalp.
She put her feet flat on the floor of the car, pushed herself up and away from her seat, almost helping her attacker.
Emma regretted it almost as she did it, but in the panic and pain, she undid the seatbelt.
She'd just wanted the pain to stop, and now there were two sets of hands gripping her, hauling her up and out through the car window. Glass broke away against the fabric of her denim jacket, and she fell hard enough against the pavement that grit was pushed into her skin.
I hope the jacket didn't get torn. It was so expensive, she thought. It was inane, stupid, almost hilariously out of sync with reality. Delirious.
Her father's screams of almost mindless panic sounded so far away, as he cried out her name, over and over again.
The gang members who stood above her each wore crimson and pale green. There were other colors, predominantly black, but the constrast of red and green stood out. Some had their faces exposed, others wore kerchiefs over the lower halves of their faces.
One had a bandanna folded so it covered one eye. She couldn't think straight enough to count them.
They had knives, she belatedly noted.
Her father screamed for her again.
Stop, dad. You're embarassing me. She was more cognizant of how irrational the thought was, this time. Odd, how calm she felt.
Except that wasn't right. Her heart was pounding, she could barely breathe, her thoughts were jumbled and irrational, and yet she somehow felt more together than she might have guessed she would.
She wasn't hysterical, at least. She was oddly pleased with that, even as she wondered if she might wet herself.
"Turn over, ginger bitch," one of the girls standing above her said. The order was punctuated by a sharp kick to Emma's ribs.
She flopped over, face pressing against the hot pavement. Hands took hold of her jacket and pulled it off. The sleeves turned inside out, the half-folded cuffs catching around her hands.
If she'd been taking it off herself, that would have been cause for some rearrangement, to get her hands free. Instead, they pulled. It hurt briefly, and then they had the jacket.
"Here, Yan," one of the guys said, his accent almost musical. "You owe me."

And so Emma and her father were attacked by ABB members and I can visualize how they'll be saved by Shadow Stalker (this scene explaining how Emma and Sophia became friends). Wait a minute, isn't Yan that bitch who assaulted Charlotte, Sierra and the kids in their care after Skitter was kind enough to give her and her partners, Jay and Sugita, shelter and food? Gosh, this ABB bitch also attacked Emma an year and a half ago. And who threatened to kill children if Sierra refused to sacrifice a hand or a knee. Fucking sick bitch :anger:

. Well, lets be clear. I don't agree with this brutal attack. These ABB members are clearly psychos who enjoy torturing, mutilating and killing civilians, including children. They're just as bad as Merchants and nazis (hell, ABB are asian supremacists so no different at all from white supremacists). I despise them and I still think that Skitter was too merciful when she left the trio leave her territory, with only few spider's bites and threats. But, I can't bring myself to feel sorry for Emma. I WANT to feel sorry for her, to understand her pain and suffering and fear caused by these monsters but when I remember how joyful and proud of her idea she was when she reminded Taylor that her mother died and how she reacted after her death....

How she bullied an innocent girl until she almost destroyed her emotionally. How mean and cruel she was with her best friend. Nope, I can't feel sorry for this kind of person, for a...heartless bully. She reminds me so much of the years I was bullied until I snapped and I hospitalized my main bully, years that left some scars (but I had a lot of moral support from my parents and few real friends I have, while Taylor had no one to support her

) so I can't feel any once of pity for people like her. Besides, there's no doubt that Shadow Stalker will come to her help anytime soon.
Alan, you're living in the most dangerous city in the whole world and you don't carry a gun with you? I mean, why don't you buy a gun and keep it with you everywhere you go, especially if you're alone with your daughter? You have to protect your daughter against these asian supremacists and you can't do it without a gun (my father have a gun and he always keep it in our car when he or we're going somewhere; he's pro-guns like me- everyone should have the right to defend themselves, right?- and he always tried to convince me to get a firearms license. Maybe I'll get one one day because...well, the world is not always a safe place for people who only want to mind their own businesses

).

"Sweet!" The voice sounded young.

My jacket, Emma thought, plaintive.
"We could send this bitch out of town," one of the guys said. "Stick her in one of the farms and hold her for a while. She's got tits, could auction her off.
"Don't be a moron. White girl goes missing, they look."
Someone opened the car door and climbed in. There was the sound of the glove compartment opening, of items falling to the floor, where her cell phone was.
For the life of her, she couldn't remember if she had hit 'call' on her cell phone before she'd dropped it. It would mean the difference between her phone sitting on the floor of the car, the numbers displayed on the screen, and authorities using the phone to find her location, sending help.
Someone grabbed her hair, again. This time, there was a tearing sensation, and the tugging abruptly stopped. Her face cracked against the pavement beneath, one cheekbone catching almost all of the impact.
They'd cut her hair, and she'd just bruised her face.
"Face," she mumbled.
"What's that, ginger?" the girl standing over her asked. Emma twisted her head around to see the girl holding a length of red hair in her hand.
"Not- not the face, please. I'll do anything you want, just… not the face."
It was the delirium that had taken hold of her the second her father had seized her arm. It wasn't really her, was it? She couldn't be this stupidly vain when it all came down to the wire. She didn't want to be that kind of person.
"You'll do anything?" One of the guys asked. The one with one eye. "Like what?"
She reached for an answer, but her thoughts were little more than white noise.
The answers that did come to mind weren't possibilities. Not really.
"Then it's the face after all. Hold her."
Ten minutes ago, she'd never been afraid. Not really. Stage fright, sure. Fear of not getting the Christmas present she wanted?
Sure. But she'd never been afraid.
And before the one-eyed thug spoke that last sentence, she'd never knownterror. Had never known what it might be like to be a deer in the moment the wolves set tooth to flesh, the rabbit fleeing the bird of prey. It was like being possessed, and the white noise that had subsumed her her thoughts when she searched for an argument now consumed her brain in entirety. She felt a kind of surge of strength as her fight or flight instincts kicked into gear, and it wasn't enough.
She was outnumbered, and many of them were stronger than her, even with the adrenaline feeding into her. Two held her arms out to either side, and someone knelt just behind her, knees pressing hard against the side of her head, keeping her from turning it. Looking up, she could see a girl, not much older than her, sporting a nose ring and a startling purple eye shadow. She was wearing Emma's jacket.
Emma could hear her father screaming, still, and it sounded further away than ever.
One-eye straddled her, planting his left hand on top of her hair, helping to hold her head down to the ground.
He held a knife that was long and thin, the blade no wider across than a finger, tapering to a wicked point. What was it called? A stiletto? He rested the flat of the blade on the tip of her nose.
"Nose," he murmured. The blade moved to her eye, and she couldn't move away. She could only shut it, feel it twitching mercilessly as he laid the flat of the blade against her eyelid, "Eye…"
The blade touched her lips, a steel kiss.
"Mouth…"
He used the blade to brush the hair away from the side of her head, hooked an earring with the point of the blade.
"Well, you can hide the ears with the hair," he said, his voice barely over a whisper. The knife point pulled at the earring until her face contorted in pain. "So maybe I'll take both. Which will it be?"
She couldn't process, couldn't sort out the information in the mist of the terror that gripped her. "Unh?"
Again, the knife traveled over her face, almost gentle as it touched the areas in question. "One eye, the nose, the mouth, or both ears. Yan here thinks she has what it takes to be a member, instead of a common whore, so you choose one of the above, and she goes to town on the part in question, proves her worth."
"Holy shit, Lao," the girl with the eye shadow said. She sounded almost gleeful, "That's fucked up."
"Pick," he said, again, as if he hadn't heard.
Emma blinked tears out of her eyes, looked for an escape, an answer.
And she saw a figure crouched on top of her father's car, dressed in black, with a hood and a cape that fluttered out of sync with the warm sea breeze that flowed from the general direction of the beach. She could see the whites of the girl's eyes through the eyeholes of what looked like a metal hockey mask.
Help me.
The dark figure didn't move.

Of course bitchy Yan and her partners have to do with Emma the same thing she did with Sierra: make her choose to have a body part injured/cut off. Emma and her dad (who doesn't have a gun while living a Brockton Bay) are too scared to fight back against a group of ABB assholes armed with knives and very eager to hurt/kill and they're doing what they can during those frightening moments of their lives: they accept whatever these thugs ask them to do. Luckily for them, Shadow Stalker is there, stalking in silence the scene of ABB brutality. Unlucky for them, Shadow Stalker is the kind of bitch who will not interfere until she'll see them getting hurt enough or trying to fight back (exactly how she acted when she was patrolling the streets in Flechette's company and saw some thugs attacking a woman. She waited until the thugs actually injured the poor woman. Exactly how a true vigilante should never act). Punisher, Green Arrow and Robin from Titans live action series would spit on her and throw rotten fruits at her (well, I think they'll do worse but I'm just trying to be a little more generous

) if they'd see her in action. She puts vigilantes' fame to shame. You don't wait until someone is hurt enough, you help the person in need right from the moment when you see them getting attacked. But...I almost forgot something. Shadow Stalker is the kind of bitch who see the world only in two types: predators and preys. Strong and weak. She considers Emma to be "weak" because she doesn't fight back. She thinks that she doesn't have any obligation to help someone who is so "weak". She's so fucked inside her head that my own head starts to hurt only when I'm thinking how fucked she must be in her head :anger:

. My dear bitch, you need a therapist. Hope they'll give you one during your future detention so they'll help you to become a more stable person.

Lao, the one eyed man, reversed the knife in his hands and handed it to the girl with the eye shadow. The girl, for her part, dragged the knife's point over Emma's eyelid, a feather touch.

"Pick," the girl said. "No, wait…"
She shoved the handful of hair she'd cut away into Emma's mouth. "Eat it,then pick."
Emma opened her mouth to plead for help, but she couldn't find the breath. The hair wasn't it, not really. Some of it was the weight of the young man sitting on her chest, crushing her under his weight. Mostly, it was the fear, like a physical thing.
She thought of Taylor, of all people. Taylor had, in her way, been put to the knife, had had an irreplaceable part of herself carved away. Not a nose or an eye, but a mother. And in the moment she'd found out, a light had gone out inside Emma's best friend, a vibrancy had faded. She'd ceased to be the same person.
If she'd experienced her first real taste of fear when the gang members attacked the car, her first real taste of terror when Lao proclaimed he'd cut her face, then it was the thought of Taylor, of becoming Taylor, that gripped her with panic, a whole new level of fear.
I won't become Taylor.
I'm not-
I'm not strong enough to come back from that.
The knife momentarily forgotten, she bucked, thrashed, fought. An inarticulate noise tore out of her throat, a scream, a grunt, and a wail of despair all together, an ugly sound she couldn't ever have imagined she'd make. Lao was dislodged, one hand freed, and she brought it up, not in self defense, but to attack. Her nails found his one good eye, caught on flesh, dug into the softest tissues she could find and dragged through them, through eyelid and across eyeball, through cheekbone and the meat of his cheek.
He screamed, struck her with enough force that she wondered if he'd had knuckle dusters she hadn't seen.
Knuckle dusters… a weapon. She belatedly remembered the knife, looked up at the girl with the eye shadow.
The figure in the black cloak had the knife-wielding girl, the knife hand twisted behind the girl's back.
With a sharp, calculated motion, the arm was twisted a measure too far, the eye shadow girl jerked off balance so the weight of her body would only help twist it further. The girl screamed, dropping the knife, and she flopped to the ground, her arm gone limp, dangling from the shoulder at an angle that shouldn't have been possible.
The figure in black turned on Lao. She swept her cape to one side, and momentarily became a living shadow, a transparent blur.
When she returned to normal, her posture was different, and the knife had disappeared from the ground. It was in her hand.
Emma watched in numb horror and awe as the girl advanced on Lao, who crab-walked backward to get away. She closed the distance, stretched out one arm, and delivered a single scratch with the knife, cutting into Lao's right eye.
Other thugs had already fallen. The one who'd held her arm before she pulled it free was slumping over, unconscious. The woman who must have been standing next to Emma's father, was lying prone on the ground on the other side of the car, a pool of blood spreading beneath her.
That left only one, the thug who'd held Yan's left arm. He was on his feet in a moment, running, Emma's backpack in one hand, open, the contents from the glove compartment falling free. Useless, trivial items. A bag of candy, the driver's handbook. Things he'd taken only because he could.
The girl in the cloak was small, Emma noted. Younger. Again, the cloaked vigilante became a virtual living shadow, flung herself down the length of the alleyway, faster than the man was running. She moved past him, ducking low as she materialized into a normal form. The knife raked across the side of his knee, and he fell. He twisted as he hit the ground, kicked out with one leg, and caught the girl in the side of one knee. She tumbled landing on top of him.
The ensuing struggle was brief and one sided. He tried to grab his attacker, found only immaterial shadow. He turned over, getting on hands and knees to push himself to a standing position, but she moved faster, going solid as she loomed over him, one hand on the wall for balance. She tipped, let herself fall, and drove his face into the pavement with all the weight she could bring down on him.
A second later, the cloaked girl was holding one of his hands against a door just to his right. She used the stiletto to impale his hand to the wood, bent the blade until the handle snapped away.
"Emma," her father said. He was out of the car, embracing her. "Are you hurt? Emma?"
One hand absently tried to claw her own strands of hair from her mouth, failing to get all of them. She settled for leaving the hand mashed against her mouth, as incoherent a gesture as anything she might have said if she'd been able to speak.
Wordless, the girl in the black cloak limped a few steps away from the fallen boy before adopting her shadow form, floating away, untouchable.

This is the first time when I agreed with Shadow Stalker's actions (kicking these asian nazis's collective asses look so fucking good

), but she's still a huge bitch because she waited too much for Emma to fight back until she decided to play her little vigilante game. Emma is clearly traumatized by the whole horror she went through (I still don't feel pity for her but I can understand that this experience wasn't good at all for her mental state) and...I think I get the reason why Emma will start her bullying crusade against Taylor. Emma' spirit "died" during the day when she was attacked (she's now just an empty shell of the former Emma). She must sees herself a being weak because she didn't fight hard enough against her attackers. She must be jealous on Taylor because she was strong enough to overcome the terrible experience of losing her mother. She must hates herself for being so weak and hate Taylor for being so strong. Through constant bullying, she wants to make Taylor feels just as weak as she always feels. She's jealous because Taylor is strong and she's not (or she believes she isn't strong enough). While I understand that Emma have mental scars and she needs professional help and the support of her family (I'm glad that her sister and mother are so kind and supportive, they seem like nice people, unlike Emma and Alan

), I will never ever agree with her HORRIBLE CRUEL plan to make Taylor feels just like her. What she'll do to Taylor in the future is a crime no much different from what ABBs did to her. ABBs broke her spirit, she'll try (and be successful in some ways) to broke her best friend's spirit. A former victim attempting to turn someone into another victim. You have no fucking excuses, Emma, everything you'll do is just plain vile and disgusting :rage:

. Trauma is never an excuse to destroy someone (who never did anything to you) life.

"Emma?"

Emma stared at her bedroom ceiling. It was her sister's voice.
"I went to that store, got that shampoo you liked."
Emma turned over, pulling the covers tight, staring at the wall instead.
"I just thought a shower must sound pretty good right about now."
There were still scraps of paper stuck to the wall with blue tack, the corners of the posters she'd torn down in a fit of emotion. All the words in the English language, and there wasn't one for what she'd felt. Not anger, not fear, not resentment… some combination of those things that was duller, heavier, suffocating. The eyes of the boys from the posters had been too much.
"…Okay," her sister said, from the other side of the bedroom door. "We love you, Emma. You know that, right?"
Her mother spoke through the door, "Emma? Taylor's on the phone. She's still at summer camp. Do you-"
Emma sat up in bed, swung her legs around until they hung off the end of the bed.
"No." Her voice was a croak. How many days had it been since she spoke?
"If I explained, maybe she could-"
An image flashed across her mind's eye. Taylor, on the other end of the phone, laughing, blabbering on, happy, just before the incident.
The tables had turned.
"If you tell her, I'm never coming out," she croaked.
There wasn't a reply. Emma stood from the bed and approached the door. She could hear her mother on the other side.
"-doesn't want to talk to you right now. I'm sorry."
A pause.
"No. No, I don't."
Another pause, briefer.
"Bye, honey," Emma's mom said.
Floorboards creaked as her mother walked away.
"…a therapist. You could go alone, or we could go together."
She grit her teeth.
"I… I left her number by the phone. We're all going to be out. Your sister's at a thing related to the college dorms, a pre-moving in orientation. Your mom and I have work. You know our phone numbers, but I was thinking, uh."
A pause.
"If you were thinking of doing something drastic, and you didn't feel like you could talk to any of us, the therapist's number's there."
Emma hugged her knees. Her back pressed hard against the door, the bones of her spine grinding against the door's surface.
"I love you. We love you. The doors are all double locked, so you're safe, and there's food in the fridge. Your sister bought that stuff from the store you like. Soaps and shampoos."
Emma clutched the fabric of her pyjamas.
"It's been a week. You can't- you can't be happy like this. We won't be here to bother you, so warm yourself up some food, treat yourself to a nice bath, maybe, watch some television? Get things a step back to normal?"
She stood, abrupt, paced halfway across her bedroom, then stopped. Nowhere to go, nothing to do.
She stood there, staring at the wall with the torn corners of poster still stuck to it, fists clenched.
"Bye, honey."
She was rooted to the spot, staring at a blank surface, listening as her family went about their routines. There were murmurs of conversation as they got organized, orchestrated who was going in which car, what everyone was doing for lunch. Quieter fragments of conversation where they were discussing her.
The door slammed, and she heard the locks click, a sound so faint she might have imagined it.
It was only after everyone had left that she ventured out of her room.
Coffee. Cereal. She went through the motions, reheating a mug of the former and preparing the latter.
She hadn't finished either when she stood and ventured into the bathroom. She didn't touch the bag of expensive soaps and shampoos, instead using her father's regular shampoo. She soaped up with the bar soap, rinsed off, then stepped out of the shower to dry herself.
Once she was dressed, her hair still damp, she approached the front door, hesitated.
She pushed through, left it unlocked behind her. She couldn't shake the worry that if she stepped back inside to find keys, she might not be able to step through the threshold again.
Her teeth were chattering by the time she was at the end of the street, and it wasn't cold out.
Her thoughts were a chaotic jumble as she walked. Her stomach felt like a blob of gelatin, quivering with every step she took.
The stares were worst of all. As much as she tried to tell herself that she wasn't in the middle of a giant spotlight, that people didn't care, she couldn't shake the idea that they were watching her, analyzing her every move, noting her wet hair, noting the hunk of hair at the back that was shorter than the rest, crudely chopped off. Were they seeing her as a victim, someone so full of fear and anxiety that her every movement practically screamed 'easy target'?
Perhaps the dumbest insecurity of all was the worry that somehow they could read her mind, that they knew she was doing the dumbest thing she'd ever done.
Every step she took, the white noise of her fear consumed a bit of her rational mind.
She found herself back at the mouth of the narrow one-way road. The dumpster had been moved, the van was nowhere in sight.
This was different from feeling like a victim, because here, she knew she really was begging to be attacked. To loiter around in known gang territory, unarmed? It was senseless. This time, they might really carry through with their threats. All it would take was the wrong person seeing her.
Emma couldn't bring herself to care. She was scared, but she was scared every moment of every day, had been for the last seven days. Right now? She was more desperate than scared.
She'd hoped she would run into the girl in the black cloak. She wasn't so lucky. Her stomach started protesting that the half-bowl of cereal hadn't been enough, but she stayed where she was. She hadn't brought a wallet, a phone or watch, so she had no way of getting food, nor any idea of how long she was really waiting.
When the sun was directly overhead, she turned to leave.
There was no place to go. Home? It would be too easy to shut herself in her room, to hide from the world. There was nothing she wanted to do, nobody she wanted to talk to.
The world was an ugly place, filled with ugly scenes, and unlike before, she couldn't shut it out, couldn't shake the idea that something horrible was happening around every corner. Thousands of people suffering every second, around the world.
What got her, the nebulous idea that haunted her, was the impact those scenes had. There were so many defining moments, so many crises, big and small, that shaped the people they touched. The biggest and most critical moments were the sorts that wiped the slate clean, that ignored or invalidated the person who had existed before, only to create another.
Emma had fought in a moment of desperation, as if fighting could make her stronger than Taylor, set herself apart. Except she'd failed. It was unbearable. She hated herself.
Her eyes watched the crowd, searching for the people who were eyeing her, judging her. She couldn't find any obvious ones, but she couldn't shake the belief that they were there.
"Takes guts."
She could feel her heart leap into her throat, wheeling around, imagining the Asian girl with the eye shadow standing behind her.
It wasn't. The girl was dark-skinned, slender, with long, straight hair. She had a hard stare, penetrating.
"Guts?" Emma couldn't imagine any word less appropriate.
"Coming back. The only reason you'd do it is because you were looking for revenge, or you were looking for me. Or both, depending on how cracked you are."
Emma opened her mouth, then closed it. The realization hit her. This was the girl with the black cloak, announcing herself.
She asked the question she'd gone to such risk to pose to the girl, "Why… why did you wait? You saw me in trouble, but you didn't do a thing."
"Because I wanted to see who you were."
Before, Emma suspected she'd have been offended, aghast at the idea that this girl would leave her to suffer, leave her life at risk, just for an answer to a question. Now? Now she could almost understand it, oddly enough. "Who was I?"
"There's two people in the world. Those who get stronger when they come through a crisis and those who get weaker. The ones who get stronger naturally come out on top. There's ups and downs, but they'll win out."

Wrong, my dear bitch Sophia. The world is not composed of strong and weak people, because a lot of people can be strong and weak at the same time (depends of many experiences that influence their personality and mentality: for example, someone going through Emma's experience can be strong enough to overcome it but another similar experience, even though not so violent, might have further devastating effects on the same person). I wonder if Sophia wasn't a parahuman: she'd have still see herself as the strongest person with the power to beat anyone that she perceives as being weak? Or she'll be exactly the person that she hates the most, the one who'll never come out on top? She's strong because her power and her training make her strong , but take what makes her "strong" away from her and...what will remain behind? A non-powered but strong girl or a scared, crying mess of a person? Taylor was strong before getting her power, Taylor fought against enemies superior to her in many ways and still managed to defeat them, despite her power being almost useless against them. Taylor doesn't necessarily need her power to be so strong

. Sophia -without her power- will be still the Alpha, the Big Bad Wolf on top of everything? Sophia, you have such a twisted vision about the world. I mean, I have a pretty black and white morality myself (meaning good people should be cherished and protected and bad people should be punished- by fate, law, other people), but I can't agree with the way Sophia splits the world in its "weak" part and "strong" part. She thinks like an animal, not like a rational humans being. Only an animal will kill the the members of their species because they're considered as being too weak to survive by themselves in the wild (yes, there are mothers animals who kill their babies if they perceive them as being weak). You can't really blame animals for their actions because this is how they're wired to survive but you can blame humans who choose to act like animals (especially since humans are supposed to be some very evolved animals). Therefore, Sophia is nothing but a primitive animal trying and failing to act like a human.

"Who was I?" Emma asked, again.

"You're here, aren't you?" The girl smiled.
Emma didn't have an answer to that. She shut her mouth, all too aware of the people walking past them, going about their everyday lives, overhearing snippets of their conversation and yet failing to pick up anything essential.
"I want to be one of the stronger ones."
"I don't do the partner thing, or the team thing."
Emma nodded. She didn't have an answer ready.
The other girl's eyes studied her, and she seemed to come to a decision. "It's a philosophy, a way of looking at it all. You can look at the world as a… what's the word? One thing and another?"
"A binary?"
"A binary thing. But not black and white. It's about the divide of winners and losers. Strong and weak, predators and prey. I kind of like that last one, but I'm a hunter."
Emma thought back to how readily the girl had taken the thugs apart. "I can believe that."
The girl smiled. "And what you have to keep in mind, is the biggest question of all is one you're answering for yourself, right now. Survivor or victim?"
"What's the difference?"
"On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, it's the survivors who wind up the strongest ones of all."
Emma stood from the kitchen table, aware that her entire family was watching her.
It's all mental.
Three weeks ago, she might never have imagined that she'd be able to resume life as normal, to not be afraid.
Perhaps it was more correct to say that she was afraid, she just wasn't actingit. Faking it until she could make it the truth.
"You're going out?" her sister couldn't quite keep the note of suprise out of her voice.
"Sophia's dropping by," Emma said.
Just want to forget it happened, put it behind me. Move forward.
"Taylor got back from camp this morning," her mother said.
Emma paused. "Okay."
"She might stop by."
"Okay."
Emma couldn't resist hurrying a little as she collected her dishes and rinsed them in the sink.
"If she comes by when you're not here-"
"I'll talk to her," Emma said. "Don't worry about it."
She made her way to the front hall, stopped by the mirror to run a brush through her hair. It had all been cut to match the piece that had been cut shorter with the knife.
She couldn't wait for it to grow in, as that alone would erase just one more memory that reminded her of her moment of weakness and humiliation, of how close she'd come to dying or being mutilated. Until it did grow in, it was yet another reminder of all the ugliness she wanted to be able to look past.
Sophia was waiting outside by the time she had her shoes on.
"Heya, vigilante," Emma said, smiling.
"Heya, survivor."
She could see Taylor approaching, tan, still wearing the shirt from camp in the bright primary blue, with the logo, shorts and sandals. It only made her look more kiddish. Broomstick arms and legs, gawky, with a wide, guileless smile, her eyes just a fraction larger behind the glasses she wore, a little too old fashioned. Her long dark curls were tied into a loose set of twin braids, one bearing a series of colorful 'friendship braclet' style ties at the end. Only her height gave her age away.
She looks like she did years ago. Way before her mom died. Like she's nine, not thirteen.
"Who the fuck is that?" Sophia murmured.
Emma didn't reply. She watched as Taylor approached the gate at the front of the house, walked up the path to the stairs where she and Sophia stood.
"Emma!"
"Who the fuck are you?" Sophia asked.
Taylor's smile faltered. A brief look of confusion flickered across her face. "We're friends. Emma and I have been friends for a long time."
Sophia smirked. "Really."
Emma resisted the urge to cringe. Fake it until I make it.
"Really," Taylor echoed Sophia. The smallest furrow appeared between her eyebrows. "What's going on Emma? I haven't heard from you in a good while. Your mom said you weren't taking calls?"
Emma hesitated.
To just explain, to talk to Taylor…
Taylor would give her sympathy, would listen to everything she had to say, give an unbiased ear to every thought, every wondering and anxiety. Emma almost couldn't bear the idea.
But there would be friendship too. Support. It would be so easy to reach out and take it.
"I love the haircut," Taylor filled the silence, talking and smiling like she couldn't contain herself. "You manage to make any style look great."
Emma closed her eyes, taking a second to compose herself. Then she smiled back, though not so wide. She could feel Sophia's eyes on her.
She stepped down one stair to get closer to Taylor, put a hand on her shoulder. Taylor raised one arm to wrap Emma in a hug, stopped short when Emma's arm proved unyielding, stopping her from closing the distance.
"Go home, Taylor. I didn't ask you to come over."
She could see the smile fall from Taylor's face. Only a trace of it lingered, a faltering half-smile. "It's… it's never been a problem before. I'm sorry. I was just excited to see you, it's been weeks since we even talked."
"There's a reason for that. This was just an excuse to cut a cord I've been wanting to cut for a long time."
There it went. The last half smile, wiped from Taylor's expression. "I… what? Why?"
"Do you think it was fun? Spending time with you, this past year?" The words came too easily. Things she'd wanted to say, not the whole truth, but feelings she'd bottled up, held back. "I wanted to break off our friendship a long while back, even before your mom kicked the bucket, but I couldn't find the chance. Then you got that call, and you were so down in the dumps that I thought you'd hurt yourself if I told you the truth, and I didn't want to get saddled with that kind of guilt."
It was surprising how easily the words came. Half truths.
"So you lied to me, strung me along."
"You lied to yourself more than I lied to you."
"Fuck you," Taylor snapped back. She turned to leave, and Sophia stuck one foot out. Taylor didn't fall, but she stumbled, had to catch the gate for balance.
Taylor turned around, eyes wide, as if she could barely comprehend that Sophia had done what she'd done, that Emma had stood by and watched it.
Then she was gone, running.
"Feel better?" Sophia asked.
Better? No. Emma couldn't bring herself to feel guilty or ashamed, but… it didn't feel good.
That knot of negative emotion was tempered by a sense of profound relief. One less reminder of the old, weak, pathetic vain Emma, one more step towards the new.

I'm going to CONGRATULATE myself once I'll finish this Interlude because...its extremely hard for me to read for two reasons: I HATE Emma and Sophia so much it hurts and I don't find any single excuse for their actions and what Emma started to do to Taylor reminds me of what I went through (only that I didn't had a former best friend suddenly turning against me, just a bitch who saw herself as being superior to me- kind of like Sophia- and was angry because I studied well and our professors appreciated me more than her and decided to co-opt other bitches and make my high school life a living hell until I turned her pretty face into a bloody mess and broke one of her arms in many places. My parents found out about bullying only after the whole beating incident because I knew that if I'd have told my father that some bitches were bullying me, he'd have fucking killed them and I really didn't want my father to get in troubles for them. So, I'm a bit similar with Taylor here, both lied our fathers that our lives in high school were ok until they discovered the reality through various accidents

). But, enough about me, lets talk about what Emma is doing to Taylor. She rejects her because she doesn't want sympathy and pity from her (she believes that sympathy and pity are only for weak persons and she wants to be strong and see Sophia as the only one who can make her strong, a predator). She hates herself for being weak and hates Taylor because she unwillingly reminds her that she's weak. She sees Taylor as an obstacle in her way of becoming someone like Sophia. Poor, poor Taylor "hugs Taylor"

.

Emma's cell phone vibrated. She rose from her bed, suppressing a sigh.

As quiet as she could, she collected the tackle box from beneath her bed, dressed and headed downstairs.
Her father was at the kitchen table. His eyes went wide, and he stood.
She pressed her finger to her lips, and he stopped, his mouth open.
She hesitated, then spoke in a whisper, "I need your help. Please. Can- can you not ask any questions just yet?"
He hesitated, then nodded.
She handed him the keys, and climbed into the passenger seat.
He started up the car, then drove in the directions she dictated, her eyes on the phone.
They found themselves downtown, in the midst of a collection of bodies.
And in the center, leaning against a wall, Shadow Stalker was hunched over, using her hands to staunch a leg wound.
Emma bent down, opened the tackle box, and began gathering the first aid supplies.
Wordless, her father joined her.
We owe her this, at least.
"Give it back," Taylor's voice was quiet, but level.
"Give what back?"
"You guys broke into my locker. You took my flute. It's something my mom left me, something she used, that my dad gave to me so I could remember her. Just… if you've decided you hate me, if I said the wrong thing, or led you to believe something that wasn't true, okay. But don't do that to my mom. She was good to you. Don't disrespect her memory."
"If it was so valuable to you, then you shouldn't have brought it."
Taylor didn't speak for long seconds. "Can you blame me? Since school started, you've been… after me. As if you're trying to make a point or something. Except I don't know what it is."
"The point is that you're a loser."
Taylor wasn't able to keep the emotion off her face. "…Even if it's just a flute and a memory, maybe I wanted to feel like I had some backup here. I thought you were better than that, screwing with me on that level."
"I guess you're wrong," Emma replied. She let the words sit for a few seconds, then added, "Doesn't look like she's offering you any backup at all."
Emma had mused, back in the week she'd been reeling from her near-miss with death or disfigurement, that there were moments that changed destinies, that altered people's trajectories in life. Some were small, the changes minor, others large to the point they were irreversible. It was so easy, just to utter the words, and the reaction was so profound. A mixture of emotions that briefly stripped Taylor bare, revealed everything in a series of changing facial expressions.
She didn't enjoy it. Didn't revel in it. But it was… reassuring? The world made sense. Predators and prey. Attackers and victims.
It was like a drug, only she'd never experienced the high, the pure joy of it. There was only the withdrawal, the need for a hit just to get centered again.
Fight back, get angry, hit me.
Challenge me.
It took Taylor long seconds to get her mental footing. She met Emma's eyes, and then stared down at the ground. She mumbled her response. "I think that says a lot more about you than it does about me."
That wasn't what I meant, Emma thought.
She felt irrationally angry, annoyed, and couldn't put her finger on why.
It took her a minute to find Sophia, not helped by the fact that the two of them had classes on opposite sides of the building.
Sophia was putting coins into the vending machine. She looked up at Emma. "What?"
"Did you break into her locker?"
"Yeah."
"Stole a flute?"
"Yeah."
Emma paused for long seconds. To give the flute back, surreptitiously, it would go a ways towards breaking the rhythm, the cycle.
Taylor's words nettled her. To back down now, it would be a step towards the old Emma, the victim.
"Fuck with it. Do something disgusting to it, and make sure to wreck it so she can't use it ever again."
Sophia smiled.
"Do you hereby attest that all statements disclosed in this document are the truth, to the best of your knowledge?"
"I do," Emma's father spoke.
Emma reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. He glanced at her, and she mouthed the words, "Thank you."
There was a shuffling of papers at the other end of the long table. "We, the committee, have reviewed the documents, and agree that case one-six-three-one, Shadow Stalker, has met the necessary requirements. With stipulations to be named at a future date, specific to her powers and the charges previously laid against her, she is now a probationary member of the Wards, until such a time as she turns eighteen or violates the terms of this probationary status. Congratulations, Shadow Stalker."
"Thank you," Shadow Stalker's tone was subdued, her eyes directing a glare at the center of the table rather than anyone present.
Emma watched as the capes and official bigwigs around her got out of their chairs, fell into groups.
Dauntless approached her dad. She only caught two murmured words of Dauntless' question. "-divorce attorney?"
Shadow Stalker, for her part, stood and strode out of the room. Emma hurried to follow. By the time she reached the staircase,
Shadow Stalker was halfway to the roof.
"You're angry."
"Of course I'm angry. Stipulations, rules and regulations. I've had my powers for two and a half years and I've stopped more bad guys than half the capes in that room!"
Emma couldn't stop the memory from hitting her.
The man struggled, and as much as Shadow Stalker was able to make herself immaterial, to loosen any grip or free herself from any bonds, she didn't have the ability to tighten that same grip. He tipped backwards, off the edge of the roof, and a gesture meant to intimidate became manslaughter.
Shadow Stalker stared off the edge of the roof at the body, then turned to look at Emma.
"Is- is he?" Emma asked.
"Probably best if you don't come on patrol with me again."
"You have," Emma replied, snapping back to reality. How many have you 'stopped'?
"It's like putting a wolf among sheep and expecting it to bleat!"
"It's only three years. Better than prison."
"Three years and four months."
"Better than prison," Emma repeated herself.
"It is prison, fuck it!"
"It's like you said. Just… just fake it until you make it the truth, put away the lethal ammunition for a few years."
Shadow Stalker wheeled on her, stabbed a finger in her direction, "Fuck that."
Emma stared at her best friend, saw the look in Sophia's eyes, the anger, the hardness.
For a moment, she regretted the choice she'd made.
Then she had her head in order again, the little things she was faking contorted with reality until she couldn't tell the difference anymore.
People could convince themselves of anything, and there were worse things than convincing oneself that they were strong, capable, one of the ones on top, rather than one of the ones on the bottom.

So, Alan is responsible for Sophia becoming a Ward. He was Dauntless' divorce attorney and convinced Dauntless to make him a favor: help Sophia (Alan's daughter's new best friend) to become a "hero". Well, I don't blame any of these men, both of them had the best intentions in their minds (Alan to help his daughter's friend) and Dauntless to help a "lost sheep" to find her true calling, hoping that she'll become a better person one day. They didn't know how crazy and impossible to be changed Sophia was. Ok, now I remember about Dauntless' current fate and I feel so suddenly sad. He's still trapped in Bakuda's time bubble, right? I wonder if he's conscious there

(God, I hope not, because this fate is worse than death. Only some very bad people like S9 and Heartbreaker DESERVE this shit

) and he can observe what's going on around him but he can't react because he's trapped in time. And to think that he had the possibility to become as strong as any Triumvirate member, without having Cauldron's powers and being corrupted.... I pray that, one day, someone will find a way to break him out from his time prison because he was a true hero with a great power who deserve better and now I want to know more about him.
Emma, do you feel like a "strong" person now that you're messing with your former friend's life this? Are you happy with yourself? Are you proud of yourself now that the only purpose in your life seem to make yourself appear superior to Taylor just to impress your new friend, Sophia, with your "strength"? Nothing in this world can contain the many FUCKS I give you right now :rage:

. I'd beat you to a pulp if you were a real person and Taylor was my friend.

The door of the bathroom stall swung open. Sophia had flung one arm around Emma's shoulders, and Emma joined her in laughing.

To their right, the third member of their trio was giggling so hard she had hiccups.
Taylor kneeled in the middle of a massive puddle of juices and sodas, some of it still fizzing around her. She was drenched, head to toe, trickles still running off of the lengths of her hair. Her style of dress had changed over the past little while, in ways Taylor probably wasn't fully aware of. She wore darker clothes now, cloaked herself in sweatshirts and loose fitting jeans. Her long hair was a shield, a barrier around her face. All measures to hide, signals and gestures of defeat.
More than that, she'd changed in behavior, had stopped fighting back. She'd stopped reacting, for the most part. Her expression was impassive. It took some of the fun out of it. It was almost disappointing.
I'll have to think of a better one than this. Crack that facade, Emma thought. She smirked as Madison led the way out of the bathroom, and they left Taylor behind.
Taylor had become the archetypical victim, Emma mused, in one sober moment, as she parted ways with the other two girls, and I've found myself becoming the type of person who could genuinely laugh at something like this.
She dismissed the thought, shifting mental gears, re-establishing the construction of self confidence she'd built. It was a little easier every time she did it.
The fan on the other side of the room had a piece loose. It squeaked on every third rotation.
She examined her nails, picked at a fleck of something white that had stick to the end of one nail, then checked her cuticles.
The fan squeaked, and she turned her head, as if she could spot the offending flaw and fix it.
"You come all this way, and you don't have anything to say?" Sophia asked.
Emma shrugged. It was on our way.
"Say what's on your mind."
"It's all backwards, isn't it?"
"Backwards how?"
"Upside down, Turned around. Two wrongs make a right."
"What wrongs?" Sophia's voice was hard.
"Not you. Not your thing. That's not what I'm talking about. We're moving back to Brockton Bay. As in, it's in progress. Half our stuff's still back in Portland, half's in the Bay. We finally moved."
"Someplace nice?"
"Further north."
Sophia smirked.
"But that's why I'm saying it's all backwards. Things got flipped around. The north end is nicer, now. They're rebuilding, and it's all coming together. Downtown is the place that got hit hard. You've got three big areas you can't go, with the crater, the quarantine and the place I heard people calling the scar, where they did some bombing run with Bakuda's stuff. Construction's slower towards the south, because there's so much traffic and not a lot of roads."
"Huh."
"The bad guys are keeping the law, but things are better, and you talk to anyone, there's hope. I don't know how that happens, how you visit every tragedy imaginable on a place, drop a dozen different nightmare scenarios on it, and things get better. How does that work?"
"I don't really care," Shadow Stalker said.
"It's your city."
"The world ends in less than two years. I won't be out of here before then. I… what's the word? I reiterate, I don't really care."
"I'm trying to make conversation."
"You're doing a shitty job of it," Sophia replied.
Emma shut her mouth, stared at her friend.
"World ends in two years," Sophia added. "It's a joke, pretending like things are getting better, like there's hope. The world turns a few hundred more times and then it all ends."
Sour grapes?
"It's kind of neat in terms of the big picture," Emma said, ignoring Sophia. "It's like, the future hasn't looked this bright in a while. There's promise, if this rumor about an open interdimensional portal is for real. Multiple portals, if you believe the really out-there rumors. Escape routes, resources, work. And Brockton Bay is at the center of it all."
Sophia snorted.
"And, more than that, it's like, if we're talking about hope, about the future, who's more iconic for all that than kids? You know, that line about how kids are the future? Heroes too, they're icons of hope too. And put those things together, you get Arcadia High. Winslow High's gone, and there's not quite enough students, so they're herding us all together."
"So?"
"So, it's like, all this hope, you've got Brockton Bay at the center of it all. And at the center of Brockton Bay's hope, it's Arcadia High. And at the center ofthat? You've got the heroes and the winners. I fully intend to be the latter. In a way, it's like being queen of the world."
"The popular kid in high school?"
"In the high school," Emma said. She shrugged. "It's one way of looking at it."
"It's sad."
Emma smirked. "Someone's grumpy."
"It's sad because you're making a fool of yourself, you're missing a key detail."
"Which?"
Sophia shrugged. "Better if you find out for yourself. I won't spoon-feed you."
Emma rolled her eyes. Sophia was just toying with her head. Easy enough to ignore.
"I'm going to go. I'd say it's been a pleasure, but…"
Sophia caught the 'but'. "Bitch."
"Yeah. Def," Emma replied, before hanging up the phone. She stood from the stool that was bolted to the floor, stretched, then offered a small wave.
Sophia raised both hands together to offer a miniscule wave with her right. They were cuffed together, LEDs standing out on the cuffs, marking the live current.
Emma couldn't tell herself she'd be back. To stick around and be loyal now would betray every reason she'd given herself for dropping Taylor as a friend. Taylor had been a wet blanket, a loser. Sophia was no better, now.
It was ironic, but Sophia had proven herself to be more prey than predator, in the very philosophy she'd espoused.
"Hey dad?"
Her dad turned his head to acknowledge her, while keeping his eyes on the road. "What is it?"
"Mind making a detour? I wouldn't mind seeing Taylor's house."
"I thought you weren't friends anymore."
Emma shook her head. "I'm… trying to put it all into perspective. It's really changed, and it's easiest to get my head around the changes if I can look at the familiar places, and her house is pretty familiar."
"Sure. If nobody else minds?"
There were no objections from her mom or sister.
The city had always had its highs and lows, its peaks and valleys, but it seemed it was an even starker contrast now. She'd commented, once, that for any one house, she could find three things wrong with it. It had been flipped around, in its own way.
For every ten houses, there was one ruin, a dilapidated structure or pile of wreckage. For every ten stretches of road that were intact, there was one that a car couldn't pass over.
They turned off Lord Street, onto the street that Taylor's house was on.
As they approached, Emma could see Taylor helping her dad unload a box from what looked to be a new or newly washed car. He said something and she laughed.
The casual display of emotion was startling. It was equally startling when, in the moment Emma's dad slowed the car down, Taylor's head turned, her eyes falling on them, her head and upper body turning to follow them as they passed.
She didn't even resemble the person Emma had known way back then, not the girl who'd approached her house after coming back from camp, and not the girl who'd been drenched in juice. The lines of her cheekbones and chin were more defined, her skin baked to a light tan by the sun, her long black curls grown a touch wild by long exposure to wind. Light muscles stood out on her arms as she held a box, her dad standing back to direct.
Even her clothes. She wasn't hiding under a hood and long sleeves. A trace of her stomach was exposed between the bottom of her yellow tank top and the top of her jeans. The frayed cuffs were rolled up at the bottom, around new running shoes, and neither Taylor nor her dad seemed to be paying any attention to the knife that was sheathed at her back.
It surprised Emma, all the little clues coming together to point to one fact; that Taylor had stayed. She'd stayed, and she'd come out of it okay. Judging by the new car, the shoes and her clothes, the Heberts were doing better for money than they had been the last time Emma had run into either of them. Were they early beneficiaries of Brockton Bay's upswing in fortune?
It unsettled her, and she had a hard time putting her finger on why.
It didn't hit her until they'd reached their new house, a recollection of something Sophia had said.
On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, it's the survivors who wind up the strongest ones of all.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURN

This is a very satisfactorily ending for such a hard to read and liveblog (for me at least) Interlude. Both bitches were BURNED

. Sophia by her "best friend", Emma, who turned her back at her because she became weak (now that she's in detention). Sophia should have expected that a traitor capable to destroy her best friend's life only because she wanted to feel strong will always remain a traitor at her core, unable to keep a friendship with anyone. The second burned: Emma herself, when she realized that Taylor was always strong and now she's even more stronger than before while Emma tried so hard to be strong, but she was always weak in more senses of the word

. Emma lived a beautiful illusion of strength while Taylor lived the reality of it.
Emma, you're the supreme loser of this story

. Enjoy your loneliness and bitterness and I hope that this is the first and the last Interlude from your POV.
Yay, Danny have his daughter back at home

. I'm sure she'll not stay there for too long but its good to see that they're together again. Danny is the best father and they have the best father/daughter relationship, despite the numerous obstacles (all of them generated by Taylor) in its way

.

Good night and sleep well, my friends. I think I deserve to be congratulated for surviving this Interlude until its end. I'm a fucking "strong" person.

rafuki22 · Jan 4, 2019

ImperatorV · Jan 4, 2019

Oh hey, you've almost made it to my favorite part of Worm. It'll be within the next few chapters.

DataSnake · Jan 4, 2019

blackarrow said:
I wonder if Sophia wasn't a parahuman: she'd have still see herself as the strongest person with the power to beat anyone that she perceives as being weak? Or she'll be exactly the person that she hates the most, the one who'll never come out on top?

Even with her power, she didn't exactly come out on top. I doubt she felt very strong when Regent had her standing on a chair with a noose around her neck.

GL2814 · Jan 5, 2019

Honestly I didn't even remember wtf happened to Dauntless at this point, I only remembered after reading your commentary, makes me wonder what would happen with his powers if he ever comes out.

blackarrow · Jan 5, 2019

GL2814 said:
Honestly I didn't even remember wtf happened to Dauntless at this point, I only remembered after reading your commentary, makes me wonder what would happen with his powers if he ever comes out.

Well, I have a pretty good memory. I also remember that Alabastar, a nazi, is in the same time bubble as Dauntless

. Now that I'm thinking better at the possibility of Dauntless being ever released from time bubble, there might be positive or negative consequences. Positive: if he's entirely frozen in time- including his mind+ Passenger, then when he'll be released, he'll act normal, like nothing happened, the only think he'll remember will be that Leviathan pushed him in time bubble. Nothing to worry about, he'll return back to his heroic duties. If his mind is frozen in time, but his Passenger is free, it will continue to make his power stronger, because this is what Passengers are doing their best, and when he'll be released, maybe he'll be as strong as Alexandria or Eidolon already. But still will not remember anything (unless his Passenger will be an asshole and make him remember all the time he was trapped) and work further as a hero, a Triumvirate level hero

.
But there can be also negative consequences: if his mind (plus Passenger) is not frozen in time, he'll actually be aware of being trapped in time and he might go crazy with loneliness, boredom, desperation, sadness, depression. Nothing is worse than mental torture. When he'll be released (depends how much time will pass), he'll be Triumvirate level powerful but also crazy and extremely unstable. If a hero is so powerful yet so unstable, he can go one way or another: either give up at his heroic purposes, thinking that the whole hero activity only brought him misery and failure and is much more better if he'll become a supervillain whose purpose will be to bring misery and suffering to others, to make them suffer as much as he suffered (kind of like what Emma did to Taylor only at a larger scale in Dauntless case- possible the whole humanity scale) OR to become an extreme well-meaning extremist, someone like: "I might be an insane hero, but there's so much evil on this world and I have to protect the good people from evil. I can't fight against every single evil person because they'll never stop coming and I must destroy the evil entirely as quickly as possible. The only way to destroy the whole evil is to destroy...the whole world. Yes, I'll sacrifice billions of innocents and leave few survivors behind but the whole evil will be expunged and maybe the next generations will understand the consequences of being evil and will act differently. " Imagine someone who can enhance his spear with enough power to use it as a freaking Gungnir (Odin's spear that is as powerful as Mjolnir, Thor's hammer) or his armor and shield, making them virtually invincible, going all crazy murderous over the whole world

.
Now that I think, Dauntless is such a minor hero with a possible big potential in the future if Wildbow will decide to pay attention to him.

Leila Hann · Jan 5, 2019

Ah, the fall of the Heathers.

Except Madison I guess, but she never really existed all that much.

KnownParadox · Jan 5, 2019

blackarrow said:
I wonder if he's conscious there (God, I hope not, because this fate is worse than death. Only some very bad people like S9 and Heartbreaker DESERVE this shit ) and he can observe what's going on around him but he can't react because he's trapped in time. And to think that he had the possibility to become as strong as any Triumvirate member, without having Cauldron's powers and being corrupted....

Considering he's frozen in time I doubt he noticed at all, more likely is that all noticed was after getting thrown by Leviathan, things suddenly getting a bit slow, a blink, and then suddenly it looks like he's somewhere else.

Also, for his powers, this might be fanon, but I think Dauntless' power were getting diminishing returns? Once he upgraded enough he noticed his boosts to an item were getting a bit weaker, and the time after that, just a but weaker, and so on. And then on an other item started reaching that threshold, and so on.

blackarrow · Jan 6, 2019

Hello, my friends. Last time, there was one of the most unpleasant Interlude I had the horror to read. Emma Interlude, other commentaries are completely useless. One of the few good things about the Interlude (besides Wildbow's innate talent at writing and creating some memorable scenes) was the ending

. The best ending after such a long time. An ending where everyone got exactly what they deserved, everyone laid down on the beds they made

.
EMMA

SOPHIA

TAYLOR

Now I'd like to read something like a Scrapped Interlude. An Interlude that Wildbow (or his readers) rejected for some reasons. Thank you for this recommendation, guys, but I'm going to warn you: if this is another Emma or Sophia's Interlude, I'm gonna all Imp on you

. You won't like to have a ninja poltergeist trashing your house for a couple of days. So, don't say that I didn't warned you. If I don't like this Interlude, I'm still going to make a sacrifice and read it entirely, you know, but your HOUSE will be destroyed by something that not even the best exorcist will be able to send away. Btw, my friend was completely puzzled when I told her about the rejected Interlude. She never heard about it. The WTF moment when I know a little more about a story than someone who finished reading it :lol. So, let's stop wasting precious time and start doing what we know the best. LIVEBLOG https://docs.google.com/document/d/1MznMFv4_PT1ApGgCf6B2E6CD8lNWTvERisWXUJ45c9w/edit?pli=1

Concrete and soil was still settling around them. Echidna's legs buckled beneath the weight of the collapsing ceiling, but she held firm.

Deep breath. Focus. Have to survive.
That she had a sense of self preservation surprised her.
There wasn't much light; barely any, with only one set of lights at the far end of the underground complex still intact. It made it nearly impossible to figure out how the ceiling might fall. She could only trust in luck and use the sole piece of shelter available: the gap beneath Echidna's massive bulk.
Her hands and feet slipped on the vomit-slick concrete floor as she scrabbled to reach the only place that was even remotely safe in the midst of the collapsing building. There was too much weight on her head, and on one shoulder, causing her to stumble and sprawl when she tried to stand. At points, she had to let her head drag on the ground as she tried to crawl forward.
Coil set the charges around the perimeter, and on the building above. We're roughly twenty feet below ground. The question is whether the weight of the construction will overcome the integrity of the ground above and the intact walls around us.
It probably will, she realized.
She was forced to lay in the vomit as more of the ceiling fell and Echidna's body was pushed closer to the ground by the burden. Echidna bore down, mere inches above her. The lights crashed to the ground, and the entire underground complex was plunged into absolute darkness.
She could feel grit covering her hand, pulled it back. Soil and dirt would be flowing through cracks, she knew, and even the slightest movements on Echidna's part were opening up more gaps. A thousand trickles of grit, like the sand flowing through a thousand hourglasses, piling in heaps that each slowly grew.
"Do something," Echidna growled, and the base rumble of her voice caused more ground to shift around her, with concrete buckling and cracking under weight and more grit flowing down with the faintest hissing sounds.
Is she talking to me?
Nobody else was responding, so she opened her mouth to speak. Her face was gnarled, her lips refusing to move. It took her two tries before she could make the right sounds, rolling the sounds around her mouth until she found the right one. "Y-yer talking to me?"
"Any of you," Echidna growled. More ground settled around her.
A voice, from some place further away. Female.
"I won't let it end like this," Echidna rumbled.
"C-can't help. I'm- I'm useless here. C-can't really move. Head too big."
Echidna growled in annoyance.
Again, that other voice nearby, muffled by the intervening terrain.
And a third voice. Male.
"Yes," Echidna replied.
There was a sensation, wet and oily, followed by the thought, I'm going to drown now. Except it wasn't liquid. It was darkness.
The sensation passed, and the Grue materialized beneath Echidna, a step away. He looked down. "Tattletale."
"H-hi."
She only had the real Tattletale in her mouth for a moment, spat her out, with a wad of vomit. Held me inside her mouth. It's why I'm this warped. I baked too long.

Oh...OH....OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH...........This is....Tattletale clone Interlude

. Ok, this Interlude about an evil Tattletale got rejected. Now, either Wildbow didn't liked the execution or people didn't wanted to hear about the possibility of an evil Tattletale (even if is not real Tattletale but one of Echidna's clones). Alright, now I'm curious as shit. Everything about Tattletale- any kind of Tattletale- is something that deserve to be read and analyzed

. So, Echidna was still buried under Coil's base, along with her clones, and Evil Tattletale is one of the clones (no tags so I don't know her codename). Its a huge possibility to see how Vista survived, because she must be buried too. And Shatterbird...she must be with them. Anyone else? I don't remember. Ok, I'm trying to imagine how Evil Tattletale will behave: she should be the smartest clone, like an Einstein compared with all other clones (just like original Tattletale is like an Einstein compared with many

), she should use the information to manipulate people, to turn them against each other, to bully them until they get desperate enough and commit suicide, isn't necessary to use brute force, all she should do is to say few words and the world will be in fire. She'll be like the biggest bully of all time, making Emma and Sophia eat their hearts out because they were such amateurs compared with a professional like Evil Tattletale

. Yes, I can see this clone acting exactly how original Tattletale would gave acted if she was evil (not a villain with a good heart like she's now, but a villain with an evil heart). I'm sure she'll be terrible annoying and I'll end up hating her. Quite amazing that despite Tattletale being my favorite character, her clone will be possible the clone that I'm going to hate the most. Btw, I think I found a good codename for her: Backbiter. Yep, I'm gonna call her like this

.

"Can't take you. Have to take her, and that's going to be hard."

Take Echidna. "I g-get it."
She couldn't quite explain why. It just… it made a kind of sense. Do the most damage possible. Maybe if they left Echidna behind, they could get away, find another way to get at the others.
God, she could imagine it. Just thinking about it made her adrenaline surge, gave her that thrill that came with facing down any major threat. Beating the real Tattletale in a game of wits? It was delicious on so many levels. To know how it would nettle the girl, even break her, depending on the degree of the win, while she could simultaneously enjoy the victory?
She'd make the real Tattletale suffer for her stupidity, her hypocrisy, she'd pluck out the girl's eyes and puncture her eardrums, bite off her fingers before amputating her arms and legs. She'd leave the girl numb to the world, struggling, striving to take in information, slowly going mad.
And when she was done with her alter-ego, she could go after the other Undersiders. Slowly, surely, systematically break them. Then she could destroy this fucking depressing city. The world. All the worlds.
Get the right information, reveal the critical details at the right moment… she wasn't quite the Simurgh, but there was room for one or two glorious plays before it all came crashing down and they stopped her.
Except there was no guarantee they'd get away. Too many forces arrayed against them. Echidna had more offensive potential, Echidna was the horse to bet on.
She'd settle for letting Echidna do the damage. Live vicariously through the monster.
She heard the woman's voice again, speaking to Echidna.
"Wait," Echidna rumbled. "Wait as long as you can. Do it now, they recover before I can act-"
More ground shifted. Something heavy slid down towards the pair that were beneath Echidna. The Tattletale-clone had to crab-walk back to avoid having her legs crushed.
"I'm angry," the Grue-clone said. "Uneasy. Like I need to hit things. Hurt people until my hands are raw. Gotta get out of here."
The Tattletale clone exhaled slowly. She didn't quite feel like that. She felt oddly calm, given the circumstances.
The four humors, she thought. It wasn't quite right, an abstraction, but it made sense that they would gravitate towards certain extremes in behavior. If the Grue was choleric in nature, she was phlegmatic. He was driven to action, she was patient.
A step away from their usual natures, and not in a bad way. It might even make them more effective, for their individual roles.
"B-before you g-go," she said, "B-bring me the other one."
"What?"
"T-t-the one she's t-talking to. Or t-take me to her, if the c-cei… ceiling's less likely to f-fall on my head over there."
His power enveloped her, and then passed. She hadn't moved.
For a second, she thought that he might have left her, but he would have taken Echidna, and that would mean the roof would collapse.
"What?" the woman asked.
Inflection, arrogance; Shatterbird.
"T-there isn't much g-g-glass here, but there's dirt. Some s-sand. S-s-" Silicon was too hard to pronounce. "S-stuff there."
"What of it?"
"E-e-…" the Tattletale clone shut her eyes. The name was too hard to pronounce.
"M-monster girl is leaving, and when she d-does, we d-die. U-un-"
"Stop," Shattebird cut her off. "It's painful to listen to you. You want me to save you?"
"S-save us, yes."
"If I save you, it'll be by accident."
"Re-reinforce it."
She couldn't see it, not in the absolute darkness, but she could hear the shifting sand. Silicon made up so much of the ground around them, and Shatterbird was collecting all of the available material in the area, moving it to where she could use it.
"T-triangles, or s-s-… domes," she said. She'd picked up enough information here and there to have a grasp of basic architecture. Pyramids and spheres were the strongest shapes.
"I know what I'm doing," Shatterbird answered her. "Shut up."
"Going now," the Grue-clone spoke.
"C-catch them off guard," she said.
"Yeah."
"And g-g-give-"
And he was gone, taking Echidna with him.
The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the resulting chaos. "-em hell."
The ground shook to the point that she had to clench her teeth to keep from biting her tongue.
Dust and dirt blasted across her face and over her naked body, so violent and forceful that she could imagine it penetrating her skin.
Devastating crashes, groans, vibrations; slabs of concrete falling, some twenty or fifty feet across.
Dirt fell on her face, and she coughed, but she wasn't crushed. Slowly but surely, the sounds died down, and everything settled around them.
She raised her head a little, and felt the ponderous weight on top, jiggling like a cheap dessert.
"Huh," she spoke.
Echo, acoustics, lack of further settling; in some kind of container. Shatterbird-made bubble or vault.
"I'm going to kill you now," Shatterbird spoke. "Trying to decide between making it slow and enjoying myself in my last hours, or making it fast and leaving myself with more air."
"O-or, you could k-kill yourself," the clone responded.
"What?"
She did a read on Shatterbird, using the most basic information she had.
Arrogant, powerful, performs city-wide attacks with each arrival at a major population center; reputation driven.
Reputation driven, proud, cultured; desires legacy.
The information was in her head as fast as she'd looked for it, drawn together from a half-dozen disparate pieces of information. "Y-you dont' want people to re-remember you like this."
"What?"
Repeating herself, monosyllabic responses, confused; tired, worn out, exhausted from stress of days of containment and enslavement.
Easier to manipulate.
"Y-you kill me, I die th-thinking that you go down like- like a wimp. C-crying, wailing. Y-you v-vomit and sh-shit yourself and scream like a b-baby after I-I'm gone. Last person to see you alive."

Great. Last Interlude was about two bitches who pissed me off, this Interlude is about two psycho bitches who already piss me off

. LUCKY ME. Backbiter is such a repulsive clone. Exactly how I imagined her, she's a manipulator and a bully, playing with Shatterbird like the glassbender soprano psycho is her personal toy. I hate Shatterbird so much but I still don't like the bullying. Just kill her already, if you can, Backbiter, stop being a bully. I'm sure that Backbiter just want to distract Shatterbird's attention so she can find a way to kill the cultured bitch before the cultured bitch will kill her. She's just stalling for time. I like how she described everything that I already know about Shatterbird: an arrogant and educated psycho who can't bear the thought that she can be weak in front of someone, even if that person is just a clone. Backbiter is convinced (and now I'm convinced too) that Shatterbird will not kill her because she doesn't want her last victim to see her as someone who can't fight anymore because she already lost everything- she's trapped with no escape and she might have few hours left to live. Backbiter hit Shatterbird in all her weak points with a demoniacal skillfulness. Well, Shatterbird, you're fucked

. And I enjoy a lot seeing you so fucked (but I still hate Backbiter's bullying warfare).

"I wouldn't."

"I- I have powers. I can r-read you. I know the s-stress you've been under. Ens-enslaved. Can't blame you, if you're emotionally vulnerable."
"Do I sound like I'm about to break down?"
Shorter sentences served two ends. They made it easier to form the sounds she wanted to make, and they had more impact. "Doesn't m-matter. There's no dignified end. Covered in dirt, squashed by concrete. Or suffocate, capillaries burst. Face swells. Lips turn blue. Instincts take over. Scrape your fingernails against floor until there's trails of blood. Further along you go, worse it gets. Less and less control. Wait hours, days, get d-d-dehy-dehydrated. Hallucinate."
"You're Tattletale," Shatterbird spoke her realization aloud.
"Close," the clone replied.
"Then you should know, nearly-Tattletale, that I've spent too long in the company of monsters to be scared by words."
Interrupting, carefully constructed sentence; bravado, bluff, distraction. Scared.
It's working.
"Th-then ig-ignore me. You- you'll be dehydrated, hungry, slowly go crazy. Worse, here, you can-can't stop to sleep. Have to use your power, keep the barrier up. Force yourself awake, so you don't slip."
"I think I'll kill you after all."
"And when you die, you die in an uh-ugly way. You shit yourself. They dig you up, you're squashed, your- your ass covered in feces."
Talking's getting easier. Getting used to this mouth.
Shatterbird shifted position, with a scraping sound as the innumerable glass shards that made up her costume were dragged against the floor beneath them. "It's not quite killing a real Undersider, but I'll settle for murdering a bad copy."
"And die alone, going cuh-crazy for lack of sleep and water, covered in shit and puke, mewling like a small ch-child!" The clone's voice became a growl, a shout.
"It won't come to that."
"Su-suicide? Seppuku? All the same in the end. A dirty body sitting in the dark, ass crusted in dried s-shit. The bird dies underground, and the people who dig you up l-laugh. Laugh at how the mi-mighty Shatterbird has f-fallen."
"As opposed to?"
Changing her mind; more leverage.
"W-waiting. I-imagine this. Imagine if they dig here, to m-make sure there were no survivors. And they find you here, sitting cross-legged, serene in death, inside this glass case. And me, on the ground, broken, disgusting, panicked, covered in shit and blood. It's about con-contrasts, it's memorable. Photos, news."
"It's about me outlasting you, you mean."
"They'd talk about you after, 're-remember Shatterbird?'. Clips on TV about the damage you caused. All the people you killed and injured. Cheering, of course. Hate. But you'd be remembered. Not as a la-laughingstock, but as something more- more than human. Your team would hear about it, remember you."
"They were a means to an end."
"This- this is the end, Shatterbird," the clone said. "No escape. It's a question of how you want to go."
"This is a ploy."
Statement, attitude, tone; she knows.
"Yes." It didn't hurt to say it aloud.
"But you can't escape any more than I could. You're buying time."
"Yes. B-buying safety, too. You hurt me, you're cheating, and we both know it's b-because you were losing."
"Not making any promises on that front. I'm doing this because the amusement of a game is more valuable than the lost air. And you aren't entirely wrong. It does make for an interesting image. A dignified end? I'll take the offer."
You have to take the offer, the clone mused.
"G-good," the clone responded. She shifted position, managed to get herself seated opposite Shatterbird.
Doesn't deny that the supports will stand if she dies, tone, attitude, language; I can kill her and I won't be committing suicide at the same time.
The clone smiled. Just a matter of waiting, now, finding an opportunity.

So, Backbiter have Shatterbird wrapped around her little finger. She defeated her using her best weapon: WORDS. Shatterbird can't react because she's too afraid of what people will say when they'll discover her body. She hates to be seen covered in fences and vomit, she'd rather prefer to have the most dignified death, because she always liked to be praised for every single action, she's so arrogant and obsessed with herself that she obeyed Jack only because he praised her methods of killing people. Backbiter is merciless with her bullying, shattering Shatterbird's mind and spirit with the grim depiction of the future and letting her unable to do anything but obey to the clone of someone she hates

. I think that Backbiter is satisfied to see someone so prideful and arrogant like Shatterbird obeying her just because she doesn't want to look less prideful and dignified. Her pride is her own downfall. I also noticed that Backbiter is sadistic as fuck: she'd love to torture Tattletale and the other Undersiders but she's much better at taking someone apart not with sharp objects, but with sharp mind games. Now I realize how lucky the world was with Tattletale not being evil

. A simple clone of hers is so close to kill one of the oldest and best S9 members by herself, without any weapons, imagine what Tattletale would do with her money and power. I'm not sure I'd like to imagine.

"From one trap to another," Shatterbird's voice broke the silence.

Thinning air, pace of water droplets falling; forty-three minutes since we last spoke to each other.
That Shatterbird had spoken first was another small victory for the clone.
"From en-enslavement to a cage," the clone replied.
"To be buried alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality," Shatterbird quoted.
"Terrific," the Tattletale-clone echoed.
"It's Poe."
Poe, buried alive; The Premature Burial.
"The Premature Burial, I know," the clone responded. She'd been working her lips in the silence, her speech had maybe improved. It still needed concentration, and would lapse if that concentration faltered.
"Clever little abomination."
The clone smiled. I've been pondering how I'll take you apart, she thought. Mentally, physically. I'm going to break you, and I'll savor it.
"So much pride placed on culture and kn-knowledge of classical literature," the Tattletale-clone spoke.
"It's what sets us apart from the animals."
"Says the f-feral lunatic who dresses up like a bird."
"Irony, little grotesque. Look it up. I was wondering when the head games would start."
"A-and you're eager to prove you're made of sterner stuff."
"That's not in question."
Hate arrogant people. Just like Daddy. I'll tear you apart. Break you, reduce you to a shadow of your former self, a craven animal, lapping the sand and grime from my feet in mere hopes that I'd give you some mercy.
"Breathing hard. You aren't hurt, are you?" The question was more interested than empathetic. She didn't need her power to note the barely restrained excitement.
The clone ignored her. Where are you from?
Sadistic, cultured, Middle Eastern, values appearance, values appearances; private school. Wealthy parents.
Birds of a feather, aren't we?
"How does one get from a fancy p-private school to this?" the clone asked.
"Non-sequitur, that."
"N-no injuries to d-describe so you can get off on them. Might as well ch-change the topic."
"And get information you can use against me?"
"Y-you scared?"
Shatterbird scoffed. After long seconds, she said, "My father was a powerful man in the United Arab Emirates-"
United Arab Emirates; Dubai.
"-and a man of his stature has enemies."
"Of c-course."
"He had no less than four bodyguards with him at all times. Two bodyguards for his two daughters. We were easier to get to, for someone who wanted to hurt him."
"T-trigger event? No."
"No. I've heard bits and pieces, here and there, since it happened. It was confusing at first, but I came to understand as I learned more about how they operate. Cauldron."
"I know of them."
"Powers for sale, in liquid form. Take a drink, and you get something that would otherwise require a trigger event to achieve. Only I didn't ask for it. My father didn't pay for it. I think the attackers heard that there was a high chance of mutations. They gamed the system, asked for powers with a high chance of physical deformities, but they didn't want to use the stuff themselves. They gave it to the daughter of their enemy, no doubt thinking that their best case scenario was that I'd become a freak, and at the very worst it would interfere with my father's politics."
"B-but you used your powers."
"Kaboom," Shatterbird spoke, the word barely more than a whisper. "They did kill my dad, after all. And my sister. My mother. They gravely injured my cousins and killed most of my friends. They died, too, the ones who slipped it into my drink. I'm almost positive. Lots of sand. Lots of glass. A mercy, I suppose. I would have made it slow. I would have inflicted the worst kind of agony with my power."
There's an idea. I could make you eat glass. Grind it fine, fill your belly. Let it tear you up inside.
There was a scratching nearby. Not Shatterbird. The Tattletale-clone shifted position to help obscure the noise so it wouldn't reach Shatterbird, while moving closer to the source.
Scratching, rhythm; digging.
Someone or something was scraping away at the earth nearby, getting closer.
Shatterbird laughed. "There's only two ways to recover from something of that magnitude, to deal with the fact that you inadvertently killed thousands and thousands of people, and hospitalized twice that many. You break, or you become it."
"And y-y-you became it, didn't you?"
"Six months of fighting the heroes that came after me. They're more military than police, where I came from. Harder, if not necessarily stronger. Went to London, because I wanted to hit a big target, and I was well instructed in my English-"
Too many details, excuses, unnecessary justification; Lie.
"You r-ran," the clone cut in.
A pause; she's nettled, mildly irritated.
"I left because it was uncomfortable. The sand sings, you have to understand. A dull roar, like radio static. And sand has a way of getting everywhere."
She can hear the sand; she's aware of the digging; she's suspicious I know she knows.
It was a question of whether she could get to Shatterbird before the third party entered the scene. Shatterbird had firepower, the digger had a possible escape route.
I'm the only one without leverage.
She'd have to manufacture it.
"For s-someone who prides themselves on c-culture and civility, you are fond of the b-brute force approach."
"I don't expect a bad xerox of a pathetic villain to understand."
"T-that sounds to me like you're deflecting. Y-you don't have an answer to that."
"Of course I do," Shatterbird retorted, her voice sharp. "It's power. It's not about the brute force, it's the psychological effect. It's about leaving a lasting impression, making an impact that reaches through your victims to affect their loved ones. An effect that ripples outward, resounding."
Tone, speech pattern, phrasing; parroted words.
"That's J-Jack's ideology, not yours."
"You're only showing how little you understand, mockery."
Insults, intensity of speech; she's covering up an uncertainty even she isn't fully aware of.
Shatterbird continued without pausing, "We're of like minds, Jack and I."
There.
Use of Jack's first name rather than full name; familiarity.
Familiarity coupled with respect for Jack; attraction and fondness.
Fondness, respect, familiarity, nothing further; reticence. Never made advance.
Never made advance; fear, disinterest in romantic relationship, too messy, to prone to drama. Justified lack of romantic approach with excuses.
"Y-you say that like you were a pair."
"We were."
"D-don't pretend. H-he looked down on you. He humored you."

Tattletale is the best character and Backbiter is the scariest clone. Shatterbird doesn't have any idea how much this close is playing with her. She'll either end up killing herself or she'll be killed by the mysterious digger (who'll be manipulated by Backbiter to kill her, of course). What if the mysterious digger is...Vista? Yes, must be her, the other clones are gone with their "mother" and I'm not aware of another parahuman buried there, except for Vista. Anyway, Shatterbird's backstory was tragic, I feel sorry for Past Shatterbird

(in my opinion the second most tragic backstory of a S9 member after Mannequin's story). She accidentally killed her family and friends right after she got her power, because she couldn't control them properly. And only because some huge fuckers decided to ruin her father's life

. Huge INCREDIBLE STUPID fuckers, so stupid that they killed themselves in the process. They're like: lets give this bitch powers so she'll turn into a monster....HAHAHAHAHA, we're so smart and inventive...."after some time".....fuck, we gave this bitch some strong powers instead and now...BOOOOOOHOOOOOOO, we're fucked.....The lesson of this story: STUPIDITY KILLS!

Why they didn't choose the easiest way, like mutilating her face in a way that not even dozens of plastic surgeries will be enough to fix it, is beyond my power to understand. Anyway, Shatterbird got her powers and instead of becoming a second Sveta, who killed people accidentally but who also wants to control her powers so she will stop killing more people, Shatterbird became a full fledged psycho, enjoying torturing and killing people. She's like the evil and crazy version of Sveta and for this reason alone, she fucking deserve to die. I feel sorry for past Shatterbird but I hate present Shatterbird and her life choices so much that I'd love nothing more than to see her being BURIED ALIVE. This bitch almost killed Danny. Fuck her. Backbiter is so damn right about Jack never respecting Shatterbird. For him she was just a tool in his hands to be used and discarded when she stopped being useful. Just like the dirty sand and the broken glass are for her. Tools and nothing else

.

"I'm now giving serious consideration to executing you."

"D-did I s-s-strike a nerve, Sh-shitbird? K-kill me then."
You won't, the clone thought. It'd give evidence that what I was saying affected you.
Shatterbird didn't attack. The clone smiled. I'm winning. I'm wearing you down. Just have to do it carefully, so you don't kill me in that moment you snap. You're tired, you've been a captive, you're desperate. Need a few more burdens, a little more damage to critical areas, and we submerge this sinking ship.
"You t-thought of yourself as su-superior. P-p-past, present, future, you had a hand in everything. You were the group's m-major recruiter, you were the one who h-h-heralded the arrival in any city, and always, your f-focus was on the legacy. Being remembered, being one of the o-ones who was remembered."
Every sentence, it was another small advantage, another nail in the coffin. For so many others, this kind of taunting would only create more risk, provoke a lashing out. But Shatterbird was used to restraining herself. Used to holding back. The angrier she got, the less she was able to act. It would mean acknowledging her more brutal side, accepting that she was a base killer, and giving evidence to the accusations laid against her.
She was acutely aware of the gradually increasing volume of something scraping against dirt and stone. She raised her voice to help cover it up.
"But you're j-just the opposite, aren't you? You kn-know as well as I do that he loved and ap-p-ppreciated Bonesaw more than he ever could w-with you. B-Bonesaw was smart, c-clever, artistic. C-creative. B-but you did t-the same things over and over again. Y-you w-were boring. Y-your articles in the n-news, shorter and shorter."
Not really, but you'd worry, you'd think it was possible.
"You're reaching."
Bluff, distraction.
"You're t-trying to hide behind words, S-shitbird. N-not an option with me. Try again. T-tell me you weren't merely f-feigning intelligence! T-tell me you aren't just c-copying the best parts of the monsters around you!"
"The-"
The light that flooded into the small clearing was so bright it was like daggers stabbing into her brain. It reflected off of the construction of glass that Shatterbird had erected, casting light on the concrete blocks that had been guided into leaning against one another rather than falling flat.
The Tattletale clone grabbed the hand that held the flashlight, pulled with all the stregnth she could muster. The person on the other side came through the hole, her upper body exposed, her legs on the other side.
Vista.
She didn't have the strength to pin the heroine down, so she merely fell across the heroine, pinning her in place with her body.
In the doing, she caught a glimpse of Vista's horrified expression. The girl had likely been trapped in the tunnels, accidentally released when Noelle had her thoughts elsewhere. She might have tried to find her way free, up until things collapsed around her. Burrowing with her powers-
Missing breastplate; using it as a shovel.
-and a makeshift shovel, she'd accidentally found her way to trouble.
"Don't try using her as a shield," Shatterbird said. "I can kill you without touching her."
"Y-you could. But you h-h-haven't. Y-you need to come up with a retort, s-satisfy yourself that you were right, before you f-finish me. O-o-or my words haunt you for the rest of your life"
Expression frustrated, eye movement, lack of assault; hesitation, panic.
"C-come on! Say it! P-p-p-prove me wrong, Shitbird! P-prove to everyone present y-you're more than a- a common k-k-killer!"
With that last word, she squeezed Vista. Killer. Kill her.
Get the message, brat.
Shatterbird's mouth opened, but she didn't speak.
"Come on!" the clone shrieked the words, squeezing Vista's shoulders again.
The concrete slabs directly above Shatterbird warped, shifting. There was a scraping sound.
Shatterbird looked up, and horror touched her expression, behind the clear, beaked glass mask she wore.
The dawning horror became something else. A silent scream of rage, frustration and defeat, something that would rip across the entire area. Not the city- the fact that she had to work past layers of dirt and rubble would slow her, but much of downtown? Yes.
The scream became audible, impossibly high-pitched, and in that same moment, glass shards tore into the clone's flesh, and bit deep into what little of Vista wasn't buried below the clone's weight.
Quantity of cuts, sound, appearance of construction; mostly grit, finely arranged granules of silicon forming complex, miniscule structures capable of distributing and supporting great weight. Used to slow or nudge movements of granite slabs.
The scream was cut short when the slabs above Shatterbird fell. She was focused on causing harm and dismantling her construction rather than trying to stop the concrete from landing on top of her.

Yeeeeeeeeees, yessssssssssss, VISTA IS THE BEST

. She killed one of the most dangerous S9 members without even blinking (because she was too horrified to blink). Well, she also had Backbiter's "help". Poor Vista: she was buried alive, she had to dig using her breastplate as a shovel, she got pinned down by a maniacal clone and had to kill a monster. I can imagine how traumatized she must feel right now, I think that even Jessica will have problems to help her go through this episode without too many scars

. And her nightmare is not over yet. Because I'm too worried for Vista, I can't properly enjoy Shatterbird's well- deserving death (I'd have preferred to see her shit herself for hours until there will be no oxygen left but I'm ok with such a quick death too. Better than nothing. Besides, I noticed that Wildbow is too merciful with his most demented characters, their deaths are always quickly instead of slow and painful. Their victims always suffered, but these monsters NEVER suffer like they truly deserve: Coil- shoot in his head, Burnscar- having her skull crushed, Manton- killed quick by Dragon, Mannequin and Crawler- turned into statues, Shatterbird- crushed by concrete slabs..."SIGHS"

) Backbiter is NOT an ally, she's evil and hateful and will try to manipulate Vista to bring them to surface and once she'll be free, she'll probably try to kill Vista or use the girl for her further plans. I mean, knowing Backbiter, she'll do whatever she can to get her hands of her original and the other Undersiders.

With only the light of her flashlight and the fact that Shatterbird had already controlled matters as the worst of the debris had settled, Vista managed to keep them from falling.

First Echidna, then Shatterbird, now the brat.
"What- what are you?" Vista asked, in the silence that followed.
"T-tattletale."
"What happened to you?"
"A m-monster. T-they called it E-E-Echidna. M-mutates people. W-we have to go to the s-surface to help our teams, or t-t-they'll all become like me. P-please."
Vista's eyes went wide, the whites all the brighter in the glare of the halogen flashlight.
"S-s-straight up, if you can. T-the ground's already broken up."
Vista nodded.
The clone smiled as the girl turned her back and started working on shaping the concrete slabs above them. She looked at the spot where Shatterbird had fallen.
A mercy, I suppose, I would have made it slow, her thoughts echoed Shatterbird's words from earlier.
Compared to the heat and the oppressive atmosphere of the seeming eternity they spent underground, making their way to the surface, the open air was refreshing against her bare skin. It was all the harder because her head was so large, her shoulder misshapen.
She'd seen Vista glance at her, seen the looks of horror. It stirred a kind of perverse pleasure in the clone, to see it. To know she was so disturbing, but that the girl was so willingly, eagerly helping her out.
It was only when she was in the air, feeling the wind on her bare skin, that she became aware of the extent of her deformities. Her legs were small, atrophied and spindly, to the point that supporting her own weight was nearly impossible, her lthighs and calves already burning with the exertion from standing for several seconds. Her head, by contrast, was bulbous, without a skull to contain or protect her brain. Her skin was thin, and she suspected her oversized brain was visible through the membrane of it. It was enough that her neck might have snapped under the weight, but the entire mass from the base of her neck to her shoulders, her left shoulder in particular, was a fused, solid mass.
Vista was leaning over, hands on her knees, doing her best to avoid looking at the clone.
Making it too easy.
Her arms and hands were stronger than her own legs. She reached for Vista's throat.
Stopped.
There were black flecks moving toward skyward, all around her.
Bugs. Bugs ascending, moving towards a target point in the air; Skitter.
Skitter's heading home. The fight's over.
She'll keep the most effective bugs, redistribute all the other bugs to keep the ecosystem going. Does it unconsciously.
It was just a question of backing away, finding a spot where she was mostly out of the way of the mobilizing bugs.
She could kill Vista, but it might draw attention if any bugs passed over them. Her deformities were hard enough to hide from Skitter's influence.
No. Something else. She'd need to take another tack. If she couldn't hide, she'd have to do as much damage as possible.
For that, she needed information, and she wouldn't have access to any technology with Shatterbird's recent attack.
Vista was still recovering, taking a swig of water from a small flask on her belt.
I can be patient, the clone thought. She half-limped, half-staggered to cover, turning a corner around a parked PRT van and disappearing as fast as she was able.
Patience, and I can kill more. Identify the point where I can do the most damage.
She headed in the opposite direction Skitter had gone, stopped and hid as a group moved past her. Faultline's people, Weld, and four more monsters she hadn't noticed before. The freaks. Case-53s, as the Protectorate called them.

As I expected, she used Vista to get out then she tried to kill her but she was stopped by Skitter's bugs and her fear to be discovered. Vista was so close to die right now, Skitter indirectly saved her life

. I hope that someone will notice Backbiter and fucking kill this ABOMINATION OF NATURE (and I call her an abomination not because of how she looks like but because of her monstrous heart. Her heart is more abominable than anything else in her body). But I think that she'll survive because...because she's too smart to die, no matter how much I want to see her biting the dust. She can pretend that she's a Case 53 and the other Case-53s will believe her because she doesn't even look like Tattletale- her face must be very different from the original, given how deformed her whole head is. I bet that not even Faultline will be able to recognize her

. She can trick everyone if she wants. Yep, I can certainly predict that her next step will be to pretend to be a Case 53 abandoned by Cauldron right there.

She eyed them as they walked away, stopped a distance away.

Group with common cause, pausing, deliberate stop; walking away from something, separating themselves from something. Critical division.
Something happened.
She smiled.
She took a detour, venturing toward the point that Skitter and the other group had been departing from. She stuck to the shadows, observing, taking in details.
Within seconds, she had a grasp of the situation. The excitement she felt was almost sexual.
Another detour, a clothing store. Pants that should have been skintight, hanging loose around her atrophied legs, a strapless dress that wouldn't hang up around her warped shoulders or neck.
A permanent marker, to draw a symbol where it would be visible, masked beneath the transparent shawl she drew over her shoulders, as if she were ashamed of them.
Above all else, confidence, as she leaned against buildings and hobbled away. It was simultaneously the hardest thing to achieve and the easiest. I have nothing to lose. I want to hurt those sneering, disgusting, small-minded people more than I want to live. At the same time, she had to feign a complete lack of it. She was a monster, a freak in the eyes of society, and to sell the role, she would need to act in a fitting manner.
Weld and the others stared as she approached.
"Who are you?" a boy with red skin asked.
"I-I don't really know." Quiet, feign a lack of confidence, to contrast myself from Tattletale.
"You don't have a name?" Weld asked. His voice was gentler.
"I don't remember. I- I haven't really talked to anyone, since I wound up here." Cover my body with my arms, as if I'm ashamed.
"When?"
"A- a year ago? I don't k-k-know. I… I used a phone I found, w-worked online for some s-starting money. I found an apartment I could rent without m-meeting anyone, and haven't left s-s-since." No eye contact. Shy away if they try to approach.
"What are you doing here?" Weld asked.
"I- I thought I c-could help. But then I saw it… realized there was n-no way I could do anything. I- I'm not strong. Physically or otherwise."
"How many others like her are there?" Shamrock asked. "Victims of Cauldron who just hide from society?" The red-headed girl approached, put her hands on the clone's shoulders. She feigned fear at the imminent contact, then relaxed.
Modeling myself after that wretch Taylor, like she was at first, she mused. It was all she could do to keep a smile from creeping over her face. The lack of mobility and the over-thick skin there made it easier.
"Too many," Gregor answered, in his thick accent.
"You came at just the right time," Weld said. "We've been talking about what to do in the future."
The clone looked up, saw Faultline's eyes on her, studying her intently. She looked away from the intense stare, fixed her eyes on the ground, unblinking.
Fuck you, Faultline. Think you're smarter than me? You'll figure me out?
"You heard what happened?" Weld asked.
"S-some. I s-see and hear things, sometimes. F-from far away."
Faultline's gaze was still too intense, too focused.
The clone's eyes were watering with every moment she didn't blink. She blinked rapidly to bring the droplets out. They streamed down her face.
Shamrock noticed and turned the reassuring contact into a hug. The bodybuilder-girl with the brutal overbite set a hand on her shoulder.
Come on, Faultline, voice your accusations now. You'll drive a wedge between yourself and your new allies, maybe even hurt your relations with your team. And nothing will come of it. You have no proof and they can't afford to turn me away.
Faultline looked away.
"You get why we're separating from the rest? Striking out on our own?" Weld asked.
"You heard what happened?" Weld asked.
"S-some. I s-see and hear things, sometimes. F-from far away."
Faultline's gaze was still too intense, too focused.
The clone's eyes were watering with every moment she didn't blink. She blinked rapidly to bring the droplets out. They streamed down her face.
Shamrock noticed and turned the reassuring contact into a hug. The bodybuilder-girl with the brutal overbite set a hand on her shoulder.
Come on, Faultline, voice your accusations now. You'll drive a wedge between yourself and your new allies, maybe even hurt your relations with your team. And nothing will come of it. You have no proof and they can't afford to turn me away.
Faultline looked away.
"You get why we're separating from the rest? Striking out on our own?" Weld asked.
"Y-yes."
"Mercenaries," Weld said. He glanced at Faultline, "But not part of your contingent, no offense."
"So long as you're accepting if I want to hire you?"
"I'm not about to turn down our first potential client," Weld said. "So long as you stick to the rules. I'm thinking we'll only take jobs that help people. Screw payment."
There were murmurs of agreement from the other freaks.
"Tattletale's probably going to try to stop us if we do it, but I'm thinking we find a way to make other portals, whether it's hiring Scrub or finding someone else who can do the same thing. And we ask for a lot more money. Resources, escape routes, and space. There's so much potential, and I'll be damned if I let Tattletale have a monopoly on this thing."
"So long as we get a fair shake," Weld said.
"Faultline is fair," Gregor said.
"Good," Weld said. He flashed a smile. "Then I look forward to our partnership."
The clone's eyes roved over the group. Reading expressions, body language, tone of voice. The information hit her like a flood.
Pain, disappointment, hurt, recently lost hope, new hope. Excitement. Feeling like a part of something: some for the first time.
"Interested?" Weld asked. The clone realized he was speaking to her. "Want to get in on the ground floor of something new?"
It would mean backing down, letting the real Tattletale be for the time being. It would mean delaying her own gratification, in the hopes of a bigger payoff.
I want to kill you all… Dismantle your psyches, ruin you… You're so fragile, so lacking in confidence… It would be so easy…
She only averted her eyes, "I-I-I…"
"We could use someone to manage operations," Gully offered. "If you're worried about not being that strong in a fight."
She looked at Faultline, saw the young woman staring, broke eye contact.
She could be patient. Vista was the only one who had seen her in person, and with the recent division in the ranks, these freaks wouldn't be maintaining contact with the Wards to hear Vista's description of her and connect the dots. She could control what information they had access to, minimize the chances. Some strategic hacking might even cut any alerts short, if she could work around Dragon.
She could remember what Shatterbird had said, about striking a critical blow that might echo outward. To reference that directly would be too risky, but… something to remind herself that she was working towards something, so she could tamp down her bloodlust, bite her tongue at the critical moments.
She tried on a faltering smile, "Y-you can call me Witness. A-and I think this is exactly where I want to be."

So, Backbiter became Witness (awesome discovering her codename in the last phrase). I liked Backbiter more (especially since it is my creation

) but Witness is even more fitting if I'm thinking deeper. I think I'll make a pretty professional evil clone since I predicted with success every step took by Witness to assure her own survival and the downfall of everyone else :lol. She's going to fuck everyone with her manipulation super-skills and be a WITNESS to their despair and self-destruction. A WITNESS to numerous crimes/suicides that will be committed in her name. A WITNESS to the pure, unrestrained evil that she'll start. Now I get why this Interlude was rejected, maybe by author himself. Because even Wildbow was scared by the limitless possibilities of Witness to screw everyone

. He must have been be like: Gosh, this is too much even for me, lets limit myself at Endbringers and S9. Something easier to keep under my control.
This Interlude was much, much more better compared with the last one. One last thing: thank you, Tattletale, for not being evil

.

Good night and sleep well, my friends.

ImperatorV · Jan 6, 2019

The interlude may have been scrapped, but I'm pretty sure Vista killing Shatterbird is cannon. Witness is noncannon though, so we don't have to worry about evil Tattletale running around.

Probably.

blackarrow · Jan 7, 2019

ImperatorV said:
The interlude may have been scrapped, but I'm pretty sure Vista killing Shatterbird is cannon. Witness is noncannon though, so we don't have to worry about evil Tattletale running around.

Probably.

Oh, thanks God

. We don't need such abomination as Witness taking over the world. I swear, she'd put Jack into a corner of shame and make him reconsider his life choices. She's just so good with her manipulation skills, its like she graduated magna cum laude from Miss Simurgh's University of Gifted Manipulators

.

blackarrow · Jan 8, 2019

Hello, my friends...and evil clones of my friends (you're people too so I have to greet you too, I don't want to make any discrimination here

). Last time, we had an rejected Interlude about the evil clone of Tattletale, who called herself as Witness, a non-canon character (luckily for all other characters including for my own peace of mind- I have too many characters already on my shit list to add another one, especially someone so terrifying good at manipulation

). Basically, the only good part of the Interlude was Vista killing Shatterbird by crushing her under concrete. She died in a very undignified way, the kind of death that I'm sure she never wanted to have (being crushed alive by a 12 years old heroine who survived more than you is exactly NOT that death that Shatterbird was hoping for. But it was still a little better than pissing and shitting on herself while starving to death). Anyway, I'll interpret the whole Witness story (since it isn't canon) as one of Vista's hallucinations. She fought so much for her life right after she escaped from Echidna's stomachs, was buried under debris, soil and concrete, continue her fight with an imminent death, digging to the surface, being thirsty, hungry, alone, scared out of her mind, having to kill Shatterbird, so her temporary broken mind created Witness as an evil clone helping her not to feel alone anymore- to feel like she's having at least an ally in her struggles to live

. So, Witness was nothing but a mere hallucination in Vista's head and I think this explanation is much better than: I just read a non-canon Interlude about a non-canon central character bullshit. What I'm doing with my life now? Just let me have my own explanations based on what I'm reading, ok

?
This new Arc is called Chrysalis. Chrysalis is pupa stage of a butterfly. Taylor doesn't have the habit to use butterflies, especially in combat. Bullet ants, black widows, bees, hornets, wasps, this is her favorite menu, not butterflies. Maybe the title is not referring at a possibility for Taylor to ever deploy butterflies in combat (not that she can't kick people's ass with butterflies. If she wants, she can KILL people with nothing but butterflies :lol) but this is not her favorite method of dealing with her enemies. Maybe the title is about her personal transformation. There are four life stages for butterflies (and other insects): egg, larva, pupa, and imago. Imago is the final stage and pupa is between immaturity and maturity. Taylor is about to change, possible becoming a much more mature person or her life will suffer important changes, that might be enjoyable for her or not. Let's see what kind of transformations she'll face and how she'll accommodate them Chrysalis 20.1

I stepped out of the shower, but I didn't dry off. It was hot out, and the cold beads of moisture on my skin offered something of a reprieve. I felt acutely aware of the breeze blowing into the room, as it traced frigid lines against my body. My hair was wet, plastered to my neck, shoulders and back, and water ran down from the individual locks of hair in thin streams.

More than anything, the cool sensation of the wet hair on my head was a contrast to the workings inside my skull. It wasn't even seven in the morning, and in purely mental terms, I was hitting the ground running. Had to.
I leaned over the sink, letting the droplets fall from my eyelashes and run down my face.
I reached out, and my toothbrush found its way to my hand, as much as my hand found it. The toothpaste was much the same, maneuvered to my hand by a dozen threads and twice that many insects. I took two minutes brushing, another minute to use some mouthwash, and then stood straight, stretching. My skin felt tight, contracted by the temperature.
Like the act of rubbing one's stomach while patting their head, I was moving out of sync. I held out one hand for the hairbrush, closed my fingers around it, then set to tugging the plastic bristles through the tangles and knots, slow, strong, deliberate movements, a patient, calming exercise.
My mind? I was watching, studying, sensing and experiencing ten thousand things at once, an engine going full-bore. I could follow my dad as he moved through the house, picked work clothes out of his closet, threw away a sock and its matching pair. I watched every entryway into the house, the windows and doors, tracked the movements of the neighbors, and our neighbor's neighbors.
With fleas, I could track the movements of the neighbor's outdoor cat, a surprisingly violent creature with a sizable body count of local frogs and mice, many killed purely for sport.
I could track each of these details for roughly a thousand feet around me, to the point that I was aware of every person and every piece of terrain in the area. There were bugs crawling inside walls and the dark corners of houses all up and down the street, and I had only to pay attention for a moment to grasp the layout of each house and home. I could feel the worms crawling through the earth, the ants navigating the surface, struggling but surviving in the humid heat of the outdoors. I could feel the maggots that were devouring one of the cat's abandoned victims, the ants working to collect the food before descending into their labyrinthine hive.

Taylor, this Big Sister watching everything happening in the neighborhood with the help of her bugs-cameras. Nothing is safe from her thousands of mini-eyes anymore, nothing is sacred, she doesn't give any shit about people's right at privacy, she just violates their privacy left and right. You can't even hide your wife and kids- there's no place left for them to be hidden there since Big Sister is already watching you (and them) from the sky, from the ground, from the walls of your house, from the dirt, from your clothes, from your underwear...:lol Oh, the horror is too much to handle so I should stop trying to think at more places where Taylor can have bugs-cameras hidden. Anyway, she's at home now, in her father company and its almost nice to see a father-daughter extremely mundane conversation about things like: what Taylor did lately, what her friends are doing, how she can handle the endless stress of living in Brockton Bay and Taylor to answer with half truths- half lies, as she always did. I wonder how Danny will react if, one day, he'll know the whole truth. I kind of want him to know about Taylor's other identity even if the truth will pain him (and pain me as well seeing him so distressed

). But, sometimes, a single, painful truth is much more better than thousands, beautiful lies.

And I thought of my own hive, of jobs that needed doing and positions that needed filling, of threats and threat assessment. I was prioritizing, knowing it would be impossible to do every job in the time I had. I had to check in with everyone, to look after the individual groups, get more information on construction and finances, to make sure everything was running smoothly. Each and every task could potentially be interrupted at a moment's notice, so I had to ensure I had people at hand that I could delegate to in a pinch.

It was a lot to take in, a jumble of half-formed thoughts that I only considered for moments at a time before categorizing them, making or postponing a decision. There were too many I wouldn't be able to address yet. Tasks that I needed eyes on, people I needed to talk to for information.
I toweled my hair dry, brushed it again, had the bugs clean up the silk strands that littered the bathroom, and then wrapped a towel around myself to venture to my bedroom and get dressed.
By the time my dad descended to the ground floor, I was already halfway done preparing breakfast, standing by the stove with my damp hair tied back into a loose ponytail, wearing a strapless top and loose-fitting, lightweight cargo pants.
Preparing breakfast was another of those routine activities, rubbing my stomach. I was still patting my head, thinking of how to address one sensitive issue. When my dad entered the scene, though, I made a deliberate attempt to break from that mode of thinking, to shift mental gears.
"You're going to school wearing that?" my dad asked.
"I'm going running like this," I replied.
"In this heat? Take some water with you."
I pointed at the kitchen table, where I'd set two water bottles by the salt and pepper shakers.
"Good."
"Crepe?" I asked. "And fruit salad? We have some left over from last night."
"Please."
I slid the crepe out of the frying pan and onto a plate, then handed it to him. I dropped some butter on the pan, poured more batter on, and then tilted it until the batter was spread thin over the surface.
"You're usually out the door by now, and back fairly late."
"Trying to do my part," I said. "And I wanted to talk."
"Okay. I like talking," he said. "Unless this isn't the kind of conversation we look forward to?"
He made a face as he eased himself down into his chair. He's still not completely recovered. I admitted, "It isn't."
"Ah," he said. His expression was placid, his eyes watching me carefully.
"I was thinking… I don't think I'll go back to school." I turned my eyes to the crepe. I poked the spatula at the corner to verify it was more solid, lifted it, then flipped the thing over.
I could hear him pouring orange juice. Flies hidden on ledges and on a shelf between cookbooks could see the vague movement as he raised the glass to his lips and drank before he spoke. "It's a month and a half of classes. Everyone will be catching up, not just you. We couldn't ask for better circumstances. A new environment, new people, a new dynamic. You'redifferent."
"I am," I said. I slid the crepe onto a plate. I didn't use the fruit salad, but instead went straight for the blueberries I'd defrosted, adding a spoonful of cream. I rolled it up, spooned some fruit salad onto the side of the plate, collected my mug of tea by the side of the stove and then sat down opposite my dad.
He looked so old. Two serious sets of injuries, one he hadn't fully recovered from, and a measure of stress that I was partially responsible for, all adding up to artificial years. I felt a pang of fondness mixed with regret.
"If I asked you to, would you?" he asked. "Hypothetically."

Oh, God, this poor man Danny always make my heart cry for his plight

. He tries so hard to get close to his ADORED daughter, but she always keep him at a certain distance. I don't think she'll ever have the necessary courage to tell him the truth about herself. If he'll ever find out, then someone else will be responsible for informing him, not his own daughter. And finding the truth in other places will hit him extremely hard. I can see him being hurt, being angry on himself because Taylor already showed him the signs of becoming another person (being too independent, not going to school anymore, not staying at home, having friends who apparently agree with her independence from her father) but he didn't read them properly, angry at her because she lied him all this time, angry at the whole world because he'll accuse it of stealing his baby girl's innocence and purity (he'll surely blame the constant atmosphere of violence and insecurity for Taylor's transformation, something like: my girl became a villain because the world was unfair and cruel with her and she had to protect herself and survive somehow). He'll suffer and still refuse to believe that Taylor became villain because she started to care about her teammates too much to become something else (one of the reasons but a very good one) and he'll blame everything on himself, on her bullies, one Annette's death, on the city itself

.

"If you did, I would," I admitted. "But it's not where I want to be right now."

He nodded, taking a bite. A dribble of fruit juice ran down from the corner of his mouth, and he thumbed it away. I reached for a roll of paper towels, tore one off and handed it to him.
"Thank you," he said. It wasn't a response to my statement.
If he asked, I'd find a way. Work things out. Reprioritize, filter out the nonessential tasks, shift things around. Everything would take longer, there would be issues in countless areas, more things I couldn't do and people I couldn't protect. But I'd do it.
"What will you do instead?"
"What I've been doing. I'll work," I said. "There's cleanup work, still. It pays pretty well, all things considered."
"It's not easy," he said.
"I'm tough," I said, flexing an arm. I had some muscle, but it looked pretty sad on my thin arm. I let my arm drop. "At least it's not all heavy lifting."
"But it wears you out. I won't say it's bad work, we both know how many hundreds of people I've worked with who are employed along those lines. I'vebeen employed along those lines. But you're smart. Your mom and I both expected you to go on to college.
The idea that you might never graduate high school never crossed our minds."
Bringing Mom into it. I sighed. "I will graduate. I promise. But I can wait a year, study online."
"Why? Why put things off and study for half a year to a year, when you could pass tenth grade in two months?" He didn't sound angry or upset, only confused.
Prioritizing, weighing every action against the costs involved. Spending most of my day at school, everything else takes a back seat.
"Like you said, I'm different than the person I was," I replied.
He looked up at me, met my eyes, and I could feel my blood run cold. That searching, studying look…
He knows?
"You are," he said, simply. Not a confirmation of my fears, not dismissing them either. It was only an admission of what we both knew as truth.
"If you want me to go, you can tell me to go. I will. You're my dad. You can tell me to do something, and I have to do it."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "We both know that's not true."
I took another bite of my crepe instead of replying.
"Being a parent, there's always that niggling fear, that notion that maybe one day your child will realize you're not all-knowing, not all-powerful. That they don't really have to do anything you say. But you spend years growing up together, parent and child, as a parent you get accustomed to acting like you're in power, believing it as much as your daughter does. For some, formost, that confidence gets worn down after the child hits adolescence, and the parent changes from being one of the most important figures in their child's life to being an embarrassment."
"You were never embarrassing to me," I said.
"I know," he said. "But that makes it harder, doesn't it? For all those other parents, it's a transition, a transformation, as their children gradually test their authority and discover how very fragile a thing it is. For me? I didn't have nearly enough time to get used to it. One night, one conversation, and you decided I didn't have any say in your life anymore."
"You do," I said, feeling alarmed, in a way I couldn't articulate. "I want you to have a say. I'm saying you can set curfews or demand that I go to school, and I will. I might complain or argue, but I'll listen. I'll let you have a say."
He reached across the kitchen table, taking my hand. He pulled it towards him, and I let him stretch my arm out straight. He bent over and kissed the fingers.
His voice was quiet, "I hope that, if and when you ever have a child of your own, you never have to hear them say anything like that."
He released my hand, and I withdrew it.
"You're sure you don't want to go to school?" He asked.
I nodded.
"It's your decision," he said. "Yours, not mine. Where would you work?"
"The Boardwalk," I said. "It's close, it's good pay, good food, and it's safe."
"A little more directly involved with the local supervillain-in-power than I'd recommend for any employees of mine that were looking for a job," my dad replied.
I didn't have a response to that. I ate the last bite of my crepe.
"Will you still be there at lunchtime?"
I nodded.
"I'll meet you. Things are busy, things are good, but I'd like to set aside a block of time. We can pick up lunch, or I'll bring something. How's that?"
It was awkward on a dozen different levels. Even staying here caused me any number of problems. It removed me from a place I needed to be, it made for awkward transitions between my civilian and costumed life, and every conversation with my father stressed me out, left me wondering if he could guess. Or maybe when I stepped in the door, I might find out that the local heroes had recognized me, using one of the mutant clones that had been running around, or any number of other possibilities. My dad waiting to ambush me with the fact that he'd received a telling phone call, like he had when I'd skipped school, only he'd be backed up by superheroes.
The last big conversation in that vein had done irreparable damage. Enough that I found myself checking my house and making sure there wasn't an ambush waiting for me on the other side. On my dad's side of things, well, we'd just discussed that in some depth. Our relationship wasn't any better for it.

I can visualize Danny (after he'll know the truth about Taylor) raging at his daughter, screaming at her and demanding explanations. Maybe he'll even slap her once or twice. But...thats it. He'll not do anything more than a few screams and slaps. He can't do and not because Taylor will stop him but because....he'll stop himself. He'll stop screaming and asking for explanations then probably hug her. CERTAINLY hug her. Hug her and tell her that she'll still his only child, not matter what she did and will continue to do. Tell her that he loves her and his love will never be eroded by the knowledge that she's a villain, a criminal, that she lied him. He'll accept her because a true loving parent will always accept their child, with their good and bad sides

. He'll never abandon her and will fight to protect her, even if she doesn't need his protection anymore. But a true parent will always protect their child (my father always tells me that even if one day I'll become the biggest fighter or criminal in the whole world he'll still protect me whatever I like or not

) so Danny, being a true parent as he proved countless of times to be, will still see Taylor as his baby girl and the fact that she's a scary villain will not change his way of seeing her like this not even a bit.
Gosh, I'm cruel if I want Danny to finally learn the whole truth? I mean, I'm cruel towards this poor father? I don't want to think or say anything that sounds remotely cruel when it comes to Danny but...I kind of want him to find out about Skitter. Just in a way that will not affect him. Or not affect him too much

.

Taking time away from everything else I had to do, to eat lunch, to fill in the details and arrange things so my dad didn't discover I was bending the truth yet again? To have another awkward conversation?

I was willing. "I'd really like that."
He smiled.
I grabbed the notepad by the phone that we usually used for writing down numbers and put down my cell number. "Call me when you're coming around, so we can find each other."
"our cell phone?"
"Yeah."
He looked sad for a brief moment, then perked up a little, "I suppose you need it if you're going to stay in touch with the others."
"Yeah," I said. "I should go. I want to get a light run in and maybe catch up with some people before I start working."
"Take care of yourself. I'll be in touch around eleven or eleven thirty."
I nodded. I gathered a billfold with some ID and cash, a fresh tube of pepper spray, and then a sheathed knife from the backpack that hung by the back door. It wasn't my good knife: I wouldn't be able to explain how I had a knife of that kind of quality. This one was serviceable for self-defense, the kind that was currently being worn by countless people around the city.
I glanced at my dad, but he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid looking as I did everything necessary to prepare myself for venturing out into the city.
Was it him suppressing his worry for my well-being, or were my doubts on target? Did he suspect, and simply not want to know for sure?
I couldn't ask, couldn't hint or try to get clarification, not without potentially seeding the idea in his mind, or prompting him to give me an answer I didn't want to hear.
I stepped outside, and the hot air was like a physical barrier. I'd known it, had anticipated it with the knowledge my bugs provided me, but there wasn't anything quite like that first faceful of eighty-five degree weather, so humid it went straight through both skin and clothing.
The second I was out of sight of the house, I had my phone out. I re-checked the messages that had come in last night and this morning. Twenty in total.
Charlotte:
I know its already pretty late, not a big deal, but was wondering if u wanted to go out and grab ice cream? terrys craving some. we can grab jelly beans and a chocolate for my brother on our way back.
Charlotte:
eric stopped by. no drama. you should say hi while he's around.
Forrest:
saw Eric 2nite. shuld say hi.
Forrest:
n/m Char already sent you msg.
Charlotte:
taking my little brother to school today. if I dont see u, have a good day, will see u tonite.
All code. Mostly code, anyways. The names dropped were a shorthand for specific kinds of situations and people. 'Eric' was trouble. 'Little brother' meant the kids Charlotte was looking after. 'Terry' was the catch-all term for people in my territory.
There were two for me, as well. 'u' and 'you', as odd as it sounded.
People were probably craving some luxuries in the food department and some treats for the kids wouldn't hurt. There was some kind of trouble while I'd been out, but it was handled and I should pay a visit in costume to make sure it was resolved. Charlotte would be going to school, taking all the little ones with her.
There were other messages. Among them, there was a mess of some sort one of the side streets hadn't been cleaned up and 'Terry' had been complaining, there were some vague concerns about the food supplies for lunch later today, and Lisa had called about a nebulous 'party'.
I ran the rest of the way to the Boardwalk.
There weren't many people up and about yet. Some cars on the road, the sounds of construction starting to get underway, and some parents with kids to see off to school and no cars getting an early start.
I passed by my headquarters and found someone unfamiliar inside, in the main room with Charlotte. She was helping a little boy put a shirt on. Forrest was in the kitchen, mass-producing kids' lunches with the supplies I'd had brought in yesterday.
I made my way to the beach, entering the storm drain that led, in a roundabout way, into my base.
The original plan, as far as I was aware, had been for this entrance to be temporary. Work would continue on the Boardwalk, and it was inevitable that someone would run into the storm drain, either where it was deliberately blocked off or entering from the beach as I was. It would have changed, with Coil leveraging his resources to set up something else that would serve as a covert entrance.
I'd have to contact Tattletale, though she was probably busy enough that myto-do list looked trivial.
Bugs flowed down the stairs, surrounding me as a thick cloud that would hide me from sight. I could sense the kids reacting as I made my appearance. Fearful starts and backing away, taking shelter behind Charlotte.
I singled out a handful of butterflies and sent them towards the kid nearest me. They flew in formation, forming a circle around her hand. She stretched it out, and one butterfly landed on her thumb.
As other children reached out, I settled butterflies on their hands as well. The distraction was good enough that I could walk past them and head upstairs without causing anyone to burst into tears.
I locked the door behind me and quickly changed. I draped the shawl-cape over my armored shoulders, and then covered it in bugs. Wearing black in the summer would be uncomfortable, especially with the added heat and weight of the bugs, but maybe I could provide myself with some shade using a swarm overhead.
It would make me a target to any heroes paying a visit, though. The PRT had recognized the potential for trouble that surrounded the door, Tattletale's improvised portal to another universe, and out-of-town capes were being given permanent positions on the local Wards and Protectorate teams. It said something, given the state of the PRT these days, that they were willing to devote the manpower.
A pair of villains from the Fallen were lurking somewhere in Imp's territory, and their presence meant that Haven felt obliged to send two or three capes our way as well. Until the Fallen were dead or gone, Haven would have something of a local presence.
I'd done my part to try to help find the two Fallen, just a few days ago, but even with Tattletale's help in identifying the general area, I hadn't been able to root them out. Her gut told her that one of the two was Valefor. Despite the intimidating names and the fact that they called themselves an Endbringer cult, the Fallen didn't pose a grave threat. They were thieves and vandals, allegedly committing incest in the belief that it would guarantee that their entangled family produced more kids with powers, but only a few people in the controlling body of the family were demonstrably capable of murder. They were far from being the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Still, both Imp and Valefor were what the PRT termed 'strangers'. Capes with abilities that tended towards subtlety and subterfuge. That wasn't a fight I wanted to get caught up in. I would if it came down to it, if people were in danger or Aisha needed my help, but I was perfectly content to not be in a position where I was looking over my shoulder every few seconds. I'd dealt with that enough.

Gosh, I barely know something about these Fallen Endbringer cult guys and I already feel like I hate them. First, they seem to be a religious cult dedicated to Endbringers (only completely nuts people will admire Endbringers and pray to them. For what they're praying to Endbringers? To finally destroy the world? These people are fucking crazy

). Then they commit incest...ewww.....hoping that their inbreed little monsters will have powers. Also, their leaders are legit criminals. Fallen are so fucked, OMG, they might become some of the most despicable villains if they'll start appearing often. At least S9 doesn't commit incest and they aren't religious freaks

. Ok, Wildbow, an evil cult, you're going this way, right? I bet that Fallen also brainwash their adepts so they'll share all their beliefs without fail. I won't be surprised if they practice mind control with some of their leaders being Masters. Everything I "love" about people congregating into a single cult

. Great. So, this Valefor is one of Fallen, a Stranger compared by Skitter with Imp. Why especially with Imp and not with Grue? Maybe because they have similar power like Imp? They can make themselves unnoticed? We have an incestuous cult member who may or may not be a criminal and who pray at their Lord and Savior Endbringer at breakfast, lunch and dinner, with the power to make people forget them or something similar? God, SHIT

. This is exactly one of the last things I wanted to happen in this crazy story. One of the very last things. Stil not beating the fucking Mannequins Army. Nothing can beat THIS

.
I suppose that Haven is another religious organisation, but a heroic one (similar with the former New Wave) who must hate Fallen to guts (like any remotely sane person would do, of course) since they want them to be either dead or gone. Well, you have all my support in your divine mission, Haven guys, hope I'll get to know you. May God bless you and your heroic actions. No, but I'm serious. I support Haven to kick the Fallen incestuous assholes' asses. Now I'm eager to see them fighting

.

All of that wasn't even touching on the other villains seeking a foothold in the city. The Ambassadors were looking for a slice of the Brockton Bay pie, and both Grue and I were tentatively willing. The group of villains was willing to play by our rules and participate in our alliance, they would add their own strength to ours, and they were more interested in shady but legitimate dealings and preying on other villains than they were on causing trouble or bucking with the local authorities. I couldn't be entirely sure whether that was because of their general ethos or because they were recuperating from being nearly wiped out, but their simple existence and their membership in our alliance would help scare off troublemakers.

It all added up to making the Ambassadors as ideal a partner-group as we could hope for. The only sticking point was that their leader was a Thinker, and Tattletale almost automatically disliked him. It would take a great deal more convincing to get her to play along.
The Teeth had tried to take a bite out of Parian's territory. They had a history in the bay, and like the Ambassadors they had been nearly wiped out, only it was nearly a decade ago. They'd settled elsewhere while they bounced back, with a turnover rate high enough that none of the original members persisted. There was only the name, and an ethos of violence, anarchy, and profit at any cost, not unlike the ABB. Parian seemed to be making a point of not asking for our help, and I wasn't intending to offer it until she did.
I had others to take care of, and I could only trust that she knew what she was doing.
"Skitter," Charlotte said, as I returned downstairs. I could see the other girl, plump, with a shorter haircut that only seemed to accentuate the roundness of her face. She seemed more scared of me than the kids were.
Forrest, by contrast, was almost bemused. He leaned over the kitchen counter. He had a barrel chest, a burly build, a natural glower, a thick black beard and coarse, unkempt hair. He might have looked savage if it weren't for the tight-fitting striped polo shirt and the nerdish thick-framed glasses. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd helped sway the outcome of my fight against Mannequin, putting his life on the line to help take down a monster that even some top-tier capes had been scared of.
I'd asked Charlotte to find someone who could serve as my second in command. I considered it serendipitous that she'd nominated him.
"Any urgent issues?" I asked. She shook her head. I let myself relax a touch and gestured toward the new girl, "Who's this?"
Charlotte looked guilty. "She's an extra set of hands. Don't worry. Forrest and I blindfolded her while bringing her here. I didn't think I'd be able to manage looking after the kids all by myself, and I was ok with paying her."
"I can cover that cost," I said. "No trouble on that front? Taking care of the kids?"
"We're just about ready to go," she said. "Kids are washed, fed and clothed, lunches nearly finished. They have their bags…"
"Good," I said, "The school bus is arriving soon. Can you spare a minute to fill me in?"
"I can't even remember all of the stuff that's been going on. I'm kind of frazzled."
I felt a pang of sympathy. This was the cost of me staying with my dad. "The pertinent points only, then. Who or what is the 'Eric'?"
"Forrest can explain. Some thugs were causing trouble for some people living further north. Your guys caught them."
"The mess in the alley?"
"The garbage trucks couldn't get down the road. Shale avenue is still in rough shape, and nobody told the residents they shouldn't put their trash on the sidewalk there. It's piled up and it's hot, so it's smelling."
"I'll resolve it." Wasn't so long ago this whole city stank, and people weren't complaining this much then. "The lunch supplies?"
"One of the pallets of vegetables you ordered was in bad shape. Past ripe. I'd planned to have something done last night that Forrest could warm up for people's lunches today, but I couldn't work with what I had, and I thought you'd want something better than a thin soup. Then I was occupied looking after the kids and forgot. I'm sorry."
"It's fine," I said. "You've done an excellent job. Better than I could have hoped. I'll figure something out for lunch. Maybe reach out to a local business. What's a food most people would enjoy, which we haven't had available for a good while?"
"Pizza!" one boy in Charlotte's herd of children piped up.
"Pizza it is," I said. "With luck, there's someone trying to get set up somewhere in the north end. We can order a batch for everyone that's working here, then another batch for tonight, for the kids? If they're good in school and they do their homework."
The children almost crowed, and one literally jumped with glee.

I agree with Undersiders and Ambassadors making an alliance. I mean, I don't trust Ambassadors and especially I don't trust their leader (even if he's much better compared with so many psycho supervillains roaming around but he can still betray Undersiders if his personal interests will demand him to do this) but I agree with an alliance between them (of course, with Undersiders keeping permanently a very careful eye on Accord and ready to react anytime when the little big man will betray their trust) because both groups have something in common: S9 fucking up with their lives. This and they have to keep Brockton Bay clean of Teeth and Fallen. Better to have the city ruled by well-meaning villains and probably not so well-meaning diplomats than by incestuous religious freaks and anarchists who call themselves Teeth

(I remember that Teeth were destroyed by S9 and I wonder how they came back after such a long time). Now I wonder why Tattletale doesn't like Accord. I can understand why, he's kind of annoying with his rules and love for order, but his power and Tattletale's power can be incredible useful if used in synch: Tattletale can discover what the problem is and Accord can find the solution of the problem

. They'll identity and solve any problem in such a short time. Maybe Tattletale doesn't want the story with Coil to repeat, especially since she knows that Accord was Coil's friend? Well, I like this Accord dude but I don't trust him so I can't say that Tattletale isn't right if she thinks like this.
Aww, Skitter is sweet with the poor orphaned children <3. First butterflies then pizza. Charlotte is the best adoptive mommy and Skitter is the best villain mommy

. Please, Skitter, you can use butterflies to create small living shadows play for kids, that would be fun and imaginative and the little ones will love it. Gosh, if I'd have Skitter's power and these orphaned kids in my care, I'd seriously made them the happiest children in the world. With this power, the possibilities are endless

.

"Forrest," I said. "Can you see them off to the bus stop? I need to have a word with Charlotte."

Wordless, Forrest stood straight, gathered up the paper bag lunches in two hands and then approached the kids. Like magnets, two kids gravitated to his legs and clung to him, and he walked stiff-legged to the front door with them hanging on him and the rest trailing after him like my bugs trailed after me.
My bugs kicked into motion, blocking the line of sight to the door. No use giving Charlotte's friend a view of the street outside and a clue about our location. She made a small frightened sound and backed away.
Did Charlotte honestly bring in someone who's afraid of bugs?
I glanced at the two girls. Charlotte's eyebrows were knitted in concern. Her friend, by contrast, looked terrified: her fingers were knotted together, her eyes wide.
"Jessie's still wetting the bed, I see," I noted. My bugs could feel the damp on one of the bunk beds in one of the other rooms.
Something mundane, so we don't frighten the new girl further.
Charlotte's eyes widened. "Shit! I was so busy trying to get things organized-"
"It's fine," I said. "I'll handle it."
"You shouldn't have to," she said, "Fern-"
"That's the other thing I wanted to mention. Your friend-" I glanced at the girl. She didn't look any less spooked. Why did Charlotte bring her here if she's going to be so afraid? "Did Tattletale vet her?"
"It was a spur of the moment thing. I know it was sorta dumb, but-"
"I don't want to be hard on you," I said, "But this is something I'm going to be strict about. Someone comes here, they have to be vetted first."
"I'll be more careful."
"Please. And are you sure there isn't anything I can do to thank you for your help?"
"You're paying me more than enough."
"Let me know if anything comes to mind. In the meantime, pizza and some candy for the kids tonight?"
"It's tough, going back to school, trying to get back to something evenresembling a normal routine. They'd appreciate it, I think."
"Okay," I said. "Don't mention the candy. Let it be a surprise. I think the bus is coming, so you should head to the stop."
"Blindfold on, Fern," Charlotte said.
A minute later, they were gone.
I sighed and set to tidying up. Bugs carted away the unused paper bags and scraps of lettuce.
And everyone's off to school, I thought.
I felt a pang of regret. A part of me wanted to go, to prove to myself that I'd grown past it, to have another normal thing in my life, like breakfast with my dad.
At the same time, there were so many reasons not to. My face having been exposed in a roundabout fashion, the presence of the Wards somewhere in that school, the time it took away from other things that needed doing…
Better to keep out of it.
Forrest returned. "Want to see 'em?"
I nodded, and we ventured out into my territory.
All around us, the Boardwalk and what had been the shadier parts of the Docks were coming together. New streets, new sidewalks, new buildings. There were more people out and about than there had been just ten or fifteen minutes ago, and everyone present was getting ready to work or even starting early. Building something as a community.
Conversations died as I approached, power tools were turned off, and heads turned.
My bugs followed behind me like the trail of a fancy gown, rising from my shoulders and hair like pitch black sparks from a fire. Image. I'd done what I could to earn the loyalty of my people. I'd tried to be even-handed, tried to be generous, but image and attitude was a big part in keeping that loyalty.
I was put in mind of my dad's thoughts on a parent's authority. Was this so different?
"The attackers were leftovers from the Chosen," Forrest explained. "I'm not even sure they were full members."
"Is the family okay?"
"They're okay. Scared, they lost a few possessions, but nothing really valuable."
"The little things matter most when you have the least," I said.
"Profound."
I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, and I couldn't see his face without glancing over my shoulder, so I didn't say anything..
The cells were hidden in one building, much like my base was. A few of the O'Dalys were lingering at the front. They stood at attention as I approached. The closest thing I had to foot soldiers.
A Japanese couple stood nearby as well. The man had a bandage across his nose, blood crusted around his nostrils. Bruises stood out on both of them.
I walked past them to step inside, and looked at my prisoners. Three thugs, no younger than fifteen, nor older than twenty-five.
They wore so much face paint I couldn't make a good guess beyond that.
My soldiers and the couple had followed me inside.
"You came for revenge?" I asked.
"N-no," the man said. "I came to ask for leniency."
"Fuck you, faggy ass fagass!" one of the people in the cell shouted.
"For them?" I asked.
"Yes."
"They hurt you."
"Out of ignorance," he said.
"You're ignorant, assfaggot!"
"My wife and I consider ourselves good Christians," the man said. "He would want us to show mercy, to turn the other cheek."
"Why don't you spread those cheeks and get fucked, faggot!?"
"Quiet," I said. A handful of bugs flowed into the cell, the boy opened his mouth to retort and choked on a fly. To the man, I said, "You're tying my hands here. I can't let them leave unscathed. It would send the wrong message, and that would do everyone in this territory a disservice. You, me,them, everyone else. People need to know they're safe, especially after everything that's happened."
"The police can take care of them. Call it a citizen's arrest. We won't mention your name."
"And if they go free? If the police decide there's not enough evidence, or the officers are too busy to give your case their full attention, and these three get to go on and hurt others?"
"If that's the cost of having a system that otherwise works."

Well, Chosen are also "good" Christians (nazis always consider themselves to be Christians), only not the kind of Christians who'll turn the other cheek when they're slapped, but the kind that kill people who doesn't conform with their social norms by beating them until their last breathe with the Bible. Figuratively speaking. Ok, I want to clarify a little problem (in case other people will ever ask me again). Someone asked me once if I consider all right-wing people to be nazis. NOPE, this will be very stupid of me to ever think that right-wing= nazism. There are a lot of decent right-wing people (I talked with some and I was impressed by their ideas and their way of thinking. They're some intelligent people and they're not hateful ignorant pricks like they're always depicted to be

). Hell, I consider myself to have both left-wing and right-wing views and values. I define myself as a liberal with some strong conservative values so I'll be a hypocrite if I'll start attacking right-wing based on the incredible stupid general belief that one must be nazi if they're conservative. But there are FAR right-wing people who attack other people because they can't stand their skin color, their religion, their sexuality, their nationality and so on. These...these assholes are the real nazis, these criminals who think that they're superior to other people because they're white (or black, asian, because bigot people don't have race or nationality

), hetero and Christians. My political ideology is conservative liberalism but I'll strangle in the next second the first asshole who'll call themselves a conservative and patriot while attacking people of different color or sexuality because....that asshole is a nazi for sure :rage:

. Nazis are the assholes who hate and hurt other people based on their bullshit ideology, not all the conservative/right wing homies who just want to live like any normal people and let others live like any normal people

.
Skitter is going to give HELL to these Chosen assholes, right? Well, you have all my support, Skitter. Just give them hell. They lost their rights to be treated like decent human beings right in the moment when they didn't allowed other people the same rights. Live and let others live, eh?

I glanced at the three thugs, and my bugs flowed over them. Silk was threaded in strategic locations, and bugs deposited where they wouldn't be able to reach.

"Open the cells," I said.
I could see the fear on the faces of the couple as they backed away. Forrest pulled the switch, bidding the three iron-barred doors along the hallway to slide open.
One of the thugs glared sullenly at me, but he was smart enough to not mouth off.
"There's a small police office nearby," I said. "You three can head down Shale avenue, stop one block short of Lord street, and turn left. It's a tent, and there's two officers and a police car there. They'll take you into custody."
"Right. We'll totally turn ourselves in," a second guy said.
"Do I need to repeat the directions?"
"Nah," the first one smiled.
"Go," I said. My bugs cut the silk threads binding them to the bars. If they'd lunged or tried to attack us, they would have fallen short, possibly choking or tripping.
"Seriously?" Forrest asked.
"Cool shit," the lead thug commented. He gave Forrest the finger as he headed to the door. Forrest moved as if he was going to hit the punk, and the thug flinched, but there was no follow through.
They bolted the second they were out of sight of the O'Dalys who were stationed at the front of my miniature jail.
I commanded the bugs I'd planted on the three thugs to bite, then gestured for the contingent of people around me to follow me.
All three boys were still lying on the ground, writhing, when we arrived. One was screaming as though he'd been jabbed with a hot poker. Another was arching his back, as though his ribcage was trying to force its way free.
"What did you do?" Forrest asked, in mixed horror and awe.
The third thug's screaming joined his friend's.
"Bullet ants," I said. "Their bites top the scale in terms of sheer pain caused. People have compared their bites to being shot. Thus the name."
The thug was still screaming, albeit with less volume and more intermittent whimpers.
"It's also known as the twenty-four hour ant," I added.
"Why?"
"That's how long the pain lasts. Get up," I ordered them. "Now, or you get bitten again."
It took them a second, but they were making a halfhearted effort, and I didn't follow through on my threat. They stood, one of them hunched over, two moaning audibly. They glared at me.
"You brought that on yourselves," I said. "This is your second chance. Get yourselves to the police station and turn yourselves in. This time, I'll have them bite each of you periodically to hurry you along."
"What the fucking-"
He broke off mid-sentence as he screamed and fell to the ground, thrashing.
"If you think of doing anything but admitting your full crime to the police officer right then and there, I'll try figuring out how many times those ants can bite you before they run out of venom. Now go. Run."
Two of them ran, stumbling as they twitched and flinched at the continuing pain, while the third crawled. I had an ant bite the mouthiest one when he was only a few paces away, to hurry them along.
I turned to the others. The Japanese-American man was staring at me.
"You should go to the police too," I said. "Give your side of the story, let them take photos."
"I will," he said, his tone curt. He turned to leave, then paused. "I asked you to be lenient."
How can I even explain? I've seen the worst of the worst. I want to protect each and every one of you from it. The system won't stop them, not all on its own.
But if I explained, they would argue, and every counter-argument would make me look weaker, damage my image and hurt people's confidence in me. There were people who would be happy with a firm hand being used to deter criminals, there were others who wouldn't be happy, but they'd accept it as the price that came with everything else I had to offer.
I didn't like it, but I'd do it.
He was still staring at me, his question lingering. I asked you to be lenient.
"I was," was all I said.
I returned to my lair, and took the time to strip out of my costume. It stuck to my skin as I pulled it off.
I'd need to design something lighter for the warmer months. More porous, while still offering protection, maybe a paler color, if I could manage it and still have it blend into the swarm…
The major tasks were done. I'd called Lisa, and through her I'd gotten caught up on all the other essential details about what was happening around the city. She and Grue had a meeting with an Ambassador – not the leader of the Ambassadors, which I was thankful for. I would have wanted to be present for a meeting that volatile. As it was, I could hope that Grue was in a good enough headspace to keep Tattletale on course.
I'd contacted everyone necessary to clear garbage out of the alley, to order pizzas for lunch and to order more food in to make up for the bad batch of vegetables. I'd shown my face as Skitter and now a swarm-clone lingered on a rooftop, standing in plain view of the people on the street, overlooking a construction in progress. 'Skitter' would appear here and there over the course of the day, just to reassure others she was here.
Which she was. I was.
I stripped out of the rest of the costume. I laid out a grungier change of clothes.
I hadn't been lying to my dad when I said I'd work. I'd put in the hours, work alongside the other members of my territory. It was easier to do my share and be working here on a legitimate basis, even part-time, than to try to sustain the lie.
Before I started, I had only one minor chore. I headed downstairs and I pulled Jessie's mattress off the bunk bed, dragging it into an open space so I could clean it. The mattresses were thin, and would dry after a day in this heat. The humidity was a problem, but I could put it in direct sunlight.
My phone buzzed, still in the utility compartment upstairs. My bugs brought it to me.
Charlotte:
I met someone in class. I think it could be big Eric?
Big trouble? I contemplated sending a reply, but the next text wasn't far behind.
Charlotte:
says hes an old classmate of urs. asking where u are. loud insistent intense. wouldnt believe that u werent at school. sounds like he might want to talk to you.
I didn't miss the distinction. 'u' meant Taylor. 'you' was Skitter. If this person was careless enough that Charlotte had caught on…
Fuck.

She was being too lenient, indeed. Those nazis were extremely lucky that Skitter was more lenient than usual.
She's not going to be so lenient with mister Greg if he'll play some bullshit game: -I'm gonna tell everyone who you're for real, Taylor, if you don't accept to be my girlfriend- hope he'll not go this way because he'll only end up being a...dead Greg. Even worse, he'll die virgin

.
Yeah, indeed Taylor, fuck. Greg knows who you're behind your Taylor's MASK and I'm very curious to see how this lil' shit will use what he knows.

Good night and sleep well, my friends.

DataSnake · Jan 8, 2019

blackarrow said:
being crushed alive by a 12 years old heroine who survived more than you is exactly NOT that death that Shatterbird was hoping for.

Vista's actually thirteen. Fun fact: Leviathan attacked on her thirteenth birthday.

blackarrow · Jan 9, 2019

DataSnake said:
Vista's actually thirteen. Fun fact: Leviathan attacked on her thirteenth birthday.

I seriously don't know whose life sucks the most: Skitter's life or Vista's life. Vista is like the younger/hero version of Skitter: not only they have some common personality traits and they're natural born badass fighters, but their lives are some endless circles of painful suffering. Why they aren't allowed to be happy, TRULY happy at least for a bit while

?

AmbarGriss · Jan 9, 2019

DataSnake said:
Vista's actually thirteen. Fun fact: Leviathan attacked on her thirteenth birthday.

I dind't knew that.

blackarrow · Jan 11, 2019

Hello, amazing people. What time it is? Let me hear it. Yep, time for the second Chapter of this new Arc, a Chapter where Taylor should return to school, after such a long absence (I don't miss at all the times with Taylor in the school, especially when I remember how badly she was bullied all the time

) because Greg decided to play a bigger role in this story that I thought he had. I'm not afraid of what he'll do, because I know that Taylor will find a way to make him keep his mouth about her dual identity, but I hope that he'll not be such a little prick to try to blackmail her with what he knows about her because he'll piss me off. I'm sick and tired of little pricks who believe that the whole world spins around them and everything should be allowed to them, and they can't accept any rejection. If Greg will understand after Taylor will explain him nicely (or less nicely, depends of her mood and how annoying he might be

) and will keep his knowledge for himself, then I'll admit that he's a good guy who deserve my appreciation. If not then...let's see his motives and if they're justified enough.
Btw, I'm afraid that before I'll finish reading Worm, my friend will spoil the entire Ward for me

. When I commented that Skitter and Vista's lives SUCKS, she told me that there's another character whose life sucks just as bad as theirs, called Rain. When I asked her if this Rain will appear soon in the story, she said that is a Ward's character, not from Worm. I was like...-ok, so there's a character codenamed Rain in Ward whose God Wildbow must hate them very much, just like he hates Skitter and Vista. Please, don't tell me more, I'll keep this in mind- This is the second close to a spoiler for Ward she told me. I have to start ignoring my friend if I still want to have a blind lecture of Ward

. I don't know who you're, Rain, and what you ever did to piss your God off, but I already feel sorry for you sucky life Chrysalis 20.2

It couldn't be easy. No. Everything was finally starting to settle down, and then this. Inconvenient timing, inconvenient in every way. It had to be at the high school, of all places.

Tattletale and Grue would be meeting with the Ambassadors soon. That took them out of the running, as far as people I could call. Forrest was just a little too old and a little too attention-grabbing to be seen lurking around the local high school. Regent, Imp or Bitch? I was trying to fix the situation, not make it worse.
I pressed Charlotte for more information:
RT:
You see him?
Charlotte:
no. no bars here. had to leave to make call.
Right. Arcadia was one of the schools that had a Faraday cage, if I was remembering right. Something to stop kids from texting and making calls in class.
RT:
What was he doing?
Charlotte:
asking about u in hallways, checking with ppl to see if u were around.
Charlotte:
i approached him and asked how he knew u. he said he didnt. seemed too intense for that so i called u.
RT:
GJ.
All in all, almost exactly what I might have told her to do if I'd been in direct contact with her at the time.
RT:
This is Eric with blond hair? Blue eyes? Talks like he's going to run out of breath and pass out?
Charlotte:
Yes.
My suspicions were confirmed. Greg.
Charlotte:
is break btween class atm. have 2 go soon. what shld I do?
No time to think or plan. It was annoying how these codes and protocols that Tattletale and I had come up with were costing us precious seconds.
RT:
Go back inside to see if there's drama. Tell him I'm not at school, if you can, but that I can meet him later.
Charlotte:
k
While I waited, I patted the mattress dry where the cleaner had soaked into it, then dragged it upstairs. My phone buzzed before I'd dressed to take it out to the balcony.
Charlotte:
he gone. class starting. no drama I can see.
Damn. Not as bad as it could be, but the situation wasn't resolved.
RT:
What's your next class?
Charlotte:
Eng.
RT:
Go. I'll see if I can track him down. Will find you if I need you but don't worry. Good job.
I'd let her return to business as normal: I didn't want her too caught up in this.
There was something to be said for having good help. I felt more than a little guilty. Much like Sierra had during the worst periods, Charlotte was picking up my slack. In managing my territory while I was going home to sleep at my dad's house, she was earning her wage twice over. I would have increased her pay but she didn't want me to, claiming it would arouse suspicion.
Maybe I could get Tattletale to arrange some kind of scholarship for her. We had funds. Tattletale had acquired everything Coil had owned, and it had been easy enough to assume his false identities and take over the dummy corporations. Now that the city was starting to pick up and people were talking about the potential the portal in the downtown area had, the land was skyrocketing in value.
Not to mention that the Ambassadors had given us a healthy lump of cash when they'd arrived in Brockton Bay, and were paying rent in the thousands of dollars so we'd be copacetic with them just being around.
Apparently that was villain protocol, in a way, doing jobs or giving gifts when intruding on another's territory. I could see why: it let one ask for permission and show respect while still giving evidence to a measure of power. If these guys were willing to hand over tens of thousands in the same way other people gave gift baskets, it showed they had that kind of money to spare, and they were confident. The side benefit for us specifically was that it kept Tattletale from complaining too loudly.
With luck, there would be others like them. Which wasn't to say Itrusted them.

Sierra and Charlotte will always be the BEST henchpersons in this story and I'll fight tooth and nails with anyone who'll even dare to think otherwise

. Taylor is going to school and she's going to meet Greg and...Emma. I doubt that Emma will try to bully Taylor again, Sophia is gone and she doesn't have anyone strong enough to protect her back if Taylor will decide to BREAK it. Taylor can kill Emma from a single slap, if she wants, she fought against the most dangerous killers in the world for months so Emma will be as easy to be crushed as an ordinary fly

. But she doesn't have to use violence, isn't necessary now that Taylor can probably make Emma kneels at her feet with some will- chosen words. Emma is not smart enough neither perspicacious to come back with a badass reply if Tayor will decide to BURN her with her words alone. She'll be monumentally crushed however Taylor will attack her. I'm more worried about Greg than Emma. Emma is a ridiculous small- microscopic level- ZERO on my list of characters to worry about :lol.
I'm glad that Taylor doesn't trust Ambassadors/Accord even if she doesn't say no to their alliance and their apparently endless money. You can be allied with someone and still don't trust them, this is not forbidden or uncommon. With all their money, I won't be surprised to find out that Accord and his Ambassadors actually...work for Cauldron

. I mean, Cauldron is everywhere (both literally and figuratively). Not even freemasons are so wide-spread in our world as Cauldron is EVERYWHERE. Since Cauldron can travel through dimensions, they'll invade my house, soon or later. Look, I already have a little korean cauldron that I use to cook rice. I'm reading about Cauldron, I'm writing about Cauldron, I'm talking about Cauldron. They're going to get me, they're going to get everyone

....
Wait a minute...what are the noises coming from....under my desk

?

I dressed, pulling on my running shoes, a tank top and the lightweight cargo pants I'd worn to run. I left the grungier clothes laid out on the bed, and made doubly sure I had my cell phone, identification and my knife. I doubted I could have it in plain sight, so I stuck it in my sock and pulled my pants leg down around it.

It was nine fifty in the morning, and I figured I had an hour and forty-five minutes before the second class of the day ended and the lunch hour began.
I had to find a way to drag Greg out of class and talk to him without alerting others. That, or I'd have to wait until lunch started and postpone plans with my dad. Inconvenient.
The bus was running on a reduced schedule. There were fewer intact vehicles, fewer drivers in the area, and routes were longer with the detours that they had to take. It wasn't as bad as it might otherwise be: a twenty-minute wait.
I stewed in my own frustration. There had been occasions in the past where I'd had to leave my territory to handle greater threats. It irritated me more than it should have, to be forced to leave for this. Such a minor thing, but prickly enough that it had the potential to become something major if ignored, and awkward overall to handle. How did I even approach the conversation?
I've faced down a handful of the scariest sons of bitches in the world, I've been intentionally trapped in a burning house, blinded, had my back broken, I've been paralyzed and at the mercy of no less than two lunatic tinkers, and I've killed a man, I thought.
And going back to school stirs up old feelings of anxiety.
I could feel the building tension and a shift back to old ways of thinking, and the ridiculousness of it made me smile. It was the middle of the morning, the bus was almost empty, and I stretched as though I were just waking up. One or two people glanced my way, and I allowed myself to not give a fuck.
It helped, as though I were physically shrugging off the old burdens that were settling on me.
The wind from the open windows of the bus stirred my hair, and I exhaled slowly, turning my face into the sun, letting it warm me even as the breeze cooled me off. I couldn't do anything about the time it took to get there, so I might as well take the opportunity to get a breather.
Arcadia High. I'd seen it in the midst of some of Brockton Bay's worst days, but effort had been expended to fix it up and get everything sorted out. New windows, that caught the light in a way that made them look almost like compound eyes. Some kind of sub-layer or something worked into them that made for a number of quarter-sized hexagons. The front gate had been rebuilt, cracks paved over, and vandalism cleaned up. It was pristine, with panels of white tile and glass that almost glowed in the morning light.
The thing that caught me off guard was the people. Classes had started, but there were forty or so students gathered around outside, sitting and talking, texting or simply enjoying the sun. A half-dozen adults in outfits that were uncomfortably similar to the enforcers of the old Boardwalk were stationed at the gates and at points around the school grounds that let them keep an eye on things. Security? Volunteers?
That wasn't the entirety of it. The students fell into two groups. One was very much what I might have expected, kids in new clothes or casual summer wear, smiling and talking. Months ago, I might have felt like the smiles and periodic laughs were directed at me, and not in a flattering way. I'd alwaysrationally understood that they weren't, but not to the point that I could convince myself. Now I reveled in my anonymity. I knew what it was to have every set of eyes on me, people covertly trying to gauge who I was and what I was doing every time I moved a finger. This wasn't it.
The other, larger group of students, adding up to maybe thirty-five of the forty kids present, was something else. They were the Sierras, the Charlottes, the Ferns and the Forrests. They were the Jessies and Bryces, the Taylor and Danny Heberts. The people who had stayed.
I just had to look at them, and I knew it. Some had dressed in new clothes, but others wore the clothes that had weathered the last few weeks and months, worn and frayed at the edges. Physically, some were frayed. They had lines in their face that spoke to weeks with a bare minimum of sleep, and both skin and hair bore the coloration that resulted from days spent outdoors.
One or two, I noted, carried weapons. One had a knife displayed visibly at his hip. A girl with a burly frame very similar to Rachel's was sitting beneath a tree, eyes closed, her hands on a stick with an electrical tape grip. There wasn't anything definable, only little clues that added up, and a generalatmosphere about them.

"looks under her desk, grabs Contessa by her fedora and drags her outside the apartment" Yo, bitch, get out of my house. Stop invading my world and my personal space "shuts the door behind Contessa" See, my dear readers, this is one of the things I have to put up with because I want to make your life a little more better with my liveblog

. The sacrifices I'm making for you "shakes her head".
Of course some students who decided to stay and ruin their mental sanity/health in Brockton Bay, BETTER known as City of Eternal Damnation, are carrying weapons at the school. They went through so much shit that they know that only weapons can protect them from being exposed to even more shit anywhere they're going. They learned their lessons in the hard way, but now they know what to do to not let themselves be defeated by a city where only people who know how to defend themselves survive. I won't call them STRONG because I don't want to see the world through Sophia's BLIND eyes, but I'll call them smart survivors. Because this is exactly what they're: smart survivors. Smart survivors are not the people who wait for miracles to save their lives, smart survivors are the people who create their own miracles to save their lives

.
Welcome back to the school, Taylor. Enjoy your staying, even if is for a little time, enough to convince Greg to "forget" that there's a connection between you and Skitter.

I didn't miss the division between the two groups. The five or so fresh-faced teenagers weren't hanging out with the ones who had stayed.

"You just arriving?" one of the enforcers at the gate asked me.
"Yeah," I said.
He studied me just long enough that I felt acutely aware of my bare shoulders and arms, and how my top clung to my stomach. I glared at him, and he met my eyes with an ease that suggested he didn't care I'd caught him looking. Creepy.
"Got a weapon?" he asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Can't keep it if you want to go inside."
I was only keeping myself armed as a matter of practice, and I was aware I wasn't alone on that front, or I wouldn't be doing it so casually. I reached into my sock and withdrew the sheathed knife. It says something that we can even take this conversation in stride.
I handed it to him. It wasn't worth the time it would take to argue. "What's with these people outside, here?"
He shrugged. "Easing into it. We asked if we should round 'em up and take them inside, but the principal said we should give them a few days to depressurize if they wanted it."
"Depressurize," I said.
He glanced at the knife, "All I know is we're not enforcing a lot of rules yet. Sometimes a few take a break and come outside, smoke, talk, get some fresh air and sun. Those ones don't tend to stay long."
He was looking at one group by the front door, three of the ones who didn't have that weary, worn, and wary sense about them. The ones who'd no doubt fled the city when things turned ugly.
I'm not the only one who sees the distinction, I mused.
"I think they're intimidated. Or you and I see it as a nice sunny day and they see it as being outside in a shithole of a city." When I didn't keep the conversation going, he shrugged, "If you're going in, you'll want to go to the office. They'll sort out where your classes are."
"Okay," I said. There was no need to explain that I wasn't here for classes.
By the time I'd reached the front door, a trio of teenagers younger than me had already approached the same guard. It would be another litany of questions.
It did something to explain why the guards were there. The two kids who hadn't been willing to part with their weapons were no doubt another part of that. The whole dynamic was skewed, now, and they were mediating the worst of it.
I'd been in Arcadia High once, and it had been more of a life or death situation, one where I had been able to tentatively use my bugs. In this unfamiliar territory, with a thousand or more students throughout the building, I had to actively work to suppress the powers I'd been using on an almost automatic level. I couldn't be sure that a small cloud of flies would go unnoticed as they traced the contours of a hallway.
Much like I'd seen outside, there were a handful of students who hadn't yet made their way to class, or had stepped out for a breather, congregating in pairs and trios, or standing alone.
I knew I could have asked them for directions, but I wasn't keen on approaching people who were in the process of avoiding socializing. The men and women in uniforms that were stationed at the intersections where the halls met? More of a possibility, but there was no need. Directions were posted on the wall.
I glanced at a note on the wall. One sentence, with no punctuation, and a big black arrow pointing one way.
New sudents go to front office
If I'd had a little bit of hope that things were working out here, they faltered some when I saw the typo.
I noticed another set of papers that were arranged on the wall, not because of what it said or the title, but the cartoon etched on the wall in permanent marker.
The heading of each of the sheets read 'Know where you are'. The paper with the graffiti was Rachel's; a crude drawing of a dog was violating one corner, which had been torn slightly to accommodate the dog. A speech balloon over the smiling dog's head read 'you don't know shit'.
Fitting, if it was one of Rachel's followers.
I headed in the direction of the office, feeling strangely out of place. This entire thing was surreal. There were the hallways with gleaming floors smudged by the passage of hundreds of feet, the bright primary colors in trophy cabinets and on bulletin boards, all contrasted with the security guards that were set up and standing to attention as though they expected a fight to break out any moment, and the innumerable teenagers who were being allowed to roam the grounds, some hanging around with weapons at hand.
But more than anything else, it was the notion of where I fit in the grand scheme of things. Growing up, attending school, there had always been this general sense of the local gangs and powers and their influence. It was the little things. The gang tags scrawled on walls, the posters informing Asian students of who they could contact if the ABB started pushing them to join or pay tribute. There had always been the rougher kids who wore certain colors and symbols of their affiliation. It had meant something when a teenager wore yellow, or when an adult had an eight-ball tattooed on them.
I was aware that Arcadia High had been scrubbed clean, and that things wouldn't become fully apparent until people had gotten more settled and more comfortable. Even with that, though, it was unsettling to notice that for the first time since I was eleven, I couldn't see anything relating to the hostile gangs in the area.
There were no real gangs except for ours. Grue, Tattletale, Bitch, Regent, Imp, Parian and I were the vague, intimidating forces that people worried about crossing. We weren't as bad as some of the ones that had come before us, sure, but people still saw us as something to warn others about.
I'd seen all the people working for me, sensed them with my bugs. I'd read about myself on Parahumans Online, and in news articles. At the same time, high school was sometimes described as a microcosm of the world at large. There was something else about being in the midst of a three-dimensional model of it all, seeing it have a concrete impact on a place that was more familiar.
Four teenagers were sitting along the side of the hallway as I walked by. They stared at me as I passed.
I had to work to reassure myself that there was no connection between what I was thinking and the fact that they were looking at me.
It did remind me that the Wards were here, and whatever else had happened, they might have seen my face. Not my face, but they could easily have seen a deformed evil clone of me.
There was that surreal sensation, again. Was it weird that I felt most likeTaylor at school? That I was all the more cognizant of the weirdness of all the cape stuff?
They were still looking. I gave one a curt nod, and she nodded back.
I quickened my pace as I headed to the office. I wanted to be gone.
There were a lot of students in the office, and I was soon aware of why. There were capes present. Ones I only barely recognized. Adamant and Sere.
"Listen!" a woman behind the counter raised her voice to be heard over the general babble. She had more authority than I might have expected of a secretary. "Get in a line! If you're here to look at the superheroes, you can do it later! They'll be here all week!"
Nobody listened, of course, and the secretaries weren't really helping, taking requests and giving out information to whoever was closest to the front. It only encouraged the press of bodies.
I headed to the other end of the room, hoping I'd be able to work my way around the end of the crowd.
I glanced at the clock. Ten-forty. I had maybe twenty minutes before my dad called me, and getting back in time would be difficult, even if I was lucky enough to have the bus show up at a convenient time. I could postpone, plan a late lunch, but I really didn't want to.
"Please," Adamant spoke, and his voice was filled with confidence, "Do as Principal Howell is asking and form lines."
That worked, but not all that well. People elbowed and pushed against me as we arranged ourselves into loose columns. I'd never liked the feeling of being in a press of bodies, and it made me think of other unpleasant situations: Bonesaw straddling me, being drawn into a massive, monstrous lump of flesh. It made me exceedingly uncomfortable, and being uncomfortable made me instinctively reach for my bugs.
That was another reason to not be in classes. How long would it be before my power did something while running on autopilot and drew attention?
I studied Adamant and Sere while I waited. Adamant, naturally, wore a metallic costume, featuring metal bands and panels that were loosely linked together by chains, fit over a black bodysuit. He'd been at the fight against Leviathan, if I remembered right.
He was a member of Legend's team in New York. Or he had been. Legend was gone now.
Sere wore cloth, in contrast to Adamant. He wore a kind of nomadic, desert-tribe style of robe, all in pristine white with a fine pattern embroidered onto it. His mask was more stylistic than representing anything, a solid white plate with light blue lenses for the eyes and no opening for his nose or mouth. What made him stand out was the moisture that flowed from the gaps in his handwraps and from around his mask. It swirled around him like a breath outdoors in winter, pale. Almost an inverse of Grue.
Powerwise, I knew Adamant was a bruiser, though I didn't know the specifics. Sere, I did know about, but only because I'd once come across a cell phone video of him brutally taking down a number of thugs, posted online somewhere, months ago. Some capes shot fire from their hands. Sere was the opposite – he could draw moisture to himself with surprising speed and violence. It didn't matter if a foe was armored or behind a forcefield, he could dehydrate them in a flash. It was the kind of power that might have earned him a villain label if he hadn't had all of the Protectorate's PR at his back.

No more ABB, no more Empire88, no more Merchants, no more villainous gang except for Undersiders and Ambassadors (there are also Fallen and Teeth but looks like people are not afraid of them as they're in ABB and Empire88's case, so they either aren't so well known or they're not so dangerous YET). Undersiders are taking care of their territories, without bothering anyone else and Ambassadors are paying rent to Undersiders so they can stay in the city while doing...what they're doing. So far, I saw Accord trying to do only a couple of bad things but never finishing anything. He wanted to kill Sundancer but after she impressed him with her dance he spared her life and he wanted to have his own Endbringer, but even without S9 sudden attack, Blasto wasn't able anyway to create a viable Endbringer. So, this crazy plan was doomed to fail from the beginning. Also, he treats his employees like shit. But, according to Citrine's own words, they WANT to work for him, its not like he forced them to be his diplomats- henchpersons at gunpoint or under blackmail. If they agreed to work under such stressful conditions, then who I'm to judge Accord's way of treating his employees? So far, while I'm very suspicious about him, Accord didn't gave me any reasonable reason to see him as a danger for Brockton Bay and its unfortunate citizens or someone terrible for Undersiders, who only wait for the right moment to finish them off (like Coil did). Well, maybe later, if I'll find more about Accord- something that I'll not like OR I'll like- I'll change my opinion about him in better or worse.
Undersiders, you have my entire respect and appreciation for your efforts to clean this city of gangs, drug traffickers who poison the teenagers with their white death, traffickers of human beings and nazi criminal elements. You did something that nobody else (authorities+ local heroes) ever did. While others behaved like headless chicken around villains, you actually took the matter in your dirty hands and assured a safer and more clean life for citizens. This is what I call: True justice for many people who suffered years of injustice

.
Sere can kill people by dehydrating them. So, his power is NOT limited by Manton Effect since he can affect DIRECTLY biological matter. Yes, he seems more like a villain than a hero but lets not forget something. Every single power can be dangerous and villainous in nature, depends of the person who is using it or how it is used. Vista is a heroine and she can crush people to death, Miss Militia can execute people in cold blood with any kind of weapon her heart desires, Prism can have her duplicates stab people, Triumph can break people's spine by hurling them into walls with his supersonic scream, and so on (I still don't don't have any idea how Dinah's power can be used in an offensive way but now I'm convinced that even Tattletale can be freaking dangerous if she'll want to hurt someone

). Powers have almost equally good and bad sides, and a hero like Sere can use his power to do good by getting rid of criminals and still be a hero. I guess Adamant's power is to manipulate metal, someone like Kaiser.

I idly wondered what had made the pair stick with their employer, in the wake of the recent events that had so many leaving the Protectorate with little to no explanation, Legend among them.

More than that, I was wondering how I'd fight them if it came down to it. With the way the armor and chains of his costume were arranged, Adamant was just begging to be tied up. Sere would be trickier.
"You're next, black curls," the secretary closest to me spoke.
I focused my attention closest to her and approached the counter.
"What do you need?"
"I need to get in contact with someone."
"We can't give out personal information."
"Not even if it's an emergency?"
"If you need to inform a student of something critical, we can make an announcement."
"No. That'd be the opposite of what I need to do."
"You could always look for them during the lunch break."
I frowned.
"If there's nothing else, there are others in line."
"What's the procedure for signing up for classes?"
"You tell us your old schedule. We slot you in as well as we're able. Core classes are in classrooms. We've adopted another system for non-core classes."
"Non-core?"
"Anything besides maths, science, phys ed, and all those. Non-core classes are held in the computer labs. You'll have a rushed curriculum, alternating reading assignments with quizzes and worksheets on the computers. There are teachers at the front of the lab if you have any questions."
"I don't suppose you could tell me all the classes that are second period?"
She gave me a stern look.
I was feeling the pressure. This maybe wasn't the brightest move, but I wanted to find Greg, get this solved, then return to life as normal. Lunch with my dad, in an ideal world.
What classes did Greg take?
I could remember him talking in Spanish. God, it felt like years had passed, not months.
"World issues-"
"Grade?"
"Ten. World Issues, Spanish…"
Not English. Charlotte's in that class and she probably would have slipped out to send me a text.
"…History and Music," I finished, picking two more that weren't likely to be on the computers.
"World issues is a non-core class. That'll be your fourth period. You have History now."
She struck a key and the sheet began printing.
"You don't need my name or ID?"
"We have zero notice on who's going to be here or not. For now, everyone is to go to classes. Do your best to catch up for the tests in one week, where we evaluate where everyone is. We're adding students to the system on a priority basis."
I nodded. Something of a relief, that this wasn't set in stone. She handed me the paper and I took it, turning on my heel to head out of the office.
Computer labs first, I thought. I hated to do it, but I drew on my bugs to find the labs in question. With my luck, Kid Win would have put something together something to track unusual bug movements, and I'd get found in a second.
The first lab was a bust. Nobody got in my way or spoke up as I entered the room. There was only an older teacher who pointed wordlessly at a space where computers were unattended.
I walked up between the rows and looked at the students. No luck. I left through the back door at the other end of the class.
Halfway through the second lab, I saw Emma, clustered with a group of others. Her hair was dyed blond, done up in a french braid, and her clothes were brand new. Their eyes were on a computer screen where they were watching a video on a streaming site. I wasn't surprised that she'd drawn people to her so quickly. She had that magnetism to her.
She looked up and noticed me, no doubt expecting to see a teacher, and I could see her eyes widen a fraction in recognition.
But I was already walking, moving on with my search. She wasn't a priority. I deposited a single fly in her bag so I could keep out of her way and headed out of the room.
Ten minutes passed as I moved from area to area. I was aware of the moving timeline, and felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach that had nothing to do with school.
Fuck him. Seriously.
By the time I found him in the smaller gymnasium, where long tables and computers had been arranged to form an impromptu computer lab, it was past eleven. My dad would call any minute.
I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
The change in his expression when he saw me, with the spreading smile of a child that had torn open the wrapping paper to find the very present they'd wanted… fuck me. I could see where Charlotte had been concerned. There was zero subtlety to him, and a bare minimum of restraint. Or maybe it was the other way around.
He pointed at the door, and I nodded once by way of reply. I headed in that direction without waiting for him.
At least he didn't blurt out 'Skitter!' in front of everyone.
"I can't believe you came, you-"
Seeing his awe, the unrestrained excitement, I decided on a strategy.
"Are you stalking me?" I asked, cutting him off.
I could see his expression change, shifting from enthusiasm to confusion. He looked decidedly deranged for the split second he was midway.
"No," he said. "The reason-"
Can't let him get going or it's all over. He'll keep talking until he says something we'll both regret. "Then you have a grudge against me. Some vendetta or something?"
"No!"
"Because you barely know me, and a friend said you were being seriously creepy with the way you were trying to get info on me."
"I wasn't! I was trying to help!"
Help?
I fumbled for a question that wouldn't give him an excuse to say anything vital aloud. I felt like I was channeling Rachel as I spoke, "I don't need your help."
"I-"
"In fact," I cut him off. "I'm offended you would say it."
"I know!" he strained the words at me, two words said in a way that was too excited to be a successful whisper. He wasn't talking about me being offended. He was talking about my secret identity. Fuck me.
"Greg," I said, reaching out to put the flat of one hand against his shoulder, as if pushing him away, "You don't know anything about me."
"We're not that different," he said. He'd shifted gears to bewilderment.
"In what way are we the same?" I asked. Safe question, unless his answer included a confession that he had powers.
"We're… not social people. We like reading," the answers were weak, and from the look on his face, he knew it. There was a benefit to him being this transparent, and I was counting my blessings that he wasn't very good at articulating what he was thinking. "We like computers."

I don't know exactly why, but I feel a pang of pity for Greg. He doesn't seem like the asshole that I thought he's going to be. He's more like an antisocial guy who have a hopeless crush on Taylor and wants to help her in his own way, but doesn't know how. He thinks that if they have some things in common, he and Taylor are alike and can develop a good relationship based on their mutual troubles to interact with other people around them. He wants to assure her that she isn't alone in the world and she can find a good friend in him, if she'll give him the chance to prove himself. This is actually sweet, Greg, but you're so very wrong about Taylor

. If she's the villain Skitter who rule her own territory with an iron mandible, then you should know that she's not the antisocial person you knew anymore, she knows now how to work close with them, she knows how to make them work for her, how to collaborate with them, how to control them, how to scare them away, how to be the social butterfly without being very friendly. She grew up so much between the time spend in school and her restless villain work that you can't say anymore that you two have so much in common and she needs your help in order to not feel alone and isolated

. You're the one who need the help and support of someone ready to understand you, boy, not viceversa.

And, fuck me, I couldn't help but admit that he was nice. Part of the reason he was struggling to provide an answer was that he was couching his statements to avoid hurting my feelings. The answer was short: we'd both been the losers, but he wouldn't say it outright.

I let him flounder for a little bit longer. I didn't want to tear him down, but every second that his confidence wavered was an advantage to me.
"You don't know anything about me," I repeated myself for effect, then quickly added, "You kind of messed up my day doing this."
With the reaction I got, someone might have thought I'd slapped him.
"I wanted to help," he said.
"I was spooked," I said, feeling like shit even as I continued to leverage his better qualities against him. "All I got was a friend texting me to say someone's looking for me like they have a vendetta."
"That's not it…" he said, trailing off, but his enthusiasm was crushed. He was visibly sagging, as though someone had let the air out of him.
"And I found out it was you, and all I could think was that you were angry and you wanted to hurt me, or maybe you had some crazed infatuation with me and you were stalking me."
I could see the look on his face. Horror mixed with panic.
"Fuck, Greg-"
"No. That's not what it was-" he said, breathless. His face betrayed the lie. It was at least part of it. "It wasn't like I was crazy over you, it was a little thing, a while back. That's not-"
"I have a boyfriend," I blurted out the words in my haste to cut him off again.
It was like kicking a dog.
He went silent, and I took the opportunity to get my mental footing and plan out what to say next.
A boy stopped in his tracks on his walk way down the hall. A little shorter than me, red haired. Apparently our atmosphere was screwed up enough that he'd noticed. "Problem?"
"It's okay," I said. "We're in the middle of resolving it. Personal stuff."
"That's-" Greg started, then he stopped, looking at the boy. Even he wasn't so clueless as to say something in front of a stranger.
The boy looked between us, and then gave me a curious look. He was one of the ones who'd stayed, I could tell at a glance. Unlike some, though, unlike me, he hadn't gotten much sun. Odd. Maybe he'd holed up in a house or a shelter for the last few months.
Staying indoors would have been safest.
From the way he was looking at me, I wondered if he saw something like that. Difference was, I had a secret to keep.
"Thank you, though," I told him, before he could figure anything out.
He took it for what it was: me saying 'go away' in the politest way I could manage. He left.
"Greg," I said, "I don't want to hurt you and I don't want to be your enemy. You have to understand, the last while has been scary. I'm guessing you didn't stay in town?"
"I did," he said, then he stopped, breaking eye contact. "I was on the outermost edge of the city. Other side of Captain's Hill."
There's a mountain on the far side of Captain's Hill, I thought. Which meant he wasn't close enough to matter. I would have hesitated to call that area a part of Brockton Bay, but I could see where maybe Greg had convinced himself it was close enough to count.
"You didn't stay in town, then," I said. "That's fine. Smart. But maybe you don't get what it's been like here. All I want is peace and quiet. I want to spend time with my dad, who I very nearly lost. I don't want trouble. I don't want complications."
"I was trying to help!" he protested.
"Greg-"
He bowled over me this time, "But I was thinking, you know, if I could figure this out, others could too."
I glanced over my shoulder to ensure there was nobody in earshot. A few fruit flies ventured out of a locker and checked around the corners.
"Greg, what is it you think you know?"
"You're Skitter," he whispered.
"No, Greg," I said, calm, quiet.
"I was reading online, and it's like, there were people wondering if you were an adult, and it got me thinking what Skitter must be like in real life, and then itclicked."
That was just about the most horrifying thing he could have said, barring near-impossibilities like, 'I got powers and I ate your hair to get pregnant with your child.'
"A feeling, Greg?"
"It's more than that! It all makes sense!"
"I was going to spend time with my dad," I said. "That was my whole goal for the day, it's my only goal. I just want to unwind and relax after weeks and months of living in this hellhole of a city. And you pull me away from all that because of a hunch?"
"It makes sense. Your age, your location, your attitude. Even with the bullying, your trigger event-"
I cut him off, "Trigger event?"
"Yeah, you-"
"What's that?" I asked.
He stopped, trying to think of a way to parse the answer, and I could even see a flicker of enthusiasm, as he imagined explaining the concept.
The enthusiasm drained from his face.
"You're playing dumb," he said, but the confidence had taken a hit.

Aww, poor Greg. I feel terrible sorry for him. He probably had so many hopes that if he'll impress Taylor with his knowledge that she's the same person as Skitter, she'll be fascinated with his smartness and insight and will accept to become his girlfriend. I like the fact that Taylor is very honest with him (except for the part with her not being Skitter), telling him frankly that she doesn't like him, that she already have a boyfriend, that she's not anymore the same person he knew she was, that she didn't liked how he spooked her with his sudden message and she's mad at him for acting like this. She's pissed and she clearly offended him with her harsh words and made him look like a puppy who was just kicked out in a very cold rain (don't kill me, Rachel, please, I just made a comparison, didn't even tried to make fun of puppies

), but she's very direct with him and this is what I like at her. I like honest people, people who say anything they're thinking about someone, even if brutal honesty can hurt, in some of the cases. But I still feel bad for him, he really believed that Taylor would have given him a chance

.

"You know that capes hurt my dad?" I asked. "Both times he got hospitalized. Shatterbird the first time, the explosion at the town hall the second. Superpowers are really the last thing I even want to think about. We can talk, but I really don't want to talk about the superhero stuff."

Fuck me, I felt slimy, playing him like this, using my dad for leverage.
"I can't talk about this without talking about capes."
"About me being one of the villains? Isn't it kind of insulting? No, Greg. I'm sorry, but you're wrong."
"But the proportions, the appearance-"
"You're wrong," I repeated. I was feeling enough sympathy for him at this point that it wasn't hard to inject some into my voice.
"Everything fit," he said, his voice small.
Fit, not fits. He'd already come to the conclusion I'd wanted. I kept my mouth shut. I wanted nothing more than to be gone, to arrange things so I could meet up with my dad with a minimum of questions, but I stood there and waited for Greg's response.
"I'm sorry," he said, in the end.
"You're not a bad guy, Greg," I said. "Sorry I'm not the person you wanted me to be."
He nodded, mute.
"Take care of yourself. Good luck with school. Maybe I'll see you around."
"I hope your dad's alright," he said.
"Thanks," I answered him. Then I turned to leave.
God damned people. I felt like crap, both for manipulating him and the way I'd manipulated him, but there'd been no other choice. What the hell had he even expected? That I'd admit it and be bursting with gratitude that he'd let me know I needed to take some extra measures with my secret identity?
Probably.
I headed for the front door of the school. As crummy as I felt, I could relax a bit, now. Crisis averted. I'd send Charlotte a text, then see about meeting up with my dad. I wanted to leave. There was nothing for me here. Only ugly feelings.
Except the difference from then and now was that I felt a hell of a lot more like an Emma than a Taylor.
Speak of the devil. I could sense her by the front door, hanging out with a group of her new friends. I changed routes and found a door in a stairwell, and stepped outside that way.
The problem was the gate. A short wall surrounded the grounds, and I couldn't quite bring myself to climb it, not with the attention it would attract. Going through the exit at the parking lot would take me in the opposite direction I'd wanted to go, and I was in something of a rush.
And maybe a part of me didn't want to run. Avoiding her was one thing, but going five or ten minutes out of my way to circle a whole city block just to keep out of her way was something else.
I walked briskly for the gate.
She saw me, walked to intercept. Fuck her. Of course she's starting something. It can't be easy.
She placed herself between me and the gate. She was almost playful as she stepped right, then left to cut me off as I changed direction. I was forced to stop.
A sly smile was plastered on her face. I was aware of the others looking. The people who were sitting outside, the guards… her friends were approaching to join her.
"Sneaky, sneaky," she said. She looked like she was having a ball. "Trying to avoid me?"
I didn't reply. I was a little spooked at how quickly my bugs were responding to my irritation. Half of my psyche was saying 'fight', the other half was saying 'ignore her', and the bugs were only listening to the first half. The second half was needing a bit of a push on my end.
There were few people in this world that had truly earned my hate. I'd put a bullet through the last one's brain.
Emma? I couldn't care less about her. That was what unsettled me.

No, don't compare yourself with Emma, Taylor. Its not the same thing. You didn't bullied Greg and made him look like a shit in front of you and/or his colleagues. You didn't even manipulated him, you just accused him of lying (because you have to keep your identity secret, right? Anyone in your position would have acted like this

), and you're brutally honest even if your attitude ended up hurting him. But he'll heal, he's very young and still have a lot to learn about life, he'll grow up mentally and emotionally, find another girl who'll share his hobbies and passions, start a relationship and stop dreaming about things that he can't reach

. You didn't do anything that you should feel sorry for, I'd rather think that Emma should feel sorry that she thinks she can bully you again, even after she convinced herself that you're a survivor and she was never one. This bitch have illusion of balls, but Taylor will convince her of the sad reality. Soon....meaning in the next Chapter. Can't wait to see Emma roasting under so much BURN

.
Btw, I noticed Clockblocker in tags. I think he was the redhead boy who asked Taylor is there were problems with Greg

. Now I don't understand why she didn't recognized him because heroes' civilian identity is public, right? But maybe Clockblocker still wants to keep his civilian identity hidden so is up to their choice.

Good night and sleep well, my friends.

legendshoelaces · Jan 11, 2019

The 'heroes with public identity' thing was specifically something that New Wave did as a measure of accountability, since they weren't government affiliated. Most heroes (or really, most capes) keep their civilian identities secret, including Dennis and the rest of the Wards.

blackarrow · Jan 14, 2019

"speaks on a villain voice" Hello, my minions. Do you know your duties today? You have to read another one of my stupid liveblogs and you can't say no because I'll punish you...I'll punish you by asking Taylor to make spiders rain over you

. Don't laugh, just look at what happened in Brazil during these days: it "rained" with spiders

Well, I think there's a Taylor doppelganger in our world with the same powers and she just got mad at brazilian people for some reasons and decided: fuck them, lets give them a freaking arachnophobia rain. But if you make me mad enough, I'll find her, talk to her and convince her to turn your hometowns into NOPEvilles until you'll spend your last saving on flametrowers. Wow, I feel so EVIL now. I even exercised an evil laugh, can you imagine how evil I'm? But seriously, this is what I want to happen to Emma in this new Chapter. I want Taylor to go officially nuts and summon a spiders rain over Emma, trapping her under billions and billion of spiders of all sizes. I'm going to have a lot of fun seeing Emma crying in fear and begging Taylor to spare her life, while trying to breathe while little spiders slowly fill her nostrils and mouth

. I HATE this bitch and I imagine only the worst kind of things to happen to her everytime she makes her disgusting and miserable appearance. Lets see how much she'll be burned by Taylor. I'm sure that Taylor will control herself and will keep her powers in check, because she knows that she'll attract the unwanted attention of the guards and the other students if she'll let her anger overcome her best judgement. Then everyone will know that she's Skitter and will call the heroes to arrest her. She's not so stupid to reveal her identity only to punish a bitch like she deserves. Taylor is smarter than that, much more smarter

Chrysalis 20.3

"Yes," I said. "I'm trying to avoid you because I have someplace to be."

"I'm hurt, Taylor. It's been a while since we had a chance to talk. We used to be friends, don't you remember?"
"I remember," I replied. Didn't want to get caught up in this. At the same time, I wasn't sure I wanted to back down, either.
I glanced around at the others. I needed a better term for the people who'd stayed, a name for that particular clique. They'd approached us, interested, but were hanging back enough to indicate they weren't about to jump to my defense. Couldn't blame them. The last series of events in Brockton Bay weren't the sort that rewarded heroes. These people had made it through by playing it safe and avoiding trouble.
Emma's friends weren't the same way. They approached, offering Emma backup and support. They didn't join in, though. Emma was point-man here. She was in a mood to start trouble, I could tell, and everyone present knew it.
The guards? They hung back, even further away than the ones on the periphery. Two or three of them. As I saw it, they were backing Emma up. If I smashed her teeth in or tore her ear half-off like Sophia had once done to me, they'd stop me, and I'd get in trouble. I'd get delayed from getting to where I wanted to be.
"Changed your look? I have to say, you manage to make any style look great."
The sarcasm was subtle. There was also a glimmer of a memory in there; she was referencing something. I brushed it aside. I doubted I wanted to think too hard on it.
"You're not impressing anyone," I said.
"So hostile," Emma said. "Is that part of your new image? Being rude? Keeping everyone at arm's length? If anyone's trying too hard, it's you."
Oh, I just had to take one look at her expression to see that she was revelingin the irony. She didn't give a damn that the accusations she was directing at me could be turned against her. For her, it was all about the reaction she got out of me. Victories, both big and little.
And all the while, she was oblivious to what I was holding back: tens of thousands of bugs, insects and arachnids, worms, centipedes, snails and slugs. I restrained them in the same way I might keep my fist clenched, resisting the urge to swing it at her.
It wasn't just the idea of hurting her. That was almost secondary. It was the idea of catching her right now, when she had less of a hold over me than she'd had in years. To see the look on her face in the moment before the bugs forced themselves into her airways. The dawning comprehension, the realization of what she'd brought on herself.
One action, and she might experience a share of the fear, the frustration and disgust I'd experienced over the years. The hopelessness, the helplessnessin the face of someone with more power to throw around.
I could imagine the bugs flowing into her mouth before she thought to cover it, flowing into her nostrils until she covered that. I could imagine the moment she realized she'd have to swallow if she wanted to breathe. I might even dismiss the bugs from flying around between us, just so I'd have a clear visual of it. More likely that she'd throw up, but I'd have a minute or two before the heroes mobilized-

Taylor have a wonderful self control. I don't think many people will be able to control themselves like this if they're in her place. I can say that I'd be one of these people who'll ferociously attack Emma if she'll dare to provoke me. Taylor is an angel of patience compared with me, I'm not afraid to admit that I'll cripple Emma if I had Taylor's power. Its hard to control yourself if your bully is staying right in front of you and she tries hard to piss you off, only to make you attack her and be arrested by the guards. Because this is what Emma is trying to do right now. She knows that Taylor changed and she is probably more aggressive and ready to defend herself than she was a couple of months ago, and she hopes that Taylor will slap her (like she did in the mall) or do to her something even worse under so many witnesses' eyes, then she'll be arrested for groundlessly attacking someone. This must be her plan cause I can't see any other reason for her current behavior: Sophia is not there to keep her company and offer her protection, Taylor is not a student anymore, she's aware that Taylor changed, so her idiotic little mind told her that her revenge will be glorious if she'll create a spontaneous conflict with Taylor :rage:

.

"Zoning out on me, Hebert? Or did you spend too long outdoors and bake your brain?"

"I don't know what to say," I admitted.
"Big surprise."
"…because I don't really think much of you anymore. I've dealt with drug dealers, vandals, looters and thugs, and the gangs that were roving the city trying to get their hands on young girls. Hell, I was there when Mannequin attacked the boardwalk."
All true. Except… I 'dealt' with them in a more direct fashion than I was implying.
"Big girl. So brave," Emma said.
I saw one or two people on the periphery of the crowd shift position, irritated. They weren't my allies, not exactly, but Emma had just lost points, belittling what they had been through.
"I have a bit more perspective," I told her. "I've seen how shitty people can be. I've seen people who were desperate, fighting just to get by. Others preyed on people, in the midst of it all. I can't say I respect them for it, but maybe I understand it."
"You're-" she started.
I cut her off, talking over her, "And the thing is, even after seeing all of the starving people, the ones who ate trash or stole to make it through the next twenty-four hours, I think less of you than I think of them."
I could see her eyes narrow at that.
"You're insulting me?"
"I'm stating facts," I replied. "Talking to you even now, I'm realizing how small your world is. You think of popularity and high school, of looking nice. That's not even one tenth of a percent of what's going on in the world at large. Yet you're trying so hard to climb to the top of this tiny, sad little hill."
"You're missing one key fact there," she said. There was no smile on her face now. "You're beneath me on this little hill. So what does that make you?"
"Emma, you're snarling at me and insulting me, trying to make jabs as if each little gesture will give you a higher spot on the totem pole, but there's no point. I'm not even a student here."
"You're a dropout. A failure."

"You're a dropout. A failure." Said the BIGGEST FAILURE of this story. You failed at everything, Emma. You can't protect yourself against anyone so you always need to rely on your father's money/influence or Sophia's muscles to get our from complicated situations (while Taylor fought against the biggest menaces of this world and she didn't always relied on her superpowers

), you can't keep a single friend close to you (you turned your back to your friendship with Sophia, despite Sophia being your guardian angel for an year and a half; while Taylor is ready to jump in fire for her teammates/friends and she faced a superpowered criminal in order to save a little girl), you're afraid of everything that moves around you, while Taylor makes any fear her bitch, you're a rich heartless girl who only care about yourself while Taylor takes care of a whole territory filled with people who love and are grateful to her for everything she did for her. You're like a zombie who lost her will to live after that ABB attack but you're still in denial and you vomit all your frustrations over a girl who survived to endless attacks and confrontations who only made her stronger and braver. You're the failure, Emma, the failure is you. Taylor is a victorious person and deep down you know that. You just want to have your last revenge so you can sleep better at night, knowing that not only your life will be miserable

.

I sighed a little. "I really like this approach of yours. You started off really subtle, and in the last minute alone, you've descended to flinging basic insults at me, trying to see what sticks. Except I'm really not bothered, and you're doing more to make yourself look bad."

Maybe I should have let her play it out a bit more and try a few more aimless jabs before I called her on it. Didn't matter.
One member of her entourage piped up, "Who do you think you are? Talking to her like that?"
Another. "You think you sound so smart, telling her what she's-"
The girl stopped as Emma raised one hand. Emma was glaring at me. How long had it been since I'd seen anything besides glee and mean smirks? Something substantial, and not just a look of fear as she huddled with her family at some fundraiser, or being shocked when I'd slapped her in the shopping mall.
Was Emma actually angry?
The Taylor of months ago would have appreciated at the realization, she might even have found it healing. Not caring about what she said now came with an equal measure of not caring about her reaction. I was almost disappointed.
"I've seen you break down in tears one too many times to buy that you don't care. You're a wimp, Hebert, a coward. You just want to look strong, pretend you're something other than what you are."
"No," I replied. "I just want to go to lunch with my dad. If you want to stroke your own ego, you can do it after I'm gone."
I didn't feel better, as this played along, somewhat in my favor. I was still angry, I still wanted to hurt her, to see the look on her face. But that feeling, in combination with what I'd mentioned to her earlier, when I'd said how small high school seemed in the grand scheme of things, it made my emotions seem out of proportion. Monstrous.
And punctuating that monstrous line of thinking was the bugs. Reflecting my feelings, it almost made for a throbbing sensation, insistent, the swarm working to move toward me, being pushed back with a semiconscious thought the next moment.
She was getting to me. It just wasn't the way she'd intended.
"You keep trying to run, Hebert, like a coward. You should thank me."
"Thank you? I'd love to hear this one."
"God, if you just would have pretended to grow a spine a little sooner, everything would have been fine."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"People who stand up for themselves get respect. If you would've tried this a little sooner, laughed more at the pranks and jokes, stood a little straighter instead of cringing like a whipped dog, it would have worked. We would've been friends again. You'd have been part of the group, and things would have been peachy. But you put it off too long, you made yourself into a victim. It wasn't us."
I could feel a few ideas fall into alignment.
"You're talking about Sophia. You mean she would have let me into the group."
"That's part of it."
Now we were talking about Sophia. About Shadow Stalker. Emma knew that the two were one and the same, and I knew as well, but I couldn't let on.
Still, it was leverage.
"That's a lot of it, I bet. How demented are you, that you think I'd fucking want to be your friend, after all the shit you pulled?"
"Are you really better off where you are?"
"Now? Yes. Then? Fuck, even then, yes! I called you pathetic a minute ago, but Sophia's worse than you. She was a sad little basket case who lashed out at people with violence and barbed words because it was the only way she could deal. The only real advantages she had were the fact that she was attractive and how you were misguided enough to look up to her, which is laughable unto itself."
"Watch it," she said.
"I would've thought you were better than that, but no. She brought you down to her level, and you saved her from becoming a deranged thug, and made her a popular deranged thug instead."
One of her friends stepped forward, no doubt to bark a retort, but Emma pushed her away.
"Watch it!" one of the guards called out. "Hands off!"
He was perfectly content to let this argument slide, but a push was too much? Whatever.
Emma turned to her friend, "Sorry."
"Whatev," the girl muttered back. She didn't look too happy.
Emma turned to me, and she had that mean, sly smile, like she had all the confidence in the world. "You want to play hardball, Taylor?"
"I want to go meet my dad for lunch. I've already said. You've been playing hardball for years. You can't really top using my mom's death to taunt me unless you're willing to pull a weapon."
"Sure I can," the anger had faded, and she was cool, calm. She seemed to relish her words as she said them. "You killed your mom."

Emma is so FULL OF BULLSHIT right now that I can't find enough words (not even in my own language) to describe how much she disgusts me. She tries to play some really stupid mental games with Taylor, accusing her that she killed her own mother only to make her finally snap and attack her. She saw that no matter what she said, Taylor will not play her dirty games, and now she uses Taylor's weakness, like her mother's death, to maker her enough mad in order to attack. First she made fun of Taylor's mother death and now she directly accused Taylor of murdering her :rage:

. Next time she might accuse Taylor of sleeping with her own father (I'm sure she will not hesitate to do that if this sick idea will cross her little mind). Taylor, don't fall for this bullshit, fucking ignore her and run away. Nobody will be able to catch you and you don't have to stay at school anyway. You'll appear like a coward in Emma's eyes, but better to be a free coward than a jailed bold girl

. I think I hate Emma more than I hate anyone else in this story and I'll enjoy her eventual death (if she'll die) more than I enjoyed anyone else death. I mean, I enjoyed so much when Coil died, but Coil was a criminal mastermind with SUPERPOWERS and you'll never meet someone exactly like him in real life. I enjoyed just as much when Merchants died, but Merchants were druggies with SUPERPOWERS and you'll never meet druggies exactly like them in real life. Then I screamed in joy when Mannequin "died", but Mannequin was a mad scientist with SUPERPOWERS and...good luck at finding a mad scientist with superpowers in real life. But Emma...a lot of people have already an Emma in their lives, a bully who doesn't have anything better to do with her life than trying to make other people lives just as miserable as hers

. Emma doesn't have superpowers (even if her "skills" at making readers RAGE because of her can be defined as a very subtle, but efficient superpower

), she's exactly like any real life bully, nothing fantastic neither exaggerating with her personality and attitude. There are so many Emmas in our world, at our schools, at our jobs, on streets, many Emmas tormenting us, our friends, our relatives, our children, maybe this is one of the reasons why I HATE her so much. Because of how realistic she's portrayed. And a perfectly realistic character is always more scary and sickening than someone who can split timelines or replace his body with hard shell and numerous weapons (Mannequin is still terrible scary because of my illogical fear for mannequins, but I admit that he's not a realistic character).

I didn't have a response to that. My thoughts were momentarily a jumble, as I tried to process how that was even possible.

"Remember? You were at my house when you got the call? You were supposed to call your mom. She was dialing for you when she got in the accident."
"Pretty weak, Emma. I don't really buy it, and I don't think even you buy that I'm at fault."
"Oh, but there's more. See, your dad thought so. Your dad blamed you. Heblames you. Remember? He kind of disconnected? Stopped caring about you? You eventually went to my parents to ask if you could stay over some, until he found his feet?"
I could remember. It had been the darkest period following one of the darkest moments of my life.
"My dad gave good old Danny a talking to, and your dad said he couldn't get over it. He thought you were responsible, blamed you because you didn't make the call you were supposed to, and your mom had to drive over, worrying something was wrong."
I could visualize it, fit this information into the blanks.
Emma continued speaking, and her words were in parallel with my own train of thought. "Ever think about how distant he got? Maybe how distant he is, even now? He loves you, maybe, but he hates you too. He dished all the dirt to my dad, and told him how if you'd just called, if you'd picked up when your mom tried to call you from home, he'd still have his wife. He'd still have a woman who was fantastic and smart and beautiful, someone way too good for him. Now all he's got is you. You, who he took care of more because he hadto than because of anything else. Does he even like you, now?"
Did my dad love me? Yes. Did he like me? That was up for debate.

Well...at least she didn't insinuated that Taylor sleeps with her father. This is a little better than what I was expecting coming from someone like Emma. Anyway, Emma wants to make Taylor believes that Danny blames her for her mother's death and he secretly hates her. Fucking bullshit, I'm sure that Danny loves Taylor more than his own life (he's the most lovingly and doting father...parent in the whole story. Alan Barnes and Marquis are also loving fathers, but Danny takes the prize, an indisputable fact

), he NEVER dared to blame her for Annette's accident, all the things that Danny supposedly told to Alan must be Emma's lies and manipulations just to hurt Taylor, nothing is true

. Emma uses all Taylor's weaknesses against her to make her suffer, being absolute ruthless. Danny worries so much about Taylor and he's trying his best to take care of her, even if she's the one who keep him at distance, its impossible for someone like this father to hate his daughter, or even blame her for something that she's not guilty of. Too bad that Taylor might start to believe Emma's LIES and add this fake guilt to her long list of things that she regretted she did (or she thinks she did). Please, Taylor, tell this bitch that every single word coming from her stinky mouth is a big fat lie and you don't believe anything

.

A hollowness had settled in me. I wasn't sure how much of it was what Emma was saying, how much was my thinking back to those days, and how much was an extension of the dissonance I'd been feeling since I stepped foot on school grounds.

I glanced at the others around us. They were quiet, watching. They weren't leaping to my defense or joining in on Emma's side. Observers.
Emma, for her part, was smiling, mocking me with her smugness, waiting for the reaction.
I exhaled slowly.
With all the time I'd spent around Tattletale, it wasn't hard to see what Emma was doing. Identifying the weak points, then making educated guesses, making claims that were difficult to verify, but devastating in their own right. She didn't have powers, but she did have the background knowledge of me, my dad and that period of my life.
If I'd ever been close to using my power on her, it was here, now. The fact that she was using my parents against me? Trying to fuck with me on this level?
I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled again. Be calm.
Was it true? Possibly. But it would be next to impossible to verify, unless I was willing to discuss old, ugly memories with my dad. Right here and right now, the information had only as much weight as I gave it. I had to react to it like I might one of Tattletale's headgames.
"Okay," I said. "Are you done? I'd like to go now."
The anger was bleeding out of me. If that was all she could do, on the spur of the moment, I didn't need to worry anymore.
The smile on her face remained, but it wasn't quite so smug, now. "I'm sorry. I should have realized you're a heartless bitch. You don't even care."
"I don't think I really believe you," I replied. "But even if I did, whatever. I've dealt with people who are smarter than you, I've had to handle people who are scarier and meaner than you. I've even had to work with people who are better at manipulating others than you. You don't have the slightest-"
I stopped. My phone was vibrating.
There were too many possibilities for what it could be. Issues with the Ambassadors, my dad, Charlotte…
I turned away and answered the call, putting the phone to my ear.
"Taylor," my dad spoke.
"Hi dad," I said.
"How's the work?"
"It's not," I said. "I got a call from someone I've been working with on and off, and stopped by the school. Where are you?"
"The boat graveyard. We're trying to do some problem solving, and it's slowing us down. Which school?"
"Arcadia. Want to meet me halfway? The…"

In your face, Emma, right in your face. You tried to manipulate Taylor, LYING her that her father hates her, but you FAILED colossally. Danny calls Taylor because he wants to know that she's ok and he wants to meet her and spend time in her company. A father who blames his daughter for her mother's death will NOT treat her with so much care and love. He'd ignore her, pretend that she doesn't exist anymore for him, see her as a stranger or even worse, as an enemy. Danny acts exactly opposite, he's worried for her more than for himself and I'm convinced that she'll still be his daughter even after he'll learn that she's Skitter

. He'll be mad at her, naturally, for being a villain and for lying him, but he will forgive her in time. So, Emma, before trying again to manipulate someone into believing that their parents don't like and want them anymore, think better if what you're doing will be in your advantage or not, because from what I see, you only end up losing like a fucking LOSER. THE BIGGEST LOSER WITH THE SMALLEST MIND AND EVEN SMALLER HEART.

Through the single fly I'd planted on her, I could tell that Emma was striding towards me. With only a split second to decide on a course of action, I decided to let her hit me.

She struck the phone out of my hand, and then shoved me into the wall that marked the perimeter of the school grounds.
Emma didn't say a word, but she was panting. Was she trying to think of something to say? She pulled me away from the wall, only so she could slam me against it again.
I could have laughed. She wasn't strong, she wasn't intimidating.
I thought about saying something. You're out of cards to play. You've dropped past insults and you've descended to brute force, now?
I didn't get a chance. A guard advanced on us and pulled her off me.
The guard sounded almost casual as he kept a grip on the back of her shirt and one of her wrists, fighting to stop her from struggling. "Now we're off to see the principal."
Figured. I glared at him. "So you stand back until a fight erupts, and get both attacker and victim in trouble?"
"The job's to stop students from hurting others or getting themselves hurt. Not about to step in the middle of an argument, or I'd be running around all day," he said.
"I'm not even a student here," I replied.
"Didn't figure you were, with how fast you were in and out. That's why it's your call. You can go, do that thing you were talking about with your family, or come back to the office with me and the girl."
"What's the difference?" I asked.
He shrugged, then grimaced as she continued to struggle. "We're supposed to take any troublemakers to the office along with students who might be willing to testify. You're not a student, but maybe you plan to be, so it's up to you."
I didn't respond right away. For one thing, I was going to relish the sight of Emma finally getting the short end of the stick. For another, I couldn't shake the notion that this was some kind of trap. For so long, it had been two steps forward, and one step back. Why should things be any easier now?
I picked up my phone and put it to my ear to see if the call was still connected. "Hello?"
"Taylor?" My dad was still on the other end of the phone.
"It's okay," I said. I met Emma's eyes. "Emma tried to pick a fight. They're taking her to the front office now."
There was a pause on his end. "…Do you need me to come?"
"You said you were busy with something. I doubt anything will come of this, so don't stress over it. Want to meet tomorrow?"
"Okay. Good luck."
"Thanks. Love you," I said. The memories Emma had just stirred up flickered through my mind's eye.
"You too," he replied.
I hadn't taken my eyes off Emma. She glared at me up until the moment the guard hauled her around, forcing her to march toward the school.
"You, in the sleeveless t-shirt, and you, girl with the haircut," the guard said, "And you, the blonde in the purple shirt. You're witnesses. Inside." He'd named two of the people who'd been hanging outside, both with the telltale look of people who'd stayed in Brockton Bay, and one of Emma's friends.
There was some hesitation from a girl with the right half of her head shaved. Her friends nudged her, and she joined the group.

I'm having so much FUN right now :lol. Emma fell in her own trap. She tried to make Taylor angry enough so she'll attack her but she ended up attacking Taylor instead, because she couldn't bear the knowledge that Taylor have a better life than her and an excellent relationship with her father and all her lies fell like an unstable house of cards. Emma is so stupid that she was defeated by her own stupidity, Taylor didn't had to lift a finger or say something really mean in order to win against her bully. Now they're going to see the principal and I hope that this principal is more different than that bitch of a principal who favored a rich girl with an influential father over a poor girl with a simple working father. Please, be a rational person with a zero tolerance towards bullies, principal, don't be another unfair bitch or asshole

.

Eyes were on us as we collectively headed in the direction of the office. Emma pulled her hand free of the guard's grip, and sullenly marched at the head of the group. Once or twice, she tried to change course, but the guard gave her a little push to keep her moving. It meant that every set of eyes was on her from the moment where we entered the school to the point we reached the front office.

Principal Howell had given up on managing the late arrivals when we turned up, and was on the phone at the very back of the office. Seeing us, she looked almost relieved to have a distraction. One finger pointed the way to her office, and she quickly wrapped up her call, cupping one hand around the mouthpiece to drown out the babble of voices from the gathered students.
We had to take very different routes to get there, with the counter in the way. By the time we arrived, she was seated behind her desk. Emma and I took our seats in front of the desk, with the guard and the three witnesses lined up behind us.
The principal wasn't terribly attractive, and her roots gave away her bleached hair. Just going by her appearance, and by the colorful blouse and scarf she wore, she didn't give me a sense of an authority figure. I didn't get the sense she'd stayed in Brockton Bay these past few months.
Then she spoke, and my initial impressions were banished the instant I heard her hard tone. "Collins? Thirty words or less, give me the rundown."
The guard answered her, pointing to Emma, "Extended argument was initiated by the blonde one. The one with the glasses tried to back out. Blonde escalated to pushing and shoving, I stepped in."
"Okay," she said. "Witnesses, any commentary? Keep it short."
"What he said," the girl with the half-shaved head said, sullen. "The one who started it, I think her name was Emma? Yeah. Um. She's a bitch."
This was somehow surreal. I wondered if I was caught in some kind of trap. The Ambassadors didn't, to my knowledge, have anyone with a power that could mess with my head. Maybe Haven or the Fallen had someone like that, capable of trapping me in some kind of warped world where things actually turned out okay, leaving me in a state where I never wanted to leave.
Such a world wouldn't necessarily have Emma in it in the first place, though. Or Greg.
"Emma didn't do anything wrong," the blonde in the purple shirt said. "There's a history. She was only responding to some stuff that happened before."
"I don't care about what happened before," the principal said. "I care about keeping the peace. We've already had three fights with weapons, and the day isn't even half over. No less than ten fistfights. Nearly a third of the students attending this school were in Brockton Bay during the recent crises. Some were Merchants, others were members of the white supremacy groups, and many more either found or are still taking refuge in a territory held by the current crime lords of Brockton Bay. Friction is inevitable, I'm certain many of my students have post traumatic stress disorder, and any number of students haven't yet made the transition from being a survivor to being an ordinary student."
She leaned her elbows on the desk.
"That's fine. I'm willing to accept trouble as a fact of life, given recent events. It would be unfair to hold you-" she paused to eye me, the girl with the hair and the boy in the sleeveless t-shirt, "-to the same standards as any other student, given what you've been through."
"That's not fair," Emma said.
"Emma," the principal said, "What you did was monumentally stupid and dangerous."
Again, that surreal feeling. This would be the point that I woke up to find I was still buried in Echidna, experiencing some warped reflection of past events, only in a more pleasant vein. Or maybe this scene twisted around and I'd realize I was in some modified agnosia fog and everyone around me was a member of the Nine.
Principal Howell continued, "You there, your name?"
"Terry," the boy in the sleeveless t-shirt said.
"Did you bring a weapon to school today?"
"No."
"Have you been in a fight, in the last few weeks?"
"A few."
"Okay. And you, miss?"
"Sheila, and yeah. Brought a weapon."
"Do you have it on you?"
Sheila reached into a back pocket and withdrew a keychain. A piece of metal dangled from the end, a bar that could be gripped, and two spikes that stuck out in front. It was like brass knuckles, but not quite. The same principle applied.
"Thank you. If you could hand them to Collins, I'd appreciate it."
Sheila gave Collins a wary look.
"Or you could step outside," Howell suggested.
"Yeah," Sheila replied. "I'll do that."
She turned on her heel and stepped out of the office.
"And you? Your name?"
She was looking at me. I responded, "Taylor Hebert."
"Were you armed?"
"Yeah," I said.
"She handed over her weapon without a fuss," Collins said. "Cheap knife, basic sheath."
"And, if pushed, if you'd had it, would you have used it?" the principal asked.
I hesitated.
"You won't get in trouble if you say yes. Be honest."
"I don't know," I said. "Define 'pushed'."
"Nevermind. Have you used it?"
"That one? No."
"But you have used a knife?"
I nodded, reluctant. I couldn't shake the feeling that the walls were going to close in around me, screwing me over.
"I hope you're getting my point," the woman said, turning back to Emma.
"You're saying they could have hurt me," Emma replied, sullen.
"Would have, in some cases. This isn't the city you're used to, nor the same students."
"It's fine," Emma said.
"We'll see. Just putting you into the computer. Emma… what was it?"
"Barnes," I supplied. "E-S at the end."
She typed on the computer keyboard to her right. "And Taylor… Hubert?"
"Hebert. E-B-E."
More typing. "Hebert. Just give me a second to pull records… damn. Fancy new school, you'd think they'd give us better equipment."
She hit the power button. The computer took a minute to reboot.
Long seconds passed. Nobody spoke.
The screen flared back to life.
"Hm," she murmured.
"What is it?" Collins asked.
"A number of past incidents. And we got the emails from Winslow High School, I did a search for their names, and there's one that post-dates the Endbringer attack. It's apparently a series of text messages between an Emma Barnes and Sophia Hess. There's a great deal of discussion of the ongoing bullying campaign against Taylor here."
I glanced at Emma. She'd gone pale.
A final 'fuck-you' from Sophia? Guess she wasn't a friend after all.
The principal looked me square in the eye. "Would you like to press charges?"

I'm just as astonished as Taylor and Emma

. I didn't really expected for Principal Howell to be such a fair and intelligent woman. She have indeed a zero policy towards bullying and she treats Emma like any other bully who disturbed other students, not like a rich girl who believe that the whole world should belong to her. She barely appeared in this Chapter and I like her already. She BURNED Emma to death. Rest in your ashes, Emma :lol. Now run to your daddy and complain how Danny LOVES and LIKES his daughter, how Taylor managed to fucking WIN without any efforts and how Principal Howell was...oh, so unfair towards you. Ah, and how the witnesses accused you instead of the target of your LOATHSOME BULLYING CAMPAIGN. Wow, you're such a victim, Emma. I feel terrible sorry for you. I'm crying...tears of fucking HAPPINESS. Your misery is my pleasure. Always :lol.

I couldn't even think straight, hearing that, it was so out of tune with my expectations.

No. I was still seated on the hard plastic chair, Emma to my immediate left. This was reality.
This was everything I'd wanted, as far as the Emma situation: to enjoy a small victory, to see her house of cards come tumbling down. To actually get to press charges? To see justice?
"No," I said. Emma's head snapped to face my direction with enough speed that I thought she might have given herself whiplash.
"Why not?" Principal Howell asked.
Because I'm a supervillain, and I don't want the scrutiny. Because her dad's a lawyer with connections, and it won't work…
"Because she's not worth the trouble," I gave her the first answer that I could think of that wouldn't cause any more problems. Time spent on this is time I can't devote to my territory. I don't want more conflict. Not with all the other issues surrounding this.
"The school can take action against her without your consent," she said.
"Feel free. I want to be done with her, that's all."
"Very well. Emma? I'll see you again in September."
"September?"
"The summer classes we're offering are very much a privilege. Now, I'm sure you've faced your share of stresses in having to relocate twice in a short span of time, but I'm not inclined to extend the same leniency to you that I'm extending to those who've been through so much more."
I suspected Emma was at least as stunned as I was.
"When you return, we can discuss whether you'll repeat the tenth grade, and whether you'll repeat it here. I'll have had time to review the emails and past records…"
She tapped a few keys on the keyboard, then frowned. "…What was I saying? Right. Given the possibility that Taylor might choose to attend in the future, and even just the basics I'm reading here, it may not be conscionable to let you attend as well."
"This is ridiculous. My dad's a lawyer. There's no way he'll let this happen."
"Then I expect we'll have a great many discussions in the future. Collins? Would you please take her to the front? I'd like a word with Ms. Hebert."
"Will do."
Maybe not a delusion. A trap? Head games from Accord? Or was she an Ambassador, trying to curry favor? I wasn't sure what every member of the Fallen or the Teeth could do. Could one be a shapeshifter? Something else?
The door shut behind Collins, leaving the principal and I alone in the room.
"Satisfactory?" she asked me.
"What?"
"Is this end result satisfactory? If you were holding back because you were afraid your membership among the Undersiders might come to light, rest assured I can be discreet."
She did know something.
"I- I'm not sure I understand."
"It doesn't matter. I got the impression you didn't want to be treated any differently."
"Who are you?"
"A vice principal in well over her head," she said, leaning back in her chair. "I didn't see it firsthand, but I've felt the effects of this… long series of disasters. My predecessor made it through, past an Endbringer attack, past food shortages and disease, past the roving gangs, the thugs and looters, past the Slaughterhouse Nine, an amnesia fog and a takeover of the city. So many things. And at the end of it all, just when things started to get better, he couldn't adjust. He got in a fight, was punched in the head, and died soon after of an embolism."
"I'm sorry."
"Seventeen years working together. He was like a brother. I told myself I would keep the peace. Someone gave me a list of names, and I recognized your name on that list. So perhaps I support certain students and keep an eye on the ones who would inevitably cause trouble anyways."
Tattletale. She arranged this.

So, there are 3 reasons why Vice Principal Howell is such a good and positive authoritative figure. She hates bullying, she's keeping peace to honor the memory of her deceased predecessor who was like a brother to her and...Tattletale, someone so perfect that I don't even want to talk about her because I'm jealous on her perfection

. Vice Principal Howell's moral duties are to punish the bullying and protect the bullied students and she surely doesn't hesitate to fulfill these duties. I like this woman quite a lot, she's an example of how someone in her position should behave. Taylor, you have something that few people in your universe have: the best father, the best friend (Lisa), lots of people who are grateful to you and...a shitload of patience. Treasure what you have because not many people are so lucky

.
Emma, you don't need cold water for that burn, you need a whole NEW SKIN :lol.

"I'm not confirming or denying that I am such a student-"

"Of course."
"-but why? What do you get out of it?"
"Peace. It's an ugly road to travel to get there, but it's peace. I lost one good friend and boss to the crises here, I won't lose anyone else. Particularly not my students."
Why did she have to tell me? I would have been content to be ignorant here. This was a perversion of justice. The fact that it was perverted in my favor didn't matter.
"Treat me like you would anyone else," I said.
"I will."
I couldn't quite believe her. If she was currying favor with Tattletale, helping to solidify Tattletale's hold and perhaps feeding Tattletale information on more troublesome gang members, I wasn't sure I could trust her to stay impartial here.
I'd won, so to speak, but this small revelation had taken the justice out of it.
"I'm going to go," I said.
"I need you to fill out some paperwork, so everything's organized for Emma's suspension. Are you a student?"
"No."
"Are you intending to be a student?"
"No."
"Okay. Then I'll have you fill out a form as a visitor. Let me reboot my system again, print what you need, you can fill out one short page, and I'll manage the rest."
I was about to protest, to give some excuse and go, but the phone rang. She picked up and pressed one hand over the mouthpiece. "Wait at the front, a secretary will bring it to you."
I couldn't refuse without intruding on the conversation. I stepped outside.
Emma was at the front, too, slouched in a chair with Collins standing beside her. No doubt she'd had a secretary let her call her dad, or would as soon as the opportunity came up.
I stood at the opposite end of the room.
I felt numb. A little disgusted with how things had turned out, that the only reason this system seemed to be working was because it was already corrupt to a fundamental level. I could still feel some of the anger and irritation from the argument with Emma, the thrill of adrenaline…
I raised a hand to adjust my glasses and found my fingers were shaking. I was trembling, and I couldn't identify why. None of the emotions I could single out would account for this kind of response. Even all put together, they shouldn't have gotten me halfway here.
I had a lump in my throat, and I felt like I might cry, and I wasn't sad. Was I happy? Scared? Relieved? I couldn't sort anything out in the jumble.
Was my emotional makeup that fucked up?
I found a chair and fell into it, rather than sitting. I focused on deep breaths, on using my power to contact my bugs and detach myself from things.
"Hebert? Taylor Hebert?" A secretary was calling out for me.
I stood and made my way to the front, where I got the paper, already attached to a clipboard.
Some had already been automatically filled in, and there was a header asking me to double-check the details. My name, my age and grade, the address…
I stopped.
Address: 911 Incoming St.
Alt Address: 9191 Escape Ave.
I looked up in the direction of the principal's office. She was standing at the window, staring at me, a phone pressed to her ear.
She mouthed a word at me. 'Run'.
Someone knows I'm Skitter.
I ran.

Greg, you lil shit, you freaking betrayed Taylor. Well, maybe is not Greg the one who called the heroes to come arresting her but he's my first suspect. The other two suspects are Emma (despite being such a huge idiot, maybe she figured out somehow who Skitter is and she wanted to get her sweet revenge) and Dinah (she probably had a vision of the future involving an arrested Skitter becoming a hero and doing more good to humanity as a hero than being a villain. And she wants this vision to become true so she told the heroes who Skitter is). if is Greg behind the betrayal, then FUCK this asshole

. If is Emma behind, then FUCK her with the force of the whole energy radiated by a supernova

. If is Dinah, then she's right and I can't argue with her decision. She knows what she's doing, she wants to help, she will never hurt Taylor so she knows that Taylor will be on good hands and she can't see other ways for humanity to survive if Taylor will remain a villain

. Lets see if Taylor will escape and who was the person who send the posse after her.... but in the next Chapter.

Good night and sleep well, my friends.

rafuki22 · Jan 14, 2019

blackarrow said:
"speaks on a villain voice" Hello, my minions. Do you know your duties today? You have to read another one of my stupid liveblogs and you can't say no because I'll punish you...I'll punish you by asking Taylor to make spiders rain over you . Don't laugh, just look at what happened in Brazil during these days: it "rained" with spiders Well, I think there's a Taylor doppelganger in our world with the same powers and she just got mad at brazilian people for some reasons and decided: fuck them, lets give them a freaking arachnophobia rain. But if you make me mad enough, I'll find her, talk to her and convince her to turn your hometowns into NOPEvilles until you'll spend your last saving on flametrowers. Wow, I feel so EVIL now. I even exercised an evil laugh, can you imagine how evil I'm? But seriously, this is what I want to happen to Emma in this new Chapter. I want Taylor to go officially nuts and summon a spiders rain over Emma, trapping her under billions and billion of spiders of all sizes. I'm going to have a lot of fun seeing Emma crying in fear and begging Taylor to spare her life, while trying to breathe while little spiders slowly fill her nostrils and mouth . I HATE this bitch and I imagine only the worst kind of things to happen to her everytime she makes her disgusting and miserable appearance. Lets see how much she'll be burned by Taylor. I'm sure that Taylor will control herself and will keep her powers in check, because she knows that she'll attract the unwanted attention of the guards and the other students if she'll let her anger overcome her best judgement. Then everyone will know that she's Skitter and will call the heroes to arrest her. She's not so stupid to reveal her identity only to punish a bitch like she deserves. Taylor is smarter than that, much more smarter Chrysalis 20.3

Taylor have a wonderful self control. I don't think many people will be able to control themselves like this if they're in her place. I can say that I'd be one of these people who'll ferociously attack Emma if she'll dare to provoke me. Taylor is an angel of patience compared with me, I'm not afraid to admit that I'll cripple Emma if I had Taylor's power. Its hard to control yourself if your bully is staying right in front of you and she tries hard to piss you off, only to make you attack her and be arrested by the guards. Because this is what Emma is trying to do right now. She knows that Taylor changed and she is probably more aggressive and ready to defend herself than she was a couple of months ago, and she hopes that Taylor will slap her (like she did in the mall) or do to her something even worse under so many witnesses' eyes, then she'll be arrested for groundlessly attacking someone. This must be her plan cause I can't see any other reason for her current behavior: Sophia is not there to keep her company and offer her protection, Taylor is not a student anymore, she's aware that Taylor changed, so her idiotic little mind told her that her revenge will be glorious if she'll create a spontaneous conflict with Taylor .

"You're a dropout. A failure." Said the BIGGEST FAILURE of this story. You failed at everything, Emma. You can't protect yourself against anyone so you always need to rely on your father's money/influence or Sophia's muscles to get our from complicated situations (while Taylor fought against the biggest menaces of this world and she didn't always relied on her superpowers ), you can't keep a single friend close to you (you turned your back to your friendship with Sophia, despite Sophia being your guardian angel for an year and a half; while Taylor is ready to jump in fire for her teammates/friends and she faced a superpowered criminal in order to save a little girl), you're afraid of everything that moves around you, while Taylor makes any fear her bitch, you're a rich heartless girl who only care about yourself while Taylor takes care of a whole territory filled with people who love and are grateful to her for everything she did for her. You're like a zombie who lost her will to live after that ABB attack but you're still in denial and you vomit all your frustrations over a girl who survived to endless attacks and confrontations who only made her stronger and braver. You're the failure, Emma, the failure is you. Taylor is a victorious person and deep down you know that. You just want to have your last revenge so you can sleep better at night, knowing that not only your life will be miserable .

Emma is so FULL OF BULLSHIT right now that I can't find enough words (not even in my own language) to describe how much she disgusts me. She tries to play some really stupid mental games with Taylor, accusing her that she killed her own mother only to make her finally snap and attack her. She saw that no matter what she said, Taylor will not play her dirty games, and now she uses Taylor's weakness, like her mother's death, to maker her enough mad in order to attack. First she made fun of Taylor's mother death and now she directly accused Taylor of murdering her . Next time she might accuse Taylor of sleeping with her own father (I'm sure she will not hesitate to do that if this sick idea will cross her little mind). Taylor, don't fall for this bullshit, fucking ignore her and run away. Nobody will be able to catch you and you don't have to stay at school anyway. You'll appear like a coward in Emma's eyes, but better to be a free coward than a jailed bold girl . I think I hate Emma more than I hate anyone else in this story and I'll enjoy her eventual death (if she'll die) more than I enjoyed anyone else death. I mean, I enjoyed so much when Coil died, but Coil was a criminal mastermind with SUPERPOWERS and you'll never meet someone exactly like him in real life. I enjoyed just as much when Merchants died, but Merchants were druggies with SUPERPOWERS and you'll never meet druggies exactly like them in real life. Then I screamed in joy when Mannequin "died", but Mannequin was a mad scientist with SUPERPOWERS and...good luck at finding a mad scientist with superpowers in real life. But Emma...a lot of people have already an Emma in their lives, a bully who doesn't have anything better to do with her life than trying to make other people lives just as miserable as hers . Emma doesn't have superpowers (even if her "skills" at making readers RAGE because of her can be defined as a very subtle, but efficient superpower ), she's exactly like any real life bully, nothing fantastic neither exaggerating with her personality and attitude. There are so many Emmas in our world, at our schools, at our jobs, on streets, many Emmas tormenting us, our friends, our relatives, our children, maybe this is one of the reasons why I HATE her so much. Because of how realistic she's portrayed. And a perfectly realistic character is always more scary and sickening than someone who can split timelines or replace his body with hard shell and numerous weapons (Mannequin is still terrible scary because of my illogical fear for mannequins, but I admit that he's not a realistic character).

Well...at least she didn't insinuated that Taylor sleeps with her father. This is a little better than what I was expecting coming from someone like Emma. Anyway, Emma wants to make Taylor believes that Danny blames her for her mother's death and he secretly hates her. Fucking bullshit, I'm sure that Danny loves Taylor more than his own life (he's the most lovingly and doting father...parent in the whole story. Alan Barnes and Marquis are also loving fathers, but Danny takes the prize, an indisputable fact ), he NEVER dared to blame her for Annette's accident, all the things that Danny supposedly told to Alan must be Emma's lies and manipulations just to hurt Taylor, nothing is true . Emma uses all Taylor's weaknesses against her to make her suffer, being absolute ruthless. Danny worries so much about Taylor and he's trying his best to take care of her, even if she's the one who keep him at distance, its impossible for someone like this father to hate his daughter, or even blame her for something that she's not guilty of. Too bad that Taylor might start to believe Emma's LIES and add this fake guilt to her long list of things that she regretted she did (or she thinks she did). Please, Taylor, tell this bitch that every single word coming from her stinky mouth is a big fat lie and you don't believe anything .

In your face, Emma, right in your face. You tried to manipulate Taylor, LYING her that her father hates her, but you FAILED colossally. Danny calls Taylor because he wants to know that she's ok and he wants to meet her and spend time in her company. A father who blames his daughter for her mother's death will NOT treat her with so much care and love. He'd ignore her, pretend that she doesn't exist anymore for him, see her as a stranger or even worse, as an enemy. Danny acts exactly opposite, he's worried for her more than for himself and I'm convinced that she'll still be his daughter even after he'll learn that she's Skitter . He'll be mad at her, naturally, for being a villain and for lying him, but he will forgive her in time. So, Emma, before trying again to manipulate someone into believing that their parents don't like and want them anymore, think better if what you're doing will be in your advantage or not, because from what I see, you only end up losing like a fucking LOSER. THE BIGGEST LOSER WITH THE SMALLEST MIND AND EVEN SMALLER HEART.

I'm having so much FUN right now :lol. Emma fell in her own trap. She tried to make Taylor angry enough so she'll attack her but she ended up attacking Taylor instead, because she couldn't bear the knowledge that Taylor have a better life than her and an excellent relationship with her father and all her lies fell like an unstable house of cards. Emma is so stupid that she was defeated by her own stupidity, Taylor didn't had to lift a finger or say something really mean in order to win against her bully. Now they're going to see the principal and I hope that this principal is more different than that bitch of a principal who favored a rich girl with an influential father over a poor girl with a simple working father. Please, be a rational person with a zero tolerance towards bullies, principal, don't be another unfair bitch or asshole .

I'm just as astonished as Taylor and Emma . I didn't really expected for Principal Howell to be such a fair and intelligent woman. She have indeed a zero policy towards bullying and she treats Emma like any other bully who disturbed other students, not like a rich girl who believe that the whole world should belong to her. She barely appeared in this Chapter and I like her already. She BURNED Emma to death. Rest in your ashes, Emma :lol. Now run to your daddy and complain how Danny LOVES and LIKES his daughter, how Taylor managed to fucking WIN without any efforts and how Principal Howell was...oh, so unfair towards you. Ah, and how the witnesses accused you instead of the target of your LOATHSOME BULLYING CAMPAIGN. Wow, you're such a victim, Emma. I feel terrible sorry for you. I'm crying...tears of fucking HAPPINESS. Your misery is my pleasure. Always :lol.

So, there are 3 reasons why Vice Principal Howell is such a good and positive authoritative figure. She hates bullying, she's keeping peace to honor the memory of her deceased predecessor who was like a brother to her and...Tattletale, someone so perfect that I don't even want to talk about her because I'm jealous on her perfection . Vice Principal Howell's moral duties are to punish the bullying and protect the bullied students and she surely doesn't hesitate to fulfill these duties. I like this woman quite a lot, she's an example of how someone in her position should behave. Taylor, you have something that few people in your universe have: the best father, the best friend (Lisa), lots of people who are grateful to you and...a shitload of patience. Treasure what you have because not many people are so lucky .
Emma, you don't need cold water for that burn, you need a whole NEW SKIN :lol.

Greg, you lil shit, you freaking betrayed Taylor. Well, maybe is not Greg the one who called the heroes to come arresting her but he's my first suspect. The other two suspects are Emma (despite being such a huge idiot, maybe she figured out somehow who Skitter is and she wanted to get her sweet revenge) and Dinah (she probably had a vision of the future involving an arrested Skitter becoming a hero and doing more good to humanity as a hero than being a villain. And she wants this vision to become true so she told the heroes who Skitter is). if is Greg behind the betrayal, then FUCK this asshole . If is Emma behind, then FUCK her with the force of the whole energy radiated by a supernova . If is Dinah, then she's right and I can't argue with her decision. She knows what she's doing, she wants to help, she will never hurt Taylor so she knows that Taylor will be on good hands and she can't see other ways for humanity to survive if Taylor will remain a villain . Lets see if Taylor will escape and who was the person who send the posse after her.... but in the next Chapter.

Good night and sleep well, my friends.

Traitor?
He's just doing his job as a citizen and reporting a villain.
...But I do not think it was Greg.

ImperatorV · Jan 14, 2019

Eh, Greg could have done it accidentally (trying to impress a girl and dropped Taylor=Skitter, girl calls the police, or something like that). I really doubt he would do it on purpose though.

The identity of the person that tipped off the PRT will be coming soon, so we'll see.

Vayhle · Jan 15, 2019

Regent's interlude way back around arc 10 or so (forget exactly) where he deals with shadow stalker has info about those emails. If you want to check back on it.

blackarrow · Jan 15, 2019

rafuki22 said:
Traitor?
He's just doing his job as a citizen and reporting a villain.
...But I do not think it was Greg.

Well, if he's doing his job as a terrified citizen and report a villain then I can agree with him here. Even if that villain is a warlady who only want to protect people in her territory

. But if he betrayed Taylor only because he was angry after he was rejected by her, then he's an ASSHOLE. Boys and girls who can't accept a rejection are not my cup of tea, to say it gently.

blackarrow · Jan 15, 2019

ImperatorV said:
Eh, Greg could have done it accidentally (trying to impress a girl and dropped Taylor=Skitter, girl calls the police, or something like that). I really doubt he would do it on purpose though.

The identity of the person that tipped off the PRT will be coming soon, so we'll see.

I have 3 suspects, as I said it already: Greg (accidentally or not), Emma (pure malice because we can't expect anything good coming from her) and Dinah (noble purposes). Now I think I have another suspect: Dragon (she found out Skitter identity and informed her superiors). Except for these suspects, I can't think at someone else.

blackarrow · Jan 15, 2019

Vayhle said:
Regent's interlude way back around arc 10 or so (forget exactly) where he deals with shadow stalker has info about those emails. If you want to check back on it.

Arc 10, you're right. I remember everything about Regent Interlude. It was MEMORABLE. Not because I like Regent but because I liked everything he did to Shadow Stalker. Yep, Vice Principal Howell is a corrupt person, she works for Undersiders/is paid by them (Tattletale gave her the list with names and Regent the emails), BUT her ultimate purposes are noble, she doesn't hurt anyone and even if she takes money from warlords she's doing what she can to ensure peace and safety for the students under her care. I can RESPECT a corrupt person if they act like Vice Principal Howell

. But its still kind of sad to think that the best authoritative figure so far is a corrupt one.

Vayhle · Jan 16, 2019

What is the definition of corrupt here? Not a leading question, actually interested in your take.

Let's read Worm and its sequel Ward by Wildbow (One chapter/every day)

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