"That's an awful lot of food," Dennis noted as Taylor sat down.
"I know," she answered. "Doctor's orders until we figure out my new 'normal'." Part of the reason for her loaded tray was that she actually
had been instructed to eat more by the PRT doctors; she'd been found to be borderline malnourished, even at her new size. Which was embarrassing; fortunately, an understanding nutritionist suggested a few ways to deflect discussions away from the idea.
The other part was her body was building muscle to support her new frame (and a surprise growth spurt) at an accelerated rate. Right now, she had to use a little bit of her power just to walk and get around. As she built up the required muscle to move unaided she was having fewer and fewer accidents – breaking fewer things and injuring less people she accidentally ran into – because her power was less active just so she could do normal things.
And shredding fewer clothes. Parian had made a few things that had no small amount of spandex in them so they'd stretch as she moved and wouldn't rip easily. She'd made them loose fitting, too.
Those were fine, but everything else seemed to eventually just give up.
"Well, we need some introductions," Vicky stated. "In case you didn't know, I'm Vicky. Glory Girl when in costume."
"Dean," Dean Stansfield said with a smile. "Probably better known as Vicky's walking wallet." There was a snicker or two from the other boys at the table. Vicky just smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at Dean.
"Carlos," the young and rather nice looking hispanic man said with a nod. "The redhead who thankfully has his mouth full is Dennis."
The aforementioned Dennis gave a half-wave with a few fingers as he worked on eating a sandwich with both hands.
"Amy," said the mousy-haired brunette sitting near Vicky. "You probably know me better as Panacea."
"And I know Chris from a shared class this morning," Taylor finished. During the introductions, about half of the food on Taylor's tray had disappeared.
Dennis got a silly grin. "Maybe you should try Fugly's Challenger," he suggested. "It might be enough of a burger for you."
Carlos shook his head. "I think they have a Cape Rule about that, at least if you were hoping to get it for free."
"I just hope all this food doesn't go to fat," Taylor muttered.
"High protein for long term energy, and fat to help build up your body's reserves," Amy stated, obviously listening despite reading a paperback novel. "The extra protein will help build additional muscle, since you look a little too thin for your height. If anything, add some more fruits and vegetables for trace nutrients and fiber." The healer cape shifted her gaze from her book to Taylor for a moment to add, "I think you'll notice when you're back to – you know – your new normal."
Taylor nodded in reply as she was busy wolfing down the other half of her lunch.
- - -
Taylor sighed and carefully leaned against the wall next to the door of her temporary apartment. She'd made it through school without breaking anything at Arcadia. However, despite having been assigned a perfectly normal (and smaller than any student) locker, and even opening it and carefully closing it again, she couldn't force herself to use it. The thought made her hands shake.
Carefully – and that was the watchword of most of her actions in the last week, usually qualified by the word "very" – she hung her hoodie up on the hooks provided for coats and hats, setting her backpack on the floor under it and made her way into the bedroom to change. The room was bare and spartan, though she did note that the bed had been replaced. Again. A bit of a nightmare had her thrashing in her sleep and she'd managed to destroy the frame.
She'd actually seen the scoreboard the Maintenance guys had running in their office at the entrance. She wasn't surprised that such existed – the dockworkers had similar half-joking, half-serious things in various locations – and was shown that every Protectorate member had one for
something, much to her amusement. The one she took the greatest delight from was "How many times Shadow Stalker has been shocked."
She went over to the fridge, after a chuckle at the image of Sophia dancing an electrically powered jig, and pulled out one of the dietary supplement shakes the nutritionist had recommended. So far all the flavors were pretty tasty, and they actually came in a size she could comfortably hold in her hand. The shake was drained in short order, and she checked the clock. The schedule had arrived this morning and she had her first power testing appointment in about twenty minutes.
Her father should be showing up later, to go over the results of the first round of tests and to have the second or third meeting the the PRT Legal department over both the settlement with the suit against the PRT – her dad had gotten Quinn Calle to handle the legal end of things – and how they would be dealing with the case against the Brockton Bay School District, because both the Heberts and the federal government had a bone to pick with them. Something about misappropriated funds from the federal end.
One thing to come out of the chase and demolition of Winslow that wasn't so nice was the charge of assault coming from (former) Principal Blackwell. That was one more reason why she was here instead of home; she could technically be said to be in the custody of the appropriate branch of law enforcement while the case was being processed. She giggled at the amount her bail had been set for – the absolute minimum of twenty dollars, immediately paid – so she was free to wander the city as needed. She'd been told by her lawyer that the charge would almost certainly be dropped because all the video evidence could prove that it was an accident, but the legal system had to run its course
Not that it would stop Blackwell's caterwauling in the hospital. Which had apparently prompted the hospital staff to exclude her from being healed by Panacea.
The PRT had also smoothed over the difficulty of her demolishing a good portion of her school while she chased Sophia around and through the various floors, using terms such as "citizen's arrest", "hot pursuit", and "trigger event", all of which got a slight smile out of the judge before he agreed with the lawyer. Some wag had even compiled the assorted pieces of available footage together so that they had coverage of the complete chase in real time, sometimes using multiple viewpoints, and set it to
Yakety Sax.
She frowned slightly. She could see the humor in it, kind of, if she could ignore the fact she'd been locked into her locker and then triggered. Which she mostly couldn't. She felt a growing anger... and remembered the basic calming exercises the counselor had taught her. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and thought of quiet and peaceful things.
It took a few minutes, but she eventually calmed down. It wouldn't do for her to break some more things in her spartan accommodations.
Assault had told her that they were cycling some of the older things they had in storage through her apartment. Stuff they were looking to get rid of, but couldn't just throw it out. But if it got broken, say by a new brute, that was fine. What Taylor cared about was that it was unlikely she'd be charged to replace the furniture she'd broken, which was becoming a rather long list. Also apparently getting recorded in a dedicated journal over in Maintenance titled "Desired Obsolescence."
Fortunately, she appeared to be getting a handle on things. She was using normal eating utensils again instead of plasticware or eating finger food, hadn't broken any dishes or appliances in two days, and hadn't snapped any writing implements since yesterday afternoon. After the first incident with a pen, she used wooden pencils whenever she could. Who knew that the PRT's pens had that much ink under pressure in them?
And poor Miss Militia, getting coated with ink when it broke.
Quickly and carefully, she put a hot pocket into the microwave and waited a bit while it cooked. She'd set out the stuff she'd need for her afternoon schedule before she left for school in the morning, and used the time to gently empty and refill her backpack. The microwave signaled it was finished as she set the pack down. She took the sandwich out, blew on it to cool it down, and proceeded to eat it in three quick bites. She knew it was hot, could even tell that it was hot, but the heat didn't hurt.
One plus to being a brute, she thought to herself.
She noted the time,
carefully retrieved her hoodie and backpack, and left the apartment, locking the door behind her.
* * *
Taylor walked into the appointment room a bit early. Waiting for her was Assault, idly flipping a pencil between his fingers. "Hey," he greeted her. "How've you been doing?"
She sat down in one of the reinforced chairs in the room. "I think I've got a better handle on not breaking and bending things," she replied. "I expect Maintenance appreciates that."
"Eh, a bit of that, and a bit of having someone who can get rid of some of the older stuff that we can't just toss without actually asking for it to be broken so we can throw it out," Assault allowed. "We've got warehouses full of old crap like that."
"So why not donate it to homeless shelters or something?"
The red clad hero opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. "You know, I don't think anyone's tried that angle. I think PR would love it, and looks good for you, too. Might have to run it past Legal, though."
"Does being a government employee mean common sense and intelligence goes out the window?" Taylor asked the world at large.
She was answered by a chuckle coming from the persons entering the room. The larger of the two was almost as big as she was, while the smaller of the two had a shifty air about him. "A question asked by probably every government employee. Hello, I'm Doctor Nickelovich-Smythe and this is my assistant, Doctor Roger Brown."
"Hello!" the smaller man said with a wave. "I usually go by Roger."
"You can refer to me as Doc," Dr. Nickelovich-Smythe added. "It'll be easier on everyone. Your father signed off on the basic and intermediate tests, so we're ready to begin when you are."
"OK, Doc, let's get this over with," Taylor answered.
Roger clapped his hands together. "That's the spirit!" he enthused. "Our first stop is the basic brute testing. Which is probably pointless for you, but the Director starts yelling if we don't follow procedure."
- - -
"Well, so much for how much she can lift," Roger groused.
"That was every free weight we had in the testing area," Doc added. "So far that's two metric tons."
"Like it was a Nerf ball. When we get to the intermediate lab, we can use the hydraulic press. Anything else in here?"
"Let's see. Done. Done. Doesn't apply. Done…"
- - -
"It broke." Doc was looking over the remains of one of the impact testing machines.
"It did," Roger answered. "I'm beginning to see a pattern here."
"Or at least a trail of debris."
"I think we should use the oldest punching test machine we've got for the next bit, along with the new one," Roger suggested.
Doc nodded. "Makes sense. The old ones were rated to ten meganewtons of force being applied. If it doesn't survive, it should prove to be a good test of the new, non-contact version."
- - -
"That was instructional," Roger noted, looking at the remains of the old punching machine again.
"Indeed," Doc added. "If something physical gets in the way, she will absolutely wreck it. Even if it can handle the physical loading."
"At least the old machine was scheduled for decommissioning this year," Roger finished. "And the new machine?"
"Registered a force of 9.87 meganewtons. And that was just punching air," Doc answered. "Good thing the baffles and backstop were able to dissipate the shockwave."
- - -
"OK, Taylor?" Doc asked via the PA system.
"Yes?"
"We're going to start the hydraulic press. Be sure to let us know when it becomes too much of a strain. We're going to start where we left off with the free weights, at two metric tons and slowly ramp it up, OK?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Also, if the machine notices a sudden drop in resistance it will stop before it travels an inch. Still, if it starts getting too much, say something," Roger added.
"Got it."
"And here we go."
With that, the head of the massive hydraulic press began moving downward. It came to rest on Taylor's hands, and simply stopped.
-twenty minutes later-
"What are we up to?" Doc asked Roger.
"We just hit 1200 metric tons," Roger said, watching the instrumentation panel. "We could go higher, but I don't know if it's worth it."
"Why would you say that?"
"I'm pretty sure we're nowhere near her limit. Every time I've increased the load, the amount of resistance from her goes up in perfect sync, and the only thing she's complained about is how long this is taking," Roger explained. "It's not supposed to be run this hard in this position, and the pumps aren't exactly new. If I turn it up again, we may blow the hydraulics."
"One last increase, and hope the safeties work?" Doc asked.
"They'll work," Roger answered. "Separate and redundant system."
"Taylor, we're going for one last increase, OK?" Doc spoke into the microphone.
"OK."
"Do it."
Roger turned the dial to 1250 metric tons and pressed the shielded button to register the change. In rather short order, one of the hydraulic pumps exploded (thankfully contained by the unit housing) and the safeties lifted the plate back to a safe position and then the physical locks secured it. Pinkish-orange fluid began to dribble down to the floor from above.
Taylor showed no indication that anything had happened, only being a bit startled when the pump had its rapid unplanned disassembly event.
"Taylor, I think we're done for now," Roger spoke into the microphone. "Why don't you go shower and change, and we'll compile the results. We'll go over them when you get done with that."
"OK," Taylor answered as she stepped out of the testing apparatus. "I'll meet you in the conference room."
Roger cut the mic and turned towards Doc. "The Director is going to yell at us," he said in an offhand manner.
"True," Doc replied. "But look at it this way: Miss Hebert tests in the upper 1% of all parahumans,
worldwide. Brute: Yes is actually pretty close to being
accurate."
* * *
"So, what do we have?" Director Piggot asked, looking at the power testing staff and Assault. "Besides a pile of broken and destroyed equipment that was on the list to be decommissioned anyway, and one broken hydraulic press?"
"Ma'am," Doc started. "It would be easier to sum up Miss Hebert's threat rating as Brute: Yes."
"I'm not in the mood for jokes," Director Piggot growled.
"I shall clarify," Doc continued. "We don't have the capability to accurately test a brute of her level, which puts her at 9+ immediately. She took the impact force of a fifty car freight train moving at 60 km/h. She didn't move, let alone bruise or even get scuffed. She totaled a mechanical punch testing machine rated for ten meganewtons of force. And without seeming to try, she pushed back hard enough to blow one of the heavy duty industrial pumps on the hydraulic press. Which were nearing the end of their duty cycle and have replacement recommendations on file."
"Overall," Roger continued, "she was pleasant to work with and initially worried about breaking the equipment. That was why we used the soon to be decommissioned units and made sure she knew that. The only other piece of equipment we used was the contactless punch machine, and it performed flawlessly. And is still intact."
"Armsmaster will be pleased to hear that," Assault added.
Doc nodded in agreement. "We have some indication of mid-level breaker abilities – namely what appears to be a conformal forcefield that protects her and anything she's holding – which could make for some interesting improvised weapon situations. Also low level thinker abilities, mainly the ability to keep track of her objective despite obstacles in her way.
"Miss Hebert's intelligence is above average, but her early school records suggest that's natural and she shows no indication of any other powers. The observed phenomena of Shadow Stalker being unable to escape her grasp was apparently due to the forcefield and not any trump abilities." Doc set his papers down.
"At least she's not prone to violence," Director Piggot acknowledged. "And has a fairly good sense of humor about what's happened."
"Miss Hebert would be a pain to fight," Assault said, getting to his part of the meeting. "Based on what happened at Winslow and what I observed here, she's probably unstoppable once she gets moving towards her objective, barring her deciding to stop. Putting her down isn't likely, and confoam isn't going to hold her long. Heck, if she doesn't need to breathe,
burying her won't actually stop her. I suspect one of those intercity missiles would do more damage to the city than it would to her.
"If she gets hold of you? The best option would be to surrender immediately. And getting punched might be safer than her wanting to take you somewhere, because I doubt anything will stop her from dragging you there, either. Or just throwing you."
The red clad hero thought for a moment. "She could be slowed down or redirected easily enough, temporarily. But actually rendered unconscious or killed? It might take the Triumvirate to try. Or an Endbringer, which I hope she never meets. I suspect the best ways to stop her from doing something to you would be either to get out of her way, or talk her down. The obvious method – a human rated master – well, we don't have a friendly one on hand to test."
Director Piggot nodded. "Thank you, gentlemen and Assault, for your input. Recommendations?"
"If she doesn't go for the Wards, and I don't blame her if she doesn't, find out what she needs to become an affiliate. She could benefit from some of the training available," Assault answered. "And we don't want to be on her bad side."
"One thing I did see is that she has some flexibility issues," Roger added. "She mentioned that her PhysEd teacher at Arcadia has her doing some basic yoga to help that. I'd recommend some tai chi and some martial arts for control and discipline, so that if she does fight a normal person, he doesn't get reduced to a bloody paste. Maybe dance or gymnastics for non-combat situations."
"We should also be worried about her intelligence," Doc continued. "And I don't mean losing it. From the way she was asking pertinent questions, she will be sure to find new and interesting ways to apply those abilities of hers beyond just punching things into the ground."
Assault nodded. "A lesson I wish Glory Girl would learn."
* * *
At home, while getting ready for dinner, Vicky sneezed. "Collateral Damage Barbie senses tingling," she said, looking around.
"What are you going on about this time?" Amy snarked from where she was helping.
"Someone's trash talking me," Vicky answered.
"You've watched too many cartoons," Amy grumbled.
"You watched them
with me, dear sister," Vicky retorted.
"Girls, please, get the table set!" Carol chided her daughters from where she worked at the counter.
"Yes, Mom..."
