Orderly (Worm Semi-SI)

[Obscura]

Nah, Rachel's transformations kill off infections and parasites, but they don't change the results of an injury that has healed up. Brutus had the doggy equivalent of a nose job, a docked tail, and Rachel's transformation of him didn't affect that at all. Angelica doesn't get her missing eye and ear back either, they had scarred over before Rachel rescued her.

Click to shrink...

Fair enough, I'm not really familiar with her in particular.

 

[Obscura]

I'd known for a while that I'd eventually say something that was just too much for someone to handle. Both superheroics and medical work are fields where you can't save everybody, no matter how hard you try, and eventually you have to deliver bad news. I wasn't by any means happy about that, but I knew that eventually I'd have to tell somebody something that pushed them past their limits and led to a complete emotional breakdown. I hadn't entirely expected my first time to be that particularly awful Sunday, but I would have been lying if I said I'd be surprised. Maybe I would have been, before the beeping, but certainly not after.

Would have been lying, I should note.


I apologised for my little exercise in cruelty, of course. Can't say I did a great job of apologising, but I did my best. I wrote something, I'm sorry, short and to the point, but mostly I just tried to convey my regrets via body language.

Well, went along with what my body was already pushing to do vis a vis regretful body language. What it had been pushing for since the first rhetorical accusation landed.

And also the puppy-dog eyes. I figured those couldn't hurt.

Pity I can't pull those on myself.

It wasn't the best apology in the world, but it was my best, or at least the best I could manage at the moment. That, however, was not the thing that was too much for her to handle. Amy certainly thought about it for a long time, and, of course, gave me a single word response, but it was a perfectly reasonable one-word response to give:

Why?

There's an old disciplining technique there, one that's particularly useful on children, especially small children. Asking why somebody is apologising lets you make sure they know what the problem is, and helps reinforce it to boot, though it is more than a little patronising. I didn't exactly deserve a whole lot better at the moment, so that was fine.

Or at least it would have been fine, if that was what she was doing. I wasn't sure. It felt like that, but also like she really wasn't sure that I was actually sorry, not for hurting her. Which if it had been based on the cruelty of the last few minutes was fair, but it kinda seemed like she wasn't sure she didn't deserve it and that I should be sorry, though maybe that was just because of her previous responses to kindness from me.

Whatever it was, I owed her an honest answer.


Because even if it was the only way to break your self-recrimination - self-loathing - self-recrimination cycle, and I'm not entirely sure it was, I know what I did had to be really hard on you

They say you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, but I really don't like that saying. It works well enough for disposable resources, like concrete and lumber and gasoline and even eggs, I suppose, but people are more than just disposable resources

Not that the gangs remember that. Or a lot of other organisations, really. One of the perennial issues of human society, that, but it's something I'd advise one against forgetting.

As a general rule, I would also advise against quoting Stalin in an apology, even if the quote's actual origin is significantly older and probably more French. Still, it was a good start. And that was the part of the speech where I'd start really putting the effort into my excuses and trying to make myself look better. I'd studied enough political apologies to know that.

I could give you excuses, and maybe they'd even be good ones, but at the end of the day I hit you right where I knew it would hurt, and I'm sorry for that

Except that this was a real apology, and no excuse would change things. My reasoning was relevant, that's why it made the first paragraph, but it didn't make things better. There was no reason to keep harping on about it.

Especially not right after the offence.


She kept quiet. Thinking things over, probably, trying to work out what she could do. That was okay. Even neglecting the accusations, I knew full well that I'd put Amy Dallon in a very difficult position.

No, that's not right. It was indeed a very difficult position, but it wasn't exactly my fault that I'd discovered her secret. That was a total accident, and from the very best of intentions at that, and as much Amy's fault as mine.

But that didn't make it any easier on her, and I wouldn't bring it up. In the end, all either of us was guilty of was being too perceptive, on my part, and not managing to keep an iron grip on a secret in a very stressful situation, on hers, at least in regards to the discovery part. The former wasn't exactly a fault, and even if the latter was, "glass houses" very much applied.

And I knew full well that it would be best to write this next part without apportioning blame, anyway. Acknowledge the difficulty of her position, apologise for the situation. You know, show some basic care and consideration, like I'd want if our situations were reversed.

I know you're probably uncomfortable with me knowing your secret, even if it was an accident, and even if you know I don't judge you for it. We're both painfully aware that just like-liking a girl could get us killed in this town, and it's hard, having someone you have no reason to trust knowing things that could destroy you, even when they say they'll keep it secret

Stuff like that. Good stuff, that. But, looking it over, it didn't seem like quite enough. There was one obvious thing to add, so I started on that. And subtly looked Amy over for anything else I should add.


Which I will, don't get

And she was trying to touch me without me noticing. With most people I'd suspect they were either trying to comfort me or set up some sort of physical intimidation if they tried that, depending on the situation, but with Panacea there was a much more likely third option: she wanted to use her powers to read me.

me wrong, but I know it's

And possibly do other stuff, depending on just how far her powers reached beyond just healing. She could probably at least heal me so much that my reserves were exhausted, leaving me helpless, but she probably wasn't that angry. Still, it was a problem that she was trying to use her power on me without my permission. If nothing else, it would absolutely fuel her guilt complex when she realised what she'd done.

hard for you

Or maybe when she realised what she was doing, since she backed off without any action on my part to indicate I'd noticed.

to trust that

But it did tell me what else I'd be adding.


Touch me, please

Obviously, I didn't actually write that down, but I did think about it. And, phrased better, it was actually a good step to take.

Two birds, one stone. First of all, it would stop her trying to use her power on me without permission. By giving her permission. That might seem counterintuitive, but with my consent using her powers to read me wouldn't give her any moral qualms or self-recrimination. And it's harder to punch someone in the face if they throw their arms open and say they won't fight back, so the risk of her doing more than just reading my body was also mitigated.

More importantly, it would help her feel better about me knowing her secret. Just allowing it would show trust, but what it would reveal would show more. NewU's work was good, but it wasn't perfect. Not even close. Largely self-maintaining and inexpensive, and given my age when it started largely indiscernible to any sort of remotely casual inspection, but it'd be extremely obvious to someone who could literally discern the exact state of every single one of my organs down to the cell. Especially since I didn't even have all the organs that one might expect, looking at me.

She'd know. She'd be entrusted with my secrets, or at least that one. And my civilian identity, I supposed, but a secret you're planning to share with the whole world isn't much of a secret.

And, being entrusted with my secrets, she wouldn't feel as nervous about me spilling hers. Both because of the natural instinct to reciprocate trust shown, and because of the demonstration of my seriousness and dedication towards the subject of keeping her secrets.

And, less idealistically, because she could take me down with her. If it came to that, that is. I very much hoped it wouldn't, and she would presumably know that, and I'd know that she knew and she'd know that I knew that she knew and so on and so forth, and that was a kind of reassurance. It was a cold, calculating, and rather unpleasant sort of reassurance, generally speaking, but hopefully the act of offering it freely would mitigate that.

Mutually Assured Destruction isn't a nice way to live your life, but it works. As long as both parties are mostly rational and aren't more interested in destroying the other than they are in surviving, anyway. Between the Unwritten Rules and everything else, it's practically a pillar of Earth Bet society, though not one most people are willing to acknowledge.

Earth Bet is a MAD, MAD world, as much as we might wish it wasn't.


It's not nice, knowing somebody has that kind of power over you, and I'm sorry for that. And I'm going to try to make it better. I can't unknow what I know, but I can at least try and level the playing field a little.

Last time we met, you told me that your power lets you see the complete biology of people you touch. I'd like you to do that now, if you're feeling up to it

I finished writing, then tugged on my glove to remove it. Then tugged again. Then a third time, before finally giving up and rolling it up from the base and hanging it over the bed railing. Then I gave the clipboard over, and left my ungloved hand out, ready for anything.


"What the bleep happened to your face!?"

Except that.


It got burnt

Yes, that was a stupid answer. She could very well see that much, or at least tell it through whatever means she experienced her power. Burns are distinctive, even compared to other injuries. But when you've been psyching yourself up to have a very difficult conversation, suddenly being confronted with a very different, but equally (if not more) difficult conversation tends to rather catch one off guard.

Imagine that.

It shouldn't have been surprising when Amy immediately rejoindered with "How did it get burnt?", but it was. Which might explain my next response:

Tea Accident

Then, because I'm apparently an idiot who can't keep away from a traumatic memory, I added Then I aggravated the burns trying to put those kids out.

At least that gave me enough time to recover. Somewhat. Enough to actually, properly explain things. Once she'd recovered enough to ask.


"I'm sorry."

Sorry? What was she sorry for? She'd had nothing to do with it. I really hoped she wasn't spiralling into blaming herself for things that weren't her fault again. I got enough of that from Taylor.

"Because you're hurt, dummy. Because you've had a really, really bad day and you tried to help with my stupid problems. You're doing your best to help me and I got mad at you for it. You poked at my feelings for the best of reasons while your own are such a mess and I almost punched your face in for it. So I'm sorry, Josephine, I really am so very, very sorry."

She really was sweet, in the end. I appreciated that, I really did. But there was one little detail that (almost) messed the whole thing up.


I'd known for a while that I'd eventually say something that was just too much for someone to handle. After my arrival to the room in Brockton Bay General Hospital, I wouldn't have been surprised that it'd be something said, or perhaps written, in that room, perhaps on that very day. I'd accepted it, and I'd dare say I'd made my peace with it, at least as much as I could before the fact.

But I was very surprised when it actually happened.

You see, my stupid, dumb brain, too tired and worn and guilt-ridden to fully process everything Amy Dallon said immediately. So it latched onto one thing, and stuck to it just long enough to screw everything up.

My name is Jacqueline?

And that, that of all things, was what finally pitched Panacea off the edge.

I sighed, and set myself ready to make sure was comfortable and didn't fall off the bed or choke on her own spit as she laughed harder and louder than her infinitely more publicly-demonstrative sister had ever been caught doing.

I didn't actually know how to do that, but it couldn't possibly be harder than the rest of my day so far.

And, in the end, it really was kinda amusing that we'd managed to have such a personal conversation without her even knowing my name. All in all, it wasn't the worst way to say something that was just too much for somebody for the first time.

 

[Obscura]

Taylor:

Betrayal.

"I'm sorry, Taylor. This is the way things have to be."

It was something Taylor had long feared. Ever since she'd returned from summer camp to find her best friend had been replaced with a monster (far more literally than she'd ever expected), there was always some dark part of her whispering that everybody was going to turn against her. That anybody she trusted with anything would inevitably use it against her.

"It's just how the game is played"

And yet she had never seen this coming. Stabbed in the back, by one of the few people she genuinely trusted. Taylor could almost cry, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. Not now. Not in front of him.


It had all started so nobly.

The two of them, swooping to the rescue of poor Jacqueline. So trusting. So kind. So naive. It had been so easy for a certain sort of person to take advantage, and Taylor had to intercede, even as she cursed the fact that she hadn't realised in time to talk Jacqueline out of it. Taylor never imagined that she was walking right into the same trap.

The boy had seemed so nice. Almost as nice as Jacqueline, until he'd torn apart everything Taylor had left in an instant.

All the cards were on the table. They had lost. Oh, Taylor wasn't dead yet, but it was only a matter of time now. There was nothing she could do.

Distantly, Taylor heard Jacqueline's quiet reassurances. "It's okay, Taylor. It'll be okay," left her lips, before the final movement was made. And then she was gone.

Jacqueline Colere, Taylor's sister in every way that mattered, had been eliminated as coldly, brutally, and efficiently as anything she had ever seen. And Taylor was next.

There was nothing Taylor could do to save her. She couldn't even save herself.


"It's okay, Taylor. It's just a game. And, honestly, Vista's Budapest maneuver was pretty impressive."

Taylor sulked as Clockblocker began figuring out how he was going to exploit his ill-gotten gains. She noticed Sophia, who'd been taken out even earlier than Jacqueline, doing the same. Everyone left in the game as more than Taylor's Italian rump state started looking at each other suspiciously.

Again. Though this was the first time they'd really put a lot of attention to the sole Striker of the group. Clockblockerite France hadn't drawn a lot of interest, not until he struck in earnest. Right into Taylor's unprotected back. Now the others were paying their full attention. The wolves were circling, ready to tear each other apart the minute one of them accidentally revealed a weakness, and Taylor and Jacqueline could only watch in horror.

From the corner where he'd been stuck GMing, Gallant suddenly looked at the two of them. Taylor was still a little mad about his behaviour towards Jacqueline earlier that evening, but she did have to give him a bit of credit for what he said next.

"Okay, I'll admit it. You were right, I was wrong."

He sighed with an exhaustion that Taylor, despite everything, couldn't help but sympathize with.

"Diplomacy was a terrible pick for board game night."

 

[ConsiderableHat]

That final line hits hard. Diplomacy is the reason for my lifelong irrational fear of board games and those who play them.

 

[Obscura]

That final line hits hard. Diplomacy is the reason for my lifelong irrational fear of board games and those who play them.

Click to shrink...

Yeah. In theory, if everybody knows what they're getting into, all participants are mature enough to handle it, and nothing important's riding on their ability to cooperate and get along, then it's fine. Of course, that's a big if.

In this particular case, none of the above apply, but it only takes one to make things horrible.

 

[Obscura]

A/N: And now, with April Fools day firmly over, we return to our regularly scheduled program. (Not so regular at the moment, maybe, but the first just so happened to fall on a saturday this year.) The April Fools day item has been moved to Apocrypha, if you haven't seen it yet.


The first time Amy Dallon had been hugged by Josephine Calvera Jacqueline Colere, it had been more than a little surprising. It was flat out shocking, actually, both because very few people hugged Amy and because, at the time, Amy had been seriously questioning whether the other girl was even human. Looking back, she was kinda embarrassed about that, although not as much as she was embarrassed by certain other elements of that conversation. Honestly, the whole thing was just embarrassing in general, even if Jacqueline didn't seem the type to rub it in.

The second time Amy Dallon had been hugged by Jacqueline Colere, it was no surprise at all. Actually, she hadn't even noticed, but when she did notice she was being hugged it still wasn't surprising.

It should have been, given that Amy was laughing (uncontrollably) about (almost) punching Jacqueline in the face and forgetting her name, but it wasn't. Jacqueline had been unfalteringly supportive and trying her best for Amy since the whole mess had started, despite having had a very bad day herself. Even if the accusation trap had been more than a little harsh, Amy knew full well she'd needed it. And she wouldn't have been able to cast blame on Jacqueline anyway, even if it'd been totally unnecessary. Which it very much wasn't. Jacqueline was obviously doing the best she could, and Amy appreciated that.

Amy even felt that the little adorable ball of kindness and sweetness and light and surprising perceptiveness that was Jacqueline Colere would have been understanding if she knew about Amy's other secrets, not that she was ever going to risk it. Jacqueline was doing the best she could, far more than could be expected under the circumstances, and Amy appreciated that.

Amy would have appreciated it more if that unconditional support and understanding was coming from her family instead of a somewhat scrambled child she'd met all of twice, but that was hardly Jacqueline's fault.

It was Amy's.

So Amy hugged back. She wasn't a monster, after all, she was at least kinda sure about that, and that meant she could listen to her heart and try to be at least a fraction as supportive and kind to Jacqueline as the girl had been to her.

And hopefully not punch her in the face.

That horribly messed-up face.


Right. Amy really shouldn't punch that. Actually, she wanted to do just the opposite, and fix it. That was actually fairly remarkable.

She wanted to fix it. Not had to fix it, not should fix it, not told to fix it, not felt morally obligated to fix it; Amy wanted to fix it. She wanted to make it better, because how it was now was bad. It wasn't even guilt, or at least not primarily guilt. It was a desire to fix things because they were broken, and because she could. That wasn't something Amy felt very often, not anymore. Before she'd been led to Vicky's side to find her so deeply wounded (Vicky would be fine, Amy had to remember that), all of a long emotional rollercoaster of a conversation ago, it'd been, what, three months? Four? Five?

Amy honestly didn't know.

And sure, this desire to make things right wasn't even remotely close to as strong as Amy's need to make sure Vicky was okay had been. Amy could ignore it if she had to. Wouldn't even be that hard, not compared to the countless things Amy deliberately ignored on a daily basis. But it was something.

And, honestly, it was probably something Amy should do anyway. She owed Jacqueline that much, and it'd look weird if the younger girl came out still burned after so much time behind closed curtains with Panacea.

It wasn't often that what Amy wanted and what she had to do coincided, but she decided to allow herself to enjoy it. At least this once.

"Do I have your permission to heal you?" was, for once, not spoken in a tired monotone.


In a lot of ways, it was like every other time she'd healed a burn, or at least every other time she'd healed a burn that wasn't quite deep enough to cause much nerve damage. Which was actually a pretty small minority of the times she'd healed burns, but there were still enough of them that, combined with the similarities to most other healings, it felt pretty familiar.

Blocking off the nerves, ignoring what the sudden lack of pain signals did elsewhere in the body. Breaking down what was left of the damaged cells, reconstructing them into healthy skin and muscle and nerves and everything else, careful not to change anything beyond reconstruction. Reprioritising bloodflow and the other processes that fed the area to make sure it'd stick, and that it would integrate fully. Adjusting melanin levels to match the rest of the skin, and everything else to match everything else. It wasn't really sequential like that, and indeed every part of it played into every other part of it to some degree, but it really was that easy.

As long as she didn't listen to the part of her that wanted to do more, to change and change and change until she had something exquisite, something perfect in the ways natural organisms never were, or just keep on changing until she had something entirely new. That part never went away, but it was easier to ignore it than usual. Probably because Amy felt better than she usually did, doing this.

Something to be glad for, she thought, as she finally let the nerves send signals again, the final prelude to her pulling her hand away from Jacqueline's entirely.


"Neat," Jacqueline chirped, her not-actually-clock-faced eyes literally sparkling. Just like her non-existent shiny brass skin. And the gear Amy could see, turning its way through the curtain without affecting it in the slightest.

Amy supposed overly cutesy illusions were pretty harmless, as powers went, even if they were as silly as the kid they were attached to sometimes was. Not like Amy's power at all.

"Yeah, I suppose it is kinda neat."

No need to risk letting her in on that secret just yet (or ever), and it wasn't like Amy hadn't already burdened Jacqueline far too much for one day. With her secrets and her behaviour alike.

She blinked as she remembered that a monster wouldn't care about that. A good person wouldn't have done it in the first place, but a monster wouldn't have cared. Amy wasn't a good person, but she could still try, and have it mean something.

So when Jacqueline asked if they could be friends, Amy said they already were. Amy wasn't a very good friend, and Jacqueline could probably do better, but she was willing to try. Not that Amy said that last part out loud, of course. She didn't want to risk Jacqueline wising up and ditching Amy for someone better.

The third time Amy Dallon had been hugged by Jacqueline Colere, it was surprising only for the second or so of delay between the statement that prompted the hug and its fulfilment. Amy didn't deserve it, but she did anticipate it. Jacqueline Colere was very predictable, at least in some ways.


"I'm really sorry, but I think we should probably get back to work" Jacqueline mourned when the hug ended, like the little beacon of kindness and goodness she was. That Amy had once been. That Amy hoped Jacqueline would continue to be. Again, Jacqueline Colere was very predictable in some ways.

Destroy this paper thoroughly, plus all the papers underneath it. Don't leave anything that could be found and pieced back together. I suggest running it all under the tap until it falls apart, stirring the mush together until it's totally unsortable and the ink's all run, then dumping it in the incinerator. Don't get caught.

I promise you'll feel better when it's all done.


In some ways. In others, not so much.

Amy decided she was okay with that. Especially when it resulted in the friendly little smiley face under all the bizarrely paranoid yet remarkably thoughtful advice.


They said their farewells, exchanged numbers, and went their separate ways. From what Amy could see, Jacqueline was checking on the patients. Amy, on the other hand, had to take a bathroom break. There was a little staff-only bathroom in a little-used corridor Amy was familiar with. Right between the rooftop access stairs and one of the many hatches to Brockton Bay General Hospital's incinerator.

Then she could get to work, help some people.

She was surprised to discover that she actually wanted to. Not very much, not half as much as she had wanted to help Jacqueline, and not within a dozen orders of magnitude as much as she'd needed to help Vicky, but it was something.

It'd do.

 

[Blacksheep]

Go Amy! Hugs to the rescue!

 

[Obscura]

I'm not exactly an expert on laughter. I would, with false modesty, admit I know something about how to incur it, but the actual laughter thus elicited? Not so much. Still, I was pretty sure it continuing on for so very long was more than a little unusual.

And Amy Dallon just kept going on laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

Seriously, she had to stop laughing eventually, right? Weren't there biological limits to how long she could keep going?

Then again, she did pause to suck air in every once in a while, so maybe not?

I really don't know all that much about laughter or wolves.

But yeah, the laughter was becoming more and more unnerving. Seriously, was she okay?

Well, in general, she obviously wasn't okay. But was this her getting better or worse? Was this a breakdown or a breakthrough? Was this all going to come crashing down on me? What was I supposed to do here?


Hugs were probably not the official, psychological-research approved answer to that question, but when all you have is a hammer every problem looks like a nail, especially when you're a parahuman. And hugs were probably a better hammer for that sort of thinking than superpowered violence.

Less collateral damage, for one thing. Collateral damage considerations are extremely important.

Thinking about that Sunday is an excellent reminder of that. For a whole host of reasons.


Not that it was much of a hug, really. Just enough to convey that I wasn't blaming her for getting mad at my well-intentioned accusations. Or for getting my name wrong. And also that I wasn't panicking about possibly getting punched in the face, even that would have hurt even more than it normally would.

That I was still there for her.

And, eventually, she noticed that.


A pretty long eventually, at least when nothing was being said and everythings was more than a little awkward, but it did happen.

The first sign was when I was no longer just hugging, but being hugged in return. Awkwardly, probably because she wasn't sure if she was doing it right and really didn't want to get it wrong, but she was trying.

Trying just a little too hard, actually. I wasn't about to mention it, but she didn't exactly make it easy to breathe.


"Do I have your permission to heal you?"

The sudden absence of pain was a heady feeling, even if it wasn't technically a feeling at all. But I kept my mouth shut, because Panacea's healing was not that fast, so she presumably anaesthetised me or something, especially as I didn't have any other feelings during that time.

Besides awkwardness. And guilt. And general emotional tiredness that didn't quite reach into exhaustion at the moment. And the overwhelming wave of horribleness and remembered atrocity that was a constant presence in the back of my head. And the rest of my body, which still had full sensation as far as I could tell. But my point is that the actual healing just felt like the pain being gone, and nothing else.

Neat.


"Neat," I enthused, eyes practically sparkling. After the older healer completed her lay on hands action, of course. She looked at me with exasperated fondness before conceding that yes she supposed it was in fact "neat".

I decided to call that a win. Sure, she very obviously wasn't used to thinking about her power as helpful, which struck me as rather odd, but she wasn't angry and she wasn't tearing herself apart, and I'd somehow wormed myself a little place in her heart.

I did not, however, miss the slight hint of discomfort in her eyes when she spoke about her power. Unlike most parahumans, it clearly wasn't something she was proud of. Rather curious, considering how benign and useful it seemed.

But I'd pried into her secrets enough for one day.


Actually, I'd pried into her secrets enough for just about anything short of me being her mother, sister, wife, or therapist. And none of those were particularly realistic possibilities within the next five years at a minimum. And most likely none of them would ever be wise possibilities.

Friends, however, I could do.

So I asked if we could be friends, which was apparently a silly question and we already were. Not that she said it like that, of course. I'm probably not the best friend to have, but even I know poking at petty little things like that when a friend asks you a personal question isn't very friendly.

So yeah.

Friend Get!

Doo Doo Dee Doo!


You can't really hear that properly, can you? Or at all, actually?

No?

Well, that isn't exactly great for understanding what I was doing there. Still, if you've heard it before you probably know what I mean, and if you haven't it's quite likely equally nonsensical either way, so maybe it doesn't make all that much difference.

What I heard, at the time, was a particularly loud and agonised scream. I think it was male, but don't quote me on that. The emotion, assuming pain is an emotion, was clear, but I'm not really an expert on scream-identification. Not yet, anyway. It's probably a skill I'll pick up on the job, like how retail workers learn to identify problem customers before they become problems, only horrible and traumatising.

Well, even more horrible and traumatising, that is. I've heard stories.


"I'm really sorry, but I think we should probably get back to work"

People were suffering outside our little curtained hideaway, after all. More immediately than usual.

I did write a little note about proper evidence disposal first, since basic secrecy still had to be observed. I could do it myself, of course, but I didn't want to leave the room and Amy would almost definitely feel safer about it if she did the destroying. And in the end, that paper held far more of her secrets than mine.

Then I handed her the clipboard, said my goodbyes, got her number, and went back to work.

There was still a lot of it to be done. In all likelihood, there always would be. But this wasn't exactly unproductive or unhelpful, if I do say so myself.

And I do. So there. I can make things better. I have made things better. I have to remember that.

Remind me if I forget, okay?

 

[Skychan]

This was a fantastic little chapter. It has left me feeling bright and chipper.

 

[Lord Sia]

This chapter - these last couple of chapters really - was like drinking a mug of hot chocolate, wrapped in a blanket under the northern lights.

I kind of needed that today, so thank you.

 

[Obscura]

There ain't no rest for the poor schmucks stuck cleaning up after the wicked.

Well, there's some, but in times of crisis there's never enough, and that's without adding in the just plain unfortunate to the mix. Even just within the one room of the hospital I'd seen and actually remembered, with many of the beds hidden behind curtains, there was a staggering variety, intensity, and quantity of human suffering and damage on display.

And most of it needed something done about it. There was a lot I couldn't do, but I kept focused on the other things.

Mostly.

The first other thing was simple, somebody asked me to close their curtain because it was too bright. I was the one who'd opened it in the first place, at their request, because it was too dark, but I just smiled and did it anyway. Honestly, I didn't think the lighting level was the real issue, but it was something harmless and at least sort of addressable on their part, so it likely made a good distraction for them. Purposefully or not. I did at least notice the tiniest nod of thanks.


I also noticed when Amy returned to the room. Not that it was hard, what with the way so many heads were suddenly turned towards the side door she used. Capes always draw attention after all, Panacea more so than many. Especially in a room full of people who needed all the medical help they could get.

I don't think she even noticed. She certainly didn't seem to care. Except for my own attention and questioning look, which was met with a determined nod that most people probably took to mean "let's get to this" instead of "the evidence has been destroyed". Because that would be an absolutely insane conclusion to jump to, even though it was completely true. Either way, she got to work, and I got back to work.

Curtains were adjusted. Brows were wiped. Bedpans were swapped. Water was fetched. And also drunk in vast quantities, because I was very thirsty, (it's hard to drink with burnt lips) but that's as maybe. It'd been a very stressful day and I could swill down a dozen cups of water one after the other if I wanted to. Things were adjusted. People were helped. It wasn't very much, and honestly it was something in the nature of make-work, but it was something.

And there were a few more interesting moments involved.


"Thank you so much, Alice," said Esmerelda Gutenberg, a kind and sweet old lady with a pleasant disposition, a thirst I had helped address, a granddaughter she loved dearly, her leg up so she couldn't move it and aggravate her disturbingly large and bloody bandaged area, and either enough painkillers in her system or enough consequences of old age that she'd thoroughly mistaken me for said granddaughter.

I think.

She'd rambled enough to make the connection fairly clear, and somebody with the same first name (Benjamin) as the man she'd mentioned as my apparent father was listed as her son and emergency contact on her chart.

Which was also where I learned her name, since she was just calling herself "Granny".

I didn't really know what to do, so I just let her ramble about her son and his misadventures and how he'd lost his right leg playing with fireworks until she fell asleep, which didn't take very long.


"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay" I murmured, uncertain of whether the woman sobbing on my shoulder could hear me, or think clearly enough to understand me if she could. I also didn't know what the problem was, but it wasn't hard to narrow it down to a few likely possibilities. I hoped it was somebody or somebodies that were hurt but would recover, if only by dint of preternatural assistance, but I had no way of knowing without asking. And I wasn't so callous to ask when things were so very clearly raw.

So I kept murmuring that it was okay and letting her sink into my shoulder as I held her, until somebody in a guard uniform came and escorted her I don't know where.

Of course, I knew full well that it wasn't okay, but I just couldn't bring myself to let my lack of truthfulness bother me. Maybe I'd spent too long striving for social grace to be bothered by the deceptive nature of platitudes, maybe I was just too exhausted to care.

Even now, it's pretty low on my hypothetical list of things that bother me. Certainly a lot lower than the way I just don't remember that woman's name or face, or whether I ever learned them.


"Excuse me Miss, but do you know if my mother's alright? I'd look for her myself, but…"

Yeah, I could definitely see why he couldn't go and look. I didn't know what was under all those bandages, but it couldn't have been good.

"I can look around, Mr…"

"Gutenberg. Benjamin Gutenberg."

"Actually, I was just talking with your mother, Mr. Gutenberg. She seemed to be doing about as well as could be expected, under the circumstances."

At least according to the parts of her chart I could understand and what I could see for myself.

"You're sure?" he asked. Honestly, the sheer doubt and desperation in his formerly polite and reserved tone was a little disturbing, but I could very well understand where he was coming from. Well, mostly.

I hadn't been given a whole lot of reassurances about endangered family members to be so utterly terrified of having those reassurances proven false. But in a more general sense I knew full well what it was to be scared of losing them, so I gave him the best proof I could.

"Quite sure, yes. She was pretty animated when she told me about the time you and the Barker boy got into that whole mess with the whipped cream."

The relief on his face was palpable. And if it was accompanied by just a touch of embarrassment, that was probably a good distraction.

He did thank me for it, after all.


"MEI!"

"Daddy!"

I didn't actually see that one, to be clear. They were just loud enough that I could hear them from where I was trying to make my way to the sink to get rid of a cup of water that a patient had wanted but apparently couldn't actually have. I had just barely enough time to hurry a little and do so before I was impacted by a me-seeking missile.

"Bye Ms. Clock Lady! Daddy says we have to go now or we'll get in people's way."

I didn't tell her my name, did I? It was probably a bit late to do anything about that anyway, so I hugged my goodbyes and watched as they said their goodbyes to Mei's still-sleeping mother and left.

It was always sweet to see family members reunited. Bittersweet, perhaps, but sweet all the same. Not everything has to be terrible.

 

[theaceoffire]

"Bye Ms. Clock Lady! Daddy says we have to go now or we'll get in people's way."

Click to shrink...

Some minute amount of recognition? About time! Hour unlikely it is for children these days to give a second thought about others, that little one is one two watch out four in the future!

//

 

[Obscura]

Sophia:

Relatively early in the afternoon of Sunday, April the 18th, Sophia Hess felt pretty useless.

It wasn't an unusual way for her to feel, if she was being honest. And she usually was, if only because she was as bad at lying as she was at fighting, being reassuring, PR, teammate interaction, search and rescue (an especially painful failure at the moment, that) and basically everything else she needed to do as a superhero. It was little wonder she felt inadequate, really.

She knew that she'd get better at at least most of those things with time and practice, and that only the very occasional Thinker with exactly the right power for it and (some of) the rare few seasoned PRT members and the like who triggered were competent heroes right off the bat, but even if she hadn't had a monster running around in her skin for years being so much more skilled than she was she probably still wouldn't have felt up to the task.

And her current situation wasn't helping.

Sophia had come to Brockton Bay General Hospital to make sure Jacqueline was alright, and she'd honestly helped there, even if Sophia felt that Mei had done far more than her fair share of the work. Then, Jacqueline had wandered off to do something with Panacea (probably confidential medical discussions or something like that, but Sophia was honestly (though unfairly) worried they were just badmouthing her), so Sophia had watched Mei. Which did need doing, even if Sophia wasn't very good at it. Then Mei's father had come and picked her up.

And then Sophia was completely useless. And she had nothing to distract herself from that fact. Nothing to distract her from the people suffering and dying all around her, or from her complete inability to do anything to help them. And even that was a distraction from the ongoing bombings, which she couldn't do anything about either.


Sophia was staring at a man who was slowly dying of lung cancer. Not because the man was particularly pleasant to be staring at, because he definitely wasn't, and not because she couldn't tear herself away. Rather, it was because the man was, on the balance of things, probably the least distressing patient Sophia could stare at. He was sleeping peacefully, albeit with a machine helping him breathe, and there wasn't a lot of visible damage for a man of eighty.

The man was a lot younger than that in reality, forty-seven according to his chart, but Sophia could mostly ignore that. At least he hadn't lost his legs, like the woman in the bed to his right. And he wasn't covered head to toe in burns, like the child in the bed to his left.


It was events at said child's bed that drew Sophia's attention away from the man. More specifically, the woman at the child's bed, pleading for the child to wake up. Sophia couldn't make the child wake up, but she could move to sit beside the woman and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

And so Sophia did just that. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, even if the woman relaxed only slightly in response.

Sophia didn't notice the little (temporarily) brass-skinned girl coming up behind them until she spoke. Jacqueline Colere was surprisingly stealthy for somebody whose powers made her gleam in the sun. Not to mention the big bright shiny gears she made and the constant sound of ticking when her aura was pushed out.

Then again, where weren't there gears in the room, except where they'd be dangerous or inconvenient? Where didn't the sound of ticking come from? Even her skin was pretty much the same colour as the gears. Jacqueline wouldn't blend in anywhere, except the environment her power created, where she blended in perfectly.

Food for thought.


And, evidently, her burns weren't as much of an issue at the moment, because she was talking.

"It'll be okay, Lakheisha. Amari is going to be just fine, you'll see."

Lakheisha, as the woman was apparently named, nodded.

"Let me get you some water, okay? You've been talking for a long time, and I know what that does to your throat."

Another nod. Sophia almost didn't notice Jacqueline motioning for Sophia to follow, but follow Sophia did.


It wasn't until they were at the weird overcomplicated water thingy that the silence dropped, and even then not until after Jacqueline's clock eyes swept gradually over the entire room, filled with tired resignation.

"It's hard, isn't it? Seeing so much pain, and not being able to just make it all better?"

Sophia wanted to lie. She wanted to pretend to be fine, and keep her burdens on her own shoulders. But, well, she wasn't a very good liar.

So she said nothing.

"It's not just you, you know. I'd wager every person in this room feels the same way, or at least the ones awake and aware enough to know what's going on. I know I do, and I'm far better off than most in that regard. We all feel inadequate in the face of something like this.

"But you came to help me, and you went to help Lakheisha. You didn't have to. I'd bet nobody asked you to, and even if they did, you were still the one that did it. That's worth something. Worth a lot, really, even if it doesn't seem like much. Kindness always is.

"I can tell you feel like you aren't doing enough, but just keep doing what you can. It's all anybody can ask of you here, and I appreciate it.

"I really do."

Sophia didn't notice she was about to be hugged until it happened. Jacqueline really was sneaky.

"Thanks."

The smile was hidden under Sophia's mask, but she could tell Jacqueline got the message anyway. Then she went and followed Jacqueline's excellent advice. It helped. Some.

At least until the [funtime] nazis showed up.

 

[WallFlower]

I'm guessing the nazi's are feeling inadequate too. I guess they are going to try to help Shadow Stalker feel a bit more adequate.

Shame they haven't gotten the memo that Shadow Stalker isn't currently in a crossbowy mood. It will at least be bad for the nazi's cause when they try to cause a scene here and now.

 

[Obscura]

I'm guessing the nazi's are feeling inadequate too. I guess they are going to try to help Shadow Stalker feel a bit more adequate.

Shame they haven't gotten the memo that Shadow Stalker isn't currently in a crossbowy mood. It will at least be bad for the nazi's cause when they try to cause a scene here and now.

Click to shrink...

No comment.

Or, rather, something's happening and this is obviously setup, but I'm not saying what for.

 

[Obscura]

After Mei left, I spent a decent amount of time doing what I do kinda-sorta okay at: reassuring people. Hugs, headpats, hands on shoulders, encouraging words. That sort of thing. That and fetching water, adjusting things, fluffing pillows, swapping bedpans, and all those little comforting things/subtler ways of letting people know that somebody cared about them enough to try and make them comfortable. (Even if actual comfort was a very long stretch for them, under the circumstances.)

And also what my power does best, which was magically making every physical thing better, but I'd been doing that for quite some time by that point and had no intention of stopping anytime soon. You know the drill by now.

My routine, depressing though it was to realise it had become routine, was still at least somewhat comforting. (Even if actual comfort was a very long stretch under the circumstances.) If only by sheer dint of repetition and keeping busy. Which, naturally, meant it couldn't last. This was Earth Bet, and more than that it was Brockton Bay, so of course awfulness had to stick its nose into my safe and secure healing room.

Not that it was actually safe and secure before they showed up. It was pretty unnerving even before that, even if I'd grown mostly numb to it, and it was at most "secure" in the sense that someone probably couldn't blunder in accidentally and an infiltrator would likely have to decide to infiltrate the place. Still, as much as the place was already private only in the broadest sense of the word, having literal open Nazis in the room was certainly a turn for the worse.

Especially since these were superpowered Nazis. They technically weren't armed, but that distinction doesn't really count for much with your average parahuman, let alone seasoned supervillains. Maybe Othala would have been stopped by that, she didn't have any personally usable powers; but it certainly wouldn't hinder Purity.

Because Purity was there.

In the room.

With me.

And, even more importantly, with dozens of other people, most of whom were currently bedridden and unable to even try to get away.

Purity, in case you've forgotten, is that flying blaster who shoots "light" (that's way slower than actual light, like she also emitted, but whatever) with enough force, rapidity, heat, and explosive power to make her one of the top blasters on the entire East Coast.

And also the woman whose very name was a declaration of genocidal intent, with a long track record of parahuman violence to back it up. And she was in the room.


In a sense, I suppose it didn't matter that much that she was in the room, not in and of itself. Brockton Bay General Hospital wasn't exactly a military-grade bunker, after all. If she started firing for effect the entire building would be going down, and most of those people (and probably me) would be dead whether she was in the room when it happened or not.

But there she was, in the room. Right where I could see her. Where I couldn't help seeing her, given how bright she was, even with her luminescence being far less than usually reported.

Sometimes I really, really hate Earth Bet.


They came in peace, of course, or at least a pause in the violence. Things would have been very loud if they hadn't, and I would have noticed sooner (And pressed a certain part of my thigh in a certain pattern to forcibly activate my tracking device's SOS mode).

Plus, if the Empire started something now, it wouldn't end well for them. The Protectorate and the forces of the law in general were overstretched and vulnerable, but the hammer would come down eventually, and the more the Empire contributed to the crisis the harder it would be on them.

Unfortunately, the Protectorate couldn't afford to strike at them either. Bad as things would turn out for the Empire in the end if it came to a fight, it was all hands on deck, we needed every person they could get handling guarding, search and rescue, and trying to put an end to this. And, in this particular case, one of the nazis in question was Purity, and this was a hospital. The largest hospital in the city, and it was overflowing with civilians. And, just as the cherry on top, a very large chunk of the people who could actually treat the wounded, including all three of the city's healers.

Sure, that meant that, if things went wrong and people started dying, the retaliation would be massive. The Triumvirate might even get involved, or at least send one of them in to clean house. But no amount of arrested Nazis would bring back the dead, even if every single one of them got the Birdcage. Or even a kill order.

Vengeance is sweet, but it doesn't wash away the bitter taste of fallen friends and innocents.


So, despite the massive amount of tension in the air, nobody wanted to start anything. Even Assault was refraining from poking, though he was keeping a very close eye on the Nazi supervillains.

In a sense, it was reassuring that he could indeed take some things seriously. In a closely related sense, it was an unnatural and unnerving sign that things really were that bad. And, to be frank, I really didn't need the reminder. I will give what little credit he's due for taking the presence of literal nazi supervillains in a hospital during a city-wide bombing spree seriously though. And at least a bit more for successfully remaining at least outwardly calm, composed, and alert in the face of the situation instead of panicking.

The man has his flaws, but cowardice isn't one of them. And, going by the judgement in his gaze when he looked at either of the supervillains, Empire sympathies weren't among them either. That's worth something, I guess.

He was still grossly inconsiderate, though. As evidenced by, say, the way he completely neglected to, say, warn the three teenage superheroes in the room that he was bringing a pair of supervillains up. Seriously, that was just plain stupid.

Especially considering that all three of the teenage superheroes were the sort of person the supervillains in question would want dead as a matter of twisted ideology. Sure, maybe he and they didn't know about Amy, but there was no way he could have missed my and Sophia's skin colours.

Stupid inconsiderate jerk.


Still, he was at most a very distant third for the worst person in the room. Compared to the second, my ire with him was a candle to a bonfire.

Othala.

I suppose Othala wasn't technically doing anything wrong. She went over and applied healing to a severely injured person, sort of like what Panacea was doing. Even the way she skipped over the terminal illness cases was the same, and it made more sense with Othala, since her power just didn't work on those.

But the way Othala pointedly skipped over a whole bunch of non white wounded, at least half of them much more immediately in need of help than the person she ultimately helped, pretty much proved her Nazi credentials to me. I had no intentions of saying anything about it, because a committed Nazi supervillain was not somebody who'd change their mind about racial issues easily, and because it would reduce the number of cases that needed to be handled, but I was not happy with her.


But, then there was first place. Othala's escort. The other Nazi supervillain in the room. The mass-murderess floating there glowing like the sun's own vicious daughter. She hurt to look at, both physically and emotionally, but look I did all the same. A housefire, a raging inferno just waiting to erupt.

I couldn't stop myself.

Or maybe I just didn't want to.

And, because this was Earth Bet and nothing could ever be simple, she was looking at me. Not at first, but she was observant. Or maybe I was just kinda obvious about my glaring.

Either way, I had her attention.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" came from her lips.

And there was the inferno.

 

[theaceoffire]

Please don't start open warfare inside of a hospital.

 

[WallFlower]

I'm guessing Bakuda, because even a lone wolf racist like Purity wouldn't be dumb eneugh to burn down a hospital.

 

[Obscura]

Please don't start open warfare inside of a hospital.

Click to shrink...

I'm guessing Bakuda, because even a lone wolf racist like Purity wouldn't be dumb eneugh to burn down a hospital.

Click to shrink...

Metaphorical inferno. Jacqueline's used fire metaphors the whole way through the whole "I'm very angry" sequence:

Compared to the second, my ire with him was a candle to a bonfire.

Click to shrink...

A housefire, a raging inferno just waiting to erupt.

Click to shrink...

 

[WallFlower]

Got confused at the point where Purity was described as the sun's daughter, followed by fire imagery.

It's clearer when I'm re-reading it now that I know the fire imagery was Jacqueline's internal anger.

EDIT: I forgot two words

 

[Obscura]

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

It was a strange experience, hearing Purity's voice.

Arrogant. Hard. Cruel. Those were the sort of adjectives I'd been expecting to apply to it. A voice as high and mighty as Zeus himself, lightning in hand, ready to strike down some poor woman for having the gall to refuse his unwanted advances. Like a distant monarch ordering a rebellious province soaked in blood until it was brought back into subservience. Like orders from High Command, ordering another push into the trenches or another round of 'strategic" bombing.

Like the untouchable supervillain who'd brought a clash of shining and burning titans to the refugee and minority laden not-quite-ghetto the tattered remnants of my family had tried and briefly succeeded at making a home in. Who'd brought fire and death upon us while we could do nothing. Who had taken something, someone, infinitely precious to my little girl's heart away for.

Who had killed my mother.

She should have had a voice to fear.

Instead, Purity sounded like a soccer mom whose kid got a yellow card from the ref. Irritated, certainly, even angry, but mostly just surprisingly normal.

It was infuriating.


Firstly, it meant she had no idea who I was. What she had taken from me. She'd brought fire and devastation upon my home, upon my family, and she hadn't even noticed. Just one more burning house among the dozens of them she'd created. She hadn't even torched it herself, that had been Lung, though he wouldn't have been there if she hadn't baited him to the area. She probably hadn't even known there were people inside, if she noticed at all.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. Intellectually, it wasn't. I'd known since I'd learned about her involvement that she probably didn't even know I existed. In my head, that is. But, somehow, no matter how many times it happened and how much I should know better, I keep falling into the trap of thinking that bad things that happen to me happen for a reason.

I've moved past thinking they're my fault, mostly, but that's only part of the story. To some extent, I'd automatically assumed that what happened had to be targeted. I was only human, after all.


In hindsight, she probably wouldn't have recognised me even if she did know the old Jacqueline Colere. That Jacqueline Colere held herself very differently, and never once wore a nurse costume. Or any costumes at all since the fall of Newfoundland. And I was wearing a mask. And my skin was currently an entirely different colour, one not normally found in humans, along with eyes that were, if anything, stranger.

But none of that mattered. I knew, knew properly, that she hadn't ever known who I was.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. But it was. And it hurt.

How could she kill my mother and not even know who I was?


Secondly, Purity's voice being normal meant that it was human. Just another woman, if you ignored the glowing skin and the way her feet didn't quite touch the ground, and I knew full well those were superficial. I probably looked just as strange, and I was as human as anybody. It meant she wasn't born a monster. She wasn't a demon, or an Endbringer, or anything else inherently and absolutely evil. She had a choice.

And she'd chosen violence. And hate. And blood and death and horror and so, so much collateral damage. I didn't know why. Still don't. Maybe it wasn't entirely her fault her course was so warped. But she'd had a choice.

She'd had a choice.

She'd chosen to do what she'd done. All of it. That, too, shouldn't have been a surprise. I'd known that since the very first time I'd heard her name. Been upset about it. Gotten angry about it. Fumed over it. But I still hadn't fully, truly believed it.

How could anyone choose such blatant hate and callous destruction?


And then, of course, there was what she actually said. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Seriously. She actually said that. The Nazi supervillain who just so happened to be one of the most dangerous Blasters on the east coast, if not the most dangerous Blaster on the east coast, with her extensive record of wanton havoc and civilian casualties, asked why somebody might be a just a little bit absolutely terrified to see her inside a crowded hospital ward.

Really?

I honestly don't know if she really was that oblivious or whether she was just trying to rile me up, but either way the sheer "I've done nothing wrong" of it all was just intolerable. If she wasn't just lying to my face, the sheer amount of self-centredness it would take to dismiss the massive piles of evidence of her many, many crimes was incredible.

How could anybody be that conceited?


I was biassed about all of it, of course. Still am, if I'm being honest. And I didn't have all the information. Probably still don't. I stand by most of it, all but a few technicalities and bits of nit-picking, but maybe an objective observer would see things a little differently.

Maybe you do, though if you do I'll ask you to wait until you've read my next message before you make any final decisions. I still have more to say, though I'll let past-me do most of the talking.

And the scoffing.


I didn't this time because you need to understand where this came from, and why I did what I did next. And past-me never explained that part, even to herself.

My thoughts were a lot more jumbled together than what you just read, you see. I may have technically had a possible Thinker rating for cool-headedness among other things, but nobody was that cool-headed when unexpectedly meeting face to face with somebody who'd taken so much from them for the first time, let alone when doing so after the kind of day I'd had. It's just not doable, not without years of coming to terms or the kind of parahumanly-altered mindset that's different enough from baseline humanity that it's almost impossible to relate to.

My mind was, in actuality, a violent maelstrom of everything I outlined above and a great deal more, including some things that, in hindsight, were rather petty. But I hope you can understand just how, for a moment, my anger overcame all my fear and all my good sense at the same time.

How I came to give her an honest answer.

"You killed my mother."

Naturally, the conversation went downhill from there.

 

[Blacksheep]

Ha, Purity being forced to face what she did. Wrong time and place, but I can imagine that being shocking to be thrown in her face like this

It's funny, a lot of Worm stories show Purity as one of the more redeemable ones, it's easy to forget that while lesser she was still a Nazi. That she killed. That it will take a lot for her to make up for her past. That even if she is sorry, and wants to be better, there will be people who won't want her to because she once hurt them.

Good luck

 

[Kit]

Two tiny nits to pick:

Or any costumes at all since the fall of Newfoundalnd.

Click to shrink...

Newfoundland, obv.

I was biassed about all of it, of course.

Click to shrink...

AFAIK, Canadian convention generally follows the US and uses 'biased' rather than the UK-standard 'biassed.' Both are valid, just a localization quibble in this case.

And I generally enjoy seeing Kayden forced to grapple with her actions and bigotry; this is happening somewhat earlier in the timeline than most stories that bring it up as a theme, so I'm on tenterhooks to see how this turns out. Being confronted by a Ward in a hospital is definitely a fly in the Nazi ointment, too - and one whose sole surviving parent you were responsible for killing, because, oof, there is no way to spin a violent response as anything other than validating Jacqueline's reaction (and probably getting a kill order on top of it because murdering a Ward in a hospital is as good a criterion for that as any I've seen). Kayden's identity is so wrapped up in being a mother that it's possible - just possible - this kickstarts the whole 'am I the baddie?' thought process a little more effectively than in canon. Or she could retrench and double down, it would not be out of character for bigots to do so at all. (And finding out what Othala has to say about all this will be... well, probably not very enlightening, honestly.)

 

[Obscura]

Newfoundland, obv.

Click to shrink...

Thanks for pointing that out. Typoes are a thing that happens, and editing doesn't always catch them.

AFAIK, Canadian convention generally follows the US and uses 'biased' rather than the UK-standard 'biassed.' Both are valid, just a localization quibble in this case.

Click to shrink...

In my experience, and my research (such as it is) agrees, this is one of the many areas where Canadian english doesn't stick with the American or British version consistently. I certainly don't. As such, Jacqueline doesn't either.

 

[Obscura]

"You killed my mother."

There really isn't a whole lot one can say when somebody says something like that. Especially if it happens to be true. I certainly couldn't have come up with a response to that sort of thing that wouldn't make me look bad. Even staying silent would be more than a little damning. But, even with that said, I'm still sure I could have come up with a better response than Purity's.

"I swear, I've been out of the Empire and a hero for almost a year now!"

For one thing, I would have apologised. It might not have been the whole thing, and it might not have been the right apology, but there would have been one in there somewhere. Plus, you know, all the other issues with what she said. But I promised to let past me do most of the talking.


"Tccch."

And the scoffing. Harsh and sharp, as much an involuntary reflex as a deliberate action. But the talking's the important part.

"I don't believe you. And even if I did, it wouldn't change things. People are dead, Purity. You killed them. You can't unkill them, especially when you've made no actual effort to make things right. Or even really change your behaviour."


I don't quite remember what she said next. A denial of some sort. "That's not true!" or something equally trite and meaningless. The details are unimportant. What's important was that they were definitely a denial, and, in context, a claim that she really had changed and made amends.

Hogwash, in other words, whether or not she was aware of that.

Even now, I'm not sure if she genuinely thought she'd redeemed herself and just had a grossly inadequate understanding of what that entailed and how much she had to make up for and what redemption actually meant or if she was just spewing whatever malarkey she thought might make me back off. Or maybe she was simply in denial. But none of those would have changed what I said next.

Which was a quietly murmured "thank you" as I felt hands on my shoulders, squeezing slightly. Amy and Sophia had my back.

And my shoulders. Amy moved on to her next patient, who by sheer coincidence happened to be within lunging distance of every cape in the room besides Othala, but she still had my back, and Sophia had both.


What I had was a sharp tongue, an awful lot of time spent studying Purity's file, and a great deal of relevant experience and information.

"My mother died last October. I don't know if it was technically the fifth or the sixth when she died, but it was that night. I know that much. It's hard to forget any night where you're woken up to find your house on fire, let alone one where you have to leave your mother behind because she's trapped under a collapsed wall and she's begging you to get out and leave her behind and you can't possibly get her out because it's just too big and heavy and you've lost her"

I drew a deep breath, felt the hands on my shoulders, and steadied myself as best I could before this went to the wrong dark place. And then I carried on.

"You did that. You started a fight with Lung for no real reason, and then you baited him into our neighbourhood to keep him away from one where wealthier, whiter, people lived, nevermind that that neighbourhood had less than a third the population density and three nice big empty parks you could have fought in."

Purity started to say something. I didn't listen. Or stop.

"Thirty-seven people died that night because of you. Three of them were Bad Boyz, so I doubt you'll ever feel bad about them, but the rest were innocent. Twelve firefighters, five of them official, seven impromptu volunteers. Three paramedics. Twenty-four residents of my neighbourhood in total. Most of them had never done a thing to you before you killed them.

"That's nowhere near the sum total of the people you put in danger. There were over six dozen people hospitalised, and probably plenty more who should have been. If Panacea hadn't happened to be available that night, something you had no way of knowing, the death toll would have been higher. Far higher. As it is, a lot of people will probably live shorter lives, and a lot of them will probably never be as able-bodied as they were before you decided my neighbourhood was a good place for a cape battle.

"All because you noticed Lung hanging around in an area slightly outside his territory, and decided massive amounts of destructive parahuman firepower to draw him into a densely-populated urban area was the appropriate response.

"That isn't the worst thing you've done. It's not even the worst thing you've done since you claim you left the Nazis. It's just the one I know best, because it took my mother away from me, instead of any of the other parents you've taken from their children, or the children you've taken from their parents, or spouses from their partners, or siblings from other siblings, or comrades and friends you've taken from each other. Any of your plethora of victims, really. Mom was just the one I knew personally.

"Your entire career as a cape is soaked in blood, most of it from people who had nothing to do with your quarrels. You're a Blaster 8 who routinely battles in the middle of a city with minimal regard for collateral damage. That alone would be a very, very good reason why I'm not happy to see you in the middle of a crowded hospital ward.

"You're not a hero. You never were. You've never even come close to being a hero. What you are is an extremely dangerous supervillain that nobody sane wants to pick a fight with because it inevitably leads to incalculable amounts of collateral damage and utterly unacceptable levels of civilian casualties. And nothing I've seen from you, nothing anybody has seen from you, gives me any inclination to think that will ever change."


She'd apparently decided to let me finish. Or she could have just been stunned by the sheer audacity of somebody saying it to her face. Maybe she even got the memo, though I wouldn't want to put money on it. Whatever it was, I only hesitated a little before taking advantage.

"And you really haven't been selling the whole 'not a Nazi' thing very well either."

I got the feeling I was being looked at, but I didn't let that stop me. It was her own fault I couldn't see her face, after all. If she'd gone with a regular mask or something instead of trying to make it impossible to make eye contact with her, her eyes might have been able to send their own messages.

Not that it stopped me from trying to make eye contact. It's important to look people in the eyes when you're tearing their justifications apart, or at least look like you're doing that.

For all I know, I was actually staring at her forehead. Or possibly her mouth. That would have been awkward, but I was angry enough to ignore petty things like "awkwardness". And also less petty things like "Blaster 8 ratings", which I'll admit was probably a bad idea, but I've given you my reasons.

"Your cape name is Purity. I don't know if you came up with it yourself or had it assigned to you, but you've certainly never objected to being called by your nom-de-guerre in public. Not when you debuted, and not since your alleged estrangement from your Nazi cohorts.

"That the 'purity' involved was the murderous sort espoused by bigots and racists might not have been obvious if you hadn't debuted among the Empire's ranks, but as it is your very name is a promise of murder, of the 'cleansing' of the vast majority of the human race that doesn't live up to your twisted and nonsensical standards. A plain-faced declaration of genocidal intent.

"And your behaviour hardly argues with that. Sure it's different from how it used to be, less coordinated, but you're still attacking minorities, with an emphasis on the Empire's competitors. Not a single caucasian who wasn't identifiably 'deviant' in some way, and I don't mean by way of murders, rapes, or robberies. You certainly haven't been assaulting any Empire members. As far as I can tell, you haven't even denounced their murderous habits. Haven't even mildly criticised them, at least not where you might be heard.

"And now you walk in here almost literally hand-in-hand with the Empire's most valuable and vulnerable cape and expect everyone to believe you've seen the light? With your hands soaked red from the blood of innocents, both before and after your supposed redemption?

"Either you're the blindest, most unthinkingly arrogant dolt in the world, in addition to being a bigoted murderess on a massive scale, or you think everybody on the side of law and order, everybody who takes issue with genocide, is a naive idiot who can't be bothered to actually look at your track record and think for two seconds.

"And that is not an exclusive or."