Taylor learned a few interesting things during the debrief. For example, the standard practice amongst professional firefighters was to take anyone they found out of the fire regardless of their state of injury. She'd been able to tell who was dead or alive quite easily so it hadn't been a problem for her but Aegis had nodded resolutely and promised the leader of the response team that he'd do so next time.
More interesting to her had been the target. The lower area had been a bar while the upper had apparently had a series of private meeting works as well as the locked office they'd retrieved the survivor from. It was fairly clear to everyone that this was some sort of targeted attack rather than a random choice; however, since the only victim was still having trouble talking they did not as yet know why they had been targeted. Gang related was a safe bet.
Even more interesting still was how they had set up a tent around the site as soon as Armsmaster had arrived. It all but confirmed her own suspicions regarding the strangeness of the explosion and the out of place watcher. Parahuman involvement. Which probably meant Tinker. Maybe some terrifying form of Master but that didn't bear thinking about without further evidence. That meant Taylor was faced with a fairly significant dilemma. She should tell them about the person she 'saw'. But that would mean revealing her ability to identify Parahumans.
That was a dangerous road. A Cape who could do that wouldn't be tolerated. The heroes would be quite nervous but the villains would be downright murderous. For now she had to keep it to herself. Putting such thoughts aside she focused on the more awkward part of the debriefing; explaining what she had done to the door.
Taylor had
really not wanted to reveal her lethal abilities. Letting them think that she couldn't leverage deadly force without her created weaponry seemed… safer. Knowing that she could quite probably kill people on a touch wouldn't do anything good for her reputation. Still… it was out now.
"If you're willing to get me a block of wood I can demonstrate it for you." She was, at that moment, sitting with Miss Militia inside the now familiar caravan-trailer-thing that the PRT brought to scenes. Armsmaster was busy inside the tent and she was yet to meet any other members of the Protectorate.
"I think we can do that." The older woman was typing out a message on her phone as she talked; doubtlessly requesting something. "Can you show me it? This power you used." Taylor nodded, and held out her hand; but not
too far out. Miss Militia carefully shifted back to avoid contact.
For some reason it
had to be the left hand. Her skin turned black and the hand became noticeably thinner. She touched it to the metal of the table and… nothing at all. No effect. Save that the point she touched
maybe became a tiny bit shinier. Which was bizarre, considering one of the effects she knew her power had. That wasn't something she planned to mention, though. "Interesting. Do all of your power usages come with visual changes?" In response Taylor channeled her sleeping touch instead. The black hue vanished but nothing else happened. She shook her head and Miss Militia chuckled. "Duly noted." A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a uniformed man with a armful of planks of wood and briefly disrupted their discussion.
He was followed by Armsmaster, who looked… tense. Taylor could see it in the set of his jaw and shoulders. As he entered he visibly forced himself to relax and smile at her. It was kind of him, she supposed, but she could also guess why he was upset. At least she didn't have to worry about telling him about the likely culprit.
"Pretender. Miss Militia tells me you've surprised us yet again." He started to remove little devices from his armour and halberd in order to arrange them around the table. Scanners, probably. Then he paused midway through placing one and looked over at her. "My apologies; do you mind?"
"No, I don't." They know she has the power and maybe they can help her understand it a bit more. Though she... kind of doubted that. Armsmaster finished placing his measuring devices and then delicately put the plank on the table before backing off. Taylor called on the power once more and put her hand on the wood.
As the black stain spread across the wood she wondered why they were doing this here. Probably don't want to invite her back to their headquarters before they know her ultimate disposition. Which made sense. Either that, or they didn't want to keep her for longer than they have to. When she lifted her hand most of the wood had turned black. Armsmaster poked it with a thin metal rod and it collapsed into a pile of black dust.
"Fascinating. Do you mind…?" He gestured to the remaining pile of wood. She shrugged, and they carried on. In the end they tested a few things. Whether she could focus the ability at all, whether the area or duration of contact made any difference, whether clothing impeded it, whether body armour impeded it and what happened when they stacked the remaining wood on top of itself. The results had been, in order; no, none at all, the cotton had also decayed, the wood
under the armour had decayed and, lastly, the first two planks were both affected.
Armsmaster had declared they had enough data by that point, at least for now, and that she was free to go; although, apparently they might have more tests later. He seemed somewhere between frustrated and excited. Miss Militia, still seeming the far more conscientious one, offered her something surprisingly low-tech; a pager.
"It might seem basic but it's more or less impossible to break. If there's a situation we think you might be able to help with then we can get you a message directly. You have my personal guarantee there's no way to track you through it either." Taylor wasn't sure if she ought to trust that but Miss Militia had been kind and honest thus far. If she said they couldn't track it… well, she was going to accept it.
"Thank you for all of this. I should be heading home, though. My parents will be wondering where I am." She barely managed to prevent herself from just saying 'dad'. If Miss Militia picked up on it then she didn't show any signs. "I'll think about selling my items to the PRT and Protectorate, as well." That got a faint nod but she got the impression that the woman wasn't all that fussed either way. Aegis and Vista were waiting for her outside the trailer. The latter seemed calm but the former looked just a tiny bit nervous.
"I hope you're not in trouble?" It was nice that he was worried, but they seemed fairly dedicated to the opposite of upsetting her. Miss Militia was firm, but polite and kind. Armsmaster had been cordial and respectful. Her personal misgivings aside she was starting to consider joining up with the PRT. Just a little.
"No, it's fine. They're just curious. Letting me go home now." She was still quite nervous, of course, but there was no reason to let him know that. Suspicion was the last thing she wanted after all.
"Told you it would be okay." Vista seemed just a little bit smug at that. "It's normal for people to not want to share everything they can do, you know?" If that was true it explained the lack of surprise. Taylor smiled under her mask. The younger girl was fairly pleasant to be around.
"Thank you both again. Seriously. Apart from the fire and dead people I actually… kinda had fun. I hope that's not weird?" Taylor couldn't help but cringe a little at her own statement but, thankfully, Vista just laughed and jokingly punched her on the arm.
"Glad you're not all bloodthirsty. Hopefully we'll see you around?" She had to consider that for a moment, but then Taylor nodded. Yeah. With any luck she'd be a fair bit more active soon… although, hopefully not so much as an actual 'Cape'.
"Would you like us to escort you somewhere, or are you good to get home on your own?" It actually warmed her chest a little to have Aegis offer to do that for her. Out of all the things she'd expected today seemingly genuine care was not up there.
"I'll be fine, thank you." They exchanged farewell platitudes for a little longer before she slipped away at last. An idle thought brought up the image of her father in her head as he flicked through papers and contracts. Their contents were obscured and his surroundings were washed out and dull, but his heavily lined face and worn sweater and the tension thick in his shoulders were clear.
But he was safe. She knew he was, of course, but seeing it directly relieved her. If there was a parahuman bomber in town… she didn't want to consider what that might lead to. All Taylor knew was that it wasn't good. Which meant that some of her future funds might end up going to waste.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"I think… she might be lying to us." Inside the vehicle, Colin looked up from his instruments as they worked on the evaluation of the bombing site. He'd set up sensors to examine some weird energy readings he'd got from his initial scan and had decided to follow that up before heading back to the lab. When there was no response he glanced behind him.
Hannah was seated at the table, sipping a coffee and staring at the wooden planks in their sealed plastic containers; awaiting transport and further analysis at a later date. She wasn't ignoring him intentionally, and he knew that. Rather, she was probably considering what he himself couldn't help but think about.
On-touch decay of organic matter. Worked through standard issue body armour. Worked rapidly and didn't seem to require constant contact to take full effect, either. That was a power well-suited to indiscriminate murder. It could even destroy the evidence easily as well. He'd found himself idly wondering if his armour would block it at all.
He figured that they were both reconsidering inviting her to the Wards; not in terms of not wanting her to join, mind, but rather in terms of how vital it was that she did. If Pretender wanted to kill someone it was as easy as asking for a handshake, instantly rendering them unconscious and then tapping them in the face. That was a
terrifying prospect.
Obviously she was a young girl with no obvious inclination to murder. But deadly powers weren't any less deadly because you didn't want to use them that way. Not least of which, but Colin had noticed an interesting little pattern.
Pretender had claimed to be a sort of Trump that infused power into objects and had some abilities in her own right; such as a few Striker powers, and a fairly interesting Thinker ability. That sort of weirdness was unusual to see, however, and he'd acquired a suspicion that he was now voicing.
"You think she is protecting someone." And that was it right there. A Striker with a Thinker ability made more sense to him than a Trump that also had multiple other innate abilities. But if the Trump making her items was someone else… that made more sense.
"She was nervous about telling us. Do you think she-" His half-thought, half-accusation died under a withering glare from Miss Militia.
"No. She hasn't hurt anyone, let alone killed. But I agree, her presented powers don't add up unless she's hiding items she hasn't told us about. Which is possible, if she's defeated your software." Colin frowned at that. That was also nagging at him. The full-face mask threw it off a little bit but his lie-detection software was still usually reliable. Then again, she already had one Thinker ability and that was basically what he was emulating; Thinker abilities interacting strangely was a well-known phenomenon.
"Either wa-" There was a sudden, sharp ringing from their communicators. Both at once. The two shot each other a sharp look and then they were rushing for the door. Armsmaster practically leaping onto his bike and Miss Militia landed behind him an instant before he gunned it.
She wrapped one arm around him until they were up to speed and then formed a grenade launcher in the other hand. As soon as she had both arms free she loaded it with one of the containment foam rounds from her belt. He'd already pulled up the details on his helmet display and was starting to coordinate.
While they'd been investigating the site of the bombing someone had attacked the oil rig. Some sort of gravitational distortion had overloaded the shield generator and second blast of unknown function ripped a massive hole in the side; through which Oni Lee had invaded the facility and stolen the still heavily drugged-up Lung. The death toll was yet to be determined and they were unlikely to be able to recapture them.
The purpose of the bombing was now clear and Colin's worst fears had been confirmed; one of the city's most vicious gangs now had a Tinker with a speciality in explosive devices.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Taylor had changed back into her normal clothes and wrapped up her staff in an old sheet to conceal it as best she could. Carrying it still made her look weird but… well, it was better than openly carrying it, she supposed. Her ring had been quiet thus far and she was nearly home safe now. Which is why she wasn't surprised when it went off as she turned to cut through a nearby park.
Sighing, Taylor changed her course when something caught her ears. The sound of muffled thumps and racial slurs flowing like water. She frowned and returned to her original path; following it to an area surrounded by a high chain-link fence and stepping through the gateless doorway into the disused basketball court beyond.
There was another doorway on the far side and, in the corner, two young men in rough clothes launching kicks and insults in equal measure at a huddled figure cowered under a bench while four more watched. One of them was idly holding a basketball and all the watchers were laughing about it. Taylor's mind worked a mile a minute as she quickly yanked her balaclava out of her pocket and pulled it on.
"Hey! Stop that!" As they turned around she noted that in spite of her thinking of them as young men they were all decidedly older and bigger than her. She clutched her wrapped-up staff nervously as the kickers, the youngest of the two, stopped their work and let her see what she was protecting. They looked old; grey-hair and dirty clothes and very clearly homeless. There were a couple of bags of what looked like clothes and spare blankets they were curled around in a protective fashion.
Something in Taylor
burned. In her minds eye she
saw them.
Poorly armed and armoured almost universally; many bound and chained and whipped into battle. How desperately her followers preached and called out and promised and cajoled and even begged, at her behest, that their enemies might just stop and be free and unharmed. Pain searing her heart as they were thrown over and over again as wheat chaff to the harvesters to slow the advance of her armies.
Beings of immense power buying another month, week, day, hour, minute of life with the blood of countless innocents. At the core of it all, her fury. Those lives were precious. Those lives were sacred. Those lives… all of those wasted lives…
THOSE LIVES WERE HERS!
She flung out her hand and interrupted whatever vapid, cliched comments that the lead gang-member was going to make with four razor-sharp shards of stone that struck the ground and flung up chunks of concrete with a sound like a gunshot. Each one fully capable of killing a grown man in a single body blow so long as he wasn't armoured. She wasn't done, though.
A flicker of light and heat formed between her fingers as she glared at them.
Something flowed out of her in waves that crushed what little will the pathetic mortals before her had to resist and each and every one stumbled backwards. When she spoke there was a
force to her words; irresistible, indomitable, and mighty.
"One of these sparks can cripple a man for life. Which will be a few minutes at best, given it will burn out most of your internal organs and leave you writhing on the ground in agony until the sweet release of death claims you." She held up her hand and six points of light flickered into existence above it. Then she held up her
other hand, staff discarded and forgotten on the ground and six more appeared.
One of the young men, the biggest one that was also closest to her, soiled himself on the spot.
"I am never going to see any of you in gang clothes again." And that was that. It wasn't something so
base as a threat. It wasn't a demand. Nor was it even an order. This statement from a girl in a ski mask, half a foot shorter and probably a good sixty pounds lighter than them, was a proclamation of fact that none of them questioned because each one of them was utterly certain that her words were no less than an unholy gospel forged of terror and flame.
It wasn't until they'd all fled, two literally dragging the one who'd shat himself between them since his legs had outright stopped working, that Taylor felt the hatred leaving her body. She didn't understand why she'd felt so… angry. Nor why her threats had been so effective. All they'd seen were sparks and sharp stones.
She didn't question it. Instead, she moved over to the homeless man and crouched down. He was trembling still and she hated that she didn't have any ability to heal injuries. But before she could even begin to coax him out he opened his eyes and gazed upon her with a confused, wild-eyed stare.
There was a change in the metaphysical landscape of Taylor's mind; a slight adjustment in the non-physical geography of her internal map. The man shuddered as if he felt something pass into him and then reached for her face while mumbling in muffled, broken-toothed Spanish.
"Dios no me abandona! Ángel!" She recoiled from him as he tried to touch her and then turned and bolted. He called after her, and she
knew that he was begging her not to go. Yet still she fled. Taylor ran and ran well away from the man; tearing off her balaclava as she went. In the end she didn't stop until she was safely home and ensconced within her bedroom.
She sat there for some time as she stared into the middle distance. Trying to change her mind. Trying to convince herself she was wrong. Trying desperately to rationalise what had just happened. What she'd done. Yet, above all else, beyond her words and deeds, the thing she tried most desperately to avoid thinking about was clear and visible in her head.
The fresh light burning in the back of her mind, like a candle shining in the darkness, and the dirty, dishevelled, grovelling man that could be found praying beneath it.
