Price of Blood [Worm fanfic] (Complete)

[Ack]

We take the tale up in early February of 2011, when Sophia incites a group of boys to chase Taylor down and duct-tape her to a telephone pole. It all goes horribly wrong from the moment that they catch her. Things will never be the same again, for Taylor Hebert or for Brockton Bay.

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.

Index
Part One: Unkind Fate (below)
Part Two: Investigation
Part Three: Revelations
Part Four: One Bad Apple
Part Five: Incoming
Part Six: Chasing Shadows
Part Seven: Mixed Results
Part Eight: Loose Threads
Part Nine: Slowly Unravelling
Part Ten: Legalities and Illegalities
Part Eleven: Upsides, Downsides and Underside(r)s
Part Twelve: Connections
Part Thirteen: Enmeshed
Part Fourteen: Two Steps Forward, One Step Backward
Part Fifteen: Doubling Down
Part Sixteen: Chasing Shadows, Part II
Part Seventeen: Field Test
Part Eighteen: Spilled Blood
Part Nineteen: Shadowfall

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood


Part One: Unkind Fate


Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Taylor Hebert

No, please no.

My breath burned in my throat. I couldn't run any faster. I had to run faster. Over the thundering of my pulse in my ears, over the frantic rasp of my breathing, I could hear the footsteps behind me. There were five of them, all boys. I didn't know why they were chasing me, but Sophia had told them to, so it probably wasn't to give me a late Christmas present.

Too late, I told myself that I should have stayed at the bus stop with the other Winslow students. That might have made the boys reconsider. But then, given the number of pranks that had been pulled on me inside Winslow itself, maybe not. I had to keep running. If I made it too hard for them to catch me, they'd give up. Surely they'd give up.

The fence on my right gave way to a narrow lane between houses. I staggered into it. Maybe I could get into someone's yard, hold the gate closed to keep them out -

"Gotcha, bitch!" Hands grabbed me from behind. I struggled, yanked myself free, but overbalanced and fell. I put my hands out to catch myself, feeling the skin abrade away on the rough concrete pathway. The breath sobbed in my lungs.

The knee that caught me in the middle of the back drove me down on to the concrete. I didn't have much air in my lungs; what little I had was driven out of me by the impact. My head bounced off of the path, my glasses coming off. Dizzy, not tracking well, I struggled feebly.

"Stop moving, bitch!" Someone grabbed my arms. I flailed about, pulling free, driving my elbow back almost by accident. It slammed into something soft that recoiled. "Fuck! My fucking balls!"

A blow to the side of my head. I tasted blood as my teeth cut into my lip. The ringing in my head got worse. I had to do something. Call for help. I strained to get air into my lungs, then let it out. A wordless shriek of despair and agony. Help. Please help.

"Fuck! Shut the bitch up!"

Someone grabbed my hair, pulled my head back. A hand slapped over my mouth, cutting off my scream. I tried to bite, sank my teeth into soft flesh. Did my best to draw blood. There, see how you like it.

"Christ fuck! Get her off me!"

Fingers like iron rods gouged into the sides of my face, forcing my jaws open. The hand was pulled free. I tried to scream again. Two hands grabbed my mouth this time, one to hold my jaws shut, the other to block off the noise. There was a ripping sound. "Here, shut her up with this!"

The hands went away, but before I could let out a proper call for help, something silvery passed before my eyes. It went over my mouth, sticking to my skin, cutting off my screams. I tried to bite at it, but couldn't get purchase. My tongue, probing, tasted something bitter and sour. Duct tape? Did they put duct tape on my mouth? I couldn't breathe; the air hissed in my nostrils, but it wasn't enough.

Another ripping noise, and I felt my wrists being taped together behind my back. Struggling just didn't help; there were more of them, and any one of them was stronger than me. I flailed my legs, kicking out wildly, not caring if I hit one of them or a fence. Anything that would get peoples' attention. But I felt them being grabbed, held together, taped at the ankles.

I couldn't get enough air through my nostrils to struggle as hard as I wanted to, but I heaved at the duct tape anyway. It stretched a little on my wrists, and slid up and down on my ankles, but I couldn't make it do anything more than that.

"Okay, we've got her." The voice was strained, breathing heavily. "Now what do we do?"

"She said to tie her to a telephone pole or something." I didn't know who the boy was, except that he was probably on the track team. Or maybe not. I didn't know. I just knew who 'she' was.

"I don't see any telephone poles around here." This was a third boy. He was panting just as hard as the first two. "Just leave her?"

"Fuck that," growled a fourth. "She got me in the nuts. Bit Joe. Kicked you in the chest." I didn't remember kicking anyone, but I was pleased that I had. I hope it hurt. "She's gonna pay for making it this hard."

Hands wriggled into my pockets, found and retrieved my house key and the little coin-purse I kept for the bus. I tried to breath steadily. Let them take your stuff. It's just stuff. I didn't know what had happened to my backpack; it had been dropped, somewhere back along the way, because it was weighing me down. It was probably gone by now, too.

Coins jingled; I heard murmuring. "Fuck, three dollars forty-two? That's not even a pack of fucking gum!" Something struck me on the back and the head; I saw coins bouncing on the ground in front of me.

"Well, fuck. No money. A shitty plastic watch. She doesn't have a phone. No jewellery. So much for making her fucking pay for it." A weight on my back, which I had almost forgotten about, lifted off of me. Suddenly, I could breathe a lot more easily. "Fuck it. Let's just leave her."

"No." It was the guy I had gotten in the testicles. "Fuck that. Let's have some fun with her. She owes us that much."

"What, you mean -?"

"Yeah, I mean that." His voice held a challenge. "Unless you're pussy. Pussy."

"I'm no fucking pussy." There was anger in the voice. The sense of vague hope – maybe they'll just leave me to get free – began to give way to a growing dread. They wouldn't. Would they?

"Then fucking prove it." I heard a zipper slide down. "Get some."

"I dunno." It was one of the others. "DNA and all that shit …"

Yeah, I thought frantically. DNA! Evidence!

"Dude. I always come prepared." My heart sank. "Condoms catch all that shit. They won't have anything to go on."

The hopeful note in the one boy's voice was one I never wanted to hear. "You got enough for all of us?"

No. No no no. Please, no. I began to struggle again, to make as much noise as I could.

"Shit! Hold her down!" Hands grabbed me, rolled me over on to my back. It was hugely uncomfortable, with my hands taped behind me, but they didn't seem to care.

"She can see our faces. She'll be able to tell the cops." That was one of the blurry forms in front of me, sounding doubtful. I nodded emphatically.

"Doofus, she doesn't know us from fucking Adam, and she needs glasses anyway. Now hold her steady." I felt hands fumbling with my pants.

"Sketch artists ..." It was the one who had worried about DNA.

I could easily visualise an eye-roll with the tone of the voice. "Okay, fine then." A ripping sound was followed by a strip of duct tape coming into view. I rolled my head frantically from side to side, but it was no use. The tape came down, and I saw nothing more. "Happy?"

That was when I really started to lose control.

Up until then, I had been determined to let them have their prank and go on their way. Tying me up was worrisome, but I figured that once they were gone, I could get bugs to chew through the duct tape – at least, I hoped they could chew through the duct tape – and I could go home. But tied up, gagged, blindfolded and about to be gang-raped by a bunch of jocks … no. Just. Fucking. No.

I could easily have brought the bugs in before this point. Chasing them off with a swarm of bees or wasps would have been child's play. But my control wasn't the greatest; more to the point, attacking civilians with a swarm of stinging insects would have outed me and my powers, and not in a good way. I wanted to be a hero. Letting these guys – and, by extension, Sophia – know about my powers would do my heroic career no good at all.

But this changed everything. I didn't give a shit about my heroic career, about my just-barely-started costume. Not if this was the price to pay for secrecy.

I could feel every bug in my radius. Normally it was about one and a half to two blocks; right now, it was all the way out to four blocks. I had no idea why, but I wasn't arguing. I grabbed every one of those points of light that could bite or sting or even annoy someone, and gave them the same order. Come here. Help me.

My top was pushed up. "Fuck, she wears a bra? Waste of time, you ask me."

I struggled, whimpering through my gag as the undergarment was pushed up and hands groped me. Other hands grabbed at my waistband. I arched my back, pushing my butt down on to the ground as hard as I could. No. No no no. Don't. I'm begging you.

"Fuck, what's keeping you?"

"She's not exactly fucking cooperating, dude." I could hear the exasperation in his voice. Good. Give up. Go away.

"Well, undo the fucking pants!"

The first bugs arrived as the button on the front of my jeans was opened. Despite my best efforts, the zipper went down. I spread my knees apart as far as I could.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, get her legs together!"

There was a chuckle. I wanted to rip his throat out. "You won't be saying that in a minute."

I felt strong hands pushing my knees together; bucking and twisting, I did my best to struggle, but again, there were too many and they were too strong. But my reinforcements were about to turn the tide.

"Fuck! Ow! What was that?"

"Dude, you just got stung by a bee! Ow! Fuck! Was that a wasp?"

"Is it just me, or are there suddenly a lot of bugs around here?"

"Fuck, that's a black widow!"

"No, dude, that's not a black widow! That's about ten of them!" It was only four, but four was bad enough. I decided to hold off the truly venomous bugs from attacking unless things got really bad. No need for any deaths.

"Shit! Fuck! Ow!" More wasps had arrived on the scene. There were enough bugs here now for me to get a general idea of what was going on. The boys had not retreated, but they were fully occupied with fending off the attacking swarm. I rolled on to my side and started a bunch of cockroaches attacking the duct tape around my wrists. They ate everything else, I figured, so they could probably gnaw through duct tape with ease.

"What the fuck's going on?" I could hear fear in the tone.

"Fuck this shit, I'm outta here!" One of the boys bolted, then another. I let them go.

I eased up on the attacks, concentrating on the cockroaches. That was my mistake.

"Shit, look at that!"

"Look at what? Fuck, this is too weird! Where'd all these bugs come from?"

"They're not attacking her! And those roaches are going for the duct tape!"

"The fuck?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. I realised, too late, that I should have waited for them to all go before I started freeing myself.

"Shit, she's a cape?" The third boy shook his head. "Fuck that, I'm out." He bolted as well. I began to relax slightly, but the fourth boy was still looming over me.

"Is this all you, bitch? You a fucking cape? You making all these fucking bugs attack us?"

I was startled by the venom in his voice. Before I had a chance to react, he kicked me. His boot rammed into my stomach, bending me double as I lay on the ground. The breath drove out of me and I fought not to vomit. Help … attack …

"Dude, let's just go. Come on!"

"No, fuck this bitch! No psycho cape gets to pull this shit on me! We knock her out, the bugs go away!" He drew back his leg; I tried to pull my head out of the way, but it was too late. The smashing impact sent me spiralling into the darkness.

<><>​

Air. I could breathe. Cold air flowed into my lungs. I inhaled deeply, then bent double with a hacking cough. My stomach felt bruised. Bringing my hands around, I felt at it, then realised what I was doing. The duct tape around my wrists was hanging in tatters, with cockroaches still industriously gnawing away at it.

I felt at my mouth, which tasted like it was full of blood. Most of the duct tape there was gone as well; I leaned to the side and spat out … blood, with a tooth in there as well, if the fuzzy white dot was any indication. My mouth felt like someone had kicked me there. Which, as I recalled, someone had.

It took me a moment to realise that I was seeing the blood. Seeing my tooth. I felt at my eyes, then peeled away the remnants of the tape from there and my mouth. My jaw throbbed. It felt swollen, and when I tried to move it, something grated horribly. A shaft of pain shot up into my head, and I clenched my eyes shut tightly, trying not to scream.

After a moment, as I breathed deeply, the pain went back to a dull background throb. I think I've got a broken jaw. Fucking asshole. When I saw the guy again, or Sophia for that matter, I was going to punch them right in the face. A lot.

Once I had calmed myself down with images of Sophia's nose breaking under my fist, I checked the tape around my ankles. It had been also dealt with. Oh, good. I have to say, cockroaches are good for something. Rolling over, I climbed unsteadily to my feet. And then my pants promptly fell down. Oh, right.

Bending over, I pulled them up, hoping that the roaches hadn't gone to town on them as well. Fortunately, they hadn't; I didn't feel any unwanted ventilation. Nor did I feel any unwanted cockroaches; as useful as they were, I still got the creeps when they ran over my skin.

Skin.

Reminded of that, I pulled my bra back into position, then yanked my shirt down into place over it. Blushing, I looked around to see who I might have accidentally flashed. There was nobody there. At least, nobody moving. But someone was lying there, about three yards away from me. Face-down. Not moving. I couldn't see any more details, because my glasses were nowhere to be seen.

Wait.

Taking a deep breath, I took hold of all the bugs on the ground … and for the first time, realised just how many there were. And how many there were in the air, as well. All around me. For blocks and blocks.

"Oh, god," I mumbled. They'd be able to see this swarm from space. I was so outed.

But first things first. The command I had previously sent to my tiny minions now bore fruit. A bunch of them were clustered around what felt like my glasses. Bending down, I picked them up. For a miracle, only one lens was broken, and the arms only needed a little bit of straightening. I fixed that, then put them back on … and nearly threw up.

Because right in front of me, the guy lying face-down … was dead. Either that, or he didn't have any problem with having been eaten down to the bone in several areas. Hundreds of bugs were still working away at him; I could feel their satiation as they gorged themselves on his …

This time, I did throw up, turning to one side and relieving myself of my last meal. And the one before that. This didn't do my broken jaw any favours at all. I spat, painfully, to get rid of the lingering taste (unsuccessfully) then averted my gaze from the corpse. Now that I was paying more attention, I noticed another suspiciously human-shaped mound of bugs not so far down the alley. Oh, god. What have I done?

I had told the bugs – all the bugs – to come to me, to help me, and to attack. They had done this, even while I was unconscious. And the two boys had died.

I hadn't known my orders worked like that. I'd barely given any bugs any mass orders at all. Mainly, it had been 'come here' and 'go away'. Of course, I'd gathered black widows to start the weaving process for my costume, but even that wasn't going too great.

Leaning against the fence, I spat again, then breathed deeply, trying to clear my head. Okay, then. I'm well and truly outed. Everyone in Brockton Bay who's not blind, deaf and dead is gonna know that there's a bug cape here. I glanced down at the corpse, then hastily averted my gaze again. And I've just killed two guys. Another deep breath. Okay. Okay. I can get through this. It wasn't my fault. All I have to do is explain what happened. Explain what they were going to do. Self-defence is a thing, right?

My jaw hurt like a son of a bitch. I hoped that I wouldn't have to do too much talking. Carefully avoiding looking at the dead bodies, I started out of the alleyway. I just wanted to go home. I'd tell Dad what had happened, and he could call the police and let them know that it was all over. It was all going to be okay.

<><>​

Armsmaster

The mass of bugs roiled and hummed over a section of north Brockton Bay. A circle about eight blocks across had been evacuated. Helicopters criss-crossed the sky above it, cameras pointing downward. The evacuation had been a nightmare; people had barricaded themselves into their houses, blocking every ingress point, and still the bugs got in. PRT drivers, volunteers all, had donned protective gear and driven vans into the area. To get as close to the houses as possible, they had driven over fences and mailboxes alike in their quest to get people on board and out of the area. And still, it hadn't been enough.

Armsmaster, a hundred yards away from the nominal outer perimeter, called up the latest count of casualties on his helmet HUD. Of the ten thousand, five hundred and sixty-three people in that area, seven thousand twelve had been stung, bitten or otherwise attacked by the sudden aggressive uprising of insects and spiders. There had been two hundred and fifty-four confirmed deaths, most from allergic reactions to bug stings. Twenty-nine people were known to be alive in the area, having managed to secure bug-proof shelters. Eighty-seven people were unaccounted for. A few hundred others were being inconsistently reporting missing and found by concerned family members and friends, but Dragon had sorted through the data and identified only eighty-seven who were actually likely to be in the area.

A beep in his earpiece signalled an incoming call. He flicked his eyes over the HUD and accepted it. "Director."

"Armsmaster. Any change in the situation?" Her voice was clipped, precise.

Despite the fact that she could not see him, he shook his head. "None. Are there any suspicious activities anywhere else in the city? Ransom demands?"

"A little looting, downtown, but nothing of note. The police are handling it. Nothing that would indicate prior knowledge of this situation."

"Hm." He almost wished that it was a ransom situation. That way, he'd have someone to hit. "Does Dragon have anything that might fit this scenario?"

"I've spoken with her. She says that she's flying a specialised suit to Brockton Bay as we speak."

"Oh, good." He felt a little tension leave his shoulders. "ETA?"

"Forty-five minutes."

"Good. I -" He paused, his eye on one of the camera feeds. "That's funny."

"I assume you mean funny-peculiar."

"Yes, of course. Look at the north-west quadrant of the swarm. It looks almost as if it's breaking up. Dispersing."

She took a moment to reply. "You're right. It does. Do you still hold to the theory that the cape creating this is in the geometric centre?"

"It would make the most sense, especially if this was being caused by a new trigger."

"So the cape may be leaving that area. Travelling southeast."

"I'm still not entirely sure why the cape never moved in all this time."

"We'll have to ask him or her that question. Preferably in an interrogation room."

"Wait. All quadrants are showing bugs dispersing. Is the radius of effect shrinking?"

"Perhaps a Tinkertech gadget, then. If it's running out of power …"

"That would make it a proof of concept, or a distraction, or both."

"Still think it's a new cape, Armsmaster?"

He grimaced. "It fits the pattern. We haven't had a bug cape in the city before, and this one appeared very dramatically."

"Hmm. You may be right. I've got the swarm breaking up more and more. Chopper Two has just spotted a person walking down the street, toward the perimeter."

"Description?" Armsmaster was already zooming in that camera feed as he asked the question.

"Subject appears to be a … teenage girl or skinny boy … long hair, we'll go with girl. Walking a little unsteadily. Dirt or blood on her face and down her front. I think she's wearing glasses."

Armsmaster agreed with the assessment; he also had caught the flash of light as the girl tilted her head to look at the overflying helicopter. "And the bugs are definitely dispersing?"

"It looks that way."

"I'm on the move." Swinging his leg over his cycle, Armsmaster sent the signal to start the engine. All the work he had put into reducing startup time paid off now; no sooner had he settled his weight on to the saddle than the thrumming roar built up beneath him, every readout in the green. "En route to intercept."

"Keep to the perimeter. The bugs might return."

"Roger that." Displaying the acceleration of a much lighter vehicle, the cycle rocketed off down the street.

<><>​

Taylor Hebert

It was only after I left the alley that I felt secure enough to start sending the swarm away. I kept a lot of bugs nearby, of course, but the vast majority were able to disperse and go their separate ways. Maybe I can even get away with this. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to happen, but I could always hope.

Down one street and then another I walked. I was reasonably certain that I was heading in the general direction of home. Winslow was somewhere behind me. I wasn't sure quite how far; as far as I could tell, it had been outside of my bugs' range when I was in the alley. I was also one hundred percent certain that I never wanted to go back.

There was a bus stop in the distance. I walked toward it, then recalled that my bus fare was scattered on the ground, back in the alley. I hadn't even thought to try to get my coin purse back. So, walking it is. It was just another layer of crap on my already oh-so-wonderful day.

It was creepy as hell, walking down empty streets. The only thing that broke the silence was the sound of helicopters overheard. I guessed that they'd been there since before I told the bugs to go away, but I hadn't heard them till then.

Halfway across an intersection – no cars, which was kind of a first for me – I noticed faces peering out of a Denny's across the way. I hadn't seen a public phone, but maybe they'd let me call Dad and get him to pick me up. I might even get a glass of water to wash the taste of blood and vomit out of my mouth.

As I approached, the faces shrank back, as if afraid. Of me? Yeah, that's gonna happen. The doors failed to open, so I tapped on them. The guy who was closest to the window shook his head vehemently. I tapped again. He shook his head even harder. I tried to indicate by gestures that the bugs were all gone, but I was pretty sure it was wasted on him.

My jaw was hurting more than ever. I wanted to cry. My stomach was still sore. I turned away from the shop-front, and there they were.

<><>​

Armsmaster

"So where is this mystery girl?" Colin didn't care how abrupt he sounded.

The PRT officer held up a tablet showing a map of the swarm-infested area. "She's about two blocks away. Approaching the Denny's, the one with people inside."

"Oh, shit." That was Velocity. "What if she's trying to get bugs in there?"

Armsmaster turned to the officer. "Do you have their number?"

"Right here, sir." He held up a post-it note.

Colin didn't take it. "Ring them. Impress on them that they must not open the doors for her. No matter what she says or does."

"Roger that, sir." The officer turned away.

"You know, the bugs are almost gone …" Velocity was rubbing his chin.

"Yes?"

"What if we just went in there?"

Colin shook his head. "Bad idea. You saw how they swarmed anyone who tried to enter."

"But the swarm's gone, is what I'm saying."

Colin considered that. He seemed to be correct; the swarm had attenuated to … well, nothing. While it had been ongoing, the bugs had converged with extreme prejudice on anyone moving into the area. There were two possibilities here; either the swarm-controller had given new orders, or the bugs were waiting in ambush.

And then there were the people holed up in the fast-food restaurant to consider. If the bug cape really wanted to get bugs in there, it was going to happen. A rock would do it.

"Armsmaster, this is Miss Militia. I have eyes on target."

Hannah was lying on a rooftop one block back from the danger zone. She had made her weapon into the most elaborate sniper rifle that Colin had ever seen, with a scope that could pick out individual hair follicles at half a mile. "What's she doing?"

"Just walking. Limping, really. She seems to be hurt. Holding her stomach. There's blood on her face and shirt. I can't get a good look, but there seems to be something wrong with her face, like her jaw's swollen."

Despite the fact that she couldn't see him, Armsmaster nodded. "Does she appear to have been attacked by the bugs?"

"I'm not seeing anything like that, no. To be honest, she looks like she's just been beaten up. Pretty badly, at that."

This was starting to fit the profile of a new trigger. He came to a decision. "Keep an eye on her. We're going in."

"We are? Who's 'we'?" asked Velocity.

"You, me …" Armsmaster paused. "I could really do with Vista or Clockblocker, but I can't expose Wards to this sort of danger. Just the two of us for the moment, until we get this figured out. Plus some soldiers." He raised his voice. "I'm calling for volunteers to go in with us. Four men. Two with containment foam."

"What's containment foam going to do against bugs if they decide to swarm us?" asked Velocity.

"It's for us, so we don't get stung to death before help arrives," Colin pointed out.

"Oh." Velocity looked enlightened. "Right."

So far, eight men had presented themselves. Armsmaster looked them over. "You, you, you and you. Stay behind us. No hostile moves unless I authorise it. Understood?"

The highest ranking of the four men picked – a sergeant – straightened to attention. "Sir."

"Good. Let's go."

<><>​

Taylor Hebert

"Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to stand down."

The voice was firm and authoritative. I couldn't tell who'd spoken, or even who they were, because they had the sun behind them. As I squinted through the glare, the broken lens of my glasses sent spikes of bright light into my eye, making me wince. Painfully, I brought up my right hand to shade my eyes. As I did so, I saw the men tense. Rifles, or what I thought were rifles, were raised.

"Don't shoot me," I mumbled. "Please." Even trying to speak sent a jag of pain through my jaw, causing tears to trickle down my cheeks.

One of them stepped forward. He was taller than me by a good six inches, and so much broader that it was ridiculous. As he did so, he blotted out the sun, and I got my first good look at him.

"Armsmaster," I mumbled. I took a shuffling step forward, then another. "I just wanna go home. Dad'll be worried." Armsmaster was a hero. He would help me get home. It was going to be all right.

"Miss, you're going to have to come with us." His tone brooked no disagreement.

"No." Something grated in my jaw with the intensity of the word, and I nearly screamed from the agony. "Just lemme go home. Please." I tried to step past him, but something gave way inside me. Sinking to my knees, I hugged myself and let the tears come.

That tiny surrender paved the way. The tight rein I had been holding on to consciousness slipped out of my grip, and blackness welled up.

I think he caught me as I began to fall sideways.



End of Part One

 

[Generic_Generica]

stop right there @Ack you should know damn well that you need to be running this sort of thing by the ask a question section of the forum before posting it in User Fiction or anywhere else on SV.

Next time? Do it. Assuming there is a next time.

I'm going to lock this thread for the time being. The staff'll be going over it for review.

Brace yourself.

 

[Generic_Generica]

official staff communication Thread unlocked for the time being.

Have one more reminder to use the Ask a Question section of the forum if you're writing about sensitive topics. All of us would like to avoid messes like this in the future.

That is all. Keep your noses clean people.

 

[NonSequtur]

red light Yeah I'm going to put this on hold until we figure out what more, if anything, needs to be done.

 

[NonSequtur]

yellow light proceed with caution The story - or the single chapter of it written - does not violate the rules of this board. It is uncomfortable and arguably poor in a variety of ways, and the staff is wary about how it will be handled by the author, but more strikingly right now, how it is handled by the readership as well.

@Tricia, @TheUnicorn, you have received warnings under Rules 3 and 4 along with month-long threadbans. Tricia, you have also received 25 points. Hopefully by the time they expire the story - and you both - will have moved past this, one way or another.

@Ugolino, I don't think you've quite crossed a line or been a net negative, but if you don't tone it down a bit I will remove you from this thread for a time as well.

To everyone else, do try to be polite and understanding to one another. A story can certainly be criticized on grounds of psychological accuracy or ethics, but such arguments should not consume the thread. There's no sense to beating your skulls against the wall. If you truly believe a line has been crossed either in story or in a comment, report it, don't shout at each other.

Disliking some elements of a story is not reason to leave a thread - such selective pressures create echo chambers where rule-breaking material can fester. If you believe a poster's presence is damaging to the thread, report them, don't try and kick them out on your own authority.

This thread is now open.

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood


Part Two: Investigation


Dr Hubert Lansing, MD
PRT ENE Building, Brockton Bay

"How is she?"

Lansing looked up from the sleeping girl. Armsmaster stood there, solid and forbidding. His mouth was set in a hard, straight line.

"Well, she'll live," Lansing ventured. "She's been worked over pretty good. Broken jaw, broken nose, a couple of broken ribs, suspected internal bruising. She's lucky nothing's ruptured, actually. Depressed fracture of her right cheekbone. Suspected concussion. Lost all the skin off the heels of both hands. Bruising over a fair percentage of her body, both old and new."

"Old bruising?" Armsmaster leaned forward, intent. "It didn't happen today?"

"Not today, no." Lansing led the way out of the surgery; behind him, IV bags fed saline and sedatives into the girl's veins. "If you were to ask me, she shows all the signs of a classic physical abuse case. But there's something odd about this. She was tied up with duct tape. Including over her mouth and eyes. Why?"

"I can think of several reasons," Armsmaster replied grimly. "None of them good."

Lansing tilted his head in agreement. "Very true. It's pretty difficult to bruise yourself on soft restraints like duct tape. She managed it."

"She didn't have duct tape on her face when we encountered her."

"Well, I found residue of the adhesive on her face. So it was there. And I peeled the remains of the tape off her wrists and ankles myself. What did you guys cut it with? Your halberd?"

"It was like that when we found her." Armsmaster sounded puzzled, which didn't surprise Lansing. This girl had too many mysteries around her. "When can I talk to her?"

Lansing gestured magnanimously. "Be my guest. But she won't be answering for quite some time. We're going to have to wire her jaw before she comes out of sedation and wait till it heals."

"So, months." Armsmaster didn't sound pleased at all.

"Well, days. Hours at the very least," Lansing conceded. "If you're okay with her mumbling a lot, and not being very coherent. And at some point, you're going to have to locate her next of kin and explain to them exactly what happened to her." Lansing did his best to not show his appreciation that this would not be his job.

Abruptly, Armsmaster turned and left. With another sigh, Lansing went to his desk. The case notes on this incident were going to be interesting … and not in a good way.

<><>​

Emily Piggot
Regional Director, PRT ENE

Emily hated days like this. It had been a nice quiet Wednesday, with minimal gang activity, right up until just before four in the afternoon. Then everything had gone to hell.

The first indication that something was wrong occurred when the frantic 9-1-1 calls started coming in. People were being attacked by bugs in the area of the Swarm, as it ended up being called. Those on the perimeter were the luckiest; they could drive to safety, or in some cases just run away. Further in, it got worse. A lot worse.

She looked at her monitor screen, at the figure for the final casualty count, then up at Armsmaster. The armoured hero was standing at parade rest, but she fancied that she could see the subtle telltales of tension. Armsmaster was deeply unhappy about something, which didn't surprise Piggot. Right now, I'm not too thrilled either.

"Report." Her voice was flat.

"I've sent in my report already, ma'am," he replied guardedly.

"There are still a few questions I'd like answered." She gazed at him steadily. "Such as why you went into the area of the Swarm without seeking approval first."

"The Swarm had dispersed," he explained. "Miss Militia had indicated the presence of an injured teenage girl. I presumed this to be our bug cape."

Emily tilted her head. "Why?"

His voice was matter-of-fact. "She showed no evidence of being attacked by bugs, and her projected path came from what I estimated to be the epicentre of the Swarm."

She considered that. "Very well. Continue."

"I decided that it was best to confront her away from innocents. She was unable to speak clearly, so I could not interrogate her, but nothing she did or said made me change my mind about her involvement in the matter."

"I'm presuming that you've since investigated further." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm still writing that report."

She leaned back in her chair, to give the impression of relaxation. "Give me the highlights. Start with what we know about the proximate cause of this event."

Armsmaster nodded. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure that the girl was indeed the cause of it. Seventy-five percent sure that it was in response to a trigger event."

He paused; Piggot absorbed the information. It wasn't welcome news; trigger events complicated everything. "Evidence?"

"This has never happened before. It hasn't recurred since we took her into custody. She's obviously been through a severe ordeal. That says 'trigger event' to me."

Grimacing, she nodded. "So noted. What do we know about her?" The previous report had indicated that the girl's prints had not shown up in any databases, and she wasn't carrying ID. Piggot hated Jane Doe cases.

"Her name is Taylor Anne Hebert," recited Armsmaster, surprising her. "Age fifteen. Her father's name is Daniel Hebert. He's the head of hiring at the Dockworkers' Association, and he's currently in the building. Her mother's dead. Car accident."

Piggot blinked. "I see. So she's awake and talking then?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "No. She's still under sedation, and will be for some time."

"Really." Emily raised her eyebrows quizzically. "So how did you get all that information about her?"

"We backtracked her," Armsmaster explained. "Where we figured the epicentre was, we found an alleyway between houses. There were two corpses there, male juveniles of around Hebert's age."

Emily grimaced. "Two more. Good God. Is that reflected in the casualty count?"

"It is now. But two pieces of evidence came up when we checked on them. I'm pretty sure I know why the incident was so severe." His jaw hardened. "One of the boys had his fly open. Not by accident, either. When we rolled him over, he was fully exposed."

Emily blinked in confusion. "He was going to urinate on her?"

"I'm thinking something more serious than that. Much more serious. There was an open packet of condoms nearby."

The conclusion was inescapable. "They were going to -" She didn't finish the question. She didn't need to.

He nodded once, sharply. "That's my supposition."

"And did they -" She didn't finish that question either.

"No, thank God. I checked back with Lansing. No sign of anything like that happening."

"Well, the picture's certainly starting to come together." She relaxed slightly. "You still haven't explained how you got her name. Or her father's name."

"The boys were the key here. Not only were they carrying student cards which allowed us to ID them, but one of them had a coin-purse stuffed in his pocket, holding a library card and student card in the name of Taylor Anne Hebert."

"Photo ID?" asked Piggot automatically.

"The student card is, yes," confirmed Armsmaster. "She matches the picture."

"I see." Piggot folded her hands before her. "Go on."

"The bodies have been taken for autopsy, but I fully expect to find that each of them was killed by bugs, given that both bodies had been partially consumed by, well, insects. Investigating further, we found a discarded roll of duct tape, matching the tape which had been used to bind the girl. We also found two strips, each with a ragged hole cut out of the middle of it. The holes match the edges on the tape used to restrain her arms and legs. I'm working on the hypothesis that bugs ate through the tape."

"Bugs. Ate through duct tape." Emily wasn't quite rejecting the idea, but it sounded a little far-fetched.

"Cockroaches can and will eat essentially anything organic," Armsmaster pointed out. "In fact, if this is what happened, they saved her life. She has a broken nose. With a strip of duct tape over her mouth, she would have been barely able to breathe, until they ate a hole in it."

"Hm. Continue."

"Finally, we found coins of various denominations, totalling a couple of dollars, scattered over an area of several square yards. Forensic examination found partial fingerprints on the coins that matched the Hebert girl, as well as those of one of the boys. And there were fibres adhering to the coins that matched the interior of the coin purse."

"So he stole the purse, emptied it of coins, was disgusted at the small amount, and threw them at her?" Emily theorised.

"That's my impression, yes," agreed Armsmaster.

"We'll go with that for the time being, then." Emily paused, frowning. "Getting back to these boys. Which school did you say they went to?"

Armsmaster smiled slightly. "This is where it gets interesting. According to the student cards, all three of them are, or were, students at Winslow High." He paused expectantly.

Emily's head came up. "That's Shadow Stalker's school."

"Yes, ma'am." And isn't that a turn-up for the books, he didn't have to say.

Silently, she agreed. "Have Triumph speak to Shadow Stalker. We need all the background we can get on the Hebert girl. Especially if she's showing signs of being abused."

Armsmaster nodded. "I'll get right on it." He half-turned, to leave the office.

Piggot held up a hand. "But before you do, you said that her father is in the building? Why hasn't anyone put him through to me?"

"Because he's in custody." Armsmaster paused, then obviously decided not to make her ask the question. "He saw the Swarm on the news, and he knew that Taylor was somewhere near that. When she didn't answer the phone at home, he started driving around, looking for her. He tried twice to get through the cordon around the Swarm, so they arrested him for his own safety. It was only after I put Taylor Hebert's name into the system as a person of interest that I saw his name just above hers, so I checked it out. That was about ten minutes ago."

"Has he been told? How's he taking it?"

"I haven't spoken to the man yet," he admitted. "I've passed on instructions for them to tell him that she's alive."

"We're going to have to talk to him, and soon," Piggot said. "If he's the one who's been abusing her, we need to find out. Now that she's triggered, more abuse could set off another Swarm without warning. We lost two hundred and seventy-three people this time. I don't want it happening again."

"Speaking of which." Armsmaster's tone was careful. "What is going to happen to her? I know we have an informal policy regarding trigger events, but nearly three hundred people died here. Your average supervillain doesn't rack up that sort of a death toll on purpose."

"Oh, if I thought for a moment that she'd done it on purpose, I'd be pushing for the Birdcage, or a kill order, whichever I could get," Emily stated flatly. "The trouble is that kill orders are specifically aimed at capes who go off the rails in a big way, and keep going off the rails. The ones who just plain need to die. She more or less surrendered herself to you, so she doesn't fit that category."

"And the Birdcage?" he asked quietly. She got the impression that he was subtly testing her.

"We could actually make a strong case for the Birdcage," she admitted. "I'm almost inclined to do just that, to be honest. The death toll alone would certainly give us a good justification. Her power frankly terrifies me. There are only two things holding me back from recommending it."

"Which are?"

"One; she's only fifteen, for God's sake. I really don't want to send a fifteen year old into that hellhole. Two; as you said, this is very likely trigger event related."

"We both know that there's no official policy regarding new capes and trigger events," he pointed out. Was he playing Devil's advocate for the hell of it, or did he really feel that way? She couldn't tell.

"No, that's true," she agreed. "Just like there's no official policy regarding the unwritten rules. That's so we don't get smartass capes leveraging matters to take advantage of such things. But …" She paused.

"But?" he prompted.

"From what you're saying, they trapped her in that alley. Tied her up with duct tape. Gagged her. Blindfolded her. Robbed her. And they were going to do … that to her. That's not only ample justification for any trigger event that I ever heard of, but I'm kind of surprised that the trigger event wasn't even more violent."

"Two hundred and seventy-three deaths," he reminded her.

"Oh, I'm not attempting to justify a single one of those deaths," she said, then paused. "Well, maybe one or two." She didn't have to explain exactly which ones she considered justified. "As for the rest … well, I have very bad memories of exactly this sort of thing. However, I'm doing my best to look at this objectively, and I can't see any malice here. Also, she stood down before you even went in there, which is a major point in her favour. So right now, I'm giving her the chance to turn this around for herself."

He nodded. "Understood. So where do we go from here, then? Am I correct in understanding that you want to bring her into the Wards?"

Piggot sighed. "As opposed to what? Leave her to her own devices? If what's just happened is any indication, then Brockton Bay is not a safe city to share with her. This time, it was admittedly pretty bad. People from her own school, no less. Good God." She shook her head. "The next time, it might be a mugging. Or someone might prank her in class. We really don't know what will set her off, so our best bet is to get her out of Winslow and under our supervision as fast as possible."

Armsmaster nodded; if he was feeling doubts as to her sweeping statement, he wasn't showing them. "So when do we start that process?"

"Today. Now. I'll sign off on it as fast as we can prepare the paperwork. Triumph speaks to Shadow Stalker. We speak to the Hebert girl. See where we all stand. If she can demonstrate willingness to cooperate, as well as a reasonable level of control over her powers, we can talk about getting her into the Wards." Unspoken were the words and if she can't, then the Birdcage is still an option.

"And the Swarm? How do we spin that with the public? Nearly three hundred people died, Director."

He had to bring that up. Her jaw hardened. "I know, Armsmaster. I've thought about little else since it happened. She certainly can't be a Ward here in Brockton Bay."

"Where, then? Boston? New York?"

Piggot shook her head. "I was thinking Los Angeles. If anyone could help someone with a power like that, it's Alexandria."

Understanding crept into Armsmaster's voice. "And of course, it's across the other side of the country, and if she can keep it subtle for a while, nobody will connect the Swarmbringer to the new bug controller in LA."

"Swarmbringer?" She stared at him. "Where did that come from?"

"Sorry, Director. It's all over the PHO boards."

"Good God." She shook her head. "But in essence, you're correct. Nobody will make the connection, especially if she keeps things light and fluffy. We'll have to speak to Glenn about that, but I'm sure he'll have ideas. And then there's the matter of her father." She paused. "Does he strike you as the type to physically abuse a teenage girl?"

Armsmaster shrugged, very slightly. "I don't know what that type looks like, ma'am. In any case, I haven't had the chance to speak with the man yet."

Director Piggot heaved herself up from her desk. "Yes, you told me. Well, then. Why don't we go and do just that."

Armsmaster smiled tightly. "Yes, ma'am."

<><>​

Danny Hebert
Holding Cell, PRT ENE

Screaming at the walls hadn't helped. Nor had punching the door. There was a camera up in the corner of the room, entirely unprotected; he would have been tempted to try to break it, but something told him that it was a dummy. Any real camera would have been much better hidden. He didn't even have a one-way mirror to make rude gestures at. So when the door finally opened, he was sitting at the metal table, studying his skinned knuckles.

"At last!" he blurted, jumping up. "Do you know how long I've been waiting -"

"Yes. I do." It was the overweight woman in the blue suit who spoke. "I'm Director Piggot. Sit down, Mr Hebert. We have much to discuss."

"But I -" he began, then cut himself off when a familiar figure stepped into the interrogation room behind the Director. Danny knew who Armsmaster was, of course. Everyone knew who Armsmaster was.

"If you do as the Director says," the armoured hero advised him, "this will go a lot easier for all concerned."

Slowly, Danny regained his seat. He had been in strong negotiating positions before. This did not seem to be the case at the moment. He didn't have much hope for the future, either.

"Thank you," the Director said, carefully taking her own seat. Armsmaster took up a position beside her, arms folded. "Your daughter's name is Taylor Anne, yes?"

"Yes," he blurted. "Is she all right? All I've been told is that she's alive."

"She is indeed alive," Piggot confirmed. "She's injured, but the expectation is that she'll make a full recovery. We're giving her the very best of medical care."

Danny jumped up again. "Where is she? Can I see her? What happened? Was it that Swarm thing?"

The Director did not move; Armsmaster let his arms hang casually by his sides, but there was an air of tension about him. It was Piggot who spoke, biting the words off sharply. "Sit. Down."

Danny sat. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then another. "Please," he said softly. "Tell me what happened. Let me see her."

"She's in no danger, Mr Hebert," the Director told him, her voice quiet. "We'll take you to see her shortly. But first I need to ask you some questions."

He looked from her face to Armsmaster's, but neither one offered any sort of comfort. "Are these the sort of questions I'm going to need a lawyer for?"

Director Piggot raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you need a lawyer?"

There were many things that Danny Hebert wasn't sure about right then, but that wasn't one of them. "I'll answer your questions. But if I don't like any of them, that's when I get the lawyer."

"That's your right and privilege," the Director agreed. "Now, just for your information, Armsmaster has been working on an algorithm that detects if someone is lying in his presence. While the results are not yet admissible in court, it would be a very bad idea to lie to us. Is that understood?"

He couldn't help staring at Armsmaster. The man was a statue, his arms folded once more. Was it a bluff? Armsmaster was a Tinker, and Tinkers were renowned for building technology that was just plain bullshit. "... okay, I understand."

Piggot smiled very slightly. "Very well. What is your relationship with your daughter like?"

He blinked. That wasn't what he was expecting to hear. "Uh … she's my daughter? I love her. We, uh, haven't been as close since her mother died. That's kind of my fault, but we still talk, every now and again. Why?"

She ignored the question, her eyes never leaving his. "Does she have boyfriends, or girlfriends for that matter?"

"No boyfriends, no. As far as I know, she doesn't have many friends at all," he confessed. "Just Emma Barnes really. They've been best friends since … Christ, since first grade. Earlier. They used to sleep over at each others' places all the time."

The Director tilted her head slightly. "Used to?"

"Huh. Yeah." Danny realised what she was getting at. "I never realised it, but it's been years since Emma slept over. Funny how something like that gets away from you."

"I'll take your word for it. Now, Mr Hebert. What's your view on parental discipline?"

"You mean, did I ever discipline Taylor?" The Director didn't answer, but he saw the twitch in her expression. "I always left that to Anne-Rose. My dad had a real temper, you see. I got caught on the wrong side of it a few times. I can get a little hot under the collar myself, so I decided a long time ago that I'd never inflict that on my family. So Anne-Rose always used to handle the spanking when it was needed. She seems to have turned out okay, I guess."

Piggot nodded. "Very well. What -"

"Wait." Danny held both hands up. "Stop."

The Director looked at him, raising her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I'm not a stupid man. This is about Taylor, and it's about parahuman matters. And it's about someone who's done something to her. Right?"

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Mr Hebert. Taylor has bruises on her arms and legs that she didn't get today. Some of them are weeks old. Do you know how she got them?"

Danny couldn't help it. He raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. "Really? You don't know what happened at Winslow? What's been happening at Winslow?"

Without his long experience at the negotiating table, Danny would never have picked the eye-twitch that said, oh shit, there's something I don't know about going on here. The Director's face went blank after that one revealing tell. He would have bet everything he had that she was searching for a response that would get her the information she needed without revealing that she didn't know it.

"Well?" he asked smoothly, pushing just a little. "Or did you see 'teenage girl with single parent' and decide that was all the information you needed?"

Piggot's mouth tightened, as if she had just bitten into a lemon. "Mr Hebert -"

"January third," Armsmaster stated suddenly. "Your daughter was shut into her locker by a person or persons unknown. She then spent one week in the …" He paused.

"Psychiatric ward," Danny finished bitterly. "Then I took her home. She spent the next couple of weeks recovering. I sent her back to school just last week. The school promised, on bended knee, that they'd look out for her." He stared at Armsmaster. "How did you … wait. Tinker. You can go online with that helmet, can't you?"

"Armsmaster's technology is not under discussion here, Mr Hebert," the Director broke in. "You implied that this was not the only incident."

Danny felt slow anger building within him. "It's the first one I was made aware of," he stated tightly. "Turns out that this was just the culmination of a long campaign of bullying. At least a year. Maybe more. Taylor's a smart girl. She could've gotten into Arcadia on a scholarship, but you'd never know it from her grades."

"And you didn't know about it?" asked Armsmaster, his tone faintly disbelieving.

"She never told me." The anger melted away, to be replaced by shame. Danny dropped his eyes to the table. "We used to talk about everything, until her mother died. Then we … basically fell apart. I fell apart. It's been more than two years, but we're still not really back to normal."

Director Piggot's voice was almost gentle as she spoke. "Mr Hebert, I understand that this is difficult for you. But I just need to ask one more question."

"And then you take me to see her." He raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Yes." He wasn't quite sure what was going on behind her eyes, but she paused for a long moment. "Mr Hebert … since the locker, has your daughter been acting any differently than before?"

He had never felt less like laughing, but he snorted with something approaching humour. "Sorry. Seriously. I didn't see the locker, but from what I was told, it would have been a truly horrific experience. I'd be astonished if she didn't show some changes in behaviour."

Whatever the Director thought she was going to get out of that exchange, he didn't know, but she didn't seem to have gotten it. In any case, it wasn't his problem. "So. Shall we go and see her now?"

Piggot nodded. "We will. In just a moment. I need to confer with Armsmaster about something."

He knew that he didn't have much choice in the matter. "Fine. Just don't take too long. For some reason, the word 'lawyer' keeps popping into my head."

As the door opened, he thought he saw a wince of pain on the Director's face.

<><>​

Armsmaster

"Well?" The question was abrupt.

"Well, what?" he asked. "I can't tell if he's lying. The software's far from finished."

"Not that," she snapped impatiently. "This locker incident. Could it have been the trigger event for the Hebert girl?"

"It could have," he allowed cautiously. "But there's no guarantee. The incident today could just have easily been the final straw. He was entirely correct that a bad experience will -"

"Armsmaster."

He stopped talking, and looked at her. Her glare should have been able to melt steel. "Director?"

"I am entirely capable of understanding the lasting effects of undergoing an extremely traumatic experience," she reminded him coldly. "Which one do you think was her trigger event?"

"I think for the answer to that," he said honestly, "we'd have to ask her." He tilted his head. "If it turns out that today was not her trigger event, that does put matters into a new light," he mused. "For one thing, she's had her powers for a month, and so doesn't have the excuse of not knowing she's got them."

"But if that's the case …" The Director paused. "It also means that she's quite capable of keeping them under control. So why did they break loose so catastrophically today?" She put up one finger to stop Armsmaster from answering. "I think you're right. We do need to talk to her."

"Doctor Lansing was talking about wiring her jaw," Armsmaster said.

Piggot shook her head. "Too slow. We need her coherent and talking clearly. There's got to be zero misunderstanding about what she says." A look of unhappiness crossed her face. "I'm going to need to call New Wave and ask them for a favour."

"What's the matter with that?" asked Armsmaster. "Panacea's a good kid. And her work is top of the range."

"Because Brandish is always so goddam smug about it," growled Piggot.

"Well, she is a lawyer," offered the armoured hero.

The Director shot him a suspicious look. "Was that a joke?"

"I'm sorry?" He kept his expression deadpan.

One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Hm. Well, you take Mr Hebert to the infirmary. I'll make the call to New Wave."

"Yes, ma'am."

<><>​

Sophia Hess
Wards Base, PRT Building
At Around the Same Time

"Shadow Stalker, can I have a word?"

Sophia looked around from the TV with mild irritation. "I've already written up my report on the Swarm incident, if that's what you're looking for," she told Triumph. "I left it on the monitor desk."

"No, that's fine," he said. His voice was deep and resonant; she would have imagined that he was putting it on for effect, except that she knew he didn't speak any other way. "This is about another matter."

"Can it wait?" Sophia gestured at the TV. "I'm waiting for the news, to see if they've got any more footage of the Swarm."

"No, it can't," he stated flatly. "I need to speak with you now. This is about your civilian identity."

That got her attention; she sat up fast, and glared at him. "I never agreed to unmask -"

"You're not being unmasked." His voice was firm. At the far end of the sofa, Vista was staring at them both.

"What are you looking at, squirt?" Sophia gave her a glare; the younger girl looked away. Satisfied, Sophia turned to face Triumph again. "So what's this about?"

"It's about someone you know in your civilian identity, and it's private," stressed Triumph. "Come on, let's go up on to the roof."

Now Sophia was puzzled. Emma? What's happened with her? She had checked, after the fact, and found that the redhead hadn't been in the Swarm when it happened. "Okay, let's go."

For someone who used sound as a weapon, Triumph was very close-mouthed; he didn't say more than three words to her until they got up to the roof, and two of those were "after you" as they entered the lift.

Strolling out across the helipad, he glanced around and then turned to her. "You go to Winslow, right?"

"You know I do," she retorted. "What about it?"

"Do you know a girl called Taylor Hebert?"

The question jolted her to her heels. Hebert? Is she even still alive? The Swarm had blown up not long after she'd run off with Sophia's patsies on her heels. Hundreds of people had died. Hebert was surely so much of a wimp that she was one of them. "Um … yeah. Kinda." They can check this sort of shit. "I got a few classes with her."

Triumph nodded. "Good. What's your impression of her? Does she seem to be having trouble with anyone at Winslow?"

Sophia's brain went into overdrive. Okay, they know something's up but not what. My name came up, maybe? No, can't be, or I'd be sitting in front of Miss Piggy. This is a nice friendly chat with the team leader. He honestly wants information. So be careful.

"Well, uh, she's a bit of a loner, really," she began cautiously. "Not really popular. A loser, actually. You know, a geek? Nobody really likes her. Sometimes she makes up stories of being picked on, but it's basically just her looking for attention. That's what I hear, anyway. I don't know her all that well."

"So who does she complain about the most?" He sounded like he was buying it.

"Oh, usually it's just random. Whoever's most popular that week, I guess." She tried to sound as if she didn't care.

"Right, right." He paused. "Uh, wasn't there an incident with her locker or something?"

"Oh, god, that old story." She faked a chuckle. "That thing was blown totally out of proportion. Do you know, by the time the story got told around the school, she'd been in there a whole hour, with toxic waste in there as well? Man, talk about your Chinese whispers."

"Oh." He sounded vaguely disappointed. "So it wasn't that bad?"

"Hardly." She snorted. "Like that shit's gonna fly on my watch."

"Right, gotcha." He nodded, the lions-head helmet exaggerating the movement. "Thanks. That's all I really needed to know."

"No problem." She started walking back across the helipad with him. "So what's this all about anyway? What's she done?"

"Dunno." He hitched half a shrug. "I just got told by Armsmaster to ask you about her."

"Oh well, no skin off my nose." She stepped back into the lift with him, and didn't speak the whole way down.

Armsmaster's asking questions about Hebert? Okay, time to keep my eyes and ears open.


End of Part Two

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood


Part Three: Revelations


Danny Hebert

Danny entered the infirmary just behind Armsmaster. He barely registered the presence of the armed PRT soldier in the room, instead focusing on what was important. "Taylor!"

She lay in the bed, surrounded by a worrying amount of medical equipment. It brought back bad memories of the month before, when she had been in hospital following what had happened with the locker. She had bruising all over her face and her mouth was swollen; even her hands were swathed in bandages. A tube was clipped to her nose, which itself looked like it had been broken and reset.

Darting to the side of the bed, he took her hand, staring into her face. Willing her to respond. "Taylor, it's me. I'm here. Talk to me, please."

"She's under sedation, Mr Hebert," Armsmaster reminded him. "Her vitals are strong. She's in no danger."

"Well, unsedate her," Danny snapped. "Why are you keeping her under like this?"

Armsmaster hesitated, just for a moment. That was all Danny needed to connect the dots. "She's the one, isn't she? You think she caused the Swarm, and you don't want her to wake up in case she does it again."

"She came from the middle of the Swarm, and she shows no evidence of being attacked by bugs," Armsmaster admitted. "I'm convinced that she has powers, and that those powers caused the Swarm. However, neither the Director nor myself are convinced that she's at fault."

"So who is at fault?" snapped Danny heatedly. "Did someone Master her after she got her powers? When did she get powers, anyway?"

Armsmaster spread his hands slightly. "We were hoping that you could tell us. There are two separate incidents when it could have happened. We also have other inconsistencies that need to be cleared up." He paused. "However, to put your mind at rest, we are bringing in outside assistance to both help your daughter and to fill in the gaps."

Danny frowned. "Outside assistance? Who?"

<><>​

Panacea

The PRT building was blazing light from every window as Vicky came in for a landing.

"Burning the midnight oil," she commented; Amy felt the subtle increase in her weight on Vicky's arms as her sister slowed the downward fall.

"Are you surprised?" Amy asked rhetorically. "The Swarm killed nearly three hundred people today. It's gotta be all hands on deck until they've captured or at least identified the culprit -"

"I told you, there's footage of Armsmaster and Velocity facing off against some mystery cape outside that Denny's," Glory Girl put in. "She was trying to get in. Scary stuff."

"Doesn't mean that she had anything to do with it, or that she's even a cape," Amy pointed out. She didn't know why she was arguing with her sister, or even why she'd agreed to come out to the PRT building this late in the evening. I know why I came out, the logical side of her brain reminded her. It's because if I don't, I look heartless and New Wave looks bad.

Before Amy could wonder why she was worried about New Wave's image, Vicky touched down on the pavement outside the building. "I don't know why we didn't just land on the roof," she commented, setting Amy on her feet. "Would've been a lot easier."

"They're on lockdown since the Swarm," Amy said. "They get really twitchy at times like this. Protocol is that every visitor comes in through the front doors." She'd been there when Gallant explained this to Vicky. Why Vicky couldn't remember that was beyond her.

"Oh, right." Vicky strode up to the front doors; Amy trailed behind. The biokinetic stifled a yawn; healing people usually didn't tire her out much, but the frantic effort of the afternoon had taken its toll on her.

The doors slid open; Amy followed Vicky inside. There were more PRT soldiers in the lobby than normal, and the reception desks were closed with shutters pulled down over them. The soldiers held rifles and foam sprayers in equal numbers; they covered the doors until the toughened glass had slid closed again. After that, the weapons went back to port arms.

"Glory Girl and Panacea, here to see the Director." Vicky, at least, had no problem with stepping forward. Amy would have been a little more circumspect about it, but this time it seemed to work.

One of the soldiers – an officer, Amy guessed – nodded. "Come with me," he told them in that totally-not-eerie voice that the closed helmet gave all PRT soldiers, gesturing toward the lifts. "She's on the fifth floor."

Amy was mildly puzzled at that. The Director's office was on the top floor. What was she doing on the fifth … oh. The fifth floor had the infirmary on it. Had Piggot finally worked herself into a collapse? I'm astonished it didn't happen years ago. In any case, this was probably the smartest way to deal with the situation; after all, Panacea and Glory Girl were not uncommon visitors to the PRT building.

They stepped into the lift; the doors interleaved together and the numbers scrolled upward. Just seconds later, the lift stopped on the fifth floor. Their PRT escort stepped out, and led the way down the corridor. Amy managed to conceal a tired smile. I was right. She needs medical attention, and she's finally decided to bite the bullet and ask for my help.

Amy had used her powers to heal many PRT soldiers over the years, but Director Piggot was not one of them. She often wondered why the Director didn't seek help with her (to Amy) obvious medical problems, but one thing that had been drummed into her was that if people did not give consent, they didn't want help.

The officer held open the door to the infirmary but did not enter; Vicky entered first, with Amy following along. The biokinetic came to an abrupt halt, however, when her expectations failed to match reality. There were five people in the infirmary. One was a PRT guard; of the four others, she only knew two, and neither one of those was the Director.

"What's going on here?" she asked. "Who are these people?"

Armsmaster had been standing with his back to the wall, observing a tall skinny man sitting by one of the infirmary beds. In the bed was an unconscious teenage girl, showing signs of serious injury. Even from where she was, Amy could pick out the signs of a broken jaw and nose. Both had been reset, but the swelling and bruising had yet to go down in either case. Attending the girl was one of the PRT's physicians, an older man called Lansing. Amy didn't know him well, but she respected his work.

"Panacea, this is Taylor Hebert, and her father Danny," Armsmaster stated, stepping forward to face her. "Taylor needs your assistance to heal her injuries."

"I … okay," Amy said simply, somewhat on the back foot now. "Do I have parental consent to heal her?"

"Yes, you do," exclaimed the skinny man, jumping up from his chair. He had been holding the tips of his daughter's fingers as they protruded from the bandages that swathed her hands. "Please, help my daughter. She's all I have left."

The raw pleading in his voice reached past the scar tissue that she imagined most of her soul to be, and touched a tender spot. "I'll do my best," she assured the man sincerely.

"Best, hah," Vicky interjected cheerfully. "Mr Hebert, your kid'll be dancing the macarena in no time."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Uh, if you could clear the room, Mr Hebert? Also you too, Dr Lansing, and Glory Girl. Miss Hebert's injuries are particularly extensive, and I imagine that Panacea will need to concentrate all of her attention on healing her properly."

"What, really?" Vicky looked bemused. "You really don't know my sister that well if you think -" She broke off, looking more closely at the girl on the bed. "Hey. She looks kind of familiar."

Armsmaster stepped in between her and the bed. "Director's orders. We want there to be no mistakes in making sure that Miss Hebert makes a complete recovery. Please, clear the room."

Something in the tone of his voice told Amy that there was something else going on here. It certainly wouldn't be the extent of the girl's injuries. If she was alive, Amy could heal her. It was that simple. However, Armsmaster wanted everyone but her out of the room. What's going on here?

"Hey, what?" That was Vicky. "Panacea's my sister. Where she goes, I go."

Amy looked at Armsmaster. "Director's orders?"

He nodded once, briefly. "We want to be certain about this."

She pressed her lips together, then nodded. I don't like being told how to do my job, but if the Director wants it this way, then this is the way we'll do it. "All right. Vicky, go on. I'll be out in a minute, okay?"

Vicky looked mutinous. "But -"

Amy felt the aura begin to rise, making her feel nervous. She steeled herself, hardening her tone. "Vicky. It's fine. Go."

Glory Girl exhaled sharply, then nodded. "Okay. You're the doctor."

Amy's smile didn't match her feelings. "Thanks. I'll be out as soon as I can."

"Wait," objected Danny Hebert. "This is my daughter. I want to stay."

"I'm sorry, Mr Hebert, but that just won't be possible," Amy told him seriously. She wasn't quite sure why Armsmaster wanted him out of the room, but she was beginning to hazard a few guesses. "I'm going to need total concentration for this, and the fewer people in the room, the better."

Past his shoulder, she met her sister's eyes. Vicky obviously didn't know what was going on – Amy was only vaguely aware that something was going on – but she picked up on what Amy wanted.

"Right then. Let's clear the room," she said briskly. "Come on, Mr H. Your kid's in the best possible hands. Trust me on this. Tell you what, when was the last time you ate? I'm pretty sure there's a vending machine on this floor. Let's go find it, and you can tell me all about Tania … ? Did I get that right?"

"Taylor. Her name's Taylor." Danny made a tentative attempt at staying, but between Vicky's persuasive voice, her hand on his arm, and the urging of her aura, he was already halfway out the door.

Dr Lansing, while obviously not in the loop, hadn't argued at all, which was probably wise considering who employed him. The door closed behind the three of them; a moment later, Amy heard a distinct click as the lock engaged.

She turned to Armsmaster. "Okay. Something's going on here. Suppose you tell me what it is."

He nodded briefly. "This doesn't leave the room. Taylor Hebert is our best bet for finding out exactly what happened this afternoon with the Swarm. We need to -"

Amy stopped listening after he said the word 'Swarm'. Reaching out, she put her hand on the girl's arm. Biological information took shape in her mind. She catalogued the injuries, finding what was not there more interesting than what was. Except for one thing, which stood out above all others, and ignited rage in her mind.

Snatching back her hand before she broke her own rules and harmed someone with her powers, she glared at Armsmaster. "Your best bet, hell. She's a parahuman. And she hasn't got one bug bite, one sting, even a single microgram of any sort of bug venom in her system. If she was in the Swarm but didn't get attacked, then I'm betting she caused it. Am I right?"

He paused, as if indecisive, then tilted his head slightly to the side. His subsequent nod was more visible as a shifting of the reflections from his helmet than an actual movement of his head. "You're right. But there's more to it than that. We need -"

"You need someone who's willing to heal a mass murderer, and that's not me," Amy shot back. "I'm sorry, but I just spent a truly horrible afternoon saving as many people as I could, and watching people die in front of me because I couldn't get to them in time. Because of her." She shook her head. "I'm not playing. You want her healthy for the Birdcage or the electric chair, ask someone else. I'm not healing a single cut, a single bruise. She can suffer and die for all I care." She started for the door. "Let me out of here. I'm going home."

"Before you go, hear me out," Armsmaster interjected. "Please?"

Wait a minute. When was the last time Armsmaster said 'please' for anything? She stopped and turned, staring at his opaque visor. "You've got one minute. Starting now."

"She was cornered in an alley by two boys," he began. "We think they followed her from school. They tied her up with duct tape, robbed her of what little money she had, and were preparing to sexually assault her. That's when the Swarm happened."

Amy blinked, and stared at the girl again. Her face, calm in repose apart from the injuries, gave no hint of any of that. "I … okay, that's fucking horrible," she admitted. "But … I get the point of attacking them with bugs to drive them away, but did she have to attack everyone in the area?" She tilted her head as pieces fell into place. "Wait. Trigger event?"

"We're not sure," Armsmaster admitted. "Reportedly, she underwent a similarly traumatic event at school one month ago. What the Director wants for you to do is heal her, then wake her up so I can put some questions to her. Find out what really happened, and why her power broke out so badly."

Amy shook her head, in disbelief rather than disagreement. "Holy shit. Two trigger-worthy events in one month? Someone up there hates her." She paused as something else occurred to her. "One second. If this was a trigger event, then I can kind of see the overreaction. She calls for help, the bugs answer, people die. But if she's had these powers for a month, then she should know how to keep it down."

"Exactly," he agreed. "Thus, the questions."

"Hm. All right. I can do this." She considered her options, then reached out and placed her hand on Taylor's arm again. "Broken ribs, internal bruising, broken jaw, missing teeth, fractured cheekbone … she has a very mild concussion. I can't fix that, but I can minimise the side-effects. Abrasions on her hands, bruising all over, other minor injuries … okay, done."

"Thank you." He paused. "Before you wake her, is there anything that you can do to make her … calmer?"

She frowned. "Excuse me?"

His expression, what she could see of it, was uncomfortable. "Here's the problem. If we're right about this, the last time she got really upset, the Swarm happened. However, we're getting conflicting reports as to the level of her fault in this matter. We really don't want her getting agitated all over again, especially if she starts feeling trapped or upset. And in the somewhat-unlikely event that the Swarm was deliberate, she might choose to take offence at anything we say."

Amy thought about that, then shook her head. "I can't just make her calm. That would involve affecting the brain, and I can't do that."

"Hm." His tone was less than thrilled. "This complicates matters."

"However," she added, "I can make it so that she's as comfortable as she can be. And I can sit by her, to give her a friendly face of her own age. No matter how non-confrontational the questions are, you're still Armsmaster, and she's likely to be able to take it better if she sees that I'm on her side."

"Hrmm." He rubbed his chin through the opening in his helmet. "All right. It's irregular but let's see how this goes."

"Everything about this is irregular," she reminded him. "You do understand that no matter what you get out of her, it's inadmissible in a court of law?"

"Oh, I know that," he agreed readily. "But it will give us a firm idea as to where we're going with this."

She considered that for a moment. " … yeah, okay."

"Good. Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?" she asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

"When we're finished, I need you to be ready to put her to sleep again."

She stared. "What? Why?"

He sighed. "Because her father is out there, and he will expect to be sitting with her. Depending on what comes up with this conversation, there may be things that I won't want him telling her, or vice versa. So if I give you the nod, can you make her unconscious again?"

She gave him a hard stare. "I'll ask her if she wants to go to sleep again. Without her consent, I won't do a damn thing. Is that understood?"

His lips tightened, but he nodded. "Understood."

"Good. Let's get this out of the way, anyway." Sitting down in the chair, she took Taylor's bandaged hands and unwound the bandages from them, discarding the dressings in the trash can beside the bed. "She'll be waking up around about … now." As she spoke, she pushed back her hood and pulled the scarf down, making her face visible.

<><>​

Taylor Hebert

I wasn't quite sure where I was when I woke up.

Bed.

I was in a bed. That was what it was called when I lay on a matressy thing with a sheet over me, wasn't it? It didn't feel like my bed, but I didn't care. I felt good.

"How are you feeling, Taylor?"

Rolling my head to one side, I saw a teenage girl with frizzy brown hair looking back at me. She looked kind of familiar, but she wasn't someone I knew. "Uh, fine … I guess?"

I became aware that she was holding my hand, which felt fine. But I remembered it not being fine. "Was I hurt?" It took me a moment to realise that I'd spoken out loud.

"You were. I took care of it."

Now I knew where I recognised the girl from. "You're Panacea."

An encouraging smile. "Guilty as charged. Do you remember much about today?"

Now I did. I remembered being in pain. A lot of pain. So much pain I'd fainted …

"Miss Hebert?" It was a different voice. Adult, male. Also familiar. I looked around and squinted in the direction of the voice.

A moment later, my glasses were pushed into my free hand. "Here you go."

Awkwardly, I put them on; the blur resolved into Armsmaster. Behind him, guarding the door, was a PRT soldier. I was in the PRT building, then.

Okay, what happened? The last thing I remembered was falling to my knees, then starting to keel over sideways. Then nothing. Wait. Back up. Unwelcome memories began to crop up in the back of my head. The Denny's. Stomach hurting. Peeling off the duct tape. Cockroaches ate the duct tape.

The dead guys. Slowly, I began to realise what I'd done. I killed them. I sat up in bed; under the sheet, my knees crept up until they were pressing against my chest.

"Oh, god," I groaned. "Oh, god."

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Panacea said in a soothing voice. "It's all right."

"No," I told her. "It's not all right. I begged them to stop. They wouldn't stop. Even when the bugs showed up. Now two of them are dead. It'll never be all right."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you for details. Can you tell me why it happened?"

"I -" I choked up, remembering.

"Deep breaths," Panacea advised me. "Start slowly."

I took her advice, inhaling deeply, trying to let myself relax. "Okay. Okay. It happened because Sophia sent those boys after me. I thought I could outrun them … but they just kept chasing me."

"Who's Sophia?" asked Panacea.

"She's – she's one of the girls at school who picks on me all the time," I explained. "I saw her talking to them and pointing at me. So I ran. But they caught me." I lowered my face to my knees, breathing deeply again.

"This Sophia. Last name and description?" Armsmaster sounded more curt than normal, but it was a welcome distraction.

"Hess. Sophia Hess. My height, black, popular, track star." My voice was bitter. "She's friends with Emma Barnes and Madison Clements. They've been inventing new ways to screw with me every single day for the last year."

"Really." His voice, which could have scored diamond with that one word, softened slightly. "So she sent two boys after you. They caught you. What happened then?"

"She sent five boys," I corrected him. "Three of them held me while the other two tied me up with the tape. I – I thought they were just gonna call me names or something, then leave. But then one of them started talking about having a little fun, and they started … oh, god …"

"Wait a minute," interjected Armsmaster. "Are you saying there were five all told?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. "What are they saying? Because if they're telling you that it was all a harmless prank, then I'm calling bullshit right now." I was starting to shake. "Because when five guys have got ahold of you and they're pulling your clothes off -" My body began to curl into a defensive ball on the bed.

"Hey, hey, it's all right." Panacea put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. I sniffled back tears. "It's all over. You survived."

I bit my lip. "Yeah, but I killed two of them, and the other three are probably calling me a murderer, and everything else, right now. But I didn't want to kill them. I didn't even mean to. I was just so scared, and they wouldn't stop what they were doing -"

"The other three aren't saying anything at all," Armsmaster put in. I got the impression that he was eyeing me carefully.

"Uh, why not?" I asked cautiously. "Jocks like that stick together. Of course they'll blame it all on me."

"Because they're dead too," he said bluntly.

For the next few seconds, I wildly entertained the notion that he was pulling my leg, trying to lighten the situation with totally inappropriate humour. Then I remembered that this was Armsmaster. I was pretty sure that he didn't do humour.

"Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I killed five guys? God, I'm such a horrible person. I'm so sorry." Tears filled my eyes. "You have to believe me, I didn't want that. I'd do anything to make it better."

"It's all right," Panacea murmured. "I believe you. You were in a really shitty position, and you didn't have much of a choice. You did what you had to. It's all right."

I sniffled back tears again. "I don't want to go to the Birdcage." But I had a feeling that my needs and wants were not going to be met, here.

"Well, even if they tried to send you there, I'd be testifying on your behalf," Panacea said, surprising the hell out of me. She gave Armsmaster a defiant stare.

"We don't have plans for that at the moment," the armoured hero admitted. "However, I would appreciate a clearer understanding of what happened, and when. So if you can give me a timeline of events, that would be helpful." Almost casually, he added, "Start at the point when you got your powers."

I didn't answer for a moment, caught between an upwash of happiness at the news that Armsmaster didn't want to send me to the Birdcage, and the cold hard understanding that all five of my attackers were still dead at my hands. I'm a murderer. I blinked twice, slowly. No. I'm a mass murderer. God help me.

"Taylor?" Panacea prompted me gently.

It took me a moment to recall that Armsmaster had asked me something, then another few seconds to remember what the question was.

"Oh, ummmm…that would be last month." I scratched the back of my neck uncomfortably. "When Sophia locked me in my locker."

"And why would that cause you to trigger with powers?" Armsmaster asked, genuinely curious.

I shuddered, remembering the incident and wishing I didn't. "Because I wasn't alone in there. Sophia and the others emptied every pad disposal bin in the school into my locker first."

Panacea gasped in horror, a reaction that for once, wasn't lost on Armsmaster. "That means something to you?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," Panacea replied, turning to him. "Surely you've heard of feminine hygiene products. What do you think happens to them after use?"

It took him a moment to get it, then his face twisted in a grimace. "So the toxic waste actually happened." It wasn't quite a question.

"Yes." Panacea's voice was firm. "That stuff is most definitely classified as toxic waste."

My voice was faint. "Check the hospital reports. Check the police reports." I curled up just a little. "You just asked Blackwell, right?" He didn't deny it. "Figured. They've got ass-covering down to a fine art, there."

Armsmaster didn't comment. Panacea squeezed my hand. I was still tensed in a ball, but after a while I began to gradually uncurl. Armsmaster cleared his throat. Panacea shushed him. I lay there, enjoying the silence. Slowly, I brought my eyes up to hers and squeezed her hand, as a signal that I was ready to continue.

"What happened then?" asked Panacea.

"After they pulled me out of the locker, I was in the psych ward for about a week. Everyone thought I'd had a mental breakdown because I kept hearing weird noises and seeing lights in my head."

"But it was the bugs, wasn't it?" Panacea's voice was gentle, soothing.

I nodded. "Once I figured that out, they let me go home."

"So you've had your powers for a month, then." Armsmaster's voice was neutral.

"Uh, yeah. I suppose." I looked cautiously at him. "Was I supposed to tell someone about them?"

"You weren't legally obligated to, no," he admitted.

"It might have helped if you had." Panacea's voice was devoid of judgement. I was grateful for that, and for her presence.

Armsmaster got straight back on track. "What do they consist of, exactly? Control of insects?"

"Bugs," I told him. "Anything inside about one and a half to two blocks, usually."

"Two blocks?" he repeated. "Not four?"

I held up two fingers. "Usually."

"But this time it was four," Panacea reminded me gently.

I closed my eyes and nodded. "I know. I knew where where every one of them was when I called for help."

I heard the chair creak, then Panacea sat on the bed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "It's all right. You're doing just fine." Her voice changed as she apparently addressed Armsmaster. "Increase in range due to stress. It's not unknown."

He grunted in reply, then he asked, "Do you ever lose control of them?"

I opened my eyes and wiped away my tears. "Well, no. If they're in my range, they're under my control. End of story." I caught the look that Panacea gave Armsmaster. "Why?"

"What happened to the boys, then, if you have that level of control?" His voice, neutral up to that point, had become flat and hard.

"They kicked me unconscious!" I protested. "By the time I woke up, they were already dead!"

He paused for a long moment as my words sank in. "You didn't intend to kill them." It was almost a question.

"I think we established that when she woke up," Panacea interjected mildly, raising her eyebrows a little. Turning back to me, she smiled. "So what did you ask the bugs to do?"

"I just wanted the bugs to scare them off, or at least distract them. The cockroaches ate the duct tape on my wrists and ankles. Because I figured if I freed myself, I could get away before they noticed." And see how well that turned out.

Panacea squeezed my shoulder "So what went wrong?"

I looked at her, tears running down my face. "Three of them ran off, just like I planned, but the other two saw the roaches eating the tape, and realised I was a parahuman. They kicked me in the face until I passed out."

I stopped talking. There was silence in the room, apart from the hum of the climate control.

"What happened when you woke up?" asked Panacea.

I hugged my knees; her comforting squeeze tightened on my shoulder. "The two guys that kicked me were dead. They'd been … oh, god. I can't even talk about it. But the roaches had eaten through the duct tape so I told the bugs to disperse and then I left."

"So you're saying that while you were unconscious, the bugs just kept carrying out your last order?" Armsmaster sounded dubious. "Did you know before today that if you were rendered unconscious, your orders would persist?"

I looked down at the blanket. "Uh, no. It's not like I've ever been knocked out while using my powers before."

"Master powers staying in play after the cape gets knocked out isn't something I've heard of myself, but to quote Clockblocker, powers are bullshit," Panacea noted.

"Just to clarify: if you hadn't been knocked out, you would have stopped the bugs from killing anyone." Armsmaster's tone had become a lot less hostile.

"Well, yeah." I took a deep breath. "I just … wanted to be a hero, you know? I didn't even let my powers slip when Sophia and company stole my stuff or poured juice over me. But …" Despair, never very far away, sank its claws into me again. "Let's face it. I suck as a hero. I suck as a human being. What sort of hero kills five people by accident?"

"Hey." Panacea wrapped her other arm around me, completing the hug. "You didn't really have a choice. It'll be all right."

"I doubt it," I told her bitterly.

"No, actually, legally, you've got a good case," she assured me. "When it comes to sexual assault, self-defence up to and including lethal force is permissible. And that guy kicking you in the face moves the blame for the deaths out of your hands and into his. He was the one committing the crime, after all."

I glanced out of the corner of my eye at her; she shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "When you've got a lawyer in the family, you pick stuff up."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't thinking about legalities," I mumbled. "It was my power that killed them. Five people died, and that's on me."

She looked at Armsmaster; some sort of silent communication passed between them. "Listen, Taylor," she said softly. "You've been through a lot, and you're on the verge of collapse. Is it okay if I sedate you? Just to help you sleep through the night?"

I didn't really want to sleep. But nor did I want to lie awake and think about five dead boys. If I wasn't going anywhere, then sleep sounded like a good compromise. "Yeah, okay," I agreed reluctantly. "Uh, one more thing? Armsmaster?"

He looked at me. "Yes?"

"When you see my Dad, could you ask him to get the journal I've been keeping? It's on the top shelf of my closet. And tell him I'm sorry for not talking about this sooner?"

His mouth creased in what might have passed for a smile. "When you wake up, Miss Hebert, you can tell him yourself."

Before I could answer, Panacea's power took hold. It was better than any sleeping pill; one second I was wide awake, and the next I was out like a light.


End of Part Three

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood


Part Four: One Bad Apple


Armsmaster

Sophia Hess. Shadow Stalker. Christ. What a moron I've been. He looked down at Taylor Hebert, now healed but once more unconscious. When he raised his gaze once more, he saw Panacea's haunted eyes.

"Holy shit," she murmured.

"That's one way to put it," he agreed dryly. "Director, you heard all that?"

A moment later, a connecting door opened and the Director entered the infirmary. "Yes. I heard everything." She didn't sound pleased; Colin wasn't surprised. She crossed the room to where Panacea stood next to the bed. "A question for you."

"Director?" Panacea sounded a little surprised.

"Is your power capable of detecting deceit in another person?" Piggot's gaze was as direct as the query.

"Well, yes. Of course." Panacea shrugged. "Everyone has tells. Inside, it's a lot more obvious than outside." She paused for a moment, then blinked. "Are you asking me if Taylor was lying?"

The Director's expression never changed. "Was she?"

"No." The answer was direct and immediate. "In the state she was in, I don't think she was capable of lying coherently. But she didn't even try to. She believed every word she said."

"And the emotion she showed?" Piggot wasn't letting up. "That was genuine as well?"

Panacea grimaced. "Every bit of it. Like I said, I don't think she was capable of faking."

Piggot gave her a curt nod. "Thank you. That makes things easier for me."

"Okay. Um, what happens now?" asked Panacea. "I've just put her under for eight hours, but after that she's going to be waking up."

The Director didn't hesitate. "Make it at least twelve hours and, if you could, be back here tomorrow before that time."

Panacea frowned. "Why? What's so important about keeping her unconscious? We know she didn't do it deliberately."

Armsmaster decided to field that question. "Because she still doesn't know the total death toll. That's going to hit her like a ton of bricks. It would probably be a good idea if you were here to help soften the blow, as well."

"Also," the Director added, "Sophia Hess is our mistake. One that we need to fix before Miss Hebert wakes up and finds out the truth."

Panacea frowned. "I'm not getting it. Why is some high-school bully such a priority for you? Why aren't you just passing this on to the regular authorities?"

The Director paused. "Armsmaster?"

Colin nodded. "If she's going to be assisting us with Miss Hebert, she's going to need to know this. I believe that she can be trusted."

Piggot didn't look thrilled, but she nodded anyway, deferring to his judgement. "Arrange an NDA, as per normal."

"Will do." It wouldn't be Panacea's first, not by a long shot. He turned to the healer. "This definitely doesn't leave the room." Only when she nodded did he continue. "You would probably know Sophia Hess better as Shadow Stalker."

<><>​

Panacea

Amy blinked. "Shadow Stalker? The Ward? Oh, shit. The girl who made her Trigger and caused the Swarm to happen is a Ward? That's all kinds of wrong."

"Precisely." The Director's voice was particularly dry. "Now, when Miss Hebert wakes up, how long do you think she'll take to learn that her nemesis is a Ward, especially given the information-gathering potential of her powers? And what do you think would happen then? Especially if she thought we were trying to sweep it under the rug?"

"Oh, right. That could go really badly." In retrospect, she decided that this was a severe understatement.

"Yes." From her expression and tone, Piggot thought so as well. Blandly, the Director went on. "Now, technically, if we wanted to cut a great many corners and be lazy about this, it wouldn't be impossible to talk the courts into believing that Miss Hebert is a dangerous, uncontrollable parahuman. She gets thrown to the wolves, Hess is quietly disciplined, and the PRT doesn't take a public-relations hit." She paused, eyeing Amy in what may have been a challenging fashion. "Life goes on."

She's baiting me. "But you're not going to do that." Amy paused. "Does that actually happen?"

"Regrettably, it has been known to, yes," Piggot confirmed. "But you have my word that it won't be happening here."

"I find it worrying that you even have to say that," Amy said, greatly daring.

"If that's the only thing that you find concerning about this matter, count yourself lucky," the Director advised her dryly. "Quite apart from the ethical aspects, I'm considering the practical side of things. Miss Hebert actually wants to be a hero, whereas Shadow Stalker is at best a barely-controlled loose cannon with a penchant for applied violence. I will allow you one guess as to which one I'd rather have in the Wards." It wasn't even remotely disguised as a question.

Amy nodded, feeling slightly relieved. "So, what happens now?"

"What happens now," declared the Director, "is that we nail Shadow Stalker's hide to the wall." She paused. "Do not misunderstand me. If the Swarm had not happened, then there is a good chance that we would right now be seeking a way to keep Hess in the Wards, possibly in another city. We need all the heroes we can get. However, this latest stunt has pushed her from 'possibly salvageable' to 'not a hope in hell'."

Silently, Amy agreed. I would've had her arrested just for the locker thing. But I suppose being the Director means that those hard decisions just get a bit harder.

Piggot was still talking. "We collect the evidence and we do it legally. Cross all the T's, dot all the I's. By the time Miss Hebert wakes up, I want to be able to prove conclusively to her that we're on her side. Specifically, that while we did screw up by the numbers in letting Shadow Stalker have the free rein that she did, we're also working in good faith to fix that same screwup."

"Can I add something to that?" the biokinetic asked. "Let you know what her point of view is likely to be?"

"By all means," Piggot said.

"Right." Amy mentally cracked her knuckles. "There's two things that you've got to do, before even telling her that you've had Sophia sent to juvey or whatever. The first one is that you come clean with the truth about Sophia being Shadow Stalker. Like you said, she'll learn soon enough. So you get out in front of that by being the ones to tell her. Trust me, that's worth a lot of Brownie points. If she ever finds out that you were holding anything important back, but most especially that, she'll never trust you again."

"Well, we were going to do that at some point anyway," Armsmaster said.

"Make it your first priority," Amy advised him. "It's kind of important."

He nodded. "Understood. And the second thing is …?"

Amy bared her teeth. "Apologising your asses off for not doing anything sooner."

Piggot jerked her head back as if she'd been shot. Armsmaster looked at her then at Amy. "I don't think -"

"I do," Amy told him. "I'm the teenage girl here, remember? Just fixing it won't be enough. A little bit of grovelling goes a long, long way. Trust me, I've watched Gallant at it with Vicky. He's a master of the art. And, as you just admitted, you did screw up by the numbers."

There was a long moment of silence, then Piggot grimaced. "Fine." She didn't even try to hide her distaste. "She'll get her apology."

"Good." Amy nodded. "And one more thing. You're not going to like it."

The Director's grimace deepened. "I already don't like it."

Amy took a deep breath. "She's not going to want to join the Wards."

Armsmaster turned his head toward her. "What? But -"

"We were going to transfer her to Los Angeles, under Alexandria. Surely that would help?" Piggot's voice was hopeful.

Amy shook her head. "Won't work. Different Wards, but still Wards. Shadow Stalker was in the Wards, under probation, and still got to keep bullying her. She won't be able to trust the PRT not to drop the ball again. I don't trust it not to happen again."

Director Piggot shook her head. "You just told us that coming clean about Shadow Stalker and apologising would let her trust us."

Amy couldn't believe that she was having to lecture two adults on the teenage mindset. "You're authority figures. Given those comments about her school, I'm guessing that her track record with authority is fucking horrendous. Right now, she's got every reason in the world to distrust you and none at all to trust you. If you do everything just right, she might accept that you're not actively trying to screw her over, but you're going to have to do a lot more than that to prove that you care enough to stop accidental screwups in the future. Holding anything back at all will lose you even that level of trust."

"But she wants to be a hero." Armsmaster sounded bewildered.

A shrug was all Amy could give him. "So let her be a hero."

"Can you talk to her for us?" asked the Director. "She seems to trust you."

Amy shrugged. "I can try, but from what I saw during that interview, what she really needs is a therapist. A really, really good therapist."

Piggot had that sucking-on-a-lemon look again. "Good therapists cost good budget money. I've had requests in the pipeline for some time, but it's nearly always a case of a day late and a dollar short, and that's for the ones who are in the Protectorate and Wards."

"Try harder," Amy advised her. "I'm no expert, but once she learns the extent of the death toll, it could destroy her. And I'm not talking figuratively."

"Are you saying that she might attempt suicide by cape?" asked Armsmaster.

"Or just plain suicide," Amy pointed out.

The Director cleared her throat. "She didn't seem that way inclined during the interview."

<><>​

Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE

"That's because she hasn't found out the full truth yet," Panacea said. "We should just be glad she still wants to be a hero, after all the shit she's been through. That sort of dedication's kind of impressive, when you think about it. But whether she becomes a hero, becomes a villain, or hangs herself in the bathroom because she can't handle the guilt? As of this moment, that's on you. You've got the choice to make it easier, make it harder, or help her tie the noose."

God, the girl hits harder than her sister. Emily had handed out many unpleasant truths to others during her career; as Director, it was more or less part of her job description. Finding the shoe on the other foot, having to accept an unpalatable fact and knowing that it wouldn't go away, was not in any way a welcome situation.

Thank you, Panacea. Now, how am I supposed to achieve the impossible?

"Director?" That was Armsmaster. Both he and Panacea were looking at her expectantly.

"Thank you for that … succinct … analysis of the situation, Panacea," she belatedly replied. "And thank you for your assistance today. I have little doubt that things would have gone far less smoothly if you hadn't been here. Also, I understand that you did sterling work today, with the victims of the Swarm. You might want to get some rest. I certainly will be." I'm overdue for my dialysis as it is. "We can let Mr Hebert back in to sit with his daughter now, anyway."

She paused for a moment to let a wave of pain pass through her, leaning against the chair.

"Director, you look unwell," Panacea told her with a certain amount of concern. "If you want -"

"No." Emily shook her head. "An old injury, nothing more." She paused. "Nothing against you, but many years ago, I swore that I'd never put my life in the hands of a cape if I could help it. This is survivable. Go on. I'll be fine."

Panacea looked dubious, but said nothing more about it. Turning, she went toward the door; the PRT guard unlocked and opened it.

"You need to go as well, Director," Armsmaster reminded her. "We've got this."

"I'll want a sitrep, first thing tomorrow," she told him. "Don't mess this up." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left via the connecting door.

<><>​

Danny Hebert

"Wow, you were in there for ages," Glory Girl told her sister. "What were you doing? Putting her back to sleep by singing 'ninety-nine bottles on the wall'?"

"No, I … I can't talk about it," Panacea told her. She turned to Danny, who was looking at Taylor. His daughter was still asleep, although she looked much better now. "Mr Hebert -"

"Why isn't she awake?" asked Danny. "What's the matter? What happened?"

"Physically, she's fine," Panacea told him. "I made sure of it. But she's had a really traumatic day, and she's still getting over the fact of accidentally killing people, so she consented to let me sedate her, so she could get some sleep. Otherwise, she'd be lying awake all night with it gnawing at her."

But I wanted to talk to her. To make sure she was okay. Danny looked around helplessly. "But what happened? What can you tell me? Is she under arrest?"

"She's not under arrest," Armsmaster said unexpectedly. "I spoke with her, and ascertained that, as far as we can tell, she's not at fault here."

"At fault? What? Accidentally killing people?" Glory Girl stared at Taylor, as Dr Lansing checked the sleeping girl's vitals. "Wait a minute. I knew I'd seen that face before. She's the girl outside Denny's. In the Swarm."

Armsmaster held up a hand. "Yes. She is. But the fact remains that she is not at fault."

"He's right," Panacea confirmed. "It happened, yes. It's her power, yes. But what happened was involuntary on her part, and was caused by someone else's deliberate action."

Glory Girl frowned. "Was she Mastered?"

It was a reasonable question, and one that Danny had asked not so long ago. But looking at Panacea and Armsmaster, he didn't think that was the answer. When Panacea glanced at Armsmaster, he decided that he was correct.

"Not … precisely," Armsmaster prevaricated. "It's a complex situation. I really can't talk about it right now."

"Well, what can you tell me?" This, Danny decided, was better than being in the holding cell, but not much. At least Taylor's okay. Even if I never got to talk to her.

Armsmaster raised his chin. "She said to tell you that she was sorry she hasn't talked about this with you before now. And that there's a journal of some kind that she was keeping. I suspect that it's about her … school situation."

"What school situation?" Glory Girl looked frustrated. "What are you guys talking about?"

"I'll tell you what I can later, Vicky," Panacea told her. "But right now, I want to go home and get some sleep." She looked at Armsmaster. "If you want, I can talk to Brandish, about possibly getting Taylor some representation if things go sideways."

The armoured hero rubbed his chin. "We'll let you know if that's required. For now, it's a good idea to keep as few people in this loop as possible."

"Which means that I don't get to hear anything juicy." Glory Girl pouted.

"Glory Girl." Armsmaster's tone was stern.

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You don't tell anyone anything about this. Not even the fact that there's a girl in the infirmary. Much less her name. Not your friends, not your family, not even Gallant. Is that understood?"

"I, uh, okay?" For all that she could reportedly bench-press a cement truck, the teen hero seemed almost cowed by Armsmaster's intensity. "Can I ask why?"

His voice was patient. "Because we're closing in on the person who caused the Swarm to happen. And we don't want to spook him or her."

"Well, tell me who it is, so I know not to tell them," suggested Glory Girl brightly.

"No." To Danny's surprise, it was Panacea who spoke. "Vicky, we can't tell you that because, well, reasons. As it is, I'm gonna have to sign an NDA before I go home because of what I know. It's that important."

"Yeesh, wow," the blonde replied. "Okay, fine. Keep your secrets." She linked her arm through Panacea's. "C'mon, Ames. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Wait." Panacea turned to look at him. "Mr Hebert?"

Taken aback, he blurted, "What?" Grimacing, he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. Long day. I really appreciate what you did for Taylor." Pausing, he recalled that she had addressed him. "Uh … did you want something?" Try not to sound too much like an idiot, he told himself.

She gave him the slightest of shrugs. "Taylor needed help. So I helped her." She paused. "But you need to know that she's going to need a lot of help from now on."

That sent a chill down his spine. "What? Why? What do you mean?" Oh, shit. What's wrong now?

A look akin to compassion crossed her face. "She's got a lot of problems from all the bullying. I read her as mildly depressed, maybe borderline suicidal. And right now, she thinks that only five people died."

"Wait, but you said that she's not at fault for that," Danny protested.

Armsmaster compressed his lips together. "She thinks otherwise."

"Jesus." He realised exactly what they were getting at. "So when she finds out how many really died …"

Panacea nodded. "Yes. It's likely to hit her like a freight train. Plus …" She stopped and looked at Armsmaster.

The armoured hero took his cue smoothly. "Plus, there's a matter that your daughter will need to get filled in on, and thus, so do you. In private."

"Oh." Danny nodded; it seemed to be the thing to do. "Okay. Let me know when I need to sign something." He nodded toward Panacea. "Thank you, again. I mean it."

"You're welcome, Mr Hebert." In the company of her sister, Panacea walked out through the open doorway.

"You're not gonna tell me what that was about, are you?" Glory Girl's voice drifted back to Danny as he sat down beside the bed.

"Vickyy …" Panacea's reply was cut off by the closing door.

Danny ignored it. Taylor needs help. Taylor needs a dad. I've been falling down on the job. It's time I stepped up. It might be late, but I pray that it's not too late to make a difference.

Taking her slim hand in his, he looked at her face. Now healed of the damage that had made his stomach twist, she looked as though she were merely asleep. I'm here now, Taylor. And I'm not going to turn my back on you. Not ever again.

Armsmaster made some excuse or other, about dealing with paperwork, and left. Danny ignored the interruption. He sat by the bed and held his daughter's hand. His fingertip rested in the notch of her wrist, where the pulse throbbed steady and strong. On the medical monitor, electronic lines scrawled themselves across the screen, telling the story of her life signs in arcane sigils that he could not read.

The PRT guard was relieved by another, and left. Danny barely noticed. His entire reason for living was lying in that bed, and he was going to be there for her.

He was studying the fine hairs growing on the back of Taylor's hand when a discreet cough disturbed him. With a start, he turned to see Doctor Lansing, an older man with a kindly manner, observing him benignly.

"Sorry, Doctor," he said with an embarrassed grin. "I was kind of spaced out there."

"Perfectly understandable," the doctor replied with a smile of his own. He pointed at the connecting door. "I was just going to tell you, there are bathroom facilities through that door if you wanted to freshen up. I'm just going down to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee. I can bring you back one, if you want."

"Oh, I, uh, thanks," Danny told him. "I appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it." Doctor Lansing smiled again. "I have children of my own. Grown and left home, but they never stop being your children."

Danny nodded. "She's fifteen now, but she'll always be my baby girl."

Lansing patted him on the shoulder as he left. Danny watched the door close, then turned back to Taylor. She lay as peacefully as ever, breathing slowly and deeply, her expression relaxed and at peace. The contrast from when he had first seen her was striking; instead of looking like the aftermath of a car accident, she seemed likely to wake up at any moment and ask what was for breakfast.

<><>​

Cpl Kendall Reed, PRT

Reed liked working the late shifts. It was always quiet, and there weren't many people around. Of course, tonight was the exception; with the Swarm temporary emergency in force, all personnel had been called in to be ready in case anything else happened tonight. The landlines and airwaves were running hot with the communications going to and from every nearby PRT base.

Which made it perfect for Reed's intentions. A man had to take his opportunities where he could get them.

After being relieved from the infirmary, he was just finishing a plate of reconstituted meat and potatoes when Doc Lansing strolled into the cafeteria. Nodding to the medic, Reed wandered out into the corridor and took the elevator to the roof. There he ran into his first snag.

"Sorry, can't let you on to the roof," the roof guard told him. "If we get another Swarm, you'll be a sitting duck out there. And I'm not keeping the door open for you."

"Do you see any bugs out there?" asked Reed pointedly, looking out through the glass doors and indicating the daylight-bright blaze of floods that illuminated the roof of the building. "I don't see any. Do you?"

The guard looked. "Not really, no," he admitted.

"We'll call it a perimeter check," Reed argued. "I just want to get a breath of fresh air, and maybe a cigarette. One lap around the roof, and I'll be back inside."

His tone was reasonable enough, and the guard wavered. "I dunno …"

"Tell you what," Reed went on. "You want to take five, have a piss or whatever, I'll take over for you while you go do it after I've had my walk-around." He raised his face-plate so that the other guy could see his eye-roll. "Seriously. I've been standing guard in the fucking infirmary. I just want to get out of the fluorescent lighting and air-conditioning for five minutes."

The suggestion to take a piss was a shot in the dark, but it paid off. After a moment of hesitation, the roof guard nodded. "Sure. Go ahead. But you see more than two bugs flying in formation, you get your ass back inside this door."

"Roger that," said Reed fervently. He stepped up to the door and waited for the guard to swipe the door open. It hissed aside; he closed his faceplate while stepping through. Not looking back, he strolled toward the edge of the roof, feeling very exposed in the actinic lights illuminating the rooftop helipad.

There were no bugs visible up here, which made him feel a little better about taking the risk. The kid's asleep, but she could always have a nightmare.

Moving with a confident stride, he paced along the perimeter of the rooftop. At the far end, where the guard would barely be able to see him, and the cameras would be most confounded by the glare, he stopped and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Putting one in his mouth, he lit it up, then replaced the pack and lighter. In the same motion, he retrieved a phone from a pouch on his belt.

The phone had two numbers saved on speed-dial; one was for pizza delivery, and the other was for a dry-cleaning company. Reed used both services regularly. He used neither one now, instead tapping in a third number from memory.

"Hello, sir? I have some information that you might find interesting …"

"I'm listening."

"We've got a girl in the infirmary. She's the cape who caused the Swarm. But the situation's complicated …"

<><>​

Armsmaster

"Dragon, I …" Colin trailed off, unable to articulate the words properly.

"You've got a question, but you're not sure how to ask it. And you're worried about the answer I might give you."

He shook his head slightly. "How do you even do that? Are you some kind of Thinker as well as a Tinker?"

The computer-generated image smiled slightly. "You can be pretty transparent sometimes. Especially when you're tired. Ask away."

He sighed, gustily. "You've gone over the recording of the interview, and my helmet-cam footage of the Swarm incident itself."

"I have." Her voice was sombre. "That poor girl. Having to bear the weight of this on her shoulders."

"Is she, though?" he burst out. "Are we doing the right thing, not apportioning any of the blame to her? People died. Two hundred and seventy-three people. Men, women, children. Innocents."

"Not all of them were innocent," Dragon reminded him. "Five in particular."

"Yeah, but …" He ran fingers through already-matted hair. "She had her powers for a month. Surely she could have figured out another way to get out of this, which didn't involve every bug in her control radius going kill-crazy when she was knocked out."

"She wanted to be a hero, Colin," Dragon pointed out. "That means not outing yourself at the first opportunity. That means trying to de-escalate situations without bringing powers into it."

"But …"

"She was panicked." Dragon's voice was firm. "Trapped, helpless, facing rape and possible murder. Panacea was correct; she was indeed legally justified to bring lethal force to the table. But even then, she preferred to harass them while she got herself free. Not exactly the modus operandi of a power-mad Master."

Colin grimaced. "I just can't help thinking that if she had some other power, we wouldn't have nearly three hundred dead people in the morgue."

"If she had a power that didn't allow her to defend herself, or no power at all, would you prefer where she would be in that case?"

His grimace deepened. "No, of course not."

"Would this tragedy have happened if Shadow Stalker hadn't talked those boys into chasing her?"

He shook his head. "You know it wouldn't."

"Or if they had just tied her and left her?"

"I don't believe so."

"If she hadn't been kicked in the head and knocked unconscious?"

He sighed. "Probably not."

"So they caused it, the boys and Shadow Stalker, not Taylor Hebert."

The moment stretched as he searched her logic, then finally surrendered with a grunt of resignation. "You're right. She had no choice."

"Of course I am." There was no hint of triumph in her voice or expression, only sadness. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Make the call that I should've made when I first came in here." He picked up his phone and pressed speed-dial.

<><>​

Commander Thomas Calvert, PRT

"And you're sure it was Shadow Stalker they were referring to?"

"Certain, sir."

"Thank you. Return to your regular duties."

"Yes, sir."

The receiver went dead, and Calvert replaced it carefully on the cradle. He smiled as he regarded it; arranging the back door in the software of the the PRT phone exchange had been expensive but very much worth it. The ability to wipe the log of any call that he might wish to deny was priceless beyond gold or gems. Doubly so now, given the information that Reed had just passed on to him.

Clasping his hands together, he stared at the screen of his monitor, upon which was displayed a perfectly mundane spreadsheet. He saw no spreadsheet; what he saw was opportunity.

Who do I recruit first? The accidental mass murderer or the sociopathic Ward? Decisions, decisions.

As he made the choice, Thomas Calvert let an unpleasant smile spread across his face. If I do this right, I might just kill two birds with one stone.

Just the way I like it.

<><>​

Deputy Director Paul Renick, PRT ENE

Renick tore his eyes away from yet another online news article trying to find something different and interesting to say about the Swarm Incident, and picked up his desk phone. "Renick."

"Sir, this is Armsmaster."

"Good evening, Armsmaster. What can I do for you?"

"I have a question and a request for you, sir."

Renick pondered that for a moment. "Fire away," he said.

"Question first, sir. Where are the Wards situated at this moment?"

"Ah. One second, Armsmaster." He tapped out a command, and a new window opened on his screen. "Triumph, Kid Win and Vista are not on site. Home leave. Gallant is manning the console. Clockblocker and Shadow Stalker are on patrol. Their last welfare check was five minutes ago. Aegis is standing by as backup." He paused. "Did you want me to contact them?"

"No need, sir. I was just checking."

"And the request?"

"I'm going to need four search warrants signed, sir."

Renick blinked. "Four? You must have one hell of a lead there."

"I believe I do, sir." Briefly, Armsmaster explained what he needed them for.

Slowly, the Deputy Director nodded. "That makes sense." He paused. "Nothing for the Hebert household? There may be evidence there."

"There is," Armsmaster agreed. "She told us about it. I won't need a warrant for that."

Renick smiled. "Ah. Well, then. How about Shadow Stalker's phone? And her house?"

"She's under probation," Armsmaster reminded him. "We're allowed to check either one at any time if we think she's gone off the reservation."

"Well, you seem to have covered all the bases. Can you hold?"

"Yes, sir."

Renick pressed the 'hold' button, then entered another phone number. It rang for almost thirty seconds before being picked up. "You've got Markinson. Who the hell is this?"

The Deputy Director wanted to smile at the gruff irascibility of the elderly Judge, but he refrained. "Your honour, it's Paul Renick from the PRT."

"Renick. This better be good." Implicit was the threat that if it wasn't, the Director would be getting an earful in the morning.

"It is, sir. Armsmaster needs four search warrants signed."

"Four?" The outrage in the old man's voice was clearly audible through the phone. "That's not good, that's an imposition!"

Renick kept his voice level. "Your honour, it's in relation to the Swarm incident."

The resultant silence lasted for several long seconds. "Done. Tell him to bring them right over."

"Will do, sir. And thank you."

"Catch whoever did this. That'll be thanks enough." The phone was put down hard enough to leave Renick's ear ringing slightly.

He pressed the button to reconnect to Armsmaster. "Are you there?"

"Yes, sir."

"He says to bring them right over."

"Thank you, sir."

"And Armsmaster …" he tried to think of something encouraging to say.

"Sir?"

"Give 'em hell."

There was real satisfaction in the armoured hero's voice. "Roger that."


End of Part Four

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood


Part Five: Incoming


Carol Dallon

"My name is Shondra Cartwright, and I'm talking now with the hero of the hour, a young man who works at Denny's."

The reporter, with her expensively styled hair and perfect teeth, smiled into the camera. Beside her was a teenage boy who looked proud as punch and scared to death all at once; a perfectly natural reaction to being in front of the cameras, in Carol's opinion. "So tell me, Greg, how did you manage to save eight people apart from yourself when the Swarm descended on your place of work?"

He swallowed jerkily, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Well, uh, I'd just gotten to work from school when I saw the first people staggering down the street. I didn't see the bugs attacking them. I just thought it was a zombie attack. So I followed zombie apocalypse protocol."

It was obvious to Carol that the reporter had not gone over the story with the young man beforehand. The camera jerked, as if the person holding it had just done a double-take. "... excuse me, Greg, but did you just say zombie attack?"

He was either terminally obtuse, or too caught up in his subject to notice. Or perhaps a little of both. "Well, yeah. Like I was saying, I went with zombie attack protocols. Rule number one of hiding out from zombies is to make sure they can't see or smell you. So I got the manager's keys and turned the doors off, then taped up the gap. Then I told everyone to get down on the floor so we'd all be out of view."

Shondra stared at him. "Uh, you are aware that zombies don't exist, right?"

He shrugged. "Capes exist. Pretty sure there's one that can make zombies somewhere, right? Anyway, having a zombie apocalypse plan is a really good idea. Because it might sound silly, but if they attack and you don't have a plan, where are you? Lunch, that's where you are. And it sure saved our lives this time."

"I … suppose you're right, Greg." Shondra looked a lot less certain than she had at the beginning of the interview. Carol snorted, wondering if it was too late to get out some popcorn. "So, you said you got the manager's keys. Where was the manager during all this?"

"Oh, uh, the manager and assistant manager freaked out when this started happening and locked themselves in the cold-room," Greg supplied. "Some bugs got in there with them, but the bugs died from the cold, I guess."

"And what happened to the manager and assistant manager?" asked Shondra cautiously.

"Oh, they're alive," Greg told her cheerfully. "But they went to the hospital with severe frostbite. If they'd just listened to me …"

"So, Greg," the reporter pushed on. "Did you see the girl who tried to get in? What were your impressions of her?"

He grimaced. Carol would have bet anything that he wanted to say that he'd handled that situation according to 'zombie protocols' as well, but eventually he shook his head. "I got a phone call about her, and I told everyone to make sure they didn't let her in, but then I thought I heard some bugs buzzing in the back room, so I went and checked on that. By the time I got back, Armsmaster and Velocity had already arrested her. Was she the Swarmbringer? I bet she was the Swarmbringer."

"We've spoken to the PRT on the subject of this alleged 'Swarmbringer'," she replied, addressing the camera this time, "and they have not yet issued -"

Finally, Carol heard the sound she'd been waiting for; the back door clicking open. Turning the TV off, she got up from the sofa.

" … still can't believe that they made me sign an NDA as well," she heard her daughter saying as the girls let themselves into the house. "I thought it was just going to be you."

"You saw her face and you heard her name." Amy's voice was patient. "That means you sign an NDA. Simple as that."

"But I wouldn't have told anyone," Victoria protested.

Amy chuckled. "It's amazing how that just doesn't work as a reason not to sign."

"It's all right for you," Victoria retorted. "You've signed dozens – oh, hi, Mom."

"I expected you home before now," Carol said neutrally. "What happened?"

"Oh, I had to heal someone at the PRT," Amy replied, equally neutrally. "They wanted to ask her some questions, so I stuck around until it was over."

Carol frowned. "Your job isn't to ask people questions. Who was this woman?"

Victoria cleared her throat, getting Carol's attention. "Uh, Mom, actually, we can't tell you. We both had to sign NDAs about it."

"Oh." So that's what that was about. "So that's over and done?"

"Uh, not exactly." Amy looked uncomfortable. "They want me back tomorrow morning. Kind of follow-up treatment."

Carol's frown deepened. "Amy Dallon, if there's one thing I know about your power, it's that nobody ever requires a follow-up treatment from you. What's actually going on?"

Her adopted daughter looked away. "I can't tell you. I signed an NDA."

As a lawyer, Carol knew she should drop the matter. As a mother, she felt that she couldn't. Besides, something had just clicked in her head, prompting a horrified realisation. "It's the Swarmbringer, isn't it? That girl outside Denny's. It's her. You're treating her."

Amy set her mouth and said nothing, but Victoria had never been able to convincingly lie; her face told Carol everything she needed to know. "I'm right, aren't I? They've got the Swarmbringer, and they're not telling anyone. Except you two, apparently." She zeroed in on Amy. "And you healed her? What were you thinking?"

"It's not like that!" protested Amy, then shut her mouth hard, as though she wished she'd never opened it.

"Mom, stop," Victoria cut in, interposing herself between Carol and Amy. "We're really not allowed to talk about it. Non-disclosures are legally binding. You know this."

Carol did indeed know it. Reluctantly, she backed off. "This isn't the end of it," she told both girls. "Tomorrow, I'm coming in with you, and getting to the bottom of this. If the PRT is sheltering a mass murderer, the public needs to know about it, especially if they're pulling New Wave into the cover-up. Cape accountability is still a thing, even if everyone tries to pretend that it isn't."

Victoria sighed. "Okay, it's not like we can stop you. Just promise me one thing, Mom?"

"What's that?" Warily, Carol waited for her daughter's response.

"Keep an open mind." Victoria's voice was earnest. "It's really not what you think. At least, that's what Ames says, and I believe her."

Carol pressed her lips together for a long moment, then let out a sigh. " … fine. No preconceptions." It wasn't as if she'd never had to do that for every court case she'd attended.

Impulsively, Victoria hugged her. "Thanks, Mom. You won't regret this."

Which, of course, made Carol almost certain that she would.

Time would tell.

<><>​

Danny Hebert

"Mr Hebert?"

Danny jerked awake from a light doze. He wasn't quite sure where he was at first, but as his brain picked up facts, he began to recall details. Taylor. She was hurt. His arm was resting on the bed, her hand in his. Bed. Not a hospital. PRT building. Taylor's a cape. Her power killed people. Turning his head to take in the room, he started violently when he found himself looking up at a blue and silver armoured form. "Gah!"

"I'm sorry for the delay, Mr Hebert," Armsmaster said, and he might even have been telling the truth. Danny noted that the man hadn't apologised for startling him. "I've analysed the information we've got so far, and I'm heading out to perform more investigations."

"Oh," replied Danny, feeling thick-headed and stupid. Taking off his glasses, he used the back of his hand to rub at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty PM." Armsmaster held out a small plastic bag. "Your daughter's belongings. They were stolen from her."

Danny took the bag, letting Taylor's hand go as he did so. In the bag were Taylor's coin purse, her house key, her watch and a scattering of coins. "Um, thanks."

Armsmaster inclined his head slightly. "You're welcome. They've been tested, analysed and recorded. We don't need them any more." He paused. "Did you intend to stay the night?"

"Um …" Danny rubbed his forehead. He didn't want to go home, not while Taylor was like this. "Can I stay?"

The slightest of shrugs. The man really didn't care one way or the other. "Paperwork will have to be filled out, but it should be possible. In the meantime, if you wanted to go home and acquire toiletries and a change of clothing, you could help us out by retrieving the journal that she mentioned. As I recall, she said that it was on the top shelf of her closet."

"Do you think it's got something to do with this?" Immediately he said the words, Danny regretted the question. Of course it's got something to do with this. I think I need another cup of coffee.

"She seemed to think so, which makes me very interested in whatever it is," Armsmaster pointed out.

"Right. Yeah. Okay, I can get that," agreed Danny. "Um … I might need help getting to where your guys arrested me for trying to get past them. Or do I need to call a cab?"

Armsmaster smiled slightly. "I'm certain we can work something out."

<><>​

Ten minutes later, Danny leaned against the side of his car, trying to get his breath back. As the roar of Armsmaster's bike dopplered into the distance, he fumbled his key into the car door.

Holy shit, he told himself as his heartbeat gradually slowed down. Well, at least I'm awake now. Holy shit, what a ride.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Once he'd dropped off his passenger, Colin activated the HUD in his helmet and selected the phone function. A flick of his eyes indicated who he wanted to call.

"Armsmaster. What's up?"

He smiled. Hannah was ever reliable. "Miss Militia. I'm about to get some search warrants signed. Would you like to join me?"

"This is about the Swarm?"

"Affirmative."

"Give me ten."

"See you there." Armsmaster cut the call and gunned the engine. He'd kept the acceleration and cornering relatively gentle for Danny Hebert's sake, but now he could really open it out.

There were only so many hours in the night, after all.

<><>​

Sophia Hess

"This is boring," Sophia muttered. "It's Wednesday night. Something should be happening."

"Remember a little thing with lots of bugs killing people?" Clockblocker needlessly pointed out. "Pretty sure that's got a lot of people spooked. So they're staying inside."

"People got killed in their houses too," Sophia grumbled. "It's not like it's much safer."

"Hey, who ever said people were smart? Or logical?" As if his tone wasn't enough, the irritating male Ward topped it off with a shrug. "People is people. It's what they do."

Sophia gritted her teeth. "Gonna check the rooftops."

"Don't go too far," Clockblocker reminded her, making his voice sound high and childlike. "I get all scared if I'm on my lonesome."

"Back in a minute," she snapped, and turned to shadow before he could answer. Despite his juvenile sense of humour, Clockblocker was reliable enough to work with, even if she had the sneaking suspicion that he was checking her butt out on occasion. The trouble was, he made jokes at his own expense, then proved remarkably resilient to any barbs that she sent his way. She didn't quite know how to handle that.

Once on the rooftop, she scanned the area. Nothing new was visible, and she didn't hear anything alarming, so she pulled out her Wards-issue phone and sent a quick text to Clockblocker.

TAKING 5. U DO THE SAME.

A few seconds later, she got the reply. DON'T GO 2 SLEEP UP THERE SHADOW SNOOZER.

I'm gonna shoot him. Nobody would blame me. With a sigh, she settled on to the parapet. Ah, who am I kidding? He'd never stop making jokes. He just doesn't understand how serious all this is.

Putting the phone away, she pulled out her personal one and unlocked it before sending a text.

HEY EMS, HOW R U? ALL GOOD?

She had, of course, checked on Emma's welfare directly after the Swarm had dissipated. But it was good to check in with friends.

YAH. ALIVE N KICKING. U? O HEY, ALSO, SAW SOMETHING WEIRD ON PHO. SENDING PIC.

Behind her mask, Shadow Stalker smiled. Same old Emma. She waited for the link to pop up, then tapped it. The photo took a few moments to download. It was blotchy and blurry, and didn't have the greatest resolution due to the size of her phone, but …

"Holy shit," she muttered. "Is that Hebert?"

Flicking back to the text screen, she sent another message. THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?

PRETTY SURE OF IT. SHE WAS IN SWARM?

Sophia frowned. RAN THAT WAY. She paused, thinking. The guys should've gotten back to me about it. Maybe sent pics. Did they get caught in it? She studied the picture again. WHERE WAS THIS TAKEN?

AFTER SWARM WENT AWAY. PEOPLE HOLED UP IN DENNYS. SHE TRIED TO GET IN. ARMSMASTER N VELOCITY ARRESTED HER.

Well, holy shit. Sophia shook her head. She hadn't heard anything about this. Hebert looked like she'd head-butted a Mack truck, not been stung by bees. Looks like she found a place to hide. And if the Protectorate had arrested her … well. Maybe I'll visit her later, see what she's charged with. Make sure she knows who's boss.

A slow grin crossed her face. WHEN SHE GETS BACK TO SCHOOL WE SHOULD TELL EVERY1 THAT SHES THE SWARMBRINGER.

HAHAHAHA YEAH THATLL BE CLASSIC.

She was in the middle of typing a response when the phone rang. To her surprise, the number on the screen was one she didn't know.

Pushing back her hood to give access to her ear, she pressed the button to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, Shadow Stalker." The voice was one she didn't know. "It's good to finally speak to you. Do you have a moment?"

She froze, then glanced around again, instinctively. She was still alone on the roof. "Who the hell is this? How did you get hold of this number?"

"My name is Calvert, Commander Thomas Calvert of the Parahuman Response Teams, and I'm very good at my job." The man on the other end of the line sounded rather pleased with himself. "As are you. But you're bored with it right now, aren't you? The other Wards are holding you back. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong," she agreed reluctantly. "But what the hell do you want with me?"

" There's a job I have in mind, for a bold, dynamic cape who's used to working alone, knows the underworld and isn't frightened of taking a risk."

She paused. It sounded good, but … "Okay, you have my interest. But why are you calling me now, instead of contacting me at base?"

"I'm almost certain that the PRT building has moles in it. So I'm calling you now to ensure that the call is not monitored by forces hostile to the PRT and Protectorate. It's absolutely essential that there be no overt connection between us, if this is to work."

Sophia blinked. "If what's to work?"

"The job that I just mentioned. You fit my needs to a T. The question is, are you interested?"

"I … what is this job?"

There was the rustle of paper. "I've received authorisation to separate you from the Wards command structure, and put you under my direct command. You'll be your own boss, to a point. On the upside, you won't be bound by many of the restrictive regulations that you currently enjoy. On the downside, you won't have much in the way of backup if things go sideways. In short, it's an infiltration mission."

"Who am I infiltrating?"

"That's need to know. You don't need to know. Not unless you choose to accept the new posting."

"Uh … Commander Calvert, you do realise that I'm a known member of the Wards, right? There's exactly zero chance of me being able to pass for a criminal." She hated saying it, but it was true. No matter how much the idea of being on her own, relying on her wits and speed, appealed to her.

"You're also on probation. Which means that any false-flag operation which paints you as a criminal is likely to succeed. People love to see tarnished heroes fall. If you agree, we can bring Operation Disgrace on line within twelve to twenty-four hours."

"Wait a minute. Who's going to know the truth, here?"

"Myself, the Director, Armsmaster. A few others. But they won't be saying a thing. It's in everyone's best interests to keep the masquerade going. Which means that the Wards and Protectorate and PRT will be sent out after you. Some of them will even be honestly trying to capture you. After all, not everyone can keep a secret."

Sophia snorted. Like they can catch me on their best day. "Right. So what kind of crime will I be framed for?"

"I'll leave that as a surprise. That way, you won't give anything away at the wrong moment."

"All right then." A thought struck her. "Just by the way, do you have any way of proving that you're on the up-and-up? I've got no doubt that there is a Commander Calvert in the PRT, but this sort of thing would be too easy to fake." And there's any number of people who'd love to see me back in juvey.

"Very good, Shadow Stalker." Calvert sounded pleased. "The solution is simple. You have access to the PRT directory. Call me at my desk."

"Oh. Right." Sophia hung up, then used her work phone to check up the directory. Carefully, she entered the correct number in her personal phone, then pressed the button to make the call.

"Hello, Shadow Stalker," the same voice answered. "I trust that this is sufficient for your needs?"

"Yeah, that should do it," Sophia conceded. "So, is there anything I need to do? Papers to sign?"

"Paperwork can be spotted by the wrong person, and your life would then be in mortal danger," Calvert warned her. "Right now, I'm recording this, which is all we need for the moment. Do I have your agreement to participate in Operation Disgrace?"

She didn't answer immediately. This was a huge step, and she had to think about it.

On the one hand, there was her good name and reputation within the Wards to consider. On the other, she didn't think she could handle the slow grind of three more years of this crap. Once she turned eighteen, she'd be able to tell the PRT to go shove their moralising once and for all. But three years was a fucking long time.

"I have a question."

"Ask."

"I do this, can you do something about my probation?"

There was a confident chuckle. "I'm certain that I can make that all go away. If, and I repeat if, we can pull this off successfully, then your probation will be a thing of the past. History rewards the victors, and all that."

Freedom. She could taste it. But … there was a nagging feeling. Something she wasn't sure about. "I do this, I can't tell anyone about what I'm doing, right? Not the Wards, not my family?"

"That's correct. The only ones in the know will be you, me, and those further up the line. If anyone else even suspects that you're a double agent, your life will be in dire and immediate danger."

"What kind of a back door do I have for this?"

His response was unhesitating. "If you ever have to cut and run, contact me immediately. I will have an extraction plan waiting. Just be aware; this is a one-use option, and if you use it before we achieve our objective, then you're back to square one with the Wards, and your probation."

She'd kind of figured that one out already. So, can I really do this?

For a long moment, she fell silent, staring into the night sky. She couldn't lie to herself. It was going to be as risky as hell.

However, she realised that she was already well on the way to making the decision. Infiltrating the bad guys? Maybe even getting the chance to smack the Wards around for shits and giggles?

She looked over the edge of the roof. Clockblocker waved up at her. Hell, yes.

Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Let's do this thing."

"Very good. I'll be texting you the number of a post office box. In that box there will be a burner phone You will use that phone and that phone only to communicate with me. Once you get it, text me with your agreement, and this operation will commence."

"You got it." Sophia ended the call and and went back to the text screen.

GTG. BUSY.

Shutting off the phone, she put it away. She had some planning to do.

<><>​

Patricia Bright

PRT Case Worker

Patty yawned and closed her laptop. "Ready to go to bed yet, honey?" she asked.

Kenneth didn't look over from where he was watching TV. "Five minutes," he mumbled absently.

That prompted Patty to wrinkle her nose. Kenneth was fun to be with, but he was absolute murder to pry away from his favourite shows. With another yawn, she got up off the sofa with her laptop in hand. "Well, I'm gonna go brush my teeth," she prompted. "You want me after that, I'll be in bed."

"Uh huh," he grunted.

With a smirk, Patty walked between him and the TV, prompting him to frown and lean to look around her. Having had her little fun, she headed over to the sideboard where she usually kept the laptop. Just as she got there, she heard a knock on the apartment door.

"Were we expecting anyone?" she asked.

There was no answer; Kenneth was well into the zone now. With a put-upon sigh, Patty headed for the door. As she reached it, the knocking came again. "Who is it?" she called.

"PRT," came a female voice, one that almost sounded familiar. "Open the door, please."

Patty couldn't think of many reasons for the PRT to be knocking on her door at ten in the evening. If they really needed to get hold of her, then her phone was right there on the arm of the sofa. Which meant that something was up.

"Can I see a badge, please?" she asked, slipping the chain on to the door. This was a proper chain, not the little dinky thing that most places used.

"Certainly," the woman outside the door replied. Patty peered through the peephole; the voice might not have been instantly recognisable, but the face was. It was Miss Militia, wearing her iconic scarf, holding up her PRT-issued identity card.

"Oh, wow," she murmured, taking the chain off and undoing the deadbolt. Working for the PRT was one thing. Associating with Shadow Stalker on occasion was another. But having a member of the Protectorate show up on her doorstep brought things to a whole new level. "What's going on?" she asked as she opened the door.

"What's going on is that I have a warrant to search your laptop and another to search your apartment," Miss Militia told her briskly, holding out two documents. "We have reason to believe that they may hold evidence of one or more crimes." As she spoke, PRT troopers filed past her into the apartment.

"Crimes?" said Patty blankly. "What crimes?"

"Bullying," Miss Militia replied flatly. "Assault. Theft. Malicious damage. Deprivation of liberty. Verbal assault calculated to cause mental anguish."

Patty blinked. "But … I haven't done any of that!"

"You haven't, as far as we know," agreed the cape. "But Shadow Stalker is another matter."

"Shad -" began Patty.

"Hey!" Kenneth had just noticed the intruders in the apartment. "What the hell? Patty, what's going on here?"

"Stay calm, Mr Johnston," Miss Militia advised him. "Remain where you are. You are not a person of interest in this matter." She didn't say any more, but her hand rested casually on the ornate sabre hanging at her hip. Kenneth shut up, but kept sneaking peeks at her.

Shadow Stalker. Oh, shit. Patty experienced a sudden sinking feeling. What's she done now? "Um … am I under arrest?"

"Only if we find evidence that you aided and abetted in covering up her wrongdoings, either before or after the fact," Miss Militia said blandly. "Of course, if such is the case, it might help if you came clean before we found the evidence."

Patty watched helplessly as a PRT tech opened her laptop and booted it up. "Well, if you want to find a cover-up, don't look at me!" she burst out. "Look at Winslow!"

The corners of Miss Militia's eyes crinkled. "Oh, we are."

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin turned to the PRT trooper with the shoulder-mounted camera. "Are you recording?"

"Yes, sir," the trooper replied. He flicked a switch; bright lights splashed over the door before them. "Sound and video both."

"Good." Armsmaster addressed the camera. "This is Armsmaster. I have in my possession search warrants enabling me to investigate the locker belonging to Sophia Hess on the grounds of Winslow High School, and Principal Blackwell's computer on those same premises." He held up two documents, one after the other. "We are doing this at the current time to avoid the chance of our suspect, Sophia Hess, also known as Shadow Stalker, discovering these actions and fleeing from justice before she can be taken into custody."

Turning back to the door, he placed a small device resembling an old-fashioned music-box against the door, roughly level with where the lock should be. Turning the projecting handle in a slow circle caused a series of click and buzzes to sound from within the box; once he had finished, he pulled on the door. It opened easily.

"I could have opened the door much more easily than that," he added for the benefit of the camera, "but this way, Winslow doesn't have to replace the lock. Or the door."

Pulling the door all the way open, he led the way into the school. Winslow had had intrusion alarms once upon a time, but they had long since been permanently disabled. A map of the school uploaded into his helmet HUD allowed him to locate Shadow Stalker's locker with relative ease; the Tinkertech device made short work of that lock as well. Not bad for something that took me a lazy half-hour to design and construct.

"First, we check the contents that we can see," he instructed. "Then we check for hidden compartments and items stuck up under shelves. Be thorough. We have the time."

Shelf by shelf they went through the locker. Books, running shoes, a spare set of gym clothing. The only odd thing they found was a metallic object about twenty-six inches long, sealed in a plastic bag. This was handed off to Armsmaster, who carefully unwrapped it under the lights of the cameraman. It was bent and twisted, and had some kind of dark substance adhering to it; once the last wrapping came off, a rank stench filled the air. Armsmaster hastily re-wrapped it, then sprayed clear plastic sealant over it from a dispenser on his belt.

"What is it?" asked the cameraman. "And what's it doing in her locker?"

Armsmaster reviewed his helmet-cam footage. "I think it's a musical instrument of some sort," he decided. "Maybe a flute. But it's badly damaged."

"And it's had some kind of crap smeared over it, from the smell," added one of the other troopers. "Why would she even keep something like that in her locker?"

"I don't know," admitted Armsmaster. "But I'm calling it dangerously noxious, and removing it for public safety."

"Good call," agreed the cameraman. "That was horrific."

"Yes." Armsmaster turned back toward the locker. "Are the shelves done?"

"They are, and we haven't been able to locate any hidden compartments," the trooper at the locker declared. "Checking under shelves … well, what have we here?"

"Show me," ordered Armsmaster.

The trooper did, exhibiting a SIM card that had been taped up under the second-lowest shelf in the locker. "Is it just me, or does this look suspicious?"

"It's not just you," Armsmaster decided. "Is there anything else?"

They checked again, but found nothing more of interest. Armsmaster re-locked the locker, and they moved along. As they headed for Blackwell's office, he used his helmet HUD to make a call.

<><>​

Assault

"Hey, bossman. How's it hanging?"

Armsmaster's sigh was almost silent, but not silent enough. Assault grinned cheerfully. It was always a good day when he could raise the blood pressure of those who took themselves too seriously. "We've had mixed results from Shadow Stalker's locker. How are you doing there?"

"Well, surprise surprise, her mom doesn't sound astonished that she could be doing such a thing," he reported. "Though it seems that her brother didn't know about it at all. I've been chatting to the family while Puppy handles the search of the bedroom. She's about to start on the closet now."

"I heard that!" his wife called from within the bedroom.

"You were meant to!" he retorted without missing a beat. "So yeah, anyway, nothing too incriminating in the bedroom so far. Except for a bunch of My Little Pony comics under the mattress. They must be Aleph knockoffs or something. So damn cute."

"Odd, true, but not incriminating," agreed Armsmaster. "Keep looking. I'll be in touch." The call cut off.

Assault grinned again. Same old chatterbox Armsmaster. Leaning in through the doorway, he asked, "So, have we found anything?"

Battery turned to him, hair askew and a smudge of dirt on her nose, and glared at him. He judged it to be a number three moderate glare; I'd better get flowers or chocolates on the way home tonight, mister. "You have found nothing. I, on the other hand, have found something. Which, if you'd gotten off your lazy ass and helped, we could maybe have found fifteen minutes ago."

"What, an adult man going through a teenage girl's bedroom?" He put his hand to his heart, miming shock. "However would that look?" Stepping forward, he crouched next to where she knelt next to the closet. "So what have we found, oh love of my life?"

She elbowed him, but gently. "Check it out. Looks like she hadn't totally turned over a new leaf."

The bottom of the closet was a few inches up from the floor; she had managed to find a leverage point, letting the floor of the closet hinge upward. Underneath was a neatly folded costume, along with a black-painted hockey mask and a small crossbow. Next to the crossbow were …

"Well, well, well," he mused, picking up one of the small arrows and examining the head. It was polished steel and looked very, very sharp. "So she didn't get rid of them all."

Battery smiled, but the expression looked troubled. "Yes. Unfortunately."

He tilted his head. "Don't tell me you're on her side."

"Not on her side, so much as … well, I've worked with her. She's good at what she does. I hate to see a talent like that go to waste, that's all." She jabbed him in the ribs. "Meanwhile, you're the champion of second chances. You're not on her side?"

"Puppy," he intoned, earning himself a second jab, "I'm all for second chances. I took mine and ran with it. Have I committed a criminal act since?" She gave him an extremely dubious look. "Okay, fine, have I committed any criminal acts worth arresting me for?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "You've really made an effort."

"Whereas Shadow Stalker hasn't," he pointed out. "She's made no attempt to change her ways, except where she had no choice. And I might make fun of people, but I don't hurt them. I don't bully them. Shadow Stalker apparently does both, and that makes her nothing like me."

<><>​

Armsmaster

"Are you ready, Dragon?"

The computer-generated face on the screen of the laptop rolled its eyes. "Do you even have to ask?"

Armsmaster had to chuckle. "I guess not. Plugging you in … now."

The effect was almost immediate. Blackwell's computer screen lit up, window after window opening and then closing once more. All Colin had to do was stand back and watch; a Tinker of Dragon's capabilities was so far above his level that he could barely comprehend what she was doing.

Of course, he knew, she wasn't doing it all manually. As good as she was, the speeds she was working at would be impossible for any mere human. But it was possible to write a search engine for almost anything. Combined with the latest of decryption software, this meant that Dragon could go through a commercial-brand computer with the same general effect as a high-powered laxative would have on the human digestive system.

The flickering of windows ceased abruptly. He leaned forward. "Well?"

On the laptop screen, Dragon's avatar grinned. "Jackpot."


End of Part Five