Queen of the Swarm (Worm; Complete)

[Vherstinae]

Insinuation 4.2



"...What the fuck just happened!?"



Probably a less specific question than I should have asked, but after a nightmare like that, waking up in my dad's arms, something must've happened. Wait... I was naked under the sheet. Amy Dallon and her sister were staring at me. Mark Dallon loomed over dad while his wife stood guard at the window.



"Oh. Oh fuck. That...wasn't a nightmare, was it?" I didn't need confirmation. "Oh god..." I rolled onto my side and vomited, a thick flood of my purple slime pouring onto the floor. It died out after only a couple of heaves and I curled in on myself, crying.



Dad hugged me tight and Aisha petted my hair. Then the three of us grunted when Rachel pounced me with a bearhug that might've broken my ribs were I normal. And the rest of the Undersiders joined the dogpile.



Through the window, over Carol Dallon's shoulder, Atlas saw the whole thing. I could see the spectacle from his perspective and couldn't help giggling. "We look ridiculous," I snickered. I gently pushed them away and sat up between dad and Aisha, then looked at the Dallon sisters. "Victoria, Amy, thank you so much. I..." I gave another near-hysterical giggle. "I'm barely holding it all together. What happened at the end, when you rescued me?"



The statuesque blonde folded her legs under herself and floated over so I didn't have to keep looking between her and Amy. The brunette leaned ever-so-slightly closer to Victoria. "Your bugs were tearing the one girl apart, and Shadow Stalker tried to make a break for it. You spit something that popped on Shielder's forcefield, and it...dissolved her. She dropped out of her smoke form in pieces. She's dead."



"Y'know," Brian (wait, Grue. He was in his mask) spoke up, "I'm surprised you're so casual about that, being a second-generation hero. No lecture on how there was a better way?"



Victoria's expression barely changed but her tone grew much colder. "You saw what she did to Skitter." She looked back to me. "I don't blame you one bit for what you did. Would I have preferred for her to be taken alive? Sure. But I'm not gonna shed a tear or lose a minute of sleep over someone that evil."



I leaned back into the couch, the tension melting out of my body. "Then it's over," I sighed. "I'll admit, I thought about killing her. A lot, and especially after I got my powers. But I never really intended to." I shrugged. "Might not have been the closure I wanted, but it's closure all the same."



Foresight took out her phone, typed a quick note, and put it back.



I quirked a brow at her but decided to put that particular question on the back-burner. Lisa was usually a motor-mouth whenever it came to having figured something out, unless the discovery was sensitive or dangerous. If she didn't want to speak up now, I could wait. "So, since I got healed, did I have more changes?"



Foresight nodded. "Definitely. I could take some guesses, but Panacea's here." She smiled to the frizzy-headed girl. "Would you be up for giving us a diagnostic?"



"...Sure," Amy said after several long seconds of thought. "I'll admit, I'm curious too." She took my hand in hers and closed her eyes, focusing on her power. "Okay... Digestive system completely removed, secondary chemical bladder's been expanded to take up the vacated space. There's some sort of subdermal carapace that's grown out of the preexisting honeycomb structure. Uh, more 'hair' and increased sensitivity to external signals, as well as a nearly doubled transmission range."



I nodded at that. "Yeah, I can feel that. My reach is a lot bigger now."



"Other than that, your changes are mostly superficial," Amy concluded. When I gave her a look, she sighed and continued with a blush. "Okay, fine. Your eyes don't glow anymore and are slitted instead. Your waist is a little thinner, possibly from the removal of your intestines, and your boobs and butt are slightly enlarged. Happy?"



I blushed as well. "Okay...any theory as to why that happened?"



"That's easy," Foresight replied. "You said yourself you see a monster in the mirror. Those alterations were obviously a subconscious desire to be more human and, if that wasn't exactly possible, more pretty. You're a bit curvier and your most offputting aspect – your eyes – is changed to be less scary."



I looked back to dad, needing him to weigh in. Even if he disapproved, I needed to hear him say something.



"You're still my little owl, Taylor. Nothing will ever change that. I love you no matter what, but if you need this to feel better about yourself, I'm not going to argue."



I hugged him tight.



"So," Cerberus spoke up, still draping herself over the back of the couch, "what'd all the medical yammer mean, anyway? Subdural carparks and shit? Us normal people need translations."



"I'll explain it to you later, Cerberus," Foresight smiled. "For now, though, you should call the PRT and let them know Skitter's okay, maybe get an update on anything they found out." She turned back to Panacea. "Amy, could I talk to you in private for a moment? I think I have some things you'll want to hear."



The brunette inclined her head, regarding Foresight with curiosity, and they went off into Amy's room.



Brian looked toward Flashbang. "Would you mind if we made ourselves at home for the moment? I'd like to wait while Foresight talks with your daughter, and Skitter probably needs to sit and rest for longer, all things considered."



Mark grunted. "After seeing her like that?" he gestured at me. "Feel free." He looked back to his wife. "Carol, she's awake now. If the bug hasn't attacked yet, he won't now. Come sit down before you give me a complex."



Oh, Atlas was at the window, wasn't he? I touched my mind to his and felt his relief. I couldn't help the big, dopey grin that split my face. Atlas was such a sweetheart. I had him flutter up to the roof and rest his weary feet. "There, he's taking a break now. Little sweetie." I felt Atlas tuck his legs beneath himself and settle in for a nap.



Victoria laughed. "'Little sweetie', she says about a deathbug the size of a minivan."



We all chuckled and the others started to make small talk. I took the chance to surreptitiously form an earbug out of the slime on the floor while I also made a mutant pillbug to suck up the rest of the goo. The earbug buzzed its way into Panacea's room and I focused on the input it received.



(BREAK)



"Look," Lisa said, "I know things. It's my power. I saw what was going on, all of it. You need to say something, Amy. If you keep it all bottled up, things aren't going to end well at all."



"You saw what was going on, huh?" Amy's tone was hostile. "Whatever your angle is, you can forget it. I helped your friend but I don't have to stand here and listen to your psychobabble. I thought you had some legitimate information for me, so excuse me for not being serious about an intervention from somebody I barely know." I heard her start to move closer to the door.



"You might not know me, but I know you. You and Skitter are two sides of the same coin, and I'll tell you the same thing I told her: you're not a monster." Amy's footsteps halted and Lisa continued. "You're not your father."



Amy stomped back to Lisa. "I'm listening." Despite that, she still sounded like she was ready for a fight.



"You're adopted, maybe even through not-quite-legal means. Your father was a villain, someone Carol hated with a passion. For whatever reason, he gave you up and asked her and Mark to care for you." It must have been painful for Lisa, having to deliver all of this information with a straight face. Explaining something this big would usually draw up her most extravagant shit-eating grin but there was no way she could have that expression without Amy lashing out. "Mark tries to be a good father but he has his own problems, so he's not always present. And Carol...it'd be better if she just yelled at you, told you she hates you. Right?"



"W-what?"



"The neglect, the avoidance, I'm sure you could deal with that. But you don't know whether she hates you, so you have to suffer with both hope and uncertainty. You try to be a good daughter, you try to prove you're worthy of her love and nothing like your father, and yet she never loves you back. But at the same time, she never outright shuts you down and just lets you keep trying." Lisa was in full-on lecture mode and it was interesting to not be on the receiving end. She might've gone this in-depth with Greg if she hadn't wanted to get him out of the house so badly. "So you start to think, 'Maybe it's me. Maybe she can see the evil in me and can't bring herself to love me.' It's definitely easier to think there's something wrong with you than to think one of the people you love most in the world is kind of a shitty person." Amy started to shout a protest but Lisa didn't stop talking, steamrolling over the brunette's anger. "Believe me, I know firsthand. But you need to acknowledge that parents are human too. They can make mistakes, they can have flaws, and for all their good points they can have such tremendous flaws that things kind of lean toward the bad side; for example, hating a child simply because of who her father was."



The bed squeaked. Somebody had sat down, though I couldn't tell who. Since I didn't know the layout of the room I could only take vague guesses.



"So you think, even if evil is genetic and you're naturally inclined to be a monster, you can train that out of yourself. So you throw yourself into the healer schtick and never afford yourself any real rest or hobbies because a monster doesn't deserve that. You're working to atone for crimes you've never committed, or maybe to build up credit for crimes you think you're doomed to commit. But here's the thing, Amy," the bed creaked as Lisa sat (I presumed it was her, since the timing fit), "you're not a monster. You're not fated to be evil. You're a good person who's suffering and punishing herself for feeling the pain."



Amy started to cry.



"You need to talk to Carol about this, and then get some therapy. Whether it was intentional or not, you've suffered abuse and trauma and you need to work it out. Also..." Lisa sighed. "Here comes the hard part. We need to talk about Vicky."



Amy's crying stopped as her breath hitched in her throat.



"Most people, unless they're perverts, would dismiss it. I see deeper." She took another breath. "It's her fault, you know. All of New Wave's, really. Because you're immune to disease they somehow assumed that you're immune to Victoria's aura. But being exposed to that almost non-stop as you went through puberty and sexual awakening? L-look. I could go off on whole tangents with this, but that won't get us anywhere. So I'll just say this: I get that you're disgusted with yourself about it. Honestly, you have every right to be. Your sexual preferences got hijacked. But you need to talk to Victoria about it. Maybe she could see herself having feelings for you two and everything ends up with a Disney ending. Maybe she's disgusted and rejects you. Either way, you have certainty, no longer have to suppress yet another aspect of yourself, and can figure out a way to move on." Soft rustling of cloth on cloth. A hug, maybe? "And, if you want, I can be there with you to confront Carol. Though I suspect you'd want to talk with Vicky on your own."



Amy sniffled. "I just...I need to think..." Even I, without bullshit Thinker powers, could tell that was code for 'get out'.



"Okay. But please, don't bottle yourself up anymore. Don't punish yourself for existing. You've done nothing to deserve that kind of pain."



(BREAK)



I returned my focus to my body just before Foresight stepped out of Amy's room, the blonde looking a little sheepish. "I think I might've dipped into TMI territory..."



They have no idea. Great deflection, though. Keep them from probing Amy because they think she feels awkward. If Lisa had truly wanted to be a villain, she could have destroyed so many people. Hell, if she ever wanted to retire she could go into acting with talent like that.



"Well, think we could head back home now? I've been stewing on some ideas and I'm sure you have some too," I said to Foresight as well as the group as a whole. I looked back to Mark. "Is it alright if I keep the sheet? I mean, I could wash it and bring it back..." How did I manage to be so awkward?



He gave me a little smile. "No, it's alright. Just stay safe out there."



(BREAK)



The first thing I did upon arrival at home was to put on some damn clothes. It made me feel sort of terrible for thinking it, but hearing Amy's problems made mine feel less significant. It wasn't schadenfreude, not exactly, more a case of the old adage that no matter how bad things are, someone else has it worse. In any case, I slipped into my pajamas and almost skipped down the stairs to the living room, where everybody was gathered.



I had to take a moment once I stopped to deal with the new momentum brought on by the additional weight of my fuller hair. I strode over to the couch and sat down, then looked to Lisa, who was just finishing the explanation she'd been giving Rachel on the ride over. "PRT?" I asked her.



"PRT," she nodded in agreement.



"Okay, for those of us who aren't prodigies?" Brian groaned.



I smiled at him. "Well, I'm not exactly sure if Lisa's thinking the same thing, but for me, I see this as a real chance to affect some meaningful change."



"We're swearing all you idiots to secrecy again." Lisa was smiling but her tone was serious. "Well, Danny, for you it's the first swear to secrecy, but you need to realize that this is for real. This information is incredibly sensitive and could – probably will, if it gets out – result in lives lost." She cleared her throat. "Director Piggot believes that someone high up in the PRT has been gearing its policies toward self-destruction, some sort of conspiracy to...I'm not sure yet what the endgame is but we can be certain it's not good."



"Before," I continued for Lisa, "we hadn't pressed the Shadow Stalker issue because we were uncertain of the stance the PRT would take and didn't want to be made pariahs. Now, knowing that the national PRT is most likely corrupt but having the support of the local PRT, I think we'll have the leverage to affect some change for the better." I looked back to Lisa and she nodded, giving me permission to continue. "I want to use Shadow Stalker as a platform to increase support for oversight in the Wards program, to emphasize accountability in schools like Winslow and to provide more counseling and therapy for Wards. Kids who've just triggered need someone to talk to...maybe if they'd had mandatory therapy somebody would have caught Sophia's minor case of rabid homicidal insanity."



"Alright then," dad piped up. "Lisa, you can start working on a proposal. Tomorrow. For tonight, we should all try to get some sleep." He ushered me upstairs, tucked me in, kissed my forehead and said goodnight.



(BREAK)



I tossed and turned for at least an hour, unable to settle down and feel safe. The door creaked open and through the darkness I could make out Rachel's stocky form. She shuffled in, a pillow under one arm and a stuffed animal cradled in the other, and climbed into bed. She didn't say a word but pulled the sheets up to her chin, set the stuffed animal beside herself, and hugged me tight.



I drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

 

[Vherstinae]

Insinuation 4.03



I woke up feeling trapped, yet unafraid.



My sleep-addled mind had difficulty reconciling that until my eyes came into focus and the "Mr. Sandman" sequence from Uncle Buck started playing in my mind: when I'd fallen asleep the previous night, Rachel had been cuddling me. Now, everybody was.



Lisa was at my front, snuggled against me with her face tucked into the crook of my neck. Brian was on her other side, facing away, while my bugs told me Alec was behind Rachel and had swiped her stuffed animal. Aisha was snoozing away at the foot of the bed, her little body scrunched up as she hugged yet another of Rachel's plushies. Idly I mused that it was a good thing Alec, Lisa and I were all relatively thin, because Brian's and Rachel's bulk threatened to shove the other two off the sides of the bed.



Realizing that I couldn't get up without waking the others, I opted to nest back into the pillow and try to get some more rest. Lisa made a soft murmuring sound and nuzzled even closer, sighing in contentment when she'd apparently gotten comfy again.



The door squeaked open and my bugs looked over to see my father peeking in. His face blossomed into one of the warmest smiles I'd seen from him in a long time and he quietly backpedaled out of the room. I gave my own contented sigh and let myself drift away once more.



(BREAK)



When next I woke up, I was alone. Well, not really. Rachel had filled the rest of the bed with her plushies, apparently to help keep me safe. Her cerberus doll was right in front of me and I hugged it tight, unable to contain the girlish giggle it drew from me. Her stuffed animals were special to her, so this was actually more significant in my eyes than her coming to sleep next to me last night.



I rolled onto my back, my brain working as I thought of Rachel. In a way, she was representative of the Undersiders as a whole: damaged, suffering, lost. But, with a little love and patience, she was making gestures of kindness I was certain nobody had ever expected from her. Love was the key part of the equation. I loved them all, even Alec. They were family and we had gotten to the point where it was difficult if not outright impossible to imagine life without them.



More significant than my feelings toward the Undersiders, however, were my feelings toward Sophia and what had happened. I needed to focus away from the good and onto the bad, specifically because it seemed that I had utterly no feelings whatsoever with regards to my suffering at Sophia's hands. I'd been tortured, I'd killed two people, yet I didn't feel good or bad about it; I didn't even feel numb. My emotional response to the events was the same as to the fact that four plus five equaled nine. Actually, using an equation as a mental example gave me the answer: it was an expected, factual outcome. Because of her twisted mind, if Sophia came for me, she would kill me. It was her life or mine, and I preferred mine. I supposed, in the end, Sophia got what she'd always wanted. She'd become a predator and had to face the life-or-death struggle that predators endured. The rules of nature took hold and the animal was slain.



I sat up and stretched. Sophia's ultimate failing was in trusting solely to the rules of nature, that power and instinct and ruthlessness were the only determining factor in the food chain. The average human could be taken down by just a couple of dogs, yet humanity was the dominant species on Earth because we used our minds, because we worked together, and because we had the capacity for empathy. By reflecting on our actions, feeling regret, and understanding others, we had moved beyond predation upon one another. Sophia had seen the predator/prey model as the perfect state, when really it was an inferior one.



I changed into a loose shirt and a pair of shorts. I'd spent enough of the morning (or was it afternoon now? Sophia'd broken my clock) ruminating on a dead girl who'd made my life hell; it was time to focus on my loved ones. I descended the stairs and found almost everybody in the living room. Lisa was typing on her laptop while dad offered occasional input, Alec and Aisha were wrestling on the floor over a controller, and... I had to blink. Brian was apparently teaching Rachel how to cook an omelette.



"Morning," I smiled and was rewarded with assorted greetings in reply. I moved into the kitchen and gave Rachel a gentle hug. "Thanks for the animals," I said softly.



She blushed a little but grunted, "They're just a loan. I'll want 'em back."



"Of course. I'd never steal the little guys from you," I beamed. I gave Brian a pat on the back and a smile just for him before heading into the living room. Carefully stepping around the spectacle on the floor – where Alec was currently biting Aisha on the head – I made my way to the laptop. "So what're you two working on?" I plopped down beside my dad, who slipped his arm around my shoulders and drew me into an easy hug.



"We're working on the big indictment on the PRT," he replied. "Basically, if they don't give in to our very reasonable requests, we make everything public and let them be eviscerated. With what happened last night..." He drifted off and looked me in the eyes. "Are you doing alright with everything...that?"



I nodded and cuddled up. "Yeah, I did some thinking before I came down and I'm okay with it. In the end, Sophia got what she wanted. She was a predator, a wild animal. And I put her down."



"Dark, but not inaccurate," Lisa commented.



"How long've the lovebirds been at it?" I jerked a thumb at Alec and Aisha.



"At least fifteen minutes," the blonde replied. "They both wanted the electric-blue controller and things escalated from there."



"For both of them being teens, they flirt like they're still in kindergarten," my father added.



"Don't even joke about that, Danny," Brian called from the kitchen. "The idea of my baby sister being with anyone is almost enough to cause a second trigger, but her dating that? Just giving me the mental image is Bonesaw-level fucked."



The wrestlers paused simultaneously and looked over to Brian. "Hey, fuck you," they barked in unison before resuming their fight.



"Oh god," the big man facepalmed.



My phone began to buzz in my pocket. So did everybody else's. Since officially becoming a hero I'd kept my phone with me almost constantly for one very important reason: the PRT had an app. Apparently Dragon had designed it and it only worked for authorized users. Once we'd been keyed in following our public announcement, we were made aware of every parahuman event and major crime within Brockton Bay.



"Shit," Brian said, having been the first to get his phone out, "there's a big cape fight over at the docks. The Teeth – including Butcher Thirteen – have been sighted, as well as Trainwreck, Circus, and two unidentified capes."



Dad went pale. "We have people working down there today!"



"Suit up, people! Danny, take over omelette duty!" Brian rushed up the stairs.



(BREAK)



The cape fights people usually see on TV or the internet are the flashy hero-vs-villain bouts, oversized games of cops-and-robbers with explosions. Villain fights are significantly more brutal. Case in point, the dockyard looked like Godzilla had taken a tour through it. Enormous shipping crates were scattered around, having been thrown at the Teeth.



Animos was down for the count while Spree made a fighting retreat toward Butcher, unloading legions of her duplicates at a cape dressed in what looked like a combination of a trenchcoat and gimp suit, every inch of him covered in black leather. He approached like an implacable force, moving sluggishly as though he was trying to walk through water, but his slow strikes impacted the copies with enough force to buckle, crush or even shatter their bodies.



Vex and Butcher himself took on Trainwreck, who towered over them in a colossal two-story brute of power armor. Slicing and piercing combined with blunt impact in an attempt to shatter Trainwreck's defenses, while the homeless villain doled out earthshaking blows.



While we couldn't see Circus or Quarrel, the sound of gunfire clued us in that Quarrel, at least, was in the area.



Foresight spoke up as we formed a plan. "Grue, we need to see if you can shut down Vex. Imp, see if you can get in close and tase him under Grue's cover. Regent, molasses guy is all yours. Cerberus, go after Spree and Hemorrhagia if you see her, but be careful: we'll need you for dealing with Butcher." She looked to me. "Skitter, think you can take down Trainwreck?"



I nodded, feeling my entire torso rumbling with the contents of my newly enlarged reservoir.



On Foresight's signal we leapt into action. Grue's darkness engulfed Butcher and Vex while Cerberus' dogs plowed through Spree's clones. I leapt off of Atlas as I sent my bugs to scan for Hemorrhagia, Circus and Quarrel. My enormous beetle crashed into the armored parahuman with enough force to stagger him, and then Atlas' pincers bit into the armor. Like a bladed vise, they crushed and cut in equal measure before I pulled Atlas back and had him circle Trainwreck. I bent my head back and, like a (arguably) human howitzer, launched a small barrage of bomb-bugs on an arc to splatter on his armor. The hiss of the alkaloid substance melting through the manipulated scrap was immensely satisfying.



My bugs spotted Quarrel running in my direction and I tried to get out of her range, though I realized I didn't know exactly what that range was. She finished reloading her uzis and opened fire, the bullets arcing and changing direction in midair to remain on-target. The shots rained down on me, most of the impact absorbed by my costume, but it was still enough to beat me into the ground. Since I figured I wouldn't be able to stand under the attack, I opted to roll away while piling my bugs up. They all buzzed in unison, the collective noise drowning out even the deafening storm of her guns. Quarrel found herself under a massive shadow and looked behind herself, then let out a high-pitched squeak.



I let the churning column fall on her, more than two stories of bugs surging over Quarrel like a chitinous waterfall. Immediately I set my bugs to work, the expendable ones (i.e. the ones I created) acting first: praying beetles dragged her arms and legs together while bumblespiders tied her up.



"Skitter!" Cerberus' voice cut through the chaos and I looked up to see Twinkles tackling a shipping crate that Trainwreck had hurled at me. Its path altered, the crate crashed beside me and I ducked beneath the beast's legs before sending Atlas in for another attack. This time he aimed for one of the suit's knees and started crushing it.



I'd underestimated Trainwreck's versatility, as the entire upper body of the armor did a 180 so that he could bring his fists down on Atlas. Thankfully my bug was tough, but I could still feel his pain from the impact. "Hey, fucker!" I launched another barrage of glowing green death at him, wanting his attention on me.



I was bowled over by an explosion and found Butcher looming over me. He regarded me through his visor, his expression unknown behind the stylized knight helmet. "Skitter, the girl who took down Lung twice. I find myself unimpressed."



"That's what he thought, too," I snarled at him before engulfing the Teeth's leader in my swarm. Even if the bugs could slip through cracks in his armor, I doubted they could do anything to him. In addition to his durability, he didn't feel pain. Instead, this was just a distraction. Cerberus had been watching me as Atlas ripped off Trainwreck's armor leg, so she must've wanted to do something similar. Bentley grabbed Butcher's leg while he was distracted by insects all over him. The dog shook him back and forth like a rope toy, smashing him into the ground again and again. Finally Butcher managed to focus through being whipped around and teleported away, the explosion in Bentley's mouth knocking the giant bulldog on his ass. Bentley shook his head and laid down, apparently having hurt his jaw.



Atlas continued to beat on Trainwreck. I'd given him free rein since the villain was ensconced inside all of that metal; Atlas had no restrictions on his violence so his enormous bladed pincers were steadily dismantling the power armor.



The roar of Armsmaster's motorcycle announced that the cavalry had arrived. The Tinker and Dauntless only took a moment to survey the situation before leaping into the fray. Armsmaster intercepted Hemorrhagia, who had been attacking Grue, while Dauntless went straight for Butcher.



I yelped when a knife lodged itself in my chest plate, looking over to see Circus scowling at me. "You picked the wrong girl to mess with," I snarled and brought forth my swarm. The villain threw an incendiary grenade, which I barely had time to recognize before it exploded point-blank in my face. My costume could take the heat and so could my skin, but my insects were dying. That's how you want to play it? I stomped forward out of the fire and extended the claws on my hands and feet. "Bad call, Circus." My jaw unhinged like it had the previous night and a dark cloud of bumblespiders billowed forth. I didn't want to kill her; just restrain her.



It was Circus' turn to yelp as the bugs swirled around her, dropping their silk and mummifying her. She tried to run but ended up tangled just as a fly might. Once she fell and hit the ground, it was over. I had her wrapped up from feet to neck.



Atlas' instincts told me to duck. I did, and my poor giant beetle hurtled just over my head to impact another bunch of shipping crates. He fell unconscious from the beating and I had to force myself not to cry.



Trainwreck's armor was in pieces. He let it all drop, exposing the villain beneath it all: a rather overweight bald man, beefy in the style of old-fashioned strongmen. "Migraine," he shouted into the air. "You better be recharged! We need backup now!"



I draw my bugs back to myself, reaching out to grab crabs and lobsters too. Whoever this Migraine was, I'd be–



My world was pain.



It felt like my brain was trying to claw its way out through my forehead and I dropped to my knees, clutching my skull. I could barely even control my bugs through the supernatural agony. My vision clouded and swam, so I looked through my bugs' eyes instead. There was a new presence, a slender Asian woman in a blue silk dress and a masquerade mask.



"Move your asses!" Her voice was surprisingly husky, the sort of timbre that was made for seductive whispering...if it wasn't also extremely deep, almost masculine. "I don't know how long I can hold this many!"



I couldn't even keep focus on the insects' vision anymore, couldn't control anything. But, Cerberus' dogs didn't need to be controlled. I wasn't sure if she'd respond to someone who wasn't her master, but I pointed at the woman. "Cassie, hurt," I managed to choke out.



The woman screamed as the enormous dog charged her. Trainwreck body-checked the greyhound, his new armor much sleeker and built for speed. Giant roller skates roared at his feet. He scooped up the Asian woman and then did the same for Circus before heading to Mr. Slo-Mo, now known as Juggernaut. Trainwreck's own movements slowed to a fraction of their prior speed, apparently having to push through Juggernaut's aura. After several long seconds, he was moving at the normal rate and the villains escaped.



I barely managed to stagger to my feet; while the excruciating pain was no longer ongoing, the residual agony still ravaged my body. I looked over to see Butcher curled up in the fetal position, tremors rocking him every few moments. Apparently he wasn't immune to the pain this Migraine caused, and not having felt pain in so long must have made him even more vulnerable.



Hemorrhagia slogged out from behind a pile of Spree's clones, listing to one side. It made sense that she'd be the first to recover; she must have amazing pain tolerance. She focused on waking Animos, presumably so that they could ride away on him.



"Twinkles..." I pointed a shaking arm at Hemorrhagia and the poodle dutifully obeyed, launching into the air to come crashing down on her. Hemorrhagia ran Twinkles through with a spear of blood yet the behemoth didn't even pause, punching her in the chest with a foreleg and smashing her into the ground. She wheeled back around to finish beating her down, but was intercepted by a wave of Spree's duplicates.



"Kill," Spree shouted, pointing at us. She didn't need to do that in order to command her copies, but she wanted us to know her intentions. Dauntless had managed to stand at this point, lance at the ready as he beat back the swarm of duplicates. Armsmaster was soon on his feet and doing the same. Spree created even more fresh clones, these ones picking up the other Teeth and carrying them away, being continually replaced by new duplicates as the old ones became too stupid to walk or even breathe.



The other Undersiders finally lurched to their feet, still shaking off the reverberating pain. "Okay," Regent groaned, "Heartbreaker's looking like a good option compared to that."



"Fuckin' ow," Cerberus contributed.



"At least we got some intel," Foresight mumbled through a bitten tongue. "Trainwreck's been working with Circus and those two new capes, Juggernaut and Migraine, and they've been taking territory. We also know that Migraine's power causes pain that can even affect someone immune to pain."



"What I want to know," Dauntless grunted as he rubbed his head, jostling his helmet around, "is what they were doing here. The docks are so far from Trainwreck's usual stomping grounds it's not even funny."



"Perhaps they picked this as a dueling ground," Armsmaster said through gritted teeth. "It's not unheard of for villains to extend a little professional courtesy for one another and agree to fight outside of each other's territory."



"Or maybe something was being delivered today," I piped up. "Something one – or both – of the groups wanted pretty bad."



The Protectorate's leader nodded. "That's also a possibility. I'll contact the BBPD and let them know the theory." He huffed. "Look, we're all professionals here, right?" He let himself hunch forward and rested his hands on his thighs, taking a few ragged breaths. "Ugh, that really really hurt... Give me a moment, please." He steadied his breathing and finally straightened back up. "I wanted to say, to all of you, excellent work. This was your first major fight as official heroes and you handled yourselves like seasoned professionals."



"While we didn't get an arrest today," Dauntless added, "I think we can still count this as a win." He looked at Cerberus' monsters and my poor Atlas. "...Do your, ah, critters need help?"



"My dogs'll be fine," Cerberus muttered. "Just need to shrink 'em back down."



"And Atlas should be okay. Poor little guy..." I walked over and gently patted his shell. "If he's not, I'll contact you guys." I crawled underneath him and grunted with exertion, trying to leverage him out of the mess. "Think – rgh – think we can balance him on Bentley, Cerberus?"



The stocky girl whistled and gestured and then Bentley waddled over, his huge goofy doggy-smile evident even in his monster form. Grue and Cerberus helped me shove Atlas and we got him atop Bentley, where my bumblespiders helped secure him to the dog's back. We managed to all pile atop Cassie and rode off, Twinkles and Bentley following behind us.



Grue patted me on the shoulder. "Atlas will be okay, right?"



I sighed. "I think so. I hope so."



"You did good out there today. I think I figured out where you went wrong, though." He gave me time to reply but I didn't, so he continued. "When you took down Quarrel and Circus, you used sheer numbers and your multitasking ability to bring them down. With Trainwreck, you only had Atlas. And, tough as he is, there's only one of him."



"Yeah," I muttered. "I think I need more heavy hitters..."

 

[Vherstinae]

Insinuation 4.04



Instead of going home, we opted for Undersiders HQ. With Rachel and Brian's help, we got Atlas onto the floor of my bug-kennel. I paced around my little sweetie and examined him.



"Thankfully, it doesn't look like anything's broken. His shell's cracked in places but no bones broken."



"Wait," Lisa interrupted as she took off her helmet, "no bones broken? He has an endoskeleton as well?"



"Yeah," I replied. It was obvious to me, but maybe that was because I was the one who made him. "You can't be that big with an exoskeleton."



Atlas raised up his head and opened his mouth. I'd just fed him the day before but I knew he wasn't a greedy baby. If he wanted food, he needed it. I stooped over him and gave him a sizable meal, far larger than the norm. I could feel the tissues in his body mending themselves as he processed my slime. Once he was satisfied, the big lug settled down and shut his eyes, taking a well-deserved nap.



"Okay," I smiled. "He's gonna be fine now." I finished removing my mask and shook out my heavy hair-tendrils. "If I'm gonna start making more bugaboos, I'll need a way to feed them all. I can't be Taylor the Soup Kitchen, just pumping them all full of goop."



"So you need something to make it for you," Brian observed. "Think you could cough something up?"



I nodded, my brain already running through simulations. "I could. But look, I know I've rejected a lot of the names you guys've come up with, but we do need names for the stuff I make."



"Well," Aisha was suddenly beside me and I jumped, "the names you have for your little hybrids are all fine. Bumblespiders, ladydragons, praying beetles? Those are good. It's the stuff you make from scratch that gets you confused, right? That's because you can't just fuse two things together. Even Atlas and the raptor had some basis in reality. But your slime stuff and the bomb-bugs? They're totally new."



"So," Alec continued her train of thought, "we should come up with new names. Something unique." He walked up and poked me in the arm. "Spit up one of those bomb-bugs." Alec smoothed back his long ringlets of black hair and walked around my outstretched hand, inspecting the luminous critter from every angle. "Mm..." He scratched his head. "How about, instead of all the cute names like 'grenat', we go with something simple: burster."



Lisa nodded in approval. "Short, simple, and it lets others know their function right off the bat. I like it. Taylor?"



I shrugged. "It works. Now," I gestured to the purple gunk beneath the now-named burster, "what about this stuff?"



"Gak's trademarked," Aisha piped up.



"Something else simple, huh?" This time, Rachel spoke up. "Well, no offense, but that stuff is kinda gross. Maybe we should go with that. Somebody get a th...this... A dinosaurus. I know that's not it, but you know what I mean. A book that has other words for a word you pick."



"Thesaurus," Brian offered. "And we probably don't need one. We have Lisapedia here."



I splashed him with the slime. "Asshole! That's my word!"



He just laughed.



"Well, since I'm on the spot now..." Lisa cradled her chin between her thumb and forefinger. "You said you could make the stuff move through the sewers, right? Well, that's our answer: a word for both gross and movement." She grinned wide. "Creep."



"And then I could call the thing I'm working on now a creeper. I like it." I moved to the middle of the kennel. "Okay, let's see if this'll work." I opened by spewing a small pool of creep so my creeper wouldn't die. It would work like an external version of my reservoir: instead of storing creep inside itself, it would spread it around on the floor while using a small amount of creep to nourish itself.



I then hocked and coughed, spitting up an ugly purple glob. It pulsated and sucked at the creep surrounding it, growing and glowing orange with an inner light. After a few moments it settled down and spread out, going from a mutant meatball to a puffy pancake, albeit a two-foot-wide pancake. Creep began to seep out from beneath it, slowly spreading and thickening on the floor. I took some tentative steps into the mass. On the outside it splashed like water or oil, while further inside it felt like stepping on a gymnastics pad or a solid slab of jello.



"And there we go," I smiled brightly. "Now my little guys will have food!" As if on cue, my phone beeped. I pulled it out to see I had a message from Miss Militia of all people.



Dauntless and Armsmaster forgot to invite Undersiders to the Rig for debrief. Also need to speak with you w/r/t Shadow Stalker incident. –MM



"Well, that's a way to kill a good mood." I showed the message to Brian.



"Well, we should go in for debrief. Most likely they want our input on the new villains. And as for you..." He sighed. "You did kill two people, even though they deserved that and worse. But Miss Militia's in your corner and she blew Victor's head off, so you should be okay."



"Most likely they'll want you to speak to a therapist," Lisa added, "which isn't a bad thing. You've been through a lot in a very short period of time and could use some outside help." She gave me a little hug. "Good thing is, cape therapists have to keep their yaps shut. If they share personal info, they'll have an army of pissed-off parahumans looking to murder them and even the Protectorate couldn't stop that tide."



"Ask if they can send a van or something," Rachel grunted. "The dogs need some rest and, even if Atlas was a hundred percent, he couldn't carry us all."



"Good point." Brian handed the phone back to me.



(BREAK)



Undersiders HQ was a complex, and a veritable fortress: two warehouses and a tenement building, all reinforced by independent contractors whom Lisa had painstakingly vetted. Soon we were going to install walkways between the three buildings. For now, however, we did our best to present the facade that our headquarters was only one warehouse: the one that would house my critters.



After nearly an hour, an armored PRT van pulled up and a well-dressed trooper stepped out of the back. He was clean-shaven and had his blond hair parted in that stereotypical politician cut. He offered us a salute and a little smile. "Sergeant Piotr Rafhurst. It's an honor to meet you all." He relaxed a little. "My grandparents live in Laurel Hills."



Laurel Hills, of course, was one of the neighborhoods that fell under our protection during the war. Grue offered Rafhurst a handshake. "We were just doing what we felt was right." He nodded to the van. "Shall we?"



Rafhurst ushered us inside. "We've all heard the reports. You handled two villain groups, including Butcher Thirteen, before our guys could even get there. That's earned you some serious street cred." He looked to me. "Is your bug guy okay?"



"His name is Atlas, and yes, he'll be fine. Poor baby just got knocked around a little too much."



"Right, sorry about forgetting his name. So you really just found him?"



"Incredibly lucky break," I replied. "If I hadn't been desperately searching for something else to help, and he wasn't in my range, E88 might've killed us all." That put a stop to the awkward conversation and gave way to awkward silence.



(BREAK)



Sergeant Rafhurst dropped us off at PRT HQ and from there we took the shuttle to the Rig. Miss Militia met us at the helipad.



"It's good to see you all," she said, smiling behind her scarf. "Are your pets alright?"



"Everybody's fine," Cerberus grumped. "Now let's get the business done so I can go take a nap."



The dark-skinned heroine chuckled. "At least you're honest. Come on, then."



Armsmaster, Dauntless and Deputy Rennick were all gathered around a whiteboard with various villain names written on it. "Ah," Rennick smiled, "and here are our guests. Pull up a chair wherever you like."



"So what's this debrief about, exactly?" Grue asked as he settled into a chair.



"We're listing our observations about the villains we've encountered," Dauntless tapped the whiteboard. "All of the Adrift – that's what we're calling Trainwreck and company – are relative unknowns due to their overall inactivity. The Teeth are mostly catalogued but we could always use new insights."



I looked at the board. Trainwreck was listed as a Tinker, Migraine as a Blaster, and Gimp-Suit as a Brute. "Well, first off, Gimp-Suit is called Juggernaut."



Miss Militia looked over to me. "Oh? How do you know?"



I shrugged. "I heard somebody call him that. Can't remember who." Miss Militia made the change on the whiteboard. "He's also a Shaker. When Trainwreck picked him up, he got caught in the slowdown field too." Shaker 1 was added to his description. "I think he's permanently slowed, too."



"He falls in slo-mo," Regent agreed. Shaker 1/Mover -1 (slow-motion).



"He was dealing out Crawler-level damage, maybe even Alexandria-tier. Probably not as durable as her, but still..." Foresight tapped the helmet's chin. "Probably Brute 7. With how slow he is, though, he's not as dangerous as your typical Alexandria package. Also..." She took the marker from Miss Militia. "Trainwreck isn't a Tinker. Maybe Tinker or Thinker 1, but if Panacea doesn't get a rating for being able to instantly understand a target's biology, then he probably shouldn't either." I could tell she was wearing her vulpine grin under her helm. "He's a Striker, with maybe Shaker 1 to help with the larger chunks. He can assemble metal into armor, with his own body serving as a battery." She started erasing and making the changes. "He started with a behemoth Brute suit, then dropped the scrap and reassembled it into a Mover suit. No Tinker can do that. On the upside, it also means he can't build Tinkertech bullshit like antigrav or laser cannons."



"I'm not sure if we should list Migraine as a Blaster," I said. "Sure, her power causes pain, but it's not fired the typical way a Blaster does." I gestured at Cerberus. "If Cerberus is counted as a Master for manipulating dogs' biology, then I figure Migraine's power fits in that category, too."



Armsmaster thought for a moment, then gave a shrug-nod. "The reasoning is sound." Master 4 (crippling pain). "And Circus?"



Foresight groaned. "That's all sorts of weirdness." She just started writing. "Mover 1 for perfect balance, Brute 1 for enhanced strength. Circus isn't really more durable, but that balance allows her...or him, I can't really tell, to shrug off hits that would normally be a lot more harmful. Shaker 2 for hammerspace; that is, the ability to pull things out of nothing. I can't be certain how much extradimensional space she has access to, but it's enough to store at least a sledgehammer and some grenades. Wait, make that Shaker 3. She has fairly good pyrokinesis, but needs the fire to already exist. She can only control, not create."



Miss Militia leaned against the wall. "So who do we think the leader is?"



"Not Trainwreck or Circus," Regent spoke up. "Trainwreck was content with his little hidey-hole in the old trainyards, and I doubt some new capes on the scene would suddenly make him decide to play Kingpin. Likewise, Circus is a follower rather than a leader. He/she doesn't seem the type to take control."



"And if Juggernaut is permanently under that slow-motion aura," Grue expounded, "then it's unlikely he can properly communicate."



"Process of elimination says Migraine's the boss, then." Imp swiped the marker from Foresight and stood on her tiptoes to write Adrift Leader over Migraine's name.



Dauntless laughed under his breath. "Guess it's a good thing we have former villains on our side. You guys know the local politics, huh?"



"Not as much as we used to," Grue replied. "With the fall of the ABB and E88, there's a lot of upheaval and plenty of former unknowns looking to grab a piece of the pie."



"But, with the girl who took down Lung twice out there on patrol, maybe the baddies will be quieter."



I nodded to Dauntless. "We can only hope."



Miss Militia placed a hand on my shoulder. "Skitter, do you mind if I steal you now? We have some other business to deal with, after all."



"If you'll be there, sure." I couldn't help grinning in response to the radiant smile that shone through Miss Militia's eyes. "I'll be back, guys," I said to the team.



The Protectorate's second-in-command led me to another room with two comfortable-looking chairs, a chaise lounge, and a desk. The walls were padded but done so with a pretty blue fabric. "Padded walls?" I asked, quirking a brow behind my mask.



"They dampen sound in case one of us has to yell and vent. They're also good for punching if you don't have too high a Brute rating." She jabbed the wall to demonstrate. "Now, before the director gets here..." She reached up and removed her scarf. The fabric hooked over her ears to keep it in place during fights, but she lowered it to rest around her neck.



Miss Militia's face was stunningly gorgeous, high cheekbones and elegant neck; slightly upturned nose and small, pouty-lipped mouth. She smiled and offered a hand. "Hannah Roosevelt. It's nice to meet you."



I shook her hand, still a little stunned by the reveal. "Is this what you were going to say when Foresight cut us off yesterday?"



"Yeah. You're a sweet girl, Skitter. I'd like to be friends rather than just coworkers."



My shock gave way to a smile of my own. "I'd like that too. So, Roosevelt?"



"I picked it after FDR's New Deal. I figure I got a new lease on life, so the name was fitting. I just changed my first name a little bit to Americanize it." She pronounced her name again, this time with much more throat and phlegm. "Hard for non-Mideasterners to say, as you can guess." I giggled at that. "I teach the archery elective at Arcadia when I'm not on patrol."



"Well, I didn't pick archery, but I hope we could hang out sometime." Maybe the heroine could play the part of surrogate big sister.



Director Piggot knocked on the door before opening it, giving Hannah just enough time to don her scarf once again. "Skitter," the heavyset woman nodded to me. "I'm glad to see you in one piece. How are you feeling?" She motioned for me to sit as she did the same.



"All in all? I'm hanging in there. It was extremely traumatic but in the end I got closure, so there's that."



Piggot set a recorder on the desk. "You don't object to this interview being recorded, do you?"



"I guess not," I replied a little cautiously.



I must've been wearing my thoughts on my sleeve. "This isn't for blackmail purposes or anything, Skitter. This is simply so we can transcribe it later and have two different forms of evidence." She switched on the recorder. "Now then, in your own words, just tell us what happened."



I sighed. "Alright...can we get some chocolates or something? I'll need some cheering up by the end of this." Miss Militia stepped out, presumably to ask for chocolate. I hoped. "Last night, Sophia Hess appeared in my bedroom and smothered me with some sort of chemical-doused cloth. Chloroform or some sort of other sleep agent...thing." I realized that I was rubbing my arms, huddling in on myself. I paused and squared my shoulders, focusing on my friends and achievements. "I woke up, naked, chained to a metal chair. Hess and some other girl named Lara were there, Lara standing back while Hess used a heavy wrench and a switchblade to torture me. She broke my elbow, stabbed me in the stomach and gouged out my eye before setting me on fire." I shuddered. "I set my bugs on them and I think I killed the Lara girl. I set bugs outside to call for help and eventually Glory Girl and Shielder broke through. Hess tried to escape and I needed to stop her. I called up one of the bugs I used against Lung, I think, and it melted her."



"And that happened while you were on fire?"



"Yes. They doused me in kerosene and Hess threw a lighter at me."



Miss Militia spoke up, having entered moments before. "I know adult heroes, veterans to the fight, who wouldn't be dealing with this nearly as well as you are. Having had your eye gouged out and been set on fire, I personally can't hold you responsible. I'm not sure I could retain my conscious mind through that level of pain, especially considering that the inflictor had tortured you with impunity for roughly two years."



Piggot eyed me, sitting in silent deliberation for nearly a minute. "I am inclined to agree with Miss Militia," she said at length. "As a minor who has suffered enormous physical and psychological damage, your actions are understandable. I believe that it would be unjust to hold you responsible in the same manner we would an adult in full possession of her faculties."



I chuckled. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted or thankful. I'll settle on thankful, since I suspect you won't be advocating for jail time."



Piggot narrowed her eyes at me. "This does not give you carte blanche to kill others, Skitter. Heroes are not meant to play executioner."



"Director, I don't want to kill people. I want to help others. I'm a hero because I want to make people's lives better, so that hopefully nobody else will have to suffer as I have."



"And on that note, end Skitter interview." Piggot switched off the recorder and leaned across the desk to offer me a handshake. "On a personal note, I am deeply sorry that you had to suffer through that. I failed to keep proper watch on Shadow Stalker. I could hide behind regulations and say that I was operating within the rules, but I like to think I'm a better person than that. Even if I was following all of the bureaucratic rules, morally I should have done more and for that I will always be regretful."



I accepted the handshake. "The fact that you acknowledge your failing is more than most people would do, Director. I'm not going to hold a grudge for you doing your job." I looked over to Miss Militia. "Could we do the whole therapist thing another time? I'm not really in the best place mentally and...I don't want to relive the other shit I've been through."



Miss Militia nodded. "Fair enough. Out of all people, I think I know what parahumans can go through. I'll take you back to your friends and we'll get you transport back to your headquarters."



(BREAK)



When we arrived at HQ, I was surprised and pleased to find that the entire kennel floor was coated in creep. Atlas was happily snuggled in one of the stalls. He cracked open an eye and then went back to sleep.



Aisha waddled over the creep like she was wearing flippers or showshoes. "Okay, this is kinda gross, but it's also pretty cool. So, this is the same stuff inside you?" She poked my abdomen.



"Sort of. It's thicker and less versatile. This stuff is really just for food. Speaking of... Brian, Rachel, would you help hold me up? I'm gonna try to make some more uglybugs." The pair held me up by my arms and I felt my reservoir rumble. My jaw unhinged, throat loosened, and a cascade of liquid creep fell from my mouth. Soon a half-dozen of the hideous things squirmed on the creep floor. I ordered them to metamorphose into raptors and the creatures planted their heads and soaked up creep, their bodies bloating and transforming.



"Y'know," Lisa said, "I was gonna suggest we call them larvae or something, but uglybug works."



It took me more than a minute to recover to the point where I could stand on my own. "Alright, you might want to stand back: they're about ready to hatch..." I was unsure how these new creatures would react to the world around them.



As the raptors burst from their living eggs, I felt my mind reach out and touch each of theirs, downloading my memories of the original raptor's personality into the six beasts' brains. They looked at me, gurgled happily and began hopping around, wiggling their stumps.



I squealed and let myself fall back, inviting them to dogpile me.

 

[Vherstinae]

Insinuation 4.05



It's weird what can give us comfort. Before the war, I dreaded anything to do with school. It terrified me on a level beyond the intellectual or the visceral and I was usually experiencing trauma symptoms before even arriving at Winslow. Now, after everything that had happened, the act of preparing for school was a stabilizing one that helped remind me that, underneath the hair and the costume and the bugs, I was still human.



Dad had taken the morning off and was driving himself spare trying to make sure we were all ready. I practically expected to see little motion lines trailing after him with how he was zipping all around. He'd put the raptors to work, setting books and clothes on them and ordering the little critters into other rooms. It had been surprisingly easy to teach them to recognize basic commands and to put names to faces or locations. He dropped a raincoat on one of them as it passed. "Taylor's room," dad commanded as he stepped over it.



It dutifully padded off.



"You're gonna give yourself an aneurysm," I commented as I looked over my map. Lisa really does think of everything. The blonde had printed out a map each for Alec, Rachel and I, showing Arcadia's entire campus. She'd color-coded Rachel's copy and was currently drilling the stockier girl on the various highlighted places.



"You try making sure that three kids are ready for a new school," he retorted as he started making a lunch for Rachel. "Then add in that they're parahumans and former villains, and see how low your blood pressure stays."



Acting on its own initiative, one of the raptors brought him a squeaky toy to cheer him up.



"Uh, thanks," dad said as he accepted it, and patted the little monster on the head. It gurgled, licked his hand and wandered off.



"You're taking this awfully well," Alec grunted out while Aisha practically ripped his arm out of its socket.



Well, that wasn't the whole story there. Alec was clinging to the kitchen island, Aisha latched onto his arm, and Brian was tugging his little sister's ankles. "You're fucking with the group dynamic," she wailed in protest. "Breaking up the Mouseketeers!"



"Too bad," her brother deadpanned. "You're still in eighth grade and, since Pendleton hasn't un-banned you, you get homeschooled."



Aisha was trying to will herself to cry. "Don't leave me, Alec! We have so much more havoc to cause!"



A raptor plucked her from the middle of the tug-of-war and carried a very confused-looking Aisha into another room. I just smirked and turned back to Alec. "That's why I'm taking it well. I have some measure of control and safety now. I have friends; I'm not vulnerable like I was back at Winslow." Loud buzzing rose from the cellar door. "Plus, I'mma park Atlas on the roof."



I couldn't help giggling at one raptor's distress as Twinkles, perched on its back, hitched a ride. Twinkles' new orange vest looked very good on her and again I had to give credit to Lisa. She'd thought ahead and gotten several of Rachel's dogs certified as service and therapy animals.



Alec made a show of popping his arm back into place. "So I'm not gonna see much of you or Rachel at Arcadia, huh?" He returned to stuffing his backpack, which was what he'd been doing before the Aisha attack.



"Nope. Different class schedules." While Alec and Rachel had backpacks, I didn't have that luxury due to my enormous hair. My costume's armor backpack stuck close enough to still be useful, but then again I only had a handful of little items to store there rather than the octillion-and-a-half books for high school. I'd opted for a front-worn messenger bag to carry my books and assorted sundries.



"I shall cry my eyes out until we are again reunited," he said in a totally flat voice, sarcasm rolling off him in waves.



"Leave a candle burning in the window, love." I twirled a lock of his hair and he swatted at me like a perturbed cat.



"Stop being so cheery!"



I shrieked as Lisa suddenly spun me around and grabbed me by the shoulders. "Gah! Leggo!"



"You're inviting Murphy to shove his Law right up your ass," she yelled as she continued to cling like a noisy limpet. "You need to expect the worst so you're pleasantly surprised!"



"Y'know," Alec grumped, "the whole 'mountains out of molehills for comedic effect' schtick? That's my thing. You're stealing my bit." He gave us his best puppy-dog eyes.



Dad, who'd been walking by, gave him a hug. Alec looked like he didn't know how to respond to that.



"Alright kids," my father said as he set the lunchboxes on the island, "it's time to go. Lisa, hands off the merchandise. Rachel, go get Twinkles; she can't ride the raptor to school. Alec, look forward to causing trouble at Arcadia." He plucked his keys and wallet from the bowl. "C'mon!"



Rachel would sit in the front seat, Twinkles in her lap. Alec and I sat in the back. And Atlas buzzed overhead.



(BREAK)



I'd only ever seen Arcadia in passing. It wasn't near the old house so we didn't often drive by it. Seeing it now, in person, really made me realize all over again how much of a shithole Winslow was.



At Winslow, the building was a depressing gray, the same color as prison walls. Metal detectors stood at the doors like picture frames for the most pathetic modern art display ever presented: they'd only been functional for a week or two before their first dismantling. The staff gave up on fixing them before a single school year was out. The plumbing was frequently backed-up, the bathroom mirrors were cracked or outright broken, the grass was dead, and the campus exterior – except for the track and field area – was a bleak hole.



Arcadia, on the other hand, looked like cartoon angels would start fluttering around playing lyres and trumpets. It had a proper campus, with trimmed hedges and un-cracked sidewalks and an honest-to-god fountain in front of the main doors. Of course, with the beauty came danger as well. The walls were high, with "decorative" metal spikes on the tops with a distinctive Gothic flair to help mask their true purpose. The parapets at the walls' corners and several superfluous mini-towers adorning the building itself had seams in their sides; no doubt they concealed something like gun turrets or missile launchers. I wasn't surprised in the least; Arcadia was, officially or not, Protectorate territory and they didn't want their new crop of heroes getting hurt.



But they were more than happy to let the psychopath on probation torture innocent people, so long as it was out of sight and didn't draw attention, said a very bitter part of my mind.



I admitted to myself that working alongside the Protectorate left a bad taste in my mouth. For every Miss Militia there seemed to be two Shadow Stalkers, and the Armsmasters in the middle certainly didn't help any. But I wanted to be a hero, to help people and make the world a better place. If I'd stayed a villain it certainly would have given me satisfaction to smack down the in-name-only heroes, but I'd be ruining innocent lives along the way. No, better that I deal with the morally dark-gray Protectorate if that was the cost to give the people real heroes.



The guard at the front gate radioed ahead to let someone know Taylor Hebert had arrived. I felt the bottom of my stomach drop out, countless situations playing out in my mind – all of them ending with me as the school's new pariah and resident freak of nature.



"Taylor," Alec said to me, "if anybody should be nervous, it's me. I'm the one related to a brainwashing serial rapist. Just calm down and go with the flow. It's how I deal with everything: just go in without any expectations and let yourself gravitate toward what works for you." He smirked. "How do you think I always manage to end up on the couch or in the fridge?"



"I thought it was just because you're a dick," Rachel sniped from the front seat.



Alec didn't miss a beat. "Well, that too."



Dad pulled the car into a space and I noticed three well-dressed security guards approaching us. They didn't seem wary and I could see no drawn weaponry, but I still found my hands clenched into fists so tight I could squeeze coal into diamonds.



My father stepped out of the car and walked over to them. I poured so much of my consciousness into Atlas that I was worried I might turn my body into a vegetable. With what little mind I left myself, however, I saw that he was smiling and having an amiable talk with the guards, two women and a man.



Atlas, like a scolding nanny, pushed my presence back into my body. Apparently he thought I needed to stop using him as a crutch. Dad came back and ushered us out of the car. Rachel led the way, holding Twinkles' leash.



I found myself looking down at a petite redhead who, despite logic telling me it was impossible, only looked a few years older than me. She extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Taylor. I'm Beth and I'll be your guide for your first day here at Arcadia."



I spared a glance to the side and saw the others making similar introductions. "I'm guessing you don't do this for every new student." I didn't want to sound timid, so of course my voice instead had a hostile edge to it. Great.



To her credit, the campus cop didn't bat an eye. "Not for everyone, no, but whenever we get a new cape transferring in we have to give the tour to them and the other students we let in to cover for them." She gave me a sly smile. "Honestly, you three are the first parahumans without decoys we've had since the New Wave kids." She gestured back at dad. "I'll let you say bye to your dad before I steal you away."



I gave my father a tight hug and whispered into his ear. "If anything comes up, I'll call you. If anything bad comes up, I'll call the raptors."



"Be happy for me, little owl," he said before kissing my forehead. As I walked back to Beth I saw him pat Alec on the shoulder and then give Rachel a little hug, which left her both pale and blushing.



I followed the guard into the school building. "They forwarded me your schedule," she said while thumbing through her phone, "so I can show you the places you'll be going. Arcadia's big and has a lot of elective classes, so there are all sorts of places you can get lost." She led me past several large rooms, including a fully stocked science lab, before we came to a more typical classroom. "This is your homeroom. Math, English and History will all be held here. General Science and Chemistry are both in Lab 2, while PE is in the gym or outside. I'll show you those places in a bit. Now, as for electives, Writing for Theater and Film will be on the third floor, Gymnastics – well, you can guess. Intro PoliSci is just down the hall. C'mon."



Beth led me through the halls, giving me tips on which routes were best to save time getting from one classroom to another, as well as info on what not to do in certain classes. Apparently my science teacher had a raspy voice so I should try to sit near the front, and the professor for Writing for Theater and Film (wait, was it really abbreviated WTF? Had the class namers never heard of the internet?) hated stories about parahumans because he believed it to be a crutch.



And then we got to the gym.



(BREAK)



"...r? Taylor? Something's wrong, isn't it?"



We stood in the girls' locker room. I stood in front of my locker. It loomed before me, oozing darkness and hate while curdling blood dripped from the slats. The rest of the world fell away, dissolving like sand spilling between someone's fingers. I could feel my very soul emptying itself, leaving me a hollow shell. Part of me had died in there and now I'd been brought back to finish what had been started. I could hear my screams echoing from within it. I could hear my mother's screams.



I could hear Beth's whimpers.



"Taylor, please, call them off..." Her voice was soft and shaky, the sort of voice you hear when someone is afraid of an animal attacking.



I blinked and saw the locker in front of me. It was now just an ordinary metal box. Except for the fact that it, the rest of the lockers, the floor, my body, and Beth were all covered in a sea of insects. I gasped in realization and the bugs all did their best to imitate the sound of my sharp breath. "I'm, I'm sorry," I said as I ordered the creepy-crawlies to all go back to where they'd been before. "My trigger event, it was in a locker and...I thought I'd gotten over it but all of a sudden I was just there and it was happening all over again and–"



The words spilled out of my mouth until Beth took my hands in hers. "I have friends in the National Guard. I fought in the war alongside them, watched some of them die right in front of me. I understand trauma." She looked me straight in the eyes. "You can't let yourself hide from it, build a little pillow fort and scream out 'trigger warning!' every time something reminds you of the worst day of your life. You'll only be hurting yourself more each time, giving your pain more and more power over you." She squeezed my hand. "You just have to keep going, forge ahead. For me, more than ever before I try to live my life to the fullest in honor of my friends who can't do that for themselves. For you? Maybe you just need to move on, prove to yourself that your trigger event wasn't the end-all be-all of your life."



I forced myself to laugh. "What are you, a psychiatrist?"



"Actually, yeah," she replied. "I'm studying for my master's right now."



I blinked. "Well, that explains that. And why they'd want you as a guard."



Beth nodded. "When you have somebody like Glory Girl, you need to be able to talk her down if things get dicey." She checked her watch. "Okay, we should get you back to homeroom."



(BREAK)



I sent some bugs ahead to listen in and see what was going on.



"...have a new student today," a female voice said. "She's a bit shy, so let's try not to give her too hard a time." By this point I'd gotten to the window and saw a rather hefty woman, her black hair in a loose bun. She turned to see me and gave a bright smile, beckoning me in.



I stepped inside and smiled shyly. "Hello," I forced myself to keep from mumbling, "I'm Taylor Hebert."



(BREAK)



I'd managed to avoid questions between classes and couldn't take off for the cafeteria fast enough. Of course, before I could even pick out a table, I was waylaid by one Victoria Dallon.



"Hey stranger," the blonde smiled. "Don't think you can just run away after popping up in homeroom."



I forced a smile of my own. "Well, I tried. I take it you're going to drag me off?"



"Of course," she beamed and dragged me off. Amy was at the New Wave table and she winced when she saw me. I returned the expression. Crystal Pelham gave me an awkward smile, really only knowing me as Skitter. "Sit down," Vicky insisted.



Figuring there was no use arguing with the stubborn blonde, I took a seat and offered Amy an apologetic shrug.



"Don't you want something to eat?" Crystal tilted her head, looking at the blank space before me.



"She doesn't have a digestive system," Amy replied, apparently by reflex.



"No doctor-patient confidentiality?" I was doing my best to be playful and keep the mood light, though it was difficult.



"Ames is a Striker, not a doctor," Crystal interjected.



Taking the chance to change the subject, I turned to Crystal and smiled at her. "I'm Taylor, by the way."



"Crystal," she returned the smile.



"Nice to meet you."



"Urf!"



I yelped and jumped, finding Twinkles at my butt. Without ceremony, Rachel shouldered me to the side and sat down at the bench's edge. The poodle sat obediently at her feet.



"...Hi, Rachel."



"People won't stop looking at me," she grumbled.



"Well," Crystal smiled, "you have a cute dog. People are gonna look." She offered a handshake, smiling wider. "I'm Crystal."



Rachel shrank back a little and actually growled.



"Crystal," I spoke up, "don't show teeth." She looked at me like I had frogs crawling out of my nose and I rolled my eyes. "Bared teeth. Sign of aggression. Don't do it."



The stocky girl stared at me, looking thoroughly confused. I gave her a little hug and, to her credit, she only stiffened a tiny bit.



"Everybody, this is Rachel, a close friend of mine. She just transferred in too and is making up for lost time."



"I hate you, this place and everyone in it," she said to me.



Victoria held up her soda. "I'll drink to that!"



"So how is it, being avowed capes in high school?" I posed the question to all three New Wave members.



"Kind of unavoidable for you, huh?" Vicky poked at my hair. "That doesn't hurt, does it?"



I shook my head, the chitinous locks rustling against one another.



"Well, honestly, it's not too bad. We mostly stick with each other, but I guess we're sort of boring to people. I mean, I paint, Crystal plays the trombone, and Amy doesn't do too much. Sure, people sometimes pester us about cape fights, but usually we're just the pretty girls who aren't quite popular." Victoria sighed. "It sucks that I can't play basketball anymore. Capes aren't allowed, obviously, especially considering my powers."



"Y'know," Rachel spoke up, "that's something I've been wondering: why don't we have parahuman sports teams? It could be like the Laff-a-lympics: everybody with different powers would make the games a lot more interesting, and those fucking sports drafts would actually be important for once."



Amy was the first to speak up. "...Laff-a-lympics?"



"It's a fuckin' cartoon," Rachel snapped.



"You've got a point," I said. "Wouldn't it make sense to open more avenues for parahumans rather than just criminal or crime-fighter? But Congress seems to disagree considering the laws that get passed." I shook my head. "You'd think they'd want the chance to reduce the number of superpowered fights in the country."



"I leave the politics to mom," Crystal muttered between bites. "I just blast baddies."



"If I ever decided to retire, maybe I could make a killing as an exterminator. 'Skitter's Spitters: they kill bugs dead!'"



Amy raised a brow. "Skitter's Spitters?"



"Yeah, I could bring in an insectivorous bug colony to hunt common pests, then leave 'em on autopilot with a command to avoid humans and animals."



Victoria pondered for a moment. "That...could actually be amazing. Problem is, you could easily succeed so much you'd put yourself out of business."



"Then I'd just need to invest properly."



"I think you have a Thinker rating," she replied. "If I remember right, Thinkers are banned from stocks, commodities and gambling. Among other things."



"That shit's the reason the term 'blessed with suck' exists," Crystal commented. "Sometimes makes you think powers are just more of the universe shitting on you after your trigger."



I looked at Amy and could tell we were both thinking Crystal was right. "I think the world's what you make of it," I said at length. "Just about anybody can find happiness, as long as they don't have some fucker actively making life terrible for them. You just might not find the kind of happiness you imagine you would." I looked down at my fingertips and briefly extended the claws. "The trick, I'm learning, is to roll with the blows. Yeah, my body's weird, I have a lot of problems and I've nearly died several times. But I have friends and a father who love me and I get to help make people's lives better."



The only other brunette at the table eyed me. "That was...surprisingly deep, Taylor. I think you might be right, too."



I gave Amy a cautious smile. "Thanks."



"So," Crystal's loud voice interrupted the comfortable silence that had been building, "what electives do you two have?"



Rachel got up and walked away.



"She's not much for talking," I said.



The silence afterward wasn't quite as comfortable.



(BREAK)



The remainder of the day went a bit smoother. Science and chemistry were relatively easy, particularly since I could use little bugs to take away individual grains of chemical components or to help visualize molecular composition. I got some sideways looks but it wasn't like there was a rule against arranging caterpillars and pillbugs to imitate molecules.



PE was a weight-training day. Pull-ups, kettle bells, free weights and bench presses. It was from this that I found out I could press nearly three hundred pounds and curl ninety. Gymnastics, on the other hand, was a wash. Apparently they'd lost my measurements so there wasn't a unitard ready for me. I spent the period getting re-measured.



Math was the final class and I found that it was much easier. Apparently my newfound multitasking ability helped me to somehow make advanced calculations in my head. I didn't really understand how that worked, but I wasn't complaining about the result.



(BREAK)



As the final bell rang, I made my way to the parking lot we'd pulled into that morning. I got lost a couple of times but my bugs helped me find the way eventually. When I arrived, Rachel was already there and Alec popped up just behind me.



"So," he said with a jaunty smile, "how were your classes?"



"I want to kill and eat everyone associated with this place," Rachel growled.



"Welcome to the high school experience," he smirked at her. "And how was my day, you ask?" His grin stretched as wide as it could without baring his teeth. "I just so happened to get the number of one Connie Bartlett, one of the hottest cheerleaders at Arcadia."



I wracked my brain for a good comeback. "You won't get anywhere with her, y'know." He raised an eyebrow at me. "If she went for you, she's obviously a closeted lesbian, girly-boy."



"Ouch! You're learning, padawan."



Dad chose this moment to pull in. "Heya, kiddos," he smiled as he unlocked the doors. "Hop in!"

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 4.y



The Presidential was, like many small-town or roadside businesses, a relic of a bygone age. Following the advent of the Endbringers, travel mostly ceased and people congregated to the cities for Endbringer shelters.



The dilapidated motel was falling apart, only a handful of rooms still functional. It had been the site of several murders, cars left in the parking lot after being stripped for parts and valuables. One vehicle stood out, a heavily-built SUV with attached livestock trailer. While the car was rather battered and the trailer likely secondhand, neither had been torn apart. Someone was making use of the Presidential Motel.



The motel had at one time been a major stop-over off the main highway. Consisting of two stories of eight rooms each, it had done a fair bit of business in the '80s. While the outer rooms had suffered from storms, quakes and passing cape fights, three rooms on the upper floor were still viable. The Presidential's current occupants had opted for some quick-and-dirty renovation, knocking out the interior walls to make one massive, ragged space.



In the dim light of a single desk lamp and a muted television, a man slowly drew a razor along a leather strip, honing the edge. "You know," he said in a pleasant, conversational tone, "people get the wrong impression of us." Satisfied with the blade, he lathered his face with shaving cream and went to work in the mirror, speaking between strokes of the cutthroat. "They see the cape fights and think that's all there is, as though that's the be-all, end-all." With a practiced flick of the wrist he banished the accumulated cream from the razor into the sink. He shrugged in response to an unspoken comment, as though narrating a debate in his mind. "True, capes are better. More resilient. The very nature of trigger events means that most of them are survivors, able to fight harder and take more punishment. Give people hope, all that jazz."



A quick sweep of the blade in the warm water to clear off the residue and he was back at it. "But when you've been around as long as I have, when you've seen the rise of the Triumvirate, the arrival of the Endbringers, the death of Hero, you realize that parahumans don't have the monopoly on strength. Sometimes it's the ordinary people who can be the greatest heroes, or the most horrific villains. Capes? They have an excuse. Society forces them into a role and they have to play hero or villain. Ordinary people? They get to choose. It's something that the public doesn't think about when you have Legend and Alexandria flying around, being so shiny." He continued, murmuring his words as he got down to detail work. "People without powers, they feel powerless so often, but they keep on trucking. Instead of giving up, they fight that much harder. I guess that's the human condition, huh? We're so desperate for independence and self-definition, yet we force our definitions onto others. We all want to be the authors of our own life story."



The razor was washed, dried and put away. A quick wipe with a damp towel got rid of the rest of the shaving cream and he gave himself a smile in the mirror. Perfect. The neatly trimmed mustache, the tiny patch of hair beneath his lower lip leading to the dusting on his chin, everything was in place. "So you see, that's why I like doing this kind of thing with normal people. Parahumans? They're used to being the center of attention. There's dread of – and preparation for – this kind of thing in the back of their minds. With you, on the other hand, it's a complete surprise when it happens." He strode over and ripped the duct tape off his captive's mouth. "Most of the time, people were more afraid of Gray Boy when he was around. 'Tortured to madness', they'd say. And it was true. A perpetual trap of pure agony, with no escape. But me? I always said he had it wrong."



The captive spat in his face. Doughy, balding, with eyes the color of sun-faded olive drab and a slight overbite, the man was completely unassuming. He was the everyman, doing nothing to stand out. That was why he'd been picked. "Fuck you, Jack. Goddamn, do you love to hear yourself talk."



That was interesting. The man knew he was going to die. Instead of cowering in fear or begging, he was defiant, arrogant even. It was something that always intrigued Jack, the different nuances in each person as they faced their deaths.



"Do you know how I figured out my power? I wanted people to hurt, yes, but I could have gotten a gun. Could've made a molotov cocktail. Instead, I grabbed a knife. The reason is more simple than you might think. You see, in my opinion, Gray Boy had it backwards. He used torture to spread fear, to hurt others. It's an understandable mistake; he was just a kid, after all." Jack opened a Swiss army knife and drew the blunt little blade along the outside of his victim's forearm, just barely breaking the skin. "Murder isn't the worst thing you can do to a person. You kill someone, their suffering stops. In my opinion," he raised his voice over the man's grunts of pain, "murder is how you hurt others. You take lives, spread fear and pain to the rest of the public. If you kill a father, his wife and children are left to suffer in his absence."



He leaned in close, cupping his victim's face, and drew the knife across the underside of his jaw. It didn't cut; just tore into the outer layers of skin, the pain bringing with it the knowledge how easily life could be taken. "No, torture is a much more intimate experience than Gray Boy understood. It's just between you and me, as I get to see every little quirk of pain, fear and anger you have." He flicked his wrist and ripped loose a small chunk of flesh from beneath the man's jawbone, smirking as the everyman groaned through clenched teeth. Even now, the captive tried to defy him, deny him the pleasure. But this wasn't about pleasure. It was about the experience. Good, bad, it didn't matter. Pain, happiness, morality, purpose, none of it mattered. It was the moment.



"I don't get off on other people's suffering. I'm not a sadist. I don't even really enjoy causing pain. This isn't some dark nihilistic philosophy about pain. It doesn't have a Freudian explanation where I'm a little boy just wanting to make other people feel as bad as I do. This? This just is." He wiped off the little knife and put it away, flicking open the straight razor once again. "This, between you and me, is truth." He cut down the man's shirt with such delicate precision that the razor never broke skin. "We see each other for how we truly are." He bent back the man's left ring finger, applying more and more pressure until the bone crackled. With the finger vertical, he placed the grip of the razor against a knuckle and slowly folded it shut, progressively crushing and cutting. It was slow, it was inefficient, but that was the point. "When everything else we can hide behind – society, jobs, family, friends, our very identity – is stripped away, we're left with nothing more than our own selves." His face curled into a brief snarl as, with an extra burst of force, he snapped the finger off. "And that is what this is about," he said over his victim's piteous moans.



The moans rose in pitch and volume, becoming loud, throaty chuckles. He had to raise an eyebrow, regarding his victim with a strange mix of curiosity and...apprehension? This wasn't the broken, manic laughter of the defeated escaping into madness. No, this was haughty and superior.



"I believe you," the balding man replied. "I get how you see the world. And I might pity you, if I didn't truly understand. This is all an experiment to you, an attempt to see the true face of humanity, but you're exactly the same as the society you dismissed," he growled through the pain. His captor actually took a step back and lowered his weapon, inviting him to keep speaking. "You're fixated on parahumans as well. There are plenty of people, experts in their field, who could make amazing killers or otherwise support your little scheme. But you abandon them and go for the capes. Us, the ordinary people? We're cattle. Or lab rats. You study us, use us for your amusement. Unlike the capes, you don't even bother to learn our names." He locked eyes with his captor, lips breaking into a condescending sneer. "Raymond Marks." He let that hang in the air for a moment. "You're going to look into my eyes. And you're going to remember, for the rest of your life, that ordinary, pathetic Raymond Marks understands you. And he looks down on you. You're pathetic, Jack Slash. I know I'm going to die, but I'm going to die laughing at you."



And he did. Raymond Marks laughed. His laughter was hateful, derisive, deprecating.



His head was wrenched back and the razor tore through his neck. It wasn't a slitting of the throat; it was a barbaric cleaving. Blood and viscera sprayed as Jack's fist went through the parted meat. The laughter continued as a rhythmic popping of blood out of the ruptured trachea. Jack Slash stared at the body in disgust and washed off his hands before exiting the room. He left the door hanging open so that anyone who happened by would see the body in the chair and the numerous mutilated corpses piled on the beds in a cruel imitation of sexual congress.



(BREAK)



"What's so interesting, Atika?" The brunette toyed with the red streak in her hair as she used her traveling companion as a chair.



The glamorous Arab woman gestured at the computer. "I was trolling PHO, and look."



"Ooo, I wanna see!" A hyperactive blonde scampered over. "Wow! Case 53?"



"Doesn't look like it."



Cherie was going to comment but was sidelined by a new feeling. Well, not necessarily new. Confusion, anger, hatred, even self-loathing? She'd gotten used to feeling those. Got off on them to a certain degree, though nothing was as fulfilling as despair. What she wasn't used to was them coming from Jack. Had one of his victims somehow managed to work him up? The other presence, the feeling of superiority and condescension, finally winked out. Yes, that was probably what happened. "Jack's on his way back." She then rapped her chair on the head. "Hey, you should check this out. Bird, can you tab it so we can do a side-by-side?"



The enormous bulk shifted itself, nearly a hundred eyes opening and pointing at the laptop. "Mm," it rumbled, the sheer bass of the voice enough to shake the room ever so slightly. "That's...actually interesting."



"What is?" Jack Slash stepped inside, having taken a moment to compose himself. He'd managed to suppress the negative emotions quite effectively; Cherie was impressed.



"Check it," the Canadian girl gestured to the pictures. "New cape in Brockton Bay."



"Wait a sec," Bonesaw squeaked in her tiny, pixie-like voice, "isn't that where Panacea is?"



"And Elle," said a deathly pale and almost anorexically thin girl from across the room, where she was reading manga by lamplight.



"And Jean-Paul," Cherie continued. She turned back to the group's leader. "What do you say we make a trip to the Bay?"



Mannequin clacked his fingers together, demanding attention. When the group looked, he shook his head.



"Mannequin has a point," Jack admitted as he strode over to sit on the bed. "After the war, they've got a surplus of heroes and not enough villains to keep them tired. Even with the Teeth and that other new team, they've still got three hero groups plus the Wards. We're down a member anyway; going in there now would be a good way to lose more people. But... Atika, when's the next Endbringer attack expected?"



Shatterbird went to the official, PRT-sanctioned "Endbringer Countdown" site. "Looks like sometime in May or late April."



"Well then, let's do a little 'research' before our road trip. Once the next attack happens, we can get ourselves set up and have a surprise waiting for the good capes of the Bay when they get home."

 

[Vherstinae]

Insinuation 4.06



From her perch on the building's roof, Vista turned her head toward me. "Y'know, even without using my power to contract space and hear noises from a distance, that bug of yours can be heard from a mile away."



I smirked, arms folded, as I sat on Atlas in the saddle I'd designed for him. "Maybe, but I can see just about everything for several city blocks. I know what's there before it knows where I am." To demonstrate, I held up a finger and had a ladybug land on it. "For all intents and purposes, I am the swarm.



Aegis took a step off his roof and Vista pinched the distances together so he didn't have to waste energy flying over. "So, are you alone?" he asked. "I mean, it's Ward policy to go out in pairs and there are six of you, so..."



I smirked, my lenses once again solid orange and rendering my true emotions inscrutable. "Oh, Imp's around." I might distrust Coil, but I wasn't going to turn down the paycheck. Every dollar he gave us was one he couldn't use for other plans. So, with Imp's power, getting her a souped-up scooter had been high up on our list of priorities. From the last glimpse I'd gotten of her, she was hanging out at ground level and helping to keep watch for anything I might miss.



"Yep!"



I yelped and, were it not for the leg straps, would have hopped off Atlas and plummeted to the street. "Imp! How the hell did you get up here!?"



"Oh, I drove over to a parking garage and did a series of sweet-ass jumps from there to here."



The Wards and I all blinked at that. "S-seriously?" Unlikely as it might sound, Aisha was a little terror so it was a remote possibility.



She cackled. "Nah! I hopped up to the fire escape and climbed. Lucked out that you mentioned me just as I got to the roof."



I gave voice to the unspoken half of her statement. "...And if I hadn't, you'd have just lurked until I did say something that pertained to you."



Imp hopped up to sit on Atlas' pincer. To the big guy's credit, he didn't even blink as she lounged on his implement of destruction. "You know me so well, dah-ling," she giggled, affecting a faux-posh accent. She then gestured at the Wards. "So, you gonna introduce me? I've never formally met these drips."



"I wonder why that is," I deadpanned. "Aegis, Vista, this is Imp. We never let her and Regent patrol together."



"What, that's it? Give 'em some horror stories, Skits! Make them fear the name of Imp!"



I facepalmed with a sigh. "I'm not sure anybody could do that, but I'll try." I turned back to the Wards. Aegis looked flummoxed while Vista was torn between looking scandalized or bursting into giggles. "Back during the war, we found out one of the households was hardcore ABB. Not actual gang members, but the kind who would – and did – make attempts to smuggle gangers into the neighborhood, where they figured they'd be safe under E88's radar. Now, these were civilians, so we couldn't just beat the shit out of them. We might've officially been villains, but even back then we didn't hurt people like that. So instead, the evil genius here has an idea." I let the information sink in for a moment while Imp preened, before continuing. "She camps out in their house for a week. Brings a pillow and a sleeping bag, sets up in a closet. Every day, she rearranges their furniture. Sometimes it's just little things, like an ottoman being across the room or a glass on the other side of the table. Other times, she spends the whole day to shove the couch into the dining room. By the end of the week, they're freaking out. Of course, when she starts to write satanic messages on their mirrors, that's when they decide it's the last straw. They left the territory and we moved refugees into the house the same day. Now," I addressed them directly, "imagine her and Regent on patrol together. Street vendors would end up painted like clowns and gangers would have their pants set on fire."



"At the very least," Imp confirmed with no small amount of smugness.



Vista clucked her tongue. "You sure you guys aren't villains?"



"Good and evil are states of mind."



I bopped Imp on the head for that one. "No, we're not still villains. We might have mostly unfriendly powers, but that plus being independents means that we can do things you guys can't."



"So why are you here?" Aegis was still regarding me with a bit of wariness, which confused me. "Last time you were out and about, you fought the Teeth and the Adrift."



"Oh," I chuckled. "No, we're just on patrol and I thought I'd stop by and say hi."



"In that case..." Somehow, instead of relaxing, Aegis became even more morose. "I'm sorry. About Shadow Stalker. I was there when Director Piggot reamed into the oversight committee, again, about Ward probation."



I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I, uh, thanks. Look, it hasn't even been a week and I really don't want to talk about it, so..."



Aegis held up a finger while his other hand went to his ear. "Aegis. Affirmative. We'll be back A-sap." He gave me an apologetic look. "Sorry. Apparently something's come up and the Wards are being recalled."



I nodded. "I understand. Don't let me keep you."



Aegis flew off, Vista easily keeping pace. Seeing her power in action, repeatedly, was a truly interesting sight. It was disorienting and the best approximation would be seeing through a glass of sloshing water. The horizon compressed and then snapped back, individual points shrinking or widening as she moved. Vista's form remaining constant amid the chaos only further confused the eye.



"So," Imp said to my bugs, "are we gonna keep patrolling, or we gonna find out what that was about?" She started her scooter and I realized that she must have left the conversation at some point and gone back down to her vehicle.



"You make the call," I buzzed back at her. Normal bugs couldn't imitate a voice anywhere near as well as my voicebugs could, but it was enough that you could understand it if you were familiar with the sounds. "Atlas is too loud for me to talk on the phone." I had an earbug tuck itself under the collar of her jacket so I could listen in as we continued our patrol route.



"Hey, Sight," I heard Imp say. "Something just came up that recalled the Wards. You got any news for us? ...Shit. Really? Okay, I'll pass it along. Wanna meet at the scene? Kay. See you there." She hung up and spoke to open space, knowing that I was listening. "So a whole Merchant drug house was slaughtered. Sliced to pieces, but apparently there are no weapons or signs of a fight. The rest of the team is gonna meet us there, so follow me."



We turned and began heading northwest, toward one of the ritzier parts of town. I didn't even know the Merchants had places there. Then again, before the war, they probably didn't. This had been Empire territory. Now, it was more of a no-man's land. The Merchants hadn't officially established control – likely because the rich bastards in their little gated neighborhoods would've called the mayor to get the National Guard in here again – and while it butted up against Adrift land, if you could call the empty mess they seemed to control 'territory', they didn't like to push into populated areas and preferred outskirts and condemned blocks.



Moreover, slicing didn't seem to be the MO of any of the Adrift. Yes, Circus used knives, but those were for throwing. She preferred sledgehammers or heavy axes for melee. Juggernaut could split people apart, but the hits were too rough to be considered slicing. Trainwreck? Maybe, but he was a showman who liked his oversized armors. There would've definitely been signs of a fight; hell, the whole building might've ended up leveled. No, this was something new. And I didn't like new.



(BREAK)



The former mechanic shop was cordoned off, several PRT troopers standing guard, including two with containment foam sprayers. We dismounted our respective transports and Cerberus let her dogs start to shrink.



"At ease, guys," Grue said as the troopers prepared for a fight, or at least to stonewall us. "We're here to examine the scene and see if Foresight can't give us some new info on what happened." He looked around. "Any other heroes here?"



The senior officer, apparently, nodded as he loosened his grip on his weapon. "Yes, Velocity and Miss Militia. She's currently examining the scene."



"Alright then," I said. "We'll go say hi." Before they could really process what had happened, Foresight and I were already past the police line and the rest weren't far behind. "Don't worry," I told them through a voicebug, "Miss Militia will appreciate the help. Trust us."



The building's interior was...a nightmare. Blood was splattered everywhere, body parts scattered around. From the heads, I counted at least a dozen dead bodies.



"Jesus fuck," Regent muttered.



Miss Militia stood in the middle of the carnage, studying it with an intensity I'd last seen when she killed Victor. At Regent's interjection, she looked over and saw us. Her eyes softened in what looked to be relief.



"Miss Militia," Grue said, "we heard about the killings and thought the Protectorate would appreciate our help in figuring out the who and the how."



Velocity's voice came from all around us. "I've checked all over the garage and surrounding area. No blood splatter or tracks. Nobody escaped, nor were there any other attacks." He blurred to a stop beside Miss Militia. "And, speaking for myself, the help would be appreciated."



"I agree," the dark-skinned heroine stated. "I can't make head or tail of this massacre." She gestured to one of the bodies, smoothly bisected. "He was clearly cut with a physical weapon, a single stroke slicing him in half." She stooped and waved her finger over certain areas. "The way the skin is torn and the viscera drawn out, it was sharp but not tinkertech sharp. My best guess would be a sword, but it would have to be at least a zweihander and wielded by someone with incredible strength." She straightened up and huffed. "The problem with that is there's no sign of a fight. Other than the Merchants scattering in an attempt to escape, nothing indicates an intruder. Someone with a weapon capable of doing this kind of damage would leave something behind to indicate his presence."



Grue's voice was quieter than I'd ever heard while he was in costume. "You don't think Jack Slash...?"



Foresight replied for her. "No. He favors small blades. While he can maximize cutting power and extend the blade, it would still leave cuts indicative of a small blade. These are large cuts. In addition," she pointed to other corpses, "some were impaled instead of cut clean through, and the damage indicates the blade was triangular. Isosceles rather than equilateral." At Cerberus' tilted head, she made a diagram with her hands. The bulky girl nodded in understanding.



"So," I mused, "what are we looking at, then? Stranger? No, they started running away. Brute to swing the thing, maybe Shaker to keep things in order while he cuts them up?"



Foresight snapped her fingers. "That could be something." She made a frame with her hands and looked through it. "We're looking at this as if it's murder with a single weapon. But Kaiser could create blades big and sharp enough to do this kind of damage. Now, he couldn't put the metal away once he'd summoned it, but it gives us precedent. We're most likely looking for a Shaker who can summon blades of some kind."



"Thank you, Foresight," Miss Militia said as she climbed piggyback onto Velocity. "Your insights are always appreciated. Skitter, likewise. You two make an excellent detective team." Velocity took off, whatever else Miss Militia might have said lost in the immense speed.



I looked over at our purple-helmed teammate. "Foresight? You're still staring at the bodies..."



"Please tell me you're not a necrophiliac," Regent snickered.



"I'm...worried," she muttered. "During the war, Oni Lee used an aspect of his power we'd never seen before. This?" She swept her arm over the carnage. "The slaughter of minorities, in former Empire territory? This screams 'Kaiser'." Foresight turned back to us. "If he's come out of hiding, I'm scared he has nothing to lose. His children are in custody and will be shipped away unless Purity behaves. His Empire is completely gutted. His reich dreams are dead. And if he can take metal away as well as produce it..."



"...Then there's pretty much nothing stopping him from going Mask of the Phantasm on everybody," Cerberus finished for her.



"Nice reference," Imp said from the doorway. She still hadn't come inside to see the corpses.



"And considering the part I played in bringing him down..." I couldn't help it; I swallowed hard.



"Huh. I've got a call from you-know-who," Foresight stated. She pulled out her phone and answered, the call being transmitted to the bluetooth device in her headset. "You've got Foresight. What's up?" Her stance became more irritable. "Seriously? Look, I don't know if we can do that. People will see the connection, then you're out two assets. We'll do what we can, but I can't make promises." Seeing our inquisitive looks as she hung up, Foresight sent us all a quick text. T active again. C wants no waves.



Despite her grousing, it seemed that Rachel's remedial English lessons had paid off because she nodded to herself, perfectly understanding the message.



Before we could converse on that, we received another group text. Somer's Rock, 3pm. –Faultline.



We looked at one another, collectively shrugged, and decided to find out what she wanted.



(BREAK)



In the time since the last major meeting at the pub, Somer's Rock had not changed in the least. The pub seemed completely unchanged, although if a bomb had gone off it wouldn't have made much difference.



Faultline sat at the round table in the center of the pub, her costume just as dissonant as always. The welder's mask and kevlar vest stood out against the Japanese hakama and loose upper-body robes. To one side of her was the bloated form of Gregor the Snail and on the other was someone I didn't recognize, a pretty redhead wearing a shamrock mask and a green overcoat.



"Good to see you again." Faultline's tone was friendly but all business. "You know Gregor, and this is Shamrock, our newest recruit." She gestured to the table. "Please, take a seat." Once we were properly seated, she continued. "I wanted to invite you here out of professional courtesy. Since you're heroes now, I'm guessing you heard of the massacre?"



Grue leaned forward a bit. "The Merchants warehouse near Stableton Heights?"



"The same," Faultline responded. "Skidmark scraped together enough to pay our wage. We'll be playing bodyguard for the Merchants, while Shamrock is going to try to work on sussing out who's doing this."



"Oh," Foresight sounded excited, which often meant trouble, "you're a Thinker?" I could practically hear the gears in her head turning as she theorized about the new girl's powers.



"Not quite on the same level as you, but I make a good enough detective. While you're more Holmes-style deduction, I'm an expert at finding clues." Shamrock's voice was soft and low, a tone I was intimately familiar with. She was used to flying under the radar, trying not to draw attention. While she didn't seem to have the self-esteem or image problems I did, she definitely wasn't used to being the center of attention.



"Well," I spoke up, "since we're both interested in stopping a mass murderer, why don't we pool what we've got?"



Faultline gave a curt nod. "Shamrock, tell 'em what you found out. Maybe Tat, er, Foresight can get something new from it."



The redhead leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Well, the main thing is, the blood splatter's off."



Regent tilted his head. "Blood splatter? The place looked like they filmed about eighteen Herschel Gordon Lewis movies in there!"



"Exactly," she smirked. "And, since there was so much gore, I'm guessing you," she looked to Foresight, "focused more on the bodies and how they landed to determine how they were hit. But," her grin was disturbingly close to mirroring Lisa's, "there were inconsistencies. Tiny gaps where there shouldn't be."



Foresight sat upright, excited. "...Because if a blade had bisected them, it'd have kept going. If there's a gap in the splatter pattern from the point of entry..."



"...Then that means something was there to block the splatter. Something that is no longer there, something narrow. And, since there are no other gaps in splatter to indicate another body..."



My teammate sat back. "...Then we're not dealing with another Shaker. We're dealing with Kaiser's exact power set. So either we've got an evil Eidolon running around or another Faerie Queen..."



Shamrock finished the exchange. "...Or this is Kaiser's work and he's put aside idealism for straight-up butchery."



"Fuck me," Regent muttered. "Skinhead was bad enough when he was just playing at being Hitler. If he's decided to ditch the podium and jump straight to the ethnic cleansing... Shit."



"Admittedly," Foresight sighed, "Kaiser was our best theory at the time. We were just hoping it wasn't true."



"So," Gregor spoke up, his voice deep with a Scandinavian accent, "what is our next step?"



"Kaiser is likely fixating on former Empire territory," Foresight said as she leaned forward again, resting her chin in her palm. "If he doesn't try to bust out old loyalists like Hookwolf, we can expect him to go on a genocide spree against any 'impure' in his old stomping grounds. If we can convince the Protectorate that Kaiser is responsible and that he's not going to stop, perhaps we can put a kill order on him. Then all it would take is a spider or two, or a single shot from Miss Militia, and the body count stops in the double digits."



"A spider or two?" I held up my hands. "Look, I know I've...but I was being tortured! And I was on fire! I don't know if I could kill someone on purpose, with my head clear."



Grue rested a heavy hand on my shoulder. "And we're not asking you to. But, speaking as myself, I'd rather kill a criminal and have his blood on my hands than use kid gloves and let him murder others."



"Well look at you," Imp said from Regent's lap. When had she gotten there? On second thought, I decided I didn't want to theorize. "Just turned hero and already making big moral speeches."



Grue messed with her mask. "Hush, you."



"Alright then," Faultline said as she stood and her crew stood just after her. "Foresight, I figure you're going to provide info to the Protectorate. Would it be too much to ask for you to forward copies to me?"



I suppressed a wince. The rivalry between those two was well-documented.



"In the interest of stopping a serial-killing Nazi, I think we can work something out."



Huh, that was significantly less painful than I'd anticipated.



Grue stood and we took his cue. "It was good to meet with you, Faultline. I hope we can continue working on the same side."



As we left, Foresight hopped onto Atlas behind me. I could barely articulate my surprise. "Buh?"



"We should head over to the Rig and update the Protectorate in person." She smacked me on the rump and I yelped. "Mush!"

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 4.z



The armor was cast aside. Such garb was reserved for the nobility, the heroes and masters of their domain. Failure should have been met with execution, but the lords of the fiefdom were a world away. Instead, punishment came in the form of life: life with the knowledge of failure humiliation. Every last dream and hope had shattered and lay scattered on the ground like glass.



The armor was cast aside. Such garb was reserved for the courageous paladins who could meet their foes head-on, noble ideals surrounding them like a banner. Without an army to direct, with the armor stained by cowardice and failure, it would never again shine as a beacon of hope.



The armor was cast aside. Such garb was reserved for the mighty warriors worthy of changing the world. Everything had come crumbling down and the vermin picked through the wreckage as though they could even comprehend what humanity had wrought, what had very nearly been created. But all of that was dead now, a footnote in history so completely crushed that it would not even go down as one of the great tragic losses.



The armor was cast aside. It was broken by its former wearer, the hammer driven by hatred of the world and loathing of the self. Armor, glorious battles, publicly facing the enemy as a hero and herald of civilization's salvation? All of that could no longer exist. Life was pain now. The only thing that could be done, the only justification for life to go on, was to ensure that the vermin, the traitors, suffered that same pain; that they could know the suffering and tragedy they had brought upon themselves instead of existing in their blissful ignorance.



The armor was cast aside. Gone were the days of fair combat, or grand speeches and noble acts. Now subterfuge and treachery won the day. It was no longer battle, or even a crusade. There was no-one who could be convinced of that, no-one that gullible. No, this was no longer about ideals. This was vengeance and punishment, pure and simple. Armor would only be a detriment to an assassin.



(BREAK)



Just a few months ago, the biggest concern in the mind of one Rochester Wong was that his parents had saddled him with a stupid name. Then the war had happened and life became a nightmare. His father and cousins had been pressed into service by Bakuda and then E88 came to slaughter the Asian populace under the guise of rooting out ABB soldiers. Rochester's family had been unlucky; they were too far from the Docks to make it to the Undersiders' territory and so they did the only sensible thing and hid deep within ABB land.



Of course, by the time the war had ended, most gang territory had been turned to smoking craters and bombed-out husks that had once been buildings. While the Dockworkers' Union had stepped up and were making incredible steps to repair the city, the fact remained that thousands of people were left homeless.



A stop-gap procedure was proposed: the larger buildings suddenly found themselves with legally-enabled squatters. Mansions had their guest rooms all filled for the first time, while office buildings had whole floors converted into ramshackle flophouses. What was left of the Wong family were told that they were lucky to have gotten a proper house. Rochester didn't see any luck in the suffering his family had endured.



"Mom," Rochester hollered, "I'm home!"



Silence was his only answer. For the first time since they'd moved into that hole, his mother didn't reply. The other squatters didn't yell at him to shut up. The house was...dead.



Instinct thrummed through his veins, equal parts worry and panic. Half of him wanted to just run away, run to the PRT or the Undersiders or the regular cops. The other half, concerned for his mother, won out and he proceeded deeper into the house. Rochester didn't know why he was tiptoeing; he'd already called out and announced his presence, so there wasn't much point in sneaking. Regardless, he was still moving slowly, trying to remain unnoticed.



The stairs had a tendency to creak so, even though their room was on the second floor, Rochester opted to explore the ground level first. He kept low to the ground, fingers brushing the floor, and rounded the corner to the kitchen. He wished he hadn't.



The Maldonado family was dead. Not just dead, no, that was too kind a description. They had been ritualistically killed: impaled, crucified and disemboweled. Massive metal spikes lanced out of the floor, going straight through each person's center mass and exiting through their mouths, Vlad the Impaler style. Then, spikes had erupted from the center spine to hold the victims' arms out like a cross, the tips bursting from their palms. As if that wasn't horror enough, they had then been eviscerated, intestines left to pile on the floor before them.



Cristina Maldonado was only a few years older than Rochester, and he'd always had a crush on her. Now her corpse loomed before him, eyes ruptured and still leaking slowly clotting blood and fluids. Her body, formerly so beautiful, was a twisted mockery of itself, splattered with gore and oozing innards.



Rochester couldn't even scream. He tore up the stairs to his mother's room. Finally, a strangled gasping sob wrenched free from his throat. His mother was displayed the same as the Maldonado family. Rochester dropped to his knees, tears spilling down his face. He barely heard the sound of grinding metal before the spike plunged into his body and snapped his arms out to the sides.



With his head tilted back and the shining spike sticking from his mouth, Rochester could just barely make out the dark hair, the haunted eyes. Empty pupils shone with hate from behind a ragged mask. The man picked up a book and, with that same grinding noise, another lance of metal extended from the spine. With a single swipe, he opened the boy's abdomen and left him to bleed out. With a soft noise rather like the grinding sound being played in reverse, the metal receded back into the book until there was no sign it had ever been there.



Likewise, as the light left Rochester Wong's eyes, there was no sign the intruder had ever been there.



(BREAK)



The last time had been for vengeance. This time, it was about sending a message.



The armor was cast aside in favor of black cloth, the uniform of the betrayer and the deceiver. He could lie to himself, claim he had been reborn, but in truth he was undead. He was not greater than he had been; could never be anywhere near that greatness again. But he could make them hurt, show them pain in retaliation for their destruction of life's next hope.



He had never been an emperor; he had been a pretender to a throne that only existed as a dream. Now, he could not even lay claim to the dream.



No, he was not an emperor, no longer a Kaiser. He was a haunting, a ghost of ancient hate. He was der Klingengeist.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 5.x



It was all wrong.



Years of planning had fallen apart in the span of weeks, though that hadn't bothered him as much. Criminals were notorious for their eventual unreliability. He'd had contingency plans in place for the collapse of either of the major gang presences, but both of them collapsing at once? It was almost unheard-of. He would have taken the violent upheaval much worse had it not afforded him an easy shot at something far more valuable than any political pressure. His pet was hopelessly addicted to the special medicine his bathtub savant had cooked up, an ingenious combination of unshackled painkiller (practically catatonia-inducing in its potency) and the careful balance of nicotine and heroin for maximum addictiveness. The combination of benefit and dependency allowed him to keep pliable a little girl who, by age and circumstance, should have been far more rebellious and outright hostile.



Overall, if nearly all of his gangland-focused plans failing was the price to pay for the capture of Dinah Alcott, Coil considered it a fair trade.



Unfortunately, the numbers weren't adding up.



His pet was the most powerful precognitive to ever trigger, blessed with the gift of probability. With his ability to see through a dualistic splinter-point, Coil had expected that his plans would be almost immutable. They should have been. By manipulating circumstances, he could get close to 99% certainty of specific outcomes.



So why, then, were things not working out!?



To any observer who had the misfortune to be in his office, Coil would appear to be in a state of utter calm, barely moving, almost meditative. It was an impression he carefully cultivated, and yet another advantage to his body being completely concealed.



Within, however, his mind whirled in a combination thermonuclear tantrum and panic attack.



What is going wrong? I know she is not lying to me; she is too far gone for that. One occasion, maybe two? That is within the acceptable range of deviation. Coil knew enough about probability to know that it was entirely possible for the roulette ball to land on 00 three or more times in a row; however, with the certainty of one precognitive and the manipulations of another, chance should not have been spitting in his face as it had.



Coil opened an encrypted file in his computer, a file wherein he had begun to chronicle the wild deviations from probability that had sprung up. He steepled his fingers and let a low growl rise in his throat.



Kaiser was supposed to have his spirit broken by the loss of his Empire, his father's legacy weighing on him until he fled to Germany to avoid wellsprings of anti-Nazi sentiment in the aftermath of the Aryan movement's collapse that began in Brockton Bay. Instead, according to Foresight and his own informants, Kaiser was now murdering innocents, having by all accounts completely snapped.



Likewise, Skitter was supposed to have died in the final battle of the war, Kaiser running her through with a spear of metal. That murder would have been yet another reason for E88's leader to flee. Instead, Skitter survived, then lived through yet another near-death experience and seemed to only come back stronger. Worse still, the Undersiders were drawing away from him.



Following the threads of probability, Skitter's death was to galvanize the Undersiders into full-fledged heroism, while still remaining firmly under his thumb. Skitter's presence, the same moral compass that led them to heroics in the first place, seemed to be the factor that was causing them to pull back. Much like he would play his cards – Foresight's planning, no doubt, intended to match him measure for measure – they were keeping their plans closer to the vest while not outright opposing him.



With the majority of villains in prison, other groups had filled in. The Merchants' presence had expanded, focusing more on normal crime in an attempt to keep the Protectorate's gaze off of them, as well as to fill their coffers. As it stood, the Merchants were the only truly established gang and therefore controlled all crime in the city. In theory. In truth, without any true heavy hitters, the Merchants had focused on monopolizing crime while they could before someone bigger inevitably plucked the low-hanging fruit.



At the moment, Coil's money was on the Teeth. They were small, barely more than a handful, but Butcher had several lifetimes of experience with running a gang. Soon the Teeth would establish a proper foothold and begin recruiting ordinary humans, getting their fingers in the pie as quickly as they could. Unfortunately, the current Butcher was excessively cautious about vetting new recruits, so it was unlikely that Coil could slip spies into the organization until the Teeth had been established for some time.



It was the Adrift that most perplexed him. Circus and Trainwreck had each done independent contract work for him in the past, so when Trainwreck was approached by a new cape and all but threatened into forming a group, it had piqued Coil's interest. With Juggernaut, Migraine had physical power to spare, and she wanted Trainwreck to shore up the slow-motion Brute's shortcomings. With the promise of payment, Coil had sent Circus to join the team as well. The hope had been to insinuate his agents into the group and guide Migraine toward his employ. Unfortunately, the Korean woman was strong-willed to the point of bullheadedness and adamantly refused to be subservient to anyone. At the very least, she listened to input from her subordinates, so Coil could influence the Adrift's actions by whispering in Trainwreck's and Circus' ears.



With the incursion of new gangs came the inevitable testing of the waters, a circumstance that only further served to aggravate Coil. He had to devote so much attention to maintaining his hold on what territory he actually held that, again, he was prevented from taking as proactive a stance as he would like. Moreover, his employees were all ordinary humans. Exceedingly well-trained humans with backgrounds in the military or in private security firms, true, but they still could not compare with the kind of power that parahumans could bring to bear. His shock troops' rifles sported lasers that could cut through Trainwreck's armor, but he was uncertain if those weapons possessed sufficient stopping power to deal with Juggernaut.



The problem with employing parahumans, of course, was that might made right more often than not. As a precognitive of a sort, Coil was best suited to lead; however, if he could not orchestrate potential futures to avoid a direct fight, he would be crushed by nearly any cape with an offensive power and then his organization would be taken over by the usurper.



The only capes Coil could truly trust were the Travelers, and that was only because he was promising them a cure for their monstrosity's condition. The cure, of course, was a fabrication. Even if the girl's powers could be taken away, she was a nightmarish imitation of a person at this point, and he didn't just mean her body, which would undoubtedly die almost as soon as her powers were taken. Noelle was a caricature of a human being, a monster in form as well as mind. She refused to admit it, clinging to what shreds of her personality remained, but it was as obvious to him as a child playing fireman: she could no longer even properly comprehend what constituted a human.



Eventually, of course, his ruse would come to an end. Impatience or mistrust would win out and Coil would be forced to take action. Somehow, in the midst of every other cataclysmic upheaval, he needed to compose a proper contingency plan for eliminating Noelle and the rest of the Travelers.



Coil let out a deep sigh and sunk deeper into his chair, feeling very weary. He'd invested so much in this plan, so many years of moving pieces on various boards, insinuating catspaws and setting up favors owed to him. Even if he eventually found his goal unattainable, he would be condemned by his own hand to make the attempt regardless.



I need to blow off some steam. Closing his eyes behind his mask, he took a steadying breath and opened a new splinter point, already knowing which possibility he would discard. That in mind, one possibile future pressed the intercom. "Pilchard, send in Jeavons." He drew the stun gun from his desk.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interruption 5.01



If there had been any doubt of Kaiser being our new murderer, Scanner put that to rest. After being shown some of the metal left behind from the war's final battle and comparing that against the spears impaling the victims of the "mansion massacre," as the media were calling it (Scanner had to take a few minutes to violently throw up at the sight of that particular slaughter), she confirmed that the metals had the exact same shine to them. Kaiser was responsible for both.



Things had gotten...interesting from there. Assault had the idea to bring this news to the captured E88 capes. Night and Fog both had volunteered the information on two conditions: they needed to inform Purity, and the PRT had to offer amnesty to Purity. I had to admit, that was strange to me. Instead of fighting for their own freedom, they wanted to give it to Purity.



When I brought that up, Assault just gave me a sad smile. "They know they're monsters," he said. "It's actually sad. You see people like them every now and then, Aryan test subjects shipped internationally by Gesellschaft. They're so screwed-up that they actually know there's something wrong with them. So, apparently, they think Purity can be saved. It's sweet, in a sad way."



More surprising was what happened next: Purity leapt at the chance for amnesty the moment she was informed of Kaiser's madness. She was subsequently moved to a new location and placed under house arrest, which made sense once Fog gave us the info: Kaiser was Maxwell Anders, CEO of Medhall Pharmaceuticals, and Purity was his ex.



All of that commotion had taken place over the course of only three days. In that time, Anders had gone to ground. His message had been suitably received and minorities began a mass exodus from former Empire territory. Despite the fact that he was clearly bugfuck insane, Kaiser still had the sense to hide before he was found.



(BREAK)



"Uh, Skitter?"



Grue's voice snapped me out of my reminiscence. "Look, you do the whole 'brooding hero' thing really well, but could you stop setting up bug obelisks? I think it might send the wrong message."



I blinked, then realized what I'd been doing. While I was lost in memories, I had been assembling bugs into towering pillars similar to Kaiser's own current weapon of choice. The realization disgusted me a little and I dismissed them. The crowds of insects scuttled off to whence they'd come. "Sorry," I muttered in a low tone. "I can't stop thinking about Kaiser. I was too slow to stop him..."



A big arm wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug. "Don't think like that. It's not your fault. Nobody could have predicted that Kaiser would go insane like this. If you start taking responsibility for other people's actions..." He sighed and squeezed me tighter. "...Then you'll be like back at Winslow, when you suffered the bullying. You're better than that, Taylor."



I turned around in Grue's arms and returned the hug. "Thanks."



We stayed like that for probably a few minutes. I just needed somebody to hold me, help keep me grounded. Just as I rested my chin on his shoulder, my phone rang. "Every time..." I checked the number and saw that it was from PRT headquarters. Stepping away from Grue, I leaned against Atlas again and answered the call. "Skitter here."



"Skitter," yet another too-casual secretary spoke, "if you have time today, the Director would like for you to come in for a meeting."



I raised an eyebrow behind my mask. "Just me? Not the rest of the Undersiders?"



I could make out the sound of one-handed typing. "...No, the request was just for you. When can we expect you?"



Barely restraining a frustrated huff, I shook my head a little. "Fine. You can expect me at six. I'm bringing my father." Before any protest could be made, I hung up. "So..." I looked back to Grue, "think we should cut patrol short today?"



(BREAK)



On the way back home, we broke up three Merchant drug deals. Grue would drop darkness onto them and I would wrap them up in silk. Those who tried to run got covered in stings and fly bites. We made good time back home, even with a stop to drop Grue at HQ, and I parked Atlas in the basement.



"Hey dad," I called out as I came into the house, and immediately flushed a bit in embarrassment. Dad, Kurt, Lacey, Pete and Frankie were watching a sports game in the living room. And his superhero daughter just barged in like it was the most natural thing in the world.



Lacey looked over to dad. "Uh, Dan?" she whispered. "Do we pretend we don't know who she is? I don't know the etiquette..."



"That's up to her, I think," he said and looked to me. "Whatcha think, kiddo?"



I just shrugged. "This is weird enough already. Might as well just treat me as Taylor. Forgive me if I don't take off the costume, though; got a PRT meeting later and I wanted to bring dad along. But, if you're busy..."



Kurt bounced off the sofa and gave me a hug. "No way, Tails. We'd chase Danny out of here with pitchforks if he tried to stay."



I couldn't help chuckling and let him lead me over to the couch. He smushed me next to my father and sat on my other side, managing to fit his Cro-Magnon bulk back in his spot. Lacey squawked a bit as he squashed her a little.



"So PHO wasn't lying." Frankie was the cape nut of the Union, always a source of gossip – whether you wanted it or not – on the latest goings-on in the parahuman sphere. "Nice to see you again, Taylor."



I nodded and gave him a smile. Frankie's physique was closer to my father's than Kurt's. He was a technician, helping to maintain the various equipment used at the docks. He'd started balding at a young age so he kept his head shaved; it was only his darker complexion that saved him from being presumed a skinhead, and sometimes even his part-Hispanic swarthiness wasn't enough to keep ABB or Merchants from trying to start shit. Of course, in a post-ABB Bay, he had more room to breathe.



Pete smiled and gave me an exaggerated wave. The bulky blond man had been mute ever since an accident had shredded his larynx, but he didn't let it get him down. Apparently he hadn't been much of a talker even before the accident, so not much changed. He learned sign language for if he ever had to carry on a conversation, but in his line of work a sharp whistle and a gesture were typically all he needed, and it seemed that he liked it that way.



"So what's the meeting about?" If Frankie hadn't gotten the chance to ask that question, I would have expected him to chew off his own arm in frustration.



"I'm not sure, actually. Director Piggot called me in, and just me, which makes me a little nervous. That's why I want dad with me." I leaned closer to my father and whispered in his ear. "Where'd you put the raptors?"



"Had them go nap in your room," he replied under his breath.



"That's a good idea," Lacey said to me. "Your old man's good at dealing with stuff like that."



"Yeah," he snorted. "I handle the legalese and negotiations while my baby girl here deals with the dragons and superNazis."



Pete whistled and began to sign. Lacey, woman of many talents, translated for us. "Hey, Kurt and Lacey weren't surprised. You told them but not us?"



"Frankie can't keep a cape secret to save his life and, frankly, nobody else needed to know. They're het godparents, after all."



Pete gave the pretty much universal shrug for 'fair enough' and we all chuckled.



"So, what's it like? In a cape fight, I mean?"



Everybody else gave Frankie an incredulous look. Before anybody could snap at him, though, I opted to reply. No sense in ruining the relaxing environment, after all.



"Well, I can't speak for anybody else, but...I get kinda detached. Fear and nervousness get pushed to the back of my mind. I can still feel them, but they don't affect me as much as they should. It's a lot more clinical than you might expect. It also helps that I can see the fight from different angles with my bugs. Makes it easier to focus and harder to be surprised." I sighed. "Still, after the fact, when the adrenaline wears off, I remember all that fear. The final fight of the war, I thought we were all gonna die. That's shit-your-pants level of fear, several times over. Being a parahuman is nice and all, and I get to help people, but capes have to look death in the face more often than just about anybody else..."



Well, guess I ruined the relaxing environment anyway.



"So when's the meeting?" Thank you, dad, for changing the subject.



"Six. So I figured we could hang out a little, I could get in the right head space, and then we could drive there. I'll have Atlas follow, just in case."



"Well," dad's smile rivaled Lisa's for sheer mischievousness, "I've never gotten to ride on Atlas before. Think there'd be room for your old man?"



As I giggled, Frankie was positively bouncing in his seat. "Oh man, can I meet Atlas before you go?"



It was nice to know that some things didn't change.



(BREAK)



My father gave a manic little laugh once we finally dismounted. As before, Atlas scuttled off to find a quiet spot for a nap. "So," I asked him now that we didn't have to shout over Atlas' buzzing wings, "what did you think?"



Dad chuckled. "Equal parts amazing and terrifying. Like riding a roller coaster without a harness."



"You know I wouldn't–" My face (what little of it was exposed) must have shown my distress even before I spoke because he cut me off.



"I know, sweetheart. I know, but on an instinctual level it's still frightening as hell." He looped an arm around my shoulders, under my hair. "So let's head on in. This'll be my first time to really get a good look at the Rig; last time there were way too many people."



Since I'd had small numbers of bugs explore the hallways each time I'd come, by now I had a fair understanding of the main thoroughfares in the Rig. After we checked in with the troopers on duty at the helipad, we were told to report to Armsmaster's office.



Honestly, I hadn't realized he had an office. Of course, I immediately realized that this was dumb of me: he was the leader of the Protectorate, he had to have an office.



It made more sense when we discovered that his office was just an attachment to his lab.



Armsmaster's office was by no means what one would expect from a Tinker: the idea of a parahuman inventor's office conjured images of holographic interfaces, furniture popping out of the floor, all that good stuff. The office in which I found myself was pretty much the antithesis of those concepts. The room hadn't even been repainted from when the Rig had been an actual oil rig, yellow pipes and gray walls. Moreover, the furniture looked like a tornado had careened through a flea market. The desk was a freaking fold-out tin number, for crying out loud! In fact, the only thing that actually looked worthy of any administrative position was Armsmaster's own chair, an ergonomically designed faux-leather rolly chair from one of the big-box office supply chains.



Armsmaster sat behind his desk, Miss Militia leaned her back against a wall from her position on a metal barstool, and Director Piggot was in her own custom chair which she probably had wheeled here. The big man moved his laptop, a Frankenstein's monster of circuits and motherboards inside a hinged Plexiglas box, to the side so he could see us more clearly. After a moment, he seemed to remember that he was the host this time. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to a mustard-colored couch.



"Sheesh, did you get all this stuff from a garage sale?"



Damn it, dad. The industrial setting must have put him in the Union mindset.



"Yes," came Armsmaster's flat, matter-of-fact reply.



Oh.



I cleared my throat and subsequently swallowed down some creep. "So, um, why did you want me here?" My voice squeaked a bit at the end. Damn it. My old fears were creeping back in. They weren't going to start treating me like the next Nilbog now.



Armsmaster inclined his head. "We need to talk about your...creations."



Fuck me running.



Piggot raised a hand. "Taylor, there's no cause for alarm. You're a good kid. But you understand the danger here, don't you? You can create living bombs that can cripple Lung, one of the most powerful and durable parahumans on the planet. On top of that, you've suffered staggering amounts of trauma, both mental and physical. One more really bad day and there's the very real possibility that Brockton Bay could become the next Ellisburg."



"Tell her there's no cause for alarm, then give her plenty of reasons to be alarmed. Nice." Dad was trying to use humor to calm me as well as deal with a situation that was seriously out of his depth, but I was terrified they'd see it as disrespect and take that much harsher a stance against me.



"The line is a cliché, but it's still true," Armsmaster intoned, "with great power comes great responsibility. Not only responsibility to and over others, but over yourself."



Piggot gave me a meaningful look and I got her message. If the PRT could be corrupt, with so many checks and balances, I had to acknowledge that I was in similar danger.



I let out a heavy sigh. "So, what are we here to talk about, exactly? Is this just a lecture, or...?"



Miss Militia picked up the conversation. "Well, quite honestly, we're interested in your ability, in-depth. How many creatures you can create, how you do it, et cetera. The full extent of your power will come out eventually, and there will be panic. But it will do a lot to alleviate that panic if the local PRT can confirm you're no threat, that we understand your powers and know we can trust you."



My father gave them all an incredulous look. "You can't trust her now?"



"I think we can trust her to try to do the right thing," Armsmaster replied, "but it's not that simple. Imagine, for example, if I left my halberd and armor unsecured where anybody could take them. So somebody does take them, and commits horrible crimes with them. That is, in large part, my fault for not keeping such dangerous technology more secure. Or," he leaned back, "the recent trial of Paige McAbee, Canary. She lost control just once and a man killed himself under the influence of her power. Her very voice is a weapon." I could feel him lock eyes with me even through his visor. "You have the ability, potentially, to create an army of deadly monsters that can tangle with Kaiser and come out ahead. Can you imagine what could happen if you lost control just once?"



I finally understood what had them worried. Images of my raptors killing dad and my friends came to mind, Atlas toppling buildings, bursters melting whole city blocks.



"That wouldn't happen," I replied with confidence. "That's not how my critters work. I'm out of range of my raptors, yet I don't have to be worried." I smiled a little. "My creations, the ones with enough intelligence to not just be insects, have good personalities. The raptors are sweethearts, cuddly puppies. Of course, when someone tries to hurt me or my friends, they're as fierce as the best guard dogs."



"I can vouch for that," dad said. "I was upset and one brought me a squeaky toy. They're just big, spiky dogs. One of 'em sleeps at the foot of my bed."



Miss Militia raised an eyebrow. "Wait, raptors plural? I thought you only had the one that got killed by Menja."



"I made more." My tone was as flat as if I was saying the sky was blue. "Atlas got really hurt in the last fight we were in. He needs backup. I do best with a swarm, so a half-dozen raptors plus Atlas should be enough to help me outmaneuver bad guys."



From Armsmaster's mouth, it appeared he was equal parts horrified and enthralled. "And how do you make these creatures?"



"Well, for the bursters – that's what we're calling the bomb bugs now – I just cough 'em up. And apparently I can pull an Imhotep and spew out a swarm of simple bugs if need be. Learned how to do that just in time to save my life from Sophia." I snarled that last point and dad squeezed my shoulder, a comforting presence. Atlas was also there, again willing to accept my stress. "For the bigger ones, I have to cough up what I call an uglybug, which has what L-Foresight calls 'mutable DNA' in its abdomen. I then program it and feed it more creep – the purple stuff I spit out – and it swells up, forming the critter inside itself."



"Things are ugly as sin, but they're living eggs, so they're cool too."



I opted to just let my father's contribution stand on its own. "They also eat the creep. I figured out how to create this thing I call a creeper that produces a...a mostly inert version of my creep, which feeds them. I have one at our headquarters and another at home. And no, they can't reproduce, nor can they create more of themselves. That's entirely up to me, since they can't even make the uglybugs I use for the base."



Dad spoke up again. "I trust Taylor, and any of her creations, with my life. They all have her good heart."



Okay, I practically melted at that. While I knew my father loved me, hearing that kind of praise – and hearing it spoken to the freaking Protectorate – was almost overwhelming in its significance to me.



"Would you agree to let us study one?"



The Director's question was reasonable enough. "Sure, but I have to be present and the most damage you do to it is a blood draw or skin sample. They're my babies and living creatures. I'm not going to let someone kill and dissect them." After a moment, I tossed in an addendum. "But if, god forbid, one of them dies, you're welcome to dissect it. I want to foster acceptance and understanding of my creatures, and maybe you can figure out exactly how I do what I do, and if it could be applied to people." I saw the disgusted looks. "Not like that! I draw on my reservoir of creep to heal faster than normal, as well as other beneficial adaptations. Imagine if we could put an IV drip that could heal burn victims' scars, or make firefighters flame-retardant? Give PRT troopers increased resistance to being tossed around by capes."



Director Piggot looked impressed. "I can't say I've heard many parahumans with so many ideas for helping people. And you've never once thought of turning a profit from those ideas, have you?" She actually giggled at my surprised expression, a sound that was somehow appropriate for a woman of her size and rank. Over time, she was beginning to feel like a gruff aunt. I couldn't help smiling in return. "Alright, Taylor. I think we–"



"Could we see you make one?" Armsmaster interjected, then finally had the sense to look a bit embarrassed a few seconds later. "If that's not too much trouble, that is."



I chuckled nervously. "Uh, sure. I, um, I have a few new ideas, so if you wouldn't mind me trying something new? Also, now you've got me all nervous, so I want to experiment among other heroes in case something goes wrong."



"I understand that kind of nervousness," Miss Militia smiled. "The flechette caster – the weapon I used to help subdue Lung and Menja – is actually one of Masamune's inventions. I was terrified something might explode when I first manifested it."



"Okay then. Dad?"



Having seen me work with this stuff before, my father stood behind me and gripped my shoulders. I focused and began to cough, eventually forcing up one of the hideous little things, which splattered on the ground. I heard someone make a noise of revulsion. I couldn't blame them.



My mind went into the nasty critter and I began toying with the designs. While I had ranged power with my clouds of insects, eventually I'd encounter a foe who couldn't be taken down solely with melee power. In a fight against someone like Glory Girl, for example, Atlas alone might not be enough. Some distance offense would be very helpful.



My first thought was to create a walking fire hydrant of my bursters' chemical soup, but not only would that be incredibly lethal, I still hadn't figured out how exactly to safely alter the structure of those bugs. Okay, second idea was for some sort of living gun. Problem was, how would it reload? Problem fixed: customized reservoir that continually refilled itself, replicating the weapons the creature would produce. Harpoon guns used pressurized air to launch their projectiles; I could do the same with a blast of creep behind the weapons, which I decided would be spears of modified chitin, the kind that made up Atlas' blades.



I gnawed my bottom lip as more scenarios ran through my head. The reload time was slow, too slow to really be effective. But if I added a second launcher, it could alternate between shots, considerably increasing firing speed and the ability to put pressure on baddies. Problem was, the force from the pressurized shots would snap necks or cause impacted spinal cords. Something different, then... A serpentine body! The flexibility would allow them to mitigate damage from the backblast, while it would also let them dodge more easily. Since they weren't melee fighters, they'd need the chance to pull back; they'd also be one of the main targets for any ranged bad guy.



It needed arms as well – forelimbs, technically, to aid with stability in the same way that the raptors' forelegs did. But they'd also need to be useful for defense. Immediately I thought of the raptors' blades and couldn't get the idea out of my head. Okay, fine. If my brain was so dead-set on it, who was I to argue? Folding the limbs around yet again, I gave it two mantis-like bladed limbs. They didn't have the raw strength behind them like the raptors did, but they would be enough to ward off attackers.



I ran into one more problem: the head. In order to move effectively, the creature needed to have its reservoir in its head. That meant it needed to be large. Furthermore, it needed to narrow toward the front so that its spears could safely launch without risking self-stabbing. I also wanted it to be able to fit through doors – something poor Atlas couldn't do – so the entire head needed to be relatively narrow. This left it with a tiny face. While it was easy enough to put the eyes more on the sides of the...foreskull? Why not. While that gave the thing good field of vision, it still left the mouth tiny. It wouldn't be able to properly eat creep. I hit on the solution as I remembered Atlas. I gave the thing a double-hinged jaw. Not only did the mouth open like a human's, but the mandible split in half like Atlas' slide-open mouth, allowing for far greater consumption. I gave the creature a diamondback coloration and saved the template in the back of my mind.



"Okay, brace yourselves. This gets gross." I proceeded to spew creep all around the uglybug, the living egg sucking up every last drop and swelling to about twice the size of a raptor egg.



When it burst, the guttural combination of a hiss and gasp announced the birth of my newest creation.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interruption 5.02



In hindsight, I should have thought this through more.



We all should have, really. Especially Armsmaster, but then again he seemed more socially inept than me, which was a pretty big statement.



My new critter tilted his head, confused as to why the round one was making so much noise and pointing something at him. I made sure to keep him calm, since bullets wouldn't work on him anyway, and did my best to keep my voice even yet make myself heard over the Director's shouting.



"I'm sorry. I didn't think it through, didn't put two and two together. I understand why this would scare you so much, and I'm really, really sorry."



My creature caught on to the contrite tone of voice and lowered his head a little, trying to look guilty and repentant. He hissed again and wiggled himself backward to rest against me.



"Emily," Miss Militia was doing a much better job of making her voice both loud and calm, but then she had much more experience. "Emily, please. I was hoping you could tough this out; still think you can. But if you keep panicking you're going to kill yourself, over a creature that's trying to say it's sorry." She pointed at the new creation, which was now curled up on the ground, tail draped over its foreskull.



Apparently everyone else's calm reactions – well, my dad and Armsmaster were more perplexed than calm – gave Piggot's brain time to reboot, because she finally stopped yelling and took a moment to observe. I could tell she was about to mutter some bureaucratic pseudo-apology, so I took the initiative.



"Director, you don't need to apologize. I know what trauma is like. Hell, I think everybody in this room does. But please believe me when I say you're in no danger. He's completely under my control and, even if he wasn't, he feels nice. Then again, all my critters thus far have been nice," I was rambling, but maybe that was needed here. I rested a hand on the massive rear half of his skull. "This guy here feels really curious and inquisitive, like a bird or monkey in the same way my raptors are like dogs." I coaxed the beast out of his prostrated position and back to a more straightened one. "You lived through a nightmare the likes of which I can imagine, but barely." I looked her in the eyes. "For kids who've had bad experiences with dogs, sometimes introducing a friendly one can help break the fear. Now, I know that's a major oversimplification of what you've suffered, but maybe, if you meet this guy...you won't be afraid of him?"



'God, she's just a little kid.' Whoa, where did that come from? That wasn't my inner monologue; it sounded like a fuzzy old radio feed, buzzing and kind of robotic.



Piggot narrowed her eyes at me and I felt a chill shoot down my spine. Good lord, but the woman had presence. It was no wonder she was a PRT director, Ellisburg honors or not. "Miss Hebert, if this creature harms me in any way, I authorize a kill order on you. Do you understand?"



Even dad didn't protest. I think he understood the gravity of the situation: this, right here, was proving I wasn't Nilbog to a person who had survived fighting Nilbog. At length, I managed to breathe out a reply. "Understood."



She stepped up to the creature, which loomed above her. Even with his body curled into an S shape and a fair amount of tail coiled on the ground, he still was about a good eight feet tall at the rear of his skull, putting his face at roughly my eye level; therefore, his standard eye level was several inches above the Director's. He lowered his head to better see her.



Piggot reached forward and poked the middle of his foreskull. He gave one of his rasping hisses in response, jaw opening and splitting, and she recoiled with a grunt. The critter tilted his head, then moved forward, nudging his head against her hand. She almost yelped when he moved, but then looked utterly puzzled. Tentatively, she moved her hand along the smooth carapace of his skull. He hissed again and closed his eyes, gently leaning into the touch.



"Aww," I said softly, "he likes you."



Piggot barked out a sharp, nervous laugh. "It's... You're... Ngh, how!?" Her nervousness turned to anger. "How is this possible!?" She stepped around my critter, who looked disappointed that his petting had ceased. "You make monsters! You spew slime! You look like an alien! How can you be so...nice!?"



I replied as my father stood, ready to defend me. My voice was low, hard, maybe even a little angry. "I triggered as a result of savage bullying, physical and psychological torture, which was done to me for no goddamn reason. Do you know how easy it would have been, even with just control of bugs, to murder everyone at Winslow? None of them helped me; I could have so easily justified punishing them all. But what would that get me? Brief satisfaction, maybe. Instead, I want to be a hero. I want to protect others and maybe, one day, help create a world where little girls like me aren't tortured. Where people can feel safe around their neighbors." I wasn't sure where all this was coming from, but I decided to run with it. I stepped into Piggot's personal space. "I don't make monsters, Director. Monsters are Jack Slash, Sophia Hess, Madison Clements. Monsters are Bakuda, Janice Blackwell, Gesellschaft. And they all look just like everybody else. Yes, my creatures are different, but just because they might look strange doesn't mean they're monsters! They're sweet and kind and only want to help! Because I want to help! I have the power to help people or hurt them, and I choose to make the world just a little bit better than how I came into it. So how can I be so nice? It's simple: because I want to be."



Piggot took a deep breath, then winced and grabbed (I assume) at her kidneys. "You're right," she said at length. "I can't let old fears dictate how I behave toward new people. I came to this meeting expecting for my previous experiences to be overturned, expecting you to be a monster in disguise, and hoping for that not to be true. But when it turned out not to be true, I...couldn't accept it." She took a step back, reestablishing her personal space bubble. "I saw an entire city massacred on the whim of a single person. I won't lie: you frighten me because you have similar powers. But," she held up a finger, "I believe you. You want to be a good person, and you want to help others."



"And you didn't before?" Honestly, I had to agree with my father there.



"I did, but there's a difference between having ideals and being able to stand up for them. Skitter is right; she could have killed everyone in her school and thought herself justified." She looked back at me. "But you didn't. It's easy to say you want to be the bigger person, but harder to do so. You chose to do the right thing with no reward waiting for you and, from you sharing your ideas, it seems you still don't really expect a reward." She hobbled back to her chair. "Dedication saves lives, but it's that kind of idealism that saves souls, if you'll pardon the dramatics." Piggot let out another sigh. "Look, this whole meeting got out of hand. I froze up when Armsmaster made his suggestion, things got out of control. That said, I'm kind of glad they did. It gave me the chance to really see who you are, with all the stuffy posturing and formalities done away with. Skitter, I'm honored to work alongside you." She then shot a sidelong look at my critter. "Although, I would like you to take that off the premises."



I gave a nervous chuckle. "Heh, yeah. We'll head back to the helipad. I think Atlas should be able to airlift the new guy in addition to us," I gestured at myself and my father. I gave my new creation a quick mental command and it followed on my heels. On a whim, I did my best to stealthily spit up an earbug to listen in on the trio's discussion after we were gone. It wasn't that I didn't trust them, but I did want to understand what they thought of me, uncensored.



As we walked, I could feel my serpentine critter's eyes wandering over everything. He followed obediently but it was clearly difficult for him to do so with so many new sights, sounds, smells and other sensations. He undulated from side to side like a wave, his long tail smoothly propelling him and allowing him to match my pace without trouble.



Dad spoke up. "Taylor, I just want you to know that I'm proud of you. And I meant what I said in there. You have a good heart and I trust you and your critters." The new thing gave a happy little hiss, possibly responding to my own elation like dogs sometimes did around Cerberus. "So, do you have a name for the new guy?"



Someone sighed. When she spoke, I realized it was Director Piggot. "Well, that was fucking terrifying. I think that whole display shaved a few years off my life."



"I'm sorry," Armsmaster said, his bland voice managing to give off some sense of contrition. "I got wrapped up in excitement over new things to discover and forgot about..."



"Yeah," I replied. "I think I'll call him a spiker."



"Because of the arm-things?"



I chuckled. "Not exactly. I'll show you later."



"I need to apologize, as well. This made me realize that I haven't been giving my all. I'll not mince words: it's due to my stubborn pride and, well, bitterness. The capes failed us as Ellisburg, left all us ordinary people to die. So I wanted to prove that you don't need powers to make a difference."



"You've definitely proven that, Director," said Miss Militia. "So, what are you–"



"I'm saying that, because of an old grudge, I haven't taken advantage of every resource available to me. Because I wanted to prove that PRT troopers could be just as valuable as Protectorate capes, I've endangered my life. But if little Taylor Hebert, Nilbog 2.0, can buck the trend so effectively... I'm probably not making as much sense as I'd like to; this has been a rough day. But the point is, with the fight in PRT HQ just a couple months ago, and the stress now, I might die. I'm in overwhelming amounts of pain as we speak." Piggot sighed again. "Pride and values are all well and good, but if I die just to be stubborn, I'm only hurting the people I'm sworn to protect."



We made our way to the helipad, where Atlas was waiting. Once we'd climbed on, Atlas buzzed over and took the spiker in his legs, then carefully lifted off to make sure he could fly. Rather than heading home, though, I steered us in the direction of the docks.



Silence hung in the room, the heroes apparently just as confused as I was. Piggot spoke again, and things started to make sense. "Set me up an appointment with Panacea."



(BREAK)



We landed at the Boat Graveyard, Atlas letting the spiker slither away before he touched down. "So," dad hopped off the big beetle, "why exactly are we here?"



I grinned. "Weapons test."



"...That fills me with unnameable dread."



"Then I'm doing it right!" I struck a dramatic pose and pointed at a nearby rusted hulk that had once been a boat. "Fire!"



With a brief wet sucking sound, the carapace on either side of the spiker's skull split open to reveal deep, fleshy tubes like mineshafts. Another noise, like a cross between a gunshot and a water balloon popping, and I caught the blur of a green javelin before it tore clean through the boat.



And kept going.



"Holy shit," I whispered, not trusting that my voice wouldn't crack if I spoke any louder. "Okay, I get why people might think I'm scary." I had another thought in mind but it was derailed as I could feel the spiker's reservoir begin to reconstitute the spear, and I realized I could control how the spear was designed. For the next one, I blunted the end. "Alrighty, shot number two."



With the same gunshot-splash noise, the next shaft only punched clean through one side of the boat, getting lodged halfway through the hull on the other side. I closed my eyes and ran through several different basic spear designs, putting them in a mental save file attached to the spiker, so that I could easily reference them without having to put mental energy into redesigning them during a firefight. And yes, apparently my mind did indeed work like a computer when it came to recording changes to my critters.



"So," I laughed under my breath, "turns out this latest idea is amazingly destructive. Well, at least I have something that can deal with Brutes without risking its life..."



Dad finally seemed to regain his voice. "I gotta ask, what's the thought process behind making something like this? Or any of your critters, really?"



"Well, I come up with a need, then I start running...let's call them simulations in my mind. Things just build up organically from there. With this guy," I patted the spiker on its side, "I started with the head and spear-shooters, then addressed problems as they came up. Like, it needed a snake body to survive the backlash from its shots. And it needed the split-open mouth to be able to eat enough creep to stay alive."



Dad gave me a little hug. "Annette was the creative one and I was the problem-solver. Looks like you got the best of us both, kiddo."



I wish I could say the big, goofy grin that split my face was dignified, or that I didn't still have a giddy little smile as we took to the air again, the spiker clutched in Atlas' legs. My smile did fade, however, when I looked at my buzzing phone.



Glory Girl had put out an APB. She'd been ambushed and needed backup.



(BREAK)



The Travelers were out in force, and proving that they'd been holding back during the war.



Assholes.



They'd managed to blindside Glory Girl and isolate the battle to a construction site, using Sundancer's mini-sun and Trickster's power to keep her where they wanted her. By the time I arrived, dropping dad off on a nearby building, the Pelhams had shown up. Ballistic was keeping them at bay by launching handfuls of rivets, screws and assorted debris, keeping them pinned behind Sarah and Eric's shields.



Genesis, this time some sort of floating jellyfish monster, kept slowly hovering toward Glory Girl. More than anything else, Victoria was putting her effort into avoiding that creature. With the Pelhams pinned down and the Dallons probably still several minutes out, I needed to step in.



I landed Atlas and stepped off, pulling a swarm together and surrounding the Travelers, not yet revealing the bugs' presence. "I'm giving you one chance to pull back and leave. You don't take it, I'll have to start hurting you."



Ballistic launched a chunk of wood past my head: far enough away that it wouldn't hit me, close enough to send the message. They weren't backing down.



"Fair enough." The wet gunshot sounded and Ballistic leapt back when a two-foot spear covered in vicious barbs impaled the ground inches from his feet. My spiker was perched on the rooftop with my father, but with so many eyes to guide the shots it could snipe with impunity. The shot was intended solely as a distraction, however, and I let my swarm descend.



I was uncertain if Genesis could be affected by the bugs, so I had Atlas tackle her. Ballistic found his nose and mouth flooded with flies, Trickster's eyes were obscured by roaches and other larger insects, and Sundancer was harried by wasps.



To my surprise, Genesis didn't try to squirm free. Instead she repositioned herself and sprayed a mist into Atlas' face. He fell deep asleep almost instantly. I checked him over to make sure he was unharmed; thankfully, he was just passed out. Well, that explained what they were doing: they were trying to kidnap Glory Girl.



No longer pinned down, the Pelhams bum-rushed the Travelers. Ballistic blind-fired squashed globs of bugs at them even while choking on the insects already in his throat. I began desperately making the bugs crawl back out of him, not wanting to kill someone. You've already killed once, said a traitorous part of my mind. They're bad people.



That didn't make it justified.



Trickster managed to claw the roaches away from his eyes long enough to swap me with Ballistic...the moment before Manpower's fist would have impacted him. The punch hit me square in the chest, cracking my armor and sending me flying. I slammed into a dumpster and just lay there stunned for several seconds.



While the human side of my brain rebooted, the insect side worked overtime. I drew the fliers, horseflies and junebugs in particular, into a single large cloud and then launched them in a spiraling cylinder straight for Trickster. I was banking on his being unable to teleport himself, and hoping like all hell my guess was right. Instead of the bugs swarming him, they performed a kamikaze assault to plow into him like a colossal punch. While a few flies were annoying, and a junebug could kind of hurt if it rammed into you, thousands of those insects hurtling themselves in a cohesive charge carried force sufficient to bear Trickster to the ground.



Without Trickster messing with the battle lines, things turned into a curbstomp. Lady Photon and Laserdream beat Genesis into the ground under an artillery barrage of energy beams while Glory Girl tackled Ballistic and took him by the leg, slamming him around violently enough to remind me of Bentley mauling Butcher.



Trickster must have come back into the fight again, because suddenly we were regrouped: heroes on one side, Travelers on the other, and an enormous ball of nuclear fusion between us. Having a disadvantage in pretty much every category, the villains did the smart thing and took off running. Glory Girl tried to fly over the sun but a chunk of masonry slammed into her arm and sent her spinning, leaving her disoriented. By the time the sun was dispelled, Brandish and Flashbang had made it to the scene and the Travelers were long gone.



Carol Dallon swept her daughter up into her arms, hugging her tight. "Are you alright, Vicky?"



"What happened here, anyway?" Lady Photon floated over to her sister and niece.



Glory Girl gave her mother a squeeze and turned to Sarah. "Well, I was on patrol and was about to swing by Brockton Memorial and pick up Ames, when all of a sudden a freakin' car knocks me out of the sky. Then the Travelers are just there, doing their best to keep me trapped while Genesis keeps chasing me."



"They wanted to kidnap her." I walked up to the group and pointed at Atlas. "Genesis put him into a deep sleep just by breathing on him."



Glory Girl knocked the wind out of me with a hug. "Thanks so much for the help, Skitter!"



Manpower stepped up and offered me a handshake. "And, uh, no hard feelings for the punch?"



I shook his hand. "No broken bones, and I can fix the armor easily enough. Sarah, perhaps you and Vicky should go get Amy. She's no fighter, so what if somebody wants to try grabbing her too?"



"Shitfuck!" Before her mother could reprimand her for the coarse language, Glory Girl was already streaking toward the hospital. Lady Photon took off after her.



I looked around at the other members of New Wave. "So, um, I was bringing my dad home, but our ride's unconscious. Could we get some help, maybe?"



Neil smiled. "Sure. It's the least we could do. Crystal, Eric, could you give Skitter and her dad an airlift? I'll carry her bug." With only a mild grunt of effort, he hefted Atlas onto his shoulders.



I took out my phone as Laserdream tucked her arms under mine and lifted me into the air. "Thanks for this, I mean it. I'm just gonna let the other Undersiders know we're alright."