-
Going forward, links to content from Twitter (now X) will no longer be embedded. Pre-existing links should not be affected.
Raccoon Knight (OC)
- Thread starter bee.exe
- Start date
-
- Tags
- worm original character
6.z - Interlude; Secondhand smoke
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.z
Flames roared around them, driving them away with primal fear implanted from their ancestors. Abi dug her fingers into her side to try squeezing the pain out of the stitch that had formed there. Her lungs ached from running and the smoke that filled them. For all the energy she spent bouncing around a room, she wasn't anywhere close to being in shape. Fear was a powerful enough motivator to fight through the tears welling in her eyes at the strain.
Burnscar had come for them in the night, burning the shelter to ash. Thanks to Shatterbird waking them up—a bizarre sentence that Abi would repeat for years to come should she survive this—they had been awake when she had attacked. They had run, leaving the burning shelter behind. After making some distance, they stopped to rest, giving themselves time to breathe, and to watch the black plumes of smoke billowing up from their temporary home.
Their break had been short-lived—they were followed.
Abi had seen only a handful of capes in real life; Burnscar had never been on her potential dream meetings list—not at all. Seeing her walk out of the fire, her eyes alight with the same orange glow as the surrounding flames, Abi felt secure in her reasoning. Her eyes didn't see a human walking out of those flames; they saw a primal force of nature, the very personification of fire and destruction itself.
Dash had reacted first, yanking on Abi's arm before she had time to even be afraid.
They had run past broken buildings as the world burned around them and had left behind those who stumbled. She had tried to stop for one of them, only to be driven away by an explosive ball of fire that burnt her hands red raw. Dash had rescued her from her ill-fated altruism, just as he had rescued her from her stunned stupor when the fire elemental had arrived.
Her lungs ached, her muscles burned, and her brain knew nothing but panicked fear as they made their way out of the city.
Amidst the chaos of escape, they were separated from the rest of the group. Only Dash, still gripping her burned hand, remained with her.
When they were far from the fires behind them, far enough that the tops of the plumes of smoke drowning out the night sky were visible, Dash dragged her through the broken window of what had once been someone's home. Remnants of a life well lived remained, abandoned because of the water, if the moss covering every inch told the correct story. They ducked away, hiding out of sight from the outside world. In a ransacked kitchen, they sat on the glass-covered floor, trying to catch their breath through smoke-filled lungs.
Every part of her body ached, but she felt strangely numb to it, as if she had ascended from her mortal form. The glass on the floor scratching at her burnt hands didn't bother her—nor did the wheezing breaths she was taking.
Nothing felt real any more. Her memories belonged to someone else who had occupied her skin. Everything past losing her home blurred together as if she were watching a movie. Time only made her body and mind feel more distant. Learning her home was gone hurt, but she could recover—it was only things. Watching her dad fistfight people trying to take their rations had cemented that it wouldn't be a long time until she saw an actual bed again. Her Mom teaching her how to hold and use a knife had only made things worse. Finding out Meadow was Raccoon Knight had been tainted by being held at knifepoint. And seeing those people die, for reasons she still didn't know, tipped her over the edge. When she had tried to put some balance into the world after that, to do something good, it had backfired. Now, the Moss burned away, spreading the flames further than the water ever would have.
She had sent a message to the universe that she wouldn't drown in the tar, and it had responded: You will.
Dash pressed his face into his shaking hands without a sound. He tapped his head against the wall with barely a noise, then just sat there with his face covered, trying not to cry too loud to tell Burnscar where they were.
Unsure of what else to do, Abi shuffled across to rest her head against him. The comfort of another body did nothing for her numbness, but she hoped it would help her friend, even if only a little. She still cared, despite the feeling of distance. She still wanted the world to be good and for everything to be okay for both her and everyone around her. It just didn't feel like it would happen anytime soon.
They sat there for a long time, quietly mourning a life they didn't want in the first place.
Running on only a few hours of sleep, Abi could barely keep her eyes open. She wasn't sure if she had fallen asleep when Dash shook her shoulders.
"We need to move," he said, his voice a whisper. "I think she's here."
Still caught between sleep and reality, she obediently followed him as he guided them out of the kitchen through to the backdoor. They kept low to the ground, a half-crouch that kept them below the windows and out of sight.
Unavoidable glass crunched beneath their feet. Like when she sneaked downstairs to get a midnight snack, each tiny noise felt amplified a thousand-fold.
Smoke was billowing in from under the backdoor as they reached it. Dash turned, taking them back into the kitchen.
Orange light danced in the living room near the front door. They were surrounded.
Dash racked his brain for a plan, trying to find an escape route. The living room would put them close to the fire, but he remembered seeing a door in the back that might lead to somewhere safer. Out of the kitchen window would put them directly on the burning street, and out the backdoor would put them in a burning garden. Both were bad, but which was safer?
He didn't have time to break them down to a pros and cons list; he needed to act.
He scooped up a handful of glass and stored it in his pocket, then fished through the cutlery drawer to find a knife. Either someone scavenged them or the family never had any, because all he found was a potato peeler.
After arming himself, he grabbed Abi by the wrist and dragged her with him to the living room. As he remembered, a door sat at the back of it near the stairs. With no time to spare, he threw it open and made his way inside. The skeleton of a dining room greeted him. Three windows on the back wall showed a fire raging in the garden beyond that had consumed the majority of the fence near the backdoor but hadn't yet spread to the grass. A fresh sprinkle of rain kept the wet grass from catching alight, and the garden had no furniture left to burn.
Dash helped Abi up out of the window before following behind.
He almost slipped on the slick, wet grass as they ran to the back wall. A brick wall divided the garden from the alleyway, giving them some distance from the fire as they climbed free of the garden. Once Dash helped Abi up, he took a running jump to clamber up himself.
Abi had stopped midway across the wall, her legs draped down either side of the bricks. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, staring off at the surrounding gardens. He turned to look as well.
The entire neighbourhood had fresh flames eating away at the edges of the buildings. The conjoined blocks of houses spread the fire between them, letting it grow and grow as it feasted on them. Brick or stone, stucco or wood, the flames burnt indiscriminately.
Burnscar walked across the walls like a tightrope. One of her arms was missing entirely, only a hole where her shoulder had once been. The other hand shot out a roar of flame that she directed into the gardens. Her face was blank, no manic glee like Abi had expected.
Her glowing orange eyes locked with Abi's own. Clammy, icy fingers of fear squeezed her heart. She swallowed and it hurt her dry throat.
Dash clambered down into the alley and held his hands out to help Abi. She didn't move, transfixed by the walking human inferno.
"Abi, come on!" Dash's voice pulled her out of her stupor.
She was an expert at falling from trees and leapt straight down to the cold concrete alley below. Her burnt hands stung as she braced against the floor, but, like with everything else, it felt like it happened to someone else.
Dash ensured she was okay before guiding her down the alley, away from Burnscar.
Down here, they couldn't see over the walls or the predator skulking along the top of them. Seeing her didn't matter, only getting away did.
They came to an intersection in the alleyway. Straight ahead, they saw only fire and death. To their left lay freedom from the intense heat and the drowning smoke, but Dash couldn't see an exit, only another turn a hundred feet away.
Relying solely on fate to take care of them, Dash ran down the safer path with Abi in tow.
He took a moment to adjust his grip on Abi's hand, moving his own up to her wrist; the burns on her hands must hurt, and he didn't want to make things worse.
Behind them, the fires flared with new life as a woman in a red dress stepped out of them.
Legs burning, they pushed themselves further, trying to eke out a little more speed.
An explosion knocked the air from their lungs and sent them flying forward. They rolled across the concrete, their fresh burns scraping against the rough surface.
Abi's body and spirit were battered and bruised. She saw no use in continuing to fight the inevitable. Lying down on the cool floor and giving up sounded nice right now.
Her friend refused to let her fall to fate. Dash scooped his arms under her armpits to heave her onto her feet. A stumbling step forward, and she felt invigorated. The ground beneath her shoes helped centre her; It reminded her that she was still here—still human. Each pounding step sent shivers through her body that linked her to the feeling of the air in her lungs, the pains of the burns and scabs on her skin, and the intense heat spreading around them.
After fishing the glass shards from his pocket, Dash tossed them behind to help cover their escape as they rounded the bend. He knew they wouldn't do much if she was still walking around with her shoulder missing—but he hoped they were at least a nuisance just to spite her in his final moments.
The alleyway ended a short way around the corner, blocked by a barred metal gate twice as tall as Dash. Cursing fate for steering them wrong, Dash picked up as much speed as his tired legs could muster. The gate was attached to two brick pillars to keep it secure. One of them had a convenient handhold that he could grab with a running start. He scrambled up to the top, then leant back down to offer a hand to Abi.
From up on top of the wall, Dash could see the flames spreading around the corner, inching their way towards them.
Abi took a few steps back to get a running start.
Her hand burnt with blinding pain as she grabbed her friend's offered hand. The pain distracted her; she failed to brace her legs in time before meeting the wall.
The sudden tug of momentum caused Dash to drop her, and Abi fell to the floor with a cry, with a fresh cut across her face from hitting the edge of the brick pillar, and her hands stinging with pain.
"Abi!" Dash cried out.
Her fingers twitched, disobeying her commands. Through the blur of tears, she saw a figure approaching in the sea of flames.
"You have to go," she realised her destiny out loud. "I can't get up."
"Come on! Take my hand!" he refused to accept it.
Abi could see it all laid out clearly: this was her heroic moment. She doubted there would be any powers at the end of this—especially not since she had spoiled it by thinking about them in the first place. But this was her chance to be a hero that mattered. Saving her friend—her best friend—meant more than having powers or releasing things she shouldn't have.
Abi stood up and looked up at Dash. "I can't make it. You… you can make it."
"Take my hand, please!" he stretched further down, reaching out as if he could pull her up by himself.
Shaking her head, she said, "No. Run—get out of here so it isn't pointless. One of us can live, which is better than none."
"Abi, please…" he begged.
"Dash, this is what I want. My hands are too burnt to get up there, and I don't want you to die with me, and I think that this is how it was meant to be."
"No, Abi, there has to—"
"I love you, Dash," she poured as much admiration and adoration as she could into the words, hoping he could see the memories forged into the letters themselves. Two months wasn't a long time, not really, but she enjoyed those two months more than the years before combined.
Footsteps signalled the reaper's arrival behind her.
She didn't hear Dash's response over the raging flames, but she did see him leave. Abi turned to face her doom.
Burnscar's emotionless face stared back at her, still a good enough distance away to give Abi false hopes. Her eyes were no longer glowing, making her look all too mundane. Save for the missing shoulder and the cigarette burns running down her cheeks, she wouldn't have been noticeable in a normal city. Abi couldn't figure out how old the woman was—older than eighteen, so fairly ancient, she decided—not that it mattered; a fossil or not, this was her death.
"Your friend left," Burnscar spoke to her in a monotone voice, instead of burning her alive.
Abi clenched her fists, sending jolts of pain through her arms; it focused her, keeping her awake and not collapsing to the floor.
"Burning to death is one of the most painful ways to die," she continued after receiving no response. "You can blame Squealer for this—if she didn't interfere, I wouldn't need to kill you."
No matter how horrible the situation, Abi refused to blame someone else. Escape might have been possible if she had only run faster, or made better decisions. It wasn't Artificer's fault that some nut-jobs did what they do best and be crazy.
"No last words? That's fine, I have places to be."
Abi saw only a glimpse of a shadow before Dash came leaping down from a nearby wall, right onto Burnscar's disarmed side. They collapsed in a pile as he tackled the cape from above. His knee kept her arm in place to stop her from blasting him with fire.
He pulled his hand up, a rusted potato peeler clutched in his fist, before driving it down into Burnscar's eye.
She screamed, her hands grasping at her ruined eye.
"Abi. Go, now!" he turned to look at his friend.
Flames erupted from Burnscar's entire body, washing over Dash with concussive force. Heavy burns scarred his entire front side as he stumbled away from the downed cape. Small fires burned on his clothes and hair as he fell back.
He turned the stumble into a roll, hoping to snuff out the flames while making some distance.
Writhing on the floor, Burnscar buffeted flames in random directions while clutching at her eye.
Abi ran past, ducking down low to avoid the torrent of fire as she reached out to grab Dash.
Melted bits of cloth had merged with his skin, and his skin itself didn't look much better. He took her arm in his as she helped him to his feet. With no other options, they hobbled away into the flames.
Even with the stone garages not burning as easily as the houses had, the heat was intense enough to hurt. Each step took great effort from them both. Dash's burnt skin rippled with pain as his running stretched it out.
Burnscar stepped out of a patch of fire ahead of them. There was nowhere for them to go, and they were too injured to get there quickly.
Like a shooting star, a sphere of energy crashed into Burnscar, flattening her against the ground. Standing in the middle, holding a shield aloft, was a glowing white Spartan warrior. Abi vaguely recalled Meadow calling them Hopplings or something.
The man moved too fast to track with her eyes. So fast that she didn't realise he had scooped up both her and Dash and was carrying them over the fires until the ground gave way beneath them and her stomach lurched. The ache in her body from his arm pressing into her stomach didn't register amidst the rest of the pain she felt.
Slung over his shoulder, she could see her rescuer's face from below. His eyes glimmered with determination; Abi felt inspired by just seeing them.
Down below, she saw the burning neighbourhoods fade away as they soared across the city. It felt similar to flying in her dreams. The wind whistled in her ears and kicked her hair in a flurry.
He placed them down on the highway, far away from the burning buildings. As Dash stumbled, unable to stand up on his own, the man grabbed him and helped him to the floor with gentle care.
"Help will be here soon. Stay put," he said as he unclipped a thin metal canister from his belt. "Rub this on the burns, but don't go overboard. I'll be back soon," he finished, shoving the small can into Abi's hands.
Before she could reply, he shot off back into the sky.
For a moment she stood there, stunned, unsure of what had even happened. Dash's wheezes brought her back to reality.
Inside the can, she found a sticky paste that reminded her of Meadow's healing paste, but sadly, with less glitter. She readied some on her fingers and felt the pain of the burns fading away into only a dull throb. Remembering her mom's advice to put her oxygen mask on first, she smeared it across her hands to ensure she was fully ready to help Dash.
Dash's chest wheezed with breaths as he lay staring up at the smoke-filled sky. Most of his skin was patchy with red-raw spots that had yellow blisters forming around the edges. There were little bits of gravel stuck in the burns.
To save her, he had permanently disfigured himself. Abi didn't know if she would ever be thankful enough.
As she rubbed the paste over his burns, his face relaxed, losing the tense grimace.
"Don't ever do that again," she chastised him after making sure he had a healthy layer of paste.
"Saved you, didn't I?" he responded, his voice scratchy and raw.
"You could have died!"
"You would have died."
Abi stared at him with tears in her eyes. How could he be so recklessly stupid and brave at the same time?
"You're going to look like this forever." She held a hand up to his cheek before thinking better of touching his burnt skin.
"Worth it," he smiled at her, the burnt skin around his mouth stretching taut.
Unsure of what to do with her hands, Abi tapped them against her legs. She wanted nothing more than to hug him, but she didn't want to hurt him. They stayed in silence, neither of them sure of what to say. A simple 'thank you' didn't feel like enough—neither did 'I'm sorry'.
Sirens blared in the distance, and for a moment Abi thought they were the Endbringer ones. The realisation hit her like a truck—only an ambulance. Memories of thoughts she had while running to the Endbringer bunker bubbled to the surface. Her worries right now were similar to back then: will they survive this? Will her family be okay? Will her friends?
Dash placed his hand on her arm, avoiding her burnt hands. Thankful for the comfort, Abi focused on her friend rather than the memories.
Stay in the moment, she reminded herself—put your oxygen mask on first.
Although the moment stung, she had to make sure Dash was okay—he meant the world to her, and she refused to give up again.
They waited together for help as the city fell apart behind them.
Flames roared around them, driving them away with primal fear implanted from their ancestors. Abi dug her fingers into her side to try squeezing the pain out of the stitch that had formed there. Her lungs ached from running and the smoke that filled them. For all the energy she spent bouncing around a room, she wasn't anywhere close to being in shape. Fear was a powerful enough motivator to fight through the tears welling in her eyes at the strain.
Burnscar had come for them in the night, burning the shelter to ash. Thanks to Shatterbird waking them up—a bizarre sentence that Abi would repeat for years to come should she survive this—they had been awake when she had attacked. They had run, leaving the burning shelter behind. After making some distance, they stopped to rest, giving themselves time to breathe, and to watch the black plumes of smoke billowing up from their temporary home.
Their break had been short-lived—they were followed.
Abi had seen only a handful of capes in real life; Burnscar had never been on her potential dream meetings list—not at all. Seeing her walk out of the fire, her eyes alight with the same orange glow as the surrounding flames, Abi felt secure in her reasoning. Her eyes didn't see a human walking out of those flames; they saw a primal force of nature, the very personification of fire and destruction itself.
Dash had reacted first, yanking on Abi's arm before she had time to even be afraid.
They had run past broken buildings as the world burned around them and had left behind those who stumbled. She had tried to stop for one of them, only to be driven away by an explosive ball of fire that burnt her hands red raw. Dash had rescued her from her ill-fated altruism, just as he had rescued her from her stunned stupor when the fire elemental had arrived.
Her lungs ached, her muscles burned, and her brain knew nothing but panicked fear as they made their way out of the city.
Amidst the chaos of escape, they were separated from the rest of the group. Only Dash, still gripping her burned hand, remained with her.
When they were far from the fires behind them, far enough that the tops of the plumes of smoke drowning out the night sky were visible, Dash dragged her through the broken window of what had once been someone's home. Remnants of a life well lived remained, abandoned because of the water, if the moss covering every inch told the correct story. They ducked away, hiding out of sight from the outside world. In a ransacked kitchen, they sat on the glass-covered floor, trying to catch their breath through smoke-filled lungs.
Every part of her body ached, but she felt strangely numb to it, as if she had ascended from her mortal form. The glass on the floor scratching at her burnt hands didn't bother her—nor did the wheezing breaths she was taking.
Nothing felt real any more. Her memories belonged to someone else who had occupied her skin. Everything past losing her home blurred together as if she were watching a movie. Time only made her body and mind feel more distant. Learning her home was gone hurt, but she could recover—it was only things. Watching her dad fistfight people trying to take their rations had cemented that it wouldn't be a long time until she saw an actual bed again. Her Mom teaching her how to hold and use a knife had only made things worse. Finding out Meadow was Raccoon Knight had been tainted by being held at knifepoint. And seeing those people die, for reasons she still didn't know, tipped her over the edge. When she had tried to put some balance into the world after that, to do something good, it had backfired. Now, the Moss burned away, spreading the flames further than the water ever would have.
She had sent a message to the universe that she wouldn't drown in the tar, and it had responded: You will.
Dash pressed his face into his shaking hands without a sound. He tapped his head against the wall with barely a noise, then just sat there with his face covered, trying not to cry too loud to tell Burnscar where they were.
Unsure of what else to do, Abi shuffled across to rest her head against him. The comfort of another body did nothing for her numbness, but she hoped it would help her friend, even if only a little. She still cared, despite the feeling of distance. She still wanted the world to be good and for everything to be okay for both her and everyone around her. It just didn't feel like it would happen anytime soon.
They sat there for a long time, quietly mourning a life they didn't want in the first place.
Running on only a few hours of sleep, Abi could barely keep her eyes open. She wasn't sure if she had fallen asleep when Dash shook her shoulders.
"We need to move," he said, his voice a whisper. "I think she's here."
Still caught between sleep and reality, she obediently followed him as he guided them out of the kitchen through to the backdoor. They kept low to the ground, a half-crouch that kept them below the windows and out of sight.
Unavoidable glass crunched beneath their feet. Like when she sneaked downstairs to get a midnight snack, each tiny noise felt amplified a thousand-fold.
Smoke was billowing in from under the backdoor as they reached it. Dash turned, taking them back into the kitchen.
Orange light danced in the living room near the front door. They were surrounded.
Dash racked his brain for a plan, trying to find an escape route. The living room would put them close to the fire, but he remembered seeing a door in the back that might lead to somewhere safer. Out of the kitchen window would put them directly on the burning street, and out the backdoor would put them in a burning garden. Both were bad, but which was safer?
He didn't have time to break them down to a pros and cons list; he needed to act.
He scooped up a handful of glass and stored it in his pocket, then fished through the cutlery drawer to find a knife. Either someone scavenged them or the family never had any, because all he found was a potato peeler.
After arming himself, he grabbed Abi by the wrist and dragged her with him to the living room. As he remembered, a door sat at the back of it near the stairs. With no time to spare, he threw it open and made his way inside. The skeleton of a dining room greeted him. Three windows on the back wall showed a fire raging in the garden beyond that had consumed the majority of the fence near the backdoor but hadn't yet spread to the grass. A fresh sprinkle of rain kept the wet grass from catching alight, and the garden had no furniture left to burn.
Dash helped Abi up out of the window before following behind.
He almost slipped on the slick, wet grass as they ran to the back wall. A brick wall divided the garden from the alleyway, giving them some distance from the fire as they climbed free of the garden. Once Dash helped Abi up, he took a running jump to clamber up himself.
Abi had stopped midway across the wall, her legs draped down either side of the bricks. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, staring off at the surrounding gardens. He turned to look as well.
The entire neighbourhood had fresh flames eating away at the edges of the buildings. The conjoined blocks of houses spread the fire between them, letting it grow and grow as it feasted on them. Brick or stone, stucco or wood, the flames burnt indiscriminately.
Burnscar walked across the walls like a tightrope. One of her arms was missing entirely, only a hole where her shoulder had once been. The other hand shot out a roar of flame that she directed into the gardens. Her face was blank, no manic glee like Abi had expected.
Her glowing orange eyes locked with Abi's own. Clammy, icy fingers of fear squeezed her heart. She swallowed and it hurt her dry throat.
Dash clambered down into the alley and held his hands out to help Abi. She didn't move, transfixed by the walking human inferno.
"Abi, come on!" Dash's voice pulled her out of her stupor.
She was an expert at falling from trees and leapt straight down to the cold concrete alley below. Her burnt hands stung as she braced against the floor, but, like with everything else, it felt like it happened to someone else.
Dash ensured she was okay before guiding her down the alley, away from Burnscar.
Down here, they couldn't see over the walls or the predator skulking along the top of them. Seeing her didn't matter, only getting away did.
They came to an intersection in the alleyway. Straight ahead, they saw only fire and death. To their left lay freedom from the intense heat and the drowning smoke, but Dash couldn't see an exit, only another turn a hundred feet away.
Relying solely on fate to take care of them, Dash ran down the safer path with Abi in tow.
He took a moment to adjust his grip on Abi's hand, moving his own up to her wrist; the burns on her hands must hurt, and he didn't want to make things worse.
Behind them, the fires flared with new life as a woman in a red dress stepped out of them.
Legs burning, they pushed themselves further, trying to eke out a little more speed.
An explosion knocked the air from their lungs and sent them flying forward. They rolled across the concrete, their fresh burns scraping against the rough surface.
Abi's body and spirit were battered and bruised. She saw no use in continuing to fight the inevitable. Lying down on the cool floor and giving up sounded nice right now.
Her friend refused to let her fall to fate. Dash scooped his arms under her armpits to heave her onto her feet. A stumbling step forward, and she felt invigorated. The ground beneath her shoes helped centre her; It reminded her that she was still here—still human. Each pounding step sent shivers through her body that linked her to the feeling of the air in her lungs, the pains of the burns and scabs on her skin, and the intense heat spreading around them.
After fishing the glass shards from his pocket, Dash tossed them behind to help cover their escape as they rounded the bend. He knew they wouldn't do much if she was still walking around with her shoulder missing—but he hoped they were at least a nuisance just to spite her in his final moments.
The alleyway ended a short way around the corner, blocked by a barred metal gate twice as tall as Dash. Cursing fate for steering them wrong, Dash picked up as much speed as his tired legs could muster. The gate was attached to two brick pillars to keep it secure. One of them had a convenient handhold that he could grab with a running start. He scrambled up to the top, then leant back down to offer a hand to Abi.
From up on top of the wall, Dash could see the flames spreading around the corner, inching their way towards them.
Abi took a few steps back to get a running start.
Her hand burnt with blinding pain as she grabbed her friend's offered hand. The pain distracted her; she failed to brace her legs in time before meeting the wall.
The sudden tug of momentum caused Dash to drop her, and Abi fell to the floor with a cry, with a fresh cut across her face from hitting the edge of the brick pillar, and her hands stinging with pain.
"Abi!" Dash cried out.
Her fingers twitched, disobeying her commands. Through the blur of tears, she saw a figure approaching in the sea of flames.
"You have to go," she realised her destiny out loud. "I can't get up."
"Come on! Take my hand!" he refused to accept it.
Abi could see it all laid out clearly: this was her heroic moment. She doubted there would be any powers at the end of this—especially not since she had spoiled it by thinking about them in the first place. But this was her chance to be a hero that mattered. Saving her friend—her best friend—meant more than having powers or releasing things she shouldn't have.
Abi stood up and looked up at Dash. "I can't make it. You… you can make it."
"Take my hand, please!" he stretched further down, reaching out as if he could pull her up by himself.
Shaking her head, she said, "No. Run—get out of here so it isn't pointless. One of us can live, which is better than none."
"Abi, please…" he begged.
"Dash, this is what I want. My hands are too burnt to get up there, and I don't want you to die with me, and I think that this is how it was meant to be."
"No, Abi, there has to—"
"I love you, Dash," she poured as much admiration and adoration as she could into the words, hoping he could see the memories forged into the letters themselves. Two months wasn't a long time, not really, but she enjoyed those two months more than the years before combined.
Footsteps signalled the reaper's arrival behind her.
She didn't hear Dash's response over the raging flames, but she did see him leave. Abi turned to face her doom.
Burnscar's emotionless face stared back at her, still a good enough distance away to give Abi false hopes. Her eyes were no longer glowing, making her look all too mundane. Save for the missing shoulder and the cigarette burns running down her cheeks, she wouldn't have been noticeable in a normal city. Abi couldn't figure out how old the woman was—older than eighteen, so fairly ancient, she decided—not that it mattered; a fossil or not, this was her death.
"Your friend left," Burnscar spoke to her in a monotone voice, instead of burning her alive.
Abi clenched her fists, sending jolts of pain through her arms; it focused her, keeping her awake and not collapsing to the floor.
"Burning to death is one of the most painful ways to die," she continued after receiving no response. "You can blame Squealer for this—if she didn't interfere, I wouldn't need to kill you."
No matter how horrible the situation, Abi refused to blame someone else. Escape might have been possible if she had only run faster, or made better decisions. It wasn't Artificer's fault that some nut-jobs did what they do best and be crazy.
"No last words? That's fine, I have places to be."
Abi saw only a glimpse of a shadow before Dash came leaping down from a nearby wall, right onto Burnscar's disarmed side. They collapsed in a pile as he tackled the cape from above. His knee kept her arm in place to stop her from blasting him with fire.
He pulled his hand up, a rusted potato peeler clutched in his fist, before driving it down into Burnscar's eye.
She screamed, her hands grasping at her ruined eye.
"Abi. Go, now!" he turned to look at his friend.
Flames erupted from Burnscar's entire body, washing over Dash with concussive force. Heavy burns scarred his entire front side as he stumbled away from the downed cape. Small fires burned on his clothes and hair as he fell back.
He turned the stumble into a roll, hoping to snuff out the flames while making some distance.
Writhing on the floor, Burnscar buffeted flames in random directions while clutching at her eye.
Abi ran past, ducking down low to avoid the torrent of fire as she reached out to grab Dash.
Melted bits of cloth had merged with his skin, and his skin itself didn't look much better. He took her arm in his as she helped him to his feet. With no other options, they hobbled away into the flames.
Even with the stone garages not burning as easily as the houses had, the heat was intense enough to hurt. Each step took great effort from them both. Dash's burnt skin rippled with pain as his running stretched it out.
Burnscar stepped out of a patch of fire ahead of them. There was nowhere for them to go, and they were too injured to get there quickly.
Like a shooting star, a sphere of energy crashed into Burnscar, flattening her against the ground. Standing in the middle, holding a shield aloft, was a glowing white Spartan warrior. Abi vaguely recalled Meadow calling them Hopplings or something.
The man moved too fast to track with her eyes. So fast that she didn't realise he had scooped up both her and Dash and was carrying them over the fires until the ground gave way beneath them and her stomach lurched. The ache in her body from his arm pressing into her stomach didn't register amidst the rest of the pain she felt.
Slung over his shoulder, she could see her rescuer's face from below. His eyes glimmered with determination; Abi felt inspired by just seeing them.
Down below, she saw the burning neighbourhoods fade away as they soared across the city. It felt similar to flying in her dreams. The wind whistled in her ears and kicked her hair in a flurry.
He placed them down on the highway, far away from the burning buildings. As Dash stumbled, unable to stand up on his own, the man grabbed him and helped him to the floor with gentle care.
"Help will be here soon. Stay put," he said as he unclipped a thin metal canister from his belt. "Rub this on the burns, but don't go overboard. I'll be back soon," he finished, shoving the small can into Abi's hands.
Before she could reply, he shot off back into the sky.
For a moment she stood there, stunned, unsure of what had even happened. Dash's wheezes brought her back to reality.
Inside the can, she found a sticky paste that reminded her of Meadow's healing paste, but sadly, with less glitter. She readied some on her fingers and felt the pain of the burns fading away into only a dull throb. Remembering her mom's advice to put her oxygen mask on first, she smeared it across her hands to ensure she was fully ready to help Dash.
Dash's chest wheezed with breaths as he lay staring up at the smoke-filled sky. Most of his skin was patchy with red-raw spots that had yellow blisters forming around the edges. There were little bits of gravel stuck in the burns.
To save her, he had permanently disfigured himself. Abi didn't know if she would ever be thankful enough.
As she rubbed the paste over his burns, his face relaxed, losing the tense grimace.
"Don't ever do that again," she chastised him after making sure he had a healthy layer of paste.
"Saved you, didn't I?" he responded, his voice scratchy and raw.
"You could have died!"
"You would have died."
Abi stared at him with tears in her eyes. How could he be so recklessly stupid and brave at the same time?
"You're going to look like this forever." She held a hand up to his cheek before thinking better of touching his burnt skin.
"Worth it," he smiled at her, the burnt skin around his mouth stretching taut.
Unsure of what to do with her hands, Abi tapped them against her legs. She wanted nothing more than to hug him, but she didn't want to hurt him. They stayed in silence, neither of them sure of what to say. A simple 'thank you' didn't feel like enough—neither did 'I'm sorry'.
Sirens blared in the distance, and for a moment Abi thought they were the Endbringer ones. The realisation hit her like a truck—only an ambulance. Memories of thoughts she had while running to the Endbringer bunker bubbled to the surface. Her worries right now were similar to back then: will they survive this? Will her family be okay? Will her friends?
Dash placed his hand on her arm, avoiding her burnt hands. Thankful for the comfort, Abi focused on her friend rather than the memories.
Stay in the moment, she reminded herself—put your oxygen mask on first.
Although the moment stung, she had to make sure Dash was okay—he meant the world to her, and she refused to give up again.
They waited together for help as the city fell apart behind them.
Last edited:
6.3
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.3
Someone had somehow projected my nightmares directly onto the TV. The news chopper was too far away to see the details, only the blackened remains of where the shelter had once been. An inferno had ravaged entire neighbourhoods, ruining all of our hard work and driving away the people I'd promised to keep safe. Burnscar's work, the news reporters guessed.
The news didn't have any answers for me: they didn't know the death toll, how it started, or anything important. Neither of the reporters seemed to care that there had been people there, beyond a brief mention that there might have been.
Sherrel's new truck wasn't anywhere to be seen either, nor were any of the people.
I should have been there.
My body burned with a furnace-like heat, and my hands stung from clenching them tightly.
No amount of willing it would change the image on the screen. Time couldn't be reversed.
I could come up with countless ideas for changing my perception of time or time bubbles, but none that would let me skip backwards to change history. My mistake couldn't be erased.
Reinforcements had been called in from New York to help, but the Slaughterhouse Nine had some kind of plan to stop them from interfering with their 'test'. The news wasn't clear what that meant.
Shatterbird's scream broke my phone, so I couldn't call to get up-to-date information. I'm not sure the PRT would have even told me anything.
If I wanted answers, I would need to go to Brockton Bay myself.
Before we drove to Hayden's house, we had grabbed the essentials from our motel room. My armour and weapons were hastily stuffed into a suitcase together with my pyjamas and a change of clothes. We couldn't leave them behind for anyone to find; it would have been dangerous for my identity and the person who found them.
Aiai could be mean if she put her mind to it—I didn't want her to hurt an innocent person.
Aiai had been hungry lately. She whispered in my ear, demanding that I use her without the usual limits. Scientific curiosity, she called it—a desire to see what would happen if I used her on something that wasn't inanimate. Her settings urged to be changed from the usual three. I had obliged, shifting around what she could do to see if it would stop her begging. Instead, it had made her more demanding.
I was worried about her: about me—the thoughts were my own, not hers. She couldn't talk, not really, even if she did still have a personality.
Once the Nine were out of town, I hoped the thoughts would fade.
I put on my armour layer-by-layer and then hid it under my coat and a pair of cargo pants. Dede's shaft could collapse down to a short stick with the bellows and a box, so she could fit into the backpack that carried my helmet. Hiding my armour when I walked to or from the motel had become routine.
Breaking my promise wasn't something I wanted to do. Promises were important to keep, otherwise people in the future wouldn't trust you—but I had to do this. I couldn't sit around and wait for inaccurate news about the people I cared about.
The people at the shelter needed me; Sherrel needed me.
My healing paste could help anyone burnt, and my friends could fight any Nine I came across. Burnscar wouldn't win twice. I refused to let her.
Hayden's old house creaked and groaned as I made my way down the stairs to the front door.
As I pulled it open, Hayden's voice behind me said, "Meadow?"
"I'm sorry," I replied, refusing to look at him.
"I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe here, I promise. If you want, I can keep my distance if it makes you feel safer." Hayden's voice was gentle.
"It's not you."
"Did… is Heather mean to you? Does she yell? Is that why you're running away?"
"No," I looked over my shoulder at him. "No—I promise she isn't. I love her. There's something I need to do, but I'll come back," I said. I didn't wait for him to respond.
He yelled my name after me as I ran off down the street, but he couldn't chase me; Hayden wasn't a runner, and I had been training for the past few months.
Tears burned in my eyes as I broke another promise.
I swore to myself that this was the last one I would ever break.
When I arrived, the sun was much higher in the sky. Around noon, I guessed. Both my phones were scrap metal, unable to tell me the time or to call people. I could have fixed them if I had any time to spare—and if I hadn't left them back in the motel.
Ash drifted in the wind like black snow. Only the burnt metal frames of the cots remained to tell anyone the shelter had ever been here. The brickwork building they used for storage had a hole in it showing off the charred interior. All those supplies were gone, nothing but ash. Buildings further down the road were nothing but charred rubble, and I could see how the fire had spread through the moss coating everything. A pothole, once filled with moss, now was an ashy, smouldering pit; my contribution to Brockton Bay.
A footstep crunched behind me. I spun around, pulling Dede free from her clasp on my back as I readied her towards the threat.
I saw a man, with short-cut brown hair and a fresh burn on his face, coming out from between two buildings. He lifted his hands as I brandished Dede towards him.
His face looked familiar.
"Sorry to spook you. I'm Devon, I was staying at Saint Mary's," he explained.
I recognised him—he liked to wander while he smoked, which brought him to my base, and he'd watch me putting stuff together. Neither of us had spoken to each other, but he was familiar even through the recent scar on his face that made me icy with guilt.
I lowered Dede and shook my head. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone. Is it just you?"
My heart clenched with the idea that he knew where others might be. If he had survived, then maybe more did, too. I tried to hold back the feeling in case he was the only survivor.
He smiled, but it looked fragile. "We have a place where we're hiding. They sent me here to scavenge for supplies, but you're easily the best I could find. Come on," he scooped his hand behind him. "I'll take you to them. They'll be happy to see you."
The feeling exploded in me, filling my body from head to toe. They weren't all gone. I hadn't got them all killed. I dared to let myself hang on to that hope for at least a little.
Devon guided me carefully through the streets. He stopped at the edge of the walls to peek out past and check for danger. I swapped Elel to her heat vision to double-check his work. Two eyes were better than one—especially when one pair had magic.
It surprised me to see that there were still people tucked away in the burnt buildings. Mostly individuals, but sometimes small groups of people—families, maybe—were hiding away. Had they been here the entire time, or were they refugees from the shelter? Hiding away in smaller groups was probably safer right now.
Our location wasn't far away from the shelter; far enough that the buildings were no longer burnt, but close enough that they were still visible.
Hidden in an alleyway, about seven blocks away, Devon pulled open a rusted metal door that looked like no one had used it in years. It swung open without as much scraping as I expected. Beyond was a short staircase which ended in a surprisingly spacious basement.
There were people inside, gathered on tattered couches or sitting around a wooden table with a map. Two doors, both open, led off to what looked like a kitchen and another room with seats in. Faces I recognised, some with recent scars, looked up at me as I entered. They all looked tired.
Devon, after closing the door above, stepped past me.
"Look who I found!"
"Did you find any supplies?" a woman with a nasal voice and a stern face asked. Mrs Sullivan, if I remember right. She did a great job organising the shelter's needs—but she never seemed to have liked me, so I avoided talking to her. Despite Abi promising she was nice, I hadn't tried to bridge the gap.
"Didn't get the chance. I'll go back soon," Devon replied.
"Please do. We need anything you can get. At least for now, we can eat the moss," she responded, her gaze locking onto my helmeted face.
Devon nodded his head as he made his way over to the map. I followed behind him, unsure of what to do.
"We've been gathering intel to keep ourselves safe. See those red dots?" he pointed to the map of Brockton Bay. Spots on it had been marked with either red dots, black X's, or a squiggly line. The X's and squiggles were all nearby, but the dots were spread out. Different coloured markers outlined parts of the city; each had bits of text that marked them as 'territories' of different villains. "Those are all the places those bastards have been spotted," he continued.
There weren't as many red dots as I expected. One at the boardwalk, one near The Towers, one where the shelter had been, and a couple spread out in the docks.
"What are the squiggles and X's?" I asked.
"X's are places we've looked for supplies or people—means we found none. The lines are for places that might be worth checking out," Devon explained.
"Wow, you guys did a lot last night! Is Artificer here?"
His face dropped. "No. Bitch fucked off when Burnscar showed up. We haven't seen her."
"Don't call her that," I said.
He scowled at me. "I can call her what I want. The bitch is the reason the Burnscar was there at all. People died, and she just fucking left us. If Dauntless didn't show up, we wouldn't be here."
"She probably tried to fight! Running away might have been the best tactical move!"
"That fucking junkie wouldn't know tactics if it bit her on the ass! She's just a coward, same as you."
"She's not a coward or a junkie!"
Devon scoffed, "You're fucking naïve, kid. She's been smoking crystal for days—ain't even subtle about it."
"No, that's—That isn't true!"
Mrs Sullivan stepped in between us with her hands outstretched. "Calm down. Both of you." She stared hard at Devon, who stepped back with his hands raised. "No fighting, that's rule one."
"'S'all cool," he said. "I'll give her space." He walked off into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
I unclenched my fists, letting the tension bleed away from them. He had to be wrong. Sherrel promised she wouldn't do it any more. She wasn't like Lauren. Was she?
Mrs Sullivan turned to face me, her face unreadable.
"She's been spotted near Parian's territory," she said. "You can try around there, or you can stay and help. We need all the hands we can get."
"Helping is all I want to do—but I need to find Artificer and make sure she's safe first."
"I understand. Will you be back after?"
"Hopefully. What supplies do you need? I can keep an eye out while I'm looking."
Mrs Sullivan grabbed a piece of paper from the table and handed it to me; a list of names, over twenty of them. I scanned the list as Mrs Sullivan spoke.
"We're low on pretty much everything, especially medical supplies. Water and food are low priority. That list is the people still missing." She tapped it with her finger. "If you find anything out about them, it will be a great help," she said.
Two names stood out to me: Abigail Lambert and Dash Callahan. My legs felt numb.
Neither of them were on good terms with me. Losing them now meant I would never get to apologise.
Dash might never like me again, but I wanted to apologise for hitting him. Abi had been avoiding me, but I was never mad at her for releasing the moss, and I needed to tell her that. Dash had been right, it was my fault for leaving the moss out in the open.
"Okay. I'll keep an eye out," I responded. My voice came out far too normal for how I felt.
I left the hideout while still staring at the names on the list. These people might be dead and there would be nothing I could do about it. Maybe if I did find them, I could bring them back—that way, no one would be sad they lost someone. People didn't need to stay dead while I was around.
I tucked the list away in one of my pockets. There would be plenty of time to find all of them after Sherrel and I beat the Nine together. Focus on one task at a time, or you'll drown.
Distant cars made the city louder than usual. I hoped they were out to help people. Before Leviathan, the constant sound of cars and people was everywhere. Even in the quieter parts of the city, you could hear the distant rumble of people commuting to and fro. Everything had become much quieter after him. Most cars couldn't travel on the broken roads or past all the debris—even if some people still tried.
Our work removing potholes and clearing rubble near the shelter seemed pointless now.
I shook my head to focus on the task at hand.
People were roaming the streets. Most looked like citizens trying to help each other, but I avoided them; I couldn't risk them being with the Empire. A fight right now would delay me from finding Sherrel.
Parian's territory was almost on the other side of the city, near the new lake Leviathan had gifted us. I had only heard about it, never seen it in person. The scale of it beat my imagination—so did the moss. When I imagined the lake, I imagined water, not an enormous mossy field with buildings sticking out of it. Despite the city now being covered in the green algae, I always underestimated how far it had spread.
A barrier with flashing orange lights surrounded the entire thing, and a chain-link fence surrounded that. You would probably sink in if you tried to talk across it—consumed by something meant to help.
I tried to ignore it as I walked along the edge of the lake.
Ballistic had claimed an area near Parian; I wasn't sure if they were allies or not. Parian wasn't a villain—at least not last I checked—but Ballistic could have made a deal with her. I would need to summon up my best words if I found either of them, or be ready to fight.
By the looks of things, I wouldn't need to fight either of them: no one was here.
Purple blobs of people were huddled inside buildings, with some roaming the streets, but none of them occupied Parian's territory. I wasn't sure what it meant. A fight, maybe? I hoped my mental map of her territory wasn't one hundred percent accurate.
Creeping around buildings, I didn't see any blood or obvious signs of an attack. Parian might have moved on, hoping to get away from Ballistic, or just left when she heard the Nine were around.
I kept my eyes and ears sharp as I checked over the rest of the area.
In her new configuration, Aiai couldn't get me to the tops of buildings any more. It was inconvenient, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings by telling her no. All of her new warps were squiggly and spiralling, and I couldn't figure out a good use for them. One of them crunched space together, making the edges jagged and hard to look at; I didn't dare step through it in case she bit me.
Having to keep to the floor sucked. At least Elel could see through walls with her magic eyes—at least she didn't whisper secrets of destruction in my ears.
For over an hour, I tried to find where Sherrel had hidden herself. My worry that she had left the city entirely grew with each minute I didn't find her. Unlike a dumpster, I couldn't pull out everything else to find what I was after, I needed to examine each piece somehow without disturbing it: Walking into random buildings would frighten those huddled inside.
Most of the people in the buildings or on the street were alone, but a few were in smaller groups. I wasn't sure if Sherrel would have anyone to turn to. There were a lot of Merchants who escaped the raid, and plenty who weren't there at all. She might have had old friends she could turn to as well.
The only way to tell would be to risk asking people if they had seen her. If they were Empire, or desperate, I would run away and not fight. I could offer them some healing paste—regardless if they helped me or not—as an apology for disturbing them.
With no other way to start, I picked the closest building to me.
Looking through Elel's magic eyes, I saw what looked like a family of four walking around upstairs, so I moved on. Unless Sherrel had shrunk smaller than me or grown to twice her height, the bigger two blobs probably weren't her and the smaller two definitely weren't.
Leaving those people to fend for themselves hurt in a way that was hard to pinpoint. I wanted to help all these people, to make sure they were fed, healed, and happy.
I couldn't help them right now; there wasn't a shelter to send them to, and I didn't have any resources to offer. My pockets had loose snacks, but not nearly enough to feed an entire person. They needed more than a stray slice of ham right now.
After this, we would need to rebuild all our efforts from scratch. This time, I would do things right; I would build helpers who don't need to sleep, eat, or drink. We could have the same amount of work done in a fraction of the time, and no one needed to lift anything.
Sherrel could help me with it all—if I could find her. I hoped she was okay.
The blobs of people in the next few buildings didn't match her build, either. A big, bulky coat could obscure her body shape, but that didn't feel right. She didn't own any coats that big, she always borrowed mine.
A car rumbled to life a street over. The noise carried easily in the empty city.
I squashed down the hope that wanted to rise and made my way over.
In the street across, a man was leaning against a partially destroyed truck. Sat with her legs dangling out the driver's seat was Sherrel. On second glance, I could see the remnants of the crane's neck poking out of the truck and bits of yellow paint sneaking out past all the burnt parts.
The stars, hidden by the day sky, had guided me to her. I thanked them for their help and made my way over.
I stopped when I noticed what they were holding.
Both of them were holding plastic bottles that had a tube sticking out of them. I wasn't sure whether to thank Lauren for letting me recognise what it was: an improvised meth pipe. Whenever my old mom's pipe broke—which happened at least once a month—she would create a new one using bottles or cans.
Devon had been right.
She promised me she wouldn't. She wasn't supposed to be like Lauren.
Maybe she would be fine on her own. Burnscar hadn't killed her, and her truck looked like it could be repaired. I'm sure she'd be okay without me.
I turned and left without a word.
My beating heart drowned out my feet pounding against the pavement. Sherrel was exactly like her. That man probably was like my dad. She had been waiting for me to let my guard down, but unlucky for her, I had caught her in the lie.
I kicked myself for not noticing it sooner. My instincts were supposed to be honed to a fine edge, not ruddy and dull and useless.
Why hadn't I noticed? Why wasn't I there?
Stupid mom and her stupid rules kept me from noticing the scorpion slipping her way into my life.
That wasn't fair. I loved my mom, and she only wanted me to be safe. No—this was all my fault. I should have seen all the signs punching me in the face.
Sherrel wouldn't trick me again, no matter how hard she tried. Next time, I would be ready.
If there will even be a next time with the Slaughterhouse Nine hunting for her. They weren't ever going to leave her alone: either she dies, or she joins them. What kind of friend leaves someone to a fate like that?
I was fifteen now—basically an adult—I should be more mature than this, not stomping away because an uncomfortable fact about her reminded me of my old mom. She was in danger, and her smoking again in a stressful situation made sense. I couldn't blame her for a mistake. There weren't that many friends left for me to turn to; I shouldn't throw away one of the last ones.
I turned back around to confront or comfort her; I wasn't sure which just yet. At least we would have each other.
A mist had settled on the street by the time I found my way back. This morning had been foggy too, she must have decided to come back.
I wasn't sure the best way to approach Sherrel. If my phone hadn't been broken, I could have called Vista or Shadow Stalker to get their thoughts on it. They were smarter than me and would know what to do. Abi was… gone, and I didn't want to think about that. Mel didn't respond much any more after I forgot to talk to her. There were only capes left in my life, or people close to capes. At least it meant they had experience behind their advice with hard things like this. Civilians would never understand.
I stifled a yawn as I trudged my way over to the blurry truck hidden past the fog.
Not that I deserved it, but I wished Mel would send more messages, even if I forgot to respond. We had fun together until Leviathan ruined it. Then she left with her family to be far away from the city—safe, and sound, and nowhere near me.
My feet dragged behind me as I took sluggish steps. Why was I so tired? I had only slept five hours. Maybe my mom had it right with coffee.
Mel would have known a great exercise to wake me up. She would have pushed me, but still been gentle and caring. A sweetie pie, who I wanted to hold hands with.
I slumped to my knees, unable to keep walking. My body felt like a lead weight.
She refused to listen to my commands, so I dragged myself forward to the car.
Mel could have carried me with her big, strong arms. Then we could have eaten some cake with Abi, who unfortunately had a skull for a face.
A man, taller than anyone I'd ever seen, walked out in front of me. I hated him. He was awful and horrid and I wanted him gone.
I raised my sluggish right arm to him and squeezed Aiai's trigger. Sparks flew out of her components. That wasn't my lightning powers, only a regular electrical malfunction.
Her new configuration had been too much for her to handle.
The man I hated remained unaffected. His head tilted to the side like a confused dog.
"You did your best, Aiai," the words spilt out of my mouth, chipping the concrete as they landed against it.
I pressed her trigger again, but Aiai couldn't respond. My leaden fingers fumbled with her wires and dials to give her a less intensive exercise regiment.
My eyes joined the heavy club, weighed down by an ocean of water.
They drifted shut, and the last thing I saw was a tall man formed out of snow. A snowman, that's what they're called—a snowman with blades.
Sleep claimed me.
Someone had somehow projected my nightmares directly onto the TV. The news chopper was too far away to see the details, only the blackened remains of where the shelter had once been. An inferno had ravaged entire neighbourhoods, ruining all of our hard work and driving away the people I'd promised to keep safe. Burnscar's work, the news reporters guessed.
The news didn't have any answers for me: they didn't know the death toll, how it started, or anything important. Neither of the reporters seemed to care that there had been people there, beyond a brief mention that there might have been.
Sherrel's new truck wasn't anywhere to be seen either, nor were any of the people.
I should have been there.
My body burned with a furnace-like heat, and my hands stung from clenching them tightly.
No amount of willing it would change the image on the screen. Time couldn't be reversed.
I could come up with countless ideas for changing my perception of time or time bubbles, but none that would let me skip backwards to change history. My mistake couldn't be erased.
Reinforcements had been called in from New York to help, but the Slaughterhouse Nine had some kind of plan to stop them from interfering with their 'test'. The news wasn't clear what that meant.
Shatterbird's scream broke my phone, so I couldn't call to get up-to-date information. I'm not sure the PRT would have even told me anything.
If I wanted answers, I would need to go to Brockton Bay myself.
Before we drove to Hayden's house, we had grabbed the essentials from our motel room. My armour and weapons were hastily stuffed into a suitcase together with my pyjamas and a change of clothes. We couldn't leave them behind for anyone to find; it would have been dangerous for my identity and the person who found them.
Aiai could be mean if she put her mind to it—I didn't want her to hurt an innocent person.
Aiai had been hungry lately. She whispered in my ear, demanding that I use her without the usual limits. Scientific curiosity, she called it—a desire to see what would happen if I used her on something that wasn't inanimate. Her settings urged to be changed from the usual three. I had obliged, shifting around what she could do to see if it would stop her begging. Instead, it had made her more demanding.
I was worried about her: about me—the thoughts were my own, not hers. She couldn't talk, not really, even if she did still have a personality.
Once the Nine were out of town, I hoped the thoughts would fade.
I put on my armour layer-by-layer and then hid it under my coat and a pair of cargo pants. Dede's shaft could collapse down to a short stick with the bellows and a box, so she could fit into the backpack that carried my helmet. Hiding my armour when I walked to or from the motel had become routine.
Breaking my promise wasn't something I wanted to do. Promises were important to keep, otherwise people in the future wouldn't trust you—but I had to do this. I couldn't sit around and wait for inaccurate news about the people I cared about.
The people at the shelter needed me; Sherrel needed me.
My healing paste could help anyone burnt, and my friends could fight any Nine I came across. Burnscar wouldn't win twice. I refused to let her.
Hayden's old house creaked and groaned as I made my way down the stairs to the front door.
As I pulled it open, Hayden's voice behind me said, "Meadow?"
"I'm sorry," I replied, refusing to look at him.
"I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe here, I promise. If you want, I can keep my distance if it makes you feel safer." Hayden's voice was gentle.
"It's not you."
"Did… is Heather mean to you? Does she yell? Is that why you're running away?"
"No," I looked over my shoulder at him. "No—I promise she isn't. I love her. There's something I need to do, but I'll come back," I said. I didn't wait for him to respond.
He yelled my name after me as I ran off down the street, but he couldn't chase me; Hayden wasn't a runner, and I had been training for the past few months.
Tears burned in my eyes as I broke another promise.
I swore to myself that this was the last one I would ever break.
When I arrived, the sun was much higher in the sky. Around noon, I guessed. Both my phones were scrap metal, unable to tell me the time or to call people. I could have fixed them if I had any time to spare—and if I hadn't left them back in the motel.
Ash drifted in the wind like black snow. Only the burnt metal frames of the cots remained to tell anyone the shelter had ever been here. The brickwork building they used for storage had a hole in it showing off the charred interior. All those supplies were gone, nothing but ash. Buildings further down the road were nothing but charred rubble, and I could see how the fire had spread through the moss coating everything. A pothole, once filled with moss, now was an ashy, smouldering pit; my contribution to Brockton Bay.
A footstep crunched behind me. I spun around, pulling Dede free from her clasp on my back as I readied her towards the threat.
I saw a man, with short-cut brown hair and a fresh burn on his face, coming out from between two buildings. He lifted his hands as I brandished Dede towards him.
His face looked familiar.
"Sorry to spook you. I'm Devon, I was staying at Saint Mary's," he explained.
I recognised him—he liked to wander while he smoked, which brought him to my base, and he'd watch me putting stuff together. Neither of us had spoken to each other, but he was familiar even through the recent scar on his face that made me icy with guilt.
I lowered Dede and shook my head. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone. Is it just you?"
My heart clenched with the idea that he knew where others might be. If he had survived, then maybe more did, too. I tried to hold back the feeling in case he was the only survivor.
He smiled, but it looked fragile. "We have a place where we're hiding. They sent me here to scavenge for supplies, but you're easily the best I could find. Come on," he scooped his hand behind him. "I'll take you to them. They'll be happy to see you."
The feeling exploded in me, filling my body from head to toe. They weren't all gone. I hadn't got them all killed. I dared to let myself hang on to that hope for at least a little.
Devon guided me carefully through the streets. He stopped at the edge of the walls to peek out past and check for danger. I swapped Elel to her heat vision to double-check his work. Two eyes were better than one—especially when one pair had magic.
It surprised me to see that there were still people tucked away in the burnt buildings. Mostly individuals, but sometimes small groups of people—families, maybe—were hiding away. Had they been here the entire time, or were they refugees from the shelter? Hiding away in smaller groups was probably safer right now.
Our location wasn't far away from the shelter; far enough that the buildings were no longer burnt, but close enough that they were still visible.
Hidden in an alleyway, about seven blocks away, Devon pulled open a rusted metal door that looked like no one had used it in years. It swung open without as much scraping as I expected. Beyond was a short staircase which ended in a surprisingly spacious basement.
There were people inside, gathered on tattered couches or sitting around a wooden table with a map. Two doors, both open, led off to what looked like a kitchen and another room with seats in. Faces I recognised, some with recent scars, looked up at me as I entered. They all looked tired.
Devon, after closing the door above, stepped past me.
"Look who I found!"
"Did you find any supplies?" a woman with a nasal voice and a stern face asked. Mrs Sullivan, if I remember right. She did a great job organising the shelter's needs—but she never seemed to have liked me, so I avoided talking to her. Despite Abi promising she was nice, I hadn't tried to bridge the gap.
"Didn't get the chance. I'll go back soon," Devon replied.
"Please do. We need anything you can get. At least for now, we can eat the moss," she responded, her gaze locking onto my helmeted face.
Devon nodded his head as he made his way over to the map. I followed behind him, unsure of what to do.
"We've been gathering intel to keep ourselves safe. See those red dots?" he pointed to the map of Brockton Bay. Spots on it had been marked with either red dots, black X's, or a squiggly line. The X's and squiggles were all nearby, but the dots were spread out. Different coloured markers outlined parts of the city; each had bits of text that marked them as 'territories' of different villains. "Those are all the places those bastards have been spotted," he continued.
There weren't as many red dots as I expected. One at the boardwalk, one near The Towers, one where the shelter had been, and a couple spread out in the docks.
"What are the squiggles and X's?" I asked.
"X's are places we've looked for supplies or people—means we found none. The lines are for places that might be worth checking out," Devon explained.
"Wow, you guys did a lot last night! Is Artificer here?"
His face dropped. "No. Bitch fucked off when Burnscar showed up. We haven't seen her."
"Don't call her that," I said.
He scowled at me. "I can call her what I want. The bitch is the reason the Burnscar was there at all. People died, and she just fucking left us. If Dauntless didn't show up, we wouldn't be here."
"She probably tried to fight! Running away might have been the best tactical move!"
"That fucking junkie wouldn't know tactics if it bit her on the ass! She's just a coward, same as you."
"She's not a coward or a junkie!"
Devon scoffed, "You're fucking naïve, kid. She's been smoking crystal for days—ain't even subtle about it."
"No, that's—That isn't true!"
Mrs Sullivan stepped in between us with her hands outstretched. "Calm down. Both of you." She stared hard at Devon, who stepped back with his hands raised. "No fighting, that's rule one."
"'S'all cool," he said. "I'll give her space." He walked off into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
I unclenched my fists, letting the tension bleed away from them. He had to be wrong. Sherrel promised she wouldn't do it any more. She wasn't like Lauren. Was she?
Mrs Sullivan turned to face me, her face unreadable.
"She's been spotted near Parian's territory," she said. "You can try around there, or you can stay and help. We need all the hands we can get."
"Helping is all I want to do—but I need to find Artificer and make sure she's safe first."
"I understand. Will you be back after?"
"Hopefully. What supplies do you need? I can keep an eye out while I'm looking."
Mrs Sullivan grabbed a piece of paper from the table and handed it to me; a list of names, over twenty of them. I scanned the list as Mrs Sullivan spoke.
"We're low on pretty much everything, especially medical supplies. Water and food are low priority. That list is the people still missing." She tapped it with her finger. "If you find anything out about them, it will be a great help," she said.
Two names stood out to me: Abigail Lambert and Dash Callahan. My legs felt numb.
Neither of them were on good terms with me. Losing them now meant I would never get to apologise.
Dash might never like me again, but I wanted to apologise for hitting him. Abi had been avoiding me, but I was never mad at her for releasing the moss, and I needed to tell her that. Dash had been right, it was my fault for leaving the moss out in the open.
"Okay. I'll keep an eye out," I responded. My voice came out far too normal for how I felt.
I left the hideout while still staring at the names on the list. These people might be dead and there would be nothing I could do about it. Maybe if I did find them, I could bring them back—that way, no one would be sad they lost someone. People didn't need to stay dead while I was around.
I tucked the list away in one of my pockets. There would be plenty of time to find all of them after Sherrel and I beat the Nine together. Focus on one task at a time, or you'll drown.
Distant cars made the city louder than usual. I hoped they were out to help people. Before Leviathan, the constant sound of cars and people was everywhere. Even in the quieter parts of the city, you could hear the distant rumble of people commuting to and fro. Everything had become much quieter after him. Most cars couldn't travel on the broken roads or past all the debris—even if some people still tried.
Our work removing potholes and clearing rubble near the shelter seemed pointless now.
I shook my head to focus on the task at hand.
People were roaming the streets. Most looked like citizens trying to help each other, but I avoided them; I couldn't risk them being with the Empire. A fight right now would delay me from finding Sherrel.
Parian's territory was almost on the other side of the city, near the new lake Leviathan had gifted us. I had only heard about it, never seen it in person. The scale of it beat my imagination—so did the moss. When I imagined the lake, I imagined water, not an enormous mossy field with buildings sticking out of it. Despite the city now being covered in the green algae, I always underestimated how far it had spread.
A barrier with flashing orange lights surrounded the entire thing, and a chain-link fence surrounded that. You would probably sink in if you tried to talk across it—consumed by something meant to help.
I tried to ignore it as I walked along the edge of the lake.
Ballistic had claimed an area near Parian; I wasn't sure if they were allies or not. Parian wasn't a villain—at least not last I checked—but Ballistic could have made a deal with her. I would need to summon up my best words if I found either of them, or be ready to fight.
By the looks of things, I wouldn't need to fight either of them: no one was here.
Purple blobs of people were huddled inside buildings, with some roaming the streets, but none of them occupied Parian's territory. I wasn't sure what it meant. A fight, maybe? I hoped my mental map of her territory wasn't one hundred percent accurate.
Creeping around buildings, I didn't see any blood or obvious signs of an attack. Parian might have moved on, hoping to get away from Ballistic, or just left when she heard the Nine were around.
I kept my eyes and ears sharp as I checked over the rest of the area.
In her new configuration, Aiai couldn't get me to the tops of buildings any more. It was inconvenient, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings by telling her no. All of her new warps were squiggly and spiralling, and I couldn't figure out a good use for them. One of them crunched space together, making the edges jagged and hard to look at; I didn't dare step through it in case she bit me.
Having to keep to the floor sucked. At least Elel could see through walls with her magic eyes—at least she didn't whisper secrets of destruction in my ears.
For over an hour, I tried to find where Sherrel had hidden herself. My worry that she had left the city entirely grew with each minute I didn't find her. Unlike a dumpster, I couldn't pull out everything else to find what I was after, I needed to examine each piece somehow without disturbing it: Walking into random buildings would frighten those huddled inside.
Most of the people in the buildings or on the street were alone, but a few were in smaller groups. I wasn't sure if Sherrel would have anyone to turn to. There were a lot of Merchants who escaped the raid, and plenty who weren't there at all. She might have had old friends she could turn to as well.
The only way to tell would be to risk asking people if they had seen her. If they were Empire, or desperate, I would run away and not fight. I could offer them some healing paste—regardless if they helped me or not—as an apology for disturbing them.
With no other way to start, I picked the closest building to me.
Looking through Elel's magic eyes, I saw what looked like a family of four walking around upstairs, so I moved on. Unless Sherrel had shrunk smaller than me or grown to twice her height, the bigger two blobs probably weren't her and the smaller two definitely weren't.
Leaving those people to fend for themselves hurt in a way that was hard to pinpoint. I wanted to help all these people, to make sure they were fed, healed, and happy.
I couldn't help them right now; there wasn't a shelter to send them to, and I didn't have any resources to offer. My pockets had loose snacks, but not nearly enough to feed an entire person. They needed more than a stray slice of ham right now.
After this, we would need to rebuild all our efforts from scratch. This time, I would do things right; I would build helpers who don't need to sleep, eat, or drink. We could have the same amount of work done in a fraction of the time, and no one needed to lift anything.
Sherrel could help me with it all—if I could find her. I hoped she was okay.
The blobs of people in the next few buildings didn't match her build, either. A big, bulky coat could obscure her body shape, but that didn't feel right. She didn't own any coats that big, she always borrowed mine.
A car rumbled to life a street over. The noise carried easily in the empty city.
I squashed down the hope that wanted to rise and made my way over.
In the street across, a man was leaning against a partially destroyed truck. Sat with her legs dangling out the driver's seat was Sherrel. On second glance, I could see the remnants of the crane's neck poking out of the truck and bits of yellow paint sneaking out past all the burnt parts.
The stars, hidden by the day sky, had guided me to her. I thanked them for their help and made my way over.
I stopped when I noticed what they were holding.
Both of them were holding plastic bottles that had a tube sticking out of them. I wasn't sure whether to thank Lauren for letting me recognise what it was: an improvised meth pipe. Whenever my old mom's pipe broke—which happened at least once a month—she would create a new one using bottles or cans.
Devon had been right.
She promised me she wouldn't. She wasn't supposed to be like Lauren.
Maybe she would be fine on her own. Burnscar hadn't killed her, and her truck looked like it could be repaired. I'm sure she'd be okay without me.
I turned and left without a word.
My beating heart drowned out my feet pounding against the pavement. Sherrel was exactly like her. That man probably was like my dad. She had been waiting for me to let my guard down, but unlucky for her, I had caught her in the lie.
I kicked myself for not noticing it sooner. My instincts were supposed to be honed to a fine edge, not ruddy and dull and useless.
Why hadn't I noticed? Why wasn't I there?
Stupid mom and her stupid rules kept me from noticing the scorpion slipping her way into my life.
That wasn't fair. I loved my mom, and she only wanted me to be safe. No—this was all my fault. I should have seen all the signs punching me in the face.
Sherrel wouldn't trick me again, no matter how hard she tried. Next time, I would be ready.
If there will even be a next time with the Slaughterhouse Nine hunting for her. They weren't ever going to leave her alone: either she dies, or she joins them. What kind of friend leaves someone to a fate like that?
I was fifteen now—basically an adult—I should be more mature than this, not stomping away because an uncomfortable fact about her reminded me of my old mom. She was in danger, and her smoking again in a stressful situation made sense. I couldn't blame her for a mistake. There weren't that many friends left for me to turn to; I shouldn't throw away one of the last ones.
I turned back around to confront or comfort her; I wasn't sure which just yet. At least we would have each other.
A mist had settled on the street by the time I found my way back. This morning had been foggy too, she must have decided to come back.
I wasn't sure the best way to approach Sherrel. If my phone hadn't been broken, I could have called Vista or Shadow Stalker to get their thoughts on it. They were smarter than me and would know what to do. Abi was… gone, and I didn't want to think about that. Mel didn't respond much any more after I forgot to talk to her. There were only capes left in my life, or people close to capes. At least it meant they had experience behind their advice with hard things like this. Civilians would never understand.
I stifled a yawn as I trudged my way over to the blurry truck hidden past the fog.
Not that I deserved it, but I wished Mel would send more messages, even if I forgot to respond. We had fun together until Leviathan ruined it. Then she left with her family to be far away from the city—safe, and sound, and nowhere near me.
My feet dragged behind me as I took sluggish steps. Why was I so tired? I had only slept five hours. Maybe my mom had it right with coffee.
Mel would have known a great exercise to wake me up. She would have pushed me, but still been gentle and caring. A sweetie pie, who I wanted to hold hands with.
I slumped to my knees, unable to keep walking. My body felt like a lead weight.
She refused to listen to my commands, so I dragged myself forward to the car.
Mel could have carried me with her big, strong arms. Then we could have eaten some cake with Abi, who unfortunately had a skull for a face.
A man, taller than anyone I'd ever seen, walked out in front of me. I hated him. He was awful and horrid and I wanted him gone.
I raised my sluggish right arm to him and squeezed Aiai's trigger. Sparks flew out of her components. That wasn't my lightning powers, only a regular electrical malfunction.
Her new configuration had been too much for her to handle.
The man I hated remained unaffected. His head tilted to the side like a confused dog.
"You did your best, Aiai," the words spilt out of my mouth, chipping the concrete as they landed against it.
I pressed her trigger again, but Aiai couldn't respond. My leaden fingers fumbled with her wires and dials to give her a less intensive exercise regiment.
My eyes joined the heavy club, weighed down by an ocean of water.
They drifted shut, and the last thing I saw was a tall man formed out of snow. A snowman, that's what they're called—a snowman with blades.
Sleep claimed me.
6.4
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.4
The swing set squeaked annoying little chirpy sounds as I swung back and forth. Little furrows formed by my feet as they skimmed across the gravel. The empty swing next to me swung back and forth with me; the ghost occupying it formed her own little furrows with her invisible feet.
We swung in silence. Words weren't needed with a bond this close. Being near each other was enough for us, regardless of what the other was doing.
A black, starless sky loomed overhead. Someone had replaced the bulbs in the streetlights with miniature suns so that we could see the rest of the park.
A woman with a face made of static stood watching us from the tree line. A black figure behind her pressed his hand onto her shoulder; she flinched. I tried to ignore them.
Next to me, the invisible girl said something I couldn't hear.
"What?" I asked.
She scoffed. The swing stopped. Footprints appeared in the gravel as she walked away, leaving me to fend for myself. I wasn't sure what I did wrong, but I probably deserved it.
The woman with the static face walked over to take her place. She wasn't as scary as the pitch-black figure, but I still didn't like her.
No words came out of her non-existent mouth, only loud static that made me want to cover my ears. Unfortunately, I had to keep holding onto the swing set or the gravel would pull me under.
"I don't like this," I said, and all the people passing by repeated it in my voice in a perfect chorus.
A PRT officer came sprinting into the park. With a flying kick, she dispatched the static face woman, who rolled away into the darkness. The PRT officer sat down on the now empty swing. With a small kick of her legs, it rocked back and forth gently.
I looked over at her. Her face wasn't like mine, but she was my family.
"I'm sorry, Meadow," Heather said. "You can't be the Squirrel Squire any more—we need to leave Brockton Bay."
"I don't want to leave. There are still people left to help."
"None of them need you. Not any more. You've done more harm than good," the other me said.
"There'll always be people to help. You have to prioritise what's important. Do you want a family—or do you want to die for people who won't remember your name?" My mom also ignored the other me.
"Why can't I do both? We can be a family, and I can be a hero."
"We can't be a family if you're dead."
Everything felt too empty. There had to be a solution. I hopped off the swing to gather as many things as I could find. There were many treasures left lying around, which made it easy to pile them high near the swings. Mom looked sad, but she understood. I added some plushies to the top of the pile to make her less sad.
I ignored the man in the woods as I worked.
When I was done, the mound reached higher than the mountains. Captain's Hill looked like a hill instead of a mountain compared to my treasure heap.
The static-faced woman crawled back out of the darkness to sit on one of the smaller heaps. It reminded her of home. I still didn't like her, even if I was going to let her stay. You could help people you didn't like.
Heather picked up a portrait from my new pile of treasures. Her mirrored facemask reflected an image of her and her brothers. As she tilted the photo in her hand, I faded into view next to them and then faded away as she titled it again.
"The choice seems obvious to me," she whispered under her breath.
My eyes flickered open—I saw a spacious stone room with two open doors leading somewhere else. Someone had shoved all the furniture in this room to the side to make space for the people who were tied up. Familiar faces stared at me with scared eyes.
Mannequin stood stock still near the door, away from the hostages and me. His eggshell white head almost touched the ceiling; it looked cleaner than the rest of his chassis.
I tried to imitate him by staying as still as possible. He didn't have any eyes on his featureless face, and I hoped he didn't have cameras hidden behind the plastic. None of it looked transparent enough to see through, but I couldn't discount it based on that. The special coating I put on my sunglasses let me see through them as if they were glass, rather than tinted shades; he could have made something similar.
He hadn't reacted to me waking up, giving me time to scan the room after blinking away the sleep in my eyes.
I recognised the room and the hostages. We were in the hideout the shelter had escaped to. Had he found it because of me?
Sherrel was to my right in a chair similar to my own. She was still asleep or good at faking it.
Lined up across the walls and stuffed into the other rooms were the people I had failed to keep safe three times now. Rope bound them together by their hands, and cloth gags kept them from talking. Even if Mannequin wasn't blocking the door, they would have to run as a team to get anywhere.
Dede wasn't in my line of sight, nor was she hooked onto the clasp on my back. Aiai and Roro were still strapped to my arms, though I wasn't sure I could rely on Aiai with how she had malfunctioned before. Roro's stinky gas wouldn't do a lot, and Sherrel said that the containment foam hadn't worked against Mannequin before. Her glue ropes might keep him down for a moment if I aimed perfectly.
Elel might help find his weak points. I twitched my eye to give her the command to change her vision, but she didn't respond. Then I felt a strand of my hair brush against my face.
I wasn't wearing my helmet.
Mannequin began walking over to us with careful steps.
I had to think fast. I had no weapon, but I couldn't let him kill people. My fists were a weapon.
I shot out of the chair. With all my weight behind it, I tackled Mannequin into the wall. He was surprisingly light.
His body cracked the drywall as he slammed into it. Mannequin's legs went limp, sending us both sprawling to the ground.
I punched him in the face with my left hand. My metal gauntlet scraped against the plastic-like material, leaving only a surface-level scratch. As my fist hit him, I fired a glue rope from Roro. It wrapped around his head, sticking it to the floor.
I rolled to the side to avoid his grab. Before I could scramble up to my feet, a hand yanked me backwards by my braid. I felt pain flare through the back of my head as he tugged me to the floor. Hair wasn't designed to be pulled.
I cried out as Mannequin pulled me off of my feet using my hair. Dangling by my braid, I kicked at him, but it was as ineffective as my punches.
The glue melted off his head, pooling on the floor in a watery puddle.
He grabbed me by the neck with his other hand and thankfully let go of my hair. I continued to struggle, trying to kick and punch to no effect. His armour was too tough, and I was too weak.
My thoughts turned to slurry as I failed to suck down breaths past the clamp that was his hand.
"Stop," Sherrel gasped out.
Mannequin's head swivelled around completely to look at her. My fingers grasped at his hand, trying to break out of his iron grip. It was no use. I couldn't breathe. The edges of my vision darkened.
"Put her down," Sherrel said as she stumbled up off her chair.
I dropped, my stomach lurching from the sudden fall. My lungs burnt from the sudden rush of air. Gasping for breath, I refused to go down easy and charged Mannequin again.
Despite looking away from me, he was ready for my attack. My attempts to twist out of the way of his hand were pointless—he was too fast. His hand closed around my face.
He slammed my head into the nearby wall before letting go of my face.
I slid down the wall, trying not to throw up.
A blade slipped free from his arm. Before I could move, or even protest, he plunged it into the face of one of the hostages. A woman around Sherrel's age. I didn't know her name.
The people near her flinched back but couldn't move far. Muffled screams came from someone, but I wasn't sure who.
I stared as the bloodied corpse dropped to the floor as the blade slid free.
My vision blurred. No amount of blinking would get rid of it. I pressed a hand to the back of my head; it came back bloodied.
A voice cried out, and I turned to look.
Mannequin was striding across the room towards Sherrel. She raised her hands defensively while trying to move away from him. He walked straight past her without attacking. After grabbing something resting against the back wall, he returned to stand in front of Sherrel.
Quivering in his villainous hands, Dede threatened to bite, pounce, and sting if he dared keep hold of her. Unable, without my guidance, she could only threaten him. The words weren't enough.
Almost tenderly, he pressed Dede into Sherrel's hands. He kept a firm grip on her shoulder with his other hand to stop her from moving away. It didn't stop her from trying, but it did stop her from doing.
Sherrel's mouth moved in silent protest as he curled her fingers over Dede.
The woman missing part of her face stared at me with accusing eyes. I could have saved her if I wasn't a coward. People were going to keep dying if I didn't do something. My hands were unbound and I had the means. Her death was on me. Another grey-scale portrait for the memorial wall.
She wouldn't stay dead long enough for them to paint it.
It took my fingers a couple of tries to unclip one of Aiai's wires. They felt unresponsive and fuzzy, like I had slept on them all night long. Shaking fingers popped open one of Aiai's cartridges and pushed some sliders around. They didn't feel like they belonged to me, but they did what I asked. We could be a team for now, at least.
Mannequin kept his head staring at Sherrel, but I doubted he needed it to see me. With slow movements, he pointed from Dede to me, to the people from the shelter, to the woman he murdered.
Sherrel shook her head. Words came out of her mouth in a language I didn't quite understand. I focused as hard as I could on the task at hand: repairing Aiai.
Like she was a gentle flower, Mannequin guided her with delicate motions to hold Dede at the ready. Her stance was off, hands too far up the shaft that she would lose out on the reach provided. It would be easy to disarm her by grabbing the back of Dede and wrenching her out of her loose grip.
"No, please," she said through hitching breaths. "Anything else."
He moved her forward to be closer to me, then guided her hand to press the blade to my neck.
I continued trying to plug wires into new slots and to move dials and switches to new positions. A reinforced plastic foot kicked my hand away from Aiai. I looked up to see Mannequin waggling his finger at me disapprovingly.
"Anyone else, please. Not her. I can't," Sherrel's speech slurred as if she had been drinking. Maybe she had; It wasn't like I knew her any more.
Everything felt like it was slipping sideways before snapping back to where it had been. Head wounds were serious, no matter how small. Even though they loved to be dramatic, they were close to the brain. Blunt force trauma could cause serious long-term problems if left unchecked. The words had been hard to read in the boring, dry manual, but when I had doodled on them a story about a head doctor teaching a young girl who fell from space how to heal people, it hadn't been too hard to learn.
A sharp nick at my neck drew me back to reality. Dede's sharpened spearhead cut a tiny fresh scar on my skin just from being near me. She babbled apologies alongside Sherrel. Neither wanted to hurt me. Both were my friends and I would help them.
Mannequin moved the blade away from my neck. Dede huffed out a sigh of relief before realising it wasn't over. He shuffled himself and Sherrel over to the closest hostage. A man with pale blue eyes that looked like mine. Those eyes were darting around the room, trying to find anything to help him. Muffled noises were coming from behind his gag.
Dede nicked a fresh cut across his neck too. After checking that Sherrel's hands were secured around Dede, Mannequin stepped back.
Sherrel shook her head, muttering more protests as she stepped back. Mannequin moved back forward, guiding her hands back to having Dede pressing against the man's throat.
She moved back again, and this time Mannequin didn't move to stop her.
Instead, the soft noise of a blade slipping free from his arm signalled his intent.
Sherrel froze in her tracks. Mannequin didn't make a move.
I shuffled slightly, trying to sit upright so that I could attack Mannequin again. There weren't many things I could do to hurt him, but I couldn't let him kill anyone else.
With her eyes squeezed shut, Sherrel stepped back forward. The blade returned to the hidden compartment with the same soft noise as soon as Dede touched the hostage's throat.
I croaked out a word, my throat still messed up from being squeezed. After clearing my throat, I tried again. "Sherrel."
All three of them—Sherrel, Mannequin, and the hostage—looked at me.
"Don't. You're not this," I said. The words felt wrong on my lips. I had meant to say them and my body had complied, but they felt like someone else's voice. Maybe this was all still a dream.
"I don't want to die," Sherrel protested through sobs. "I have to—I'm sorry."
"Then, kill me. No one else has to die." The words felt like static coming out of my mouth.
Sherrel turned to look at Mannequin as if seeking his approval. He shook his head as he pointed to me and then to the hostages. The message was clear: 'You have to kill them all'.
Her eyes darted between me and Mannequin. I could only imagine the thoughts racing through her head. My thoughts were runny like honey, sliding down my brain to pool by the brain stem.
Aiai hummed on my arm, the signal that she had accepted her new configuration. I couldn't remember what sliders I moved or what dials I twisted. Mannequin had interrupted my work, so she might have accepted a partially complete configuration. Could I risk firing her when I didn't know what she would do? My options were drying up. All I had left was her bite.
Sherrel clenched her eyes closed. Dede struggled in her hands, trying to break free.
Her arms were shaking as she tried to muster the strength to kill an innocent person. Mannequin's blank face stared at her in anticipation.
This had to stop before she did something she'd regret.
I shifted position, leaning down on my left arm to get my right—Aiai's arm—into firing range.
My head swam as I moved. The world churned around and around as if someone had put me into a washing machine. Bile stung my throat as it surged out of my stomach. I swallowed it back down, uncaring about the taste.
My arm felt like lead as I tried to raise it.
I sucked down a breath before yelling, "Hey!"
Mannequin fired his arm towards me, a blade spearing out of the end; he collapsed backwards as it flew, his entire body going slack.
He had reacted faster than I expected. I pushed off with my left arm the moment I yelled, sending me sliding along the wall like an upside-down pendulum. Mannequin's arm blade sliced through the armour near my ribs, missing my vulnerable head. The plate, chain, gambeson, and collagen armour all worked together to stop the weapon from hurting me too badly. I trusted them.
Still mid-swing and without time to aim, I pointed Aiai in his direction and hoped that she would hit.
As I squeezed her trigger, the world broke apart.
Chairs become parts of tables, swapping themselves around piecemeal. Walls were floors, while also still walls. Mannequin, caught in the epicentre of all of it, tried to roll away. The warped space caught his left arm as he rolled.
Aiai tore it to shreds, spreading it out across the rest of her affected area. His arm existed in countless places at once, shifting as he tried to pull it free. The limb stretched out like taffy, refusing to be moved.
I shifted my aim to his centre mass. Forgive me, Mom, I hope you understand.
Mannequin's body split into countless pieces, each fighting for control of the rest of him. They floated like fourth-dimensional snowflakes, changing between one existence and another.
I felt the blade scrape against my ribs as I shifted positions to maintain my aim. The chain attached to the arm stretched out from me into infinity and then around the room like fairy lights.
Dede clattered to the floor beside me as Sherrel stepped away from the hostage. She stared at the horrible scene I had painted.
Cross-sections of Mannequin's body were visible, floating around with the rest. Inside his chassis were semi-transparent shells that contained his vitals. Grey-goo flowed around them, and each organ looked more machine than biological. Parts of his body flowed into the other like liquid, mixing as one. Overlapping pieces of him shimmered as I tried to parse how they were co-existing in the same space.
I refused to look away from it. If I had to kill someone, I needed it to be etched into my brain forever, so I never forgot it. When I was thirty, I needed to see this scene every time I saw the snow. When I was fifty, I needed to remember Hookwolf's screams as he melted alive.
My thoughts would punish me for an eternity, pushing forward what-if scenarios that let me save everyone without hurting anyone. That was fine. I could handle those. Here, now, I didn't have any better options.
This is what it meant to be a hero: to make sacrifices to save others.
I wasn't sure if he was still alive. Some of his organs were split into two, matching halves floating on the opposite sides of the room. Would letting go of Aiai put him back together like she would put back the holes she made in walls or stretch back out the pinched space? Aiai wasn't ever meant to be used like this; I wasn't sure what would happen.
Zeze wasn't around to fuel her—I couldn't feel her against the small of my back. Only the reserve battery hidden in her compartments kept her going. Did splitting space into shifting polka dots take more or less energy than poking holes in things?
Moving might risk the space shifting enough to catch an unfortunate person. At some point, I would need to let go.
"Art," I said to her without turning. She hadn't moved much since dropping Dede. "Can you pass me Dede?"
I saw her nod in my peripheral vision, but she didn't move to pick up Dede.
Parts of Mannequin flickered between space as Aiai struggled to keep up. Her battery was running low.
I tried to stretch out to grab her, but Dede was too far away. Sherrel ignored me again as I asked her for help.
If I was fast enough, I might be able to let go of Aiai, grab Dede, and then use Aiai again, all without Mannequin responding. Except a knife was stuck between my ribs and the chain attached to the person I needed to avoid. If Aiai put him back whole, he could yank me down before I reached my weapon.
Before I could make a decision, Aiai faltered. Reality folded back to normal. Each polka dot of intermingling space popped out of existence like soap bubbles. Mannequin's body reformed bit-by-bit as the chunks of his body were free from their prisons.
I tried to stand up, to take even a single step, but the sudden head rush and the taut chain pulled me down to my knees. Mannequin's arm hit the floor at an angle as I collapsed down; the blade wrenched free, cutting a chunk out of me as it clattered to the floor. Thankfully, it hadn't pierced deeper. Unthankfully, I could feel blood pooling between the layers of my armour.
Sherrel finally reacted by stumbling away from me. Not what I wanted, but at least she might listen now.
"Dede," I tried to speak, but my voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
Sherrel ignored my request again. She knelt beside me and then scooped her arms underneath to lift me to rest against the wall.
I finally saw what became of Mannequin. His body had been reconstructed wrong. Parts of the chassis were exposed to the air, leaving guts and grey fluid pouring out onto the floor like a cracked egg. His free arm had merged with one of his legs, and both had cracks running along them. The head was somewhere near his feet, and his feet were merged with one of his organs.
He wasn't coming back.
I tried to pull myself to my feet; Sherrel shoved me back down.
"Stay down," she said. "You're hurt. Let… let me help."
"We need to leave. Untie everyone and get me Dede. I'll be fine," I pushed away her hand.
"Please. I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry for even thinking about it." Sherrel dug her nails into her bare arms in a twisted self-hug. Her eyes were looking everywhere but at me.
I squeezed her hand, gently prying her fingers away from her arm.
"We'll be okay, but we have to move. Help me untie everyone."
She clenched her eyes closed for a long moment. I felt the tremors in her hand as she took shaky breaths.
With my spare hand, I patted down my utility belt to see if I still had my healing paste container. An empty space where it should have been greeted me.
"Okay," Sherrel said. She pulled herself away from me and set to work untying the hostages. She avoided the man with the cut on his neck.
It was hard to tell what they were feeling. They looked at both me and Sherrel with a mixture of glares and soft looks. A freshly freed woman approached me with a modified plastic bottle in her hands. Stored inside was a fluffy paste that sparkled in the light—my healing paste.
I reached out to grab it, but she gently pushed my hand aside.
"We'll need to take your armour off," her voice was melodic and sweet. "But first." She scooped up a handful of the paste and guided my head down with her other hand.
The world spun at the smallest of shifts in my body. It took all the effort in the spinning world to not throw up.
Her fingers, coated in paste, rubbed against the back of my head. My tangled, blood-soaked hair caught against her fingers. Like Heather, she didn't tug at it, instead, she gently guided her fingers out of the knots. It was soothing, and the cold paste flooded me with comfort.
The ache of the wound dulled, but my brain still felt woozy. She lifted my head back up to rest it against the wall. All her motions were slow and steady. I wished she would move me faster so that the world would spin less. Or would it spin more?
Her instructions were a mess of words that I didn't fully understand. I hazarded a guess and guided her hands to the clips that kept my breastplate attached to the backplate. I didn't have the processing power to feel embarrassed as she lifted the collagen top to expose my ribs. Would Mouse Protector have been embarrassed knowing I saw her tummy? Her life had been on the line, and she was a warrior like me; I'm sure she would understand.
The wound between my ribs looked like a crescent moon made of blood. When the knife had been wrenched free, my ribs had guided it up around my side. There was a lot of blood.
The woman, whose face I couldn't place no matter how hard I tried, lathered my warrior's wound up with sparkly glittery paste before covering it up with bandages. Her fingers were cold against my skin.
Once dressed, I tried to stand back up, but she pushed me down again. Why wouldn't anyone let me stand up and help?
"I'll get someone to help you walk. Stay put," she said in her sugary sweet voice.
Nodding made my head spin more, so I gave her a pained thumbs up to show I had listened.
All around me, people were helping each other free of their binds. A flurry of altruistic activity as they helped each other out.
Sherrel stood on the sideline, her eyes moving from the former hostages, to me, to Mannequin's corpse. I waved at her and tried my best to smile. She had never seen my face before. I hoped she liked it. Silly to worry over that right now.
She averted her gaze.
We had a lot to talk about after this. First, we had to get everyone here to safety.
I wished I had made a teleporter.
The swing set squeaked annoying little chirpy sounds as I swung back and forth. Little furrows formed by my feet as they skimmed across the gravel. The empty swing next to me swung back and forth with me; the ghost occupying it formed her own little furrows with her invisible feet.
We swung in silence. Words weren't needed with a bond this close. Being near each other was enough for us, regardless of what the other was doing.
A black, starless sky loomed overhead. Someone had replaced the bulbs in the streetlights with miniature suns so that we could see the rest of the park.
A woman with a face made of static stood watching us from the tree line. A black figure behind her pressed his hand onto her shoulder; she flinched. I tried to ignore them.
Next to me, the invisible girl said something I couldn't hear.
"What?" I asked.
She scoffed. The swing stopped. Footprints appeared in the gravel as she walked away, leaving me to fend for myself. I wasn't sure what I did wrong, but I probably deserved it.
The woman with the static face walked over to take her place. She wasn't as scary as the pitch-black figure, but I still didn't like her.
No words came out of her non-existent mouth, only loud static that made me want to cover my ears. Unfortunately, I had to keep holding onto the swing set or the gravel would pull me under.
"I don't like this," I said, and all the people passing by repeated it in my voice in a perfect chorus.
A PRT officer came sprinting into the park. With a flying kick, she dispatched the static face woman, who rolled away into the darkness. The PRT officer sat down on the now empty swing. With a small kick of her legs, it rocked back and forth gently.
I looked over at her. Her face wasn't like mine, but she was my family.
"I'm sorry, Meadow," Heather said. "You can't be the Squirrel Squire any more—we need to leave Brockton Bay."
"I don't want to leave. There are still people left to help."
"None of them need you. Not any more. You've done more harm than good," the other me said.
"There'll always be people to help. You have to prioritise what's important. Do you want a family—or do you want to die for people who won't remember your name?" My mom also ignored the other me.
"Why can't I do both? We can be a family, and I can be a hero."
"We can't be a family if you're dead."
Everything felt too empty. There had to be a solution. I hopped off the swing to gather as many things as I could find. There were many treasures left lying around, which made it easy to pile them high near the swings. Mom looked sad, but she understood. I added some plushies to the top of the pile to make her less sad.
I ignored the man in the woods as I worked.
When I was done, the mound reached higher than the mountains. Captain's Hill looked like a hill instead of a mountain compared to my treasure heap.
The static-faced woman crawled back out of the darkness to sit on one of the smaller heaps. It reminded her of home. I still didn't like her, even if I was going to let her stay. You could help people you didn't like.
Heather picked up a portrait from my new pile of treasures. Her mirrored facemask reflected an image of her and her brothers. As she tilted the photo in her hand, I faded into view next to them and then faded away as she titled it again.
"The choice seems obvious to me," she whispered under her breath.
My eyes flickered open—I saw a spacious stone room with two open doors leading somewhere else. Someone had shoved all the furniture in this room to the side to make space for the people who were tied up. Familiar faces stared at me with scared eyes.
Mannequin stood stock still near the door, away from the hostages and me. His eggshell white head almost touched the ceiling; it looked cleaner than the rest of his chassis.
I tried to imitate him by staying as still as possible. He didn't have any eyes on his featureless face, and I hoped he didn't have cameras hidden behind the plastic. None of it looked transparent enough to see through, but I couldn't discount it based on that. The special coating I put on my sunglasses let me see through them as if they were glass, rather than tinted shades; he could have made something similar.
He hadn't reacted to me waking up, giving me time to scan the room after blinking away the sleep in my eyes.
I recognised the room and the hostages. We were in the hideout the shelter had escaped to. Had he found it because of me?
Sherrel was to my right in a chair similar to my own. She was still asleep or good at faking it.
Lined up across the walls and stuffed into the other rooms were the people I had failed to keep safe three times now. Rope bound them together by their hands, and cloth gags kept them from talking. Even if Mannequin wasn't blocking the door, they would have to run as a team to get anywhere.
Dede wasn't in my line of sight, nor was she hooked onto the clasp on my back. Aiai and Roro were still strapped to my arms, though I wasn't sure I could rely on Aiai with how she had malfunctioned before. Roro's stinky gas wouldn't do a lot, and Sherrel said that the containment foam hadn't worked against Mannequin before. Her glue ropes might keep him down for a moment if I aimed perfectly.
Elel might help find his weak points. I twitched my eye to give her the command to change her vision, but she didn't respond. Then I felt a strand of my hair brush against my face.
I wasn't wearing my helmet.
Mannequin began walking over to us with careful steps.
I had to think fast. I had no weapon, but I couldn't let him kill people. My fists were a weapon.
I shot out of the chair. With all my weight behind it, I tackled Mannequin into the wall. He was surprisingly light.
His body cracked the drywall as he slammed into it. Mannequin's legs went limp, sending us both sprawling to the ground.
I punched him in the face with my left hand. My metal gauntlet scraped against the plastic-like material, leaving only a surface-level scratch. As my fist hit him, I fired a glue rope from Roro. It wrapped around his head, sticking it to the floor.
I rolled to the side to avoid his grab. Before I could scramble up to my feet, a hand yanked me backwards by my braid. I felt pain flare through the back of my head as he tugged me to the floor. Hair wasn't designed to be pulled.
I cried out as Mannequin pulled me off of my feet using my hair. Dangling by my braid, I kicked at him, but it was as ineffective as my punches.
The glue melted off his head, pooling on the floor in a watery puddle.
He grabbed me by the neck with his other hand and thankfully let go of my hair. I continued to struggle, trying to kick and punch to no effect. His armour was too tough, and I was too weak.
My thoughts turned to slurry as I failed to suck down breaths past the clamp that was his hand.
"Stop," Sherrel gasped out.
Mannequin's head swivelled around completely to look at her. My fingers grasped at his hand, trying to break out of his iron grip. It was no use. I couldn't breathe. The edges of my vision darkened.
"Put her down," Sherrel said as she stumbled up off her chair.
I dropped, my stomach lurching from the sudden fall. My lungs burnt from the sudden rush of air. Gasping for breath, I refused to go down easy and charged Mannequin again.
Despite looking away from me, he was ready for my attack. My attempts to twist out of the way of his hand were pointless—he was too fast. His hand closed around my face.
He slammed my head into the nearby wall before letting go of my face.
I slid down the wall, trying not to throw up.
A blade slipped free from his arm. Before I could move, or even protest, he plunged it into the face of one of the hostages. A woman around Sherrel's age. I didn't know her name.
The people near her flinched back but couldn't move far. Muffled screams came from someone, but I wasn't sure who.
I stared as the bloodied corpse dropped to the floor as the blade slid free.
My vision blurred. No amount of blinking would get rid of it. I pressed a hand to the back of my head; it came back bloodied.
A voice cried out, and I turned to look.
Mannequin was striding across the room towards Sherrel. She raised her hands defensively while trying to move away from him. He walked straight past her without attacking. After grabbing something resting against the back wall, he returned to stand in front of Sherrel.
Quivering in his villainous hands, Dede threatened to bite, pounce, and sting if he dared keep hold of her. Unable, without my guidance, she could only threaten him. The words weren't enough.
Almost tenderly, he pressed Dede into Sherrel's hands. He kept a firm grip on her shoulder with his other hand to stop her from moving away. It didn't stop her from trying, but it did stop her from doing.
Sherrel's mouth moved in silent protest as he curled her fingers over Dede.
The woman missing part of her face stared at me with accusing eyes. I could have saved her if I wasn't a coward. People were going to keep dying if I didn't do something. My hands were unbound and I had the means. Her death was on me. Another grey-scale portrait for the memorial wall.
She wouldn't stay dead long enough for them to paint it.
It took my fingers a couple of tries to unclip one of Aiai's wires. They felt unresponsive and fuzzy, like I had slept on them all night long. Shaking fingers popped open one of Aiai's cartridges and pushed some sliders around. They didn't feel like they belonged to me, but they did what I asked. We could be a team for now, at least.
Mannequin kept his head staring at Sherrel, but I doubted he needed it to see me. With slow movements, he pointed from Dede to me, to the people from the shelter, to the woman he murdered.
Sherrel shook her head. Words came out of her mouth in a language I didn't quite understand. I focused as hard as I could on the task at hand: repairing Aiai.
Like she was a gentle flower, Mannequin guided her with delicate motions to hold Dede at the ready. Her stance was off, hands too far up the shaft that she would lose out on the reach provided. It would be easy to disarm her by grabbing the back of Dede and wrenching her out of her loose grip.
"No, please," she said through hitching breaths. "Anything else."
He moved her forward to be closer to me, then guided her hand to press the blade to my neck.
I continued trying to plug wires into new slots and to move dials and switches to new positions. A reinforced plastic foot kicked my hand away from Aiai. I looked up to see Mannequin waggling his finger at me disapprovingly.
"Anyone else, please. Not her. I can't," Sherrel's speech slurred as if she had been drinking. Maybe she had; It wasn't like I knew her any more.
Everything felt like it was slipping sideways before snapping back to where it had been. Head wounds were serious, no matter how small. Even though they loved to be dramatic, they were close to the brain. Blunt force trauma could cause serious long-term problems if left unchecked. The words had been hard to read in the boring, dry manual, but when I had doodled on them a story about a head doctor teaching a young girl who fell from space how to heal people, it hadn't been too hard to learn.
A sharp nick at my neck drew me back to reality. Dede's sharpened spearhead cut a tiny fresh scar on my skin just from being near me. She babbled apologies alongside Sherrel. Neither wanted to hurt me. Both were my friends and I would help them.
Mannequin moved the blade away from my neck. Dede huffed out a sigh of relief before realising it wasn't over. He shuffled himself and Sherrel over to the closest hostage. A man with pale blue eyes that looked like mine. Those eyes were darting around the room, trying to find anything to help him. Muffled noises were coming from behind his gag.
Dede nicked a fresh cut across his neck too. After checking that Sherrel's hands were secured around Dede, Mannequin stepped back.
Sherrel shook her head, muttering more protests as she stepped back. Mannequin moved back forward, guiding her hands back to having Dede pressing against the man's throat.
She moved back again, and this time Mannequin didn't move to stop her.
Instead, the soft noise of a blade slipping free from his arm signalled his intent.
Sherrel froze in her tracks. Mannequin didn't make a move.
I shuffled slightly, trying to sit upright so that I could attack Mannequin again. There weren't many things I could do to hurt him, but I couldn't let him kill anyone else.
With her eyes squeezed shut, Sherrel stepped back forward. The blade returned to the hidden compartment with the same soft noise as soon as Dede touched the hostage's throat.
I croaked out a word, my throat still messed up from being squeezed. After clearing my throat, I tried again. "Sherrel."
All three of them—Sherrel, Mannequin, and the hostage—looked at me.
"Don't. You're not this," I said. The words felt wrong on my lips. I had meant to say them and my body had complied, but they felt like someone else's voice. Maybe this was all still a dream.
"I don't want to die," Sherrel protested through sobs. "I have to—I'm sorry."
"Then, kill me. No one else has to die." The words felt like static coming out of my mouth.
Sherrel turned to look at Mannequin as if seeking his approval. He shook his head as he pointed to me and then to the hostages. The message was clear: 'You have to kill them all'.
Her eyes darted between me and Mannequin. I could only imagine the thoughts racing through her head. My thoughts were runny like honey, sliding down my brain to pool by the brain stem.
Aiai hummed on my arm, the signal that she had accepted her new configuration. I couldn't remember what sliders I moved or what dials I twisted. Mannequin had interrupted my work, so she might have accepted a partially complete configuration. Could I risk firing her when I didn't know what she would do? My options were drying up. All I had left was her bite.
Sherrel clenched her eyes closed. Dede struggled in her hands, trying to break free.
Her arms were shaking as she tried to muster the strength to kill an innocent person. Mannequin's blank face stared at her in anticipation.
This had to stop before she did something she'd regret.
I shifted position, leaning down on my left arm to get my right—Aiai's arm—into firing range.
My head swam as I moved. The world churned around and around as if someone had put me into a washing machine. Bile stung my throat as it surged out of my stomach. I swallowed it back down, uncaring about the taste.
My arm felt like lead as I tried to raise it.
I sucked down a breath before yelling, "Hey!"
Mannequin fired his arm towards me, a blade spearing out of the end; he collapsed backwards as it flew, his entire body going slack.
He had reacted faster than I expected. I pushed off with my left arm the moment I yelled, sending me sliding along the wall like an upside-down pendulum. Mannequin's arm blade sliced through the armour near my ribs, missing my vulnerable head. The plate, chain, gambeson, and collagen armour all worked together to stop the weapon from hurting me too badly. I trusted them.
Still mid-swing and without time to aim, I pointed Aiai in his direction and hoped that she would hit.
As I squeezed her trigger, the world broke apart.
Chairs become parts of tables, swapping themselves around piecemeal. Walls were floors, while also still walls. Mannequin, caught in the epicentre of all of it, tried to roll away. The warped space caught his left arm as he rolled.
Aiai tore it to shreds, spreading it out across the rest of her affected area. His arm existed in countless places at once, shifting as he tried to pull it free. The limb stretched out like taffy, refusing to be moved.
I shifted my aim to his centre mass. Forgive me, Mom, I hope you understand.
Mannequin's body split into countless pieces, each fighting for control of the rest of him. They floated like fourth-dimensional snowflakes, changing between one existence and another.
I felt the blade scrape against my ribs as I shifted positions to maintain my aim. The chain attached to the arm stretched out from me into infinity and then around the room like fairy lights.
Dede clattered to the floor beside me as Sherrel stepped away from the hostage. She stared at the horrible scene I had painted.
Cross-sections of Mannequin's body were visible, floating around with the rest. Inside his chassis were semi-transparent shells that contained his vitals. Grey-goo flowed around them, and each organ looked more machine than biological. Parts of his body flowed into the other like liquid, mixing as one. Overlapping pieces of him shimmered as I tried to parse how they were co-existing in the same space.
I refused to look away from it. If I had to kill someone, I needed it to be etched into my brain forever, so I never forgot it. When I was thirty, I needed to see this scene every time I saw the snow. When I was fifty, I needed to remember Hookwolf's screams as he melted alive.
My thoughts would punish me for an eternity, pushing forward what-if scenarios that let me save everyone without hurting anyone. That was fine. I could handle those. Here, now, I didn't have any better options.
This is what it meant to be a hero: to make sacrifices to save others.
I wasn't sure if he was still alive. Some of his organs were split into two, matching halves floating on the opposite sides of the room. Would letting go of Aiai put him back together like she would put back the holes she made in walls or stretch back out the pinched space? Aiai wasn't ever meant to be used like this; I wasn't sure what would happen.
Zeze wasn't around to fuel her—I couldn't feel her against the small of my back. Only the reserve battery hidden in her compartments kept her going. Did splitting space into shifting polka dots take more or less energy than poking holes in things?
Moving might risk the space shifting enough to catch an unfortunate person. At some point, I would need to let go.
"Art," I said to her without turning. She hadn't moved much since dropping Dede. "Can you pass me Dede?"
I saw her nod in my peripheral vision, but she didn't move to pick up Dede.
Parts of Mannequin flickered between space as Aiai struggled to keep up. Her battery was running low.
I tried to stretch out to grab her, but Dede was too far away. Sherrel ignored me again as I asked her for help.
If I was fast enough, I might be able to let go of Aiai, grab Dede, and then use Aiai again, all without Mannequin responding. Except a knife was stuck between my ribs and the chain attached to the person I needed to avoid. If Aiai put him back whole, he could yank me down before I reached my weapon.
Before I could make a decision, Aiai faltered. Reality folded back to normal. Each polka dot of intermingling space popped out of existence like soap bubbles. Mannequin's body reformed bit-by-bit as the chunks of his body were free from their prisons.
I tried to stand up, to take even a single step, but the sudden head rush and the taut chain pulled me down to my knees. Mannequin's arm hit the floor at an angle as I collapsed down; the blade wrenched free, cutting a chunk out of me as it clattered to the floor. Thankfully, it hadn't pierced deeper. Unthankfully, I could feel blood pooling between the layers of my armour.
Sherrel finally reacted by stumbling away from me. Not what I wanted, but at least she might listen now.
"Dede," I tried to speak, but my voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
Sherrel ignored my request again. She knelt beside me and then scooped her arms underneath to lift me to rest against the wall.
I finally saw what became of Mannequin. His body had been reconstructed wrong. Parts of the chassis were exposed to the air, leaving guts and grey fluid pouring out onto the floor like a cracked egg. His free arm had merged with one of his legs, and both had cracks running along them. The head was somewhere near his feet, and his feet were merged with one of his organs.
He wasn't coming back.
I tried to pull myself to my feet; Sherrel shoved me back down.
"Stay down," she said. "You're hurt. Let… let me help."
"We need to leave. Untie everyone and get me Dede. I'll be fine," I pushed away her hand.
"Please. I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry for even thinking about it." Sherrel dug her nails into her bare arms in a twisted self-hug. Her eyes were looking everywhere but at me.
I squeezed her hand, gently prying her fingers away from her arm.
"We'll be okay, but we have to move. Help me untie everyone."
She clenched her eyes closed for a long moment. I felt the tremors in her hand as she took shaky breaths.
With my spare hand, I patted down my utility belt to see if I still had my healing paste container. An empty space where it should have been greeted me.
"Okay," Sherrel said. She pulled herself away from me and set to work untying the hostages. She avoided the man with the cut on his neck.
It was hard to tell what they were feeling. They looked at both me and Sherrel with a mixture of glares and soft looks. A freshly freed woman approached me with a modified plastic bottle in her hands. Stored inside was a fluffy paste that sparkled in the light—my healing paste.
I reached out to grab it, but she gently pushed my hand aside.
"We'll need to take your armour off," her voice was melodic and sweet. "But first." She scooped up a handful of the paste and guided my head down with her other hand.
The world spun at the smallest of shifts in my body. It took all the effort in the spinning world to not throw up.
Her fingers, coated in paste, rubbed against the back of my head. My tangled, blood-soaked hair caught against her fingers. Like Heather, she didn't tug at it, instead, she gently guided her fingers out of the knots. It was soothing, and the cold paste flooded me with comfort.
The ache of the wound dulled, but my brain still felt woozy. She lifted my head back up to rest it against the wall. All her motions were slow and steady. I wished she would move me faster so that the world would spin less. Or would it spin more?
Her instructions were a mess of words that I didn't fully understand. I hazarded a guess and guided her hands to the clips that kept my breastplate attached to the backplate. I didn't have the processing power to feel embarrassed as she lifted the collagen top to expose my ribs. Would Mouse Protector have been embarrassed knowing I saw her tummy? Her life had been on the line, and she was a warrior like me; I'm sure she would understand.
The wound between my ribs looked like a crescent moon made of blood. When the knife had been wrenched free, my ribs had guided it up around my side. There was a lot of blood.
The woman, whose face I couldn't place no matter how hard I tried, lathered my warrior's wound up with sparkly glittery paste before covering it up with bandages. Her fingers were cold against my skin.
Once dressed, I tried to stand back up, but she pushed me down again. Why wouldn't anyone let me stand up and help?
"I'll get someone to help you walk. Stay put," she said in her sugary sweet voice.
Nodding made my head spin more, so I gave her a pained thumbs up to show I had listened.
All around me, people were helping each other free of their binds. A flurry of altruistic activity as they helped each other out.
Sherrel stood on the sideline, her eyes moving from the former hostages, to me, to Mannequin's corpse. I waved at her and tried my best to smile. She had never seen my face before. I hoped she liked it. Silly to worry over that right now.
She averted her gaze.
We had a lot to talk about after this. First, we had to get everyone here to safety.
I wished I had made a teleporter.
6.5
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.5
The outside world was darker than I had left it. Our dear little sun dipped down near the horizon, casting the edges of the world in a fiery orange. Tiny pockets of stars were visible in the fading blue above us. Lazy clouds drifted overhead, unaware of how much my ribs ached with each step I took, or how much my head pounded as my feet hit the pavement.
Fishes could swim in my vision, considering how much it flowed like water.
Dizziness was the least of my problems; I had people to take care of. A true hero would power through this—for them.
Hiding a group of our size wasn't easy. Especially since we needed to make frequent stops due to injuries slowing down most of the group—myself included. We had forward scouts checking streets, at least.
With the addition of carrying the corpse of the woman Mannequin had murdered, we didn't stand a chance to be stealthy. Leelah was her name. She was from New York, liked the taste of sour candies, and couldn't stand country music. Her sister Kaitlyn had told me about her. Our conversation got cut short since we had to move, but I at least knew a little.
Kaitlyn avoided me like I was diseased. She hadn't been happy when I said I could bring her sister back. If someone hadn't interrupted, I worried she might have hit me. I didn't understand why she had been so upset. Brains were squishy biological machines. With enough effort, I could kick-start them back up again. If someone was around to tell me how she originally was, repairing any damage done by a lack of oxygen could be even easier. Instead of excitement, the idea of it had disgusted her. Did she hate her sister, or just me?
I tried not to think about it too hard. Thinking hurt with the throbbing in my head. There were far too many things to think about right now, far too many problems to figure out plans for.
Sherrel walked on the sidelines of the group, near enough to me for us to speak, but out of arm's reach. If I lunged, I could grab her into a hug before she could react—but that would make my head spin as well as confuse her.
I watched her eyes dart around as she chewed on her lip like it might fill her tummy. She probably hadn't eaten in over a day. There weren't many places to stop for food.
On the way out of the city, near the motel I had been staying in, a Waffle House had reopened. Their lights were always on when I walked home, though I had never been inside. Maybe we could go there? We could all eat waffles and not think about any of this.
Sherrel took a sharp step back as I stumbled into her. She braced me with her hands, then gently lifted me back to my feet.
"Careful," she said.
Blinking, I caught back up to reality and righted myself. I waved down her concerns.
'S'fine." The words came out as a hiss, more than anything understandable. It was close enough.
We continued not sneaking our way through the city. People shot me pitying glances, but I had become an expert in ignoring them. No pitying for me, thanks; soon I will be full of waffles.
There were people out in the streets, but they smartly avoided a group of our size. Not that we needed the numbers, we had my blade.
I looked down at her, clasped in my grip. Dede, the Fractal, lived up to her name by multiplying in my hands. Ghostly images of her faded into view as my vision swam from moving too fast. There was no way I could fight with her.
I held her out to Sherrel.
"Take," I said, shoving Dede towards her. My side stung as moving my arm tugged at the gaping hole in my body. A little deeper and he would have punctured my lung, spelling my doom. Thank you, armour.
"What am I going to do with that?" Sherrel replied, staring at Dede as if she might bite her.
Knowing Dede, maybe she would.
"Behave," I warned the Fractal. Then to Sherrel, I said, "Keep us safe. I'll use Roro, she won't make me dizzy."
I shoved Dede into her hands before she could protest. Even in her untrained hands, a bladed edge was a bladed edge.
Roro preened at the attention. Three vials, triplets, on the back of my left hand, each equally important. The liquid in her hydra heads sloshed around in glee at the idea they'd be the most important right now. Her stink gas vial saw the most use, so it was almost empty—the glue and marshmallow foam demanded to be used more.
Sherrel said something I didn't catch. I asked her to repeat, but I still didn't understand.
Sometimes I had to ask people to repeat things a few times because I forgot to listen to what they said—I wasn't sure if that was happening now or if my concussion was being a nuisance. My brain refused to tell me any of the symptoms of a concussion. She liked to hold information back sometimes—almost as much as she loved to spring random information on me when certain things reminded her of it. I had a recorder to help with my memory, but I forgot to listen back to any of the messages I left myself, and then I lost the entire thing, anyway.
A finger snapped in my face. "Hey, you okay?"
I looked up to see the woman who had bandaged me up earlier. Her face looked like it had emotions on it. Scrunched together eyebrows with the inner part raised, a slight frown. Frowning meant sad. Eyebrows could do a lot of things, and I didn't remember them all. Confused? Confused and sad. I tried to recreate it with my face to see if I could piece it together.
Maybe concern? It shifted to something else; it was then I realised I didn't have my helmet on so she could see what I was doing.
"Sorry—I'm fine. Tired." I dismissed her concerns. A mild concussion wouldn't stop me.
She didn't seem convinced, but she left me alone.
A man to my right practically leapt back as I took a step closer to the group. He raised his hands in surrender and cowered. Everyone stopped to look at the scene.
"Don't hurt me!" he said.
I whirled around to face our attacker, and the world span for a moment longer. No one was there, just a brick wall. I looked up to avoid an attack from above but found no one waiting on the rooftop.
The crowd backed away from me as I spun back around. Fear. What were they afraid of? Me? After my vision stopped swimming, I followed their eyes to my right arm. Black boxes with wires connecting them ran up my armoured arm. Aiai. They were scared of Aiai.
"She won't hurt you," I said. They didn't seem convinced. "Aiai is nice; she just hates bad people. None of you are bad."
"What are you talking about?" someone said at the same time someone else said, "Is she nuts?"
I pointed at the black boxes on my right arm. "This is Aiai, the Free. That's her name. She isn't a bad person, I promise, and she definitely won't hurt you."
Sherrel gently shoved my right arm down as she stepped in front of me. I hadn't realised it was raised so high.
Her brown eyes bore into my soul; I couldn't stand it and had to look away.
She cleared her throat as if readying to speak but moved away without saying a word. Only I didn't understand the unspoken message as the crowd moved on without me. No one spoke to me when I caught up to them. Aside from the nice lady who had healed me, no one bothered to look at me either. It was like I suddenly gained the ability to turn invisible to all but two people.
No one bothered to explain the joke to me. I tried to piece together what information I knew, but my thoughts were slippery, refusing to be clicked together. They were scared of Aiai, of what she did. They were worried she—I might do the same to them. Well then, they didn't need to worry: neither of us was going to hurt any of them. We wouldn't hesitate either when the next member of the Nine showed up. No one else would need to be revived while I was around.
I watched as Sherrel scratched at the arm carrying Dede, her eyes darting around as we made our way to the edges of Brockton Bay. It wasn't hard to puzzle out that emotion: scared. I shared the feeling.
The Nine would want revenge against me for killing Mannequin. Being around me meant you might get caught in the crossfire. Mannequin would have had alarms built into him that triggered upon his vitals stopping—it's what I would make if I were him. That way, anyone who killed him wouldn't be around for much longer as his friends came back for revenge. Or maybe they didn't care? The Nine often killed each other. Maybe they weren't even friends? Which was kind of sad to think about. A group of mass murderers and not even friends. Good. I hope they hate each other and fight all the time. They only made things worse when they could all have used their powers to make things better. If we were lucky, they would fight each other and all die in the process so that we would never have to think about them ever again.
Wishing death to people felt wrong, even if they were awful, terrible people who only ruined things. I didn't like this side of me. What lines did I draw in the sand to determine who gets to live and who gets to die?
Mannequin would have killed all of us and then tortured Sherrel. He would have left Brockton Bay to kill more people, and then gone somewhere else to kill even more. People who were trying to save the world would risk drawing his attention. His death had helped save future people that I would never know. Yet… I still felt bad that he was dead. There was a living, breathing person hidden inside that chassis. A history erased by my hand. But how many histories would be erased by his?
Being a hero meant making sacrifices. Here, my morals were the sacrifice.
But could I really kill the next person who came along? None of them were good people, and none of them were trying to be better. All of them were actively making things worse just for the sake of it. Maybe they didn't deserve to live—that didn't mean I had any right to kill them.
I sort of wished Browbeat was around right now. He knew more about this stuff than I ever would even if talking to him would hurt my brain more than it already hurt.
"Think we can hot-wire these? Faster than walking," a man said as he patted a parked car. Glass from the shattered windows had lodged itself firmly in the dashboard. Aside from the broken dials and gizmos that told the driver how the car was feeling, my power didn't register the car itself as trash—which meant it would be in working condition—but taking it would be stealing.
I shook my head and immediately regretted it as my vision swam. After it settled down to the normal level of spinning, I said, "No. We shouldn't steal."
"Wasn't asking you." He fired a glare right through my heart.
"Stealing is wrong," I reminded him.
"Our lives are in danger. Owners are probably dead, anyway," he said. Ignoring my further attempts to tell him that he shouldn't steal, he pulled open the door and began prying away bits of the dashboard.
"You said there were spots free in Boston, right?" a man with a chubby face asked me. I nodded carefully. We had struck a deal with the relief shelters there to get the people here out of Brockton Bay. He continued, "Then we'll need cars. There's no way we're walking there, not in our condition."
His logic made sense, but I still felt horrible stealing. If we still had the shelter's resources, Sherrel and I could have whipped up a vehicle that carried everyone there safely—but we didn't have those any more. Getting ourselves out of the city took priority.
"Okay, but we're giving them back later," I said. "We're only borrowing them."
He smiled at me, an actual smile—you could tell by the little wrinkles near his eyes—it warmed me up a little. "You got it."
Sitting on the sidelines while people stole cars somehow felt worse than stealing them myself. Except, I didn't know how to hot-wire cars. The knowledge was there from when I stole my mom's car, but I couldn't remember all the steps by heart. At least I could be useful by checking over the cars for damage.
There were plenty of abandoned vehicles left on the streets, most were even in working condition. We even got lucky with a minivan that could hold a good portion of our group. With some, though, the damage was too severe to repair them without spare parts—or my brain was too dizzy to remember how.
Sherrel interrupted me after I finished fixing up another engine. She pulled me aside from everyone else. It wasn't that far since everyone was avoiding me.
"I can't stand it any more. Yell at me," she said.
"What?" I blinked in confusion.
"Yell at me. Berate me. Insult me. Tell me I'm stupid—tell me I'm a stupid fuckup!" she whisper-shouted.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's true! I-I fucked up. You expected so much of me and I couldn't live up to it. Now people are dead because of me." Her voice was strained, tears welled in her eyes.
"You can't blame yourself; none of this is your fault."
"My actions are mine. The Nine didn't make me stick around to get everyone hurt. They—they didn't make me start using again. " She clenched her eyes closed. "There, the secret's out. I'm a fucking druggie and always will be. Now, yell at me. Tell me off."
"I… I already knew."
Sherrel flinched, her eyes bolting open. "You knew?"
I nodded, avoiding her gaze. "I didn't want to admit it to myself, but yeah, I saw the signs. Looking back, there were more than I noticed, too."
"You knew, and you didn't leave? Why… why did you stick around? It doesn't make any sense. I broke your trust. I said I would try, but then I went right back to it: I failed. You should be mad at me." Sherrel's voice quivered as she spoke.
"Failing is a part of trying. You fall over, and you get back up. Not everything will be perfect first try—but you have to keep trying, even when it's hard. You're not perfect; no one is, but we can all help each other try to get as close as possible. The reason I didn't leave is that you remind me of someone. And she didn't try. Never. She always promised she would, but she never did. So when I asked you, I expected the same results—but that didn't happen. You were clean for a little bit there; which is more than she ever did. I don't like her, and I don't forgive her—but—I can see how she got where she was. It makes it a little easier to understand. I was never mad at you, not really, but I was sad for you. You're my friend, and I care about you. Seeing you hurting, seeing you placed in an impossible situation, it hurt me too. And I wasn't there for you as much as I should have been. At least we can get out of here together, out of the city. We'll be safe then."
Both of our eyes had grown beyond misty. Little rivulets of tears ran down our cheeks. I smiled at her, the best one I could muster right now. It wasn't a lot, but I hoped it helped.
She clenched her teeth and sucked in a breath between them. "I can't go."
Her hand dug around in her pocket to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper. She handed it to me.
Opening it up, I saw a long list detailing the 'terms of engagement'. There wasn't a name telling me who had written it, but I felt confident in my guess. Near the bottom were the words:
'If and when the Slaughterhouse Nine do eliminate five of the six candidates, or if any candidates leave the city, the Slaughterhouse Nine are prepared to penalize the city for their failure.'
She really couldn't leave. They had trapped all the candidates here on the threat of the city facing consequences. Would that even stop the villains from leaving to save themselves?
With Ravager on her way to jail, did that mean she wasn't a candidate, or that they had given up on her? Or did it mean that she had escaped?
Mouse Protector might be in trouble. There wasn't enough of me to go around. If I could call someone to ask them for help, this would be easier.
"I'll stay," I decided out loud. "We'll help everyone get out of the city, and then we'll go to the PRT. They'll know what to do."
Sherrel shook her head, and I felt dizzy just watching her. "Go with them. I can go to the PRT on my own."
I grabbed her hand. "I'm not going to leave you alone again. We'll get through this together."
She stared at me with furrowed eyebrows. I couldn't read the emotion clear on her face. The honk of a horn behind me interrupted us.
The man from before, the one with the chubby face, waved at me from inside a car. He pointed up to the roof above us.
Sitting, almost laying, on the angled shingles, with her hand pressed against her motorbike helmet, Mouse Protector waved down at us.
"Hey, kid. Did ya miss me?"
The outside world was darker than I had left it. Our dear little sun dipped down near the horizon, casting the edges of the world in a fiery orange. Tiny pockets of stars were visible in the fading blue above us. Lazy clouds drifted overhead, unaware of how much my ribs ached with each step I took, or how much my head pounded as my feet hit the pavement.
Fishes could swim in my vision, considering how much it flowed like water.
Dizziness was the least of my problems; I had people to take care of. A true hero would power through this—for them.
Hiding a group of our size wasn't easy. Especially since we needed to make frequent stops due to injuries slowing down most of the group—myself included. We had forward scouts checking streets, at least.
With the addition of carrying the corpse of the woman Mannequin had murdered, we didn't stand a chance to be stealthy. Leelah was her name. She was from New York, liked the taste of sour candies, and couldn't stand country music. Her sister Kaitlyn had told me about her. Our conversation got cut short since we had to move, but I at least knew a little.
Kaitlyn avoided me like I was diseased. She hadn't been happy when I said I could bring her sister back. If someone hadn't interrupted, I worried she might have hit me. I didn't understand why she had been so upset. Brains were squishy biological machines. With enough effort, I could kick-start them back up again. If someone was around to tell me how she originally was, repairing any damage done by a lack of oxygen could be even easier. Instead of excitement, the idea of it had disgusted her. Did she hate her sister, or just me?
I tried not to think about it too hard. Thinking hurt with the throbbing in my head. There were far too many things to think about right now, far too many problems to figure out plans for.
Sherrel walked on the sidelines of the group, near enough to me for us to speak, but out of arm's reach. If I lunged, I could grab her into a hug before she could react—but that would make my head spin as well as confuse her.
I watched her eyes dart around as she chewed on her lip like it might fill her tummy. She probably hadn't eaten in over a day. There weren't many places to stop for food.
On the way out of the city, near the motel I had been staying in, a Waffle House had reopened. Their lights were always on when I walked home, though I had never been inside. Maybe we could go there? We could all eat waffles and not think about any of this.
Sherrel took a sharp step back as I stumbled into her. She braced me with her hands, then gently lifted me back to my feet.
"Careful," she said.
Blinking, I caught back up to reality and righted myself. I waved down her concerns.
'S'fine." The words came out as a hiss, more than anything understandable. It was close enough.
We continued not sneaking our way through the city. People shot me pitying glances, but I had become an expert in ignoring them. No pitying for me, thanks; soon I will be full of waffles.
There were people out in the streets, but they smartly avoided a group of our size. Not that we needed the numbers, we had my blade.
I looked down at her, clasped in my grip. Dede, the Fractal, lived up to her name by multiplying in my hands. Ghostly images of her faded into view as my vision swam from moving too fast. There was no way I could fight with her.
I held her out to Sherrel.
"Take," I said, shoving Dede towards her. My side stung as moving my arm tugged at the gaping hole in my body. A little deeper and he would have punctured my lung, spelling my doom. Thank you, armour.
"What am I going to do with that?" Sherrel replied, staring at Dede as if she might bite her.
Knowing Dede, maybe she would.
"Behave," I warned the Fractal. Then to Sherrel, I said, "Keep us safe. I'll use Roro, she won't make me dizzy."
I shoved Dede into her hands before she could protest. Even in her untrained hands, a bladed edge was a bladed edge.
Roro preened at the attention. Three vials, triplets, on the back of my left hand, each equally important. The liquid in her hydra heads sloshed around in glee at the idea they'd be the most important right now. Her stink gas vial saw the most use, so it was almost empty—the glue and marshmallow foam demanded to be used more.
Sherrel said something I didn't catch. I asked her to repeat, but I still didn't understand.
Sometimes I had to ask people to repeat things a few times because I forgot to listen to what they said—I wasn't sure if that was happening now or if my concussion was being a nuisance. My brain refused to tell me any of the symptoms of a concussion. She liked to hold information back sometimes—almost as much as she loved to spring random information on me when certain things reminded her of it. I had a recorder to help with my memory, but I forgot to listen back to any of the messages I left myself, and then I lost the entire thing, anyway.
A finger snapped in my face. "Hey, you okay?"
I looked up to see the woman who had bandaged me up earlier. Her face looked like it had emotions on it. Scrunched together eyebrows with the inner part raised, a slight frown. Frowning meant sad. Eyebrows could do a lot of things, and I didn't remember them all. Confused? Confused and sad. I tried to recreate it with my face to see if I could piece it together.
Maybe concern? It shifted to something else; it was then I realised I didn't have my helmet on so she could see what I was doing.
"Sorry—I'm fine. Tired." I dismissed her concerns. A mild concussion wouldn't stop me.
She didn't seem convinced, but she left me alone.
A man to my right practically leapt back as I took a step closer to the group. He raised his hands in surrender and cowered. Everyone stopped to look at the scene.
"Don't hurt me!" he said.
I whirled around to face our attacker, and the world span for a moment longer. No one was there, just a brick wall. I looked up to avoid an attack from above but found no one waiting on the rooftop.
The crowd backed away from me as I spun back around. Fear. What were they afraid of? Me? After my vision stopped swimming, I followed their eyes to my right arm. Black boxes with wires connecting them ran up my armoured arm. Aiai. They were scared of Aiai.
"She won't hurt you," I said. They didn't seem convinced. "Aiai is nice; she just hates bad people. None of you are bad."
"What are you talking about?" someone said at the same time someone else said, "Is she nuts?"
I pointed at the black boxes on my right arm. "This is Aiai, the Free. That's her name. She isn't a bad person, I promise, and she definitely won't hurt you."
Sherrel gently shoved my right arm down as she stepped in front of me. I hadn't realised it was raised so high.
Her brown eyes bore into my soul; I couldn't stand it and had to look away.
She cleared her throat as if readying to speak but moved away without saying a word. Only I didn't understand the unspoken message as the crowd moved on without me. No one spoke to me when I caught up to them. Aside from the nice lady who had healed me, no one bothered to look at me either. It was like I suddenly gained the ability to turn invisible to all but two people.
No one bothered to explain the joke to me. I tried to piece together what information I knew, but my thoughts were slippery, refusing to be clicked together. They were scared of Aiai, of what she did. They were worried she—I might do the same to them. Well then, they didn't need to worry: neither of us was going to hurt any of them. We wouldn't hesitate either when the next member of the Nine showed up. No one else would need to be revived while I was around.
I watched as Sherrel scratched at the arm carrying Dede, her eyes darting around as we made our way to the edges of Brockton Bay. It wasn't hard to puzzle out that emotion: scared. I shared the feeling.
The Nine would want revenge against me for killing Mannequin. Being around me meant you might get caught in the crossfire. Mannequin would have had alarms built into him that triggered upon his vitals stopping—it's what I would make if I were him. That way, anyone who killed him wouldn't be around for much longer as his friends came back for revenge. Or maybe they didn't care? The Nine often killed each other. Maybe they weren't even friends? Which was kind of sad to think about. A group of mass murderers and not even friends. Good. I hope they hate each other and fight all the time. They only made things worse when they could all have used their powers to make things better. If we were lucky, they would fight each other and all die in the process so that we would never have to think about them ever again.
Wishing death to people felt wrong, even if they were awful, terrible people who only ruined things. I didn't like this side of me. What lines did I draw in the sand to determine who gets to live and who gets to die?
Mannequin would have killed all of us and then tortured Sherrel. He would have left Brockton Bay to kill more people, and then gone somewhere else to kill even more. People who were trying to save the world would risk drawing his attention. His death had helped save future people that I would never know. Yet… I still felt bad that he was dead. There was a living, breathing person hidden inside that chassis. A history erased by my hand. But how many histories would be erased by his?
Being a hero meant making sacrifices. Here, my morals were the sacrifice.
But could I really kill the next person who came along? None of them were good people, and none of them were trying to be better. All of them were actively making things worse just for the sake of it. Maybe they didn't deserve to live—that didn't mean I had any right to kill them.
I sort of wished Browbeat was around right now. He knew more about this stuff than I ever would even if talking to him would hurt my brain more than it already hurt.
"Think we can hot-wire these? Faster than walking," a man said as he patted a parked car. Glass from the shattered windows had lodged itself firmly in the dashboard. Aside from the broken dials and gizmos that told the driver how the car was feeling, my power didn't register the car itself as trash—which meant it would be in working condition—but taking it would be stealing.
I shook my head and immediately regretted it as my vision swam. After it settled down to the normal level of spinning, I said, "No. We shouldn't steal."
"Wasn't asking you." He fired a glare right through my heart.
"Stealing is wrong," I reminded him.
"Our lives are in danger. Owners are probably dead, anyway," he said. Ignoring my further attempts to tell him that he shouldn't steal, he pulled open the door and began prying away bits of the dashboard.
"You said there were spots free in Boston, right?" a man with a chubby face asked me. I nodded carefully. We had struck a deal with the relief shelters there to get the people here out of Brockton Bay. He continued, "Then we'll need cars. There's no way we're walking there, not in our condition."
His logic made sense, but I still felt horrible stealing. If we still had the shelter's resources, Sherrel and I could have whipped up a vehicle that carried everyone there safely—but we didn't have those any more. Getting ourselves out of the city took priority.
"Okay, but we're giving them back later," I said. "We're only borrowing them."
He smiled at me, an actual smile—you could tell by the little wrinkles near his eyes—it warmed me up a little. "You got it."
Sitting on the sidelines while people stole cars somehow felt worse than stealing them myself. Except, I didn't know how to hot-wire cars. The knowledge was there from when I stole my mom's car, but I couldn't remember all the steps by heart. At least I could be useful by checking over the cars for damage.
There were plenty of abandoned vehicles left on the streets, most were even in working condition. We even got lucky with a minivan that could hold a good portion of our group. With some, though, the damage was too severe to repair them without spare parts—or my brain was too dizzy to remember how.
Sherrel interrupted me after I finished fixing up another engine. She pulled me aside from everyone else. It wasn't that far since everyone was avoiding me.
"I can't stand it any more. Yell at me," she said.
"What?" I blinked in confusion.
"Yell at me. Berate me. Insult me. Tell me I'm stupid—tell me I'm a stupid fuckup!" she whisper-shouted.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's true! I-I fucked up. You expected so much of me and I couldn't live up to it. Now people are dead because of me." Her voice was strained, tears welled in her eyes.
"You can't blame yourself; none of this is your fault."
"My actions are mine. The Nine didn't make me stick around to get everyone hurt. They—they didn't make me start using again. " She clenched her eyes closed. "There, the secret's out. I'm a fucking druggie and always will be. Now, yell at me. Tell me off."
"I… I already knew."
Sherrel flinched, her eyes bolting open. "You knew?"
I nodded, avoiding her gaze. "I didn't want to admit it to myself, but yeah, I saw the signs. Looking back, there were more than I noticed, too."
"You knew, and you didn't leave? Why… why did you stick around? It doesn't make any sense. I broke your trust. I said I would try, but then I went right back to it: I failed. You should be mad at me." Sherrel's voice quivered as she spoke.
"Failing is a part of trying. You fall over, and you get back up. Not everything will be perfect first try—but you have to keep trying, even when it's hard. You're not perfect; no one is, but we can all help each other try to get as close as possible. The reason I didn't leave is that you remind me of someone. And she didn't try. Never. She always promised she would, but she never did. So when I asked you, I expected the same results—but that didn't happen. You were clean for a little bit there; which is more than she ever did. I don't like her, and I don't forgive her—but—I can see how she got where she was. It makes it a little easier to understand. I was never mad at you, not really, but I was sad for you. You're my friend, and I care about you. Seeing you hurting, seeing you placed in an impossible situation, it hurt me too. And I wasn't there for you as much as I should have been. At least we can get out of here together, out of the city. We'll be safe then."
Both of our eyes had grown beyond misty. Little rivulets of tears ran down our cheeks. I smiled at her, the best one I could muster right now. It wasn't a lot, but I hoped it helped.
She clenched her teeth and sucked in a breath between them. "I can't go."
Her hand dug around in her pocket to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper. She handed it to me.
Opening it up, I saw a long list detailing the 'terms of engagement'. There wasn't a name telling me who had written it, but I felt confident in my guess. Near the bottom were the words:
'If and when the Slaughterhouse Nine do eliminate five of the six candidates, or if any candidates leave the city, the Slaughterhouse Nine are prepared to penalize the city for their failure.'
She really couldn't leave. They had trapped all the candidates here on the threat of the city facing consequences. Would that even stop the villains from leaving to save themselves?
With Ravager on her way to jail, did that mean she wasn't a candidate, or that they had given up on her? Or did it mean that she had escaped?
Mouse Protector might be in trouble. There wasn't enough of me to go around. If I could call someone to ask them for help, this would be easier.
"I'll stay," I decided out loud. "We'll help everyone get out of the city, and then we'll go to the PRT. They'll know what to do."
Sherrel shook her head, and I felt dizzy just watching her. "Go with them. I can go to the PRT on my own."
I grabbed her hand. "I'm not going to leave you alone again. We'll get through this together."
She stared at me with furrowed eyebrows. I couldn't read the emotion clear on her face. The honk of a horn behind me interrupted us.
The man from before, the one with the chubby face, waved at me from inside a car. He pointed up to the roof above us.
Sitting, almost laying, on the angled shingles, with her hand pressed against her motorbike helmet, Mouse Protector waved down at us.
"Hey, kid. Did ya miss me?"
6.a - Interlude; Cat and Mouse
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.a - Interlude; Cat and Mouse
Ravager sauntered up to the front desk of the hospital. She eyed up the attendant behind the desk. Sleek black hair tied back in a low bun, a soft face with enough angles to make it interesting, and an innocent look on her face. Pictures of a librarian's assistant came straight to mind. Ravager loved to see the innocent looks of mousy girls turned to panting faces, but she was far too pressed for time to get into it. Not that she didn't plan to flirt with her, anyway.
What fun was life if she couldn't twist people into knots with words alone?
Although she considered herself an expert on the subject of turning people into pretzels, she looked forward to sharing trade secrets with Jack Slash. He had sent her on this mission—not a trial, he specified, only the preamble.
Mannequin would have his way with her when she returned with the Mouse in tow. She knew he liked to change others—to force them to step past the threshold and never be able to return, but she doubted he could command her to do anything she wasn't willing to do. With her dear sweet Laceration gone, there wasn't much else for her to lose.
Her imagination might be lacking in that regard, which is why she was so eager to see what they came up with.
Ravager leaned against the desk, pressing her arm up against her side so that it puffed out her—in her opinion—ample chest. She smiled a little wider when she saw the receptionist stare directly at her cleavage before flicking up to her eyes. Regardless of if it had been intentional, the image of them would bear future fruit.
"Hello, darling," she purred. "I'm looking for a patient's room—if you would be a dear."
"Name, please," the receptionist replied. Her voice fit her face, and Ravager desperately wanted to hear it screaming in agony.
"Connie Bennett." The name was unfamiliar on her tongue. Learning the Mouse's civilian name hadn't ever been a concern. Sure, she could use it to hunt down whatever hovel such a deplorable creature lived in and then torture her in her very home—but that wouldn't be the Mouse; it would be Connie Bennett. The distinction made all the difference to Ravager. Ravager had to kill Mouse Protector, not some random civilian. Any reports would need to announce that she had bested the pest and not targeted some random no one cared about. Whatever the PRT did internally didn't matter to her—only her name on headlines mattered.
The receptionist click-clacked away at the keyboard. Her nails were red with white polka dots, a cute little detail. Ravager imagined them with a fresh coat of blood earned from scratching at flesh.
"Relation to the patient?" Her eyes remained on the screen as she asked.
"I'm her sister. Rosaline Bennett," she lied easily.
The receptionist's eyes flicked up to Ravager and then back down to her monitor. Ravager guessed the skin-tone difference was throwing her off. While she had a decent tan from enjoying the sunlight, it wasn't anywhere near the deep, tantalising, ebony skin tones of Mouse Protector.
"Half-sister, technically," she added to fill the gaps, "but we're as thick as thieves."
She hummed in reply before adding, "I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone here by that name."
Everything stalled, and Ravager scrambled to catch back up. Her guess at what the woman had been reacting to had been off. Maybe the name flagged a potential NDA leak, or they had signed her in under a different name. That hadn't been the look of confusion at the racial difference; it had been confusion on why she was asking for a patient that wasn't there—or potentially a patient with specific protections in place.
Ravager widened her eyes in fake surprise. "Ah. My mistake. She might be here under a different name. She's an important government official, you see, so she often uses aliases to avoid attention. Considering the civilian nature of the injury, I—incorrectly—assumed she'd use her usual name. Give me a moment to call her up and I'll get back to you. Is it alright if I do it in the café?"
The receptionist smiled. "No problem. It's open to everyone, so feel free."
"Thank you, darling."
She left, her face dropping the fake smile the moment she looked away. So much for that plan.
Jack Slash had tasked her with getting in and out without killing a single soul—he hadn't even allowed her to bring a knife. Joining a band of serial killers and being asked to not kill had sounded interesting when the words came out of Jack's mouth.
In practice, she found it lacking.
There wasn't any thrill in scrounging around in the dirt to gather information—that's what minions existed for. Her nails were going to be chipped from rifling through so many documents.
He even forbade her from hurting the involuntary information giver that had so graciously offered her the Mouse's name under blissful duress.
While she certainly enjoyed testing the social side of her skills, dealing with the humdrum of employees not under her thumb felt… mundane. There wasn't any leverage for her to heave side to side like a knife in a wound to jostle information free. A mousy receptionist wouldn't spill her guts because Ravager flashed a little extra skin and gave her a pity story. However, if she could spill her guts with the edge of a blade and not words, then talking might come easier.
All of it chafed. Why, oh, why did she always fall in line when a blood-soaked man called her name?
Their suggestions always became honey to her ears, regardless of if they were good. And then they kill your closest friend, leaving you with nothing but them.
She was no stranger to it. At least the last time it happened, Lass hadn't gone down easily. They'd fought over it, but in the end, she realised Lass had her back more than any temporary fling.
So much for that.
The hospital cafeteria, connected to the foyer in an open floor plan, had cheap round tables and hard plastic chairs dotted around. From anywhere in the cafeteria, Ravager could see the receptionist sitting behind her long wooden counter. There weren't many people around. Only bored-looking servers behind sneeze guards and the occasional melancholy downtrodden person visiting sickly relatives. There was fun to be had with the latter if she only had time.
Ravager weaved her way past the tables and chairs to order a sandwich before sitting at a table closer to the hallway that led into the hospital proper. Sandwich in hand, she pried free a burner phone from her pocket and set to dialling no one in particular. It would have been nice to call someone—it would make faking things easier.
Ravager feigned speaking on her phone. A quiet conversation that wouldn't be overheard even by prying ears.
She kept the receptionist in her peripheral. All she had to do was wait for an opening. Waiting wasn't too bad, although it made her long for a bloodier entrance.
Her backup plan was less complicated, but more likely to have someone pay attention to her.
Anyone who had the luxury of being injured by her would be highlighted in her senses. Even those who succumbed to their wounds would linger for at least a week. There were always at least a few people who she could distantly sense on the other side of the country. Normally, she would hunt down anyone she had injured to prolong and then end their suffering. The only way out of her third eye was to be healed. With the way her injuries festered and lingered, a single cut could take weeks to heal enough to avoid her ethereal gaze. The exception was power-assisted healing; lighter injuries could be healed in days with the right tools; heavier ones resisted somewhat, but they would fade a lot faster than they should.
Her awareness of Mouse Protector was faint. A dull echo that wobbled with uncertainty. Someone had done a good job patching her up. The best surgeon in the world wouldn't be enough, which meant the PRT had sourced a parahuman healer. Fortunately for her—and unfortunately for the Mouse—gunshot wounds imbued with her lethality wouldn't go away that easily.
All she needed to do now was to follow that sense to the Mouse's room. Had her nose been sharper, the Mouse's putrid scent would have been enough to find her. She chuckled out loud at her joke.
Waiting quickly became boring, and there were only so many ways she could amuse herself with a one-sided conversation that she had to pretend to be enthralled with. She even bothered to eat the disgusting hospital sandwich purely for something to do.
Eventually—and mercifully—the receptionist left, either to be replaced or for the bathroom. Ravager didn't care either way and took the opportunity granted to head down the corridor.
Striding with confidence, she didn't bother to cast anyone a second glance as she made her way to the stairs. Anywhere was accessible if you acted like you belonged. People didn't question your presence if it seemed natural.
Social engineering was an interesting avenue to explore. Slipping in and out of places by confidence alone could be a nice notch upon her belt—but it felt pointless if she was going to be travelling with the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Why had Jack tasked her with a subtle retrieval when Shatterbird could have nabbed the Mouse in barely twenty minutes (including travel time)? There had to be a purpose behind the action, or it would make Jack look like an idiot who was throwing ideas at the wall instead of the creative genius she knew him to be. He had killed Lass for a reason, too—she just couldn't see it. The woman hadn't been holding her back, nor had she been going too extreme to draw attention. His every action had purpose, and thought—she only needed to figure it out.
Why send her in bladeless? Why kill a person she cared about?
She pushed the thoughts aside for now. There would be time to mull things over when she dragged the Mouse back by the scruff of her neck.
As she headed up to the third floor and down a deep corridor to an unassuming room, three-oh-eight, she withdrew a handful of powder from a small cloth bag; a gift from Bonesaw to make the Mouse less of a nuisance.
The room had no guard. A way to hide the importance of the person inside, no doubt. Or they hated the Mouse as much as she did. Ravager was tangentially aware of Mouse Protector's history with the Protectorate. She knew that the woman had left on not great terms, neither side ever wanting to attempt reconciliation after the whole debacle. Perhaps they had left her to her fate.
There were most likely eyes in the room. Even if they couldn't be bothered to post a guard detail, they would at least offer her security and a 'quick' response time.
No response would be quick enough to stop me, she thought.
Inside the room, she found two beds. One was empty, divided from the other by a privacy curtain. In the other lay a sleeping princess, her restful face the picture of divine perfection.
Ravager traced the contours of the Mouse's face with her eyes, hungrily devouring the details. She had seen only a glimpse when the insolent bug girl had interrupted their fight. That single glimpse had left her parched, a thirst that could never be quenched—and yet, after only a short couple of days, she got to imbibe more than her fair share. As if it were ambrosia from the gods, she drank in every perfect detail.
Slight lips with a small scar marring one edge, a flat nose with wide nostrils, and a jawline that looked sharp enough to cut the litter of scars that lined it. Wheat blonde hair that began to show her natural brown through the roots sat lightly tousled on her head. It curled and waved in equal parts; an unkempt mess that looked somehow both feral and deliberate.
Ravager had only seen her deep brown eyes through the gap in her helmet. She demanded to see it in full, no longer obscured. If only she would open her eyes.
Standing by the sleeping woman's bedside, she absorbed as many details as she could. Only a hospital gown covered her decency. It left her muscled arms exposed, revealing more scars. Some of them Ravager remembered giving to her: A jagged one earned from her shark tooth knife, and a clean slice that spiralled up her arm from the time they had danced in New York together.
Ravager lifted the hand holding the powder. She puckered her lips and blew as if sending a kiss.
The powder became a cloud of dust, billowing down to the empty bed.
Her dim awareness of the woman behind her wasn't enough to let her dodge cleanly. Mouse Protector shoved her forward while sweeping at her legs.
Ravager's supernatural balance kept her from stumbling down entirely, but her face fell within a dangerous distance of the cloud of power-removing powder.
Kicking off the bed with her hands, she elbowed back but hit only air. She spun around, grabbing a random object from the bedside table. A phone charger—she could work with it. Power flowed down into the two prongs, coating it in a thin layer that clung to it like a film.
Mouse Protector lunged forward, a feint that Ravager knew well. Twirling the phone charger around herself like a flail, she whipped it out to the most obvious spot Mouse Protector would teleport to.
It had been a double bluff—Mouse Protector didn't teleport. Just in time, Ravager raised her right arm to take the blow. Mouse followed through with a kick just as Ravager flicked the charger towards her.
Foot collided with hip just as the blunt end of the charger smacked Mouse Protector in the forehead.
Ravager took a sharp step to stop herself from falling back into the powder. She could already feel her awareness of Mouse Protector dimming even more. At least, her enhanced durability seemed to be sticking around.
They stared at each other for a moment as they both found their feet. Her eyes were even better when not blocked by her helmet. The cold, hard stare Mouse Protector gave her sent shivers down her spine. The glare shifted to a practised smile. Ravager knew it was fake, but still couldn't spot the holes in the mask.
"You've caught me in my Sunday best," Mouse said, sweeping a hand down past her body as if presenting it.
Ravager obliged the motion, following her hand down to her exposed legs. It caught her a little by surprise that they were unshaven. The rest of her skin, even her arms, was such a smooth surface that she didn't expect hair could even blemish it. In a way, it added to her look.
"Drink it all in. Last taste you're gonna get," she finished.
Ravager grinned as she twirled the charger around. "Darling, we're going to have so much fun together."
Mouse vanished. The awareness had faded entirely now, so her dodge was only on instinct born from fighting her rival so often.
Ravager ducked down, avoiding an incoming fist from behind. She stepped forward and twisted her body around at the same time as she lashed out behind her with the charger.
Mouse Protector flickered into a crouch. One moment she was standing, the next she was crouched down. A quirk of her power let her appear in any position she liked. It wasn't often she used it to dodge like this, but Ravager had seen it a handful of times before.
Her eyes scanned the desk behind Mouse Protector as she stepped back to avoid the next swing of her fist. One object on the desk had to be an anchor point. If she could find it, she could limit the woman's movements.
They danced back and forth as they traded blows in the small gap between bed and curtain.
Mouse Protector sucked in a breath as she ducked beneath another flick of the charger. As she righted herself, striking out with her elbow as she did so, she breathed out to blow away the encroaching dust.
The elbow collided with Ravager's arm, sending her into a slight turn. With the momentary distraction, Mouse ducked between the folds of the curtain.
A blade speared back through as Ravager stepped forward.
A quick step to the side was the only thing that stopped her from being speared through the head.
"They let you keep your sword in here?"
The blade slashed through the curtains again, cutting towards the sound of her voice. Ready this time, she grabbed hold of the sword and tugged with all her enhanced strength.
Mouse Protector stumbled forward. The curtain bulged out as she pressed into it.
"'Course not. Had to squirrel it away myself," Mouse replied. She pressed her foot up against the curtain to steady herself using Ravager's body and then heaved with both hands.
As the foot touched her, Ravager dropped to the floor, still gripping the blade. Her weight, combined with Mouse Protector's unsteady footing, sent the other woman tumbling to the ground after her. Mouse let go of her sword as she fell.
The flat of the blade tugged against the curtain. It slid down through the hole, but the cross guard held it in place.
Still holding onto the blade, Ravager kicked out at Mouse Protector but hit only air.
Now above her and upright, Mouse Protector took advantage of her positioning by driving a foot into the prone woman's stomach.
To avoid a second stomp, Ravager gave up her hold on the blade and rolled up to her feet.
Mouse Protector pried her sword free from the curtain and returned it to hand.
"How about we cut to the chase? You turn tail and run, while I go back to enjoying Jell-O cups." She traced lazy circles with her sword as she spoke. "Funny, they're about as spineless as you are," Mouse said.
"Can't leave you all on your lonesome, darling. That would be unbecoming of your date."
"Sorry, I'm not into bestiality."
Ravager scoffed. "You're the animal-themed one here, darling."
"You're into bestiality?" Mouse Protector opened her mouth in fake surprise and pressed a hand to her cheek.
A thumb in her mouth would shut her up, Ravager mused. Except the disease-ridden rodent would probably bite down. The pathetic little wretch ruined even her fantasies.
Ravager swapped the charger to her left hand so she could reach into her pocket to grab more powder.
Mouse Protector lunged forward with the tip of her blade, not wanting to give her opponent a chance to draw anything.
Blocking the blade with her free arm, Ravager threw a handful of powder into the Mouse's face. She vanished before the powder reached her, reappearing to the side with her blade at the ready for another swing. A mark on the curtain, most likely.
The barely bleeding wound on her left arm gained a sister as Ravager blocked the swing with both arms. She trusted her body to take the deep cuts without complaint. They wouldn't even scar by the time they healed over.
Ravager shoved forward with both arms while kicking out with a foot. Shoved, and not wanting to be kicked, Mouse stepped back enough to avoid the attack. It gave Ravager enough space to roll backwards over the hospital bed.
Once over, she kicked it—hard—sending the bed careening across the room towards the curtain divider.
Ever the acrobat, Mouse sprang up from a crouch that sent her cleanly over the top of the bed in a move expert gymnasts would be jealous of.
Powder lingered around the room, slowly pooling against the floor in a low mist—if Ravager could only trip her.
She kicked down to try to smash Mouse Protector down into the fog. Still flying supine, she disappeared before the foot could reach her.
Striking out with her best guess, the charger collided with the hero upon her reappearance. The metal prongs cut a slight wound across her face. Finally, she had drawn blood. There wasn't the usual telltale fizzle of black smoke pouring out of the wound. Only the mundane red of a slight trickle of blood.
Mouse Protector wiped at her cheek, her fingers came back stained red.
"Performance issues?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
With a growl of anger, Ravager lashed out again. If her power wasn't going to work, she could at least tear apart the Mouse bit by bit. She couldn't wait to sink her fangs into her neck.
Mouse laughed a carefree laugh as she dodged the wild flurry of attacks. She didn't bother to raise her sword in defence.
With a casual flick of her hand, she yanked the cable free from Ravager's grip and tossed it to the other side of the room. Before she could react, Mouse Protector charged forward and tackled her to the cold, tiled floor.
A sword pressed against her throat, and an arm placed across her chest kept her down. Mouse's bare knees kept Ravager's arms pinned in place. Her strength might be enough to jostle her, but not nearly enough to move her in time to break free.
Within seconds, her arch nemesis had pinned her and was at her mercy. Their faces were close enough to feel the other's breath.
"Kind of nice not having to worry about your power. Swinging around that wire kind of gave away that you're unarmed, too," Mouse said.
Ravager stared up at her enemy with contempt. Keeping her on the back foot had relied too heavily on her not realising her power wasn't in play. She should have grabbed a better weapon while she had the chance.
The powder clumped together in tight clouds. Its density played in Mouse's favour, as it refused to move too far from its position.
Cursing internally, Ravager smiled up at her rival. "Unarmed, maybe, but I'm not the only one here. Should I fail, everyone in this godforsaken place will be torn to shreds by Shatterbird." Bluffing came as naturally as breathing to her.
"Bullshit. They'd never lend a rat like you firepower. Hm, good new name: Ratager."
"Think we'd make a good duo act?" Ravager smirked.
"A rat mask might be an improvement," she quipped back.
Ravager sighed. "Charming… This cat-and-mouse game is getting rather annoying. How long have we been at this now?"
"About four years," Mouse shrugged. "Barely a blip on my radar."
"We're both getting older," she began to say.
"You've aged pretty poorly," Mouse Protector interrupted.
Ravager scowled at the jab. "Speak for yourself." She rolled her eyes. "Aren't you tired of this constant fighting? Neither of us ever getting a long-term victory? You've put me in jail twice, and on transport to it thrice, and yet I'm still free. I've stabbed you more times than I can count, and given you more scars than anyone, and you're still here. Even shooting you didn't put you down. When does this end, my dear little Mouse? Can't we have a good clean fight to the death and call it quits?"
"You'd be lost without me, sweetheart," she grinned wide and patted Ravager's cheek with the back of her hand while keeping the arm pressed across her chest. "But without you? I wouldn't even think about you at all."
"You wound me, little Mouse. Do you… do you ever think about what life would have been like if you weren't so stuck up with false ideals? We could have been great together, you know? No one would dare stand in the way of our blades." She found herself sentimental. Without Laceration around, there weren't many people left in her life. Soon, she'd have an entirely new family, but right now she only felt alone without her.
Mouse shrugged again. "You'd just hold me back."
"I lost someone recently. It made me realise how little I have left. While you are a constant thorn in my side, you were always there for me. We've been through a lot together, little Mouse. Throwing it away because you can't have a conversation without prodding and poking is just… asinine. Imagine us working together, side-by-side. We could rule any city we decided as unstoppable queens. People would bow at our feet for the chance to serve us. We would have more money than anyone, and we could end the life of anyone we decided—hero or villain."
Mouse Protector barked out a single humourless laugh. "You're serious right now?"
She nodded to show that she was. Despite her flaws, Mouse Protector had proven herself a capable warrior with morals that leaned towards her own. With a little—scratch that: a lot of work—she could be an excellent villain.
"I thought you were twisted before, but this is a whole other level. You're a killer, but even serial killers look at you like you're dog shit sticking to their boots. In fact, it feels kind of insulting to the dog shit to even compare you." Mouse's jovial grin turned into a deep scowl. She leant in closer, her face practically pressed up against Ravager's. In a growl of a voice, she continued, "I would sooner see you dead than by my side. The only reason I haven't ended your pathetic little existence is because I want to do things right: to give the kid a good example of a hero. The moment you join the Nine, I'm going to stop holding back, and the only notable part of your death will be the cash lining my pockets for putting you out of your misery. No one will give a eulogy at your funeral. You'll be nothing but forgotten ashes dumped in a landfill, and your face will not cross my thoughts for a moment."
Ravager stared at her in wide-eyed shock. For all her jokes and insults, Mouse Protector had never been so direct before. At that moment, she realised that the woman's true feelings had never come out. A rage hidden beneath the surface that the jokes hid.
All the jokes had infuriated Ravager beyond belief, but she had thought it was part of the game—when she finally got her to shut up, it would have been a victory earned and a new beginning. All the flirting had been fake too, then. It had felt real to her. Mouse Protector didn't spend long nights fantasising about killing Ravager as she did her. One of them was destined to kill the other in a bloody battle, but both of them knew they would hesitate at the last moment as they realised the true intimacy of their rivalry.
Mouse Protector would have killed her with no last-moment hesitation.
The hot breath on her face turned sour, no longer a close, intimate feeling shared only by lovers and arch-enemies. The glimmer of attraction she thought Mouse Protector had concealed behind the cold, hard glare transformed into that of a wolf eyeing up a prime steak. A twisted hunger that was ravenous in all the wrong ways.
"We–" Her words became sticky in her mouth, refusing to leave. Ravager cleared her throat. "But I love you." The words were an admission to herself as well as Mouse Protector. No one knew her as intimately as Mouse Protector—they had pressed blades to each other so many times that they knew each other better than mother and daughter. Even Lass couldn't compare to the intimacy of steel that they shared. No relationship could ever compare to seeing the murderous intent on the face of a rival you had fought hundreds of times.
"Should have thought about that before you became a murderer," she replied with a casual shrug, just as men with stun guns barged into the room.
Mouse Protector turned to look at them, "Stop eyeing up my ass and—" she cut off as Ravager heaved with renewed strength.
It was enough to free her arms, which let her shove Mouse Protector off her entirely. The blade scraping against her throat didn't stop her. With tears in her eyes, she leapt out of the third-story window and plummeted down to freedom below. Her legs broke with a crack as she hit the pavement. She didn't stop to realign them as she sprinted off into the nearby woods.
Mouse Protector watched from the window as Ravager fled the scene. "What a fucking nut job," she muttered to herself.
Ravager sauntered up to the front desk of the hospital. She eyed up the attendant behind the desk. Sleek black hair tied back in a low bun, a soft face with enough angles to make it interesting, and an innocent look on her face. Pictures of a librarian's assistant came straight to mind. Ravager loved to see the innocent looks of mousy girls turned to panting faces, but she was far too pressed for time to get into it. Not that she didn't plan to flirt with her, anyway.
What fun was life if she couldn't twist people into knots with words alone?
Although she considered herself an expert on the subject of turning people into pretzels, she looked forward to sharing trade secrets with Jack Slash. He had sent her on this mission—not a trial, he specified, only the preamble.
Mannequin would have his way with her when she returned with the Mouse in tow. She knew he liked to change others—to force them to step past the threshold and never be able to return, but she doubted he could command her to do anything she wasn't willing to do. With her dear sweet Laceration gone, there wasn't much else for her to lose.
Her imagination might be lacking in that regard, which is why she was so eager to see what they came up with.
Ravager leaned against the desk, pressing her arm up against her side so that it puffed out her—in her opinion—ample chest. She smiled a little wider when she saw the receptionist stare directly at her cleavage before flicking up to her eyes. Regardless of if it had been intentional, the image of them would bear future fruit.
"Hello, darling," she purred. "I'm looking for a patient's room—if you would be a dear."
"Name, please," the receptionist replied. Her voice fit her face, and Ravager desperately wanted to hear it screaming in agony.
"Connie Bennett." The name was unfamiliar on her tongue. Learning the Mouse's civilian name hadn't ever been a concern. Sure, she could use it to hunt down whatever hovel such a deplorable creature lived in and then torture her in her very home—but that wouldn't be the Mouse; it would be Connie Bennett. The distinction made all the difference to Ravager. Ravager had to kill Mouse Protector, not some random civilian. Any reports would need to announce that she had bested the pest and not targeted some random no one cared about. Whatever the PRT did internally didn't matter to her—only her name on headlines mattered.
The receptionist click-clacked away at the keyboard. Her nails were red with white polka dots, a cute little detail. Ravager imagined them with a fresh coat of blood earned from scratching at flesh.
"Relation to the patient?" Her eyes remained on the screen as she asked.
"I'm her sister. Rosaline Bennett," she lied easily.
The receptionist's eyes flicked up to Ravager and then back down to her monitor. Ravager guessed the skin-tone difference was throwing her off. While she had a decent tan from enjoying the sunlight, it wasn't anywhere near the deep, tantalising, ebony skin tones of Mouse Protector.
"Half-sister, technically," she added to fill the gaps, "but we're as thick as thieves."
She hummed in reply before adding, "I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone here by that name."
Everything stalled, and Ravager scrambled to catch back up. Her guess at what the woman had been reacting to had been off. Maybe the name flagged a potential NDA leak, or they had signed her in under a different name. That hadn't been the look of confusion at the racial difference; it had been confusion on why she was asking for a patient that wasn't there—or potentially a patient with specific protections in place.
Ravager widened her eyes in fake surprise. "Ah. My mistake. She might be here under a different name. She's an important government official, you see, so she often uses aliases to avoid attention. Considering the civilian nature of the injury, I—incorrectly—assumed she'd use her usual name. Give me a moment to call her up and I'll get back to you. Is it alright if I do it in the café?"
The receptionist smiled. "No problem. It's open to everyone, so feel free."
"Thank you, darling."
She left, her face dropping the fake smile the moment she looked away. So much for that plan.
Jack Slash had tasked her with getting in and out without killing a single soul—he hadn't even allowed her to bring a knife. Joining a band of serial killers and being asked to not kill had sounded interesting when the words came out of Jack's mouth.
In practice, she found it lacking.
There wasn't any thrill in scrounging around in the dirt to gather information—that's what minions existed for. Her nails were going to be chipped from rifling through so many documents.
He even forbade her from hurting the involuntary information giver that had so graciously offered her the Mouse's name under blissful duress.
While she certainly enjoyed testing the social side of her skills, dealing with the humdrum of employees not under her thumb felt… mundane. There wasn't any leverage for her to heave side to side like a knife in a wound to jostle information free. A mousy receptionist wouldn't spill her guts because Ravager flashed a little extra skin and gave her a pity story. However, if she could spill her guts with the edge of a blade and not words, then talking might come easier.
All of it chafed. Why, oh, why did she always fall in line when a blood-soaked man called her name?
Their suggestions always became honey to her ears, regardless of if they were good. And then they kill your closest friend, leaving you with nothing but them.
She was no stranger to it. At least the last time it happened, Lass hadn't gone down easily. They'd fought over it, but in the end, she realised Lass had her back more than any temporary fling.
So much for that.
The hospital cafeteria, connected to the foyer in an open floor plan, had cheap round tables and hard plastic chairs dotted around. From anywhere in the cafeteria, Ravager could see the receptionist sitting behind her long wooden counter. There weren't many people around. Only bored-looking servers behind sneeze guards and the occasional melancholy downtrodden person visiting sickly relatives. There was fun to be had with the latter if she only had time.
Ravager weaved her way past the tables and chairs to order a sandwich before sitting at a table closer to the hallway that led into the hospital proper. Sandwich in hand, she pried free a burner phone from her pocket and set to dialling no one in particular. It would have been nice to call someone—it would make faking things easier.
Ravager feigned speaking on her phone. A quiet conversation that wouldn't be overheard even by prying ears.
She kept the receptionist in her peripheral. All she had to do was wait for an opening. Waiting wasn't too bad, although it made her long for a bloodier entrance.
Her backup plan was less complicated, but more likely to have someone pay attention to her.
Anyone who had the luxury of being injured by her would be highlighted in her senses. Even those who succumbed to their wounds would linger for at least a week. There were always at least a few people who she could distantly sense on the other side of the country. Normally, she would hunt down anyone she had injured to prolong and then end their suffering. The only way out of her third eye was to be healed. With the way her injuries festered and lingered, a single cut could take weeks to heal enough to avoid her ethereal gaze. The exception was power-assisted healing; lighter injuries could be healed in days with the right tools; heavier ones resisted somewhat, but they would fade a lot faster than they should.
Her awareness of Mouse Protector was faint. A dull echo that wobbled with uncertainty. Someone had done a good job patching her up. The best surgeon in the world wouldn't be enough, which meant the PRT had sourced a parahuman healer. Fortunately for her—and unfortunately for the Mouse—gunshot wounds imbued with her lethality wouldn't go away that easily.
All she needed to do now was to follow that sense to the Mouse's room. Had her nose been sharper, the Mouse's putrid scent would have been enough to find her. She chuckled out loud at her joke.
Waiting quickly became boring, and there were only so many ways she could amuse herself with a one-sided conversation that she had to pretend to be enthralled with. She even bothered to eat the disgusting hospital sandwich purely for something to do.
Eventually—and mercifully—the receptionist left, either to be replaced or for the bathroom. Ravager didn't care either way and took the opportunity granted to head down the corridor.
Striding with confidence, she didn't bother to cast anyone a second glance as she made her way to the stairs. Anywhere was accessible if you acted like you belonged. People didn't question your presence if it seemed natural.
Social engineering was an interesting avenue to explore. Slipping in and out of places by confidence alone could be a nice notch upon her belt—but it felt pointless if she was going to be travelling with the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Why had Jack tasked her with a subtle retrieval when Shatterbird could have nabbed the Mouse in barely twenty minutes (including travel time)? There had to be a purpose behind the action, or it would make Jack look like an idiot who was throwing ideas at the wall instead of the creative genius she knew him to be. He had killed Lass for a reason, too—she just couldn't see it. The woman hadn't been holding her back, nor had she been going too extreme to draw attention. His every action had purpose, and thought—she only needed to figure it out.
Why send her in bladeless? Why kill a person she cared about?
She pushed the thoughts aside for now. There would be time to mull things over when she dragged the Mouse back by the scruff of her neck.
As she headed up to the third floor and down a deep corridor to an unassuming room, three-oh-eight, she withdrew a handful of powder from a small cloth bag; a gift from Bonesaw to make the Mouse less of a nuisance.
The room had no guard. A way to hide the importance of the person inside, no doubt. Or they hated the Mouse as much as she did. Ravager was tangentially aware of Mouse Protector's history with the Protectorate. She knew that the woman had left on not great terms, neither side ever wanting to attempt reconciliation after the whole debacle. Perhaps they had left her to her fate.
There were most likely eyes in the room. Even if they couldn't be bothered to post a guard detail, they would at least offer her security and a 'quick' response time.
No response would be quick enough to stop me, she thought.
Inside the room, she found two beds. One was empty, divided from the other by a privacy curtain. In the other lay a sleeping princess, her restful face the picture of divine perfection.
Ravager traced the contours of the Mouse's face with her eyes, hungrily devouring the details. She had seen only a glimpse when the insolent bug girl had interrupted their fight. That single glimpse had left her parched, a thirst that could never be quenched—and yet, after only a short couple of days, she got to imbibe more than her fair share. As if it were ambrosia from the gods, she drank in every perfect detail.
Slight lips with a small scar marring one edge, a flat nose with wide nostrils, and a jawline that looked sharp enough to cut the litter of scars that lined it. Wheat blonde hair that began to show her natural brown through the roots sat lightly tousled on her head. It curled and waved in equal parts; an unkempt mess that looked somehow both feral and deliberate.
Ravager had only seen her deep brown eyes through the gap in her helmet. She demanded to see it in full, no longer obscured. If only she would open her eyes.
Standing by the sleeping woman's bedside, she absorbed as many details as she could. Only a hospital gown covered her decency. It left her muscled arms exposed, revealing more scars. Some of them Ravager remembered giving to her: A jagged one earned from her shark tooth knife, and a clean slice that spiralled up her arm from the time they had danced in New York together.
Ravager lifted the hand holding the powder. She puckered her lips and blew as if sending a kiss.
The powder became a cloud of dust, billowing down to the empty bed.
Her dim awareness of the woman behind her wasn't enough to let her dodge cleanly. Mouse Protector shoved her forward while sweeping at her legs.
Ravager's supernatural balance kept her from stumbling down entirely, but her face fell within a dangerous distance of the cloud of power-removing powder.
Kicking off the bed with her hands, she elbowed back but hit only air. She spun around, grabbing a random object from the bedside table. A phone charger—she could work with it. Power flowed down into the two prongs, coating it in a thin layer that clung to it like a film.
Mouse Protector lunged forward, a feint that Ravager knew well. Twirling the phone charger around herself like a flail, she whipped it out to the most obvious spot Mouse Protector would teleport to.
It had been a double bluff—Mouse Protector didn't teleport. Just in time, Ravager raised her right arm to take the blow. Mouse followed through with a kick just as Ravager flicked the charger towards her.
Foot collided with hip just as the blunt end of the charger smacked Mouse Protector in the forehead.
Ravager took a sharp step to stop herself from falling back into the powder. She could already feel her awareness of Mouse Protector dimming even more. At least, her enhanced durability seemed to be sticking around.
They stared at each other for a moment as they both found their feet. Her eyes were even better when not blocked by her helmet. The cold, hard stare Mouse Protector gave her sent shivers down her spine. The glare shifted to a practised smile. Ravager knew it was fake, but still couldn't spot the holes in the mask.
"You've caught me in my Sunday best," Mouse said, sweeping a hand down past her body as if presenting it.
Ravager obliged the motion, following her hand down to her exposed legs. It caught her a little by surprise that they were unshaven. The rest of her skin, even her arms, was such a smooth surface that she didn't expect hair could even blemish it. In a way, it added to her look.
"Drink it all in. Last taste you're gonna get," she finished.
Ravager grinned as she twirled the charger around. "Darling, we're going to have so much fun together."
Mouse vanished. The awareness had faded entirely now, so her dodge was only on instinct born from fighting her rival so often.
Ravager ducked down, avoiding an incoming fist from behind. She stepped forward and twisted her body around at the same time as she lashed out behind her with the charger.
Mouse Protector flickered into a crouch. One moment she was standing, the next she was crouched down. A quirk of her power let her appear in any position she liked. It wasn't often she used it to dodge like this, but Ravager had seen it a handful of times before.
Her eyes scanned the desk behind Mouse Protector as she stepped back to avoid the next swing of her fist. One object on the desk had to be an anchor point. If she could find it, she could limit the woman's movements.
They danced back and forth as they traded blows in the small gap between bed and curtain.
Mouse Protector sucked in a breath as she ducked beneath another flick of the charger. As she righted herself, striking out with her elbow as she did so, she breathed out to blow away the encroaching dust.
The elbow collided with Ravager's arm, sending her into a slight turn. With the momentary distraction, Mouse ducked between the folds of the curtain.
A blade speared back through as Ravager stepped forward.
A quick step to the side was the only thing that stopped her from being speared through the head.
"They let you keep your sword in here?"
The blade slashed through the curtains again, cutting towards the sound of her voice. Ready this time, she grabbed hold of the sword and tugged with all her enhanced strength.
Mouse Protector stumbled forward. The curtain bulged out as she pressed into it.
"'Course not. Had to squirrel it away myself," Mouse replied. She pressed her foot up against the curtain to steady herself using Ravager's body and then heaved with both hands.
As the foot touched her, Ravager dropped to the floor, still gripping the blade. Her weight, combined with Mouse Protector's unsteady footing, sent the other woman tumbling to the ground after her. Mouse let go of her sword as she fell.
The flat of the blade tugged against the curtain. It slid down through the hole, but the cross guard held it in place.
Still holding onto the blade, Ravager kicked out at Mouse Protector but hit only air.
Now above her and upright, Mouse Protector took advantage of her positioning by driving a foot into the prone woman's stomach.
To avoid a second stomp, Ravager gave up her hold on the blade and rolled up to her feet.
Mouse Protector pried her sword free from the curtain and returned it to hand.
"How about we cut to the chase? You turn tail and run, while I go back to enjoying Jell-O cups." She traced lazy circles with her sword as she spoke. "Funny, they're about as spineless as you are," Mouse said.
"Can't leave you all on your lonesome, darling. That would be unbecoming of your date."
"Sorry, I'm not into bestiality."
Ravager scoffed. "You're the animal-themed one here, darling."
"You're into bestiality?" Mouse Protector opened her mouth in fake surprise and pressed a hand to her cheek.
A thumb in her mouth would shut her up, Ravager mused. Except the disease-ridden rodent would probably bite down. The pathetic little wretch ruined even her fantasies.
Ravager swapped the charger to her left hand so she could reach into her pocket to grab more powder.
Mouse Protector lunged forward with the tip of her blade, not wanting to give her opponent a chance to draw anything.
Blocking the blade with her free arm, Ravager threw a handful of powder into the Mouse's face. She vanished before the powder reached her, reappearing to the side with her blade at the ready for another swing. A mark on the curtain, most likely.
The barely bleeding wound on her left arm gained a sister as Ravager blocked the swing with both arms. She trusted her body to take the deep cuts without complaint. They wouldn't even scar by the time they healed over.
Ravager shoved forward with both arms while kicking out with a foot. Shoved, and not wanting to be kicked, Mouse stepped back enough to avoid the attack. It gave Ravager enough space to roll backwards over the hospital bed.
Once over, she kicked it—hard—sending the bed careening across the room towards the curtain divider.
Ever the acrobat, Mouse sprang up from a crouch that sent her cleanly over the top of the bed in a move expert gymnasts would be jealous of.
Powder lingered around the room, slowly pooling against the floor in a low mist—if Ravager could only trip her.
She kicked down to try to smash Mouse Protector down into the fog. Still flying supine, she disappeared before the foot could reach her.
Striking out with her best guess, the charger collided with the hero upon her reappearance. The metal prongs cut a slight wound across her face. Finally, she had drawn blood. There wasn't the usual telltale fizzle of black smoke pouring out of the wound. Only the mundane red of a slight trickle of blood.
Mouse Protector wiped at her cheek, her fingers came back stained red.
"Performance issues?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
With a growl of anger, Ravager lashed out again. If her power wasn't going to work, she could at least tear apart the Mouse bit by bit. She couldn't wait to sink her fangs into her neck.
Mouse laughed a carefree laugh as she dodged the wild flurry of attacks. She didn't bother to raise her sword in defence.
With a casual flick of her hand, she yanked the cable free from Ravager's grip and tossed it to the other side of the room. Before she could react, Mouse Protector charged forward and tackled her to the cold, tiled floor.
A sword pressed against her throat, and an arm placed across her chest kept her down. Mouse's bare knees kept Ravager's arms pinned in place. Her strength might be enough to jostle her, but not nearly enough to move her in time to break free.
Within seconds, her arch nemesis had pinned her and was at her mercy. Their faces were close enough to feel the other's breath.
"Kind of nice not having to worry about your power. Swinging around that wire kind of gave away that you're unarmed, too," Mouse said.
Ravager stared up at her enemy with contempt. Keeping her on the back foot had relied too heavily on her not realising her power wasn't in play. She should have grabbed a better weapon while she had the chance.
The powder clumped together in tight clouds. Its density played in Mouse's favour, as it refused to move too far from its position.
Cursing internally, Ravager smiled up at her rival. "Unarmed, maybe, but I'm not the only one here. Should I fail, everyone in this godforsaken place will be torn to shreds by Shatterbird." Bluffing came as naturally as breathing to her.
"Bullshit. They'd never lend a rat like you firepower. Hm, good new name: Ratager."
"Think we'd make a good duo act?" Ravager smirked.
"A rat mask might be an improvement," she quipped back.
Ravager sighed. "Charming… This cat-and-mouse game is getting rather annoying. How long have we been at this now?"
"About four years," Mouse shrugged. "Barely a blip on my radar."
"We're both getting older," she began to say.
"You've aged pretty poorly," Mouse Protector interrupted.
Ravager scowled at the jab. "Speak for yourself." She rolled her eyes. "Aren't you tired of this constant fighting? Neither of us ever getting a long-term victory? You've put me in jail twice, and on transport to it thrice, and yet I'm still free. I've stabbed you more times than I can count, and given you more scars than anyone, and you're still here. Even shooting you didn't put you down. When does this end, my dear little Mouse? Can't we have a good clean fight to the death and call it quits?"
"You'd be lost without me, sweetheart," she grinned wide and patted Ravager's cheek with the back of her hand while keeping the arm pressed across her chest. "But without you? I wouldn't even think about you at all."
"You wound me, little Mouse. Do you… do you ever think about what life would have been like if you weren't so stuck up with false ideals? We could have been great together, you know? No one would dare stand in the way of our blades." She found herself sentimental. Without Laceration around, there weren't many people left in her life. Soon, she'd have an entirely new family, but right now she only felt alone without her.
Mouse shrugged again. "You'd just hold me back."
"I lost someone recently. It made me realise how little I have left. While you are a constant thorn in my side, you were always there for me. We've been through a lot together, little Mouse. Throwing it away because you can't have a conversation without prodding and poking is just… asinine. Imagine us working together, side-by-side. We could rule any city we decided as unstoppable queens. People would bow at our feet for the chance to serve us. We would have more money than anyone, and we could end the life of anyone we decided—hero or villain."
Mouse Protector barked out a single humourless laugh. "You're serious right now?"
She nodded to show that she was. Despite her flaws, Mouse Protector had proven herself a capable warrior with morals that leaned towards her own. With a little—scratch that: a lot of work—she could be an excellent villain.
"I thought you were twisted before, but this is a whole other level. You're a killer, but even serial killers look at you like you're dog shit sticking to their boots. In fact, it feels kind of insulting to the dog shit to even compare you." Mouse's jovial grin turned into a deep scowl. She leant in closer, her face practically pressed up against Ravager's. In a growl of a voice, she continued, "I would sooner see you dead than by my side. The only reason I haven't ended your pathetic little existence is because I want to do things right: to give the kid a good example of a hero. The moment you join the Nine, I'm going to stop holding back, and the only notable part of your death will be the cash lining my pockets for putting you out of your misery. No one will give a eulogy at your funeral. You'll be nothing but forgotten ashes dumped in a landfill, and your face will not cross my thoughts for a moment."
Ravager stared at her in wide-eyed shock. For all her jokes and insults, Mouse Protector had never been so direct before. At that moment, she realised that the woman's true feelings had never come out. A rage hidden beneath the surface that the jokes hid.
All the jokes had infuriated Ravager beyond belief, but she had thought it was part of the game—when she finally got her to shut up, it would have been a victory earned and a new beginning. All the flirting had been fake too, then. It had felt real to her. Mouse Protector didn't spend long nights fantasising about killing Ravager as she did her. One of them was destined to kill the other in a bloody battle, but both of them knew they would hesitate at the last moment as they realised the true intimacy of their rivalry.
Mouse Protector would have killed her with no last-moment hesitation.
The hot breath on her face turned sour, no longer a close, intimate feeling shared only by lovers and arch-enemies. The glimmer of attraction she thought Mouse Protector had concealed behind the cold, hard glare transformed into that of a wolf eyeing up a prime steak. A twisted hunger that was ravenous in all the wrong ways.
"We–" Her words became sticky in her mouth, refusing to leave. Ravager cleared her throat. "But I love you." The words were an admission to herself as well as Mouse Protector. No one knew her as intimately as Mouse Protector—they had pressed blades to each other so many times that they knew each other better than mother and daughter. Even Lass couldn't compare to the intimacy of steel that they shared. No relationship could ever compare to seeing the murderous intent on the face of a rival you had fought hundreds of times.
"Should have thought about that before you became a murderer," she replied with a casual shrug, just as men with stun guns barged into the room.
Mouse Protector turned to look at them, "Stop eyeing up my ass and—" she cut off as Ravager heaved with renewed strength.
It was enough to free her arms, which let her shove Mouse Protector off her entirely. The blade scraping against her throat didn't stop her. With tears in her eyes, she leapt out of the third-story window and plummeted down to freedom below. Her legs broke with a crack as she hit the pavement. She didn't stop to realign them as she sprinted off into the nearby woods.
Mouse Protector watched from the window as Ravager fled the scene. "What a fucking nut job," she muttered to herself.
6.6
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.6
"Hey, kid. Did ya miss me?" Mouse Protector waved down at us.
I wiped my eyes with the leather of my glove. "M-P! What're you doing here?"
"You miss me that much, huh?" A pebble landed to my right. As I looked down at it, Mouse Protector appeared in its place. "Well, I'm here now so you can stop the waterworks."
I lunged at her, grappling her into a hug. It was worth the sudden head rush from moving too fast. Her hand patted me on the back slowly as I enjoyed our strange armoured hug.
As I stepped back, I asked, "Why are you here? What happened? Oh!" I turned to Sherrel, "This is…" I wasn't sure if I should call her Sherrel or Artificer, since she didn't have her mask on.
"Sherrel," she introduced herself for me.
"Forget her name, kid?" Mouse Protector said. She rubbed a hand on my head and then extended her other out for Sherrel to shake. "Nice ta' meet ya'. Mouse Protector—forgive the non-branded helmet."
Sherrel wiped her hand down on her tank top before shaking. Her outfit covered more skin than usual, despite the weather being warmer. Even her jeans were practical instead of her favoured tiny shorts. The scrapes on her skin had healed over enough only to be faded red marks, but she still might have wanted to cover them—or she took my lesson on being ready for combat at all times to heart.
"Speaking of helmets: where's yours?" Mouse Protector tapped a fist against my pauldron.
"I've no idea. Lost it." I had looked before leaving, but it wasn't where Mann—in the room.
"Gotta take better care of your stuff." M-P waggled a finger at me. "No worries, I've got a spare."
She vanished out of sight before returning shortly after with a helmet in hand. It looked exactly like mine. I took it from her gently, as if the illusion might break if I held it too hard. Inside had the same foam lining, and—more importantly—the box, wires, and sunglasses that made up Elel, the Navigator.
With tears only recently falling from my eyes, crying again came easily. I hugged my helmet tight.
"Thank you! How'd you find her?"
"Found some kid running around with it on. Shouldn't leave your things lying around in the street like that. Nor should you leave your art projects in a room with ashy footprints leading to it—had to call the PRT for that one. What did you even do to that poor little serial killer?" Mouse Protector said. It took me a moment to catch up.
"Oh. You mean Mannequin?" I felt a pit forming in my stomach.
"Yeah, kid, you humpty-dumptyed him. All the king's horses and all the king's men won't be able to put him back together."
"What?" I squinted at her in confusion.
"Leave her alone," Sherrel said, stepping forward. "She's been through a lot, okay?"
Mouse Protector raised her hands defensively. "When'd you get an attack dog, kid? A spiky collar might help with the intimidation, though the running mascara and purple eyeshadow screams 'beaten hooker' more than 'bodyguard'."
Sherrel scowled before looking away. Her face went through several emotions before settling on a frown.
"Don't be mean, M-P. She's a good person," I said.
A car horn honked, reminding me we were trying to get people out of the city. Too many things were happening at once. My brain was having trouble staying focused on one thing, let alone five.
"We're taking everyone out of the city, and then we're going to the PRT," I continued. "I kind of hit my head, so I don't think I can fight very well."
"Explains the parade," Mouse Protector said as she glanced over at the street. "After my brief vacation, I'm sharper than my blade. So don't you worry about fighting, kid; I've got this." She patted me on the head once more before exiting into the street. Before I could respond, she had already started ordering around the people from the shelter.
I stared for a long time at nothing, trying to process my thoughts. They were listening to her, equally dividing themselves amongst the cars and figuring out who could drive. At least I didn't need to worry about that any more.
"She didn't mean it, by the way." I turned to speak to Sherrel. "M-P doesn't know how to talk to people without making jokes."
Sherrel rubbed at her arm and glanced up at me. "Jokes aren't supposed to hurt."
"Her jokes can be a little mean sometimes, but she did just get out of the hospital," I explained. Mouse Protector probably didn't mean to be mean—she was just having a bad couple of days. "I'm not even sure why she's here; she should still be recovering."
"Doesn't excuse her being an asshole. Not just now, either. Didn't even bother to talk to me, before, when we were training," Sherrel said. "I think she hates me."
"I don't think she hates you," I quickly assured her. Mouse Protector wasn't mean on purpose, she just made jokes that came across that way sometimes. "I can tell her to stop making jokes about you—if it helps?"
Sherrel sighed as she pushed a hand across her face to wipe at her eye. "I'd rather she doesn't talk to me at all. Can't handle that right now."
"Okay, I can do that… How are you feeling?"
"Like shit. Feel like I'm dragging you down to my level, and you're not even kicking or screaming, just accepting it. I don't know how you can look at me and say you'll stay. You could go with everyone else and be safe."
"They'll be okay on their own. I'm not sure if they even want me around any more—but even if they did, you're important to me, too. We can get everyone out, and then we can figure out how to help you. With Mouse Protector here, we'll even have more firepower."
"I don't know why you're so desperate to get yourself killed."
"I'm not. Just—everything has gone wrong and I could have fixed it by being there. I'm not making the same mistake again. Come on, we should get going." I waved her over as I walked off to the cars.
Mouse Protector had organised everyone better than I could have done, even without my brain swirling around. Her commanding tone and confidence meant they listened to her, even though she had shown up out of the blue, completely unannounced.
The power of being a full-fledged adult. One day I would be there.
I placed my helmet back in her rightful place on my head. Slight scratches littered the edges of the clear sunglasses inside the helmet, as if someone had tried to pry the lenses free. Elel, the Navigator, still, thankfully, responded to my eye gestures. The foam lining the inside squeezed my head lightly in a familiar comfort that helped keep my brain in one place rather than sloshing around. Hopefully, that was how concussions worked and I had gamed the system.
A few cars were still waiting for us, but most of the groups had already driven off, eager to get out of the city. Hopefully, they wouldn't encounter anyone on the way out without us around to help.
Mouse Protector pointed from me to an empty car. I gave her a thumbs up before guiding Sherrel into it too. She took a backseat while I sat in the front.
Through the window, I watched as Mouse Protector chatted away with everyone as if she had known them for years. How could she not only talk but organise strangers so easily? Most of my confidence around civilians came from being Raccoon Knight, and not boring Meadow Fields, but with them seeing me hurt, and seeing my face, it made it hard to be confident. I sighed, unsure of the answer. Maybe it would come with time.
Mouse Protector climbed into the driver's seat.
"You ready, kid?" she asked as she adjusted the rearview mirror. Her drawn-on mouse eyes locked onto Sherrel in the backseat. "What's with the extra cargo?"
"Sherrel is coming to the PRT with us," I replied.
"Alright, kid. You're the boss." She grabbed wires from beneath the dashboard and pressed them together. It took a few tries, but the car eventually rumbled to life. We took off with the last of the cars, keeping roughly in the middle of the group.
With nothing to distract me, my thoughts turned to the things Ravager had told me about Mouse Protector. They had to be lies, but I knew that if I didn't ask her about them, then I would be wondering forever.
"Hey, um, M-P. Did you have people you mentored before me?" I asked on a quiet stretch of road.
"Kid, I've been at this for over twenty years—so, yeah, I've mentored people before you."
"What happened to them?"
"They got older; didn't need me any more. Same old story," Mouse said. She tapped her hand against the steering wheel. "What's with the probing, kid? Inspired by all those alien films you watch?"
"Someone—someone told me they died."
"Oh. Well, you don't need to worry, kid; you're as tough as bricks. No one could keep you down. How's your helmet, by the way? Hope that kid didn't mess with any of your doodads."
"What? It's fine, but M-P—"
"And your seat? Not too much glass?"
I patted my seat down a little. "That's fine, too, but Mouse—"
"Remind me: What's the plan for after we drop our little caravan off?"
"We're taking Sherrel to the PRT after. They'll help protect her. Then," I sighed. "I'll need to talk to my mom. I'm going to be in so much trouble."
"She's an agent, or an officer, right? She doesn't know you're here?"
"I wasn't supposed to be in Brockton Bay at all—but the news showed everything burning down, and I needed to help. If I had just been here in the first place, none of this would have happened." I hugged my knees.
"Can't blame yourself, kid—blame the Slaughterhouse Nine. If you were there, then you would have become caught up in it, just like everyone else. Can't help anyone if you're dead," Mouse patted my knee.
"I know, I just—I could have helped. Things would have been different, even if I died. Dying to help people is good, I think."
"Woah, kid, don't talk like that. You have people that care about you. If you die, they'll never get to see you again."
"But they'll know I died a hero."
"You'll still be dead, and I think they'd rather have you around than a memory."
"Memories are better than the real thing," I said. The real thing couldn't save one woman when she had all the tools at her disposal to do so. Sometimes you don't have all the tools you need to save someone, and you have to be ready the next time—but with Leelah, I had all the tools I needed, but I didn't use them until it was far too late. I should have killed Mannequin sooner.
"I doubt others will tell you the same. I know for one that I'd rather have the real thing around than a memory," Mouse said.
"Me too, princess. I'm glad you're here," Sherrel said from the backseat. I turned back and saw her smiling at me. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Thank you. I think I'm just tired," I said. "The PRT will know what to do, and then we can sleep."
Stifling a yawn, I leaned my head against the window. Soothing vibrations shook my brain in a way that didn't make it spin. Once Sherrel was safe, I could join the heroes as they tried to fight the Slaughterhouse Nine. The next time I came face-to-face with one of them, I wouldn't hold back.
For a moment, I let my eyes close.
Confused and dazed, I blinked awake as someone shook my shoulder.
"Huh? Wha-" I mumbled as I sat up. "Where is everyone?"
"We got them out, safe and sound." Mouse Protector's painted-on mouse face smiled at me as I came back to consciousness. I assumed she meant the people from the shelter. Had it really gone off without a hitch?
"No trouble?" I asked.
"A little. There was a roadblock, but nothing we couldn't handle. They're all on their way to Boston, now," she replied. "Come on, time to get out."
The sun had fully left us behind, leaving us in total darkness, but thankfully my eyes had adjusted enough, letting me see the world in vague blobs. A half-squint of my left eye and Elel swapped over to night vision. Everything became sharp and green.
We were outside a house I didn't recognise, on a street I also didn't recognise. Mouse Protector carefully guided me out of the car and to the front door of the house. My sleepy brain struggled to keep up, but I managed to ask why we were here.
"All of us are tired: none of us are in a state to drive. We can sleep here and then head out tomorrow," she told me.
I was too tired to think of a better plan or to protest invading someone's home.
Sherrel looked exhausted. I doubted she had slept much the past few days. Between protecting the shelter from Burnscar, and being asked by Mannequin to kill people, she must be on her last legs. That she was even awake at all was impressive.
My stomach grumbled as we made our way inside. Other than breakfast, I hadn't eaten all day long. Hunger would stop me from sleeping well since my brain liked to drift to food while I tried to sleep, and then my stomach would hurt because it wanted to eat.
I ventured into the kitchen to scavenge for anything at all.
The house looked like it had once been a nice place. Well-loved bits of furniture were still scattered around. Although the water damage had made the wood rot, you could still see the scratches and bumps from daily life and the occasional carving from tiny fingernails as they made their mark on the world around them. Anything worthwhile, such as the copper that had been hidden behind the walls, or the food that had once been in the cupboards, was long gone.
Glass bottles and jars had exploded, cutting open what little remained in the cupboards. Only things people couldn't immediately eat, such as flour, were left behind. People had taken everything else. At least it meant the food wasn't wasted, rotting in an abandoned house.
Fishing around in the back of the drawers and cupboards, I found a bag of rice with a little left, as well as a packet of noodles. There wasn't enough rice to split between us, so I ate it in a single handful before cracking the noodles into three parts.
Munching on the dry noodles felt almost nostalgic. They reminded me of a home I didn't like, and memories that weren't nice, but the feeling wasn't all bad.
Back in the living room, I found Sherrel resting on the slightly torn sofa. As I entered, Mouse Protector trudged down the stairs attached to the living room. She had a bundle of pillows and a blanket tucked under her arm.
"One bed—the mattress is in decent condition. Found these in a pantry," she said as she dumped the blanket onto the floor. "Kid, you take the bed. You," she pointed to Sherrel, "on the floor."
"What? Why do I have to be on the floor?" Sherrel protested.
"Because you're not useful. Now, get," Mouse Protector said.
"Fuck you; I'm useful. You're not the boss here."
"I don't even know why you're here! The kid says you're VIP—fine—but I ain't bending over backwards to keep your ego stroked. I get the couch because I need to be rested to protect us. If I wake up with aches and pains which stop me from fighting well because the dainty, little, pampered princess can't sleep on the floor for one night, then I'll be pissed."
"Stop fighting!" I tried to raise my voice to be heard, but they ignored me.
"We didn't ask you to be here, and we don't need you here. We can protect ourselves." Sherrel kicked her feet up onto the couch.
Mouse Protector scoffed. "You'll be too busy shooting up," she said as she folded her arms. Sherrel's eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah, I noticed. Not hard to spot the signs of a junkie. Bet you're hankering for your next hit right now. Bet it hurts so much that you'd throw the kid under the bus for a scrap."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Stop fighting!" I yelled. They both looked at me. Sherrel looked away first, folding her arms.
"Sorry, kid," Mouse said. "But you shouldn't trust her. I know it might be hard for you to spot, so trust my expert eyes: she's a junkie."
"Stop it. Stop being mean," I said. "You're supposed to be nice."
"I'm just saying it how it is." She shrugged.
"No, you're not. You're just being mean to my friend for no reason."
"Kid, I'm the adult here. I've been around the block a few times, and I know a junkie when I see one. Keeping her around unchained is a liability. Addicts will stab their own mothers in the back for a taste of whatever drug they've got themselves addicted to. You're a little naïve about how the world works—that's fine, you're just a kid—but it means you've got to trust me on this one."
"Sherrel wouldn't do that. She's in recovery—and you stressing her out by accusing her of being a bad person isn't going to help!"
"Recovery?" Mouse Protector barked out a laugh. "She's been high recently. You can smell it on her."
Sherrel had sat up and was staring at the floor. She wrapped her arms around herself in a self-hug.
"I know. She slipped up, okay? But she's trying to be better," I said. "Falling over is okay, so long as you get back up."
Mouse Protector stood in silence. After a long pause, she said, "Okay, kid. I'll trust you. She's still sleeping on the floor."
"Sherrel can take the bed," I said. Sherrel opened her mouth to protest, but I spoke first. "I'm used to making nests, don't worry. Consider me an expert on not sleeping in beds." I gave her a thumbs up.
"Ever the diplomat. Alright, let's all go to sleep. We're wasting moonlight here." Mouse Protector clapped her hands together.
Sherrel almost seemed thankful to be away from Mouse Protector as she made her way upstairs. I still wasn't sure why Mouse had been so mean. We could deal with it all in the morning—or, more accurately, noon tomorrow, since that's when we'd likely wake up.
Not wanting to argue more, I left both their portions of noodles near them and then hurried off to bundle together blankets and pillows into a comfortable pile.
Halfway through munching on my share of the noodles, I fell asleep.
"Hey, kid. Did ya miss me?" Mouse Protector waved down at us.
I wiped my eyes with the leather of my glove. "M-P! What're you doing here?"
"You miss me that much, huh?" A pebble landed to my right. As I looked down at it, Mouse Protector appeared in its place. "Well, I'm here now so you can stop the waterworks."
I lunged at her, grappling her into a hug. It was worth the sudden head rush from moving too fast. Her hand patted me on the back slowly as I enjoyed our strange armoured hug.
As I stepped back, I asked, "Why are you here? What happened? Oh!" I turned to Sherrel, "This is…" I wasn't sure if I should call her Sherrel or Artificer, since she didn't have her mask on.
"Sherrel," she introduced herself for me.
"Forget her name, kid?" Mouse Protector said. She rubbed a hand on my head and then extended her other out for Sherrel to shake. "Nice ta' meet ya'. Mouse Protector—forgive the non-branded helmet."
Sherrel wiped her hand down on her tank top before shaking. Her outfit covered more skin than usual, despite the weather being warmer. Even her jeans were practical instead of her favoured tiny shorts. The scrapes on her skin had healed over enough only to be faded red marks, but she still might have wanted to cover them—or she took my lesson on being ready for combat at all times to heart.
"Speaking of helmets: where's yours?" Mouse Protector tapped a fist against my pauldron.
"I've no idea. Lost it." I had looked before leaving, but it wasn't where Mann—in the room.
"Gotta take better care of your stuff." M-P waggled a finger at me. "No worries, I've got a spare."
She vanished out of sight before returning shortly after with a helmet in hand. It looked exactly like mine. I took it from her gently, as if the illusion might break if I held it too hard. Inside had the same foam lining, and—more importantly—the box, wires, and sunglasses that made up Elel, the Navigator.
With tears only recently falling from my eyes, crying again came easily. I hugged my helmet tight.
"Thank you! How'd you find her?"
"Found some kid running around with it on. Shouldn't leave your things lying around in the street like that. Nor should you leave your art projects in a room with ashy footprints leading to it—had to call the PRT for that one. What did you even do to that poor little serial killer?" Mouse Protector said. It took me a moment to catch up.
"Oh. You mean Mannequin?" I felt a pit forming in my stomach.
"Yeah, kid, you humpty-dumptyed him. All the king's horses and all the king's men won't be able to put him back together."
"What?" I squinted at her in confusion.
"Leave her alone," Sherrel said, stepping forward. "She's been through a lot, okay?"
Mouse Protector raised her hands defensively. "When'd you get an attack dog, kid? A spiky collar might help with the intimidation, though the running mascara and purple eyeshadow screams 'beaten hooker' more than 'bodyguard'."
Sherrel scowled before looking away. Her face went through several emotions before settling on a frown.
"Don't be mean, M-P. She's a good person," I said.
A car horn honked, reminding me we were trying to get people out of the city. Too many things were happening at once. My brain was having trouble staying focused on one thing, let alone five.
"We're taking everyone out of the city, and then we're going to the PRT," I continued. "I kind of hit my head, so I don't think I can fight very well."
"Explains the parade," Mouse Protector said as she glanced over at the street. "After my brief vacation, I'm sharper than my blade. So don't you worry about fighting, kid; I've got this." She patted me on the head once more before exiting into the street. Before I could respond, she had already started ordering around the people from the shelter.
I stared for a long time at nothing, trying to process my thoughts. They were listening to her, equally dividing themselves amongst the cars and figuring out who could drive. At least I didn't need to worry about that any more.
"She didn't mean it, by the way." I turned to speak to Sherrel. "M-P doesn't know how to talk to people without making jokes."
Sherrel rubbed at her arm and glanced up at me. "Jokes aren't supposed to hurt."
"Her jokes can be a little mean sometimes, but she did just get out of the hospital," I explained. Mouse Protector probably didn't mean to be mean—she was just having a bad couple of days. "I'm not even sure why she's here; she should still be recovering."
"Doesn't excuse her being an asshole. Not just now, either. Didn't even bother to talk to me, before, when we were training," Sherrel said. "I think she hates me."
"I don't think she hates you," I quickly assured her. Mouse Protector wasn't mean on purpose, she just made jokes that came across that way sometimes. "I can tell her to stop making jokes about you—if it helps?"
Sherrel sighed as she pushed a hand across her face to wipe at her eye. "I'd rather she doesn't talk to me at all. Can't handle that right now."
"Okay, I can do that… How are you feeling?"
"Like shit. Feel like I'm dragging you down to my level, and you're not even kicking or screaming, just accepting it. I don't know how you can look at me and say you'll stay. You could go with everyone else and be safe."
"They'll be okay on their own. I'm not sure if they even want me around any more—but even if they did, you're important to me, too. We can get everyone out, and then we can figure out how to help you. With Mouse Protector here, we'll even have more firepower."
"I don't know why you're so desperate to get yourself killed."
"I'm not. Just—everything has gone wrong and I could have fixed it by being there. I'm not making the same mistake again. Come on, we should get going." I waved her over as I walked off to the cars.
Mouse Protector had organised everyone better than I could have done, even without my brain swirling around. Her commanding tone and confidence meant they listened to her, even though she had shown up out of the blue, completely unannounced.
The power of being a full-fledged adult. One day I would be there.
I placed my helmet back in her rightful place on my head. Slight scratches littered the edges of the clear sunglasses inside the helmet, as if someone had tried to pry the lenses free. Elel, the Navigator, still, thankfully, responded to my eye gestures. The foam lining the inside squeezed my head lightly in a familiar comfort that helped keep my brain in one place rather than sloshing around. Hopefully, that was how concussions worked and I had gamed the system.
A few cars were still waiting for us, but most of the groups had already driven off, eager to get out of the city. Hopefully, they wouldn't encounter anyone on the way out without us around to help.
Mouse Protector pointed from me to an empty car. I gave her a thumbs up before guiding Sherrel into it too. She took a backseat while I sat in the front.
Through the window, I watched as Mouse Protector chatted away with everyone as if she had known them for years. How could she not only talk but organise strangers so easily? Most of my confidence around civilians came from being Raccoon Knight, and not boring Meadow Fields, but with them seeing me hurt, and seeing my face, it made it hard to be confident. I sighed, unsure of the answer. Maybe it would come with time.
Mouse Protector climbed into the driver's seat.
"You ready, kid?" she asked as she adjusted the rearview mirror. Her drawn-on mouse eyes locked onto Sherrel in the backseat. "What's with the extra cargo?"
"Sherrel is coming to the PRT with us," I replied.
"Alright, kid. You're the boss." She grabbed wires from beneath the dashboard and pressed them together. It took a few tries, but the car eventually rumbled to life. We took off with the last of the cars, keeping roughly in the middle of the group.
With nothing to distract me, my thoughts turned to the things Ravager had told me about Mouse Protector. They had to be lies, but I knew that if I didn't ask her about them, then I would be wondering forever.
"Hey, um, M-P. Did you have people you mentored before me?" I asked on a quiet stretch of road.
"Kid, I've been at this for over twenty years—so, yeah, I've mentored people before you."
"What happened to them?"
"They got older; didn't need me any more. Same old story," Mouse said. She tapped her hand against the steering wheel. "What's with the probing, kid? Inspired by all those alien films you watch?"
"Someone—someone told me they died."
"Oh. Well, you don't need to worry, kid; you're as tough as bricks. No one could keep you down. How's your helmet, by the way? Hope that kid didn't mess with any of your doodads."
"What? It's fine, but M-P—"
"And your seat? Not too much glass?"
I patted my seat down a little. "That's fine, too, but Mouse—"
"Remind me: What's the plan for after we drop our little caravan off?"
"We're taking Sherrel to the PRT after. They'll help protect her. Then," I sighed. "I'll need to talk to my mom. I'm going to be in so much trouble."
"She's an agent, or an officer, right? She doesn't know you're here?"
"I wasn't supposed to be in Brockton Bay at all—but the news showed everything burning down, and I needed to help. If I had just been here in the first place, none of this would have happened." I hugged my knees.
"Can't blame yourself, kid—blame the Slaughterhouse Nine. If you were there, then you would have become caught up in it, just like everyone else. Can't help anyone if you're dead," Mouse patted my knee.
"I know, I just—I could have helped. Things would have been different, even if I died. Dying to help people is good, I think."
"Woah, kid, don't talk like that. You have people that care about you. If you die, they'll never get to see you again."
"But they'll know I died a hero."
"You'll still be dead, and I think they'd rather have you around than a memory."
"Memories are better than the real thing," I said. The real thing couldn't save one woman when she had all the tools at her disposal to do so. Sometimes you don't have all the tools you need to save someone, and you have to be ready the next time—but with Leelah, I had all the tools I needed, but I didn't use them until it was far too late. I should have killed Mannequin sooner.
"I doubt others will tell you the same. I know for one that I'd rather have the real thing around than a memory," Mouse said.
"Me too, princess. I'm glad you're here," Sherrel said from the backseat. I turned back and saw her smiling at me. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Thank you. I think I'm just tired," I said. "The PRT will know what to do, and then we can sleep."
Stifling a yawn, I leaned my head against the window. Soothing vibrations shook my brain in a way that didn't make it spin. Once Sherrel was safe, I could join the heroes as they tried to fight the Slaughterhouse Nine. The next time I came face-to-face with one of them, I wouldn't hold back.
For a moment, I let my eyes close.
Confused and dazed, I blinked awake as someone shook my shoulder.
"Huh? Wha-" I mumbled as I sat up. "Where is everyone?"
"We got them out, safe and sound." Mouse Protector's painted-on mouse face smiled at me as I came back to consciousness. I assumed she meant the people from the shelter. Had it really gone off without a hitch?
"No trouble?" I asked.
"A little. There was a roadblock, but nothing we couldn't handle. They're all on their way to Boston, now," she replied. "Come on, time to get out."
The sun had fully left us behind, leaving us in total darkness, but thankfully my eyes had adjusted enough, letting me see the world in vague blobs. A half-squint of my left eye and Elel swapped over to night vision. Everything became sharp and green.
We were outside a house I didn't recognise, on a street I also didn't recognise. Mouse Protector carefully guided me out of the car and to the front door of the house. My sleepy brain struggled to keep up, but I managed to ask why we were here.
"All of us are tired: none of us are in a state to drive. We can sleep here and then head out tomorrow," she told me.
I was too tired to think of a better plan or to protest invading someone's home.
Sherrel looked exhausted. I doubted she had slept much the past few days. Between protecting the shelter from Burnscar, and being asked by Mannequin to kill people, she must be on her last legs. That she was even awake at all was impressive.
My stomach grumbled as we made our way inside. Other than breakfast, I hadn't eaten all day long. Hunger would stop me from sleeping well since my brain liked to drift to food while I tried to sleep, and then my stomach would hurt because it wanted to eat.
I ventured into the kitchen to scavenge for anything at all.
The house looked like it had once been a nice place. Well-loved bits of furniture were still scattered around. Although the water damage had made the wood rot, you could still see the scratches and bumps from daily life and the occasional carving from tiny fingernails as they made their mark on the world around them. Anything worthwhile, such as the copper that had been hidden behind the walls, or the food that had once been in the cupboards, was long gone.
Glass bottles and jars had exploded, cutting open what little remained in the cupboards. Only things people couldn't immediately eat, such as flour, were left behind. People had taken everything else. At least it meant the food wasn't wasted, rotting in an abandoned house.
Fishing around in the back of the drawers and cupboards, I found a bag of rice with a little left, as well as a packet of noodles. There wasn't enough rice to split between us, so I ate it in a single handful before cracking the noodles into three parts.
Munching on the dry noodles felt almost nostalgic. They reminded me of a home I didn't like, and memories that weren't nice, but the feeling wasn't all bad.
Back in the living room, I found Sherrel resting on the slightly torn sofa. As I entered, Mouse Protector trudged down the stairs attached to the living room. She had a bundle of pillows and a blanket tucked under her arm.
"One bed—the mattress is in decent condition. Found these in a pantry," she said as she dumped the blanket onto the floor. "Kid, you take the bed. You," she pointed to Sherrel, "on the floor."
"What? Why do I have to be on the floor?" Sherrel protested.
"Because you're not useful. Now, get," Mouse Protector said.
"Fuck you; I'm useful. You're not the boss here."
"I don't even know why you're here! The kid says you're VIP—fine—but I ain't bending over backwards to keep your ego stroked. I get the couch because I need to be rested to protect us. If I wake up with aches and pains which stop me from fighting well because the dainty, little, pampered princess can't sleep on the floor for one night, then I'll be pissed."
"Stop fighting!" I tried to raise my voice to be heard, but they ignored me.
"We didn't ask you to be here, and we don't need you here. We can protect ourselves." Sherrel kicked her feet up onto the couch.
Mouse Protector scoffed. "You'll be too busy shooting up," she said as she folded her arms. Sherrel's eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah, I noticed. Not hard to spot the signs of a junkie. Bet you're hankering for your next hit right now. Bet it hurts so much that you'd throw the kid under the bus for a scrap."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Stop fighting!" I yelled. They both looked at me. Sherrel looked away first, folding her arms.
"Sorry, kid," Mouse said. "But you shouldn't trust her. I know it might be hard for you to spot, so trust my expert eyes: she's a junkie."
"Stop it. Stop being mean," I said. "You're supposed to be nice."
"I'm just saying it how it is." She shrugged.
"No, you're not. You're just being mean to my friend for no reason."
"Kid, I'm the adult here. I've been around the block a few times, and I know a junkie when I see one. Keeping her around unchained is a liability. Addicts will stab their own mothers in the back for a taste of whatever drug they've got themselves addicted to. You're a little naïve about how the world works—that's fine, you're just a kid—but it means you've got to trust me on this one."
"Sherrel wouldn't do that. She's in recovery—and you stressing her out by accusing her of being a bad person isn't going to help!"
"Recovery?" Mouse Protector barked out a laugh. "She's been high recently. You can smell it on her."
Sherrel had sat up and was staring at the floor. She wrapped her arms around herself in a self-hug.
"I know. She slipped up, okay? But she's trying to be better," I said. "Falling over is okay, so long as you get back up."
Mouse Protector stood in silence. After a long pause, she said, "Okay, kid. I'll trust you. She's still sleeping on the floor."
"Sherrel can take the bed," I said. Sherrel opened her mouth to protest, but I spoke first. "I'm used to making nests, don't worry. Consider me an expert on not sleeping in beds." I gave her a thumbs up.
"Ever the diplomat. Alright, let's all go to sleep. We're wasting moonlight here." Mouse Protector clapped her hands together.
Sherrel almost seemed thankful to be away from Mouse Protector as she made her way upstairs. I still wasn't sure why Mouse had been so mean. We could deal with it all in the morning—or, more accurately, noon tomorrow, since that's when we'd likely wake up.
Not wanting to argue more, I left both their portions of noodles near them and then hurried off to bundle together blankets and pillows into a comfortable pile.
Halfway through munching on my share of the noodles, I fell asleep.
6.7
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.7
Strange wallpaper was the first thing I saw as I opened my eyes. Floral patterns lined a cream background like a meadow filled with gone-off milk. What remained of the wallpaper hung off the shattered drywall behind it. People had broken through to get to the treasure trove of copper that most walls hid.
Back when I lived with Lauren, some nights she had been far too much to deal with, so I had to hide away in abandoned houses or sleep at shelters. No matter how often I woke up in an unfamiliar place, I always needed a minute or two for my brain to catch up.
Yesterday came running back as I sat up from my comfortable pile of pillows, blankets, and cotton candy from the walls. The muscles around the wound running across my ribs stretched taut as I sat up—it stung a little, but in a way that reminded me I was still alive, still human, despite my monstrous acts of yesterday. At least my head hurt a lot less than it did, and my world wasn't as spinny as it had been.
My braid had come loose a little, letting the bottom half tangle together in my sleep. Tying it back up without a brush would be too much work. The rest of the braid came loose as I worked my fingers through it.
Several strands of hair fell to the floor as they came free from their sisters.
Mannequin had ripped enough free when he held me up by my braid that I worried I might have a bald spot. Maybe a hair growth serum would help?
My hair covered my vision as I undid the last of my braid. For a moment, I just sat there, unable to see the rest of the world around me. It helped, a little, to reorientate me.
We needed to get Sherrel to safety, and then I needed to face my mom. What could I even say to her to explain why I had run off again? She had begged for me to be safe so she could do her job without worrying. Here I was, unsafe because I couldn't stand idle for even a day.
Did my presence even make things better? Would Mannequin have held all those people hostage if I hadn't been there? Or would they have been fine, his attention focused on Sherrel? Except, she still would have been in danger no matter what.
I had to be here, or she would be dead.
My mom would understand, I hope. If she doesn't, I'll take whatever punishment she sends my way, even if it means closet time like my old mom would do.
A bang of a cupboard door stopped me from drifting back to sleep. My mind leapt to defensive action before I remembered Mouse Protector and Sherrel were here.
My armour lay spread out around me. I had taken it off and dumped it on the floor before I went to sleep. My gambeson was comfortable enough to sleep in, but I sort of regretted wearing it. A combination of sweat and dried blood made it feel sticky and weird. I pulled it off, shook it out, and then put it back on after checking on the bandages. A little blood had soaked through the white; not a concern for now. In ideal conditions, I would have replaced the dressing.
As I donned the rest of my armour, Sherrel came striding in from the kitchen.
She had wiped her face clean of her makeup, though I wasn't sure where she got the water. Moss blocked most of the pipes in the city, making tap water scarcer than Leviathan had made it.
"There's no fucking food here," she said.
"Did you eat the noodles I left you?" I asked as I finished pulling on my boots.
"I'm not that desperate."
"They're not so bad once you get used to them. If you break them apart with your hands first, then they don't cut up your mouth as much either," I replied. My coat came on last, filled to the brim with different trinkets and helpful little tools. Only crumbs of food remained in the pockets, not enough to feed anyone.
"Sometimes you say the saddest things," Sherrel said. "You don't even realise how sad they are, do you?"
"It's not that sad." Noodles were good, even uncooked. There wasn't anything sad about enjoying a yummy meal. "Where's Mouse Protector?" I asked.
Sherrel clicked her tongue. "Outside. Said she wanted to 'take watch'."
"I'm sorry she was mean to you last night."
"You're not the one who should be apologising," she muttered. Sherrel sighed, running a hand down her face. "Do you really think I can be better?"
I shook my head. "I know you can."
"Then… I want to try. Last night—I've never been more scared. I thought I was hallucinating for most of it, but when he hit you against the wall, that's when I realised it was real; not even because he did it, but because you made a noise that I don't think my brain could imagine. People don't talk in their voice in your head, at least not for me, and I've never heard anyone be hurt like that. But even then, even after I thought he had given you brain damage, you kept trying to do something. He kicked you, I think, to stop you. You wouldn't have gone down easy even if he killed you—would you?"
"If it meant I got to save everyone, I would risk anything."
Her eyebrows squished together a little more at my words. "Beyond fucked up that a teenager is saying that. But the core of it, that… I don't know a good word for it—spirit? I think that's what I need right now. If we can just get past this, then maybe I can try again."
Before I could respond, a distant noise like the whooshing of air caught my attention. It grew louder and louder, shaking the house, as whatever was making it flew directly overhead. I pressed my hands to my ears to drown it out, but it was far too loud, and I could feel it shaking through my bones.
We ran out of the house to see what was happening. Mouse Protector stood near the kerb, staring off at the sky.
"What was that? A plane?" I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the fading rumble of it.
"Looked military," Mouse replied. "Think the PRT is making their move on the Nine—though I suppose they should be the Eight now," she nudged her arm into me. "They offered to let me join some kind of tagalong pity party operation yesterday when I called in Mannequin, but I told them they could stick it somewhere not PG," she said.
A sound, a distant 'fwhoomph' like someone punching a pillow, came from where the plane had flown over.
"Means we've gotta avoid Hell, Ohio, over there, though. Firebombs, probably," she continued. "Molotov Cocktails would have been a better choice—you can drink the ones you don't use," she nudged Sherrel with her elbow as if sharing a joke. Sherrel scowled at her. "It's coming back," Mouse Protector said, looking off near the horizon.
I wasn't sure what she saw, but I could hear it. The low rumble grew louder again before the plane shot by, passing over the same area it had before. It was barely a blur as it passed by within moments. In its wake, small black blobs fell to the earth.
A fractured mirror of glass surrounded by swirling yellow-green smoke shot up beyond the roofs. A flash of lightning arced over the glass spires shortly after. Sounds like popping popcorn filled the air as random flashes of multicoloured lights appeared.
Mouse Protector and Sherrel covered their eyes. The sunglasses hidden in my helmet protected me from the worst of it, but I still had to squint.
Half a skyscraper vanished in a large flash, and the rest of the building caved down, unsupported. Strips of fire stretched up like strange limbs before being replaced with water that crashed back down with gravity. A monster made of flesh and bone shaped like a pterodactyl scrambled up one of the glass spikes before the yellow-green vortex pulled it back down. Its body vanished into dust as the smoke touched it, pulled apart like the glass it had clung to.
More effects joined the rest, creating a strange light show that left me reeling.
I knew those bombs: Bakuda.
The heroes were using her work to fight the Slaughterhouse Nine. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
My gut instinct told me it was a good thing. For all the mayhem her bombs had caused, they now got to help the world by fighting the Nine. I'm sure they would appreciate being used for such a good purpose.
But I had also seen people hurt by them. I knew what it meant to be near that sort of chaos. Time bubbles dotted around the city were keeping people trapped forever because of Bakuda—alive, but no one could help them. They were living there, experiencing infinity while the world moved on without them.
Did the Nine deserve that? And was I a bad person for thinking they did?
"We should probably leave. We're pretty close," Sherrel said.
Collectively, we agreed that this wasn't a good place to be near and piled into the car. It started with no issues.
My brain drifted back to Bakuda as we drove away. Her time fields had to use energy to maintain themselves. Where did they get it from, and could it be overloaded? If you plugged the wrong voltage cables into the power grid, then they could fry your machines; every tinker knew that. Maybe a dimensional plug could do the same by siphoning energy from an alternate universe with a dead planet to overload the time bubble and free the people.
Finding the right planet would be tricky, since I wouldn't want to hurt a planet with life. But what would even happen to the people inside the bubble? Their atoms would be all out of sync with the universe. Time might not like it if I suddenly pulled people back into existence in her stream—or maybe it all worked differently, and I was off base.
The thoughts weren't realistic, anyway—I would need several cities' worth of junk to even get started, and breaching dimensions would make a lot of people upset with me—I just needed to fill my brain with ways I could be useful. Watching the heroes take action while I had to sit back and do nothing left me feeling antsy.
'What ifs' filled my head: What if my phone had been protected so they could have called me? What if I hadn't left the Wards? What if I had prepared more and made better things?
What if, what if, what if?
None of them were helpful, but I hated feeling useless. I needed to focus on what I could do, like helping Sherrel.
The streets were quiet, only disturbed by the thrum of the car. It made us a beacon for bad people to find us, which I didn't like. Maybe Sherrel could have modified the engine to be quieter, but she didn't have too many tools, nor did we have the time.
Anyone dumb enough to attack us would face three powerful heroes Hopefully, they wouldn't realise that we had lost some of our equipment, were injured, and two of us were arguing.
Maybe I could fix that last one.
"M-P. I was thinking maybe you could apologise?" I tried to keep my voice quiet so she wouldn't see it as an attack.
"Apologise? For what, kid?" she responded, keeping her head forward. It was a little harder when I couldn't see her face.
"For being mean to Sherrel," I said. It seemed obvious to me.
"Leave it; it's fine," Sherrel said from the backseat.
"No, no—let the kid speak. She thinks I need to apologise, fine: I'm sorry," Mouse responded.
"Thank y—" I began to say before she interrupted me.
"I'm sorry that the kid can't see that you're going to screw us over for a sniff of snow."
"Mouse!" I flinched at my unintentional shout. "Mouse," I repeated quieter. "Stop. Why are you being like this?"
"Because I've seen the damage addicts do. I've stopped the damage they do."
"You're being unfair. Not everyone is the same," I replied.
She shook her head. "Kid, you're still new at this and you've already seen a lot. Imagine what you see over twenty years. I had to rescue a girl, barely eight, because her parents tried to sell her so they could buy more meth—and you know what they said to me after I confronted them about it?" She didn't wait for me to respond. "They said: 'We can just make a new one'. A new one? Not 'We're so sorry for trying to sell our child for a temporary high', or 'We're going to turn our lives around now that you've sobered us to our mistake', just, 'We can make a new one.'. They didn't even consider her a human being, only a thing they could use down the line to get more meth. That's the damage they cause, that's the real consequences of it."
"That's horrible," I muttered.
"Exactly. They're all—"
"But that doesn't make you right," I spoke over her. "You can't judge everyone the same, even if they're similar. There are bad people everywhere, but even they have reasons for being bad. It doesn't excuse them—a villain is still a villain—but we're heroes: we help people. If you're already convinced yourself that an entire group is bad, then how are you supposed to help the ones who aren't bad or the ones who want to change? Doesn't everyone deserve a chance to try to be better?"
Mouse Protector didn't respond to my questions. Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel. I gave her the space to think things over.
Sherrel smiled weakly at me as I checked on her.
The car suddenly swerved to a stop as Mouse Protector wrenched at the wheel and yanked the handbrake up. Unprepared, my shoulder slammed into the car door.
Outside the car, I watched the pockets of moss dotted around the street exploding into red clouds of mist that caused more moss to explode into more red mist as they met.
Mouse Protector shifted gears before slamming on the accelerator. We took off as the red mist continued to spread from the moss behind us.
It was catching up to us fast.
"Kid, is this you?!" she yelled as the car picked up speed. Winds whipped against my face through the open windshield.
"No! Not me!" my voice was drowned out by the wind. I shook my head, hoping she could see me.
More red mist appeared ahead of us, snaking from around the corner. We were trapped.
M-P wrenched the wheel to the right, sending us barrelling through a narrow gap in the buildings. The sides of the cars scraped against the walls, making a horrible sound that reminded me of Hookwolf.
We burst out of the gap and into a wider street. The mist had already claimed most of it and was rapidly closing in on us. Mouse Protector frantically looked around to find an exit. There wasn't anywhere for us to go.
I pried the bellows from the bottom of Dede's shaft free. Removing my coat was awkward with the cramped space of the car. My armour had a forgotten feature, a floatation device built into the back in case I ever got thrown into the water. I wasn't sure if it even still worked since I had replaced the trigger for the bug repellant under my shoulders.
"I'm sorry!" Mouse Protector said. "You're right, kid, and I'm sorry. I'm letting my past experiences cloud my judgement, like I did with the PRT when I met you." I couldn't recall what she meant.
"Sherrel, I'm sorry," she finished just as the red cloud consumed the car.
I hadn't been fast enough.
Everything became clouded in red.
…
We weren't dead.
I patted myself down to double-check. Still alive. My vitals appeared in my view as I lifted my lower eyelids. They were all normal, though my heart rate was high. Breathing was normal, too, despite the thick red fog.
"Everyone okay?" I turned to ask the other people in the car.
A person in a motorbike helmet looked at me. Someone had drawn a goofy face that looked like a mouse onto their visor. Her armour looked old and dirty, with lots of scratches. It wasn't as complex as my own, just a breastplate with padded clothes beneath it.
I turned just in time to see the woman in the backseat scramble out of the car. Who were these people? Why couldn't I remember who they were?
I had been travelling somewhere with Mouse Protector and Sherrel. Were these people them, or did they get swapped out in the fog? I had to stop the blonde woman from running away so we could figure this out.
"Wait!" I called out to her as I got out of the car myself. "Where are you going?"
Whoever she was, she shouldn't be travelling in this fog alone. There were dangerous people out there who worked in a group called the Slaughterhouse Nine. I couldn't remember their names or their powers, but I knew they used them to be villains.
I also remembered killing one of them, but that couldn't be right. The fog had to be messing with my memories.
Her face was panicked as she turned around. "I don't know who you are. Leave me alone!"
"I'm Raccoon Knight, a hero; I can help. There are villains out there and we need to stick together."
"I don't remember what she looks like! You could be tricking me. Everyone thinks I'm stupid, but I'm not," she replied. Whoever she was, she enjoyed moving her hands around a lot when she spoke. She made big sweeping gestures that looked like she might accidentally hit someone near her. Was that what Mouse Protector did, or Sherrel?
"We were in the car together for a reason, right? I remember we were travelling somewhere—I don't know where—but I know it's safe. And I remember there were two people with me. That's you, and them." I pointed at the person in the motorbike helmet as they exited the car.
"Don't lump me in with you, short stuff. I don't do the sidekick thing any more," they said in a scratchy, but feminine voice. "But she is right, tank top, we were in the car together for a reason and none of us are in cuffs, so, probably a team."
"You might have slipped into the car after the mist covered everything up or—I don't know! All I know is that one of you is awful. I just can't…" The blonde woman grabbed her head as if she could pry the memories free. "I can't…"
"How much you wanna bet she bursts a blood vessel?" the motorbike woman asked me.
"I hope she doesn't… I think we need to write down our names. My name is Raccoon Knight." In my coat pockets, I found a marker and wrote an 'RK' on my left pauldron.
"Huh, funny. Because of the ears?" the motorbike woman asked as she took the marker. I nodded. "Mouse Protector," she said as she wrote an 'MP' on her breastplate. "Funny that there are two animal-slash-knight-themed heroes in the same place," she sounded sceptical but shrugged. "Guess that means we really are a team." She tossed the pen to the blonde woman who scrambled to catch it. "What about you, cleavage? What animal are you? A cow?"
The blonde woman scowled at M-P—I had to check the words written on her breastplate to remind myself of her name. Didn't I remember it recently? Mouse something. Person?
"Sq—Artificer." The blonde woman scribbled an 'A' just above her collarbone.
"Already lying to us," Mouse Person tutted. "Don't think I didn't catch that slip-up; you practically fell flat on your face from it."
"It's my old name. Is that a good enough excuse, or are you going to accuse me of being a liar again?"
"We don't need to fight," I interrupted them. "If we were in the car together, then that means we're allies. We were going somewhere. An organisation. The PRT? I think. Does that sound right?"
"Why should we trust you, kid? As far as I can tell by your tone, you're lying through your teeth. Clearly, you're not being affected by this fog, since you decided to make a name similar to mine to try to buddy up to me. Not sure how you else would stop it unless you were the one who made it," she reached into the car and pulled out a sword with a mouse face on the crossguard.
"That doesn't make any sense! Why would I be wearing raccoon-themed armour? We were in the car together. You two were arguing, and I wanted it to stop. You—or her—apologised as well." I grabbed my spear through the window of the car. She had a name, but I couldn't place it.
"Well, why don't you put your stick down, and we can talk about it?" Mouse Person said.
"You picked up your sword first," I said. "We were heading somewhere—the PRT, I think—and no one had time to be swapped out. The fog came in too fast. You," I pointed to Mouse Person, "were driving. Which makes sense since you were sitting in the driver's seat, and she was in the back. We were all in the car. Why would we be lying? Think about it."
If I could remember anything about them, then maybe I could convince them better. Their names and powers were blanks in my memory. Who had I been travelling with, again? I couldn't tell if their names matched with what I knew.
I mentally shuffled through the stacks of paper in my brain to find a name, or a face, or anything. There were some there, like the Wards, but I couldn't remember who was in it or why I had been around them. Events still existed, moments that were etched into my memory, but I couldn't remember who had been around me at the time. Had either of these women been there when I lost my legs or when I had my first birthday party? Were they friends of mine or enemies, like the one who could turn into blades?
"What are your powers?" I asked.
"I ain't gonna expose myself like that to you, kid, I'll get arrested," Mouse Person responded.
Behind her, I saw Artemis walking off deeper into the fog. "Where are you going?" I called out to her as I made my way around the car. A blade held up to my throat stopped me in my path.
"Not so fast. Why do you want her to be here that bad? Can't enact your dastardly plan if she walks off?" the Mouse woman said.
"She's going to get hurt if she leaves."
"Why's that? Your friends out there waiting to pounce on the poor moo-cow?"
"There are dangerous people out there that made this fog, and they want to kill her, or you–I don't know which—so we need to stick together. I'm not with them. Use your brain—none of us could be fakes."
"You keep saying that, but I ain't so easily sold."
"If she gets hurt because of us arguing, then we're not heroes. You can keep your sword at me, just let me stop her."
"Alright, but I'm warning you, one wrong move, and you'll be shish kebab," she manoeuvred the sword down to my side where my armour plates gave less cover. I trusted my chain mail to protect me if this crazy woman decided to stab me.
We walked off after Artemis.
These people could be anyone and I would have no way of knowing. What if they were members of the Slaughterhouse Nine posing as allies? Or maybe they were my moms. I had two, for some reason, and I couldn't remember either of them. My memories had holes in where the people around me should have been.
Both of them sounded older than me, so I chalked out them going to school with me, but ultimately that meant nothing. Even if I scratched out a million possibilities, I still would have no idea who they were.
But they had to be the people from the car; nothing else made sense. I could remember all the events leading up to the fog, but who was with me? Did they have the same outfits on as these people? Maybe we were enemies.
A shadow scuttled through the red fog to my right. It vanished as I turned to look at it.
"We're being followed," I said.
"I didn't see anything," Mouse Person said from behind me. "You trying to trick me?"
"No. We can keep going."
"Or is that what you want? To ambush me by pretending your friend ran off?"
"I don't have a plan! I just want to make sure she's okay, in case she is a friend."
"Keep walking," she prodded the tip of her sword into my side. I did as she asked.
The thick, red fog made it hard to see much of anything. This had spread because of my moss. Someone else had been the one to release my moss, but I imagined telling either of these two that I had made it would most likely get me stabbed. I kept my mouth shut. They would understand better once we were out of here.
Further down the road, we found a blonde woman ripping off pieces of a car engine with a screwdriver. She brandished it towards us when we got close. "Stay the fuck back."
"We're not here to hurt you; just looking for someone we were travelling with," I said.
"Listen, that ain't gonna stop my sword, so just tell us where she went, and we'll leave you alone," Mouse pulled the sword to the side to show it off while still keeping it pressed against me.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know? Wait—are you the people from before? This fucking fog…" the blonde woman responded.
Was she Artemis? I couldn't remember a single detail of what she looked like.
"Were you in a car with us like five minutes ago?" I asked. It was the simplest way to tell.
"Don't tell her that. She'll say yes, so we think it's her," Mouse prodded the sword a little harder into my side.
"Well, I was. With two people," maybe-Artemis said.
"See now how are we supposed to believe that?" Mouse Person said. "Can't trust a word of that to be true."
"Can if you're not a paranoid bitch," Artemis responded.
They continued arguing, but I was distracted from their words by a low hum coming from behind the buildings. I knew the sound. It haunted my nightmares. It was the sound of countless insects beating their wings in perfect unison at the command of their master.
I looked around to find them. The fog made everything hard to see beyond vague black blobs hidden in the red, but that many bugs couldn't hide.
It took far too long to spot it—a black amorphous shape moving across the building tops. It flowed like water as they circled us like a lion readying to pounce on its prey. I couldn't remember who controlled them, or what they were like, but the sound sent shivers down my spine. Only a villain would control such disgusting creatures.
They faded from sight behind a building, but I could still hear their droning.
Mouse Person nudged me. "You with us?"
"They're surrounding us, but I can protect us. I'm going to activate a gas, don't freak out," I reached up to twist the dial on my pauldron, but the sword poked harder into my back.
"Ah, ah. No sudden movements. What's surrounding us?"
"Bugs. Can't you hear them?"
"Car alarms. Sirens. Wanton destruction Nope—no, bugs," she responded. "Put your hand down."
"Please, they're here. I can hear them. We need to be protected."
Mouse scoffed. "Yeah. Likely. Hey, cowgirl, tie her up for me, will ya'?"
Artemis folded her arms in front of her chest. "And get close enough so you can stick me with the knife you have in your other hand?"
"What knife?" Mouse responded, holding up her empty hand.
"Sleight of hand," she scoffed. I hadn't seen a knife.
"Fine. I'll keep my hand held out." Mouse held her hand out directly to her left.
Artemis squinted at her. "I'm leaving. Don't stop me."
A glowing, flying man in a blue costume zoomed past overhead. He stopped above a building, turned to us, and raised his hand. Three lasers shot from his hand and flew towards us.
Mouse shoved me to the side to dodge, but the lasers swerved to hit us. The spear in my hand clattered to the floor as she shoved me down.
As the laser splashed against my armour, it knocked the breath from my lungs. My side stung at the sudden forced breath. All the aches and pains from yesterday cried out for my attention as the laser blast jostled them awake.
I raised my right hand to him to be ready to fight back with the device on my arm, but I couldn't be sure if he was a villain or a hero.
"Stay down!" he commanded before flying off.
I let my hand flop to the floor.
There had to be some way to stop this fog. We couldn't trust each other with it around. Getting rid of it wouldn't be enough, though, since it had already affected us. A wide-scale cure that also got rid of the fog sounded possible if I had more resources. There were people, before, that gathered resources for me. I couldn't remember their faces or names. Had Mouse Person and Artemis been part of that group?
A foot stepped on my back as I tried to get up. "You heard the man; stay down," Mouse Person said.
"I can fix this. Please. I can make a cure. Help me get the stuff and we can fix all of this."
"And it says gullible on the ceiling." She pressed her foot down harder.
I wanted to scream—why couldn't she just listen to me for a second?
It looked like I would need to fight my way out of this. I readied myself to fight against my probably-a-friend.
This was going to suck.
Strange wallpaper was the first thing I saw as I opened my eyes. Floral patterns lined a cream background like a meadow filled with gone-off milk. What remained of the wallpaper hung off the shattered drywall behind it. People had broken through to get to the treasure trove of copper that most walls hid.
Back when I lived with Lauren, some nights she had been far too much to deal with, so I had to hide away in abandoned houses or sleep at shelters. No matter how often I woke up in an unfamiliar place, I always needed a minute or two for my brain to catch up.
Yesterday came running back as I sat up from my comfortable pile of pillows, blankets, and cotton candy from the walls. The muscles around the wound running across my ribs stretched taut as I sat up—it stung a little, but in a way that reminded me I was still alive, still human, despite my monstrous acts of yesterday. At least my head hurt a lot less than it did, and my world wasn't as spinny as it had been.
My braid had come loose a little, letting the bottom half tangle together in my sleep. Tying it back up without a brush would be too much work. The rest of the braid came loose as I worked my fingers through it.
Several strands of hair fell to the floor as they came free from their sisters.
Mannequin had ripped enough free when he held me up by my braid that I worried I might have a bald spot. Maybe a hair growth serum would help?
My hair covered my vision as I undid the last of my braid. For a moment, I just sat there, unable to see the rest of the world around me. It helped, a little, to reorientate me.
We needed to get Sherrel to safety, and then I needed to face my mom. What could I even say to her to explain why I had run off again? She had begged for me to be safe so she could do her job without worrying. Here I was, unsafe because I couldn't stand idle for even a day.
Did my presence even make things better? Would Mannequin have held all those people hostage if I hadn't been there? Or would they have been fine, his attention focused on Sherrel? Except, she still would have been in danger no matter what.
I had to be here, or she would be dead.
My mom would understand, I hope. If she doesn't, I'll take whatever punishment she sends my way, even if it means closet time like my old mom would do.
A bang of a cupboard door stopped me from drifting back to sleep. My mind leapt to defensive action before I remembered Mouse Protector and Sherrel were here.
My armour lay spread out around me. I had taken it off and dumped it on the floor before I went to sleep. My gambeson was comfortable enough to sleep in, but I sort of regretted wearing it. A combination of sweat and dried blood made it feel sticky and weird. I pulled it off, shook it out, and then put it back on after checking on the bandages. A little blood had soaked through the white; not a concern for now. In ideal conditions, I would have replaced the dressing.
As I donned the rest of my armour, Sherrel came striding in from the kitchen.
She had wiped her face clean of her makeup, though I wasn't sure where she got the water. Moss blocked most of the pipes in the city, making tap water scarcer than Leviathan had made it.
"There's no fucking food here," she said.
"Did you eat the noodles I left you?" I asked as I finished pulling on my boots.
"I'm not that desperate."
"They're not so bad once you get used to them. If you break them apart with your hands first, then they don't cut up your mouth as much either," I replied. My coat came on last, filled to the brim with different trinkets and helpful little tools. Only crumbs of food remained in the pockets, not enough to feed anyone.
"Sometimes you say the saddest things," Sherrel said. "You don't even realise how sad they are, do you?"
"It's not that sad." Noodles were good, even uncooked. There wasn't anything sad about enjoying a yummy meal. "Where's Mouse Protector?" I asked.
Sherrel clicked her tongue. "Outside. Said she wanted to 'take watch'."
"I'm sorry she was mean to you last night."
"You're not the one who should be apologising," she muttered. Sherrel sighed, running a hand down her face. "Do you really think I can be better?"
I shook my head. "I know you can."
"Then… I want to try. Last night—I've never been more scared. I thought I was hallucinating for most of it, but when he hit you against the wall, that's when I realised it was real; not even because he did it, but because you made a noise that I don't think my brain could imagine. People don't talk in their voice in your head, at least not for me, and I've never heard anyone be hurt like that. But even then, even after I thought he had given you brain damage, you kept trying to do something. He kicked you, I think, to stop you. You wouldn't have gone down easy even if he killed you—would you?"
"If it meant I got to save everyone, I would risk anything."
Her eyebrows squished together a little more at my words. "Beyond fucked up that a teenager is saying that. But the core of it, that… I don't know a good word for it—spirit? I think that's what I need right now. If we can just get past this, then maybe I can try again."
Before I could respond, a distant noise like the whooshing of air caught my attention. It grew louder and louder, shaking the house, as whatever was making it flew directly overhead. I pressed my hands to my ears to drown it out, but it was far too loud, and I could feel it shaking through my bones.
We ran out of the house to see what was happening. Mouse Protector stood near the kerb, staring off at the sky.
"What was that? A plane?" I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the fading rumble of it.
"Looked military," Mouse replied. "Think the PRT is making their move on the Nine—though I suppose they should be the Eight now," she nudged her arm into me. "They offered to let me join some kind of tagalong pity party operation yesterday when I called in Mannequin, but I told them they could stick it somewhere not PG," she said.
A sound, a distant 'fwhoomph' like someone punching a pillow, came from where the plane had flown over.
"Means we've gotta avoid Hell, Ohio, over there, though. Firebombs, probably," she continued. "Molotov Cocktails would have been a better choice—you can drink the ones you don't use," she nudged Sherrel with her elbow as if sharing a joke. Sherrel scowled at her. "It's coming back," Mouse Protector said, looking off near the horizon.
I wasn't sure what she saw, but I could hear it. The low rumble grew louder again before the plane shot by, passing over the same area it had before. It was barely a blur as it passed by within moments. In its wake, small black blobs fell to the earth.
A fractured mirror of glass surrounded by swirling yellow-green smoke shot up beyond the roofs. A flash of lightning arced over the glass spires shortly after. Sounds like popping popcorn filled the air as random flashes of multicoloured lights appeared.
Mouse Protector and Sherrel covered their eyes. The sunglasses hidden in my helmet protected me from the worst of it, but I still had to squint.
Half a skyscraper vanished in a large flash, and the rest of the building caved down, unsupported. Strips of fire stretched up like strange limbs before being replaced with water that crashed back down with gravity. A monster made of flesh and bone shaped like a pterodactyl scrambled up one of the glass spikes before the yellow-green vortex pulled it back down. Its body vanished into dust as the smoke touched it, pulled apart like the glass it had clung to.
More effects joined the rest, creating a strange light show that left me reeling.
I knew those bombs: Bakuda.
The heroes were using her work to fight the Slaughterhouse Nine. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
My gut instinct told me it was a good thing. For all the mayhem her bombs had caused, they now got to help the world by fighting the Nine. I'm sure they would appreciate being used for such a good purpose.
But I had also seen people hurt by them. I knew what it meant to be near that sort of chaos. Time bubbles dotted around the city were keeping people trapped forever because of Bakuda—alive, but no one could help them. They were living there, experiencing infinity while the world moved on without them.
Did the Nine deserve that? And was I a bad person for thinking they did?
"We should probably leave. We're pretty close," Sherrel said.
Collectively, we agreed that this wasn't a good place to be near and piled into the car. It started with no issues.
My brain drifted back to Bakuda as we drove away. Her time fields had to use energy to maintain themselves. Where did they get it from, and could it be overloaded? If you plugged the wrong voltage cables into the power grid, then they could fry your machines; every tinker knew that. Maybe a dimensional plug could do the same by siphoning energy from an alternate universe with a dead planet to overload the time bubble and free the people.
Finding the right planet would be tricky, since I wouldn't want to hurt a planet with life. But what would even happen to the people inside the bubble? Their atoms would be all out of sync with the universe. Time might not like it if I suddenly pulled people back into existence in her stream—or maybe it all worked differently, and I was off base.
The thoughts weren't realistic, anyway—I would need several cities' worth of junk to even get started, and breaching dimensions would make a lot of people upset with me—I just needed to fill my brain with ways I could be useful. Watching the heroes take action while I had to sit back and do nothing left me feeling antsy.
'What ifs' filled my head: What if my phone had been protected so they could have called me? What if I hadn't left the Wards? What if I had prepared more and made better things?
What if, what if, what if?
None of them were helpful, but I hated feeling useless. I needed to focus on what I could do, like helping Sherrel.
The streets were quiet, only disturbed by the thrum of the car. It made us a beacon for bad people to find us, which I didn't like. Maybe Sherrel could have modified the engine to be quieter, but she didn't have too many tools, nor did we have the time.
Anyone dumb enough to attack us would face three powerful heroes Hopefully, they wouldn't realise that we had lost some of our equipment, were injured, and two of us were arguing.
Maybe I could fix that last one.
"M-P. I was thinking maybe you could apologise?" I tried to keep my voice quiet so she wouldn't see it as an attack.
"Apologise? For what, kid?" she responded, keeping her head forward. It was a little harder when I couldn't see her face.
"For being mean to Sherrel," I said. It seemed obvious to me.
"Leave it; it's fine," Sherrel said from the backseat.
"No, no—let the kid speak. She thinks I need to apologise, fine: I'm sorry," Mouse responded.
"Thank y—" I began to say before she interrupted me.
"I'm sorry that the kid can't see that you're going to screw us over for a sniff of snow."
"Mouse!" I flinched at my unintentional shout. "Mouse," I repeated quieter. "Stop. Why are you being like this?"
"Because I've seen the damage addicts do. I've stopped the damage they do."
"You're being unfair. Not everyone is the same," I replied.
She shook her head. "Kid, you're still new at this and you've already seen a lot. Imagine what you see over twenty years. I had to rescue a girl, barely eight, because her parents tried to sell her so they could buy more meth—and you know what they said to me after I confronted them about it?" She didn't wait for me to respond. "They said: 'We can just make a new one'. A new one? Not 'We're so sorry for trying to sell our child for a temporary high', or 'We're going to turn our lives around now that you've sobered us to our mistake', just, 'We can make a new one.'. They didn't even consider her a human being, only a thing they could use down the line to get more meth. That's the damage they cause, that's the real consequences of it."
"That's horrible," I muttered.
"Exactly. They're all—"
"But that doesn't make you right," I spoke over her. "You can't judge everyone the same, even if they're similar. There are bad people everywhere, but even they have reasons for being bad. It doesn't excuse them—a villain is still a villain—but we're heroes: we help people. If you're already convinced yourself that an entire group is bad, then how are you supposed to help the ones who aren't bad or the ones who want to change? Doesn't everyone deserve a chance to try to be better?"
Mouse Protector didn't respond to my questions. Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel. I gave her the space to think things over.
Sherrel smiled weakly at me as I checked on her.
The car suddenly swerved to a stop as Mouse Protector wrenched at the wheel and yanked the handbrake up. Unprepared, my shoulder slammed into the car door.
Outside the car, I watched the pockets of moss dotted around the street exploding into red clouds of mist that caused more moss to explode into more red mist as they met.
Mouse Protector shifted gears before slamming on the accelerator. We took off as the red mist continued to spread from the moss behind us.
It was catching up to us fast.
"Kid, is this you?!" she yelled as the car picked up speed. Winds whipped against my face through the open windshield.
"No! Not me!" my voice was drowned out by the wind. I shook my head, hoping she could see me.
More red mist appeared ahead of us, snaking from around the corner. We were trapped.
M-P wrenched the wheel to the right, sending us barrelling through a narrow gap in the buildings. The sides of the cars scraped against the walls, making a horrible sound that reminded me of Hookwolf.
We burst out of the gap and into a wider street. The mist had already claimed most of it and was rapidly closing in on us. Mouse Protector frantically looked around to find an exit. There wasn't anywhere for us to go.
I pried the bellows from the bottom of Dede's shaft free. Removing my coat was awkward with the cramped space of the car. My armour had a forgotten feature, a floatation device built into the back in case I ever got thrown into the water. I wasn't sure if it even still worked since I had replaced the trigger for the bug repellant under my shoulders.
"I'm sorry!" Mouse Protector said. "You're right, kid, and I'm sorry. I'm letting my past experiences cloud my judgement, like I did with the PRT when I met you." I couldn't recall what she meant.
"Sherrel, I'm sorry," she finished just as the red cloud consumed the car.
I hadn't been fast enough.
Everything became clouded in red.
…
We weren't dead.
I patted myself down to double-check. Still alive. My vitals appeared in my view as I lifted my lower eyelids. They were all normal, though my heart rate was high. Breathing was normal, too, despite the thick red fog.
"Everyone okay?" I turned to ask the other people in the car.
A person in a motorbike helmet looked at me. Someone had drawn a goofy face that looked like a mouse onto their visor. Her armour looked old and dirty, with lots of scratches. It wasn't as complex as my own, just a breastplate with padded clothes beneath it.
I turned just in time to see the woman in the backseat scramble out of the car. Who were these people? Why couldn't I remember who they were?
I had been travelling somewhere with Mouse Protector and Sherrel. Were these people them, or did they get swapped out in the fog? I had to stop the blonde woman from running away so we could figure this out.
"Wait!" I called out to her as I got out of the car myself. "Where are you going?"
Whoever she was, she shouldn't be travelling in this fog alone. There were dangerous people out there who worked in a group called the Slaughterhouse Nine. I couldn't remember their names or their powers, but I knew they used them to be villains.
I also remembered killing one of them, but that couldn't be right. The fog had to be messing with my memories.
Her face was panicked as she turned around. "I don't know who you are. Leave me alone!"
"I'm Raccoon Knight, a hero; I can help. There are villains out there and we need to stick together."
"I don't remember what she looks like! You could be tricking me. Everyone thinks I'm stupid, but I'm not," she replied. Whoever she was, she enjoyed moving her hands around a lot when she spoke. She made big sweeping gestures that looked like she might accidentally hit someone near her. Was that what Mouse Protector did, or Sherrel?
"We were in the car together for a reason, right? I remember we were travelling somewhere—I don't know where—but I know it's safe. And I remember there were two people with me. That's you, and them." I pointed at the person in the motorbike helmet as they exited the car.
"Don't lump me in with you, short stuff. I don't do the sidekick thing any more," they said in a scratchy, but feminine voice. "But she is right, tank top, we were in the car together for a reason and none of us are in cuffs, so, probably a team."
"You might have slipped into the car after the mist covered everything up or—I don't know! All I know is that one of you is awful. I just can't…" The blonde woman grabbed her head as if she could pry the memories free. "I can't…"
"How much you wanna bet she bursts a blood vessel?" the motorbike woman asked me.
"I hope she doesn't… I think we need to write down our names. My name is Raccoon Knight." In my coat pockets, I found a marker and wrote an 'RK' on my left pauldron.
"Huh, funny. Because of the ears?" the motorbike woman asked as she took the marker. I nodded. "Mouse Protector," she said as she wrote an 'MP' on her breastplate. "Funny that there are two animal-slash-knight-themed heroes in the same place," she sounded sceptical but shrugged. "Guess that means we really are a team." She tossed the pen to the blonde woman who scrambled to catch it. "What about you, cleavage? What animal are you? A cow?"
The blonde woman scowled at M-P—I had to check the words written on her breastplate to remind myself of her name. Didn't I remember it recently? Mouse something. Person?
"Sq—Artificer." The blonde woman scribbled an 'A' just above her collarbone.
"Already lying to us," Mouse Person tutted. "Don't think I didn't catch that slip-up; you practically fell flat on your face from it."
"It's my old name. Is that a good enough excuse, or are you going to accuse me of being a liar again?"
"We don't need to fight," I interrupted them. "If we were in the car together, then that means we're allies. We were going somewhere. An organisation. The PRT? I think. Does that sound right?"
"Why should we trust you, kid? As far as I can tell by your tone, you're lying through your teeth. Clearly, you're not being affected by this fog, since you decided to make a name similar to mine to try to buddy up to me. Not sure how you else would stop it unless you were the one who made it," she reached into the car and pulled out a sword with a mouse face on the crossguard.
"That doesn't make any sense! Why would I be wearing raccoon-themed armour? We were in the car together. You two were arguing, and I wanted it to stop. You—or her—apologised as well." I grabbed my spear through the window of the car. She had a name, but I couldn't place it.
"Well, why don't you put your stick down, and we can talk about it?" Mouse Person said.
"You picked up your sword first," I said. "We were heading somewhere—the PRT, I think—and no one had time to be swapped out. The fog came in too fast. You," I pointed to Mouse Person, "were driving. Which makes sense since you were sitting in the driver's seat, and she was in the back. We were all in the car. Why would we be lying? Think about it."
If I could remember anything about them, then maybe I could convince them better. Their names and powers were blanks in my memory. Who had I been travelling with, again? I couldn't tell if their names matched with what I knew.
I mentally shuffled through the stacks of paper in my brain to find a name, or a face, or anything. There were some there, like the Wards, but I couldn't remember who was in it or why I had been around them. Events still existed, moments that were etched into my memory, but I couldn't remember who had been around me at the time. Had either of these women been there when I lost my legs or when I had my first birthday party? Were they friends of mine or enemies, like the one who could turn into blades?
"What are your powers?" I asked.
"I ain't gonna expose myself like that to you, kid, I'll get arrested," Mouse Person responded.
Behind her, I saw Artemis walking off deeper into the fog. "Where are you going?" I called out to her as I made my way around the car. A blade held up to my throat stopped me in my path.
"Not so fast. Why do you want her to be here that bad? Can't enact your dastardly plan if she walks off?" the Mouse woman said.
"She's going to get hurt if she leaves."
"Why's that? Your friends out there waiting to pounce on the poor moo-cow?"
"There are dangerous people out there that made this fog, and they want to kill her, or you–I don't know which—so we need to stick together. I'm not with them. Use your brain—none of us could be fakes."
"You keep saying that, but I ain't so easily sold."
"If she gets hurt because of us arguing, then we're not heroes. You can keep your sword at me, just let me stop her."
"Alright, but I'm warning you, one wrong move, and you'll be shish kebab," she manoeuvred the sword down to my side where my armour plates gave less cover. I trusted my chain mail to protect me if this crazy woman decided to stab me.
We walked off after Artemis.
These people could be anyone and I would have no way of knowing. What if they were members of the Slaughterhouse Nine posing as allies? Or maybe they were my moms. I had two, for some reason, and I couldn't remember either of them. My memories had holes in where the people around me should have been.
Both of them sounded older than me, so I chalked out them going to school with me, but ultimately that meant nothing. Even if I scratched out a million possibilities, I still would have no idea who they were.
But they had to be the people from the car; nothing else made sense. I could remember all the events leading up to the fog, but who was with me? Did they have the same outfits on as these people? Maybe we were enemies.
A shadow scuttled through the red fog to my right. It vanished as I turned to look at it.
"We're being followed," I said.
"I didn't see anything," Mouse Person said from behind me. "You trying to trick me?"
"No. We can keep going."
"Or is that what you want? To ambush me by pretending your friend ran off?"
"I don't have a plan! I just want to make sure she's okay, in case she is a friend."
"Keep walking," she prodded the tip of her sword into my side. I did as she asked.
The thick, red fog made it hard to see much of anything. This had spread because of my moss. Someone else had been the one to release my moss, but I imagined telling either of these two that I had made it would most likely get me stabbed. I kept my mouth shut. They would understand better once we were out of here.
Further down the road, we found a blonde woman ripping off pieces of a car engine with a screwdriver. She brandished it towards us when we got close. "Stay the fuck back."
"We're not here to hurt you; just looking for someone we were travelling with," I said.
"Listen, that ain't gonna stop my sword, so just tell us where she went, and we'll leave you alone," Mouse pulled the sword to the side to show it off while still keeping it pressed against me.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know? Wait—are you the people from before? This fucking fog…" the blonde woman responded.
Was she Artemis? I couldn't remember a single detail of what she looked like.
"Were you in a car with us like five minutes ago?" I asked. It was the simplest way to tell.
"Don't tell her that. She'll say yes, so we think it's her," Mouse prodded the sword a little harder into my side.
"Well, I was. With two people," maybe-Artemis said.
"See now how are we supposed to believe that?" Mouse Person said. "Can't trust a word of that to be true."
"Can if you're not a paranoid bitch," Artemis responded.
They continued arguing, but I was distracted from their words by a low hum coming from behind the buildings. I knew the sound. It haunted my nightmares. It was the sound of countless insects beating their wings in perfect unison at the command of their master.
I looked around to find them. The fog made everything hard to see beyond vague black blobs hidden in the red, but that many bugs couldn't hide.
It took far too long to spot it—a black amorphous shape moving across the building tops. It flowed like water as they circled us like a lion readying to pounce on its prey. I couldn't remember who controlled them, or what they were like, but the sound sent shivers down my spine. Only a villain would control such disgusting creatures.
They faded from sight behind a building, but I could still hear their droning.
Mouse Person nudged me. "You with us?"
"They're surrounding us, but I can protect us. I'm going to activate a gas, don't freak out," I reached up to twist the dial on my pauldron, but the sword poked harder into my back.
"Ah, ah. No sudden movements. What's surrounding us?"
"Bugs. Can't you hear them?"
"Car alarms. Sirens. Wanton destruction Nope—no, bugs," she responded. "Put your hand down."
"Please, they're here. I can hear them. We need to be protected."
Mouse scoffed. "Yeah. Likely. Hey, cowgirl, tie her up for me, will ya'?"
Artemis folded her arms in front of her chest. "And get close enough so you can stick me with the knife you have in your other hand?"
"What knife?" Mouse responded, holding up her empty hand.
"Sleight of hand," she scoffed. I hadn't seen a knife.
"Fine. I'll keep my hand held out." Mouse held her hand out directly to her left.
Artemis squinted at her. "I'm leaving. Don't stop me."
A glowing, flying man in a blue costume zoomed past overhead. He stopped above a building, turned to us, and raised his hand. Three lasers shot from his hand and flew towards us.
Mouse shoved me to the side to dodge, but the lasers swerved to hit us. The spear in my hand clattered to the floor as she shoved me down.
As the laser splashed against my armour, it knocked the breath from my lungs. My side stung at the sudden forced breath. All the aches and pains from yesterday cried out for my attention as the laser blast jostled them awake.
I raised my right hand to him to be ready to fight back with the device on my arm, but I couldn't be sure if he was a villain or a hero.
"Stay down!" he commanded before flying off.
I let my hand flop to the floor.
There had to be some way to stop this fog. We couldn't trust each other with it around. Getting rid of it wouldn't be enough, though, since it had already affected us. A wide-scale cure that also got rid of the fog sounded possible if I had more resources. There were people, before, that gathered resources for me. I couldn't remember their faces or names. Had Mouse Person and Artemis been part of that group?
A foot stepped on my back as I tried to get up. "You heard the man; stay down," Mouse Person said.
"I can fix this. Please. I can make a cure. Help me get the stuff and we can fix all of this."
"And it says gullible on the ceiling." She pressed her foot down harder.
I wanted to scream—why couldn't she just listen to me for a second?
It looked like I would need to fight my way out of this. I readied myself to fight against my probably-a-friend.
This was going to suck.
6.8
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.8
Mouse Person pressed me against the floor using her foot. Any little movement caused her to push down harder.
I would need to catch her by surprise if I wanted to escape. Being down here gave me a chance to plan. I couldn't see her, but Artemis would probably leave. If Mouse Person gave chase, I could attack her before she could put her sword against me. If she didn't, I would need to catch up to Artemis after I stopped Mouse.
Although I couldn't remember who these people were, I knew they had been in the car and that I needed to protect them, just in case.
Unfortunately, it looked like I would have to keep them safe by force.
Artemis didn't look like much of a fighter, but I couldn't remember her power; despite her skinny frame, she could have super strength.
Mouse Person had a sword. Whether she could use it didn't matter: with blades, there aren't any winners. I would need to disarm her as fast as possible.
I mentally went through my options.
My spear wasn't too far from me, though I had broken the bellows that allowed it to fire blasts of air. The thing on my right arm was too deadly to use on a person—even a potential villain.
On my left arm were three vials set into my glove. One of those vials had a stinky gas that I could fire in a spray. Other people seemed to react to it worse than I did, but her helmet might protect her from the worst of it. The other vials held a glue that fired in thick, rope-like strands, and a liquid that rapidly expanded into a foam on contact. All of them were useful in their own way, but I had limited ammo. Because they were useful, I might need to use them to protect us in the future. How much could I spare right now?
I didn't have time to think this through—I needed to act.
Artemis coughed, and I strained to see her pulling herself to her feet. The laser had been harder on her without armour. Mouse Person spoke to her, giving me the perfect distraction.
Rolling to the right with a sudden lurch, I lashed out with my arm to knock the foot away.
Mouse stumbled away, and I continued rolling up to my feet. As I rolled past the spear, I grabbed it.
In an instant, I was up to my feet with my weapon in hand. Before she had time to recover, I fired a cloud of stink gas directly towards her. I rushed through it, uncaring about the smell, then struck her in the side of the head with the flat of my spear.
Before I could make contact, she blinked out of existence, appearing slightly to the right of the swing. Mouse grabbed the shaft of the spear with her left hand as she reappeared. With a tug, she pulled me further forward, towards a stab of her blade.
Her arms were crossed over each other—a bad time to be right-handed—so her lunge lacked power, making it easy to deflect with my bracer. Sparks flew as she cut directly through the wires of the device on my right arm.
I wrenched the spear backwards as I kicked to pull her towards my foot.
She disappeared again, appearing off to the side. A dodging power? Oddly, her sword hadn't moved at all—she reappeared on the other side of it, but the blade remained in the same position. Her sword must not teleport with her—or it was an anchor point.
Mouse kicked my outstretched leg, sending me tumbling to the side. Mercifully, her teleport had made her let go of my spear.
She flipped her sword around to hold it by the blade before swinging the pommel at me. Half-swording—she knew how to use that thing, then.
The sudden stumble left me unable to avoid her swing. My armour near the ribs dented as the pommel slammed into me. It knocked the wind out of me and made the wound on my left sting again.
With a quick teleport, she appeared with the blade back to its normal position, and her foot already kicking out.
I tumbled over fully as she kicked me in the side.
Not just dodging, I noted as I scraped across the tarmac. My armour protected me from any scrapes, but it couldn't protect my still recovering head from beginning to swirl. I flicked up the visor of my helmet to vomit on the floor. Chunky, with bits of noodles in—like chicken noodle soup.
My fingers felt numb as I pushed myself up to my knees.
"Stay down, villain," Mouse Person said. "Or I'll stop holding back. It won't be hard to kill you; you're as pathetic as that slop you vomited up."
"Concussion," I said to explain before throwing up another bit of bile. I wasn't sure why I was telling her.
"Doubt it did much—you seem like you were brain-damaged already," she replied. I felt her cold blade press up against my exposed lower face. "Try not to move too much, or I'll make you prettier."
"We're allies," I protested. "You'll hate yourself for being so mean when this passes."
Mouse Person barked out a laugh. "You're a villain, pretending to be a friend. Wanna know how I know?" She leaned in closer. "Because I wouldn't associate with something as weak and useless as you."
I bit my tongue. Why would I have been travelling with someone this cruel? Maybe she was right, but in the reverse. Except, she hadn't been tied up like a villain should be, and she was driving and had a weapon. None of this made sense, even as my brain urged that I was right.
Paranoia. The strange shadow in the fog, the bugs, and this certainty. It all made sense if I considered the fog did more than make us forget. None of us were in our right mind.
What else did the fog do?
I brushed it off my mind. Thinking about more side effects would send me spiralling.
"This fog is making us paranoid. You're not thinking straight. I'm not thinking straight. We're both heroes–" (are we?) "-and neither of us wants to hurt the other."
"I think you're trying to soften me up, make me doubt myself, so you can slip free like the weasel you are," she responded.
"Then arrest me! If you think I am a villain—which I'm not—then you should arrest me. Otherwise, you're a villain for holding me hostage. Heroes don't hold people hostage, and they don't kill!"
She pushed under my chin with her blade to angle my face up towards her.
"Take off your helmet."
"Why?"
"I need to see your eyes. See if you're telling the truth."
I reached up slowly to not get knifed. My hair dangled in front of my face, blocking Mouse from sight. Right after I took out my braid, I had spoken to one of them—had it been Mouse Person?
She squatted down next to me to tuck my hair behind my ear.
"See, from what I recall, I came across something horrific yesterday. I'm a seasoned hero—which I'm sure you remember—so I've seen some horrible stuff in my career. Imagine my surprise when I find something worse than anything I've seen in the last twenty years. Only someone equally horrific could do that to a person, is what I thought, but then I found out it was someone I knew. Don't remember who they were is the issue—but by process of elimination, I think it was either you or the cow that ran off. What I need is for you to look me in the eye and tell me that wasn't you, or I will never trust you."
I stared her in the eyes. Worms squirmed under my skin, burrowing deep into my veins. It hurt to look at her because I knew I couldn't lie. Heroes don't lie. I had done something horrific yesterday, as much as I wanted it to be the fog playing tricks.
Someone had died by my hand.
I will never forget the image of their body being torn apart by pockets of space that overlapped and intermingled, even if the person's identity was gone. Were they even a villain? And did it even matter if they were? No one deserved that. Did they?
Mouse Person clicked her tongue. "Knew it," she said in response to my silence. I sagged in defeat. "What? Not going to attack me with the same thing? Or are you a one-trick wonder?"
"I'm not going to hurt you." My voice was small, barely audible over the ringing in my ears. "I never wanted to hurt anyone."
"Hm. All right. On your stomach." She pulled the sword away as she stood up. It was still close enough to spear me if she lunged.
There wasn't any use fighting back or trying to run. This wasn't who I wanted to be. Looking back, almost all of my memories were violent—even from before I started being a hero. I was a violent person who hurt others at every turn. All the violence from my past and from being a hero blurred together into everything else. I had hit someone once at school because they had said mean words. Even when I tried to talk my way out of a situation, I had to start it by fighting them and hurting their dog. Was this the life I wanted to live?
Cold metal cuffs found their way onto my wrists. Shortly after, Mouse Person hefted me to my feet. Her hands patting me down for weapons felt distant and muted. She unscrewed the vials on my left gauntlet and removed the tangle of boxes and wires from my right. It took her a while to remove all the tools and other items from my coat. I didn't fight back or complain.
With a pile of random crap removed from my person and laid near my helmet and spear, she led me away down the road. Part of me hurt at leaving it all behind. Those were my things, and I needed them. The rest of me felt numb and didn't care.
We walked in silence for a while. Mouse Person told me to stay still a few times while she checked for others, or dealt with someone wandering around in the fog.
I lost track of time almost straight away. The trip blurred into a fog. Shapes and creatures scurried at the edge of my vision, but I ignored them. I could tell Mouse saw them too, the way she looked around frantically. We weren't seeing or hearing the same things, though. There were a few signs, such as a loud bang catching my attention, but not hers or her asking me if I heard that whispering.
We were losing our minds.
It didn't catch me by surprise when she asked. "You said you can fix this?"
"I think I can. Can make it spread, too, so everyone is fixed."
She growled in frustration. "I can't fucking trust it. You did that… whatever you did—and you could do that to everyone."
"I could make a non-spreading version if you want to try it first," I suggested.
"No. Don't trust you to not poison me." She hummed. "Maybe I could try it on someone else first—but then I can't guarantee that poor schmuck deserves whatever fate you decided for me." Mouse Person growled again, somehow more frustrated than before.
"I'm not sure we have any other choices here."
She shook her head. "There have to be better options lying around than trusting a psycho like you."
"Maybe. I'm not sure there are, though. All I want is to help people, and I think you want the same. Don't you want to fix this? We can be friends again if you just let me clear this away."
"No," she said. What little hope had crawled into my heart died with that one word. "We were never friends. You're a monster, and I've stopped you."
I couldn't find it in me to keep arguing. This wasn't something I could change. We were going to lose our minds in this fog, and I just had to accept that. Someone else might fix it, but probably not.
"Fine," I said.
With a blade pressed to my neck, we carried on walking. I fought back tears. Crying wouldn't solve anything.
A girl with blonde ringlets came running down the street right towards us. Her eyes were different colours—one green, one blue—I didn't know they could do that.
Mouse Person kicked me down to my knees and brandished her sword at the girl.
"There you are!" the girl said to me. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Not one step closer, blondie," Mouse commanded.
"Ooh, so scary," the girl said. I heard it as sarcastic, but I couldn't be sure. "Don't worry, Raccoon Knight, I'll help you out of this bind." How did she know me? I couldn't place her face.
With a sharp whistle, robots the size of dogs came scuttling down the nearby building. Another crawled off the girl's back and made its way over. All of them skittered forward on mechanical legs reminiscent of a spider.
"Wait! Don't hurt her!" I protested. The spiders stopped approaching and began circling us instead. Mouse kept her sword at the ready, with the tip pointed towards the spiders in front of us.
"What? Why not? She's a villain, after all," the girl said. She placed her fists against her hips.
I shook my head. "You're wrong: she's a hero."
"A hero who put you in handcuffs?" she shook her head, making her blonde ringlets jiggle. "Trust me, R-K; she's a villain. My power is helping me get past this mist, and I can tell she's the one we've been fighting."
"She's just confused. Please, don't hurt her. I can't be sure."
The girl rolled her eyes. "Fine—but I'm getting you out here. If she fights back, then I'll have to defend myself."
"Over my dead body," Mouse snarled. "This runt is a villain—which means you're one too if you think she's a friend. Now, clear out, before I make a butcher proud."
"We don't have time for this! R-K is my big sister, and we're leaving the city together. Let her go."
Her words made no sense: I didn't remember having a sister, though there were people in my memories who might have been, but I definitely wouldn't leave the city. This place was my home, wasn't it?
Mouse kept her sword level with the circling spiders. She didn't bother to respond. The girl huffed and folded her arms.
"What if I tranquillise her? We can put her somewhere safe until this agnosia is gone. I'll even give her the cure for the brain lesions to be extra nice," the girl said.
"You can cure this?" I asked.
"Can it," Mouse snarled at me.
"Yep! Well… not completely—I can get rid of the damage it'll cause down the road, but I can't repair the neural pathways. I had to put a chip in my brain to protect me, and it isn't working very well. Maybe once we're out of this stupid city, we can cook up a cure together, R-K." She smiled at me.
She was speaking like we had been a team. Any memories with people only had blurry spots where they once were, so I couldn't be sure. There was someone there, a person who had taught me things, and a person I had made stuff together with. They might even be the same person, and I'd have no way of telling.
Someone in my memory used tranquillisers frequently. It might have been her. Could I trust that she would only tranquillise Mouse Person and not kill her? My only other option was to be arrested by someone who might randomly decide to stab me. At least this girl had found a way around the fog.
"Then, okay," I said. "Try not to hurt her, please."
"Fucker…" Mouse muttered.
"Hey! Don't swear," the girl wagged her finger at Mouse before whistling sharply.
The spiders leapt into action.
With two quick slashes of her sword, Mouse cut one in half and through the legs of another. One landed on her back, but a quick teleport put her above it with her sword at the ready.
She drove the blade down, spearing through the electronics. Before she reached the floor, she had teleported again with her sword mid-swing.
Sword fighting often left you open to counter-attacks if you let your swing go a little wide, and readying your next strike could grant your opponent an opening if you weren't careful. With her teleporting, she made up for the downsides of a sword. I was a little jealous.
If she carried a shield, she would be safer. There was someone in my memory who had used one, but who?
Was this woman the person who taught me how to fight? I wanted to take my brain out and shake it for how little it was giving me.
A spider grabbed Mouse's sword and tugged. It was surprisingly strong and pulled her forward into a sharp step. She slapped it with her hand and vanished from sight just as a spider passed through where she had been.
"This is so infuriating!" the girl shouted as Mouse slashed through another spider. Her spiders backed off, giving Mouse Person space to breathe. I saw the way her chest rose and fell, a little heavier than it had been. Given enough spiders, I wasn't sure she could keep fighting forever. "Just hand R-K over so I don't have to hurt you."
"Keep dreaming, half-pint." Mouse pointed her blade at a severed robot. Her swing had cracked open a plastic capsule that had wires running to it. Pink goo oozed out of the crack, leaking onto the tarmac. "Brains," she guessed. "You're Bonesaw."
The name rang a bell, but I couldn't be sure why. Was it because she was a teammate or one of the Slaughterhouse Nine?
"What? R-K and I made those brains in a lab. They're artificial, not even sapient," the girl (Bonesaw?) put her hands on her hips.
Taking advantage of the brief distraction, a spider leapt onto Mouse Person's back. She grunted in pain before disappearing.
Her follow-up sword strike was sluggish, and only scraped the spider as it scuttled away.
After taking a step backwards, she fell onto her side.
I cried out, scared she had been killed. Mouse's eyes flicked up to me.
Still alive—just paralysed.
My handcuffs came loose with a tug. I turned to see a spider storing them away in a hidden compartment.
The blonde girl walked up to me and took my hand. "Come on, we've got to go."
I resisted her tug. "What about her?"
"Right. We can put her somewhere safe first, but we really do need to hurry," the girl patted my hand. Her spider bots moved over and coordinated to lay Mouse Person across one of their backs.
I asked the girl to keep the spiders put while I checked on Mouse.
Her eyes darted up to mine as I got close. They stared at me as I checked her breathing and pulse. It was hard to tell what she was feeling with the blank look on her face. I pulled the dart out of the back of her neck. The spider bot had found the one exposed area in her costume. A gorget, like mine, would have protected her.
Unfortunately, the dart didn't count as trash to my power: I couldn't be sure what the paralysis was doing or if it would affect her long-term. Ideas for a counteragent came to mind, but I didn't have much to work with.
This girl knew me by name, unlike Mouse Person. I couldn't remember her power, but based on the spiders, the fact she said we 'made' stuff together, and the paralysing poison, I was pretty sure she was a tinker like me. Memories of working with a tinker came up, but I couldn't remember their power either. Why did this have to be so complicated? I wasn't sure who to trust.
"Do you have a phone?" I asked the girl.
She shook her head. "Lost it to Shatterbird."
"Who?"
"When the Slaughterhouse Nine show up somewhere, she sings and breaks all the silicon," the girl replied. She gestured to the empty window frames and bits of glass littering the street.
I remembered helping people after that had happened. It had been at a motel with someone else.
"Oh. I don't want to leave her out here. I'd feel better knowing a hero had her safe," I said.
"We can drop her off on the way. Uncle Jack is going to be annoyed if we take too long, though."
"I don't know who that is."
"All the more reason to get out of here. We have Panacea already, so come on."
I didn't move. "I'm not sure. Maybe I should take her there by myself. Then we can meet back up?"
The girl folded her arms and stomped her foot. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."
"When you made the dinosaur truck, you asked me to fix a specific tool. What was it?"
"That wasn't me," she said.
"I don't remember making those brains with you."
"You're probably hallucinating, too. We can get you fixed up later, but for now, you'll need to trust me."
I rubbed my eyes. None of this made any sense. There had been a tinker in the hero team I had been part of before—or maybe a few of them? Their powers still refused to come to my brain.
"Come on, R-K. We don't have time for this. Let's dump Mouse Protector at the PRT and get out of here so I can fix you up."
Mouse Protector? Oh, she meant Mouse Person.
Her name matched mine. Why did it match mine? That wouldn't make any sense unless…
I nodded at Bonesaw. "Okay. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, silly. Come on." She took my hand in hers and led me away. The spider bot followed obediently behind, with Mouse Protector on its back.
I mustered up every ounce of confidence I could get to keep my heartbeat steady.
The opportunity to escape with Mouse Protector would be slim. I could only hope that I noticed it before it passed.
Mouse Person pressed me against the floor using her foot. Any little movement caused her to push down harder.
I would need to catch her by surprise if I wanted to escape. Being down here gave me a chance to plan. I couldn't see her, but Artemis would probably leave. If Mouse Person gave chase, I could attack her before she could put her sword against me. If she didn't, I would need to catch up to Artemis after I stopped Mouse.
Although I couldn't remember who these people were, I knew they had been in the car and that I needed to protect them, just in case.
Unfortunately, it looked like I would have to keep them safe by force.
Artemis didn't look like much of a fighter, but I couldn't remember her power; despite her skinny frame, she could have super strength.
Mouse Person had a sword. Whether she could use it didn't matter: with blades, there aren't any winners. I would need to disarm her as fast as possible.
I mentally went through my options.
My spear wasn't too far from me, though I had broken the bellows that allowed it to fire blasts of air. The thing on my right arm was too deadly to use on a person—even a potential villain.
On my left arm were three vials set into my glove. One of those vials had a stinky gas that I could fire in a spray. Other people seemed to react to it worse than I did, but her helmet might protect her from the worst of it. The other vials held a glue that fired in thick, rope-like strands, and a liquid that rapidly expanded into a foam on contact. All of them were useful in their own way, but I had limited ammo. Because they were useful, I might need to use them to protect us in the future. How much could I spare right now?
I didn't have time to think this through—I needed to act.
Artemis coughed, and I strained to see her pulling herself to her feet. The laser had been harder on her without armour. Mouse Person spoke to her, giving me the perfect distraction.
Rolling to the right with a sudden lurch, I lashed out with my arm to knock the foot away.
Mouse stumbled away, and I continued rolling up to my feet. As I rolled past the spear, I grabbed it.
In an instant, I was up to my feet with my weapon in hand. Before she had time to recover, I fired a cloud of stink gas directly towards her. I rushed through it, uncaring about the smell, then struck her in the side of the head with the flat of my spear.
Before I could make contact, she blinked out of existence, appearing slightly to the right of the swing. Mouse grabbed the shaft of the spear with her left hand as she reappeared. With a tug, she pulled me further forward, towards a stab of her blade.
Her arms were crossed over each other—a bad time to be right-handed—so her lunge lacked power, making it easy to deflect with my bracer. Sparks flew as she cut directly through the wires of the device on my right arm.
I wrenched the spear backwards as I kicked to pull her towards my foot.
She disappeared again, appearing off to the side. A dodging power? Oddly, her sword hadn't moved at all—she reappeared on the other side of it, but the blade remained in the same position. Her sword must not teleport with her—or it was an anchor point.
Mouse kicked my outstretched leg, sending me tumbling to the side. Mercifully, her teleport had made her let go of my spear.
She flipped her sword around to hold it by the blade before swinging the pommel at me. Half-swording—she knew how to use that thing, then.
The sudden stumble left me unable to avoid her swing. My armour near the ribs dented as the pommel slammed into me. It knocked the wind out of me and made the wound on my left sting again.
With a quick teleport, she appeared with the blade back to its normal position, and her foot already kicking out.
I tumbled over fully as she kicked me in the side.
Not just dodging, I noted as I scraped across the tarmac. My armour protected me from any scrapes, but it couldn't protect my still recovering head from beginning to swirl. I flicked up the visor of my helmet to vomit on the floor. Chunky, with bits of noodles in—like chicken noodle soup.
My fingers felt numb as I pushed myself up to my knees.
"Stay down, villain," Mouse Person said. "Or I'll stop holding back. It won't be hard to kill you; you're as pathetic as that slop you vomited up."
"Concussion," I said to explain before throwing up another bit of bile. I wasn't sure why I was telling her.
"Doubt it did much—you seem like you were brain-damaged already," she replied. I felt her cold blade press up against my exposed lower face. "Try not to move too much, or I'll make you prettier."
"We're allies," I protested. "You'll hate yourself for being so mean when this passes."
Mouse Person barked out a laugh. "You're a villain, pretending to be a friend. Wanna know how I know?" She leaned in closer. "Because I wouldn't associate with something as weak and useless as you."
I bit my tongue. Why would I have been travelling with someone this cruel? Maybe she was right, but in the reverse. Except, she hadn't been tied up like a villain should be, and she was driving and had a weapon. None of this made sense, even as my brain urged that I was right.
Paranoia. The strange shadow in the fog, the bugs, and this certainty. It all made sense if I considered the fog did more than make us forget. None of us were in our right mind.
What else did the fog do?
I brushed it off my mind. Thinking about more side effects would send me spiralling.
"This fog is making us paranoid. You're not thinking straight. I'm not thinking straight. We're both heroes–" (are we?) "-and neither of us wants to hurt the other."
"I think you're trying to soften me up, make me doubt myself, so you can slip free like the weasel you are," she responded.
"Then arrest me! If you think I am a villain—which I'm not—then you should arrest me. Otherwise, you're a villain for holding me hostage. Heroes don't hold people hostage, and they don't kill!"
She pushed under my chin with her blade to angle my face up towards her.
"Take off your helmet."
"Why?"
"I need to see your eyes. See if you're telling the truth."
I reached up slowly to not get knifed. My hair dangled in front of my face, blocking Mouse from sight. Right after I took out my braid, I had spoken to one of them—had it been Mouse Person?
She squatted down next to me to tuck my hair behind my ear.
"See, from what I recall, I came across something horrific yesterday. I'm a seasoned hero—which I'm sure you remember—so I've seen some horrible stuff in my career. Imagine my surprise when I find something worse than anything I've seen in the last twenty years. Only someone equally horrific could do that to a person, is what I thought, but then I found out it was someone I knew. Don't remember who they were is the issue—but by process of elimination, I think it was either you or the cow that ran off. What I need is for you to look me in the eye and tell me that wasn't you, or I will never trust you."
I stared her in the eyes. Worms squirmed under my skin, burrowing deep into my veins. It hurt to look at her because I knew I couldn't lie. Heroes don't lie. I had done something horrific yesterday, as much as I wanted it to be the fog playing tricks.
Someone had died by my hand.
I will never forget the image of their body being torn apart by pockets of space that overlapped and intermingled, even if the person's identity was gone. Were they even a villain? And did it even matter if they were? No one deserved that. Did they?
Mouse Person clicked her tongue. "Knew it," she said in response to my silence. I sagged in defeat. "What? Not going to attack me with the same thing? Or are you a one-trick wonder?"
"I'm not going to hurt you." My voice was small, barely audible over the ringing in my ears. "I never wanted to hurt anyone."
"Hm. All right. On your stomach." She pulled the sword away as she stood up. It was still close enough to spear me if she lunged.
There wasn't any use fighting back or trying to run. This wasn't who I wanted to be. Looking back, almost all of my memories were violent—even from before I started being a hero. I was a violent person who hurt others at every turn. All the violence from my past and from being a hero blurred together into everything else. I had hit someone once at school because they had said mean words. Even when I tried to talk my way out of a situation, I had to start it by fighting them and hurting their dog. Was this the life I wanted to live?
Cold metal cuffs found their way onto my wrists. Shortly after, Mouse Person hefted me to my feet. Her hands patting me down for weapons felt distant and muted. She unscrewed the vials on my left gauntlet and removed the tangle of boxes and wires from my right. It took her a while to remove all the tools and other items from my coat. I didn't fight back or complain.
With a pile of random crap removed from my person and laid near my helmet and spear, she led me away down the road. Part of me hurt at leaving it all behind. Those were my things, and I needed them. The rest of me felt numb and didn't care.
We walked in silence for a while. Mouse Person told me to stay still a few times while she checked for others, or dealt with someone wandering around in the fog.
I lost track of time almost straight away. The trip blurred into a fog. Shapes and creatures scurried at the edge of my vision, but I ignored them. I could tell Mouse saw them too, the way she looked around frantically. We weren't seeing or hearing the same things, though. There were a few signs, such as a loud bang catching my attention, but not hers or her asking me if I heard that whispering.
We were losing our minds.
It didn't catch me by surprise when she asked. "You said you can fix this?"
"I think I can. Can make it spread, too, so everyone is fixed."
She growled in frustration. "I can't fucking trust it. You did that… whatever you did—and you could do that to everyone."
"I could make a non-spreading version if you want to try it first," I suggested.
"No. Don't trust you to not poison me." She hummed. "Maybe I could try it on someone else first—but then I can't guarantee that poor schmuck deserves whatever fate you decided for me." Mouse Person growled again, somehow more frustrated than before.
"I'm not sure we have any other choices here."
She shook her head. "There have to be better options lying around than trusting a psycho like you."
"Maybe. I'm not sure there are, though. All I want is to help people, and I think you want the same. Don't you want to fix this? We can be friends again if you just let me clear this away."
"No," she said. What little hope had crawled into my heart died with that one word. "We were never friends. You're a monster, and I've stopped you."
I couldn't find it in me to keep arguing. This wasn't something I could change. We were going to lose our minds in this fog, and I just had to accept that. Someone else might fix it, but probably not.
"Fine," I said.
With a blade pressed to my neck, we carried on walking. I fought back tears. Crying wouldn't solve anything.
A girl with blonde ringlets came running down the street right towards us. Her eyes were different colours—one green, one blue—I didn't know they could do that.
Mouse Person kicked me down to my knees and brandished her sword at the girl.
"There you are!" the girl said to me. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Not one step closer, blondie," Mouse commanded.
"Ooh, so scary," the girl said. I heard it as sarcastic, but I couldn't be sure. "Don't worry, Raccoon Knight, I'll help you out of this bind." How did she know me? I couldn't place her face.
With a sharp whistle, robots the size of dogs came scuttling down the nearby building. Another crawled off the girl's back and made its way over. All of them skittered forward on mechanical legs reminiscent of a spider.
"Wait! Don't hurt her!" I protested. The spiders stopped approaching and began circling us instead. Mouse kept her sword at the ready, with the tip pointed towards the spiders in front of us.
"What? Why not? She's a villain, after all," the girl said. She placed her fists against her hips.
I shook my head. "You're wrong: she's a hero."
"A hero who put you in handcuffs?" she shook her head, making her blonde ringlets jiggle. "Trust me, R-K; she's a villain. My power is helping me get past this mist, and I can tell she's the one we've been fighting."
"She's just confused. Please, don't hurt her. I can't be sure."
The girl rolled her eyes. "Fine—but I'm getting you out here. If she fights back, then I'll have to defend myself."
"Over my dead body," Mouse snarled. "This runt is a villain—which means you're one too if you think she's a friend. Now, clear out, before I make a butcher proud."
"We don't have time for this! R-K is my big sister, and we're leaving the city together. Let her go."
Her words made no sense: I didn't remember having a sister, though there were people in my memories who might have been, but I definitely wouldn't leave the city. This place was my home, wasn't it?
Mouse kept her sword level with the circling spiders. She didn't bother to respond. The girl huffed and folded her arms.
"What if I tranquillise her? We can put her somewhere safe until this agnosia is gone. I'll even give her the cure for the brain lesions to be extra nice," the girl said.
"You can cure this?" I asked.
"Can it," Mouse snarled at me.
"Yep! Well… not completely—I can get rid of the damage it'll cause down the road, but I can't repair the neural pathways. I had to put a chip in my brain to protect me, and it isn't working very well. Maybe once we're out of this stupid city, we can cook up a cure together, R-K." She smiled at me.
She was speaking like we had been a team. Any memories with people only had blurry spots where they once were, so I couldn't be sure. There was someone there, a person who had taught me things, and a person I had made stuff together with. They might even be the same person, and I'd have no way of telling.
Someone in my memory used tranquillisers frequently. It might have been her. Could I trust that she would only tranquillise Mouse Person and not kill her? My only other option was to be arrested by someone who might randomly decide to stab me. At least this girl had found a way around the fog.
"Then, okay," I said. "Try not to hurt her, please."
"Fucker…" Mouse muttered.
"Hey! Don't swear," the girl wagged her finger at Mouse before whistling sharply.
The spiders leapt into action.
With two quick slashes of her sword, Mouse cut one in half and through the legs of another. One landed on her back, but a quick teleport put her above it with her sword at the ready.
She drove the blade down, spearing through the electronics. Before she reached the floor, she had teleported again with her sword mid-swing.
Sword fighting often left you open to counter-attacks if you let your swing go a little wide, and readying your next strike could grant your opponent an opening if you weren't careful. With her teleporting, she made up for the downsides of a sword. I was a little jealous.
If she carried a shield, she would be safer. There was someone in my memory who had used one, but who?
Was this woman the person who taught me how to fight? I wanted to take my brain out and shake it for how little it was giving me.
A spider grabbed Mouse's sword and tugged. It was surprisingly strong and pulled her forward into a sharp step. She slapped it with her hand and vanished from sight just as a spider passed through where she had been.
"This is so infuriating!" the girl shouted as Mouse slashed through another spider. Her spiders backed off, giving Mouse Person space to breathe. I saw the way her chest rose and fell, a little heavier than it had been. Given enough spiders, I wasn't sure she could keep fighting forever. "Just hand R-K over so I don't have to hurt you."
"Keep dreaming, half-pint." Mouse pointed her blade at a severed robot. Her swing had cracked open a plastic capsule that had wires running to it. Pink goo oozed out of the crack, leaking onto the tarmac. "Brains," she guessed. "You're Bonesaw."
The name rang a bell, but I couldn't be sure why. Was it because she was a teammate or one of the Slaughterhouse Nine?
"What? R-K and I made those brains in a lab. They're artificial, not even sapient," the girl (Bonesaw?) put her hands on her hips.
Taking advantage of the brief distraction, a spider leapt onto Mouse Person's back. She grunted in pain before disappearing.
Her follow-up sword strike was sluggish, and only scraped the spider as it scuttled away.
After taking a step backwards, she fell onto her side.
I cried out, scared she had been killed. Mouse's eyes flicked up to me.
Still alive—just paralysed.
My handcuffs came loose with a tug. I turned to see a spider storing them away in a hidden compartment.
The blonde girl walked up to me and took my hand. "Come on, we've got to go."
I resisted her tug. "What about her?"
"Right. We can put her somewhere safe first, but we really do need to hurry," the girl patted my hand. Her spider bots moved over and coordinated to lay Mouse Person across one of their backs.
I asked the girl to keep the spiders put while I checked on Mouse.
Her eyes darted up to mine as I got close. They stared at me as I checked her breathing and pulse. It was hard to tell what she was feeling with the blank look on her face. I pulled the dart out of the back of her neck. The spider bot had found the one exposed area in her costume. A gorget, like mine, would have protected her.
Unfortunately, the dart didn't count as trash to my power: I couldn't be sure what the paralysis was doing or if it would affect her long-term. Ideas for a counteragent came to mind, but I didn't have much to work with.
This girl knew me by name, unlike Mouse Person. I couldn't remember her power, but based on the spiders, the fact she said we 'made' stuff together, and the paralysing poison, I was pretty sure she was a tinker like me. Memories of working with a tinker came up, but I couldn't remember their power either. Why did this have to be so complicated? I wasn't sure who to trust.
"Do you have a phone?" I asked the girl.
She shook her head. "Lost it to Shatterbird."
"Who?"
"When the Slaughterhouse Nine show up somewhere, she sings and breaks all the silicon," the girl replied. She gestured to the empty window frames and bits of glass littering the street.
I remembered helping people after that had happened. It had been at a motel with someone else.
"Oh. I don't want to leave her out here. I'd feel better knowing a hero had her safe," I said.
"We can drop her off on the way. Uncle Jack is going to be annoyed if we take too long, though."
"I don't know who that is."
"All the more reason to get out of here. We have Panacea already, so come on."
I didn't move. "I'm not sure. Maybe I should take her there by myself. Then we can meet back up?"
The girl folded her arms and stomped her foot. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."
"When you made the dinosaur truck, you asked me to fix a specific tool. What was it?"
"That wasn't me," she said.
"I don't remember making those brains with you."
"You're probably hallucinating, too. We can get you fixed up later, but for now, you'll need to trust me."
I rubbed my eyes. None of this made any sense. There had been a tinker in the hero team I had been part of before—or maybe a few of them? Their powers still refused to come to my brain.
"Come on, R-K. We don't have time for this. Let's dump Mouse Protector at the PRT and get out of here so I can fix you up."
Mouse Protector? Oh, she meant Mouse Person.
Her name matched mine. Why did it match mine? That wouldn't make any sense unless…
I nodded at Bonesaw. "Okay. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, silly. Come on." She took my hand in hers and led me away. The spider bot followed obediently behind, with Mouse Protector on its back.
I mustered up every ounce of confidence I could get to keep my heartbeat steady.
The opportunity to escape with Mouse Protector would be slim. I could only hope that I noticed it before it passed.
6.9
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.9
Bonesaw wasn't leading me to the PRT building. Through the red haze covering my memories, I could remember places well enough. We were heading in the right direction, but not to it. Each time we should take a right, we would take a left. If we should carry on straight, we'd take a turn. Innocuous, minor mistakes that could still lead us to the PRT building if we took the right turn at the right time—but we never would. I wasn't sure where we were heading; wherever it was, it wouldn't end well for me or Mouse.
I checked on Mouse Protector every few minutes to make sure she was still breathing, and blood was still pumping. Bonesaw rolled her eyes each time and assured me she was fine. Her words meant little when she might be Bonesaw—I wasn't taking chances.
Mouse Protector's sword had been stored away in one of the spider's compartments. If I could somehow get inside, I could arm myself. A well-placed sword strike could let us both get away; I had to be careful not to kill, though. As sure as I felt, I couldn't be positive that she was Bonesaw. I had to act as if she wasn't—but still an enemy—for now.
I also gathered bits and pieces as we walked. "Might need them," was my only answer. Bonesaw didn't seem to mind me arming myself. Either she was confident I wouldn't do much against her, or she didn't know how fast I could make things. I couldn't be sure how much she knew about me or my power. Whatever amount she knew, it was more than I knew about her. Information wins fights, and I was unarmed in more ways than one.
All my gear had been stripped off me and laid in a pile on the road. All of my tools were gone, too. Only my armour remained, minus the helmet, and, with my recent concussion, I worried I'd make the concussion worse by fighting without it.
Cobbling together a device without tools wasn't easy. My fingers stung a little as I bent another piece of metal into the right shape. I tried to keep it secret by doing most of the work in my pockets, but I wasn't as sly as I thought, since Bonesaw asked, "What're you making?"
I tried to keep my face level. "Not sure. Most of the time, I'll put stuff together to see what it makes. Hoping it will protect us, though."
"You won't be needing that with me around. Trust me, big sis, I'll keep us plenty safe," she smiled widely at me.
"I'd feel better knowing I have it," I said. "Not that I don't trust that you can protect us," I quickly added, to smooth down any potential ruffled feathers.
"Unless you plan on using it on me, you won't need it." She smiled wider. "You can try if you want, but it means I'll have to tranquillise you, too. Then, once we're out of this stupid place, you'll see how silly you were being."
"Oh, I, uh, wasn't planning on using it on you," I lied. Lying came easily to me, despite how much I hated it. My voice never had the right tone or pitch for what I was trying to say, so lying never differed from my normal way of speaking. Armsmaster had used me once to tune his lie detector to 'neurodivergent' people—whatever that meant.
Bonesaw nodded, then turned back to face the way she was walking. I wasn't sure if she had bought it or not, but at least she wasn't paying attention to me. There wasn't much I could do about potential cameras in the spider bot carrying Mouse Protector. Bonesaw could probably easily access their vision, and I had to keep that in mind. There wouldn't be any catching her off-guard. Whatever I made, it needed to act fast and hard, with no way for her to stop it.
And then what? Unless I killed her—which I didn't want to in case I was wrong about her identity—then I would need to carry Mouse Protector away. She was a fully grown woman wearing armour, and even without a fresh hole in the side of my ribs and my aching legs, I didn't think I could carry her. These past few months had made me stronger, but I was still barely over five feet tall with a small frame to match.
Stupid, to make the same mistakes I had in the past. I failed to integrate all my weapons, armour, and tools into myself, which made them too easy to take away. My skin could be as hard as rocks, and I should have super-strength. None of my original body, aside from my brain, should even still be around. With no school to go back to and no friends around, I should have gone all in on making myself the best hero I could be. It's not like I was attached to this body, anyway.
Surgery while walking was a bad idea, as tempting as it was to slot this new thing into my arm.
Most of what I found on our walk were bits of concrete, rebar, and soggy cardboard. The main thing I found was glass. So much glass. From cars, lights, windows—all sorts of glass. Some of it thicker, some of it sharper, some of it resistant to breakage but in pieces all the same.
Bonesaw wouldn't let me stop to scavenge from a dead car or to check in the buildings for more parts. I had to make do with glass as my primary material.
I wasn't sure what to make. The pieces clicked together as they always did, but they were directionless. A piece of scrap metal rubbed against my armour helped magnetise it. An old can wasn't too difficult to tear into shreds; my gloves protected me from any scratches.
Glass made the whole thing prettier, but didn't add much. I could load it into a spring wound cannon to blast Bonesaw with a shrapnel bomb, but that would most likely kill her.
Maybe I should have insisted on taking things from her dead spider bots. Their parts would be useful right now. My devices with tinker-tech were stronger with better effects. Electronics helped, but not as much as tinker-made items.
I felt like pulling my hair out. An anger bubbled inside of me, wanting nothing more than to be released. I did my best to keep it level.
A ray of shining light caught against a plastic bottle on the side of the road. The clear plastic twinkled in the single ray of light that penetrated the red fog. The haze of the fog made it blend into the drain as an indistinct black shape. I would have missed it if not for the light glinting off it. A gift from the sun.
It had no label, only the sticky remnants of one. Little bits of glue were still clinging to it. Perfect for thickening up a liquid.
I knelt next to the bottle and reached out slowly to not scare it. No cuts, no openings, and it still had the screw-on cap. Peak condition—a rarity. It was perfect. Ideas flowed freely now that I had access to basic alchemy.
Most of my early creations were goos, sludges, and liquids. They were familiar territory, and I knew I could make them pungent enough to disable people. Lacking my helmet made the delivery option a little harder to think of. With it, I could have coated myself in whatever I made and simply tackled Bonesaw to smear it into her face. Without it, I risked her stabbing me in the face with a knife or needle. She could have powders, but my helmet had a filter that might have helped.
"Get your head out of the clouds, big sis," Bonesaw called back to me. I was startled a little. Her tone wasn't upset, only impatient.
I breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the bottle.
There wasn't any moss left in the city, which made the plan a little harder. All of it had exploded into this red fog that clung everywhere. Pockets of dirty water from recent rainfalls had been dyed a deep red and were steaming out more of the fog. I scooped some up, which included some leaves. A little bit of dog poo joined the mix shortly after. Some saliva might help bind it better, so I spat as much as I could into the bottle.
Bonesaw shot me an amused look as she watched me dribble into it.
With my visor up, it gave me a chance to smile at her. Without access to my eyes, I hoped it would be more convincing. It worked, and she beamed brightly back at me.
I crushed up the smaller chunks of glass I could find between my gloved fingers. They scraped the cloth raw, leaving chalky white marks, which I scraped into the bottle. It needed a lot more to be anything of note. Milk would help thicken it up if I could get some. Scraps of glue would do for now.
"Could we stop at a store? I'm sort of hungry," I asked Bonesaw. Stores, even ransacked ones, would be good for materials.
"No time. We can eat when we're on the road," she replied. Her hands rummaged around in the apron pocket of her dress. From inside, she withdrew a half-eaten cereal bar. "Here. You can have the rest of this."
I thanked her and took it. She looked at me expectantly as I took a bite.
A small laugh escaped her lips. "Gross. You're gross, big sis. That has my saliva all over it," she laughed.
Shrugging, I said, "Doesn't bother me," through a mouthful of grains and fruit.
Bonesaw smiled at me with shiny white teeth. "You're going to bug our new teammates so much. One of them is a neat freak who can't stand stuff like that."
"New teammates?" I asked. She hadn't mentioned them before. When she turned back to keep an eye on the road, I crumbled some breakfast bar into the bottle.
"Guess you wouldn't remember; I can explain it all later when I fix your brain," she waved a hand at me. "Too much to explain right now."
"Oh, sure."
I took another bite. Although I mostly wanted food to add something else to my potion, I was hungry; there hadn't been a lot to eat in that house.
With a quick shake, the liquid in the bottle turned from red to purple. Not enough. I wasn't sure what else to add. Splashing her with it now wouldn't do much other than make her face wet. This felt pointless.
I could always just attack her.
Time continued closing in on me. We were nearing the edge of the city now. I could see the buildings fade into rows of trees lining a highway. Not long left until I had no other options. Violence could solve this problem easily.
Even if I hurt her, I still needed to carry Mouse Protector away. Fighting would make the cut on my side worse and probably leave my head spinning. There wasn't any guarantee I would get away, or damage her at all. She was smaller than me and didn't look too muscular, but there wasn't any guarantee.
Or I could hurt her. Hurt her for doing what she did to Mouse Protector, hurt her for trying to take me with her to the rest of the Slaughterhouse Nine. They were the ones who ruined the city. Even through the haze, I knew they were responsible for this whole mess. All of this was their fault. She deserved the pain. I craved hurting her.
Fuck it.
I rushed her with a start. Bonesaw turned just in time to have my fist collide with her face. Her face crunched as she toppled backwards.
As I began unscrewing the bottle, the spider bot reacted, moving towards me. I kicked it to keep my distance from the scalpels on its legs. Mouse Protector's weight made it stumble as my foot collided with it.
Bonesaw groaned, clutching at her nose. I chucked the half-open bottle overhand directly towards her head. Purple-red liquid sprayed out as it twirled through the air.
It collided with her head with a satisfying 'bonk'. The rest of the liquid poured out onto her lap.
I tackled the spider, grabbing the front two legs to stop it from fighting back.
Mouse Protector rolled off its back, onto the floor with a thud.
With the back cleared, I leapt on top, still gripping the legs. One of the back legs folded inwards to stab at me. With only one leg left to stand on, it fell into an awkward position that almost made me fall off. The scalpel scraped uselessly against my armour.
I spun around on the back, letting go of one leg to face my head towards the leg that kept the spider up.
There were indented squares hidden on the sides of it; I had seen them open up earlier. The handholds were too small for my fingers, and my gloves gave me no traction.
Letting out a scream of frustration, I leapt off the back of the spider and yanked back one of its legs. Pressing my foot against it, I pulled at the leg with all my might. The metal groaned, protesting my attempt to pry it free.
Tough luck, buddy, this is what you get.
It came loose with a pop, sending me down onto my butt with the arm in hand.
The spider leapt towards me. I kicked out as I scrambled backwards away from it.
Bonesaw pulled herself up to her feet. She looked disgusted at the purple liquid staining her dress, face, and hair. It was incomplete and barely smelt like anything at all. I heard her mutter something as she patted herself down.
Swinging the leg like a club, I sent the leaping spider bot rolling across the tarmac. It almost rolled across Mouse Protector, and for a moment I worried it might attack her. Instead, it hobbled forward on three legs towards me.
I kicked straight down in an axe kick to send it flat on its belly before planting my foot firmly on its back. The scalpel legs scratched at my armoured legs uselessly.
Carefully, to not get stabbed in the head, I began prying open the compartments across the spider's body using the scalpel leg I had stolen. The first had no sword, only some wires that I didn't take the time to cut. Bonesaw finished being grossed out before I got the second open.
"You could have just asked if you wanted to see inside of them so badly," Bonesaw chided me as I pried open another. Blood trickled out of her nose—far too little for how hard I had hit her. She wiped it away with her thumb. "This'll hurt a little, but then we can be a proper family again, just you wait!"
More mechanical spiders came crawling out of the fog. Had they been following us the entire time?
I pried open another compartment before they could reach me. A smiling mouse face started up at me from inside a thin metal tube. Her sword!
Like pulling Excalibur from the rock, I pried the sword free of the spider. Or, most of it. The end had been partially digested by an acid that smoked on contact with the air.
Even diminished, the sword was better than my fists. I drove it down into the spider beneath my boot to clean away the acid. It proved surprisingly effective, given the lack of a pointy end. A dome of metal caved in as I hit the spider. Licks of acid stayed behind, eating away at the metal.
An image flashed in my vision of a person made of blades screaming as the acid ate away at them. Their screams echoed across the neighbourhood as we made our escape. It had been so potent, intended to eat entire boats, but they had left me no other choice; I had needed to protect the person next to me—whoever they were—no matter what.
A spider slammed into me, knocking me out of the memory. I rolled with the tackle, trying to slash the blade across its underbelly as I passed. The slash barely even scratched it.
A needle popped out of its side and lunged towards my neck.
Just in time, I grabbed onto its hull with both hands to keep the mosquito mouth from injecting me with whatever horrible concoction Bonesaw had in mind. The arm in my left hand, and the sword in my right, made the hold on the spider awkward.
It was heavy despite the light-frame work making it agile. Scalpel-tipped legs jabbed towards my head to cut me. I wriggled away from them, keeping hold of the spider as I dodged them.
I pulled my knees up to my chest to get my feet beneath its body, and then bunny kicked outwards to shove it off.
The spider landed flat on its back as I scrambled up to my feet. I adjusted my grip on the scalpel leg to hold it closer to the point. It would make for a good dagger.
Unaffected by the pesky constraints of their knee joints only folding one way, the spider's legs folded down to stand back up, upside down.
Mouse Protector was being dragged across the road towards Bonesaw by a spider.
"Best stop," she warned me. "Unless you don't care about her, that is."
My brain failed to conjure words; instead, I let out a low growl that made my feelings clear. Thoughts were becoming harder to maintain in my head. They slipped off like something slippery. All that was left in their stead were thoughts of running straight at her and biting her.
I screamed, a howl of pure rage, as I charged at the spider before me.
It failed to dodge as I charged into it, knocking it over. Uncaring for strategy, I stabbed it over and over with the scalpel knife as I used the sword to pop open the hidden compartments. Once I saw wires, I stabbed them too.
My hits weren't doing much aside from superficial scratches, and neither did cutting through the wires.
Out of frustration, I grabbed the stupid thing in both hands—abandoning my weapons—to use it as a bludgeoning tool against the other spiders.
Its scalpel-tipped legs lashed out at my face. They sliced surgical cuts across it, but I didn't care. All I cared about was freeing my friend.
"Looks like the madness has set in," the blonde girl sighed. "You're going to be harder to fix if you don't let me help you."
Using the spider in my hand like a cudgel, I bashed away the spider that was dragging the woman in the motorbike helmet. Before it could recover, I chased after it to bash them together, like my ancestors bashing together rocks to make tools. The reinforced chassis made for an excellent weapon. After a few good bashes, I was left with a pile of scrap and a no-longer squirming spider.
Tiny footsteps approached behind me. I swung the spider out, but it was too early. The blonde girl didn't even stop walking to avoid it.
She blew a handful of powder into my face. Caught by surprise, I barely had time to hold my breath.
Another swing of the spider made her step back and gave me space to get away from the lingering cloud. I coughed, trying to get the bit of powder out of my throat. My limbs felt heavy as I stepped away. All I wanted to do was lay down. The spider in my hand felt like it had doubled in mass suddenly—even after I used my other hand to keep it up, it felt like carrying a small boulder.
"You would be so happy with us, Raccoon Knight," the girl said as I struggled to stay upright. "We could be a proper family. Shatterbird can teach you manners, and she'll like that you can eat her horrible cooking. Crawler would love you if you could hurt him a little, and I'm sure you could, considering what you did to Mannequin. He might have had an issue with you joining, but you took care of that, didn't you? The Siberian can even comb your hair like she does with me. I'll still be her favourite, but she'd love to have you around. Don't you want all that?"
"No," I gritted out. "Fuck you."
"Rude! Don't swear!" the girl scowled at me. She pulled two vials out of her apron pocket and began mixing them.
I rushed her, swinging the spider overhead. The weight difference between what I felt and reality made the swing clumsy. Bonesaw dodged back, still mixing the vials.
"I'm trying to help you! Stop struggling," she shouted.
Unable to hit her with my clumsy swings, I chucked the spider at her like a discus. She squawked as it clipped her. The spider knocked one vial to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. Green smoke poured out, flowing down the road with the wind.
Bonesaw avoided my follow-up clumsy kick. As soon as my foot touched the ground, I swung a punch at her, which she also avoided with an easy side-step.
"You're so cool!" she praised me as she avoided each swing. "I know you didn't get that much in your lungs, but fighting through the paralysis is still neat."
I growled and dived towards her. Her eyes widened as she tried to move out of the way again. It wasn't enough. With my arms spread wide, I caught her in my wild leap.
She smashed the other vial against my head, shattering it. The glass cut more wounds across my face, which stung as the liquid poured across them. Everything felt muffled. I ignored the stinging pain to pummel Bonesaw with wild strikes of my fists. Getting leverage for an actual punch would leave me too open.
I heard her laughing as I struck at her face and neck. Each strike of my fists echoed through my bones. My teeth chattered as I hit her over and over. It felt like I was striking a brick wall and not a child.
The girl spat a globule of acid into my eye. I screamed and stopped pummelling her to wipe it away, which gave her an opening to shove me off. I rolled with the shove and onto my knees.
Using my fingers as a scoop, I dug into my eye to pull away the acid. It stuck to my gloves, burning through the cloth to my fingers. No matter how much I scooped away, the acid kept stinging.
"I can neutralise it for you if you apologise," the girl's voice was close to my ear. Startled, I swung out blindly but hit nothing. "That isn't apologising. Now, say you're sorry and I can fix this."
I opened my mouth to swear, but nothing came out. I could feel the acid soaking into my eyeball, trying to eat through it. Gravity had thankfully stopped it from leaking into the socket behind—or all the feeling was gone and I couldn't tell it had.
The pain was unbearable, like stinging nettles, and eyelashes poured directly into my eyeball. Anything to make it stop.
"I'm sorry," I croaked out. "Please."
Bonesaw hummed in thought. The pain made the moment blur into a lifetime. An eternity later, she said, "Okay. Roll over."
I dutifully obeyed, flopping down onto my back. Liquid splashed against my face, and I flinched before I felt the soothing cool of it. I pressed my fingers against it to heal them, too. In seconds, the acid stopped hurting, leaving me mercifully free of the pain. It almost left me with whiplash from how fast the pain stopped.
"See, was that so hard?" The girl said. She loomed above me, a blurry shape through my half-opened eye.
I wiped my right eye with my hand to clear away the tears. She came into focus, her ringlets drooping down close to my face. Seeing the world through only one eye wasn't the same as closing one eye. My left eye still worked, but through the liquid, everything looked like only dark shapes. Combined with my right eye, it made for a strange image.
I wanted nothing more than to lunge at Bonesaw, to rip her apart piece by piece, taking her stupid hair in my hands and ripping it out. These weren't my normal thoughts. I had to fight against them to find the right answer.
My friend would be hurt if I didn't stop. I would be hurt if I didn't stop—but that didn't matter as much. The right choice was to get the cure for the fog and then to fight free.
"No. I'm sorry," my voice barely worked.
"Good. Now I'll have to punish you, but it can wait until we're out of this stupid city. I have some ideas for what to do with her as well," she said as she jabbed a thumb towards Mouse Protector. "We could make her more mouse-like for one: ears, tails, the works. Ooh, we can make her loyal to you as well. She'll listen to everything you say, but only if it includes a pun—she likes those, right?" Bonesaw kept talking, her voice excitable.
I craned my head to see Mouse Protector as Bonesaw carried on telling me the horrible things she planned to do. Mouse Protector's visor had fallen down from the awkward position of her head.
Our eyes met. Her deep brown eyes glared at me. Some feeling must have returned to her face for it to show her anger like that. Her eyes glanced at her sword before moving back to me. She repeated the motion. Her sword? Why did she want it if she was paralysed? Her fingers weren't moving, and her chest moved only a little with shallow breaths. Was she faking and hoping her sword would help? With how much the acid had eaten of it, it wouldn't do much at all.
Slowly, I pulled myself up to a sitting position. Bonesaw stepped back to let me sit upright.
"We could hunt down Ravager—she ran off—to have some real fun. I've been getting really into mixing parahumans together lately. Considering how much they hate each other, it almost feels like destiny to make them live together forever," Bonesaw continued rambling. Her hands reached into her apron to retrieve a metal capsule. She didn't bother to look at it as she handed it over, still talking. "Wonder how their powers will work. Eat that, by the way. It'll stop the rage. Hack Job is already falling apart, so it would be nice to replace him," she continued.
I took the capsule and ate it. Even if it knocked me out, it would let me fight in the future. For all her craziness, I didn't think Bonesaw was lying when she told me she wanted me to be her sister. I only needed to wait for a good time to fight back.
Once I swallowed the pill, she patted me on the head. "Good job. We should get going. No more tantrums, okay?"
Bobbing my head, I said, "Can I take her sword with me?" as I pointed at Mouse Protector's sword.
"Not going to attack me with it again, are you?" Bonesaw asked as she placed her hands on her hips. I shook my head. "Okay, then—but next time I won't go so easy on you."
I crawled forward on all fours before pushing myself up to my feet. The sword felt heavy in my hand, my limbs still leaden. Mouse Protector stared at me. I looked from the sword to her. She looked left and then quickly right. No?
She didn't want me to give it to her. What did she want?
A spider hoisted her up onto its back with the help of another. Her limbs dangled in a way that looked uncomfortable. Either she was good at faking being paralysed, or she wasn't faking it.
Bonesaw tugged on my right hand. "Come on," she said. "We're already late."
She guided me away from Brockton Bay, and I followed obediently. What options did I have left? Fighting would only get me hurt. All I needed was an actual weapon instead of Mouse's half-melted sword.
My mind felt a little clearer as the capsule worked its magic. The urge to attack died down with each passing second. I thought about the sword in my hand. Mouse Protector had no use for it, and it wouldn't do me much good in the condition it was. During our fight, she had used it to teleport around. Was that it? Did she still have it as an anchor point?
I looked back at her, then at the sword, and then off in a random direction. She flicked her eyes up and down. Yes?
"Thinking about how cool she'll look merged with Ravager?" Bonesaw asked. "We'll give her claws as long as swords instead of fingers, that'll help Ravager's power, and we'll add hives that shoot capsules full of interesting things—like plagues—so Mouse Protector's power can teleport to them. Imagine trying to run away from her," Bonesaw giggled.
"I…" struggled to find the words. She spoke in such a chipper tone about horrible things that it made my brain do loops. "Why not knives?" I humoured her.
"Knives?"
"Why don't you make the hives shoot knives? That way, she can stab people from far away and also teleport to them. You could even have her body produce a poison that keeps the metal coated."
Her mouth hung a little open as she stared at me. It morphed into a wide grin. "We're going to get along great, big sis! Ooh, I can't wait!" she clapped her hands together. Bonesaw rambled on about her projects, only occasionally glancing towards me.
I hoped my guess about what Mouse wanted was correct. Having to leave her behind, while hoping could still teleport, sucked, but there wasn't an easier option—other than fighting to the death for no reason.
The only sane option left was to run.
Before preparing to kick Bonesaw down, I checked my escape routes. To my right was a thin alleyway that should stop the spiders from fitting in. Unless they could turn to walk on walls, in that case, it would at least delay them.
It was pitiful as far as head starts were concerned—it was better than nothing. I readied my kick.
Bonesaw wasn't leading me to the PRT building. Through the red haze covering my memories, I could remember places well enough. We were heading in the right direction, but not to it. Each time we should take a right, we would take a left. If we should carry on straight, we'd take a turn. Innocuous, minor mistakes that could still lead us to the PRT building if we took the right turn at the right time—but we never would. I wasn't sure where we were heading; wherever it was, it wouldn't end well for me or Mouse.
I checked on Mouse Protector every few minutes to make sure she was still breathing, and blood was still pumping. Bonesaw rolled her eyes each time and assured me she was fine. Her words meant little when she might be Bonesaw—I wasn't taking chances.
Mouse Protector's sword had been stored away in one of the spider's compartments. If I could somehow get inside, I could arm myself. A well-placed sword strike could let us both get away; I had to be careful not to kill, though. As sure as I felt, I couldn't be positive that she was Bonesaw. I had to act as if she wasn't—but still an enemy—for now.
I also gathered bits and pieces as we walked. "Might need them," was my only answer. Bonesaw didn't seem to mind me arming myself. Either she was confident I wouldn't do much against her, or she didn't know how fast I could make things. I couldn't be sure how much she knew about me or my power. Whatever amount she knew, it was more than I knew about her. Information wins fights, and I was unarmed in more ways than one.
All my gear had been stripped off me and laid in a pile on the road. All of my tools were gone, too. Only my armour remained, minus the helmet, and, with my recent concussion, I worried I'd make the concussion worse by fighting without it.
Cobbling together a device without tools wasn't easy. My fingers stung a little as I bent another piece of metal into the right shape. I tried to keep it secret by doing most of the work in my pockets, but I wasn't as sly as I thought, since Bonesaw asked, "What're you making?"
I tried to keep my face level. "Not sure. Most of the time, I'll put stuff together to see what it makes. Hoping it will protect us, though."
"You won't be needing that with me around. Trust me, big sis, I'll keep us plenty safe," she smiled widely at me.
"I'd feel better knowing I have it," I said. "Not that I don't trust that you can protect us," I quickly added, to smooth down any potential ruffled feathers.
"Unless you plan on using it on me, you won't need it." She smiled wider. "You can try if you want, but it means I'll have to tranquillise you, too. Then, once we're out of this stupid place, you'll see how silly you were being."
"Oh, I, uh, wasn't planning on using it on you," I lied. Lying came easily to me, despite how much I hated it. My voice never had the right tone or pitch for what I was trying to say, so lying never differed from my normal way of speaking. Armsmaster had used me once to tune his lie detector to 'neurodivergent' people—whatever that meant.
Bonesaw nodded, then turned back to face the way she was walking. I wasn't sure if she had bought it or not, but at least she wasn't paying attention to me. There wasn't much I could do about potential cameras in the spider bot carrying Mouse Protector. Bonesaw could probably easily access their vision, and I had to keep that in mind. There wouldn't be any catching her off-guard. Whatever I made, it needed to act fast and hard, with no way for her to stop it.
And then what? Unless I killed her—which I didn't want to in case I was wrong about her identity—then I would need to carry Mouse Protector away. She was a fully grown woman wearing armour, and even without a fresh hole in the side of my ribs and my aching legs, I didn't think I could carry her. These past few months had made me stronger, but I was still barely over five feet tall with a small frame to match.
Stupid, to make the same mistakes I had in the past. I failed to integrate all my weapons, armour, and tools into myself, which made them too easy to take away. My skin could be as hard as rocks, and I should have super-strength. None of my original body, aside from my brain, should even still be around. With no school to go back to and no friends around, I should have gone all in on making myself the best hero I could be. It's not like I was attached to this body, anyway.
Surgery while walking was a bad idea, as tempting as it was to slot this new thing into my arm.
Most of what I found on our walk were bits of concrete, rebar, and soggy cardboard. The main thing I found was glass. So much glass. From cars, lights, windows—all sorts of glass. Some of it thicker, some of it sharper, some of it resistant to breakage but in pieces all the same.
Bonesaw wouldn't let me stop to scavenge from a dead car or to check in the buildings for more parts. I had to make do with glass as my primary material.
I wasn't sure what to make. The pieces clicked together as they always did, but they were directionless. A piece of scrap metal rubbed against my armour helped magnetise it. An old can wasn't too difficult to tear into shreds; my gloves protected me from any scratches.
Glass made the whole thing prettier, but didn't add much. I could load it into a spring wound cannon to blast Bonesaw with a shrapnel bomb, but that would most likely kill her.
Maybe I should have insisted on taking things from her dead spider bots. Their parts would be useful right now. My devices with tinker-tech were stronger with better effects. Electronics helped, but not as much as tinker-made items.
I felt like pulling my hair out. An anger bubbled inside of me, wanting nothing more than to be released. I did my best to keep it level.
A ray of shining light caught against a plastic bottle on the side of the road. The clear plastic twinkled in the single ray of light that penetrated the red fog. The haze of the fog made it blend into the drain as an indistinct black shape. I would have missed it if not for the light glinting off it. A gift from the sun.
It had no label, only the sticky remnants of one. Little bits of glue were still clinging to it. Perfect for thickening up a liquid.
I knelt next to the bottle and reached out slowly to not scare it. No cuts, no openings, and it still had the screw-on cap. Peak condition—a rarity. It was perfect. Ideas flowed freely now that I had access to basic alchemy.
Most of my early creations were goos, sludges, and liquids. They were familiar territory, and I knew I could make them pungent enough to disable people. Lacking my helmet made the delivery option a little harder to think of. With it, I could have coated myself in whatever I made and simply tackled Bonesaw to smear it into her face. Without it, I risked her stabbing me in the face with a knife or needle. She could have powders, but my helmet had a filter that might have helped.
"Get your head out of the clouds, big sis," Bonesaw called back to me. I was startled a little. Her tone wasn't upset, only impatient.
I breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the bottle.
There wasn't any moss left in the city, which made the plan a little harder. All of it had exploded into this red fog that clung everywhere. Pockets of dirty water from recent rainfalls had been dyed a deep red and were steaming out more of the fog. I scooped some up, which included some leaves. A little bit of dog poo joined the mix shortly after. Some saliva might help bind it better, so I spat as much as I could into the bottle.
Bonesaw shot me an amused look as she watched me dribble into it.
With my visor up, it gave me a chance to smile at her. Without access to my eyes, I hoped it would be more convincing. It worked, and she beamed brightly back at me.
I crushed up the smaller chunks of glass I could find between my gloved fingers. They scraped the cloth raw, leaving chalky white marks, which I scraped into the bottle. It needed a lot more to be anything of note. Milk would help thicken it up if I could get some. Scraps of glue would do for now.
"Could we stop at a store? I'm sort of hungry," I asked Bonesaw. Stores, even ransacked ones, would be good for materials.
"No time. We can eat when we're on the road," she replied. Her hands rummaged around in the apron pocket of her dress. From inside, she withdrew a half-eaten cereal bar. "Here. You can have the rest of this."
I thanked her and took it. She looked at me expectantly as I took a bite.
A small laugh escaped her lips. "Gross. You're gross, big sis. That has my saliva all over it," she laughed.
Shrugging, I said, "Doesn't bother me," through a mouthful of grains and fruit.
Bonesaw smiled at me with shiny white teeth. "You're going to bug our new teammates so much. One of them is a neat freak who can't stand stuff like that."
"New teammates?" I asked. She hadn't mentioned them before. When she turned back to keep an eye on the road, I crumbled some breakfast bar into the bottle.
"Guess you wouldn't remember; I can explain it all later when I fix your brain," she waved a hand at me. "Too much to explain right now."
"Oh, sure."
I took another bite. Although I mostly wanted food to add something else to my potion, I was hungry; there hadn't been a lot to eat in that house.
With a quick shake, the liquid in the bottle turned from red to purple. Not enough. I wasn't sure what else to add. Splashing her with it now wouldn't do much other than make her face wet. This felt pointless.
I could always just attack her.
Time continued closing in on me. We were nearing the edge of the city now. I could see the buildings fade into rows of trees lining a highway. Not long left until I had no other options. Violence could solve this problem easily.
Even if I hurt her, I still needed to carry Mouse Protector away. Fighting would make the cut on my side worse and probably leave my head spinning. There wasn't any guarantee I would get away, or damage her at all. She was smaller than me and didn't look too muscular, but there wasn't any guarantee.
Or I could hurt her. Hurt her for doing what she did to Mouse Protector, hurt her for trying to take me with her to the rest of the Slaughterhouse Nine. They were the ones who ruined the city. Even through the haze, I knew they were responsible for this whole mess. All of this was their fault. She deserved the pain. I craved hurting her.
Fuck it.
I rushed her with a start. Bonesaw turned just in time to have my fist collide with her face. Her face crunched as she toppled backwards.
As I began unscrewing the bottle, the spider bot reacted, moving towards me. I kicked it to keep my distance from the scalpels on its legs. Mouse Protector's weight made it stumble as my foot collided with it.
Bonesaw groaned, clutching at her nose. I chucked the half-open bottle overhand directly towards her head. Purple-red liquid sprayed out as it twirled through the air.
It collided with her head with a satisfying 'bonk'. The rest of the liquid poured out onto her lap.
I tackled the spider, grabbing the front two legs to stop it from fighting back.
Mouse Protector rolled off its back, onto the floor with a thud.
With the back cleared, I leapt on top, still gripping the legs. One of the back legs folded inwards to stab at me. With only one leg left to stand on, it fell into an awkward position that almost made me fall off. The scalpel scraped uselessly against my armour.
I spun around on the back, letting go of one leg to face my head towards the leg that kept the spider up.
There were indented squares hidden on the sides of it; I had seen them open up earlier. The handholds were too small for my fingers, and my gloves gave me no traction.
Letting out a scream of frustration, I leapt off the back of the spider and yanked back one of its legs. Pressing my foot against it, I pulled at the leg with all my might. The metal groaned, protesting my attempt to pry it free.
Tough luck, buddy, this is what you get.
It came loose with a pop, sending me down onto my butt with the arm in hand.
The spider leapt towards me. I kicked out as I scrambled backwards away from it.
Bonesaw pulled herself up to her feet. She looked disgusted at the purple liquid staining her dress, face, and hair. It was incomplete and barely smelt like anything at all. I heard her mutter something as she patted herself down.
Swinging the leg like a club, I sent the leaping spider bot rolling across the tarmac. It almost rolled across Mouse Protector, and for a moment I worried it might attack her. Instead, it hobbled forward on three legs towards me.
I kicked straight down in an axe kick to send it flat on its belly before planting my foot firmly on its back. The scalpel legs scratched at my armoured legs uselessly.
Carefully, to not get stabbed in the head, I began prying open the compartments across the spider's body using the scalpel leg I had stolen. The first had no sword, only some wires that I didn't take the time to cut. Bonesaw finished being grossed out before I got the second open.
"You could have just asked if you wanted to see inside of them so badly," Bonesaw chided me as I pried open another. Blood trickled out of her nose—far too little for how hard I had hit her. She wiped it away with her thumb. "This'll hurt a little, but then we can be a proper family again, just you wait!"
More mechanical spiders came crawling out of the fog. Had they been following us the entire time?
I pried open another compartment before they could reach me. A smiling mouse face started up at me from inside a thin metal tube. Her sword!
Like pulling Excalibur from the rock, I pried the sword free of the spider. Or, most of it. The end had been partially digested by an acid that smoked on contact with the air.
Even diminished, the sword was better than my fists. I drove it down into the spider beneath my boot to clean away the acid. It proved surprisingly effective, given the lack of a pointy end. A dome of metal caved in as I hit the spider. Licks of acid stayed behind, eating away at the metal.
An image flashed in my vision of a person made of blades screaming as the acid ate away at them. Their screams echoed across the neighbourhood as we made our escape. It had been so potent, intended to eat entire boats, but they had left me no other choice; I had needed to protect the person next to me—whoever they were—no matter what.
A spider slammed into me, knocking me out of the memory. I rolled with the tackle, trying to slash the blade across its underbelly as I passed. The slash barely even scratched it.
A needle popped out of its side and lunged towards my neck.
Just in time, I grabbed onto its hull with both hands to keep the mosquito mouth from injecting me with whatever horrible concoction Bonesaw had in mind. The arm in my left hand, and the sword in my right, made the hold on the spider awkward.
It was heavy despite the light-frame work making it agile. Scalpel-tipped legs jabbed towards my head to cut me. I wriggled away from them, keeping hold of the spider as I dodged them.
I pulled my knees up to my chest to get my feet beneath its body, and then bunny kicked outwards to shove it off.
The spider landed flat on its back as I scrambled up to my feet. I adjusted my grip on the scalpel leg to hold it closer to the point. It would make for a good dagger.
Unaffected by the pesky constraints of their knee joints only folding one way, the spider's legs folded down to stand back up, upside down.
Mouse Protector was being dragged across the road towards Bonesaw by a spider.
"Best stop," she warned me. "Unless you don't care about her, that is."
My brain failed to conjure words; instead, I let out a low growl that made my feelings clear. Thoughts were becoming harder to maintain in my head. They slipped off like something slippery. All that was left in their stead were thoughts of running straight at her and biting her.
I screamed, a howl of pure rage, as I charged at the spider before me.
It failed to dodge as I charged into it, knocking it over. Uncaring for strategy, I stabbed it over and over with the scalpel knife as I used the sword to pop open the hidden compartments. Once I saw wires, I stabbed them too.
My hits weren't doing much aside from superficial scratches, and neither did cutting through the wires.
Out of frustration, I grabbed the stupid thing in both hands—abandoning my weapons—to use it as a bludgeoning tool against the other spiders.
Its scalpel-tipped legs lashed out at my face. They sliced surgical cuts across it, but I didn't care. All I cared about was freeing my friend.
"Looks like the madness has set in," the blonde girl sighed. "You're going to be harder to fix if you don't let me help you."
Using the spider in my hand like a cudgel, I bashed away the spider that was dragging the woman in the motorbike helmet. Before it could recover, I chased after it to bash them together, like my ancestors bashing together rocks to make tools. The reinforced chassis made for an excellent weapon. After a few good bashes, I was left with a pile of scrap and a no-longer squirming spider.
Tiny footsteps approached behind me. I swung the spider out, but it was too early. The blonde girl didn't even stop walking to avoid it.
She blew a handful of powder into my face. Caught by surprise, I barely had time to hold my breath.
Another swing of the spider made her step back and gave me space to get away from the lingering cloud. I coughed, trying to get the bit of powder out of my throat. My limbs felt heavy as I stepped away. All I wanted to do was lay down. The spider in my hand felt like it had doubled in mass suddenly—even after I used my other hand to keep it up, it felt like carrying a small boulder.
"You would be so happy with us, Raccoon Knight," the girl said as I struggled to stay upright. "We could be a proper family. Shatterbird can teach you manners, and she'll like that you can eat her horrible cooking. Crawler would love you if you could hurt him a little, and I'm sure you could, considering what you did to Mannequin. He might have had an issue with you joining, but you took care of that, didn't you? The Siberian can even comb your hair like she does with me. I'll still be her favourite, but she'd love to have you around. Don't you want all that?"
"No," I gritted out. "Fuck you."
"Rude! Don't swear!" the girl scowled at me. She pulled two vials out of her apron pocket and began mixing them.
I rushed her, swinging the spider overhead. The weight difference between what I felt and reality made the swing clumsy. Bonesaw dodged back, still mixing the vials.
"I'm trying to help you! Stop struggling," she shouted.
Unable to hit her with my clumsy swings, I chucked the spider at her like a discus. She squawked as it clipped her. The spider knocked one vial to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. Green smoke poured out, flowing down the road with the wind.
Bonesaw avoided my follow-up clumsy kick. As soon as my foot touched the ground, I swung a punch at her, which she also avoided with an easy side-step.
"You're so cool!" she praised me as she avoided each swing. "I know you didn't get that much in your lungs, but fighting through the paralysis is still neat."
I growled and dived towards her. Her eyes widened as she tried to move out of the way again. It wasn't enough. With my arms spread wide, I caught her in my wild leap.
She smashed the other vial against my head, shattering it. The glass cut more wounds across my face, which stung as the liquid poured across them. Everything felt muffled. I ignored the stinging pain to pummel Bonesaw with wild strikes of my fists. Getting leverage for an actual punch would leave me too open.
I heard her laughing as I struck at her face and neck. Each strike of my fists echoed through my bones. My teeth chattered as I hit her over and over. It felt like I was striking a brick wall and not a child.
The girl spat a globule of acid into my eye. I screamed and stopped pummelling her to wipe it away, which gave her an opening to shove me off. I rolled with the shove and onto my knees.
Using my fingers as a scoop, I dug into my eye to pull away the acid. It stuck to my gloves, burning through the cloth to my fingers. No matter how much I scooped away, the acid kept stinging.
"I can neutralise it for you if you apologise," the girl's voice was close to my ear. Startled, I swung out blindly but hit nothing. "That isn't apologising. Now, say you're sorry and I can fix this."
I opened my mouth to swear, but nothing came out. I could feel the acid soaking into my eyeball, trying to eat through it. Gravity had thankfully stopped it from leaking into the socket behind—or all the feeling was gone and I couldn't tell it had.
The pain was unbearable, like stinging nettles, and eyelashes poured directly into my eyeball. Anything to make it stop.
"I'm sorry," I croaked out. "Please."
Bonesaw hummed in thought. The pain made the moment blur into a lifetime. An eternity later, she said, "Okay. Roll over."
I dutifully obeyed, flopping down onto my back. Liquid splashed against my face, and I flinched before I felt the soothing cool of it. I pressed my fingers against it to heal them, too. In seconds, the acid stopped hurting, leaving me mercifully free of the pain. It almost left me with whiplash from how fast the pain stopped.
"See, was that so hard?" The girl said. She loomed above me, a blurry shape through my half-opened eye.
I wiped my right eye with my hand to clear away the tears. She came into focus, her ringlets drooping down close to my face. Seeing the world through only one eye wasn't the same as closing one eye. My left eye still worked, but through the liquid, everything looked like only dark shapes. Combined with my right eye, it made for a strange image.
I wanted nothing more than to lunge at Bonesaw, to rip her apart piece by piece, taking her stupid hair in my hands and ripping it out. These weren't my normal thoughts. I had to fight against them to find the right answer.
My friend would be hurt if I didn't stop. I would be hurt if I didn't stop—but that didn't matter as much. The right choice was to get the cure for the fog and then to fight free.
"No. I'm sorry," my voice barely worked.
"Good. Now I'll have to punish you, but it can wait until we're out of this stupid city. I have some ideas for what to do with her as well," she said as she jabbed a thumb towards Mouse Protector. "We could make her more mouse-like for one: ears, tails, the works. Ooh, we can make her loyal to you as well. She'll listen to everything you say, but only if it includes a pun—she likes those, right?" Bonesaw kept talking, her voice excitable.
I craned my head to see Mouse Protector as Bonesaw carried on telling me the horrible things she planned to do. Mouse Protector's visor had fallen down from the awkward position of her head.
Our eyes met. Her deep brown eyes glared at me. Some feeling must have returned to her face for it to show her anger like that. Her eyes glanced at her sword before moving back to me. She repeated the motion. Her sword? Why did she want it if she was paralysed? Her fingers weren't moving, and her chest moved only a little with shallow breaths. Was she faking and hoping her sword would help? With how much the acid had eaten of it, it wouldn't do much at all.
Slowly, I pulled myself up to a sitting position. Bonesaw stepped back to let me sit upright.
"We could hunt down Ravager—she ran off—to have some real fun. I've been getting really into mixing parahumans together lately. Considering how much they hate each other, it almost feels like destiny to make them live together forever," Bonesaw continued rambling. Her hands reached into her apron to retrieve a metal capsule. She didn't bother to look at it as she handed it over, still talking. "Wonder how their powers will work. Eat that, by the way. It'll stop the rage. Hack Job is already falling apart, so it would be nice to replace him," she continued.
I took the capsule and ate it. Even if it knocked me out, it would let me fight in the future. For all her craziness, I didn't think Bonesaw was lying when she told me she wanted me to be her sister. I only needed to wait for a good time to fight back.
Once I swallowed the pill, she patted me on the head. "Good job. We should get going. No more tantrums, okay?"
Bobbing my head, I said, "Can I take her sword with me?" as I pointed at Mouse Protector's sword.
"Not going to attack me with it again, are you?" Bonesaw asked as she placed her hands on her hips. I shook my head. "Okay, then—but next time I won't go so easy on you."
I crawled forward on all fours before pushing myself up to my feet. The sword felt heavy in my hand, my limbs still leaden. Mouse Protector stared at me. I looked from the sword to her. She looked left and then quickly right. No?
She didn't want me to give it to her. What did she want?
A spider hoisted her up onto its back with the help of another. Her limbs dangled in a way that looked uncomfortable. Either she was good at faking being paralysed, or she wasn't faking it.
Bonesaw tugged on my right hand. "Come on," she said. "We're already late."
She guided me away from Brockton Bay, and I followed obediently. What options did I have left? Fighting would only get me hurt. All I needed was an actual weapon instead of Mouse's half-melted sword.
My mind felt a little clearer as the capsule worked its magic. The urge to attack died down with each passing second. I thought about the sword in my hand. Mouse Protector had no use for it, and it wouldn't do me much good in the condition it was. During our fight, she had used it to teleport around. Was that it? Did she still have it as an anchor point?
I looked back at her, then at the sword, and then off in a random direction. She flicked her eyes up and down. Yes?
"Thinking about how cool she'll look merged with Ravager?" Bonesaw asked. "We'll give her claws as long as swords instead of fingers, that'll help Ravager's power, and we'll add hives that shoot capsules full of interesting things—like plagues—so Mouse Protector's power can teleport to them. Imagine trying to run away from her," Bonesaw giggled.
"I…" struggled to find the words. She spoke in such a chipper tone about horrible things that it made my brain do loops. "Why not knives?" I humoured her.
"Knives?"
"Why don't you make the hives shoot knives? That way, she can stab people from far away and also teleport to them. You could even have her body produce a poison that keeps the metal coated."
Her mouth hung a little open as she stared at me. It morphed into a wide grin. "We're going to get along great, big sis! Ooh, I can't wait!" she clapped her hands together. Bonesaw rambled on about her projects, only occasionally glancing towards me.
I hoped my guess about what Mouse wanted was correct. Having to leave her behind, while hoping could still teleport, sucked, but there wasn't an easier option—other than fighting to the death for no reason.
The only sane option left was to run.
Before preparing to kick Bonesaw down, I checked my escape routes. To my right was a thin alleyway that should stop the spiders from fitting in. Unless they could turn to walk on walls, in that case, it would at least delay them.
It was pitiful as far as head starts were concerned—it was better than nothing. I readied my kick.
Last edited:
6.10
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.10
Back in Elementary School—before Lauren pulled me out—I played a little football and even soccer once or twice. They were fun, but I liked the running around more than I liked the kicking. Right now, with my life staked on one good kick, I wished I had played them every day.
My limbs still felt like lead. A little toy robot wound tight to walk forward on clunky steps. Unlike the robot, I had to think about each and every step to make sure I didn't trip flat onto my face.
Any more prodding at Bonesaw's patience would probably lead to me having my skeleton removed to be replaced by one she could control. I doubted she would let me stay in one piece after fighting her again, so I had to make it count. One good kick, then straight through the alleyway to my right.
I jogged a little to keep pace with her. She didn't turn around to look. Sucking down a deep breath, I raised my foot.
As hard as I could muster with heavy legs, I drove it right into the small of her back. Bonesaw stumbled forward with a soft squawk, but didn't fall over.
Shit. It was less than I had been hoping for. I considered kicking her again, but decided to not chance it.
I took off straight to the alley. Metal legs clanged behind me as the spiders gave chase. Those stupid spiders would need to go around; they were much too wide to fit in the alleyway.
I had aimed a little wrong, and my shoulder barged into the brick wall as I took off down the thin gap. The brick crumbled a little from the shoulder check. My small frame let me slip down the small alleyway while still having a little space left for my arms to move.
Shortly after I made it inside, metal legs clicked behind me. I turned to see a spider twisting its body sideways to fit in the gap. The scalpel legs dug into the mortar between the bricks to keep the spider up as it skittered across the wall.
Of course! Who wouldn't design spider-looking robots to walk on walls? Stupid to not think of it.
Their climbing speed was slower than they were walking; still fast, though.
I pushed my legs harder to breach the gap before a scalpel diced my skull. The situation was eerily similar. Back in the car, we had pushed ourselves to escape the fog by risking driving through an alleyway. Except, instead of Mouse Protector pushing herself to save me, I was pushing myself to save her.
Bursting out of the alleyway, I had only a moment to take in what little I could see of the street beyond. Through the thick fog, everything beyond the immediate fifteen feet around me looked only like black shapes. Anything too far away faded into the red. It would work to my advantage and disadvantage.
Neither direction—straight ahead nor to the right—looked too dangerous. I picked my right side at random. Random decisions would throw off my trail a little easier, anyway.
Where once potholes had been filled with water and then moss, they were now empty. A distracted part of my brain laughed at the idea they had been through all three states of matter; my concussion must be getting worse. Wasn't there a secret fourth state of matter out there, anyway?
Each step sent a strange ripple through my leg as my feet hit the tarmac. The feeling had been numbed out of them by the powder Bonesaw had blown in my face. Whatever was in the capsule wasn't designed to lessen the paralysis, unfortunately.
In my peripheral, a black shape lunged towards me. I dropped to my knees on instinct alone. The horrible scraping noise of my armour against the road was worth dodging the spider.
It flew through the space I had been in. The spider slid across the floor as it missed.
As I tried to lurch to my feet, the spider that had been chasing me before landed on my back. We fell together, plummeting back down on my knees.
I ducked my head down to avoid the jab of any needles. Going with the motion, I pressed my shoulder to the ground and kicked off the floor to push myself into a forward roll. The sudden lunge flipped the spider off my back. It landed flat on its own as I continued my roll straight over it. Everything swirled around as my brain protested the roll.
Normally, such an awkward move would leave my shoulders and back aching. With my numb muscles, I wouldn't be complaining until later. Being alive would outweigh the muscle ache, any way.
As I rolled up to my feet, I only got one foot under me. My first step was clumsy, and I leaned too far forward. Another step and I thankfully got my feet under me properly.
The spider's partner lunged from my left. I lashed out with both hands to grab hold of its body.
Having only one eye made it hard to judge distances. I tried to grab it far too early; my hands grabbed only thin air right before the spider collided with my closed fists; its legs lashed out towards my face as it spun off course.
I stepped back to avoid the lashing legs. One nicked my face as I failed to twist away in time.
The spider manoeuvred its body in the air to avoid colliding with its friend, as the one on the floor stepped to the side to avoid it as well.
I bolted to take advantage of the minor distraction. Behind me, I heard Bonesaw yell out for me to stop running. I placed my hands over the back of my head to protect them from any projectiles she might try to hit me with. It made me vulnerable to falling over, but it was better than a dart to the back of my head.
I needed to put buildings between us, and fast. Across the road was a parked truck that would provide enough cover. Mechanical legs click-clacked against the tarmac behind me as I shot across the road and behind the truck. Their mechanical footsteps turned tinny as they clambered over the truck to cut me off.
My feet skidded a little as I took a sharp turn back the way I had come from. The blurry shape of Bonesaw wandered through the fog to my left as I darted down the street. Her head tracked me, somehow seeing me through the fog. I raised my arm to my left to protect my head.
"I'll kill Mouse Protector if you keep running," she called out to me.
I hesitated. Mouse Protector wanted me to run away, but she couldn't teleport if she was dead. It wasn't like the sword in my hand was in any condition to fight, and Mouse Protector most likely couldn't teleport to it at all. All of her eye movements had been hallucinations of my fog-filled mind, hadn't they? Maybe I should go back. Bonesaw wasn't so bad; her hair looked nice, and she seemed fun to be around.
My cheek stung as something collided with my face. I looked down at my clenched fist; a little blood trickled down the metal knuckles. My punch knocked my thoughts loose, getting me away from the strange praising of Bonesaw. Was this an effect of the capsule she had given me?
Think about it while running, dumb dumb. Don't stand still.
I heard Bonesaw huff out a breath as I kept going down the street and around the corner.
What even was that? Whatever it was, I needed to avoid it. Maybe master protocols would help:
First: eyes on. Focus on what I'm thinking and feeling to make sure it aligns with who I am. Any foreign thoughts should be disregarded and reported to my superior. (Guess I was on my own in that regard.)
Second: passwords. Standard passwords are four randomly chosen words with no relation. Orange-monkey-igloo-constellation. Passwords weren't much use on my own. Ignore that rule, then.
Third… what was third again? Something about less-than-lethal measures. Not useful here. There might have been a fourth, too, but I couldn't remember it either.
One rule out of three wasn't bad. Better than nothing.
As I tried to recall the rules, I had been taking erratic turns to throw Bonesaw off my trail. Streets blurred together as I tried to keep a mental map of where I had been. Through the thick fog covering the city, I couldn't tell one place from the other. One brick building could have been countless others.
Something appeared to my left. I ducked down to avoid the attack—nothing leapt out at me.
Laying on the floor, Mouse Protector stared up at me through her open visor. I heard the skittering legs of metal spiders getting closer.
With no time to think, I did the first thing that came to mind and held the sword inside one of the many broken windows. "Get in," I told Mouse Protector. She vanished from sight, appearing inside the building close to the sword. "I'll try to get somewhere safe. Teleport if you're in trouble," I whispered to her.
She was facing away from me, so I didn't get a response.
I ran off, hoping the spiders wouldn't check what I had been up to. My steps were a little lighter knowing that Mouse Protector was safer. The sword felt like less of a burden now that I knew it could help.
An ever-present pitter-patter of scalpel-tipped legs followed me as I made my way through the streets. No matter how many sharp turns or times I looped back, they were always there skittering away just out of sight. I briefly considered going through a building before dismissing the idea; anyone inside would be unsafe, and there might not even be a way out if I went through.
As I darted out of another sudden turn into an alley, I took a moment to shove my fingers down my throat. Getting this capsule out of me took priority. Other than gagging, nothing came out. I tried for a few seconds before giving up. I took off into a sprint once again.
My lungs burnt a little from the exertion. Almost all of my day so far had been spent fighting or running.
The noise of tiny footsteps from hidden spiders surrounded me. I pushed myself harder.
My calf muscles burned as I kept taking harsh turns and sprinting at full speed. Lungs gasping for breath, I ran down street after street with no idea where I was or had been—a maze of concrete filled with an impenetrable fog.
How far had I gone now? Wouldn't it be easier to give up? To go back?
Those weren't my thoughts. I gritted my teeth until they hurt. Nothing would stop me from running: giving up wasn't an option.
The low rumble of an engine came from a street over. I veered away from it to avoid any citizens being caught in the crossfire of my escape. Shapes moved around in the fog on the next street; another sharp turn to get away from them. The rumble of the car followed me as I leapt over fences to skip past gardens. Was that Bonesaw somehow tracking me? There had to be some way to get this capsule out of me.
But why would I want to get rid of it? Nothing about it could harm me—Bonesaw wouldn't do that.
I scooped gravel into my mouth and swallowed. It scraped against my throat as it went down. It wasn't the worst thing I had eaten, which meant I didn't throw up. Damn it. Nothing I had ever eaten had made me throw up before. Even when I drank really old milk, my stomach took it like a champion: other than a queasy feeling, I had been fine.
Why did I ever decide to take it? Rage was better than messing with my existence. How much longer could I fight against it?
Think, Meadow, think. Recently, I had thrown up because of my concussion. Maybe I could do that again?
I shook my head side-to-side as aggressively as I could as I ran down the street. It almost made me fall over with how hard I shook. Everything spun around before settling and then spun again. Nothing. Not even a little of the pre-emptive saliva you get before throwing up.
I slapped my hand against my head. A numb pain rolled across my skin. I hit myself over and over until my head swam so much I could barely see the road in front of me.
A sharp pain in my knees told me I had fallen. Everything became brighter right before I threw up what little remained in my stomach. Wet chunks splatted against my arms as I continued to throw up. There wasn't much food in there; the bile stung my throat.
I collapsed to the side the moment I was done. It took long moments of squinting at the sky before the throbbing pain in my head settled down, and the world came back into partial focus. My left eye still saw the world in blurry shapes, despite the soothing liquid being gone. Of all the things I had to deal with right now, being blind in one eye barely registered.
Inspecting my pile of sick, I saw a partially dissolved metal capsule. Where my stomach acid had eaten away at it, black lines like tendrils oozed out and grasped at the world around them.
Good thing it was gone. Who knows what horrors awaited me if I hadn't thrown up? Maybe there were still some to come.
I heard the pitter-patter of mechanical legs drawing close. Time to go.
My first attempt to get to my feet ended with me falling back to my knees. I took a deep breath before trying again. The second attempt went a lot better as I got my feet under me and took off sprinting.
Everything hurt. My lungs and calves ached at the exertion of running, my throat stung from the acidic bile, my head swam from the recent hits that made my concussion worse, and my side burned from a stitch directly on my recent wound. This sucked.
Despite the pain making me want nothing more than to lie down, I had to keep going. Rest could come later after I fixed everything.
The ever-present skittering of mechanical legs faded as I made some distance. Had they finally lost me? I didn't stop running. In the spider's place, was the rumble of that same car. Bonesaw must be trying to find me now that she couldn't track me.
All of this would be easier without the fog: it was time I got rid of it.
All the buildings blurred together through the redness, but I found a small store with some searching. Thick plastic letters above the store read: 'Go and Get!'. Damn right, sign, I will go and get.
There wasn't much left on the shelves or in the back. What there was, however, were broken electronics like a smashed cash register and the air conditioner. Their useable parts were scavenged by my little raccoon hands. A plastic shopping basket became their new temporary home.
Under one empty shelf, I found what might have once been an orange. It looked entirely green and fluffy, like pale moss, but with patches of dry orange skin. Perfect.
Some crumbs and dust scooped out from beneath the shelves were added to the pile. Not much else stood out in the store aside from bits of broken plastic. The broken glass I could get anywhere.
'Go and Get' Review: Had pretty much everything I needed in one easy-to-find place. Five stars!
More organic materials would help, but I could at least start now.
Pieces clicked together as they always did. An oversize puzzle made from ill-fitting parts. I saw the way they could link, and all I needed to do was to tweak the small parts. Sitting criss-cross applesauce on the cold tiled floor as I worked away gave me time to relax. My burning calves were extra thankful, the same with my lungs. Mouse Protector's sword rested against the same shelf I leaned against. I hoped she would show up soon so I could tell if she was safe.
Everything fell away as I became invested in my work. All my thoughts were blurred together as time passed me by. A rage bubbled up, only to be squashed by the Turbo-Focus Mode. Anger had no place in constructing this giant puzzle piece.
Her body came first—chunky and square, like a car's engine. Inside were her guts, a mishmash of wires that gave space for airflow. Then came her intake chute—a metal slide that ended in gnashing teeth to grind down materials. None of her electronics worked before—their important bits were blasted to pieces—but I fixed them up with a little love.
She needed a name. How about… cruncher? Muncher Cruncher, she who munches and crunches. It felt wrong, but I wasn't sure why. Oh well, it worked for now.
Electricity wasn't easy to come by in Brockton Bay right now. While some neighbourhoods had been put back online, most were still running on generators. I wasn't quite sure where I was, but I couldn't bank on their being power. Instead, I had to rely on manual generation.
I turned the crank all the way around, then did it again, and again. This was going to take a while. Muncher Cruncher demanded a lot of power to get started, but should keep herself going once she had it.
Once her engine kicked to life, the teeth in her chute gnashed away. I rolled the mouldy orange down into her waiting maw to be processed into useful parts. Mould had plenty of good properties I could use right now.
I lifted my shirt to check out the stab wound through my ribs. Peeling the slightly crusted bandages down, I could see some healing paste still sticking into the slightly bleeding wound. Losing out on that healing goodness was worth the results. I scooped some up in my fingers to drop into M-C's waiting maw.
One last ingredient: human flesh. With how many of these I needed to make, I expected to be down an arm by the end of the night. Since I didn't have any healing paste, I would need to grit my teeth and bear it. My limbs still felt numb from the paralysis, so, hopefully, it wouldn't hurt too much. I used a jagged piece of glass to cut away a chunk of flesh. Barely a dollar coin in size, but enough that I could feel the throb of pain. Blood gushed out of the wound and wouldn't stop unless I plugged it. After chucking the small chunk of meat into M-C's mouth, I found some old bits of tissue and plastic bags to stuff into the hole. It hadn't hurt as much as I expected. My nerves must be beyond messed up.
With my good arm–lefty the besty—I kept turning the crank to make sure M-C wouldn't shut off pre-emptively.
There were ways of gathering energy from wind, the sun, and the spinning of the planet—with the parts I had, all of them required a little energy beforehand. Electricity wasn't too complicated to understand, and it was the easiest power source I had access to. (Not that being easy to access made it easy to use). How Armsmaster designed all of his things to not use a lick of electricity was beyond me. Some of my things, like my spear, Dede, didn't need any electricity, but they couldn't do half as much as Armsmaster's equipment.
Wait… Armsmaster. I could remember someone! His face, with his trimmed beard and kind eyes, appeared in my mind easily. He smelt like coffee and plastic.
I tried to remember someone else—anyone else. No one appeared. Why could I remember him? Maybe it was the memory that triggered it and not the person.
I thought back to my first real birthday party with Mel and Abi. We ate pizza, and we watched movies. They both hated when I would pause to talk about things, so they took remote privileges away from me. Abi always kept her hair in a messy ponytail with colourful scrunchies, and Mel kept her hair shaggy and wild. They had faces on opposite ends of the spectrum, one squarish and wide, the other round and long.
I could remember my friends.
Tears trickled down my cheeks. They weren't really my friends, any more, though; at least I hadn't lost those memories.
Muncher Cruncher churned away happily, her engine rumbling against my legs. The surrounding fog had thinned out enough to see the colours on the walls. An open nozzle on one side of M-C sucked in the fog before it came back out on the other side as invisible air filled with healthy bacteria. She worked.
I hugged her as hard as I could.
"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." I kissed her on a flat area. It burnt my lips a little, but I didn't care—she worked!
Now I only needed to make a hundred more of her. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy. Only needed to raid one hundred plus more places for materials to make an equally heavy sister to M-C that I then needed to space around the city, all while avoiding Bonesaw. Easy-peasy.
I sighed. Better get started. After modifying a shopping basket into a makeshift backpack, I loaded M-C up and left the store with Mouse Protector's sword in hand.
She sucked down the fog as I walked, but it didn't stop it from getting into my lungs first. At least, if I sat still for a minute to rest my legs, she would clean the air up around me. All the clean air she made tasted like oranges and made my lungs feel like they were coated in mint toothpaste. It wasn't the most pleasant feeling, but at least I knew she was working her magic. I wasn't sure if she could get rid of the lesions Bonesaw mentioned, but she should help a little. A cape with healing powers, like Panacea, would have to do the rest.
Every name remembered gave me a brief rush. I could remember people!
The air behind me was left a thinner red as the fresh air mingled with the fog. It was slow-going, but the air from M-C was winning the fight on which got to stay. As the fog drifted in, the air would eat away at it, slowly purifying it. One machine on its own could cleanse the city, given enough time—so long as you didn't mind waiting hundreds of years.
I found another shop, but no air conditioner; I scavenged what I could. Air conditioners were the key component, though a fan would also work. In a pinch, I could make my own air filtration systems, but pre-built ones were more convenient. With how many I needed to make, I needed as many pre-built ones as I could get my hands on.
A rumbling kicked to life with a sputter a few streets over. Another car or the same as before? I climbed through the window of the closest building to hide. Whoever they were, they either wouldn't remember me and make for a problem, or they would remember me and also be a problem.
I placed M-C on my lap to help muffle her rumbling a little. The taste of oranges had faded a little from the filtered air. She required a top-up soon or the air wouldn't heal me.
The rumbling of the car got closer. I held my breath as I heard it turn into the street. Silence stretched as the car moved at a glacial pace down the road. They slowed down as they passed the building I was hiding in. Somehow, they were tracking me. Remnants of the capsule in my stomach, or something worse? I needed to throw up again to tell for certain.
A car horn honked outside. Then a door clicked and someone stepped out.
"You there?" A woman yelled out. Her voice was too old to be Bonesaw, but she might have modified it.
I kept as quiet as I could with an air filtration system idling on my lap. My hope that she'd dismiss me as the background noise of the city faded as I heard her footsteps growing closer.
Regret soaked into my pores; why hadn't I built a weapon? I clutched Mouse Protector's sword tighter. There wasn't much left of it now, only a small bit of metal attached to the crossguard. At least it still had the pommel, even if the lack of weight on the other end threw me off.
I scooted out from under M-C to be ready.
"Hey, you are here! I heard that. Come out, it'll be alright," the woman said to me. Her voice sounded familiar—another trick by Bonesaw to get me to trust her.
Don't trust it, I reminded myself. Any thoughts of liking Bonesaw are fake.
There weren't many options for me to take. This building had two doors leading out, but with the lack of furniture in this room, she would see me immediately the moment I tried for one; if I made a wrong choice, like trying to open a closet, I would be dead. Attack, then, was the only way. My eye stung as if to remind me why that was a bad idea. What else, eye? Relying on luck? That would get us both killed. Fate worked best when you took control of it.
Tears bubbled out of my one good eye. There wasn't anyone to save, or anyone to help, only a slow death for a weakling who couldn't keep anyone safe. It was pathetic and unheroic, but I hated the idea of her getting hold of me. She would use me for parts, maybe even keep me alive, and would use me to hurt so many more people. If I had something I could use to end it now, before Bonesaw grabbed hold of me, I would—at least then, my body wouldn't be used to hurt anyone. Thinking about it, being dead wouldn't stop her from using my body anyway, or reviving me for daring to try to get away from her. No, there was only one option.
I steadied my grip on the sword's handle, took a deep breath, and then charged out of the door with the pommel raised.
My first swing missed; too low for how tall the woman was—Bonesaw isn't that tall.
My second swing was directly down, an overhead strike. The woman grabbed my arm, stopping the swing dead.
I finally looked at her. She had blonde hair, like Bonesaw's, but it wasn't immaculate or in ringlets—in fact, quite the opposite—it was soaked through and looked almost brown at points like a bruised banana. Her face was longer, too, with more angles. Nothing about her looked the same as Bonesaw. She looked a lot like Sherrel, almost completely the same—but Sherrel had left, and she wouldn't be here. I wasn't falling for it.
"Hey, hey; it's alright," she said in a gentle tone as if I were a wounded animal. I struggled to free my wrist from her grip. "Stop struggling. Do you not remember me?"
"You're a liar! A fake! I'm not falling for it!" I yelled in her face as I tried to kick at her. She moved her legs back to avoid my feet, her hand gripping my wrist. Her height made it too easy for her to dodge my short legs.
The fake Sherrel sighed. It sounded sad. "I've got a breather in the car. It'll help clear out your lungs—but you're so far gone, I don't know if I can help. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Everyone is going to die, and I don't know what to do about it."
I stopped struggling. "Die?"
"Yeah," her voice croaked. "And I'm sorry." Sherrel slumped to her knees, letting go of my wrist.
I stepped back, unsure what the trick was. Would Bonesaw leap out at me the moment I took a step forward? But what was the point in drawing it out?
"Are—are you actually Sherrel?"
Her head snapped up to look at me. "You know my name?" I nodded. "How?"
Was that Bonesaw being surprised I made it past her fog, or Sherrel being surprised about it?
"You were making something recently—it looked like a dinosaur—and one of your tools broke, so you asked me to fix it: What was it?" I asked.
"What? I don't know. Maybe my plasma welder? That piece of shit was always breaking."
It was the right answer, but she didn't seem sure. A lot of tinkers used similar tools or ideas, so maybe Bonesaw got a lucky guess. "Another question, then. We were talking in the car before the fog came in. What did we talk about?"
She rubbed at her eyes. "About someone being a piece of shit to me. You, I think, told them off, and then they apologised right before it reached us."
"You're actually her?" I choked out a sob. "Please, don't let this be a trick."
"Not a trick. I promise," she said.
I fell to my knees to pull her into a hug. Another human being who could remember me—one that didn't want to add me to her fucked up family. Tears flowed easily before I realised they were even brewing. It was more than having my friend back; it was having someone who could help. We could make things better, together.
Once we finally pried ourselves free of the hug, my face heavy with snot, I showed Sherrel where Muncher Cruncher was hiding. Her engine happily kept chugging away, filtering out the bad stuff from the air.
"Huh. Better than what I came up with," Sherrel said. She tapped a finger against M-C. "Runs hotter, though." She looked up at me. Her mouth went slack. "I know your name," she said, as if it shocked her.
"Didn't you before? You found me."
Sherrel shook her head. "I remembered you wearing armour, but I couldn't remember you. Was only working on a feeling about what you said before you two ran off—you were saying we knew each other, and that we were in the car together. It made no sense to me, but I've always been too stupid to figure things out. Figured I would try to find you, and see if you could fix this like you said you could."
"What—but—You said you made a breather or something?"
"I did. It sucks all the smoke out of your system and then lets you breathe fresh air if you keep it on; doesn't fix the memory loss, though. This… I know your name: Meadow, Raccoon Knight." She squinted her eyes at the floor. "I remember my dad." Sherrel pressed a hand to her mouth. "He…" No more words followed, only a quiet sob.
I wrapped her in another hug. "It's okay. We can fix things now. Together. We'll be okay. Everything will be okay."
We had a lot of work to do. Clearing out an entire city would take time. I could work fast, but Sherrel needed time to make her vehicles. The one she had ridden in to find me only had a couple of pieces of tinker-tech that were, in Sherrel's words: 'MacGyver'd at best': a magnetic relay that searched for specific types of metals, and a medical gas mask hooked up to a half-empty oxygen tank. How she remembered the specific alloy in my armour when I forgot it most of the time was beyond me, but it let her find me, so I wasn't complaining.
We strapped down Muncher Cruncher in the backseat with a seatbelt. Safety first. Before we set off, we searched for some food for her—and ourselves, if we were lucky. There were plenty of mouldy foodstuffs to be found with two people searching. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the way of edible food. While I didn't mind sharing my food with rodents, or mould, it wasn't what my body needed right now. I needed healthy food that wasn't coated in gravel and fluffy green bits to regenerate some of the blood I had lost. My tummy grumbled a lot as I tossed more mouldy food into M-C's mouth—but she would have to wait until later for food.
Making more M-C's looked like it would be easier because Sherrel had tools. None of them were tinker-tech, but it didn't matter—she had tools! Screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, and hex keys! I was in heaven. My aching fingers would no longer need to fold metal or hold on to glass shards as I unscrewed screws!
They came in handy as we made more Muncher Crunchers from scavenged parts. We'd stop in a street, and then sweep through stores and sometimes buildings to find useable parts. After that, we'd cobble together another M-C as we drove before placing it down a few blocks away from the old one.
The hard part came when I needed to feed the new twin some flesh. There was only so much I could take from myself until I passed out, even through the numbness. How many more of these could I do before I couldn't even stand?
Whatever it took to save the city.
I hacked away another chunk of flesh and plugged the hole with whatever I could find. Only ninety-eight more to go. I made sure Sherrel didn't notice, only chunking the flesh off myself when she left to start the car.
By the time we hooked up our fourth Muncher Cruncher, the fingers in my right arm weren't working right. They folded only halfway, refusing to go further, and they shook like I was nervous. We had barely even started. I had to be stronger than this.
I got back in the car, leaving M-C Number Four behind to devour the fog and make nice healing air. With my arm hidden behind the sleeve of my gambeson, Sherrel wouldn't be worried about it. She had better things to be worried about than my arm. Arms could be replaced.
M-C Number One chugged away in the backseat, keeping the car clear of the fog. With how long it took for us to make the filtration system for Number Four, she had cleared out the portion of the street closest to the car as well. As a side benefit, she kept the car toasty warm.
"Spotted trouble around the corner; We'll need to go back the way we came," Sherrel said.
"People?"
"Yeah, not sure who they are, though. No costumes."
"Maybe they could help us? Or we can at least tell them to stand by Number Four. They might die if we leave them out there too long."
Sherrel pursed her lips. "Won't be easy convincing them. Think our time is better spent making more of these things."
"We can't just leave them."
"It's your choice. I can't make these on my own—don't have the magic sauce—so I'm chained to you and your morals, whether I think they're a good idea or not," she joked. "We'll be risking a lot by doing this. Are you sure?"
I wanted to say yes immediately, but I took a moment to think about it. Getting those people to listen to what we had to say would be hard if they had been in the fog the entire time. Most likely they would run off because they thought we might be villains. Worst case, they'd attack us. We had gathered enough parts to make a fifth M-C, so maybe our time was better spent making that instead. Our work felt so slow considering lives were on the line; helping at least one person would make me feel better about it.
I looked at Sherrel. I had helped her, hadn't I? That was one person.
"You're right—but it hurts. I want to help them so badly. What we're doing is too slow, and by the time we've made two more of them, we'll need to feed more mould to the older ones. This isn't going to work, is it?"
She looked away from me. "It's better than nothing. Better than my idea to watch everyone die."
"We need help. No idea how to find it, but we need help… Or," I started saying as an idea brewed in my brain. "We need to make something big. Super big. If a bunch of smaller things aren't working, then we should go as big as possible with what we have."
"Do you think it'll work?" Sherrel asked.
"It has to work," I said. "We can do this."
"Okay. Then how do we get started?"
An entire street's worth of junk came together to form the base. Engines powered it; over a dozen of them were hooked up with cables and wires to the growing mound of junk. We raided homes and businesses to add to our art project. Dragging it all around with only one and a half hands wasn't fun. The wound on my side began bleeding again at some point, but I ignored it. Any salvageable cars in the street became parts of the chassis or were stripped bare for their air conditioners. Most of the engines were used to power the collage of stuff, but some (those lacking in fuel) were used for parts too.
It hadn't taken too long to make something useable. We were running on the clock, so we pushed ourselves as hard as we could go. By the time we were finished, she resembled a wasp's nest growing up the side of someone's home. A branching tree of exhaust pipes that spewed out the fresh air grew out of her sides, and a few openings that took in the fog were placed near the top. A large chute, which we could feed her through, sat near the bottom. Muncher Cruncher Five was a giant, and she would only get bigger. She would need a lot of fuel.
We tossed in all the mouldy food we could find, and I scooped up as much of the healing paste from my side as possible. Sherrel winced as I did it; she would hate what came next.
"Can you get started on some more engines? We're going to need a lot more if we're making her bigger," I said to get her away for a bit.
"Okay, princess, but are you alright?" Her eyes flicked down to my ribs.
I waved her off. "I'm fine. The blood has clotted enough already since I've had the paste in all day," I lied. "Just wish we had more of it."
"Where'd all your things go, anyway?"
"Mouse Protector took them all from me and left them behind."
Sherrel scowled. "Where is she, anyway? Did she attack you? Is that why your eye is so fucked up and the cuts on your face?"
I pressed my fists against my eyes to ground myself as I told her what happened with Bonesaw appearing, claiming to be a friend, and Mouse being paralysed before I made my escape. "She's probably still in that building, but I don't have any idea where it is; the fog made it hard to tell directions," I finished my explanation. "We should get back to work."
"Alright," she sounded unsure. "More engines, yeah?" After I nodded, she wandered off at a snail's pace. Now and then she glanced back at me before finally leaving the street.
I let out a sigh as I rolled up my sleeve. Time to lose an arm. Number Five's teeth were a rolling mesh of sharp objects stuck onto two rolling pins. Without human meat, she would still filter the fog to produce healing air, but she wouldn't understand what to fix with it: the healing would be directionless. Brain matter would work better, but I couldn't take even a scoop of my own without messing myself up forever. Brains could be replaced as well as arms, but I didn't have my memories on file yet. Arm it is, then.
I stood on top of an engine to be closer to the gnashing teeth. I tucked my hair behind my ears, made sure no bits of clothing would snag, and tested how far I could lean in. Passing out was a high likelihood, so I had to make sure I wouldn't fall in. My head didn't reach the blades from here—perfect. I took off my gloves and bracer, then discarded them to the side. Reaching in, I braced my other hand against the edges of the chute to not be pulled in.
Time to save the city.
I plunged my arm into the blades. Pain lanced across my body, so severe I felt it clear through the numbness. My teeth ground against each other as I grit them hard enough to crack one. The feeling of my arm being crunched and torn apart was certainly unique. Everything turned black for a moment before I was pulled away from the blades.
The shredded remains of my right arm flailed in front of me as I fell back. Someone braced against me before lowering me to the floor.
Sherrel looked terrified as she took off her shirt to wrap it tight around my arm. The shards of bone and uneven cut made it tricky. I was more concerned about her being cold in only her tank top than about my arm sending lightning lances of pain across my body.
I breathed deep, enjoying the fruit-flavoured air that flowed out of Number Five. There were hints of yoghurt, too, and a little chocolate. Her exhausts sputtered as she processed the meat in her stomach down to the essentials. Although the air looked the same as before—invisible—I could tell she was now sending out the good stuff.
The red fog all down the street had faded to a light pink mist. Soon, everything would be okay. First, there was more work to do.
I tried to sit up, but Sherrel pushed me back to the ground. Belatedly, I realised she had been speaking the entire time.
"—out if you keep going," she finished a sentence I had only half-heard. "Stop trying to get up," she said as I moved again. "Are you nuts?"
"We need to make her bigger," I protested. "Can't stop now."
"You put your arm through a fucking shredder—you need a hospital."
"No hospitals around. Need to work."
Sherrel kept me down easily, despite my best attempts to get up. She must have gained super strength recently.
"Let me find something better for your arm first, okay? Five minutes of rest won't kill you," she pleaded with me. I accepted her compromise.
She helped me up to my feet and then guided me into the front seat of the car we had arrived in. I winced as she bumped into my arm. Sherrel pulled back. Her eyes scanned me up and down before she adjusted my position a little. "Stay here; I won't be long. Need to grab a few—holy shit!" Sherrel leapt back as she swore. I followed her gaze to the backseat; a woman wearing armour and a motorbike helmet was lying prone across them. Mouse Protector.
I smiled at her. "Hey, M-P. Glad you could make it."
Her eyes flicked up and down.
"Scared the hell out of me," Sherrel said as she leaned back into the car. "Hey, uh, Mouse."
Mouse Protector looked at Sherrel and flicked her eyes up and down. Then she looked out the window at Number Five.
"That's Muncher Cruncher Five; she's helping clean out the fog. You can probably remember some names if you try hard enough—it'll get easier the longer you're here, too," I told her. Her eyes went a little wider. I smiled widely at her. "See! It's amazing being able to remember names again—and faces."
Sherrel's hands pushed me back down into my seat. I hadn't realised how far I had been leaning. "Be careful. I'll go grab some stuff for your arm. Sit tight." She left, leaving me and Mouse alone.
I held up my right arm for Mouse Protector to see. "Had to give up my arm for this. You'd probably tell me: 'Not worth losing your arm for this piece of shit city, kid'," I tried to mimic her voice. "But I think it was. The moment we get some heroes here, we can use their help to save more people faster. Armsmaster would be great, right now; he'd know exactly what to do to make things easier." I tightened the knot of the shirt-turned-bandage. "We'll snowball this in no time. Then everyone can be safe."
Thoughts of my mom drifted into my mind. What would she think about all of this? She hadn't wanted me to be here: I should be at her brother's house right now, staring at pictures of their family as my stomach did flips at how different my life was. But without this, she wouldn't remember me at all. This had been worth it. I slumped back against the chair.
"Sorry that you can't respond, but I'm honestly not sure that I want you to. You would tell me off, probably, for hurting myself. But I had to do it. All those faces and names you're remembering? Those are why I did this—why I think it's worth all the pain in the world. Funny that we're not even fully fixed. All this work, losing my arm, and we'll still need someone better to come along to fix the long-term damage. Kinda pathetic, no?"
She didn't respond, and I didn't dare look back to let her. I wasn't sure which response would be worse: her agreeing, or her not.
A glowing shape, vaguely humanoid, shot down a few feet in front of the car. It stood upright in the shape of a man. His blue skintight costume was easy to identify with the white lightning running across it. Legend's hair looked wavier in person than it did in all the posters. His eyes were wide as he took in the surrounding scene. I saw the same surprise at being able to recognise people as I did in Sherrel and Mouse.
I waved at him with my good hand. Time for the snowball to start rolling.
Back in Elementary School—before Lauren pulled me out—I played a little football and even soccer once or twice. They were fun, but I liked the running around more than I liked the kicking. Right now, with my life staked on one good kick, I wished I had played them every day.
My limbs still felt like lead. A little toy robot wound tight to walk forward on clunky steps. Unlike the robot, I had to think about each and every step to make sure I didn't trip flat onto my face.
Any more prodding at Bonesaw's patience would probably lead to me having my skeleton removed to be replaced by one she could control. I doubted she would let me stay in one piece after fighting her again, so I had to make it count. One good kick, then straight through the alleyway to my right.
I jogged a little to keep pace with her. She didn't turn around to look. Sucking down a deep breath, I raised my foot.
As hard as I could muster with heavy legs, I drove it right into the small of her back. Bonesaw stumbled forward with a soft squawk, but didn't fall over.
Shit. It was less than I had been hoping for. I considered kicking her again, but decided to not chance it.
I took off straight to the alley. Metal legs clanged behind me as the spiders gave chase. Those stupid spiders would need to go around; they were much too wide to fit in the alleyway.
I had aimed a little wrong, and my shoulder barged into the brick wall as I took off down the thin gap. The brick crumbled a little from the shoulder check. My small frame let me slip down the small alleyway while still having a little space left for my arms to move.
Shortly after I made it inside, metal legs clicked behind me. I turned to see a spider twisting its body sideways to fit in the gap. The scalpel legs dug into the mortar between the bricks to keep the spider up as it skittered across the wall.
Of course! Who wouldn't design spider-looking robots to walk on walls? Stupid to not think of it.
Their climbing speed was slower than they were walking; still fast, though.
I pushed my legs harder to breach the gap before a scalpel diced my skull. The situation was eerily similar. Back in the car, we had pushed ourselves to escape the fog by risking driving through an alleyway. Except, instead of Mouse Protector pushing herself to save me, I was pushing myself to save her.
Bursting out of the alleyway, I had only a moment to take in what little I could see of the street beyond. Through the thick fog, everything beyond the immediate fifteen feet around me looked only like black shapes. Anything too far away faded into the red. It would work to my advantage and disadvantage.
Neither direction—straight ahead nor to the right—looked too dangerous. I picked my right side at random. Random decisions would throw off my trail a little easier, anyway.
Where once potholes had been filled with water and then moss, they were now empty. A distracted part of my brain laughed at the idea they had been through all three states of matter; my concussion must be getting worse. Wasn't there a secret fourth state of matter out there, anyway?
Each step sent a strange ripple through my leg as my feet hit the tarmac. The feeling had been numbed out of them by the powder Bonesaw had blown in my face. Whatever was in the capsule wasn't designed to lessen the paralysis, unfortunately.
In my peripheral, a black shape lunged towards me. I dropped to my knees on instinct alone. The horrible scraping noise of my armour against the road was worth dodging the spider.
It flew through the space I had been in. The spider slid across the floor as it missed.
As I tried to lurch to my feet, the spider that had been chasing me before landed on my back. We fell together, plummeting back down on my knees.
I ducked my head down to avoid the jab of any needles. Going with the motion, I pressed my shoulder to the ground and kicked off the floor to push myself into a forward roll. The sudden lunge flipped the spider off my back. It landed flat on its own as I continued my roll straight over it. Everything swirled around as my brain protested the roll.
Normally, such an awkward move would leave my shoulders and back aching. With my numb muscles, I wouldn't be complaining until later. Being alive would outweigh the muscle ache, any way.
As I rolled up to my feet, I only got one foot under me. My first step was clumsy, and I leaned too far forward. Another step and I thankfully got my feet under me properly.
The spider's partner lunged from my left. I lashed out with both hands to grab hold of its body.
Having only one eye made it hard to judge distances. I tried to grab it far too early; my hands grabbed only thin air right before the spider collided with my closed fists; its legs lashed out towards my face as it spun off course.
I stepped back to avoid the lashing legs. One nicked my face as I failed to twist away in time.
The spider manoeuvred its body in the air to avoid colliding with its friend, as the one on the floor stepped to the side to avoid it as well.
I bolted to take advantage of the minor distraction. Behind me, I heard Bonesaw yell out for me to stop running. I placed my hands over the back of my head to protect them from any projectiles she might try to hit me with. It made me vulnerable to falling over, but it was better than a dart to the back of my head.
I needed to put buildings between us, and fast. Across the road was a parked truck that would provide enough cover. Mechanical legs click-clacked against the tarmac behind me as I shot across the road and behind the truck. Their mechanical footsteps turned tinny as they clambered over the truck to cut me off.
My feet skidded a little as I took a sharp turn back the way I had come from. The blurry shape of Bonesaw wandered through the fog to my left as I darted down the street. Her head tracked me, somehow seeing me through the fog. I raised my arm to my left to protect my head.
"I'll kill Mouse Protector if you keep running," she called out to me.
I hesitated. Mouse Protector wanted me to run away, but she couldn't teleport if she was dead. It wasn't like the sword in my hand was in any condition to fight, and Mouse Protector most likely couldn't teleport to it at all. All of her eye movements had been hallucinations of my fog-filled mind, hadn't they? Maybe I should go back. Bonesaw wasn't so bad; her hair looked nice, and she seemed fun to be around.
My cheek stung as something collided with my face. I looked down at my clenched fist; a little blood trickled down the metal knuckles. My punch knocked my thoughts loose, getting me away from the strange praising of Bonesaw. Was this an effect of the capsule she had given me?
Think about it while running, dumb dumb. Don't stand still.
I heard Bonesaw huff out a breath as I kept going down the street and around the corner.
What even was that? Whatever it was, I needed to avoid it. Maybe master protocols would help:
First: eyes on. Focus on what I'm thinking and feeling to make sure it aligns with who I am. Any foreign thoughts should be disregarded and reported to my superior. (Guess I was on my own in that regard.)
Second: passwords. Standard passwords are four randomly chosen words with no relation. Orange-monkey-igloo-constellation. Passwords weren't much use on my own. Ignore that rule, then.
Third… what was third again? Something about less-than-lethal measures. Not useful here. There might have been a fourth, too, but I couldn't remember it either.
One rule out of three wasn't bad. Better than nothing.
As I tried to recall the rules, I had been taking erratic turns to throw Bonesaw off my trail. Streets blurred together as I tried to keep a mental map of where I had been. Through the thick fog covering the city, I couldn't tell one place from the other. One brick building could have been countless others.
Something appeared to my left. I ducked down to avoid the attack—nothing leapt out at me.
Laying on the floor, Mouse Protector stared up at me through her open visor. I heard the skittering legs of metal spiders getting closer.
With no time to think, I did the first thing that came to mind and held the sword inside one of the many broken windows. "Get in," I told Mouse Protector. She vanished from sight, appearing inside the building close to the sword. "I'll try to get somewhere safe. Teleport if you're in trouble," I whispered to her.
She was facing away from me, so I didn't get a response.
I ran off, hoping the spiders wouldn't check what I had been up to. My steps were a little lighter knowing that Mouse Protector was safer. The sword felt like less of a burden now that I knew it could help.
An ever-present pitter-patter of scalpel-tipped legs followed me as I made my way through the streets. No matter how many sharp turns or times I looped back, they were always there skittering away just out of sight. I briefly considered going through a building before dismissing the idea; anyone inside would be unsafe, and there might not even be a way out if I went through.
As I darted out of another sudden turn into an alley, I took a moment to shove my fingers down my throat. Getting this capsule out of me took priority. Other than gagging, nothing came out. I tried for a few seconds before giving up. I took off into a sprint once again.
My lungs burnt a little from the exertion. Almost all of my day so far had been spent fighting or running.
The noise of tiny footsteps from hidden spiders surrounded me. I pushed myself harder.
My calf muscles burned as I kept taking harsh turns and sprinting at full speed. Lungs gasping for breath, I ran down street after street with no idea where I was or had been—a maze of concrete filled with an impenetrable fog.
How far had I gone now? Wouldn't it be easier to give up? To go back?
Those weren't my thoughts. I gritted my teeth until they hurt. Nothing would stop me from running: giving up wasn't an option.
The low rumble of an engine came from a street over. I veered away from it to avoid any citizens being caught in the crossfire of my escape. Shapes moved around in the fog on the next street; another sharp turn to get away from them. The rumble of the car followed me as I leapt over fences to skip past gardens. Was that Bonesaw somehow tracking me? There had to be some way to get this capsule out of me.
But why would I want to get rid of it? Nothing about it could harm me—Bonesaw wouldn't do that.
I scooped gravel into my mouth and swallowed. It scraped against my throat as it went down. It wasn't the worst thing I had eaten, which meant I didn't throw up. Damn it. Nothing I had ever eaten had made me throw up before. Even when I drank really old milk, my stomach took it like a champion: other than a queasy feeling, I had been fine.
Why did I ever decide to take it? Rage was better than messing with my existence. How much longer could I fight against it?
Think, Meadow, think. Recently, I had thrown up because of my concussion. Maybe I could do that again?
I shook my head side-to-side as aggressively as I could as I ran down the street. It almost made me fall over with how hard I shook. Everything spun around before settling and then spun again. Nothing. Not even a little of the pre-emptive saliva you get before throwing up.
I slapped my hand against my head. A numb pain rolled across my skin. I hit myself over and over until my head swam so much I could barely see the road in front of me.
A sharp pain in my knees told me I had fallen. Everything became brighter right before I threw up what little remained in my stomach. Wet chunks splatted against my arms as I continued to throw up. There wasn't much food in there; the bile stung my throat.
I collapsed to the side the moment I was done. It took long moments of squinting at the sky before the throbbing pain in my head settled down, and the world came back into partial focus. My left eye still saw the world in blurry shapes, despite the soothing liquid being gone. Of all the things I had to deal with right now, being blind in one eye barely registered.
Inspecting my pile of sick, I saw a partially dissolved metal capsule. Where my stomach acid had eaten away at it, black lines like tendrils oozed out and grasped at the world around them.
Good thing it was gone. Who knows what horrors awaited me if I hadn't thrown up? Maybe there were still some to come.
I heard the pitter-patter of mechanical legs drawing close. Time to go.
My first attempt to get to my feet ended with me falling back to my knees. I took a deep breath before trying again. The second attempt went a lot better as I got my feet under me and took off sprinting.
Everything hurt. My lungs and calves ached at the exertion of running, my throat stung from the acidic bile, my head swam from the recent hits that made my concussion worse, and my side burned from a stitch directly on my recent wound. This sucked.
Despite the pain making me want nothing more than to lie down, I had to keep going. Rest could come later after I fixed everything.
The ever-present skittering of mechanical legs faded as I made some distance. Had they finally lost me? I didn't stop running. In the spider's place, was the rumble of that same car. Bonesaw must be trying to find me now that she couldn't track me.
All of this would be easier without the fog: it was time I got rid of it.
All the buildings blurred together through the redness, but I found a small store with some searching. Thick plastic letters above the store read: 'Go and Get!'. Damn right, sign, I will go and get.
There wasn't much left on the shelves or in the back. What there was, however, were broken electronics like a smashed cash register and the air conditioner. Their useable parts were scavenged by my little raccoon hands. A plastic shopping basket became their new temporary home.
Under one empty shelf, I found what might have once been an orange. It looked entirely green and fluffy, like pale moss, but with patches of dry orange skin. Perfect.
Some crumbs and dust scooped out from beneath the shelves were added to the pile. Not much else stood out in the store aside from bits of broken plastic. The broken glass I could get anywhere.
'Go and Get' Review: Had pretty much everything I needed in one easy-to-find place. Five stars!
More organic materials would help, but I could at least start now.
Pieces clicked together as they always did. An oversize puzzle made from ill-fitting parts. I saw the way they could link, and all I needed to do was to tweak the small parts. Sitting criss-cross applesauce on the cold tiled floor as I worked away gave me time to relax. My burning calves were extra thankful, the same with my lungs. Mouse Protector's sword rested against the same shelf I leaned against. I hoped she would show up soon so I could tell if she was safe.
Everything fell away as I became invested in my work. All my thoughts were blurred together as time passed me by. A rage bubbled up, only to be squashed by the Turbo-Focus Mode. Anger had no place in constructing this giant puzzle piece.
Her body came first—chunky and square, like a car's engine. Inside were her guts, a mishmash of wires that gave space for airflow. Then came her intake chute—a metal slide that ended in gnashing teeth to grind down materials. None of her electronics worked before—their important bits were blasted to pieces—but I fixed them up with a little love.
She needed a name. How about… cruncher? Muncher Cruncher, she who munches and crunches. It felt wrong, but I wasn't sure why. Oh well, it worked for now.
Electricity wasn't easy to come by in Brockton Bay right now. While some neighbourhoods had been put back online, most were still running on generators. I wasn't quite sure where I was, but I couldn't bank on their being power. Instead, I had to rely on manual generation.
I turned the crank all the way around, then did it again, and again. This was going to take a while. Muncher Cruncher demanded a lot of power to get started, but should keep herself going once she had it.
Once her engine kicked to life, the teeth in her chute gnashed away. I rolled the mouldy orange down into her waiting maw to be processed into useful parts. Mould had plenty of good properties I could use right now.
I lifted my shirt to check out the stab wound through my ribs. Peeling the slightly crusted bandages down, I could see some healing paste still sticking into the slightly bleeding wound. Losing out on that healing goodness was worth the results. I scooped some up in my fingers to drop into M-C's waiting maw.
One last ingredient: human flesh. With how many of these I needed to make, I expected to be down an arm by the end of the night. Since I didn't have any healing paste, I would need to grit my teeth and bear it. My limbs still felt numb from the paralysis, so, hopefully, it wouldn't hurt too much. I used a jagged piece of glass to cut away a chunk of flesh. Barely a dollar coin in size, but enough that I could feel the throb of pain. Blood gushed out of the wound and wouldn't stop unless I plugged it. After chucking the small chunk of meat into M-C's mouth, I found some old bits of tissue and plastic bags to stuff into the hole. It hadn't hurt as much as I expected. My nerves must be beyond messed up.
With my good arm–lefty the besty—I kept turning the crank to make sure M-C wouldn't shut off pre-emptively.
There were ways of gathering energy from wind, the sun, and the spinning of the planet—with the parts I had, all of them required a little energy beforehand. Electricity wasn't too complicated to understand, and it was the easiest power source I had access to. (Not that being easy to access made it easy to use). How Armsmaster designed all of his things to not use a lick of electricity was beyond me. Some of my things, like my spear, Dede, didn't need any electricity, but they couldn't do half as much as Armsmaster's equipment.
Wait… Armsmaster. I could remember someone! His face, with his trimmed beard and kind eyes, appeared in my mind easily. He smelt like coffee and plastic.
I tried to remember someone else—anyone else. No one appeared. Why could I remember him? Maybe it was the memory that triggered it and not the person.
I thought back to my first real birthday party with Mel and Abi. We ate pizza, and we watched movies. They both hated when I would pause to talk about things, so they took remote privileges away from me. Abi always kept her hair in a messy ponytail with colourful scrunchies, and Mel kept her hair shaggy and wild. They had faces on opposite ends of the spectrum, one squarish and wide, the other round and long.
I could remember my friends.
Tears trickled down my cheeks. They weren't really my friends, any more, though; at least I hadn't lost those memories.
Muncher Cruncher churned away happily, her engine rumbling against my legs. The surrounding fog had thinned out enough to see the colours on the walls. An open nozzle on one side of M-C sucked in the fog before it came back out on the other side as invisible air filled with healthy bacteria. She worked.
I hugged her as hard as I could.
"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." I kissed her on a flat area. It burnt my lips a little, but I didn't care—she worked!
Now I only needed to make a hundred more of her. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy. Only needed to raid one hundred plus more places for materials to make an equally heavy sister to M-C that I then needed to space around the city, all while avoiding Bonesaw. Easy-peasy.
I sighed. Better get started. After modifying a shopping basket into a makeshift backpack, I loaded M-C up and left the store with Mouse Protector's sword in hand.
She sucked down the fog as I walked, but it didn't stop it from getting into my lungs first. At least, if I sat still for a minute to rest my legs, she would clean the air up around me. All the clean air she made tasted like oranges and made my lungs feel like they were coated in mint toothpaste. It wasn't the most pleasant feeling, but at least I knew she was working her magic. I wasn't sure if she could get rid of the lesions Bonesaw mentioned, but she should help a little. A cape with healing powers, like Panacea, would have to do the rest.
Every name remembered gave me a brief rush. I could remember people!
The air behind me was left a thinner red as the fresh air mingled with the fog. It was slow-going, but the air from M-C was winning the fight on which got to stay. As the fog drifted in, the air would eat away at it, slowly purifying it. One machine on its own could cleanse the city, given enough time—so long as you didn't mind waiting hundreds of years.
I found another shop, but no air conditioner; I scavenged what I could. Air conditioners were the key component, though a fan would also work. In a pinch, I could make my own air filtration systems, but pre-built ones were more convenient. With how many I needed to make, I needed as many pre-built ones as I could get my hands on.
A rumbling kicked to life with a sputter a few streets over. Another car or the same as before? I climbed through the window of the closest building to hide. Whoever they were, they either wouldn't remember me and make for a problem, or they would remember me and also be a problem.
I placed M-C on my lap to help muffle her rumbling a little. The taste of oranges had faded a little from the filtered air. She required a top-up soon or the air wouldn't heal me.
The rumbling of the car got closer. I held my breath as I heard it turn into the street. Silence stretched as the car moved at a glacial pace down the road. They slowed down as they passed the building I was hiding in. Somehow, they were tracking me. Remnants of the capsule in my stomach, or something worse? I needed to throw up again to tell for certain.
A car horn honked outside. Then a door clicked and someone stepped out.
"You there?" A woman yelled out. Her voice was too old to be Bonesaw, but she might have modified it.
I kept as quiet as I could with an air filtration system idling on my lap. My hope that she'd dismiss me as the background noise of the city faded as I heard her footsteps growing closer.
Regret soaked into my pores; why hadn't I built a weapon? I clutched Mouse Protector's sword tighter. There wasn't much left of it now, only a small bit of metal attached to the crossguard. At least it still had the pommel, even if the lack of weight on the other end threw me off.
I scooted out from under M-C to be ready.
"Hey, you are here! I heard that. Come out, it'll be alright," the woman said to me. Her voice sounded familiar—another trick by Bonesaw to get me to trust her.
Don't trust it, I reminded myself. Any thoughts of liking Bonesaw are fake.
There weren't many options for me to take. This building had two doors leading out, but with the lack of furniture in this room, she would see me immediately the moment I tried for one; if I made a wrong choice, like trying to open a closet, I would be dead. Attack, then, was the only way. My eye stung as if to remind me why that was a bad idea. What else, eye? Relying on luck? That would get us both killed. Fate worked best when you took control of it.
Tears bubbled out of my one good eye. There wasn't anyone to save, or anyone to help, only a slow death for a weakling who couldn't keep anyone safe. It was pathetic and unheroic, but I hated the idea of her getting hold of me. She would use me for parts, maybe even keep me alive, and would use me to hurt so many more people. If I had something I could use to end it now, before Bonesaw grabbed hold of me, I would—at least then, my body wouldn't be used to hurt anyone. Thinking about it, being dead wouldn't stop her from using my body anyway, or reviving me for daring to try to get away from her. No, there was only one option.
I steadied my grip on the sword's handle, took a deep breath, and then charged out of the door with the pommel raised.
My first swing missed; too low for how tall the woman was—Bonesaw isn't that tall.
My second swing was directly down, an overhead strike. The woman grabbed my arm, stopping the swing dead.
I finally looked at her. She had blonde hair, like Bonesaw's, but it wasn't immaculate or in ringlets—in fact, quite the opposite—it was soaked through and looked almost brown at points like a bruised banana. Her face was longer, too, with more angles. Nothing about her looked the same as Bonesaw. She looked a lot like Sherrel, almost completely the same—but Sherrel had left, and she wouldn't be here. I wasn't falling for it.
"Hey, hey; it's alright," she said in a gentle tone as if I were a wounded animal. I struggled to free my wrist from her grip. "Stop struggling. Do you not remember me?"
"You're a liar! A fake! I'm not falling for it!" I yelled in her face as I tried to kick at her. She moved her legs back to avoid my feet, her hand gripping my wrist. Her height made it too easy for her to dodge my short legs.
The fake Sherrel sighed. It sounded sad. "I've got a breather in the car. It'll help clear out your lungs—but you're so far gone, I don't know if I can help. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Everyone is going to die, and I don't know what to do about it."
I stopped struggling. "Die?"
"Yeah," her voice croaked. "And I'm sorry." Sherrel slumped to her knees, letting go of my wrist.
I stepped back, unsure what the trick was. Would Bonesaw leap out at me the moment I took a step forward? But what was the point in drawing it out?
"Are—are you actually Sherrel?"
Her head snapped up to look at me. "You know my name?" I nodded. "How?"
Was that Bonesaw being surprised I made it past her fog, or Sherrel being surprised about it?
"You were making something recently—it looked like a dinosaur—and one of your tools broke, so you asked me to fix it: What was it?" I asked.
"What? I don't know. Maybe my plasma welder? That piece of shit was always breaking."
It was the right answer, but she didn't seem sure. A lot of tinkers used similar tools or ideas, so maybe Bonesaw got a lucky guess. "Another question, then. We were talking in the car before the fog came in. What did we talk about?"
She rubbed at her eyes. "About someone being a piece of shit to me. You, I think, told them off, and then they apologised right before it reached us."
"You're actually her?" I choked out a sob. "Please, don't let this be a trick."
"Not a trick. I promise," she said.
I fell to my knees to pull her into a hug. Another human being who could remember me—one that didn't want to add me to her fucked up family. Tears flowed easily before I realised they were even brewing. It was more than having my friend back; it was having someone who could help. We could make things better, together.
Once we finally pried ourselves free of the hug, my face heavy with snot, I showed Sherrel where Muncher Cruncher was hiding. Her engine happily kept chugging away, filtering out the bad stuff from the air.
"Huh. Better than what I came up with," Sherrel said. She tapped a finger against M-C. "Runs hotter, though." She looked up at me. Her mouth went slack. "I know your name," she said, as if it shocked her.
"Didn't you before? You found me."
Sherrel shook her head. "I remembered you wearing armour, but I couldn't remember you. Was only working on a feeling about what you said before you two ran off—you were saying we knew each other, and that we were in the car together. It made no sense to me, but I've always been too stupid to figure things out. Figured I would try to find you, and see if you could fix this like you said you could."
"What—but—You said you made a breather or something?"
"I did. It sucks all the smoke out of your system and then lets you breathe fresh air if you keep it on; doesn't fix the memory loss, though. This… I know your name: Meadow, Raccoon Knight." She squinted her eyes at the floor. "I remember my dad." Sherrel pressed a hand to her mouth. "He…" No more words followed, only a quiet sob.
I wrapped her in another hug. "It's okay. We can fix things now. Together. We'll be okay. Everything will be okay."
We had a lot of work to do. Clearing out an entire city would take time. I could work fast, but Sherrel needed time to make her vehicles. The one she had ridden in to find me only had a couple of pieces of tinker-tech that were, in Sherrel's words: 'MacGyver'd at best': a magnetic relay that searched for specific types of metals, and a medical gas mask hooked up to a half-empty oxygen tank. How she remembered the specific alloy in my armour when I forgot it most of the time was beyond me, but it let her find me, so I wasn't complaining.
We strapped down Muncher Cruncher in the backseat with a seatbelt. Safety first. Before we set off, we searched for some food for her—and ourselves, if we were lucky. There were plenty of mouldy foodstuffs to be found with two people searching. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the way of edible food. While I didn't mind sharing my food with rodents, or mould, it wasn't what my body needed right now. I needed healthy food that wasn't coated in gravel and fluffy green bits to regenerate some of the blood I had lost. My tummy grumbled a lot as I tossed more mouldy food into M-C's mouth—but she would have to wait until later for food.
Making more M-C's looked like it would be easier because Sherrel had tools. None of them were tinker-tech, but it didn't matter—she had tools! Screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, and hex keys! I was in heaven. My aching fingers would no longer need to fold metal or hold on to glass shards as I unscrewed screws!
They came in handy as we made more Muncher Crunchers from scavenged parts. We'd stop in a street, and then sweep through stores and sometimes buildings to find useable parts. After that, we'd cobble together another M-C as we drove before placing it down a few blocks away from the old one.
The hard part came when I needed to feed the new twin some flesh. There was only so much I could take from myself until I passed out, even through the numbness. How many more of these could I do before I couldn't even stand?
Whatever it took to save the city.
I hacked away another chunk of flesh and plugged the hole with whatever I could find. Only ninety-eight more to go. I made sure Sherrel didn't notice, only chunking the flesh off myself when she left to start the car.
By the time we hooked up our fourth Muncher Cruncher, the fingers in my right arm weren't working right. They folded only halfway, refusing to go further, and they shook like I was nervous. We had barely even started. I had to be stronger than this.
I got back in the car, leaving M-C Number Four behind to devour the fog and make nice healing air. With my arm hidden behind the sleeve of my gambeson, Sherrel wouldn't be worried about it. She had better things to be worried about than my arm. Arms could be replaced.
M-C Number One chugged away in the backseat, keeping the car clear of the fog. With how long it took for us to make the filtration system for Number Four, she had cleared out the portion of the street closest to the car as well. As a side benefit, she kept the car toasty warm.
"Spotted trouble around the corner; We'll need to go back the way we came," Sherrel said.
"People?"
"Yeah, not sure who they are, though. No costumes."
"Maybe they could help us? Or we can at least tell them to stand by Number Four. They might die if we leave them out there too long."
Sherrel pursed her lips. "Won't be easy convincing them. Think our time is better spent making more of these things."
"We can't just leave them."
"It's your choice. I can't make these on my own—don't have the magic sauce—so I'm chained to you and your morals, whether I think they're a good idea or not," she joked. "We'll be risking a lot by doing this. Are you sure?"
I wanted to say yes immediately, but I took a moment to think about it. Getting those people to listen to what we had to say would be hard if they had been in the fog the entire time. Most likely they would run off because they thought we might be villains. Worst case, they'd attack us. We had gathered enough parts to make a fifth M-C, so maybe our time was better spent making that instead. Our work felt so slow considering lives were on the line; helping at least one person would make me feel better about it.
I looked at Sherrel. I had helped her, hadn't I? That was one person.
"You're right—but it hurts. I want to help them so badly. What we're doing is too slow, and by the time we've made two more of them, we'll need to feed more mould to the older ones. This isn't going to work, is it?"
She looked away from me. "It's better than nothing. Better than my idea to watch everyone die."
"We need help. No idea how to find it, but we need help… Or," I started saying as an idea brewed in my brain. "We need to make something big. Super big. If a bunch of smaller things aren't working, then we should go as big as possible with what we have."
"Do you think it'll work?" Sherrel asked.
"It has to work," I said. "We can do this."
"Okay. Then how do we get started?"
An entire street's worth of junk came together to form the base. Engines powered it; over a dozen of them were hooked up with cables and wires to the growing mound of junk. We raided homes and businesses to add to our art project. Dragging it all around with only one and a half hands wasn't fun. The wound on my side began bleeding again at some point, but I ignored it. Any salvageable cars in the street became parts of the chassis or were stripped bare for their air conditioners. Most of the engines were used to power the collage of stuff, but some (those lacking in fuel) were used for parts too.
It hadn't taken too long to make something useable. We were running on the clock, so we pushed ourselves as hard as we could go. By the time we were finished, she resembled a wasp's nest growing up the side of someone's home. A branching tree of exhaust pipes that spewed out the fresh air grew out of her sides, and a few openings that took in the fog were placed near the top. A large chute, which we could feed her through, sat near the bottom. Muncher Cruncher Five was a giant, and she would only get bigger. She would need a lot of fuel.
We tossed in all the mouldy food we could find, and I scooped up as much of the healing paste from my side as possible. Sherrel winced as I did it; she would hate what came next.
"Can you get started on some more engines? We're going to need a lot more if we're making her bigger," I said to get her away for a bit.
"Okay, princess, but are you alright?" Her eyes flicked down to my ribs.
I waved her off. "I'm fine. The blood has clotted enough already since I've had the paste in all day," I lied. "Just wish we had more of it."
"Where'd all your things go, anyway?"
"Mouse Protector took them all from me and left them behind."
Sherrel scowled. "Where is she, anyway? Did she attack you? Is that why your eye is so fucked up and the cuts on your face?"
I pressed my fists against my eyes to ground myself as I told her what happened with Bonesaw appearing, claiming to be a friend, and Mouse being paralysed before I made my escape. "She's probably still in that building, but I don't have any idea where it is; the fog made it hard to tell directions," I finished my explanation. "We should get back to work."
"Alright," she sounded unsure. "More engines, yeah?" After I nodded, she wandered off at a snail's pace. Now and then she glanced back at me before finally leaving the street.
I let out a sigh as I rolled up my sleeve. Time to lose an arm. Number Five's teeth were a rolling mesh of sharp objects stuck onto two rolling pins. Without human meat, she would still filter the fog to produce healing air, but she wouldn't understand what to fix with it: the healing would be directionless. Brain matter would work better, but I couldn't take even a scoop of my own without messing myself up forever. Brains could be replaced as well as arms, but I didn't have my memories on file yet. Arm it is, then.
I stood on top of an engine to be closer to the gnashing teeth. I tucked my hair behind my ears, made sure no bits of clothing would snag, and tested how far I could lean in. Passing out was a high likelihood, so I had to make sure I wouldn't fall in. My head didn't reach the blades from here—perfect. I took off my gloves and bracer, then discarded them to the side. Reaching in, I braced my other hand against the edges of the chute to not be pulled in.
Time to save the city.
I plunged my arm into the blades. Pain lanced across my body, so severe I felt it clear through the numbness. My teeth ground against each other as I grit them hard enough to crack one. The feeling of my arm being crunched and torn apart was certainly unique. Everything turned black for a moment before I was pulled away from the blades.
The shredded remains of my right arm flailed in front of me as I fell back. Someone braced against me before lowering me to the floor.
Sherrel looked terrified as she took off her shirt to wrap it tight around my arm. The shards of bone and uneven cut made it tricky. I was more concerned about her being cold in only her tank top than about my arm sending lightning lances of pain across my body.
I breathed deep, enjoying the fruit-flavoured air that flowed out of Number Five. There were hints of yoghurt, too, and a little chocolate. Her exhausts sputtered as she processed the meat in her stomach down to the essentials. Although the air looked the same as before—invisible—I could tell she was now sending out the good stuff.
The red fog all down the street had faded to a light pink mist. Soon, everything would be okay. First, there was more work to do.
I tried to sit up, but Sherrel pushed me back to the ground. Belatedly, I realised she had been speaking the entire time.
"—out if you keep going," she finished a sentence I had only half-heard. "Stop trying to get up," she said as I moved again. "Are you nuts?"
"We need to make her bigger," I protested. "Can't stop now."
"You put your arm through a fucking shredder—you need a hospital."
"No hospitals around. Need to work."
Sherrel kept me down easily, despite my best attempts to get up. She must have gained super strength recently.
"Let me find something better for your arm first, okay? Five minutes of rest won't kill you," she pleaded with me. I accepted her compromise.
She helped me up to my feet and then guided me into the front seat of the car we had arrived in. I winced as she bumped into my arm. Sherrel pulled back. Her eyes scanned me up and down before she adjusted my position a little. "Stay here; I won't be long. Need to grab a few—holy shit!" Sherrel leapt back as she swore. I followed her gaze to the backseat; a woman wearing armour and a motorbike helmet was lying prone across them. Mouse Protector.
I smiled at her. "Hey, M-P. Glad you could make it."
Her eyes flicked up and down.
"Scared the hell out of me," Sherrel said as she leaned back into the car. "Hey, uh, Mouse."
Mouse Protector looked at Sherrel and flicked her eyes up and down. Then she looked out the window at Number Five.
"That's Muncher Cruncher Five; she's helping clean out the fog. You can probably remember some names if you try hard enough—it'll get easier the longer you're here, too," I told her. Her eyes went a little wider. I smiled widely at her. "See! It's amazing being able to remember names again—and faces."
Sherrel's hands pushed me back down into my seat. I hadn't realised how far I had been leaning. "Be careful. I'll go grab some stuff for your arm. Sit tight." She left, leaving me and Mouse alone.
I held up my right arm for Mouse Protector to see. "Had to give up my arm for this. You'd probably tell me: 'Not worth losing your arm for this piece of shit city, kid'," I tried to mimic her voice. "But I think it was. The moment we get some heroes here, we can use their help to save more people faster. Armsmaster would be great, right now; he'd know exactly what to do to make things easier." I tightened the knot of the shirt-turned-bandage. "We'll snowball this in no time. Then everyone can be safe."
Thoughts of my mom drifted into my mind. What would she think about all of this? She hadn't wanted me to be here: I should be at her brother's house right now, staring at pictures of their family as my stomach did flips at how different my life was. But without this, she wouldn't remember me at all. This had been worth it. I slumped back against the chair.
"Sorry that you can't respond, but I'm honestly not sure that I want you to. You would tell me off, probably, for hurting myself. But I had to do it. All those faces and names you're remembering? Those are why I did this—why I think it's worth all the pain in the world. Funny that we're not even fully fixed. All this work, losing my arm, and we'll still need someone better to come along to fix the long-term damage. Kinda pathetic, no?"
She didn't respond, and I didn't dare look back to let her. I wasn't sure which response would be worse: her agreeing, or her not.
A glowing shape, vaguely humanoid, shot down a few feet in front of the car. It stood upright in the shape of a man. His blue skintight costume was easy to identify with the white lightning running across it. Legend's hair looked wavier in person than it did in all the posters. His eyes were wide as he took in the surrounding scene. I saw the same surprise at being able to recognise people as I did in Sherrel and Mouse.
I waved at him with my good hand. Time for the snowball to start rolling.
Last edited:
6.11
- Pronouns
- She/Her
6.11
An uncomfortable silence fell on us as the van headed to our destination: the PRT building. Mouse Protector sat across from me with her arms folded. Occasionally she shifted her jaw or stretched her fingers to help work out the last of the paralysis. Sherrel sat off to her right, my left, and was only partially visible in my non-bandaged eye. From what I could see, she looked as tired as I felt. Neither of us had said much to each other past the first hour. We had worked in diligent silence, only talking to tell others what we needed to keep our task going.
Wisps of pink mist rolled past the tiny windows near the top of the van. It had finally thinned enough for us to take a break from improving the Muncher Cruncher, and the PRT had graciously offered us a place to rest.
Once Legend had arrived, it hadn't been hard for him to corral civilians, or capes, to our location to help them remember. With their ability to register faces back, we used them to get more people and to gather more things to beef up the big Muncher Cruncher. Before long, she was big enough for her range to cover a fifth of the city. Once we got more tinkers, the process escalated as they started working on their own devices. A snowball that kept growing in size as it gathered more snow as it kept rolling down the hill.
Not everyone wanted to help, but most of them did. Others weren't so charitable, and would only help if we paid them in money or supplies. We did without them.
Healing capes were already being shipped in from out of town to help fix the last of the damage to our brains. As much as Muncher Cruncher one through five helped, she wasn't able to fix us completely. We were still on the clock, in a way. Armsmaster's brain scans showed severe damage that would worsen if left unchecked. He had left at some point to start working on something to help, but never came back.
There were plenty of things left in the wake of Slaughterhouse Nine that neither the healers nor Muncher Cruncher could heal. We were going to be recovering for a while.
One hard-earned victory didn't make up for the tide of losses.
Mouse Protector cleared her throat. Her limbs were working again, but her movement still looked stilted and a little off. Moving numb limbs that felt like weights took a lot of effort. Mine still tingled with pins and needles sometimes.
"We should talk," Mouse Protector interrupted the silence. Her words were slightly slurred as she worked her still-recovering tongue into sentences. I was too tired to nod, so I gave her a thumbs-up without raising my hand. "We're–" she started, then stopped. I watched her chew on her words for a moment. "I've no idea what to say."
"Thanks for trying, anyway, M-P," I comforted her.
"No. It's not that I have no idea—it's more that I don't know how to word it. I've never really needed to apologise before—unfamiliar ground, for me—and I'm not sure what to say," Mouse Protector continued.
Sherrel scoffed as she folded her arms. I turned my head a little to see her better.
"Don't give me that. I was wrong about you, too, but I apologised," Mouse said to her.
"Only because the fog was closing in. Don't think you would have otherwise," Sherrel said back. She continued to stare at the floor.
"I would have!" Mouse threw her hands up. "I was getting to it." Sherrel didn't seem convinced. "Look, ki—Raccoon Knight, I'm sorry, okay? Hurting you isn't something I would do normally, and I feel awful about it—even if I weren't really in control."
I shrugged. "Water under the bridge."
"Barely even an apology—you can't just take that," Sherrel interrupted. "I watched her hold a sword to your throat. You were fighting each other by the time I left!"
"The kid posed a threat. The most tactically sound decision was to stop her; it's practically a compliment," Mouse argued.
"You did say some pretty mean things to me, M-P," I interrupted. "It wasn't just fighting me."
Mouse Protector shifted in her seat to lean a little closer to me. "Part of the game, kid—like I taught you. Keep your enemy off-guard, both physically and mentally." She tapped a finger against her temple.
"It still hurt," I mumbled.
Mouse Protector huffed out a breath. "Fine. I'm sorry. Actually sorry," she stressed the words. "Wouldn't have been so harsh if I knew it was you, kid—but I still did it, so I'm sorry."
"That's good enough for me, I think," I told her. Maybe I would change my mind in the future, but right now, I just wanted to rest. Today was exhausting. Mouse Protector meant well, even though her words had stung. None of us had been in our right mind, so I could hardly blame her.
The van jolted up as we passed over a speed bump. My stump sent a sharp pain through my arm as it jostled against the dressing. Even with the pain meds, I was forced to grit my teeth to stop myself from crying out.
There weren't the facilities for surgery right now—and I wouldn't have stopped working for it—so I had to settle for an oddly shaped set of bandages and a belt tied around my arm to stop the blood flow. The lack of a healed over stump would make it easier to slot a new arm in later, at least. My eye had been covered by a stick-on bandage with itchy wool stuffed behind it, and all the new scars on my face were covered in strips of bandages, too. I felt one step removed from a horror movie mummy.
Sherrel laid her head back against the van with a sigh. "You're too forgiving," she said.
"If someone says they're sorry, that means they're willing to try to fix things. So long as she tries, I don't mind," I said. "Not every sorry will fix things instantly, but it's a start to it."
"Call that compassion in the biz'." Mouse Protector smiled at me. It was a little lopsided. I didn't have enough energy to maintain my smile back for more than a second.
The van began to slow down. We couldn't see exactly where we were, with the only windows being up top, but I did see concrete pass by close to the windows across from me. An alleyway, maybe. I didn't care—far too tired. The moment we finished the big Muncher Cruncher, the energy drained from my entire body and left a rag-doll version of me in my place. Even if a fight had shown up, I wasn't sure I could have mustered the energy to do anything about it.
I wasn't even sure what time it was; time had blended while my brain focused on improving M-C. So many times I forgot I was even human as the secrets of the universe were flowing through me to replicate the blueprint in my brain.
The backdoor of the van slid open to reveal a dark, underground car park lit only by the PRT officer's flashlight. My brain stumbled for a moment trying to figure out how they had a working one before I realised that I didn't care. They probably imported it from out of town or had protections to stop it from breaking.
I stifled a yawn as I tried to muster the energy to get up.
The PRT officer's once mirror-sheened facemask was coated with mud with a large crack running across it. Mouse Protector patted the officer on the shoulder as she hopped out of the van. She had slid her helmet on at some point without me realising.
I groaned as I got up to head out. Any amount of walking was too much. A warm pile of the pink insulation fluff you find inside of walls would be so nice right now. Put my weighted blanket on top of that pile and I'm pretty sure I would sleep for a week straight.
I dragged my feet as I walked across the hard concrete floor. This was the exact opposite of what I requested.
For once, my brain was as tired as I was. Not many thoughts other than 'find a bed' came through my brain. Even while trying to go to sleep, my brain liked to sprint around the room as it brought up a million and one topics that it absolutely had to tell me right at that very moment. Right now, we agreed: sleep, please—or food. Food would be good too. Food and sleep.
We were guided into an elevator hidden behind a fake wall. The inside of the elevator was perfectly lit despite having no visible lights, so the officer clicked off their flashlight. I knew that our journey up would be smooth as silk, too, thanks to the tinker-tech design. When I was still a Ward, I always hoped the elevator would break so that I could see how it was made as I repaired it. In hindsight, Armsmaster probably would have given me access to the design if I had asked.
The officer flicked up a lanyard to the scanner, which opened the top-access panel with a click. There were more buttons hidden below that led down to the basement if you had a Ward's lanyard. Probably more below that if you had some ultra-secret access card. Other than the door closing and the number on the display ticking up, there wasn't any sign we had started moving.
I must have dozed off because the door opened faster than I expected.
Mouse Protector and Sherrel wandered out as they followed behind the officer. There weren't many people on this floor, only a scant few PRT officers rushing past with heavy-looking firearms. All of them had mismatched armour pieces and scratches on their helmets. They had been out there, the same as me, trying to help people while risking their lives.
My mom had been out there with them. I had no idea how she was. The radio silence might have been worrying, but I knew she was too strong to die. Both of us were too strong to die, even as we sacrificed to save others.
I pushed the bad thoughts out of my mind. Being tired made me weirdly emotional in a way I didn't like. Warriors should have equal control over their emotions as they do with a blade.
Thanks to my short legs, I needed to jog sometimes to catch up with the group; my calf muscles protested by burning with each quickened step.
Oh, robot legs, how I miss you. Maybe when I made my new arm, I could replace some of my old parts as well. Panacea might be a little upset I replaced her hard work, though. Wherever she was.
The officer opened the door to an interview room. Other than a metal table and a few chairs, there wasn't much else. The one-way mirror was missing entirely, letting us see a smaller room with some filing cabinets and its own desk through the hole.
There wasn't anyone waiting for us in there, either. I squashed my disappointment that my mom wasn't there.
But there was something special waiting on the table. Food.
A plastic tray piled with all sorts of food sat on the metal table in the middle of the room. They were all pre-packaged things like sandwiches in plastic triangular containers, bags of chips, and plastic bottles of water. A meal fit for royalty. I wasn't sure what we did to deserve such luxury.
"Help yourselves," the officer said in the funny accent cowboys used in Western movies. "Someone will be here shortly. Wait here until then."
I pried into a sandwich and loaded it with chips to get more food per bite. Their flavours didn't mesh well at all, but, at that moment, it tasted like food from the gods. Sherrel and Mouse dug in shortly after me. They both ate a lot calmer than I did, but I saw the way Sherrel's eyes lit up as she chowed down. She hadn't eaten much at all the past week, from what I knew.
I wanted to ask if she was feeling any of the symptoms of her withdrawal yet, but I didn't want to interrupt the one moment we finally got to rest. Later, then, or the moment it seems like she's hurting—whichever came first.
Both of them were important to me in a way that was hard to describe. Saving Sherrel hadn't been a hard choice, as much as the results pained me. Fist-fighting Bonesaw to save Mouse Protector hadn't been a hard choice, either.
Being a hero meant making sacrifices to save others, and I would make those same sacrifices again in a heartbeat.
Delicious food filled my tummy as I scoffed down as much as I could. When you can eat, you have to make sure to eat as much as you can in case the meals stop flowing. You never knew when the next one would be. I didn't squirrel any of the food away into my pockets for later, since I was sharing with friends.
About fifteen minutes later, a light blared in the room to signal someone's arrival. Mouse Protector and I put our helmets back on. I tried not to be too annoyed about being forced to stop eating. An officer, a different one than before, entered thirty seconds later.
"Miss," he said as he gestured to me. "Come with me."
"We'll save some for you, kid. Don't worry," Mouse Protector said. I was pretty sure I had already eaten more than both of them combined, but I thanked her anyway and left with the officer.
We walked in silence as he led me through the PRT building. Thankfully, he walked slowly enough that my legs didn't ache too much keeping up with him. After an eternity of walking (I had had enough for one lifetime) he led me to an unmarked room. Where once there had been a window on the door, there was only a foggy plastic sheet that flapped a little in the breeze.
"In there," he said, then promptly turned and left without explaining anything.
I floundered for a moment to think of something to say before he vanished around the corner. Rude.
I pressed my face against the frosty plastic sheet to see inside. A blurry shape of a person was sitting on a chair against the wall. They had their face pressed into their hands. Too short to be Director Calvert, and they weren't wearing a helmet. I had no clue who they were.
As I entered the room, the answer became clear; it was my mom.
Her hair poked out between her fingers in a wild mess that made me think of my own. I could feel the exhaustion radiating off of her.
She looked up as she heard the door click open. A stick-on bandage ran up the right side of her jaw, similar to the one covering my eye. Another bandage sat across the bridge of her nose and it did little to hide the fact her nose had been broken.
"Meadow," she breathed out as she said my name, making it practically a sigh. Her eyes flicked to my stump arm and then between each bandage on my face. After she was done, she somehow looked more tired than she had before.
Neither of us made a move to get closer. Silence stretched out before us, further than even Vista could stretch something. There were so many words I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to tell her, but none of them came out. I squeezed my arms in a self-hug as if I could push the words out of me.
"Why—" my mom started saying.
"I'm—" I said at the same time. We both stopped talking. I opened my mouth to start again but decided against it. "You go," I said.
Mom hid her face behind her hands before she spoke. "Why, Meadow? Why do you keep doing this to me?"
"Doing what?" I said. My voice was quiet, and for a moment I wondered if she even heard me.
"You tell me to my face that you'll be safe, for once,, and I believe you entirely because I trust you. But then you break that trust. You decide that it has to be you who saves people. It has to be you who risks your life. You're just a kid—not even old enough to drive—but you're going out there and fighting monsters. My commanding officer wouldn't let me anywhere near the Nine, and yet there you were right next to them," she said, her voice thick with an emotion I couldn't place.
"I wanted to help," I said. It felt like all I needed to say. Helping people was what heroes did.
Mom slid her head down her arms into the crook of her elbows. "They're contesting the adoption."
The words hit me like a truck. My breath hitched as all the air was sucked out of the room. We were supposed to become a family together. Heather was supposed to adopt me, and we would be happy together forever. She would be my mom, my actual mom
"What? Why?" I managed to say.
"Because I'm a bad parent. I let you stay here after Leviathan—on your own, in a dangerous city full of chaos—and then… and then I let you stay here when the Slaughterhouse Nine showed up. The Slaughterhouse fucking Nine," she choked out a sob.
"You're—no, they can't do that. I'm a hero, I was helping people. They can't do that!" I slumped to my knees. "They can't do that."
"They're right too, Meadow," she said. Her head remained hidden behind her arms. I wanted to look at her face, to tell if she was lying. This had to be a prank.
"No, they can't," I repeated. My voice shook as I struggled to speak past the lump in my throat.
Mom, if I could even tell her that any more, sighed. "I wanted to tell you before, but Shatterbird had just attacked and we were both tired and I—I was a coward. I'm sorry, Meadow. Maybe if I told you back then, you wouldn't be missing an arm and an eye. This is all my fault."
"It's not," I said between hitching sobs. I wouldn't cry. Heroes have to be brave, no matter what.
"It is, Meadow."
My tear ducts betrayed me. A torrential downpour of tears poured out of my good eye. The other was too ruined for even crying. Sobbing wouldn't help anyone, but they escaped my lips anyway. Everything hurt, and the painkillers failed to numb it. Cruel spikes of sadness ripped me apart at the seams, and I failed to hold myself together.
Strong arms wrapped around me in a gentle hug before I could spiral further.
I pushed myself into my mom's arms. One hand rubbed gentle circles across my back as I sobbed into her shoulder, the other hand stroked my hair. She whispered comforting words in my ears. I could hardly understand them, but they soothed me regardless.
I stayed pressed into her shoulder as if I could change reality by clinging to her.
"We can leave," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "Director Calvert said he can get us some goodwill if we leave the city as soon as possible. I don't know how much it will help, but it's better than nothing, right?"
My words came out as more sobs. Leaving the city wasn't what I wanted; this place was my home and always had been. The Nine had ruined everything, but we could fix it all with hard work. Even with the shelter gone, and my friends missing, I could make things better if I tried. This city needed a hero who could rebuild now more than ever.
If I left, then how could I call myself a hero?
If I stayed, I would lose out on having a family.
In the past, I had felt fine about being on my own. Lauren had left me alone to do whatever I wanted, with only the occasional interruption of false promises. Being on my own had been fine.
No one needed to know where I was or what I was up to, they could never judge me for eating food from a dumpster or for smelling bad. I was free to do whatever I wanted when I wanted to. Entire days could pass where I spoke to no one, completely lost in a fantasy adventure of my own making. There weren't any limits on how much candy I ate, or how long I stayed awake. My friends couldn't leave me or be upset with me because I didn't have any to disappoint.
I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted.
But no one had ever given me nice food and warm clothes. They had never braided my hair or taught me how to do makeup. No one had been my friend. Even if I inevitably ruined my friendships, at least they had been nice for a while. Being alone wasn't bad, but having people around had been better.
No one ever loved me, before.
I squeezed my mom as tight as I could. Lauren never hugged me like this. She wouldn't have cared about my safety at all.
The choice was easy, wasn't it?
Author's Note:
And that's the end of Raccoon Knight's story. Meadow could only have gone two ways from here: throwing herself full body into more and more danger until she can't any more, or finally accepting that she needs a break from her horrible life. I hope this ending hasn't felt too abrupt (it is partially meant to, in a way), but it makes sense to end it here, for me.
Tomorrow at (roughly) the same time, Epilogue A.
An uncomfortable silence fell on us as the van headed to our destination: the PRT building. Mouse Protector sat across from me with her arms folded. Occasionally she shifted her jaw or stretched her fingers to help work out the last of the paralysis. Sherrel sat off to her right, my left, and was only partially visible in my non-bandaged eye. From what I could see, she looked as tired as I felt. Neither of us had said much to each other past the first hour. We had worked in diligent silence, only talking to tell others what we needed to keep our task going.
Wisps of pink mist rolled past the tiny windows near the top of the van. It had finally thinned enough for us to take a break from improving the Muncher Cruncher, and the PRT had graciously offered us a place to rest.
Once Legend had arrived, it hadn't been hard for him to corral civilians, or capes, to our location to help them remember. With their ability to register faces back, we used them to get more people and to gather more things to beef up the big Muncher Cruncher. Before long, she was big enough for her range to cover a fifth of the city. Once we got more tinkers, the process escalated as they started working on their own devices. A snowball that kept growing in size as it gathered more snow as it kept rolling down the hill.
Not everyone wanted to help, but most of them did. Others weren't so charitable, and would only help if we paid them in money or supplies. We did without them.
Healing capes were already being shipped in from out of town to help fix the last of the damage to our brains. As much as Muncher Cruncher one through five helped, she wasn't able to fix us completely. We were still on the clock, in a way. Armsmaster's brain scans showed severe damage that would worsen if left unchecked. He had left at some point to start working on something to help, but never came back.
There were plenty of things left in the wake of Slaughterhouse Nine that neither the healers nor Muncher Cruncher could heal. We were going to be recovering for a while.
One hard-earned victory didn't make up for the tide of losses.
Mouse Protector cleared her throat. Her limbs were working again, but her movement still looked stilted and a little off. Moving numb limbs that felt like weights took a lot of effort. Mine still tingled with pins and needles sometimes.
"We should talk," Mouse Protector interrupted the silence. Her words were slightly slurred as she worked her still-recovering tongue into sentences. I was too tired to nod, so I gave her a thumbs-up without raising my hand. "We're–" she started, then stopped. I watched her chew on her words for a moment. "I've no idea what to say."
"Thanks for trying, anyway, M-P," I comforted her.
"No. It's not that I have no idea—it's more that I don't know how to word it. I've never really needed to apologise before—unfamiliar ground, for me—and I'm not sure what to say," Mouse Protector continued.
Sherrel scoffed as she folded her arms. I turned my head a little to see her better.
"Don't give me that. I was wrong about you, too, but I apologised," Mouse said to her.
"Only because the fog was closing in. Don't think you would have otherwise," Sherrel said back. She continued to stare at the floor.
"I would have!" Mouse threw her hands up. "I was getting to it." Sherrel didn't seem convinced. "Look, ki—Raccoon Knight, I'm sorry, okay? Hurting you isn't something I would do normally, and I feel awful about it—even if I weren't really in control."
I shrugged. "Water under the bridge."
"Barely even an apology—you can't just take that," Sherrel interrupted. "I watched her hold a sword to your throat. You were fighting each other by the time I left!"
"The kid posed a threat. The most tactically sound decision was to stop her; it's practically a compliment," Mouse argued.
"You did say some pretty mean things to me, M-P," I interrupted. "It wasn't just fighting me."
Mouse Protector shifted in her seat to lean a little closer to me. "Part of the game, kid—like I taught you. Keep your enemy off-guard, both physically and mentally." She tapped a finger against her temple.
"It still hurt," I mumbled.
Mouse Protector huffed out a breath. "Fine. I'm sorry. Actually sorry," she stressed the words. "Wouldn't have been so harsh if I knew it was you, kid—but I still did it, so I'm sorry."
"That's good enough for me, I think," I told her. Maybe I would change my mind in the future, but right now, I just wanted to rest. Today was exhausting. Mouse Protector meant well, even though her words had stung. None of us had been in our right mind, so I could hardly blame her.
The van jolted up as we passed over a speed bump. My stump sent a sharp pain through my arm as it jostled against the dressing. Even with the pain meds, I was forced to grit my teeth to stop myself from crying out.
There weren't the facilities for surgery right now—and I wouldn't have stopped working for it—so I had to settle for an oddly shaped set of bandages and a belt tied around my arm to stop the blood flow. The lack of a healed over stump would make it easier to slot a new arm in later, at least. My eye had been covered by a stick-on bandage with itchy wool stuffed behind it, and all the new scars on my face were covered in strips of bandages, too. I felt one step removed from a horror movie mummy.
Sherrel laid her head back against the van with a sigh. "You're too forgiving," she said.
"If someone says they're sorry, that means they're willing to try to fix things. So long as she tries, I don't mind," I said. "Not every sorry will fix things instantly, but it's a start to it."
"Call that compassion in the biz'." Mouse Protector smiled at me. It was a little lopsided. I didn't have enough energy to maintain my smile back for more than a second.
The van began to slow down. We couldn't see exactly where we were, with the only windows being up top, but I did see concrete pass by close to the windows across from me. An alleyway, maybe. I didn't care—far too tired. The moment we finished the big Muncher Cruncher, the energy drained from my entire body and left a rag-doll version of me in my place. Even if a fight had shown up, I wasn't sure I could have mustered the energy to do anything about it.
I wasn't even sure what time it was; time had blended while my brain focused on improving M-C. So many times I forgot I was even human as the secrets of the universe were flowing through me to replicate the blueprint in my brain.
The backdoor of the van slid open to reveal a dark, underground car park lit only by the PRT officer's flashlight. My brain stumbled for a moment trying to figure out how they had a working one before I realised that I didn't care. They probably imported it from out of town or had protections to stop it from breaking.
I stifled a yawn as I tried to muster the energy to get up.
The PRT officer's once mirror-sheened facemask was coated with mud with a large crack running across it. Mouse Protector patted the officer on the shoulder as she hopped out of the van. She had slid her helmet on at some point without me realising.
I groaned as I got up to head out. Any amount of walking was too much. A warm pile of the pink insulation fluff you find inside of walls would be so nice right now. Put my weighted blanket on top of that pile and I'm pretty sure I would sleep for a week straight.
I dragged my feet as I walked across the hard concrete floor. This was the exact opposite of what I requested.
For once, my brain was as tired as I was. Not many thoughts other than 'find a bed' came through my brain. Even while trying to go to sleep, my brain liked to sprint around the room as it brought up a million and one topics that it absolutely had to tell me right at that very moment. Right now, we agreed: sleep, please—or food. Food would be good too. Food and sleep.
We were guided into an elevator hidden behind a fake wall. The inside of the elevator was perfectly lit despite having no visible lights, so the officer clicked off their flashlight. I knew that our journey up would be smooth as silk, too, thanks to the tinker-tech design. When I was still a Ward, I always hoped the elevator would break so that I could see how it was made as I repaired it. In hindsight, Armsmaster probably would have given me access to the design if I had asked.
The officer flicked up a lanyard to the scanner, which opened the top-access panel with a click. There were more buttons hidden below that led down to the basement if you had a Ward's lanyard. Probably more below that if you had some ultra-secret access card. Other than the door closing and the number on the display ticking up, there wasn't any sign we had started moving.
I must have dozed off because the door opened faster than I expected.
Mouse Protector and Sherrel wandered out as they followed behind the officer. There weren't many people on this floor, only a scant few PRT officers rushing past with heavy-looking firearms. All of them had mismatched armour pieces and scratches on their helmets. They had been out there, the same as me, trying to help people while risking their lives.
My mom had been out there with them. I had no idea how she was. The radio silence might have been worrying, but I knew she was too strong to die. Both of us were too strong to die, even as we sacrificed to save others.
I pushed the bad thoughts out of my mind. Being tired made me weirdly emotional in a way I didn't like. Warriors should have equal control over their emotions as they do with a blade.
Thanks to my short legs, I needed to jog sometimes to catch up with the group; my calf muscles protested by burning with each quickened step.
Oh, robot legs, how I miss you. Maybe when I made my new arm, I could replace some of my old parts as well. Panacea might be a little upset I replaced her hard work, though. Wherever she was.
The officer opened the door to an interview room. Other than a metal table and a few chairs, there wasn't much else. The one-way mirror was missing entirely, letting us see a smaller room with some filing cabinets and its own desk through the hole.
There wasn't anyone waiting for us in there, either. I squashed my disappointment that my mom wasn't there.
But there was something special waiting on the table. Food.
A plastic tray piled with all sorts of food sat on the metal table in the middle of the room. They were all pre-packaged things like sandwiches in plastic triangular containers, bags of chips, and plastic bottles of water. A meal fit for royalty. I wasn't sure what we did to deserve such luxury.
"Help yourselves," the officer said in the funny accent cowboys used in Western movies. "Someone will be here shortly. Wait here until then."
I pried into a sandwich and loaded it with chips to get more food per bite. Their flavours didn't mesh well at all, but, at that moment, it tasted like food from the gods. Sherrel and Mouse dug in shortly after me. They both ate a lot calmer than I did, but I saw the way Sherrel's eyes lit up as she chowed down. She hadn't eaten much at all the past week, from what I knew.
I wanted to ask if she was feeling any of the symptoms of her withdrawal yet, but I didn't want to interrupt the one moment we finally got to rest. Later, then, or the moment it seems like she's hurting—whichever came first.
Both of them were important to me in a way that was hard to describe. Saving Sherrel hadn't been a hard choice, as much as the results pained me. Fist-fighting Bonesaw to save Mouse Protector hadn't been a hard choice, either.
Being a hero meant making sacrifices to save others, and I would make those same sacrifices again in a heartbeat.
Delicious food filled my tummy as I scoffed down as much as I could. When you can eat, you have to make sure to eat as much as you can in case the meals stop flowing. You never knew when the next one would be. I didn't squirrel any of the food away into my pockets for later, since I was sharing with friends.
About fifteen minutes later, a light blared in the room to signal someone's arrival. Mouse Protector and I put our helmets back on. I tried not to be too annoyed about being forced to stop eating. An officer, a different one than before, entered thirty seconds later.
"Miss," he said as he gestured to me. "Come with me."
"We'll save some for you, kid. Don't worry," Mouse Protector said. I was pretty sure I had already eaten more than both of them combined, but I thanked her anyway and left with the officer.
We walked in silence as he led me through the PRT building. Thankfully, he walked slowly enough that my legs didn't ache too much keeping up with him. After an eternity of walking (I had had enough for one lifetime) he led me to an unmarked room. Where once there had been a window on the door, there was only a foggy plastic sheet that flapped a little in the breeze.
"In there," he said, then promptly turned and left without explaining anything.
I floundered for a moment to think of something to say before he vanished around the corner. Rude.
I pressed my face against the frosty plastic sheet to see inside. A blurry shape of a person was sitting on a chair against the wall. They had their face pressed into their hands. Too short to be Director Calvert, and they weren't wearing a helmet. I had no clue who they were.
As I entered the room, the answer became clear; it was my mom.
Her hair poked out between her fingers in a wild mess that made me think of my own. I could feel the exhaustion radiating off of her.
She looked up as she heard the door click open. A stick-on bandage ran up the right side of her jaw, similar to the one covering my eye. Another bandage sat across the bridge of her nose and it did little to hide the fact her nose had been broken.
"Meadow," she breathed out as she said my name, making it practically a sigh. Her eyes flicked to my stump arm and then between each bandage on my face. After she was done, she somehow looked more tired than she had before.
Neither of us made a move to get closer. Silence stretched out before us, further than even Vista could stretch something. There were so many words I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to tell her, but none of them came out. I squeezed my arms in a self-hug as if I could push the words out of me.
"Why—" my mom started saying.
"I'm—" I said at the same time. We both stopped talking. I opened my mouth to start again but decided against it. "You go," I said.
Mom hid her face behind her hands before she spoke. "Why, Meadow? Why do you keep doing this to me?"
"Doing what?" I said. My voice was quiet, and for a moment I wondered if she even heard me.
"You tell me to my face that you'll be safe, for once,, and I believe you entirely because I trust you. But then you break that trust. You decide that it has to be you who saves people. It has to be you who risks your life. You're just a kid—not even old enough to drive—but you're going out there and fighting monsters. My commanding officer wouldn't let me anywhere near the Nine, and yet there you were right next to them," she said, her voice thick with an emotion I couldn't place.
"I wanted to help," I said. It felt like all I needed to say. Helping people was what heroes did.
Mom slid her head down her arms into the crook of her elbows. "They're contesting the adoption."
The words hit me like a truck. My breath hitched as all the air was sucked out of the room. We were supposed to become a family together. Heather was supposed to adopt me, and we would be happy together forever. She would be my mom, my actual mom
"What? Why?" I managed to say.
"Because I'm a bad parent. I let you stay here after Leviathan—on your own, in a dangerous city full of chaos—and then… and then I let you stay here when the Slaughterhouse Nine showed up. The Slaughterhouse fucking Nine," she choked out a sob.
"You're—no, they can't do that. I'm a hero, I was helping people. They can't do that!" I slumped to my knees. "They can't do that."
"They're right too, Meadow," she said. Her head remained hidden behind her arms. I wanted to look at her face, to tell if she was lying. This had to be a prank.
"No, they can't," I repeated. My voice shook as I struggled to speak past the lump in my throat.
Mom, if I could even tell her that any more, sighed. "I wanted to tell you before, but Shatterbird had just attacked and we were both tired and I—I was a coward. I'm sorry, Meadow. Maybe if I told you back then, you wouldn't be missing an arm and an eye. This is all my fault."
"It's not," I said between hitching sobs. I wouldn't cry. Heroes have to be brave, no matter what.
"It is, Meadow."
My tear ducts betrayed me. A torrential downpour of tears poured out of my good eye. The other was too ruined for even crying. Sobbing wouldn't help anyone, but they escaped my lips anyway. Everything hurt, and the painkillers failed to numb it. Cruel spikes of sadness ripped me apart at the seams, and I failed to hold myself together.
Strong arms wrapped around me in a gentle hug before I could spiral further.
I pushed myself into my mom's arms. One hand rubbed gentle circles across my back as I sobbed into her shoulder, the other hand stroked my hair. She whispered comforting words in my ears. I could hardly understand them, but they soothed me regardless.
I stayed pressed into her shoulder as if I could change reality by clinging to her.
"We can leave," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "Director Calvert said he can get us some goodwill if we leave the city as soon as possible. I don't know how much it will help, but it's better than nothing, right?"
My words came out as more sobs. Leaving the city wasn't what I wanted; this place was my home and always had been. The Nine had ruined everything, but we could fix it all with hard work. Even with the shelter gone, and my friends missing, I could make things better if I tried. This city needed a hero who could rebuild now more than ever.
If I left, then how could I call myself a hero?
If I stayed, I would lose out on having a family.
In the past, I had felt fine about being on my own. Lauren had left me alone to do whatever I wanted, with only the occasional interruption of false promises. Being on my own had been fine.
No one needed to know where I was or what I was up to, they could never judge me for eating food from a dumpster or for smelling bad. I was free to do whatever I wanted when I wanted to. Entire days could pass where I spoke to no one, completely lost in a fantasy adventure of my own making. There weren't any limits on how much candy I ate, or how long I stayed awake. My friends couldn't leave me or be upset with me because I didn't have any to disappoint.
I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted.
But no one had ever given me nice food and warm clothes. They had never braided my hair or taught me how to do makeup. No one had been my friend. Even if I inevitably ruined my friendships, at least they had been nice for a while. Being alone wasn't bad, but having people around had been better.
No one ever loved me, before.
I squeezed my mom as tight as I could. Lauren never hugged me like this. She wouldn't have cared about my safety at all.
The choice was easy, wasn't it?
Author's Note:
And that's the end of Raccoon Knight's story. Meadow could only have gone two ways from here: throwing herself full body into more and more danger until she can't any more, or finally accepting that she needs a break from her horrible life. I hope this ending hasn't felt too abrupt (it is partially meant to, in a way), but it makes sense to end it here, for me.
Tomorrow at (roughly) the same time, Epilogue A.
Last edited:
Epilogue A; Greener pastures
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Epilogue A; Greener pastures
"Meadow." Mel smiled as she saw me. She got up out of the booth to pull me into a firm hug. Every time we met back up, she had gained several inches of height on me. Either I needed to start growing soon, or she needed to stop. Her winter coat had been discarded on the back of the booth's chair, which let me see her shirt dedicated to a metal band with a name I couldn't read.
I hugged her back. As always, she smelt like cherries. "It's so good to see you, Mel," I said, mostly into her shoulder.
Pueblo had mild weather that matched Brockton Bay at times, but when it snowed, it snowed. Rather than horrid black slush shoved to the side of the street, we had actual full layers of snow. It was kind of magical until I realised how damn cold it was. December had brought with it a cold chill that made me miss Brockton Bay winters.
Mel broke the warm hug first, and I tried not to protest. Her hair, like her height, also kept getting longer each time we met. It looked messy but in a deliberate way. She told me she spent a long time trying to get that look each morning. In stark contrast to her growing out her once short hair, I had cut mine down to barely below my ears. After Mannequin, I realised how much it could be used against me in a fight. Other than combing it in the morning, I let it do its own thing. Letting it do 'what it wants' meant it usually stuck out at wild angles.
Mel grinned at me and then gestured to the table. "Already ordered for you," she said.
"Oh?" I asked as I sat down in the plush leather seat. Although we chatted all the time online, we hadn't seen each other in person in a couple of months. I was curious to see if she remembered my order correctly.
"Hot chocolate with marshmallows, whipped cream, and sprinkles—plus, a double chocolate muffin. Pretty sure the cashier grimaced at the idea of that much sugar," Mel said as she took her seat. Seeing that she cared enough to remember what I got was twice as sweet as my order.
"It's a nice treat—not like I eat it all the time."
"You've ordered the same thing twice, now."
"Thrice, if you count today," I corrected her. We met twice back in Boston—where Mel's family had moved to—and once here, now. Plane tickets were expensive, but my mom didn't mind driving me there since we got to meet with the rest of her family at the same time.
"Three times now—and I'm pretty sure that, in total, that's more sugar than a person should have in their entire lives. Good thing you can tinker away any diabetes and tooth decay because otherwise, you'd be wearing dentures and down a foot," Mel tapped a fist against the table in mock rage.
The waiter came over with our drinks and food. He set them down with a smile and a promise that he was at our beck and call should we need anything. With him gone, we were left alone to chat. The pointer on my right hand failed to fold completely as I went to pick off a chunk of the muffin. I would need to fix that later. A pressing question came to mind as I took a sip of my chocolatey goodness.
"Does diabetes make you lose a foot?" I asked.
"My uncle had to have his amputated because he had diabetes," she replied. "No idea why, though, only that it happened."
"Huh. Maybe I should do something to stop diabetes." Robot organs, maybe?
"You're not already?"
"Nah. Didn't even know diabetes was caused by sugar." I shrugged. Anything that didn't outright kill me could be fixed. And if I could finally convince my mom to let me store extra brains in the house for backups, outright death wouldn't stop me for too long either.
"And yet, you're still going to drink all of that sugar monstrosity, aren't you?" Mel leaned back with her arm resting on the wooden top of the booth seat.
"Of course," I nodded.
We chatted idly for a bit as I tried to work up the courage to give her the gift I had stuffed in my messenger bag. I had until five PM to give it to her before the deadline would have passed. Earlier would be better, though.
"Thought of a new name, yet?" Mel asked as she sipped at her tea.
I groaned and thumped my head against the wood divider. "Everything I try feels wrong. I workshopped a few with Cut Once while I had him in handcuffs, but he told me all my ideas were lame—and I agree! Star Warrior feels too grandiose, Palabin took too much explaining, and Possum anything would require a whole re-theming that I'm just not up for. And don't get me started on the armour. Stupid Bonesaw and her stupid face," I grumbled.
"No news from Dragon, then?" Mel asked then leaned in. "Which is still so cool that you've spoken to her," she added excitedly.
"Nothing. Bonesaw is still out there, besmirching my intellectual property rights."
Mel snorted out a laugh. "Word-a-day calendar treating you well? Though, not sure if that's how 'besmirching' is used, but sure. Hey, maybe Dragon will find her, and you won't need to worry about it any more?"
"Maybe…" I wasn't holding out hope. Until Bonesaw was dead, I wouldn't get to use Raccoon Knight again. Either that or I risked that tiny monster coming here looking for me. The choice wasn't hard, but I would still grumble.
"A less—hopefully—frustrating question, then: You told me last time you were setting up training with the Wards, did you go through with it?"
I half-shrugged. "Sort of. They agreed—and they're great people—but they're not great fighters…" I sighed. "I got told off for throwing dirt in one of their faces during a fight. And for pulling Aqua's hair. And for spitting blood into Aqua's eye." Mel's look of concern told me she didn't approve of my tactics. "They were all the best tactical decisions," I told her to help ease her worries. "Apparently, they're frowned upon in a 'friendly' fight—or at all. Doesn't matter, anyway, even without pissing them off because I broke their jetpacks during a training fight, none of them are ever going to hurt me, which makes the fight boring. My body still misses the adrenaline. Nothing hits the same, here. Even Cut Once refuses to fight me for real. He has no idea how to even use those knives; you'd think he'd nick me at least once on accident!"
Pouting, I took a drink of my hot chocolate. It helped, a little.
"You want to be hurt?" The concern on her face was obvious.
"No, that's not it. More, that being hurt means I'm fighting for real; that's what I miss. All of these fights feel like they're just pretend—like we're playing. Not even the worst villains here would consider hurting me. They might knock me down to stop me chasing them, but none of them are fighting for their life. It's like a game, to them: Get dressed up, go out and have some fun, earn a little money, and if you get caught you can just escape later anyway. No one around here is fighting like their lives depend on it. I feel like I missed an important meeting between the heroes and villains where they agreed to not injure each other or something."
Mel creased her eyebrows together and pressed a finger against her lip like she did when she was intensely thinking about something. I left her to her thoughts as I took a bite from my muffin. Sweet food always helped bitter moods. Fighting had been my life for the longest time, and I wasn't sure who I was without it. In a fight, I knew exactly who I was and what I was supposed to do. I was a warrior dead set on protecting those around me at all costs. If my life wasn't on the line, how was I supposed to fight?
"I think you're adapting, still," Mel spoke after what felt like an eternity of thinking. "Like when you get a pet who came from a bad home, and they're not used to your nice, loving home, so they need time to adjust. They have to learn that they don't need to act the same way they did back then, but they only learn that by showing it to them. You're learning all new rules while only knowing how to play by the old ones."
I shrugged automatically as I took in her words. "The new rules don't make any sense."
"Aren't they better, though? Not having to fight for your life sounds nice to me."
"You're not wrong; it feels wrong, though. I'm not some psychopath who wants to hurt people, but sometimes you need to bite someone to make them let go of you. It's not like I'm going around hurting them for no reason. They're criminals who are trying to escape, and if I have to stomp on their leg to stop them from getting away with a bunch of money, isn't that reasonable?"
"I'm not sure if it matters what you think is reasonable," Mel said. She raised a hand as I opened my mouth to reply. "Don't take that wrong. I think you're right, even, but it doesn't matter if everyone else thinks you're wrong, right? Adults will tell you off sometimes for doing something wrong, and even if you don't understand why it's wrong, you stop doing it—or at least I do. I used to get in fights a lot, and I never understood why people got mad at me for it—the kids I hit were being dicks, and they deserved it—but people were still upset with me for starting fights. It didn't matter how much I explained that they were being awful, all they saw was me punching someone. So I get shoved in anger management, I get punished, and I end up in remedial classes since I didn't stop. After that, I took a step back to try to figure it out. Adults kept telling me that it wasn't a solution, but it was—it shut the idiots up and even if they fought back, it was only me getting hurt. Punching them wasn't a bad thing. But, I thought about it some more and I think it escalated the situation. Maybe I wouldn't have got in so many fights if I tried using words first—I still would have punched them if they didn't stop, don't get me wrong—but maybe I wouldn't have needed to punch them if I tried telling them to shove off first." Mel shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that my life is less violent since I stopped going straight to violence. Plus," she scratched at her cheek. "Some of those situations were misunderstandings. I regret those."
I stewed in her words. Part of the duties of the Protectorate had been to de-escalate situations without violence. Not every situation called for it, after all. Maybe because the villains here weren't taking hostages, or attacking people to get away, I shouldn't escalate straight to violence? It wasn't like I was lacking options to take people down without hurting them directly. Roro had plenty of stink gas and that took down almost everyone right away. I didn't need to run in after I sprayed her at someone to kick them as well. It made sense, tactically, to hit them while they were distracted, but it wasn't strictly necessary.
"I can try it. I'm not going to let villains get away, but I guess I don't need to hurt them as much as I do to do that. Measure Twice is still running with a bit of a limp, even after I offered to heal him if he let me arrest him." Maybe ignoring the guilty feeling every time I saw him by saying he deserved the injury was part of the problem. No maybes about it—it definitely was.
"Good," Mel smiled. "Might be easier to get that team going if they know you're not going to teach them to bite people."
I laughed a little at the joke, but it felt hollow. "Not sure that'll ever happen; all the indies treat me like I have the plague. Manifold trades gear with me sometimes, but she doesn't want to be part of a team. The rest don't like patrolling with me any more, so it's hard to ask them." I sighed. "I miss Mouse Protector."
"Where'd she end up, anyway?"
"New York, I think. She doesn't talk about it, but I think she took a deal from Legend."
"The Legend?" Mel seemed a little starstruck at the mention of his name. A fan?
"Yeah. Mouse met him, and the rest of the Triumvirate, when she joined the Wards. Getting any information from her about those early days is so hard, though. She'll mention stuff offhandedly, and I have to try to guess if it was important or not. 'Hey, Meadow, Chevalier taught me how to do this manoeuvre.' or 'Meadow, what I just said comes from the mouth of Legend himself.' I've actually met him, too, but we didn't talk much."
"You met Legend?!"
"He helped me get rid of the fog. I mostly just told him what to do and he agreed. Not much time for actually talking to him."
"You ordered Legend around? I… Meadow, your life is ridiculous. You'll talk about such wild things as if they're normal, or you'll bring up the Slaughterhouse Nine people by name and scare the hell out of me. I think Mouse Protector isn't the only one who brings things up offhandedly."
"I'm not that bad… Am I?" I asked. Mel nodded, confirming my fears. "Oh. Guess I'm a hippo for complaining, then."
"A hippo?" Mel chuckled.
"Like I'm complaining about a thing I do when another person does it without realising I'm also doing it. Stuff like that makes you a hippo."
"Oh! Hypocrite?"
"Is… is that an actual word?"
"Sounds like someone hasn't been keeping up with her word-a-day calendar," she smirked at me.
"It hasn't come up yet! But fine, I will try to not be a hypocrite. Mouse Protector could stand to message me once in a while, though."
Mel smiled as she sipped at her tea. "Sorry that she doesn't. At least you have, um, I forgot her name. Shirley?
"Sherrel," I corrected her. "But she's all the way in California. At least she talks to me, though; sends me updates about her life rather than one-word responses. It's nice seeing those progress reports, a nice reminder of how far she's come. Six months sober! We're actually meeting up for Christmas, which will be fun." I paused before adding, "No need to be jealous, though, her flight is four days away, so we have plenty of time together," I smiled at Mel who returned her own.
"Only four days of Meadow? Woe with me," she placed a hand over her heart.
"Don't be a dork, we're hanging out after Christmas, too. You're still here until after New Year's, right?"
"Yeah. Dad is excited to go skiing, and I can't wait to watch him fall on his face. Oh, have you spoken to Abi, lately?" she asked out of the blue. My smile dropped a little as my mood turned a little more sour at the mention of Abi. Right now, I wanted to talk about Mel, not me. We'd done pretty much nothing but talk about me. Asking Mel questions about herself always took a bit of force. Whenever we met up, she would drive the conversation by asking me every question under the sun before I could even ask her one. When questioned, she'd always say: 'I like hearing about you more than I like hearing about me.'. But I liked hearing about her.
I sighed. "Unfortunately, I have. Can't really call it a conversation, though. She finally responds after months of me messaging her every day, and it's a huge wall of text about how she can't be around me, and she wants me to stop messaging her." I sighed and hugged my arms. "I can't even blame her for it. Seeing me reminds her of her trauma. Thinking about me at all makes her think of Burnscar attacking. I hate it—but I can't blame her."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I've… therapy's been helping with the guilt. It's hard since they were my fan club. Knowing I failed a friend is awful, but I failed the first people to ever support me as well. Have—have you spoken with her at all?"
"A little," Mel paused to sip her tea. "We were never really friends, so we don't speak much at all any more. She told me she was doing better, though. Her parents were thinking of moving upstate since their insurance came in. Not sure what else. Oh, she started dating Dash? Or Bert started dating Dash? It's not clear, and I didn't bother to ask."
I flushed a little at the mention of dating. This conversation had veered into a lot of darker topics, and being suddenly reminded of what I was supposed to be doing today caught me off guard. Today was supposed to be the day I asked Mel to go on a date with me. An actual romantic date. Instead, I spoke about fighting, the Slaughterhouse Nine, and then one of the many horrible things the Nine did. Good work, Meadow. Very romantic.
"That's good. At least she isn't alone." I bit into my muffin to distract myself. "How're you, anyway? Feels like we've talked about me a lot, sorry."
"I like talking about you," she repeated, the same line as last time, and the time before. She grinned at me. "But, I'm okay. Dad got his three-year chip, so we went out for lobster. Turns out, I'm allergic to shellfish; blew up like a balloon."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, minor allergy at best. Wait, I have a picture." Mel fished out her phone to show me a picture of her face all swelled up. It didn't look like a minor allergy, with how much her face had puffed up and grown bright red. "Hilarious, right?"
I looked between her grin and the picture. Were we seeing the same thing?
"Uh, yeah, hilarious." She kept grinning as she put her phone away. I didn't understand at all.
"So, yeah, dad freaked out, yada yada. We ended up eating hospital food while watching sitcoms on this tiny hospital TV that I could barely see through my puffed-up eyes," she snickered. "Other than that, it's mostly been about settling into my new school. They didn't shove me in remedial classes again—thank God—but I'm not used to being around so many people, now. Our class was barely eight people, which has nothing on the thirty-two in my new ones. Plus, I gotta remember all the classrooms and different teacher names—it's a lot. Winter break is going to make me forget all of them, too, I can feel it."
"Write them down while you still remember them, maybe? Like, write the classroom number, subject, and their name down on a piece of paper that you can put in your pocket to look at whenever you need to."
"That's—am I stupid? Why didn't I think of that?" Mel pursed her lips.
"I'm used to forgetting things, so I'm always trying to come up with ways to remember. Though that tactic wouldn't work for me, since I would forget the paper." I laughed.
"Yeah, I think I would too," Mel laughed with me. It felt nice to hear her in real life again. The microphone on her laptop wasn't the best.
My heart fluttered in my chest as I tried to muster the courage to ask her. What if she said no? What if she said yes?
"So, uh, Mel, I've been, um, thinking. No, not thinking. Well, I have been thinking, but that's not what I meant to say."
She raised her eyebrow at me. "Okay?"
"Sorry. I've, um, I'll just show you." I hurried to search through my messenger bag to find it. It took painful seconds to find the envelope tucked away beneath all the random crap I had. "Here." I thrust the letter towards her a little too forcefully. She flinched but took it. As she tore it open, I tried to explain. "I thought it could be fun if we went together—they have some cool exhibits—and I was thinking we could go together as you know, like, a date? We can get food after, and maybe watch a movie, too—or we can skip the museum entirely if you think it's too boring." Each added word made me want to curl up and die. Facing down murderers hadn't been this hard.
Mel looked at the tickets inside the envelope. "Sure, sounds fun," she said with a shrug.
Her casual response took the wind out of my sails a little. Did that mean she wasn't as excited about the idea as I was? Looking a little closer at her face for answers, I could see a blush creeping in past her dark makeup, and she kept her eyes locked to her tea as if she could drink it with them. I smiled at her.
"Yeah!" I said a little too loudly. "And I was thinking—if it goes well—we could try being girlfriends?"
It was my turn to look away as Mel looked up at me. She placed her hand over my fake one. Hopefully, my simulation skin felt real enough that it wasn't off-putting. "I'd like that," she said.
I turned my hand around for her to hold properly. My chest felt like it was on fire with excitement, and I had no idea where to look or what to do with my limbs— but knowing that I could still have normal girl moments like this meant the world to me. Seeing that things outside of being a hero still gave me that same rush of adrenaline, that same spike of anxiety, it was nice, in a weird way.
Maybe everything would be okay. If they weren't, hopefully, Mel and my mom would be there to help.
I could get better, and that was all I needed.
The choice really had been obvious, hadn't it?
"Meadow." Mel smiled as she saw me. She got up out of the booth to pull me into a firm hug. Every time we met back up, she had gained several inches of height on me. Either I needed to start growing soon, or she needed to stop. Her winter coat had been discarded on the back of the booth's chair, which let me see her shirt dedicated to a metal band with a name I couldn't read.
I hugged her back. As always, she smelt like cherries. "It's so good to see you, Mel," I said, mostly into her shoulder.
Pueblo had mild weather that matched Brockton Bay at times, but when it snowed, it snowed. Rather than horrid black slush shoved to the side of the street, we had actual full layers of snow. It was kind of magical until I realised how damn cold it was. December had brought with it a cold chill that made me miss Brockton Bay winters.
Mel broke the warm hug first, and I tried not to protest. Her hair, like her height, also kept getting longer each time we met. It looked messy but in a deliberate way. She told me she spent a long time trying to get that look each morning. In stark contrast to her growing out her once short hair, I had cut mine down to barely below my ears. After Mannequin, I realised how much it could be used against me in a fight. Other than combing it in the morning, I let it do its own thing. Letting it do 'what it wants' meant it usually stuck out at wild angles.
Mel grinned at me and then gestured to the table. "Already ordered for you," she said.
"Oh?" I asked as I sat down in the plush leather seat. Although we chatted all the time online, we hadn't seen each other in person in a couple of months. I was curious to see if she remembered my order correctly.
"Hot chocolate with marshmallows, whipped cream, and sprinkles—plus, a double chocolate muffin. Pretty sure the cashier grimaced at the idea of that much sugar," Mel said as she took her seat. Seeing that she cared enough to remember what I got was twice as sweet as my order.
"It's a nice treat—not like I eat it all the time."
"You've ordered the same thing twice, now."
"Thrice, if you count today," I corrected her. We met twice back in Boston—where Mel's family had moved to—and once here, now. Plane tickets were expensive, but my mom didn't mind driving me there since we got to meet with the rest of her family at the same time.
"Three times now—and I'm pretty sure that, in total, that's more sugar than a person should have in their entire lives. Good thing you can tinker away any diabetes and tooth decay because otherwise, you'd be wearing dentures and down a foot," Mel tapped a fist against the table in mock rage.
The waiter came over with our drinks and food. He set them down with a smile and a promise that he was at our beck and call should we need anything. With him gone, we were left alone to chat. The pointer on my right hand failed to fold completely as I went to pick off a chunk of the muffin. I would need to fix that later. A pressing question came to mind as I took a sip of my chocolatey goodness.
"Does diabetes make you lose a foot?" I asked.
"My uncle had to have his amputated because he had diabetes," she replied. "No idea why, though, only that it happened."
"Huh. Maybe I should do something to stop diabetes." Robot organs, maybe?
"You're not already?"
"Nah. Didn't even know diabetes was caused by sugar." I shrugged. Anything that didn't outright kill me could be fixed. And if I could finally convince my mom to let me store extra brains in the house for backups, outright death wouldn't stop me for too long either.
"And yet, you're still going to drink all of that sugar monstrosity, aren't you?" Mel leaned back with her arm resting on the wooden top of the booth seat.
"Of course," I nodded.
We chatted idly for a bit as I tried to work up the courage to give her the gift I had stuffed in my messenger bag. I had until five PM to give it to her before the deadline would have passed. Earlier would be better, though.
"Thought of a new name, yet?" Mel asked as she sipped at her tea.
I groaned and thumped my head against the wood divider. "Everything I try feels wrong. I workshopped a few with Cut Once while I had him in handcuffs, but he told me all my ideas were lame—and I agree! Star Warrior feels too grandiose, Palabin took too much explaining, and Possum anything would require a whole re-theming that I'm just not up for. And don't get me started on the armour. Stupid Bonesaw and her stupid face," I grumbled.
"No news from Dragon, then?" Mel asked then leaned in. "Which is still so cool that you've spoken to her," she added excitedly.
"Nothing. Bonesaw is still out there, besmirching my intellectual property rights."
Mel snorted out a laugh. "Word-a-day calendar treating you well? Though, not sure if that's how 'besmirching' is used, but sure. Hey, maybe Dragon will find her, and you won't need to worry about it any more?"
"Maybe…" I wasn't holding out hope. Until Bonesaw was dead, I wouldn't get to use Raccoon Knight again. Either that or I risked that tiny monster coming here looking for me. The choice wasn't hard, but I would still grumble.
"A less—hopefully—frustrating question, then: You told me last time you were setting up training with the Wards, did you go through with it?"
I half-shrugged. "Sort of. They agreed—and they're great people—but they're not great fighters…" I sighed. "I got told off for throwing dirt in one of their faces during a fight. And for pulling Aqua's hair. And for spitting blood into Aqua's eye." Mel's look of concern told me she didn't approve of my tactics. "They were all the best tactical decisions," I told her to help ease her worries. "Apparently, they're frowned upon in a 'friendly' fight—or at all. Doesn't matter, anyway, even without pissing them off because I broke their jetpacks during a training fight, none of them are ever going to hurt me, which makes the fight boring. My body still misses the adrenaline. Nothing hits the same, here. Even Cut Once refuses to fight me for real. He has no idea how to even use those knives; you'd think he'd nick me at least once on accident!"
Pouting, I took a drink of my hot chocolate. It helped, a little.
"You want to be hurt?" The concern on her face was obvious.
"No, that's not it. More, that being hurt means I'm fighting for real; that's what I miss. All of these fights feel like they're just pretend—like we're playing. Not even the worst villains here would consider hurting me. They might knock me down to stop me chasing them, but none of them are fighting for their life. It's like a game, to them: Get dressed up, go out and have some fun, earn a little money, and if you get caught you can just escape later anyway. No one around here is fighting like their lives depend on it. I feel like I missed an important meeting between the heroes and villains where they agreed to not injure each other or something."
Mel creased her eyebrows together and pressed a finger against her lip like she did when she was intensely thinking about something. I left her to her thoughts as I took a bite from my muffin. Sweet food always helped bitter moods. Fighting had been my life for the longest time, and I wasn't sure who I was without it. In a fight, I knew exactly who I was and what I was supposed to do. I was a warrior dead set on protecting those around me at all costs. If my life wasn't on the line, how was I supposed to fight?
"I think you're adapting, still," Mel spoke after what felt like an eternity of thinking. "Like when you get a pet who came from a bad home, and they're not used to your nice, loving home, so they need time to adjust. They have to learn that they don't need to act the same way they did back then, but they only learn that by showing it to them. You're learning all new rules while only knowing how to play by the old ones."
I shrugged automatically as I took in her words. "The new rules don't make any sense."
"Aren't they better, though? Not having to fight for your life sounds nice to me."
"You're not wrong; it feels wrong, though. I'm not some psychopath who wants to hurt people, but sometimes you need to bite someone to make them let go of you. It's not like I'm going around hurting them for no reason. They're criminals who are trying to escape, and if I have to stomp on their leg to stop them from getting away with a bunch of money, isn't that reasonable?"
"I'm not sure if it matters what you think is reasonable," Mel said. She raised a hand as I opened my mouth to reply. "Don't take that wrong. I think you're right, even, but it doesn't matter if everyone else thinks you're wrong, right? Adults will tell you off sometimes for doing something wrong, and even if you don't understand why it's wrong, you stop doing it—or at least I do. I used to get in fights a lot, and I never understood why people got mad at me for it—the kids I hit were being dicks, and they deserved it—but people were still upset with me for starting fights. It didn't matter how much I explained that they were being awful, all they saw was me punching someone. So I get shoved in anger management, I get punished, and I end up in remedial classes since I didn't stop. After that, I took a step back to try to figure it out. Adults kept telling me that it wasn't a solution, but it was—it shut the idiots up and even if they fought back, it was only me getting hurt. Punching them wasn't a bad thing. But, I thought about it some more and I think it escalated the situation. Maybe I wouldn't have got in so many fights if I tried using words first—I still would have punched them if they didn't stop, don't get me wrong—but maybe I wouldn't have needed to punch them if I tried telling them to shove off first." Mel shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that my life is less violent since I stopped going straight to violence. Plus," she scratched at her cheek. "Some of those situations were misunderstandings. I regret those."
I stewed in her words. Part of the duties of the Protectorate had been to de-escalate situations without violence. Not every situation called for it, after all. Maybe because the villains here weren't taking hostages, or attacking people to get away, I shouldn't escalate straight to violence? It wasn't like I was lacking options to take people down without hurting them directly. Roro had plenty of stink gas and that took down almost everyone right away. I didn't need to run in after I sprayed her at someone to kick them as well. It made sense, tactically, to hit them while they were distracted, but it wasn't strictly necessary.
"I can try it. I'm not going to let villains get away, but I guess I don't need to hurt them as much as I do to do that. Measure Twice is still running with a bit of a limp, even after I offered to heal him if he let me arrest him." Maybe ignoring the guilty feeling every time I saw him by saying he deserved the injury was part of the problem. No maybes about it—it definitely was.
"Good," Mel smiled. "Might be easier to get that team going if they know you're not going to teach them to bite people."
I laughed a little at the joke, but it felt hollow. "Not sure that'll ever happen; all the indies treat me like I have the plague. Manifold trades gear with me sometimes, but she doesn't want to be part of a team. The rest don't like patrolling with me any more, so it's hard to ask them." I sighed. "I miss Mouse Protector."
"Where'd she end up, anyway?"
"New York, I think. She doesn't talk about it, but I think she took a deal from Legend."
"The Legend?" Mel seemed a little starstruck at the mention of his name. A fan?
"Yeah. Mouse met him, and the rest of the Triumvirate, when she joined the Wards. Getting any information from her about those early days is so hard, though. She'll mention stuff offhandedly, and I have to try to guess if it was important or not. 'Hey, Meadow, Chevalier taught me how to do this manoeuvre.' or 'Meadow, what I just said comes from the mouth of Legend himself.' I've actually met him, too, but we didn't talk much."
"You met Legend?!"
"He helped me get rid of the fog. I mostly just told him what to do and he agreed. Not much time for actually talking to him."
"You ordered Legend around? I… Meadow, your life is ridiculous. You'll talk about such wild things as if they're normal, or you'll bring up the Slaughterhouse Nine people by name and scare the hell out of me. I think Mouse Protector isn't the only one who brings things up offhandedly."
"I'm not that bad… Am I?" I asked. Mel nodded, confirming my fears. "Oh. Guess I'm a hippo for complaining, then."
"A hippo?" Mel chuckled.
"Like I'm complaining about a thing I do when another person does it without realising I'm also doing it. Stuff like that makes you a hippo."
"Oh! Hypocrite?"
"Is… is that an actual word?"
"Sounds like someone hasn't been keeping up with her word-a-day calendar," she smirked at me.
"It hasn't come up yet! But fine, I will try to not be a hypocrite. Mouse Protector could stand to message me once in a while, though."
Mel smiled as she sipped at her tea. "Sorry that she doesn't. At least you have, um, I forgot her name. Shirley?
"Sherrel," I corrected her. "But she's all the way in California. At least she talks to me, though; sends me updates about her life rather than one-word responses. It's nice seeing those progress reports, a nice reminder of how far she's come. Six months sober! We're actually meeting up for Christmas, which will be fun." I paused before adding, "No need to be jealous, though, her flight is four days away, so we have plenty of time together," I smiled at Mel who returned her own.
"Only four days of Meadow? Woe with me," she placed a hand over her heart.
"Don't be a dork, we're hanging out after Christmas, too. You're still here until after New Year's, right?"
"Yeah. Dad is excited to go skiing, and I can't wait to watch him fall on his face. Oh, have you spoken to Abi, lately?" she asked out of the blue. My smile dropped a little as my mood turned a little more sour at the mention of Abi. Right now, I wanted to talk about Mel, not me. We'd done pretty much nothing but talk about me. Asking Mel questions about herself always took a bit of force. Whenever we met up, she would drive the conversation by asking me every question under the sun before I could even ask her one. When questioned, she'd always say: 'I like hearing about you more than I like hearing about me.'. But I liked hearing about her.
I sighed. "Unfortunately, I have. Can't really call it a conversation, though. She finally responds after months of me messaging her every day, and it's a huge wall of text about how she can't be around me, and she wants me to stop messaging her." I sighed and hugged my arms. "I can't even blame her for it. Seeing me reminds her of her trauma. Thinking about me at all makes her think of Burnscar attacking. I hate it—but I can't blame her."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I've… therapy's been helping with the guilt. It's hard since they were my fan club. Knowing I failed a friend is awful, but I failed the first people to ever support me as well. Have—have you spoken with her at all?"
"A little," Mel paused to sip her tea. "We were never really friends, so we don't speak much at all any more. She told me she was doing better, though. Her parents were thinking of moving upstate since their insurance came in. Not sure what else. Oh, she started dating Dash? Or Bert started dating Dash? It's not clear, and I didn't bother to ask."
I flushed a little at the mention of dating. This conversation had veered into a lot of darker topics, and being suddenly reminded of what I was supposed to be doing today caught me off guard. Today was supposed to be the day I asked Mel to go on a date with me. An actual romantic date. Instead, I spoke about fighting, the Slaughterhouse Nine, and then one of the many horrible things the Nine did. Good work, Meadow. Very romantic.
"That's good. At least she isn't alone." I bit into my muffin to distract myself. "How're you, anyway? Feels like we've talked about me a lot, sorry."
"I like talking about you," she repeated, the same line as last time, and the time before. She grinned at me. "But, I'm okay. Dad got his three-year chip, so we went out for lobster. Turns out, I'm allergic to shellfish; blew up like a balloon."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, minor allergy at best. Wait, I have a picture." Mel fished out her phone to show me a picture of her face all swelled up. It didn't look like a minor allergy, with how much her face had puffed up and grown bright red. "Hilarious, right?"
I looked between her grin and the picture. Were we seeing the same thing?
"Uh, yeah, hilarious." She kept grinning as she put her phone away. I didn't understand at all.
"So, yeah, dad freaked out, yada yada. We ended up eating hospital food while watching sitcoms on this tiny hospital TV that I could barely see through my puffed-up eyes," she snickered. "Other than that, it's mostly been about settling into my new school. They didn't shove me in remedial classes again—thank God—but I'm not used to being around so many people, now. Our class was barely eight people, which has nothing on the thirty-two in my new ones. Plus, I gotta remember all the classrooms and different teacher names—it's a lot. Winter break is going to make me forget all of them, too, I can feel it."
"Write them down while you still remember them, maybe? Like, write the classroom number, subject, and their name down on a piece of paper that you can put in your pocket to look at whenever you need to."
"That's—am I stupid? Why didn't I think of that?" Mel pursed her lips.
"I'm used to forgetting things, so I'm always trying to come up with ways to remember. Though that tactic wouldn't work for me, since I would forget the paper." I laughed.
"Yeah, I think I would too," Mel laughed with me. It felt nice to hear her in real life again. The microphone on her laptop wasn't the best.
My heart fluttered in my chest as I tried to muster the courage to ask her. What if she said no? What if she said yes?
"So, uh, Mel, I've been, um, thinking. No, not thinking. Well, I have been thinking, but that's not what I meant to say."
She raised her eyebrow at me. "Okay?"
"Sorry. I've, um, I'll just show you." I hurried to search through my messenger bag to find it. It took painful seconds to find the envelope tucked away beneath all the random crap I had. "Here." I thrust the letter towards her a little too forcefully. She flinched but took it. As she tore it open, I tried to explain. "I thought it could be fun if we went together—they have some cool exhibits—and I was thinking we could go together as you know, like, a date? We can get food after, and maybe watch a movie, too—or we can skip the museum entirely if you think it's too boring." Each added word made me want to curl up and die. Facing down murderers hadn't been this hard.
Mel looked at the tickets inside the envelope. "Sure, sounds fun," she said with a shrug.
Her casual response took the wind out of my sails a little. Did that mean she wasn't as excited about the idea as I was? Looking a little closer at her face for answers, I could see a blush creeping in past her dark makeup, and she kept her eyes locked to her tea as if she could drink it with them. I smiled at her.
"Yeah!" I said a little too loudly. "And I was thinking—if it goes well—we could try being girlfriends?"
It was my turn to look away as Mel looked up at me. She placed her hand over my fake one. Hopefully, my simulation skin felt real enough that it wasn't off-putting. "I'd like that," she said.
I turned my hand around for her to hold properly. My chest felt like it was on fire with excitement, and I had no idea where to look or what to do with my limbs— but knowing that I could still have normal girl moments like this meant the world to me. Seeing that things outside of being a hero still gave me that same rush of adrenaline, that same spike of anxiety, it was nice, in a weird way.
Maybe everything would be okay. If they weren't, hopefully, Mel and my mom would be there to help.
I could get better, and that was all I needed.
The choice really had been obvious, hadn't it?
Splattered Cloak
Recovering Line Editor
That's quite the tone shift, which makes sense for an epilogue. She's healing, but wistful; after a series of heart-wrenching self-sacrificing decisions, I wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to leave the Bay that needs her, even with Calvert's oh-so-helpful nudging. If she hadn't left, she would have ended up sacrificing everything in the service of making things just a little better. Especially with the Teeth and the Fallen waiting in the wings.
Part of me wants to see how this ends up affecting the rest of canon; the important pieces might still be in place, but Panacea and/or Skitter might have ended up completely different, and without Mannequin they might not bother to seek out Blasto.
On the other hand, Meadow deserves a happily ever after, and this is really about her story, and that even the Nine couldn't destroy the pure heroism in her heart. She's exactly what some small town will need to pick up the pieces after Gold Morning, but doesn't need to be part of the bigger picture.
This has been hard to read, because she's so adorably lovable, because she cares so much, and this grimdark world tried its best to destroy that. I'm glad I did, and I thank you for leaving it on a hopeful note.
Part of me wants to see how this ends up affecting the rest of canon; the important pieces might still be in place, but Panacea and/or Skitter might have ended up completely different, and without Mannequin they might not bother to seek out Blasto.
On the other hand, Meadow deserves a happily ever after, and this is really about her story, and that even the Nine couldn't destroy the pure heroism in her heart. She's exactly what some small town will need to pick up the pieces after Gold Morning, but doesn't need to be part of the bigger picture.
This has been hard to read, because she's so adorably lovable, because she cares so much, and this grimdark world tried its best to destroy that. I'm glad I did, and I thank you for leaving it on a hopeful note.
Epilogue B; After it all.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Epilogue B; After it all.
Flat metal limbs with too many joints criss-crossed over each like a lattice framework. They spread out like grasping tendrils, their clawed ends speared out to grab everything in the area. Rocks, scrap metal, bits of plastic: Tiny, insignificant scraps of materials that lay littered across the ruins of civilisation. The tendril-like arms didn't discriminate in their task, as they took anything and everything, no matter the size.
The arms, once they had collected their fill, folded inwards to shovel their gains into the open hole in their master's stomach. White, hot flames, closer to plasma, burned inside the hole. Anything thrown inside was disintegrated by the intense heat. Rotating rows of jagged teeth spun around the inner edges of the furnace stomach, and any material too big would be churned apart by the teeth into smaller pieces to disintegrate faster.
The scavenger ignored the arms as it set about its task.
Its shipping container-sized, sleek, steel head—graffitied with a painting of a grassy field filled with flowers—searched to-and-fro across the desolate wasteland. Only ruins were left; ruins that held valuable resources to be recycled.
Thick, corded wires connected the head to the rest of the body. As its digitigrade mechanical legs stomped forward, each step kicked up plumes of dust and smoke that were inhaled through vents across the scavenger's form. Two arms, reminiscent of a raptor, hung from the creature's side. Rarely, the raptor arms would pick up something of interest, such as a broken chunk of wood, to inspect before throwing it in the furnace at the centre of the scavenger's body. Rarer still, the arms would find something worth keeping, like a photograph of a small family, which would be stored away in one of many compartments.
The flat metal arms draped down from the scavenger's back like braids of hair; numerous enough to cloak most of its body behind them. Flying above the arms' exit point, drones of varying sizes spiralled like vultures eyeing up their prey.
Something flapped in the wind, unseen by the scavenger's eyeless head, but the scavenger headed towards it anyway. The drones had seen.
It was only a piece of plastic, caught between two concrete bricks. Into the furnace, it goes.
The scavenger continued to do its namesake across the ruined city.
Finding this place hadn't been an easy task. Only slight rubble sticking out from the dry, cracked dirt proved anyone had lived here at all. Lives once lived were buried beneath the grime and dirt or eradicated by golden light. The scavenger remembered the fight. It remembered volunteering itself to Khepri out of a desire to be useful. It remembered crafting the machine that ended the golden's man light in unison with the others, but it hadn't been in this body. A disconnect between the creator's memories and the scavengers, born of necessity to lessen the dysphoria of changing between their bodies.
Although the fighting had long passed, there was still so much work to do. Cities to be scavenged for others to be rebuilt.
This Earth wasn't the scavenger's own. That Earth would need countless resources to even begin saving. In due time. Everything became a little easier once it had been done once. A snowball that would keep escalating in size and speed.
While still bound to one body at a time, the scavenger knew it was close to a breakthrough; one that would let it create vast quantities of itself with independent copies of the creator's mind. Until then, it would keep scavenging to supply the rebuilding. Any scrap in useable condition wasn't fed to the furnace; instead, it scooped the pieces up into whatever compartments could fit it. There was no organisation to the storage beyond trying to keep materials of the same type close by. So long as it was stored, it didn't matter. At the farm, it would all be dumped into the same pile for future sorting anyway.
Maps of the area were outlined in real-time as the drones above scanned the ground. Those maps were then known by the scavenger in the same instant. A transfer of knowledge that the creator's body lacked. All of this information belonged to the scavenger and the scavenger alone. It would be stored down in the memory banks upon its return, but it knew no one but itself had access to that information. Memories remained private unless pivotal to the farm's survival.
It had almost reached the edge of today's marked area. Tomorrow it would return to scavenge another region of the ruined city.
Although the scavenger's size rivalled the skyscrapers of the old world, the space it had to cover would take weeks of meticulous harvest. At this point, more arms wouldn't help speed up the monumental task. A design for harvester drones, and drones to support those, had been sketched in the creator's home. The resources gathered throughout the ruined city would be used to make a fleet of them. After this city, the scavenger would be set to rest unless a need to defend the camp arose.
Part of it was sad at the idea of no longer being, but it also knew that it would continue to exist in the creator since it was the creator. Perhaps the disconnect between memories needed tweaking to alleviate those concerns. A job for the future.
After finishing the last of the area, the scavenger set about the long trek home. This area had been hit by the worst of the fighting and wasn't suitable for habitation. There weren't many cities left standing on this version of America. Portals connected the ones still around with the efforts in the other worlds. The world was somehow both less and more connected than it ever had been. Cities in liveable conditions no longer held interest to the scavenger: Too much noise, too much fighting. A quieter place was what it, and the creator, needed. Others had come with them to find peace in a smaller slice of the world. The work kept it busy, and the people kept the creator happy. They still dreamt of the golden light during rough nights, but they had each other to help.
The farm looked like its namesake. A large barn—yet still small compared to the scavenger—made from recycled wood sat centre mass. In it were animals of different types. Some were taken from the area in a bid to domestic them, while others were imported from other worlds. Grass spread out for miles across rolling hills. It stood in stark contrast to the dusty remnants of the city it had been working in. Crops were planted in rows inside wooden squares filled with dirt. There were some interesting plants they had found on this planet, and some more familiar.
The scavenger made its way to the designated resting spot. Going past the fences would end with squished property and scared animals, both from the scavenger's titanic footsteps. It lowered itself down between the rows of scaffolding and ordered the arms draping down its body to retract and the drones to return to their charging bays. Its enormous head split open across the bottom to reveal an inner container. Thick, black tape as wide as a blanket slid out from an indented slot. The scavenger fed the tape into a similar slot indented in the floor. Hunched over, it went through the final checklist before clicking both feet into the appropriate slots on the floor and doing the same for its hands.
Lines of text rolled past the black screen that overtook its vision.
My eyes blinked open. The farm, tinted green by the pod's window, greeted me. It took a moment to adjust to how big everything looked from down here compared to how small it had looked up there. It got a little easier each time I went out, at least. I sent out the mental command for the tubes and cables to undock. Plastic tubes snaked out of my nose, with a feeling I would never get used to, as the cables pressed into the slots in my spine unclipped with a hiss.
A robotic voice informed me that all my vitals were normal as the fluid drained from the tank. I rolled my neck to crack it as I waited for the door to open. The drains would need to be scrubbed clean based on how slow the gel was going down. I'll do it tomorrow. Tonight, I had an important meal to attend to with two people I loved very much.
Work on the farm had been finished for the day. Tomorrow, everyone would set about their tasks to keep this place running. The scavenger would be drained of everything I gathered by myself before I set off in it again to gather more things.
There were quite a lot of us at the farm now. While some had left in the past year, more had come to join us. It was kind of scary being the pseudo-leader of such a big community. No one had ever trained me how to lead, and I sometimes messed up. Turns out that being an adult didn't come with any answers. You're told 'Congratulations, you're an adult' and you feel exactly the same but taller. Then if you watch the world end, and you try to find answers by rebuilding, people flock to you because you're doing something even if you've no idea what you're doing. Seeing the farm take shape as a place that could sustain life helped me somewhat. Things were easy to process with tangible visible progress. We even had a baby on the way. It still made my brain stutter when I remembered that. A baby. A real-life baby was going to be born here, past the end of the world. If that didn't scream: 'fuck you, Scion, we survived', I didn't know what did.
I saw lights on in the houses as I made my way to my own. Seeing each home constructed from the floor up always filled me with a sense of purpose. All of those lights were because of my hard work. Each roof kept people safe, and each house kept them nice and cosy.
I passed by Sherrel's work-in-progress truck as I walked across the dirt path. It looked almost complete, though she had left to go back to her home in the city, so it wouldn't be done for a while yet.
A quaint little bungalow house sat near the curve of the path. Flowers grew out of plant pots, and solar panels sat on the roof. Home. Handmade banners in all different colours hung across the door. From up close, I could hear two people talking inside, though they were muffled. I breathed in a breath of the fresh country air before pushing my way in.
Standing next to Mel, was my mom. Mel had changed out of her usual overalls into a black dress. She rarely wore dresses; a special treat for my birthday. I smiled at them both as I kicked my shoes against the doormat.
"Sorry, ran a little late," I apologised as I pulled my boots off. "There was a pack of wolves on my usual road—had to wait until they cleared out: didn't want to scare them."
"You're right on time, Meadow, don't worry," Mom said as she walked over to hug me. I hugged her back as tight as I could, and she hugged back tighter in an escalating game she couldn't win. My arms could crush her if I tried hard enough, but I didn't want that.
We broke the hug, only for us both to be pulled into another hug by Mel. A triple-person hug didn't work as well as a two-person hug, but it wasn't bad being squished by Mel on any occasion.
"All right," Mom said as she pried herself free of the hug. We pressed closer in her absence. "I'll go finish up. Don't hug each other to death."
I snuggled into Mel to enjoy her warmth a bit more. She had grown up to six feet, while I had capped out at five-three. It meant her hug enveloped me almost entirely. Being short wasn't so bad at times like this. For times like combat, I could always extend my robotic limbs a little. At my mom's request, I kept my body as close to my actual appearance as possible. I had wanted to spend all my time in a huge robot body, but she did have a point. Plus, I would miss being able to hug people after a while.
We finally broke free to go help my mom set up. Mel shoved me down into a seat, despite my protests. "Nope. You don't need to do anything. We have it covered."
"Fine, fine," I laughed. "I'll stay put."
"Good." Mel patted my head before leaving to help my mom finish up the meal.
I leaned back in my chair as I watched Mom and Mel working together in the connected kitchen. Everything in here had been made through hard work or fixed through the same. I had tried to give us access to as many modern amenities as possible. People were hurting after the loss of it all, and even a small slice of comfort helped. As stupid as it was, using an electric oven instead of a stove made from bricks made people feel better; the same reason some of the cities that had cropped back up had fast food places already.
Seeing Mel and Mom toiling away for a birthday meal made special for me was all I needed. Even if we had nothing else, we had each other.
One downside to mind-hopping between myself and the scavenger was that my real body didn't feel tired from the day's work. It made sitting around feel like I was wasting sunlight, even though I had done a lot of work that day. Most of those feelings were remnants of the fervour I had driven myself into past Gold Morning. Working had been the only way to improve things, and rest was only a stopgap between myself and working more. I was still trying to get into a healthier mindset.
The rest was good. I shouldn't abandon these quiet moments.
Food came not long after, a homemade pizza, and the conversation helped distract me from my thoughts. We spoke about our day—mostly about working around the farm—and we spoke about the latest gossip and news. It was a nice, casual meal. I deserved the rest.
Then, out came the cake. I hadn't been expecting it at all. Sugar wasn't easy to come by, and we hadn't set up our production line yet.
They placed it down in front of me. Chocolate, or a substitute, buttercream icing coated it. Words were written across it in a sprawling cursive: Happy Birthday, Meadow! My eyes were tearing up a little as I took in all the cake meant. This was a luxury, one that must have taken so much work to get the ingredients for.
"This–" I pressed a hand to my mouth. "I love you both, so much."
"Aww," Mel said as she pulled me into a hug. "We love you too, Meds,"
I sucked in a shaky breath as I tried to stop myself from full-on ugly crying. Mom laid her hand on my head. "The candles going to drip on the cake if you don't make a wish soon."
We broke apart our hug. Through teary eyes, I looked at the flames atop the candles. A wish: anything I wanted.
I already had it.
Then, I wish for it to keep happening. I closed my eyes and blew out the candles.
Mel and Mom clapped and embraced me once again. Life was good, and the cake was delicious. Everything felt like it would be okay.
Outside was warm, with only a gentle wind. Wind chimes overhead jingled a little in the breeze. We had chosen this area mostly for how close it was to the ruins of the biggest city we could find, but it had proven beneficial in how moderate the climate was. Even winter didn't hurt us too much.
With everyone asleep, there weren't any lights on in the area. I sat on a nice, comfortable chair beneath the covering of my porch as I munched on another slice of cake. Only the stars and moon let me see at all. There were a lot of them, out here, more than I had ever seen.
Space, in all its majesty, twinkled overhead for us to witness every single night. A grand tapestry of stars, planets, nebulas, galaxies, and black holes that dwarfed us on an unimaginable scale. And yet, despite that scale, despite us looking tiny next to them, we were also part of it. Tiny as we were, as short as our lives are on the cosmic scale, we are also part of the universe and the universe itself. Humans were made of stardust. The plants, the trees, the rocks, and the animals, were also stardust. One day we would return to stardust, but until then, we were here, carving out our own little worlds. Every moment mattered the most because we needed to carry only the best memories when we left to tell the stars about our adventure. And out there, the stars felt the same. They had no idea how long they would last, or what might happen next, but they knew they had to keep burning because they gave life to their planets for people like us to gather stories to tell them in the future.
Seeing that the stars kept shining despite the world ending gave me comfort. If they had stopped, then there wouldn't have been anyone we could talk to after we went back out there.
I smiled up at the stars. Until that day, sisters, I'll be down here helping.
See you then.
THE END.
Flat metal limbs with too many joints criss-crossed over each like a lattice framework. They spread out like grasping tendrils, their clawed ends speared out to grab everything in the area. Rocks, scrap metal, bits of plastic: Tiny, insignificant scraps of materials that lay littered across the ruins of civilisation. The tendril-like arms didn't discriminate in their task, as they took anything and everything, no matter the size.
The arms, once they had collected their fill, folded inwards to shovel their gains into the open hole in their master's stomach. White, hot flames, closer to plasma, burned inside the hole. Anything thrown inside was disintegrated by the intense heat. Rotating rows of jagged teeth spun around the inner edges of the furnace stomach, and any material too big would be churned apart by the teeth into smaller pieces to disintegrate faster.
The scavenger ignored the arms as it set about its task.
Its shipping container-sized, sleek, steel head—graffitied with a painting of a grassy field filled with flowers—searched to-and-fro across the desolate wasteland. Only ruins were left; ruins that held valuable resources to be recycled.
Thick, corded wires connected the head to the rest of the body. As its digitigrade mechanical legs stomped forward, each step kicked up plumes of dust and smoke that were inhaled through vents across the scavenger's form. Two arms, reminiscent of a raptor, hung from the creature's side. Rarely, the raptor arms would pick up something of interest, such as a broken chunk of wood, to inspect before throwing it in the furnace at the centre of the scavenger's body. Rarer still, the arms would find something worth keeping, like a photograph of a small family, which would be stored away in one of many compartments.
The flat metal arms draped down from the scavenger's back like braids of hair; numerous enough to cloak most of its body behind them. Flying above the arms' exit point, drones of varying sizes spiralled like vultures eyeing up their prey.
Something flapped in the wind, unseen by the scavenger's eyeless head, but the scavenger headed towards it anyway. The drones had seen.
It was only a piece of plastic, caught between two concrete bricks. Into the furnace, it goes.
The scavenger continued to do its namesake across the ruined city.
Finding this place hadn't been an easy task. Only slight rubble sticking out from the dry, cracked dirt proved anyone had lived here at all. Lives once lived were buried beneath the grime and dirt or eradicated by golden light. The scavenger remembered the fight. It remembered volunteering itself to Khepri out of a desire to be useful. It remembered crafting the machine that ended the golden's man light in unison with the others, but it hadn't been in this body. A disconnect between the creator's memories and the scavengers, born of necessity to lessen the dysphoria of changing between their bodies.
Although the fighting had long passed, there was still so much work to do. Cities to be scavenged for others to be rebuilt.
This Earth wasn't the scavenger's own. That Earth would need countless resources to even begin saving. In due time. Everything became a little easier once it had been done once. A snowball that would keep escalating in size and speed.
While still bound to one body at a time, the scavenger knew it was close to a breakthrough; one that would let it create vast quantities of itself with independent copies of the creator's mind. Until then, it would keep scavenging to supply the rebuilding. Any scrap in useable condition wasn't fed to the furnace; instead, it scooped the pieces up into whatever compartments could fit it. There was no organisation to the storage beyond trying to keep materials of the same type close by. So long as it was stored, it didn't matter. At the farm, it would all be dumped into the same pile for future sorting anyway.
Maps of the area were outlined in real-time as the drones above scanned the ground. Those maps were then known by the scavenger in the same instant. A transfer of knowledge that the creator's body lacked. All of this information belonged to the scavenger and the scavenger alone. It would be stored down in the memory banks upon its return, but it knew no one but itself had access to that information. Memories remained private unless pivotal to the farm's survival.
It had almost reached the edge of today's marked area. Tomorrow it would return to scavenge another region of the ruined city.
Although the scavenger's size rivalled the skyscrapers of the old world, the space it had to cover would take weeks of meticulous harvest. At this point, more arms wouldn't help speed up the monumental task. A design for harvester drones, and drones to support those, had been sketched in the creator's home. The resources gathered throughout the ruined city would be used to make a fleet of them. After this city, the scavenger would be set to rest unless a need to defend the camp arose.
Part of it was sad at the idea of no longer being, but it also knew that it would continue to exist in the creator since it was the creator. Perhaps the disconnect between memories needed tweaking to alleviate those concerns. A job for the future.
After finishing the last of the area, the scavenger set about the long trek home. This area had been hit by the worst of the fighting and wasn't suitable for habitation. There weren't many cities left standing on this version of America. Portals connected the ones still around with the efforts in the other worlds. The world was somehow both less and more connected than it ever had been. Cities in liveable conditions no longer held interest to the scavenger: Too much noise, too much fighting. A quieter place was what it, and the creator, needed. Others had come with them to find peace in a smaller slice of the world. The work kept it busy, and the people kept the creator happy. They still dreamt of the golden light during rough nights, but they had each other to help.
The farm looked like its namesake. A large barn—yet still small compared to the scavenger—made from recycled wood sat centre mass. In it were animals of different types. Some were taken from the area in a bid to domestic them, while others were imported from other worlds. Grass spread out for miles across rolling hills. It stood in stark contrast to the dusty remnants of the city it had been working in. Crops were planted in rows inside wooden squares filled with dirt. There were some interesting plants they had found on this planet, and some more familiar.
The scavenger made its way to the designated resting spot. Going past the fences would end with squished property and scared animals, both from the scavenger's titanic footsteps. It lowered itself down between the rows of scaffolding and ordered the arms draping down its body to retract and the drones to return to their charging bays. Its enormous head split open across the bottom to reveal an inner container. Thick, black tape as wide as a blanket slid out from an indented slot. The scavenger fed the tape into a similar slot indented in the floor. Hunched over, it went through the final checklist before clicking both feet into the appropriate slots on the floor and doing the same for its hands.
Lines of text rolled past the black screen that overtook its vision.
My eyes blinked open. The farm, tinted green by the pod's window, greeted me. It took a moment to adjust to how big everything looked from down here compared to how small it had looked up there. It got a little easier each time I went out, at least. I sent out the mental command for the tubes and cables to undock. Plastic tubes snaked out of my nose, with a feeling I would never get used to, as the cables pressed into the slots in my spine unclipped with a hiss.
A robotic voice informed me that all my vitals were normal as the fluid drained from the tank. I rolled my neck to crack it as I waited for the door to open. The drains would need to be scrubbed clean based on how slow the gel was going down. I'll do it tomorrow. Tonight, I had an important meal to attend to with two people I loved very much.
Work on the farm had been finished for the day. Tomorrow, everyone would set about their tasks to keep this place running. The scavenger would be drained of everything I gathered by myself before I set off in it again to gather more things.
There were quite a lot of us at the farm now. While some had left in the past year, more had come to join us. It was kind of scary being the pseudo-leader of such a big community. No one had ever trained me how to lead, and I sometimes messed up. Turns out that being an adult didn't come with any answers. You're told 'Congratulations, you're an adult' and you feel exactly the same but taller. Then if you watch the world end, and you try to find answers by rebuilding, people flock to you because you're doing something even if you've no idea what you're doing. Seeing the farm take shape as a place that could sustain life helped me somewhat. Things were easy to process with tangible visible progress. We even had a baby on the way. It still made my brain stutter when I remembered that. A baby. A real-life baby was going to be born here, past the end of the world. If that didn't scream: 'fuck you, Scion, we survived', I didn't know what did.
I saw lights on in the houses as I made my way to my own. Seeing each home constructed from the floor up always filled me with a sense of purpose. All of those lights were because of my hard work. Each roof kept people safe, and each house kept them nice and cosy.
I passed by Sherrel's work-in-progress truck as I walked across the dirt path. It looked almost complete, though she had left to go back to her home in the city, so it wouldn't be done for a while yet.
A quaint little bungalow house sat near the curve of the path. Flowers grew out of plant pots, and solar panels sat on the roof. Home. Handmade banners in all different colours hung across the door. From up close, I could hear two people talking inside, though they were muffled. I breathed in a breath of the fresh country air before pushing my way in.
Standing next to Mel, was my mom. Mel had changed out of her usual overalls into a black dress. She rarely wore dresses; a special treat for my birthday. I smiled at them both as I kicked my shoes against the doormat.
"Sorry, ran a little late," I apologised as I pulled my boots off. "There was a pack of wolves on my usual road—had to wait until they cleared out: didn't want to scare them."
"You're right on time, Meadow, don't worry," Mom said as she walked over to hug me. I hugged her back as tight as I could, and she hugged back tighter in an escalating game she couldn't win. My arms could crush her if I tried hard enough, but I didn't want that.
We broke the hug, only for us both to be pulled into another hug by Mel. A triple-person hug didn't work as well as a two-person hug, but it wasn't bad being squished by Mel on any occasion.
"All right," Mom said as she pried herself free of the hug. We pressed closer in her absence. "I'll go finish up. Don't hug each other to death."
I snuggled into Mel to enjoy her warmth a bit more. She had grown up to six feet, while I had capped out at five-three. It meant her hug enveloped me almost entirely. Being short wasn't so bad at times like this. For times like combat, I could always extend my robotic limbs a little. At my mom's request, I kept my body as close to my actual appearance as possible. I had wanted to spend all my time in a huge robot body, but she did have a point. Plus, I would miss being able to hug people after a while.
We finally broke free to go help my mom set up. Mel shoved me down into a seat, despite my protests. "Nope. You don't need to do anything. We have it covered."
"Fine, fine," I laughed. "I'll stay put."
"Good." Mel patted my head before leaving to help my mom finish up the meal.
I leaned back in my chair as I watched Mom and Mel working together in the connected kitchen. Everything in here had been made through hard work or fixed through the same. I had tried to give us access to as many modern amenities as possible. People were hurting after the loss of it all, and even a small slice of comfort helped. As stupid as it was, using an electric oven instead of a stove made from bricks made people feel better; the same reason some of the cities that had cropped back up had fast food places already.
Seeing Mel and Mom toiling away for a birthday meal made special for me was all I needed. Even if we had nothing else, we had each other.
One downside to mind-hopping between myself and the scavenger was that my real body didn't feel tired from the day's work. It made sitting around feel like I was wasting sunlight, even though I had done a lot of work that day. Most of those feelings were remnants of the fervour I had driven myself into past Gold Morning. Working had been the only way to improve things, and rest was only a stopgap between myself and working more. I was still trying to get into a healthier mindset.
The rest was good. I shouldn't abandon these quiet moments.
Food came not long after, a homemade pizza, and the conversation helped distract me from my thoughts. We spoke about our day—mostly about working around the farm—and we spoke about the latest gossip and news. It was a nice, casual meal. I deserved the rest.
Then, out came the cake. I hadn't been expecting it at all. Sugar wasn't easy to come by, and we hadn't set up our production line yet.
They placed it down in front of me. Chocolate, or a substitute, buttercream icing coated it. Words were written across it in a sprawling cursive: Happy Birthday, Meadow! My eyes were tearing up a little as I took in all the cake meant. This was a luxury, one that must have taken so much work to get the ingredients for.
"This–" I pressed a hand to my mouth. "I love you both, so much."
"Aww," Mel said as she pulled me into a hug. "We love you too, Meds,"
I sucked in a shaky breath as I tried to stop myself from full-on ugly crying. Mom laid her hand on my head. "The candles going to drip on the cake if you don't make a wish soon."
We broke apart our hug. Through teary eyes, I looked at the flames atop the candles. A wish: anything I wanted.
I already had it.
Then, I wish for it to keep happening. I closed my eyes and blew out the candles.
Mel and Mom clapped and embraced me once again. Life was good, and the cake was delicious. Everything felt like it would be okay.
Outside was warm, with only a gentle wind. Wind chimes overhead jingled a little in the breeze. We had chosen this area mostly for how close it was to the ruins of the biggest city we could find, but it had proven beneficial in how moderate the climate was. Even winter didn't hurt us too much.
With everyone asleep, there weren't any lights on in the area. I sat on a nice, comfortable chair beneath the covering of my porch as I munched on another slice of cake. Only the stars and moon let me see at all. There were a lot of them, out here, more than I had ever seen.
Space, in all its majesty, twinkled overhead for us to witness every single night. A grand tapestry of stars, planets, nebulas, galaxies, and black holes that dwarfed us on an unimaginable scale. And yet, despite that scale, despite us looking tiny next to them, we were also part of it. Tiny as we were, as short as our lives are on the cosmic scale, we are also part of the universe and the universe itself. Humans were made of stardust. The plants, the trees, the rocks, and the animals, were also stardust. One day we would return to stardust, but until then, we were here, carving out our own little worlds. Every moment mattered the most because we needed to carry only the best memories when we left to tell the stars about our adventure. And out there, the stars felt the same. They had no idea how long they would last, or what might happen next, but they knew they had to keep burning because they gave life to their planets for people like us to gather stories to tell them in the future.
Seeing that the stars kept shining despite the world ending gave me comfort. If they had stopped, then there wouldn't have been anyone we could talk to after we went back out there.
I smiled up at the stars. Until that day, sisters, I'll be down here helping.
See you then.
THE END.
Afterword
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Afterword
At over 300,000 words and around 1 year and 3 months, Raccoon Knight is officially finished.
I've never really finished any project of note before. Growing up with unmedicated ADHD, I've grown used to leapfrogging between interests and topics, never really finishing any of them or sticking with them long enough to develop long-term skills. This silly little fanfic about a raccoon-themed hero is the first thing I've ever stuck to. It came around right as I was finally learning to manage my ADHD in a meaningful way. Since I stuck to this, I figured I could stick to other stuff too. I decided to kickstart old hobbies and interests and to maintain a healthier schedule in my life. And it worked! Rather than doing it for a bit thanks to hyperfocus and then forgetting about it, they've stuck around as daily things. So, thanks to this, I'm doing a lot better in my life.
Raccoon Knight means the world to me, and it's strange to say it's over.
Originally, I planned to rewrite Raccoon Knight from the ground up as three separate 100k-word stories with clear goals, beginning, middle, and end, but I've decided against it. This'll stand as is, flaws and all. As far as other wormfics are concerned, I probably won't be uploading any more of them. Maybe my snippets thread will receive an update if the muse bites me, but most likely no more long-term worm stories. I'll still be here, reading them, since there are so many good stories out there.
Instead, my goal now is to focus on other hobbies for a short-term break. Then, I plan to write a shorter original story (less than 50k words) that, once finished, I'll post daily (no idea where tbh (any idea, let me know)). After that, my goal is to write a longer original story I've had brewing in my head. None of these will arrive for a while, so if you want an update (for w/e reason) when they do happen, let me know and I'll PM you when it does happen.
Thank you so much for reading and your continued support over the past year+. It means everything to me. Even if you hated RK and dropped it (and are somehow reading this), then thank you, too. Everyone has been so lovely, and I've met so many nice people.
Anyway, that's all. Bye-bye.