Taylor Hebert just wants someone to listen to her. She just wants the things she believes in to be true. She just wants this world to stop caving in on her. She just wants to stop being afraid.
Isa wants to survive, and make it in this world, even if she has to rebuild her life one piece at a time.
Grace just wants to understand why she is the way she is. What happened to her that broke her so badly.
Three girls brought together by chance and the schemes of nobody at all try to survive in the Cape Capital of America.
Nobody wants to have to break the world until it is whole again, but it doesn't matter what anybody wants.
When I was ten, it seemed as if I had everything. I was going to become the person I wanted, I had Emma by my side, I had a mother and a father who both spent their lives fighting for a better world, and yet able to shelter me from the harsh reality of any fight in the people's names. The world was going down the drain, but I was able to live with it then. I was too young.
And I lived in a bubble. Before Winslow I went to a Middle School where everyone was Alliance, went to Alliance daycares and read all sorts of books that were burned in other parts of the city. Red Diaper Baby Syndrome, they called it.
(This is the story I'd told myself, cleaned up and polished. Not entirely true.)
Brockton Bay was a city divided against itself, but I didn't really see it until Winslow.
But even then, if I'd been afraid it would have been of ragged, spitting skinheads attacking me while shouting things about how I was a "Lustite" (smarter people online went with "Lustrumite" as the insult de jour) or about Lung's League (also called the Asians of Brockton Bay after their legal front organization and many less respectful names) doing just about the same. I wouldn't have ever suspected who was actually behind my torment if you'd forced me to figure it out. But by now it had been established.
Emma Barnes. Sophia Hess. Madison Clemens. And then a rotating cast of characters. Last year, my Freshman year, a Senior had briefly joined in before leaving to go to a nice university. Apparently she thought Emma had saved her, and had helped turn her life around. She'd done that for me before, helped me when nobody else seemed able.
But all the other people, the rest of the posse, they mattered less than those three. I never stayed up all night shaking and half unable to breathe thinking about them, as compared to Emma.
Three people whose families were just as involved in the Alliance as me. Three people who blamed any torment they inflicted on me on the E88 and ABB-League kids, who were only so happy to join in. I'd seen several different fist-fights in school supposedly in my name, but when I hinted or even outright said that it hadn't been the E88, nobody wanted to believe me. It was in my name, but I was just the excuse. Who didn't want to beat up a Nazi?
"Heyyyy, Taylor," Madison cooed as I walked in. The one thing they'd never done, the one thing they'd never insulted or devalued, among my looks, my personality, my everything, was the name. Madison was a small, cute girl who faked being a sweetheart and wasn't even close to the worst of them. Her brown hair could have made her look mousy, but that's not the animal I thought of when I thought of her. Instead I thought about how she kept up with a chihuahua's tenacity in the way she just endlessly kept up tiny little torments, something I almost wanted to consider microaggressions, things that I could not actually fight back against without looking like I was overreacting. Sometimes, when I tried she'd deny doing it and everyone would believe her.
Winslow was a hostile environment, even if I wasn't being bullied. The Alliance couldn't even really be blamed that much for the general state of Winslow. Their influence stopped at Middle School and started again at College, High School was fed in by too many streams. A part of me blamed them anyway.
I, Taylor Anne Hebert, daughter of Annette and Danny Hebert, had every reason to want to trust them. The Alliance was a nationally known organization, a Popular Front in Brockton Bay bringing together unions, LGBTQ, feminist, and minority-rights groups, remnants of local leftist parties, stray Black Panthers, community defense funds, charities, political lobbying groups… everyone from left of center beyond, to desperately stand against the rising threat of the E88 and Lung for that matter. They had capes, and I knew who those capes were even if they were secret.
Which is why it hurt so badly. Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker, a vigilante that nailed rapists and neo-nazi murderers to the wall. She was important, and she was supposed to be, if not on my side, at least against all the bigots of the world. I couldn't reveal it, there were rules, Annette said years ago, before she... But I knew that Shadow Stalker was important and I wasn't. There were rumors, muttering that I couldn't know the truth of but feared. I had nightmares sometimes, thinking about when she'd stop playing with her food and just finish me off.
A week ago, when I'd finally tried to bring the information on the bullying to The Alliance's attention I knew that that was it.
"This seems more like a bunch of fiction--"
"Fiction?!!"
She'd lurched back in terror, as if I was going to charge her and hurt her, and said, "There's no need for such aggression."
The tone said all sorts of things that I--
"You're spacing out, Tay," Madison said with a smirk.
"No I'm not," I said. I was trying to ignore her. Some part of me couldn't. Some part of me was desperately scrambling to remember, because it's the things you didn't know that killed you. Watch any horror movie, read any decent book. Even just close your eyes and see the fears lurking there. You know it.
"Your best friend, Emma Barnes, wants to talk to you," Madison said, her voice sing-song as she leaned in. She liked to make herself small around me, because it meant me being annoyed looked a lot more like bullying than her sweet nonsense.
"She can get in line," I said, far too exhausted to even pretend to be polite, and Madison looked shocked. She really wanted me to go that way, she was nervous about it, I realized. They had to have something planned to hurt me, something that they needed me to walk in. But fools rush in where angels fear to tread, or so they said.
I wasn't going to be a fool. Emma knew where to find me. When they were pouring juice on me, or starting gossip that never seemed to stick to them, they always knew how to aim at me with all the precision of a guided missile.
I gestured vaguely and carefully towards a collection of bald or nearly bald kids, one of whom wore long sleeves to hide a gang tattoo, afraid that he was going to be caught out as a member of E88, no doubt. "I'm sure they'd have words just as sweet as whatever Emma wants to say. And be more honest about it."
Madison reeled just a little bit, always with the overdramatic act. But I wasn't afraid of her anymore. It felt pathetic that I had been. I'd kept my voice soft, just in case they tried to play it that way. But I didn't usually bite back like this, not even a little bit. I knew what resistance ended in, but…
Five days ago, I'd triggered.
Five days ago I realized the world was a hostile environment, a sort of dreary Hades that would never end, where there was no escape, where everyone who tried would look back and doom me for it. And nobody had tried in a long time. Dad didn't even try anymore.
I realized I'd never be okay. I'd never be used to it. I'll always break, and I'll always be broken. Who wants to live with their soul in the grave, anyways? I'd always be a victim, and if I tried not to be I'd be labeled terrifying, a monster and a man alike…
And that's when… something happened. I don't know the details. Lustrum and others have spent decades pushing more openness about Triggers, even if plenty of parahumans don't want to talk specifics. Even so, there were people who didn't know better. I… knew that a Trigger happened on a terrible day, seemed to replace or more often add to a breakdown. Sometimes it replaced dying in a terrible situation, but it wasn't really possible to make yourself Trigger.
There were a few people who tried and had breakdowns realizing how pathetic it was to try to traumatize yourself just for power… who then Triggered. There were always idiots who threw themselves in danger constantly trying to get it too.
A Trigger was a deeply personal thing, but something to be respected and understood.
Perhaps I could try again, revealing that I was a Parahuman. Perhaps the Alliance would believe my accusations then. Or perhaps exert pressure, get me into some other school while sweeping the situation with Emma under the rug. She wasn't a parahuman, but she was friends with plenty of them.
She'd gotten her interest in capes from me.
Maybe I could go to Aunt Lustrum. She and Mom went way back. But I couldn't be sure anymore, and I had memories of awkward moments and odd questions. I thought all of this to myself, and thought of how I had not gone a single night without nightmares since I triggered (and yet they'd almost felt good, or at least honest), as I stalked off to my locker and began getting ready for a class.
I couldn't be sure if she really cared about me. If any of them did or could.
I couldn't be sure at all.
Once in a while, I got in the sort of mood where I sat through school all day thinking about the way Foulcault compared prisons and schools. I'm the sort who thinks that way. It comes from the company I keep… or my lack of any company at all. Today, though, was almost alright. Almost. Mr. Gladly continued acting as if he was trying to join the popular kids years later. It was easy to pay attention when you needed to for your power to do any good. There were posters that had probably been cool when he was in high school, and even a few jokes from a half-decade ago. He was afraid, I realized, of his old age, of being alone and friendless. He was one of the kids, surely, but the cool version he'd never been.
He wanted to be liked, I decided, because he wanted to be someone different, perhaps? I was guessing, but ever since I Triggered I'd been thinking about fears a lot.
It didn't really help me focus on World Issues, especially since it always turned into debates. On the good days, the Alliance was so busy bickering amongst themselves that the E88-aligned kids didn't get to bring up this or that immigrant crisis or whatever other terrible thing proved that maybe that Hitler had a few things right. Or maybe everything right.
I thought about fears a lot, because that was my power. I could send people to that Hades, that realization of hopelessness. I could show them the shadows of their fear, throw them in two worlds at once, one the waking world that their body was in, and the other a nightmare that their mind was in.
Which meant that if I was going to use the power, I needed to think about what people feared. It seemed like the power worked better when I had a good guess about the person's fear. I needed to see them to start it, but not to keep it up, and so far I could only do it to one person at a time. The longer I held it, the more it hurt my head.
I shifted in my seat, feeling a sharp edge dig into my leg. I'd used it on a half-dozen targets the last few nights, gang-bangers and petty criminals that I could attack from the shadows without having to have a cape name or even a costume. It was always a bit unnerving, the fact that I was making people see horrors that weren't there. It was a cruel power, but I'd used it to make a group of E88 thugs going in for a tag of Alliance territory turn around after they thought they'd turned on each other. They'd yelled, their voices harsh and shrill, and eventually there'd even been blood before they all fled from one another.
I didn't know how long I could hold this vision of Hades, but I knew that if I did the right sort of research I could freak out even Parahumans. Maybe even especially Parahumans, because all of us had things that terrified us. The thought of using them felt bad, but people like Kaiser, Hookwolf, and Lung were dangerous monsters. Each of them had had a terrible day, but they'd long since run out of chances.
I couldn't join The Alliance, but I wasn't going to use my power to mug people, or hurt them. I wanted to be a hero, but the Wards were a joke in the city, and I hadn't had that much of a sense of humor this last year.
I had a plan, and I had a sort of vague, unofficial deadline.
It wasn't a great plan, but I knew about at least a few people I could perhaps convince to work with me. I needed leverage if I was going to figure out what was going on in the Alliance, and maybe stand on my own without having to trust people who might side with Emma or people like her.
It was a strange feeling, because I lived within the Alliance. Literally.
As the day ended, with nothing more than a few hostile looks and a vicious rumor or three that probably hadn't even started with Emma, I had to wonder. By now there was a momentum which meant that people just made up bad things about me because they'd heard stories of all the bad things I'd done and wanted to add to them.
We used to have a house, but we'd sold it a while back, moved to a nice apartment in a neighborhood that was firm Alliance Territory. Flags leaned out from the apartment sides, from the co-ops, from the stores, from everywhere. Union flags. Red and Black. Pride Flags. The flag of the Red Banner Alliance, the ones who were actually fighting the Gesselchaft in Germany. The bookstores sold all kinds of things, but the sections for the 'right' sort of books were bigger.
Everything was different. We all had rules, the real unwritten rules. You don't call the cops, because in Brockton Bay you might as well just speed dial Alabaster or Krieg and be done with it. You don't tell stories, you don't break a picket line, you look the other way if you see something being smuggled in that has an Alliance seal on it. You took care of your own, and you didn't give up… not like Dad had. Not like I had, for a long time.
I loved my neighborhood. Or I did. I had. I'd thought I was required to.
But nowadays I kept on wondering, beneath all that safety and pride, where the pride flag was meant for people like me. Whether the feminist icons on the murals that fill all the back alleys were meant for people like me. Whether the heroes, whether the Protectorate or the ones that supposedly took the fight to the Nazis, would actually protect people like me. Or would they shrug, say they did their best, and focus on the people who mattered.
I'm not going to do that. I'm going to find some way to be better, even if it was just on a small scale.
I found myself looking at the neighborhood in a new way, looking into the alleys. They came in bursts of beauty, scenes from the distant past and the recent future, colors bright and gleaming. Exaggerated, larger than life. The murals on the walls were a promise as much as they were an expression of beauty, and so of course the E88 sent some of its unproven recruits to try to tag them, or call in the police or the city authorities to whitewash the walls, because what the property values needed was less beauty and more drab ugliness.
Something was wrong in this city, and the Alliance had helped. But it had not solved the problem, any more than the Protectorate had. Decades on, and there were still Nazi gangs roaming Brockton Bay.
The last few years, the economy had collapsed and then kept on collapsing, and so now the Alliance was in a race with other elements to be the ones to explain it. To explain that it was not the fault of "bankers" named Rothschild that the already-decaying city that they nonetheless loved had been struck with what was almost certainly a mortal blow. That no, they couldn't save Brockton Bay if they just lynched someone or burned a queer friendly store down for kicks. It sounded like a miserable job.
Someone had to do it.
And someone had to find a way to break this cycle.
I didn't know how.
But I knew how I'd begin.
I'd heard news on the grapevine. You'd be surprised at how much people talked. On and on and on, once they panicked.
Tonight the ABB had something planned, some sort of initiation.
It was a whole complicated mess, the ABB. So there was the legal front that did "outreach" and probably collected fees and bribes, the Asians of Brockton Bay. Nazis called 'em the Azn Bad Boys. Then there was the… something League? It had a fancier name, but everyone called it Lung's League, and then there were all the little gangs that made it up. All together, they had enough power to threaten both the Alliance and E88.
Maybe going after them was a little desperate. Maybe I should give myself weeks to figure out the different fears and doubts that drove the ABB, and the E88.
But I didn't want to. I couldn't stand it.
I didn't trust it. Emma had something planned, something big, and if I didn't do something to armor myself, to make myself feel as if I was doing something worthwhile, I didn't know if I'd survive it.
I also knew that I'd spend all of my time worrying, like an idiot, rather than acting. If my nerves got the better of me, if fear swallowed me, she would never spit me out until I was nothing more than gristle.
I reached the apartment building and stopped to look at the bulletin board. I used it sometimes to see what was happening, to see the arguments that two competing flyers could represent. They were taken down eventually, but slower than they should be, and so on a good day you could see the last few months of debates and events. On a very good day you could see the last year, and on a bad day you realized that this meant that in this constant churn nothing was going to get better.
Flyers for the recent elections, which nationally were Popular Conservatives versus Liberals, and here were E88 versus Alliance. Old protest flyers about Case 53s, NEPEA-5's stalled repeal, the Birdcage, a thousand other little and big causes. A month-old declaration that Electric Avenue was going to be putting on a performance for charity. A declaration that Canary was coming to Brockton Bay in December as part of a holiday tour to raise funds for Earth Aleph refugees. The scraps of a months-passed memorial service for the Empty Summer six years ago. A seminar examining the impact of the Empty Summer. A seminar considering Parahuman psychology and the dangers of overwork that had graffiti on it mocking the fact that it used Scion as an example. The scrap of a torn-down paper that I knew was about a different memorial. Bingo night times and locations. Information on GEDs and college choice, and a seminar on academic excellence. A poetry circle that was going to meet next week. A Leftist Reading Group about to try to tackle Engels. A discussion of a possible strike. A meeting of the Alliance Coordinating Committee that was open to the public, unlike their more secretive ones.
On. And. On.
An entire world, an entire life, half-connected and half-divorced from a world that I knew was falling to pieces.
I looked back and each year had seemed to bring the world closer to collapse. All that happy childhood I remembered had been like being in the eye of the storm, or sheltered by a breakwater against the rising tides.
I tried not to brood. I failed. I stalked inside, walking on a nice black carpet whose flaws I now searched for in vain, and using the stairs to go up to the fourth floor. Every one of the people in this apartment building was vetted by, well, everyone else. Everyone who lived here had some stake in the building as a whole, and sometimes this made them a shelter and sometimes this made them as clannish as what little was left of New Wave. Today it all felt smothering, but I knew a year ago I'd thought of it as a consolation even as I was facing increased torment in school.
Which was true? I didn't know.
All the doors had different signs and symbols. Our door had a union flag and a trans flag. We were on the fourth floor and as far as I knew Empire goons had never gotten this high. A few months ago, on 8/8 I'd watched as the Empire got as close as a block away, at high tide. I'd watched as one of those Nazis got beaten up so badly I am pretty sure that in the dim light of late evening I'd seen an actual murder. Not that I'd ever testify to it, standing out on the balcony, peering down at all of it horrified and yet knowing that this was what had to be done to keep the neighborhood safe, that the fight had pressed that far because the Empire always seemed to go wild on these symbolic holidays.
I don't know what to think about it, because I'm pretty sure I didn't actually disapprove of it. There were questions that had only one kind of answer, but at the same time, I couldn't think about it too hard. It felt a little like there was a bit of a pit that could open up beneath me if I started thinking like that.
Yet.
I shook my head and passed yet another candle.
A candle store had gone out of business a few months ago. The scents now mixed, as the Alliance had bought every single candle at a firesale price and put them in public places to help make things smell a little nicer. They were fancy, hypoallergenic candles, but that didn't stop me from disliking the smell, holding my nose and pushing up my glasses when they had slipped a little bit.
Vanilla and wild rose and other smells lashed out against me, but Dad and I had lost the vote there.
Our door had a union logo and a trans flag on it, as I said, and that made me relax a little bit.
Home was not much. Dad had fallen apart after my Mom died, and there was an entire room in it that only I ever went into. But it was still home.
Yet a part of me didn't even want to think about it. I just wanted to go and grab some of the weird clothing in Mom's room, the stuff that looked like disguises--something green, maybe--and go out.
The 'good' news was that I was going to be heating up dinner tonight. Dad had work to do, now that Lung had lashed out last month. He had a leading role in union organization from his place in Brockton Bay, even if he'd neglected it for years and now did it… essentially all the time.
The docks were no longer safe, and so he spent as much time telling new employees or newly unionized groups what places not to go. What things not to do.
(Before I'd given up, the anxiety of his own dangers might have made me… no. I dismissed the thought.)
So I could slip in, and then wait a few hours and slip out again, and I didn't have to think about it.
I didn't have to think about how nothing would ever be as normal as 'home' implied ever again.
When I went out a few hours later, going through the secret entrance-exit that half the building knew about, nobody even paid me any mind.
I wasn't quite wearing gang colors, or else it would have been a hazard to wear around Alliance territory, but there was enough ambiguity about the garb that it looked innocuous, like something anyone could be wearing. As I walked down the street, able to tell by the cracks and potholes when we were getting beyond Alliance territory, I thought about what I'd do. It was a good thing Dad was a heavy sleeper, and as I made my way into the Docks I aimed at the parts that Lung controlled. Heck, maybe that would be my task. Losing much of the docks to Lung was a humiliation for the Alliance. Most people didn't know it, but it'd put Electric Avenue in a funk, he'd had to cancel several events while everyone tried to find a good answer to a giant dragon. I didn't have an answer, but messing around the edges, getting more of it back. It was worth something. Something the Alliance hadn't done.
Not for now. No, for now, it was time to enter enemy territory. Markers were important.
Now, some things hadn't changed. The gangs that made up the ABB had hardly spent as much on infrastructure as the Alliance had, and most of their tags still existed, but with Dragons and ABB and other gang tags covering the top, emphasizing that whatever individual loyalties they had to their gangs: Triad, etc, etc, there was more loyalty to the whole.
What everyone said, what everyone feared, is that somehow he'd gotten total and complete control through his… odd sort of charisma.
I had to be careful here. Not that it was too hard to hide. All parts of the docks still working these days were built with hiding in mind. I supposed that was one thing I had to thank the Popular Conservatives for, smuggling had helped revive a decent chunk of the dockwork. The stench of fish and other similar smells pervaded the area. I'd like to say it was the smell of evil, but I'd be lying if I didn't know the Alliance side smelled exactly the same.
I knew exactly where initiations were held, I'd just had to pay attention when I went out, see where people's eyes didn't go. The dark corners where monsters scurried and innocence did not exist. Fear was something you started to notice so easily once you actually had a reason to look for it. The only real challenge was making sure you thought about the different kinds of fears. Those who had to live and work here had so many fears, I knew. The Empire, the government that should protect them, and the gang that claimed to. They feared them all. The part that hurt the most was the ones who feared the Alliance. Saw us as just another group out to exploit, brought into the propaganda feed. That hurt. Hurt worse because these days I wondered if there wasn't some truth.
Maybe wharf rats didn't matter as much to the alliance. Maybe all sorts of people mattered less and people just didn't say it. Jugemu was celebrated, but then, he had powers and was the first real symbol of defiance to Lung, and since he triggered shortly before mom died, I didn't really know how much support he got from everyone else.
I stopped because I saw a brace of gangsters--or at least people in ABB colors--passing by, and allowed the moment to drag on, continuing to walk. They were aimed towards the bright neon sign of a takeout place, the bright lights framing the street, the bits of trash that were rolling by in the sea breeze illuminated for a moment in threatening, unnerving shapes. The whole scene seemed so normal and so abnormal, and if this was an ambush, a trick, some failing that would end in my death, I think I'd remember that moment of hunching over and hoping nobody noticed the whole time.
I shook my head. I could sometimes get lost in my head, thinking about fear and worries. But when people were scared of the government looking in, they reacted differently than when they were afraid of a place. I was pretty sure the warehouse I was aiming towards wasn't one of ours, and the E88 didn't even try this far in. It was a squat, ugly building, but no different than any of the other squat, ugly buildings… yet a part of me saw it framed against the dull skies of a November evening and thought it seemed particularly sinister, the locale for some low budget horror. But it wasn't abandoned, far from it. There were the guards, and the buzzing crowd, all of the myriad colors blending together into a hostile, dangerous churn that seemed to press in on me even from a distance. This was danger, this was another symptom of the collapse of… no, I needed to not think of it like that.
No, this was the start of my opportunity to change things. The guards looked nervous, and the crowd included enough people in ABB clothing slipping around that this was something.
But it could have been a party, I knew. The ABB wasn't a small gang, there were all sorts of events. And warehouses had hosted all sorts of parties and bands now and again. The guards were nervous and wary, though, in a way that didn't seem like it was just a rowdy party. This was something serious. Unfortunately for them, tonight I was going to be their worst fears come to life.
One of the guards, a short, wiry man with a tattoo of five dots (I couldn't remember what that meant), was looking a bit different. He was not looking at the warehouse as people streamed in, or even at the crowd. Instead he was looking repeatedly towards a huge bald behemoth with a sleeve of tattoos of his own, including a question mark and copious muscles. I thought that the way he was looking made it feel like there was something there.
What if it was some gang rivalry thing? I had done some research, after all, for all that I… forgot the details of which was which. But that didn't matter.
So I Reached out with my power. It felt a little like this building pressure, like a ghost of the fear I caused was gripping me. It had freaked me out the first time I used it, but not as bad as it should have. I was used to being afraid all the time. I was used to marinating in stress that made any other hormones in me seem like nothing. I could see the wisps of the vision I was creating.
Hades was crafted by two people, and I was only one of them. It was their own personal nightmare, and so I pushed the direction of it, frowning and hunching over just a bit as I concentrated. So this time, when Twitch looked over at Bald, he saw Bald glaring back with hostile intent in his eyes. The hardest part of Hades was ramping it up properly. The shades of Hades, they wanted to attack, wanted to menace. It felt a little like trying to hold back an angry dog and hoping it didn't maul you instead. But I fought it, ramping it up slowly, starting with a quick stare back, and then it stretches and drags like the hours of a school day until it'd almost be easier if he just did anything. If he just killed someone and was done with it. Is he getting closer? The eyes were narrowing. Where is everyone else? Everyone seems to be watching or backing up, they know.
'Know what?' I didn't ask, because now his mind was supplying it, pushing in the details. "I'd" done something to make Bald angry, something that required Bald to punish him just to be fair. And so anyone here, they'd back up and watch it. They'd--
"STOP LOOKING AT ME! I didn't--" Twitch shouted with terror as he reached for his brass knuckles to slip them on. From there, it was almost easy, as the other guy responded and I just had to make the shade a little bit more hostile, a little more menacing. It was almost sad how willing they were to turn on each other. But thugs like that, criminals of that sort, hardly held together, did they? I didn't need to hold the vision together either. I shivered in a strange mix of terror and ecstasy. It felt good to use my power, it always does. Even though I'm also feeling all that fear and anger. I don't know why, but ...
It's probably fine, right? They're my powers. And I was the nightmare this time. The thing stalking the evil in the dead of night, the horror movie monster come to life.
As the brawl starts, others come, distracted, uncaring. And if one late kid in a hoodie slipped in, who are they to notice? My ambiguous dress helped, there were too many gangs to keep track of them all.
Inside the crowd was overpowering. As the heat and stench of all the bodies hit me, I thought maybe I'd made a mistake. This was a big, open space filled with hundreds of people. People who could hurt me. Who could destroy me. I wasn't bullet proof. If I was shot I would die. I would bleed out and I would--
I shook my head, and looked around again, twitching as much if not more than Twitchy. Hundreds of people, with gang colors and bright "draconic" colors dominating, I couldn't help but nervously take in that this big open space was filled with not just dozens everyone dressed up to party or riot or both. Weapons were everywhere, though I was sure that plenty of the people here were groupies.
None of them were looking at me, but if they did… my disguise would be decent in the bad light but if anyone looked too close they'd realize I was a pasty white girl. And then all those guns would come out.
Not that they'd need to kill me themselves. First, came the speeches from the unpowered but tough looking grunts, from all the different gangs, giving bold speeches to cheers about the glories of their gang… and the even greater glories of joining up with the ABB or the League or whatever else. That carried on a little bit while I hunched and imagined my violent, painful death again and again if they found out anything at all about me.
And then up to the stage came Lung, who even without powers, was a hugely muscled guy without a shirt, and Oni Lee, the psychotic Triad (or "ex-Triad") killer just standing there by Lung like the perfect minion. Unlike Lung, Oni Lee was in his full costume, a "demon" mask and a black bodysuit, knives at the ready. His powers meant that he could and did act as a suicide bomber, and he was a tough customer. And there's also… oh. That's when I see him. Another guy, thin, short, I can't make out much of the face, as he's wearing a Gold-spray painted Armsmaster-style helmet, but the long black hair stuck out behind it. This is more than just a standard initiation. This is a new cape.
I hold my breath as I look to the stage. My confidence waning, I couldn't possibly take on this group. Maybe I should try to slip out-
Before I could come to a decision, Lung began to speak. The speakers echoed it across the room. "A new age is dawning for the League! We have reclaimed the docks!"
A cheer, louder and louder.
Not all the Docks, I thought. But it was a weak rejoinder.
"And we have what nobody but the PRT has in Brockton Bay. A Tinker. Kintsugi! Joining the cause! For the glory of the dragon! For the glory of our united causes!"
Part of me wondered why he was speaking in English. But the larger part of me froze. Nobody else but the PRT had them. Everyone had to deal with neutrals. Leet served as the exchange point, buying Tinkertech from outside of the city and passing it along, for everyone except Marquis, the rich bastard, who seemed to have the Toybox on speed-dial. Even Lung couldn't (yet) cook the gamer that laid the golden eggs and let the products of more competent tinkers filter in.
The Alliance had to cut deals with him too, for all the little Tinker-tech defenses to protect their buildings, and the drug machines that provided life-saving prescription drugs, and so on.
The ABB were never going to have as many capes as the Alliance or E88 had. They weren't going to have the same popularity and street presence either. They weren't going to have Marquis' everything, the way he'd clearly started to move into the kinds of crimes that aren't really crimes because the collar is white and the suit is Armani.
But a Tinker could change everything, let him take the rest of the Docks. This… maybe I couldn't fight everyone here, but I had to stay and gather what information I could. I could leave a tip for the Alliance. But it'd be better information if I could figure out anything about the new Tinker. Anything we could use. He seemed like a kid, maybe he went to Winslow. (The Unwritten Rules were one of those delicate suggestions, I knew for a fact that people were trying to put pressure on Grue to join up, and I'd heard someone mention his sister offhand. So they knew who Grue was.)
So, maybe something like that could happen? Teenage boys were impressionable, maybe this was just him making a mistake.
I watched, concentrating on the stage. The speech didn't matter, it was more of the same, talking about unity and fighting back against the Empire and the hypocrisy of the Alliance, etc, etc. Maybe I could figure out something about their fears, watching them in the element. I'd already done a lot of research on capes online, but too often they didn't include information I could use. But Lung, he projected a strong front, but I could see the weakness behind it. When someone boasts themselves up, the fear becomes so much easier for anyone with eyes to figure out. He bragged about Leviathan once in a while, and even without bragging everyone knew he'd been at the Leviathan battle. It wasn't hard to guess that he'd be afraid of Leviathan, who wasn't of the Endbringers?
Fear. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Being weak. I knew it, could call up the fear, the knowledge that you lacked the power to do anything.
Oni Lee was harder, because he wasn't speaking much for himself, he was letting Lung talk. He had a mask, he was too far away, I wasn't a miracle worker, just a girl who'd started to pay more attention to the things that people feared and how they revealed them to a discerning eye.
He wasn't that important. The Tinker was important. He was shaking with fear, his every movement giving away more and more. And…
Oh.
I realized. This is what it looked like from the outside, when someone was living through their fear. Kintsugi did not want to be here. Did not want to help the ABB. They weren't willing, and I was sure given any chance at all he'd be more than happy to desperately run away.
He was a victim. Someone being enslaved, made to work under the force of the threats of a vile gang whose work in forced prostitution meant this wouldn't even be unusual for them.
I had to do something.
If I didn't… then how was I any different?
I… I knew the odds. I knew how many people were here. But this was my chance to do something. If I could just create a distraction, if I could find some moment to let him run away I'd do something that would help the Alliance, help the city. A Lung who got control of the Docks with enslaved Tinkers could start bringing in even more smuggled immigrants, even more people forced into bad situations. He could make this one desperately afraid boy look like just an appetizer.
Sexist and transphobic language, the C word, generalized gang nastiness.
Sexist and transphobic language, the C word, generalized gang nastiness.
November 7-8, 2010
So there I was, standing in front of hundreds of gang-members. All there, but separate at the same time. You could see the Japanese contingent to the left, Chinese in the middle, and Filipinos on the right. Behind them were the smaller gangs. Korean, Thai, a few groups far enough in the back I wasn't sure what they were, only distinguished by the way they clearly huddled together. The only reason they were all together was the whole "fuck a giant dragon says we have to be here". Which, I suppose, made them like me. It was kinda funny in a way.
Funny the way meat you buy from a black market is funny. Funny the way a week of crippling diarrhea is funny. Funny the way Uber and Leet are funny. Funny the way that kicking a kid is funny. Funny in the way that someone breaking something someone worked on building because they could was funny.
I was here because of a series of bad decisions that started with... Fuck, I don't know my life in general.
I was here because I did the dumbest thing an oar (orphaned asian refugee) could do, and tried to get ahead. Should have seen the world was gonna go kicking back. I'd spent so long just trying to repair my place, fighting a losing battle even with my powers. I'd finally, finally gotten a viable piece of real tinkertech to sell on the LeetNet, something that could finally help get the cash I needed and so I'd showed up a little early.
I'd wanted to scope the deal out, not be one of those kinds of girls--even if I was boymoding it 24/7 right now--who got myself taken advantage of. It was a parking lot. It didn't have enough broken lights. I remember that, and should have realized it in retrospect. Not enough broken lights, cracks in the pavement, sure, but too clean, to unkempt or… or not unkempt, not like PRT or even Alliance territory, but not destroyed enough to be neutral. I should have realized what the too-clean lot meant. But it was empty except for one person who saw me before I could even try to run.
I remember, my first thought was, "I skipped school for THIS?!"
Lung. The scariest, most terrifying cape in Brockton Bay, just glaring at me and striding forward. Maybe I should have run, but all I could think at the time was how funny it was. There were always rumors in the oar, let's call it community. Point is there were always rumors to be careful, Lung's men willing to take in rats for their brothels. That they might just snatch you if they wanted. And my dumb ass got caught by the big dragon-fish himself. Pet tinker rather than prostitute, but fucked either way. I just…
"Are you the client?" I asked, or tried to, as my voice died in my throat. My body had turned rigid. I was hoping and praying Leet was just an idiot. That this wasn't a set-up and I could get through it. I'd found an Armsmaster mask dumpster diving, and managed to repair it up well enough that it actually fit pretty nice. So at least my face was protected. Then again Lung might not like the choice and he wouldn't get offended by the inspiration and fry me. I'd have loved to make it look different, but since the mask's purpose was to 'look like Armsmaster' the only mods my tinkering helped with was making it look more like him. I'd spray painted it and ignored my power's whining, but that was it.
I don't know if it was the rest of my body (why didn't I conceal more? Fucking should have gone with full gloves and tucked in socks) or my stupid, stupid voice that gave away I was "Asian", or if Leet fucking fucked me. But either way Lung simply stood there, crossing his arms and staring.
I wanted to run. I wanted to run so badly, But I couldn't even move my feet to try, as Lung just… dominated the empty parking lot as if it was the center of some vast empire. He didn't have goons around. He didn't have any backup that I could see. He didn't need any of it.
His aura paralyzed me like it was an actual power. I didn't even move as he pulled out a machine gun. All I could think, remember thinking was 'why does Lung even need a gun?' And then the sound exploded as he shot me. I yelped ducking and closing my eyes as it continued, not the small, pop pop noise of a movie or one far away, but the Bang! of one up close, repeated again and again. Stupid. I was afraid even though I knew, knew, the shield would hold. My work is good.
I cowered. I lost track of time.
I don't know when the bullets stopped, but they did. Should have acted then. I didn't. Too cowed. I didn't open my eyes until I felt someone gripping the tinkertech from my hands. It was one of Marquis' force fields, the good shit. I didn't even try to resist as he took it from my hands, inspected it, then turned it on and nodded.
Then he picked me up by the scruff of my neck and held me face to face… or mask to mask, really. I was close enough that I could smell his sweat and the faint hint of gunpowder. "I have no interest in your petty attempts at playing at merchant. It is time for you to join us, help your community. You will be Kintsugi. And you will learn not to cower." He said as I nodded desperately, hoping I could even pronounce it. It wasn't like I knew much Tagalog, much less Japanese or Chinese or whatever that name was.
I nodded. I… I knew the score. I'd always been considered an 'adoptable boy' at the refugee orphanage. Someone who didn't look 'aggressive', wasn't Japanese and spoke good english. Even the ones that 'didn't work out' weren't marks against me. Or well, weren't enough that other foster families weren't tried. But… well when you got down to it, Lung was just another foster family. A giant, gang foster family, with honestly about as much choice on my end.
Yeah. Better way to look at it than the prostitute thing. Just another foster family. I told myself. Like a new foster family, Lung didn't leave me alone for a moment, or give me any time. He was smarter than I'd thought, for that, or maybe just impatient, because he brought me to an ABB apartment. I didn't remember much of it when he dragged me by, just the whiffs of my power giving only mild critiques, so it was probably nice. If I was smart I would have focused on escape routes, but I knew what a new foster meant, what they demanded. So my focus was on him, and making sure I learned the rules. Also the fact that he told me I'd be initiated the next day in that voice that accepted no possibility that what he said was not the future.
So there I was. Just me and Lung in the- I think it was the living room? Carpet, it had carpet, I remembered that, so it had to be. Just Lung and myself and my thoughts. Wondering if I was going to find out if you really had to stab someone to join the ABB. That or eat white babies. I was leaning towards stabbing, though if so it was taking a while, as Lung was just talking and talking. Droning on and on and on, like a really bad teacher.
You know what's funny? I can't even remember the Philippines or can't remember most of it. I know just bits and pieces of 'my' language, let alone whatever nonsense Lung is getting at. But I have a crystalized memory of being in class and… not exactly no one understanding me but getting some phrase wrong in a way one of my foster fathers decided was 'being cheeky' and swatting me. It was the one tiny bit of defiance I held on to, during his speech. Lung is just one in a long line. He wasn't special, just another 'father' but he was powerful.
I've lived alone for several months, trying to keep it all going. My trigger was my blessing and my curse. It's power was useful, sure, but every crack was an affront every little imperfection of the paint was an abomination. Even a place as good as Winslow was worth screaming in my head. But at the same time… I could do something about it. For once I could change things. No one to tell me otherwise. I knew how to fix everything, mix-up my own paint, sealant, even figured out how to turn the water back on and keep a set of working pipes. Actually had a place semi-worth living, even if it meant skipping meals and sleeping sometime.
The tinkertech was supposed to be my way out. Trying to get a way out, a way on my own after I lost, after I…
Nevermind.
One of the nuns always ranted about street kids being foolish idiots who would get it, guess she was right. I got greedy. And then Leet fucked me. Maybe. Or maybe he ran off? Didn't matter to me. Everyone knew that Lung's press-ganging wasn't a polite request. So I nodded until he seemed satisfied, and let me head into the bedroom.
And now I was stuck in a room, desperate and waiting for the end…
There was only one thing to do--
Everything was better after I slept.
Okay, yes, maybe sleep wasn't the best idea. You'd think that an upcoming initiation would make it hard to sleep, right? But, like, the bed was nice and I slept on much worse mattresses for weeks. Good mattresses were not to be missed. I realized part of why I'd had such a nice sleep after getting up. My power was barely a hum, as it took in the room.
One little fray in the carpet over there, a joint on that table that was…
I don't even know how to describe it. It was like trying to give color descriptions when you've been blind all your life and everyone else still is. But it had the 'flavor' of something that was built wrong. Built to join right, but always just off a bit, which felt different than something that was built right and broken. It was the quietest my power had been outside my base since- since since I triggered, far as I could remember.
When I'd been building my base I'd had to learn to sleep with a screaming partner in my brain. Sleeping anywhere where it was silent was easy. I'd been staying up the last few days going over and over again on the shield, making sure my first piece of sold tinkertech was perfect. I wanted to show people what I could do.
Girl, that's definitely worked out, I thought to myself. Now Lung knew what I could do. I'd have to make it clear I couldn't build new things. I think I'd said that last night? Sort of. But the last thing I wanted was to have him demand stuff I couldn't do. But that was all for tomorrow. Right then, the bed was nice. I didn't know bed sizes, but it had to fit a whole family, and so soft and silky and honestly I kinda felt guilt about flopping on in my street clothes-
It was… I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up. I assume morning, at least. There weren't any clocks. Felt like there should have been one. I turned on the light, taking in the view. The bed, in addition to being as already mentioned, huge and soft, also that didn't smell of dirt or grime or anything but freshness and the bits I'd brought with me. Really it was better than the base bed I'd gotten for my own room, not entirely repaired to the same standards, but it had a bigness to it that you couldn't get when you had to think about how much you were really willing to haul up to the fourth floor on your own.
To the left were two little table-cabinet-desk things? I wasn't sure of the fancy word for 'em, but you know where stuff goes next to you when you sleep, hexagonal, if that helps you. A few books lying around on each shelf, but… not much else.
I took the books off, and looked over them. A New Pan-Nationalism, Lessons From Leviathan? Tales of Genji? A Cosmic Dance? That last one's cover was this big sci-fi looking nonsense compared to the first two. A big picture of a spaceship blowing up another spaceship. Huh. I wasn't much of a reader honestly.
So I checked out the table thing. My power always screams things at me, but these were too well-maintained for much. I could tell that the varnish was slightly worn. If I felt it, the wooden grain would be just a little bit off. Something else had been here. My power didn't say what, but I guessed it had to be a lamp or alarm clock.
I got up, taking in more of the room. My feet sank into the plush carpet, which was soft enough to sleep on. Maybe better than the bed, I wasn't used to anything that soft. At least I'd be able to sleep when I joined my next pretend happy family.
The dresser is what drew my eye. I have no way to say it but that it was covered with Asian stuff.
Yes, I realize how that sounds, but, well that was what it was. It was topped with… Asian things.
I realize that sounds very generic, but the entire set felt like some very hastily assembled mish-mash of things that were all beautiful individually, but together were such stew of Porcelain vases, paper fans, tacky old Japanese toys, a K-Pop poster hanging in the background, the sheath of a katana, and still more things that just… didn't make sense. That's the ABB for you. Asian, 100% Asian. Which Asian? Yes. Bits and pieces of memory here and there from one of the decorations on the dresser, but most of it was nothing to me. Chinese, Japanese, not stuff I knew. Even so, there was a lot of it on the dresser including the gilded League Symbol statue… was it called a statue if it was a symbol instead of a person? Sculpture? Sculptures were only like… marble and rock right? Whatever gilded league thingy that was tall enough it dominated all others. The message was loud and clear. And the base of the symbol was almost big enough that I wouldn't see the slight discoloration on the dresser where a TV once stood.
I moved to the window, drawing back the curtains to look out the window. Sadly it somewhat ruined the otherwise nice apartment. Whatever else Lung could do, he couldn't fix that the window outside looked down at Brockton Bay. Even just looking, my power was already noting the sets of decaying buildings with little maintenance. The street over there with the pothole. The powerlines with worn. The peeling paint on the building, the chipping paint on the streets, the smash-
I closed the blinds. Too easy to get lost in that. And it confirmed what I'd figured.
Lung had me in a nice apartment.
A nice apartment three(more?) floors up. One with no electronics.
I made one last check, this time, at the door itself. It was… a door? It didn't seem like it was out of place, minus, one, tiny, incidental detail. The doorknob had been recently changed by someone who probably wasn't incompetent at it, as far as being an amateur, but my power could see the scratches around them and the just… way they didn't fit. Not like a terrible fit. Just not entirely, 100% there. My power didn't let me see what something had been, but I'd bet money they knob used to be able to lock. It seemed Lung had a 'no locked doors' policy. Could have been worse, could have been 'no closed doors', those always sucked.
I had started to lean forward to inspect it more when a knock at the door made me nearly jump back, looking around to see if I could see any cameras monitoring me. Nothing I could spot, and nothing my power could spot. Which didn't mean they weren't there, just meant if they were there, they were probably installed with the apartment, not as a hasty patch job. My attention turned back when a voice that was old but like, not that old, maybe twenty? "Hey um, Kintsugi? Sorry, I'm Ryouchi. If you need anything let us know." Right, three floors up, no electronics, and guards. "Also there's a mask on the dresser, Boss said to respect your privacy."
Oh, now my privacy was to be respected. Not last night where Lung had just taken my mask, and made sure to memorize my face just in case. Not when there were possibly cameras.
Stupid. It wasn't like I'd been forced to strip or anything. Really it wasn't worse than a lot of foster families. It was stupid to be bothered by it. But I was.
I don't remember much about what he'd said, more promises of the type anyone gives when they promise they are going to protect you, they're always dumb and fake. Nobody protects wharf rats, not even fellow wharf-rats.
Lung, the Alliance, the PRT… say this for the Empire, at least I didn't get fake promises from them. They said they were going to torture and then murder you and everyone with your skin color, and then they tried to do it.
The only line I remember was, "In us, you will become a man."
Which wasn't worth focusing on. I looked over to the stuff on the dresser , and saw the mask. It was… well if you guessed it was one of those Chinese theater masks, you'd be right. Some Stylized (™) gold lines around it. No idea what they meant. Some Chinese (Japanese?) on it as well, guessing it was Kintsugi? Probably? Who knew? Certainly not me. At least I was allowed to have a mask.
"Also we have breakfast out here, if you want it."
My stomach growled at that.
Well… if I wanted to eat I was going to have to go out there, otherwise my options were…
I considered it. They hadn't removed the lights or sockets. Maybe if I was a tinker who could make a power suit with scraps I could rip them out. Sadly the only thing I could think of looking at them was how to repair them if I needed to, which they didn't. If there was a way to tie the bedsheets up into a parachute, my power was more likely to define that as something being broken. I had… I pat the hidden pocket in my jeans. Still there, small as ever. They hadn't found that.
On the other hand, I was multiple stories up in ABB territory. Probably on high-alert for anyone escaping. Maybe I had the time to use it, or maybe I didn't… and trying now on an empty stomach would be horrible. I shuddered, remembering when I tried that once. Never again. And if Oni Lee and Lung were watching, it wouldn't be enough.
So I had to stay here.
Might as well get food.
Trying anything hungry was stupid. For that matter, so was missing an opportunity to get clean. "I'll be out in a minute," I said, headed for the 'like everything else, oversized' bathroom. I'd managed working water back at my place, but free soap and shampoo wasn't to be missed, and the shower was huge and the hot water didn't run out. I actually tried to get it to run out a little bit.
I showered with the lights off, because I didn't really need to look too much at my body to shower.
Cleaned and with mask on, I took a deep breath and opened the door. Four sets of eyes looked up. "Hey." one of them said.
I gave a small nod.
"Let me get you breakfast," a second voice called. Probably a woman's voice, and yeah, breakfast was good. With that I scanned my room. Like my bedroom it had the luxury of being repaired, in good condition. Nothing for my power to really complain about. The door opened up to the living room, two couches (left one's middle cushion had dirt on it, likely from someone putting a shoe on it), sat corner to corner against each other facing the large, and I mean large, TV. Across the way was a kitchen, which I was able to see into thanks to a bar-style counter that divided the two.
An entire living room and kitchen like that--it wasn't a place that had been used, but instead maintained. I knew maintenance was a nightmare thanks to my Tinker powers, and so it was daunting, almost obscene luxury. The kind of thing you only see on TV. A place where almost nothing was broken.
Almost nothing. On the counter was a coffee maker and a rice cooker, the rice cooker was worn, the coffee maker was actually half-broke. Trudging along, but barely there, near the pristine TV was a video-game console that was worn from use, and, of course, the clothes everyone wore. All of them stood out like beacons in the sea of pristine beauty. It was highlighted in a way that forced me to focus on those details while the rest of the apartment faded into the background, even the tiniest imperfection eventually noticed and commented on.
It really did feel as if my power was alive, no idea if that was crazy talk or not. Everyone said capes were half-cracked.
"Hey, I'm Ning, Triad member and official League member." another guy called out, "Over here is Ryouichi, Yakuza and part of the League. Finally we have Joshua from the BNG and one of our newest League members."
Oh, right, the people.
My power didn't really work on people, or anything living. But they were something I should focus on. I knew they were Lung's rodeo clowns, there to provide comic relief while he fought the entire Protectorate one on one and won. I didn't get why he even had a gang, really. It sounded like a lot of relying on other people. Then again maybe it was like a personal hobby. Some people get yachts, some people get pan-Asian gangs.
Looking over the introduction, you had Ryouichi. Lanky, but fit-ish? Seemed like he gave a shit about his body. Japanese. A little bit old, maybe twenty-ish? To the left was Ning. Really old guy, like he had to be at least twenty-five, short and serious-looking, which I guess you gotta be when at least half your life's passed you by. Then there was Joshua, who was sitting in one of the big chairs, holding a controller and playing something on the TV. He gave a laugh at Ning. "I mean I'm only a younger brother of BNG." He replied with that bit of soft modesty that underlied smugness. "Hey, wanna join?"
I shook my head. Joshua worried me. He was about my age, and Filipino like I was. Did he go to Wilson? I wracked my brain…. Shit, yeah. Wasn't he there sometimes? Yeah I had a half-memory of him hanging out with the gang-kids. Not the recruiter but there. I'd had a foster family that seemed to be sticking by then, and so I hadn't been one of the Oars approached, but that didn't mean he wouldn't know about me if he saw me again. Crap. I did not want him to know me.
"Here you go." My worry was interrupted as the girl presented a tray to me. Rice, some soup, sausages, toast, a couple fruits. The works. A feast. "I'm Malee by the way," she said with a gentle smile.
She was really pretty in the way that left me feeling even more like an ogre in human form than I usually did. I thought about how the hell I was going to manage any transition now that I was being forced into some stupid gang, and even if I could do it I'd never look like that and why couldn't my power just let me fix up my body, it was clearly fucking broken you stupid power, and--
I grabbed the tray and retreated to my room. I was not taking off my mask here.
The breakfast was as amazing as it looked. Not the slop or cold cereal you'd get in one of the community kitchens or orphanages or at school. And people who understood that rice was a breakfast (and lunch, and dinner) food, rather than telling me I wasn't in Asia anymore. The only problem was, it was way more than I could eat. No matter how much I ate, there was plenty left. How anyone could eat this… ugh, maybe some capes ate a lot? I think I read something like that, once. Glad I didn't trigger with that. Either way, it meant that I needed to head out again. I wasn't going to let this go to waste, and I'd seen a fridge out there.
Fridges were amazing, and managing to salvage a mini-one and tinker it to perfection had been game-changing, a return to what I'd once taken for granted. And this breakfast needed to be saved.
Once more I strode into the room.
Once more four sets of eyes went right for me.
I shrugged, and walked over to the fridge, trying to ignore them.
"Looking for something?" Ning said. "Malee can get you anything you want. You don't have to get it yourself, you're a cape!"
I just barely caught the annoyed flash of Malee's half-glare at Ning before she smiled at me with all the genuineness of a politician's apology. "Um, no," I said awkwardly, "just going to put that in the fridge."
Ning laughed. "Saving everything? I know that feeling. Don't worry man, you don't need to do that anymore. You ain't a wharf rat anymore, you made it. Just leave it. Grab a seat."
I really didn't want to. But I knew that this was the rules by which this place operated. They'd all but stated it. Maybe some people were stupid enough to try to challenge them, but me, no. Not that stupid, frankly all I wanted was back to the bedroom,but instead I sat down on the single ridiculously big chair…
Oh that was really nice. Leather? This was probably leather? Like, I didn't know leather but it felt like what I thought real leather should feel like. Soft enough I was melting into it as I watched the TV. On screen were two characters. I recognized one of them as Legend, but had no idea who the other one was, looked kinda like a werewolf. They were fighting, though Legend seemed to be using a lot more kicks and punches than I remember, with only the occasional laser blast thrown in. Eventually the werewolf fell to the ground, as the screen shouted "Legend Wins", Ryouichi groaned as Joshua gave a whoop of joy.
"You wanna play?" Joshua asked, apparently forgetting that I'd already said no, or maybe just eternally hopeful.
"I um, haven't really played this," I said, really hoping that would end the conversation.
"No problem, I'll teach you." Joshua took the controller from Ryouchi and handed it to me. What followed was… well, it was officially an explanation. It had words like 'R1 button' and 'start' which I thought I might have heard of. Then there were others that were just… baffling, at least at first. Honestly, I was shit at it and knew it, but Joshua wasn't a terrible teacher. I fucked up more times than I could count, but he'd just be like, 'yeah, no, that was the square, kicks, try the x button' with way more patience than basically any teacher I'd ever had in my life. It was… well, kinda nice actually, if I wasn't worried that he was gonna know who I was (did it really matter?)
While this was going on Malee sat on the massively oversized armrest of my chair. "Hey there, so, you got anything you want us to call you? Kintsugi is nice, but if you have something else we can use it."
Isa. My mind thought, as my mouth, having better survival instinct just went "Kintsugi's fine."
"Well Kintsugi, are you going to fix me up?" Malee asked. "Or break me a little harder?"
I froze, my face feeling like it was burning. She was so close and flirting with me and…
Look. I wasn't stupid. It was obviously cape flirting. Probably on orders. I wondered if she was actually a working girl or just.. I dunno, someone with the gang. Either way, I hated it, hated the idea of someone being interested in my body which I knew was wrong. And the reminder of what the gang was. It made me even more acutely aware of my body and--
She shrugged. "Hey I'm gonna go grab drinks, you want anything?"
"Beer."
"Budweiser."
"Coffee."
"Just water." I said. Yeah I was defying the rules now. This was clearly drinking time but… "Er, sorry, I really don't want to be drunk for my initiation." Maybe that would make them think I was older? And I also didn't want to get drunk at all. I didn't specifically hate drinking, though I'd never done it. But I needed to hide my identity, so loosening my self-control? Yeah, no.
Malee left to go get the drink, and I found myself settling in again.
"Okay, so despite what Joshua says, alt mode is not easy mode, it just makes combos more obvious. Point is, instead of doing the ridiculous joystick and button, just hit one, yeah, set it and-there you go laser." Ryouchi spoke up, as if he was used to having to talk louder than Joshua to get a word in edgewise.
"They're nerds about this shit," Ning said, and then added, "But their advice is probably good."
"Of course it's good," Joshua said. "We'd never steer our new buddy wrong. We've needed a good Tinker for… forever. We've been getting wiped out in the streets, whenever Lee or Lung isn't around." He hesitated, suddenly looking around fearfully, "Not that there's any…"
"Oh, give it a break," Ning said. "We all know the boss sometimes… he's a great boss, he's led the Self-Defense League to a lot of great victories. But a Tinker, they make tech and all that, right? Maybe some body armor for us so metal spike one, two, or three doesn't kill us?"
"Or something for KFC." Ryouchi said with the start of a smirk.
"KFC?" I finally chimed in.
"Kaiser's Flying Cunt," All three of them chimed in at once with amusement. Then Ning chimed in. "Heck if you don't want to do defensive stuff I'd love for something to deal with Savior."
I was silent, trying to wrack my brain for who that was, same sounded familiar--
"Totally independent healer that just happens to mostly heal E88 members," Malee called out, reading my mind, as she returned with the drinks on a tray and began handing them out.
"Yeah, nothing so fucked as beating the shit out of someone and having them bounce right back." Ning finished, then took a deep drink. "Ugh, fuck this coffee is shit Malee." I rolled my eyes, yeah I could tell that.
"Sorry, ain't my fault the coffee maker's broke."
"She's the worst, yeah," Joshua admitted. "Luckily they don't even give pure healers slots in this stupid game, so Vic's the only BB's healer here. She's shit though, garbage tier."
"They also didn't put Lóng in," Ryouchi said with a laugh, "They need to just start putting more villains in, but every time they do it without permission it's all…"
"Ahh, oh no, I'm dying, I'm dying, stop killing me Mr. Villain," Joshua completed. "And then! And then if they aren't, then it's 'oh no I'm promoting criminality!' What's criminal is how bad a character Legend is in this."
"No, no, you see," Ryouchi said. "Legend's a distance char, so you wanna stay apart and tear them up. Up close he hits like Ning." At which Ning rolled his eyes.
The game went on, and honestly, things got better. Everyone chatted, and they felt like regular people I could hang out with, mostly.
And then.
"Point is, I'm jealous, honestly. Lóng will let you do whatever you want. Free rounds at the casino, any drug you could possibly want, legal or illegal, a buncha us normals as bodyguards! Hell, get the girls to give you a little massage eh!" Ryouichi said with a wink. They'd been talking about their jobs, or rather the parts of their jobs that would convince me that this is great.
"Not that Ryouichi would want that. He's into those Thai girlyboys." Ning added quickly with a laugh.
"Hey fuck you!"
Right, well there was the reminder of what my new 'friends' were about. Of what they would think and do if they actually knew me. "I'm gonna fix the coffee maker." I said, getting up and hoping they didn't notice how quickly the good mood soured. Maybe they'd all be alright with it. Or maybe they'd pretend to be because I was a Parahuman and could apparently do all the evil I want. Or maybe they'd pretend to be alright and then mock and attack me behind my back. And--
No. I needed something I could control, that I could repair.
"Fix it?" Joshua said.
"Yeah, it's driving me nuts." I swore I could hear its gears grinding wrong still, even though it was done and like, I wasn't even sure the coffee maker had gears. But I heard something wrong and it felt like… like in my head grinding gears on sand and cracked clockwork chaotically clashing. Everything was wrong right now but this is something I could deal with.
As I got up I could hear Joshua whispering to the others, 'wait, are we allowed?'
"Chill out." Ning said. "It's a coffee maker, and we know he fixes stuff, I think we were told that?"
Right, they probably didn't realize I could hear them. Either way I headed to the kitchen where Malee had retreated once the gaming got going. Huh. Me and Malee in the kitchen while the boys played video games, that was gender validating, right? Bad joke. Fuck, I was out of it now. As I headed over, I saw Malee again, this time looking a lot less smiles and more… tired. She looked at me. "Sucks doesn't it?"
I… well I tried to give her a look asking more, but with the mask, that was a no go. "Oh?"
"Them being pricks, don't even realize what you are." My heart stopped for a moment. Had she- "I'm Thai too." She continued, oh, right there had been kinda two insults there. "For all we are supposed to be one happy family, they are still assholes. Chinese, Japanese and Philippines are the biggest gangs BB, they get the majority of the spots in the League, and the rest of us." I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. Heck, if she thought I was Thai, that just meant a safer identity. She, in turn, took a look at the boys playing. "You're smart, you figured out that these are the people Lung wants you to know right?
I nodded.
"Yeah, look at who got chosen to introduce you. I was only chosen for this job to flirt with you, but you're too smart for that, right?" I gave a nod. Well, smart or really fucking fucked up. But she didn't need to know that. She nodded."Look, I don't know you, but I know you, cause I know us all. You're a Wharf Rat, aren't you?"
"Wharf Rat." "Drowned rat." "Oar." Dozen names for us, all for the same thing, coming in not only as a refugee, but with no parents. Really, I was one of the luckier ones, came in with English and got foster families. Even so, I nodded.
"So am I. I still save every scrap of food in the fridge if I can, because I might need it to survive. Every wharf rat I've known's a survivor. Your situation now, press-ganged into the ABB, sucks. But you'll endure it, make it out the other side, and maybe you'll make people think twice about hurting you later. We are in this together." Fuck I knew this was manipulative. I knew it was her realizing flirting wasn't gonna work and changing tactics but, well--
Dammit, I wanted it. I wanted some other girl to be like 'you and me, we understand each other, unlike those boys out there. You are like me. Sure, it was a lie, both of us. Me for making her think I was Thai. Her for the entire…. Thing. But I wanted it so badly and-
She stopped, flashing a look at the other room before sighing. "You should probably head back, before the boys get too antsy, they're supposed to be watching you."
"Yeah… yeah okay." I said. "But first I'm gonna fix this machine, it really is driving me insane."
I thought about those new 'friends' as I looked at this crowd.
It's funny, and this time not funny haha, but funny weird, the things you notice. I was supposed to be watching the proceedings. Which personally put me in mind of a show-and-tell presentation, the type where each person stood up, was enthusiastically clapped at by their friends, and then everyone else when the teacher gave an eye at them. Except it was gangs and gang leaders, and the teacher was the giant dragon and strongest cape in BB.
I probably should have been focused on the politics there. What gangs cheer just hard enough, early enough for other gang leaders to figure out who was allied with each other, and who wasn't. Figure out my new position.
What I actually was focusing on was what my power was whining at me like an annoyed cat meowing at me.That one little fray on the center-left dragon banner. The semi-broken coffee machine on a table on the side (why was every coffee machine they had was partially broke, and in practically the same fucking way?), that one light that was dimmer than the others. I was shocked that that one hadn't been changed, given the pomp of the event. Did they not care? Or was my power just making it a bigger deal than it was?
The noise, even simply the smell of so many bodies, it all should be overwhelming. But instead it was the little details that mattered. The smell of the musty spot that wasn't supposed to be in the building, mold to come if not dealt with. The whining 'hum' of the light, the faint way I could almost hear its wrongness. The chanting, the call and response of Lung and his army. That was almost background, or maybe I just wanted it to be. Disassociating, they called it right?
Run
A half-heard whisper pierced through my focus, somehow more than the entire voice of the rest of the crowd. Louder than Lung who was right next to me. Who had said that?
Get out
Another, and for a moment I risked turning back. It sounded right near me. Like someone just whispering in my ear.
Run
There it was again, so soft, but coming… it was like it came from the crowd, and not just one voice, but multiple, but I wasn't near enough. I shouldn't hear any whispers, and the crowd was mostly just giving shouts at the end of each of Lung's declarations.
Fear Lung
The whisper sounded so hostile, so evil I… was I seeing things? Just what I needed and--
Had the crowd gotten bigger? I could swear not… not bigger really but denser like… like there were extra people.
More than that…
I hadn't been entirely accurate when I noted all the separate ethnic gangs. There was one gang that wasn't. At the very front, and occasionally spread out through the crowd, watching the other gangs, were the League. Lung's personal chosen from members of each gang. Those Lung elevated above the others, and representatives of his own will.
But.. Was I going insane? Was this… what? I could swear, swear I saw extra eyes in the crowd, shadows and extra hands and faces. League members. Asian. Always Asian, blended without any identity. There, but not. More and more of them, and before… they were league but you could tell, Japanese, Chinese, Korea, you could tell who they were. But now, when I looked I could only see "Asian boy" like it was overriding everything else, faces that came and flickered out. And it was… was like the gangs, the ethnic gangs were dissolving into them All become these boys, these men who were just Lung's enforcers, violence and identity less and-
Run from Lung. Or this is your future
And then… it was gone. It was just faces, again. Just people. People from Asia, or really some were probably born here but… you know. But it was people, I could even see the gangs again. The contrast of the faces, the way the Korea and Japanese and Chinese and Filipino each had their own little section, now so much clear in contrast to that sea. Just… what had I-
Lung shifted, standing tall. It was only then I realized he had gone silent. He was no longer speaking, the crowd was just milling about. Had he seen my panic attack? Was that worth punishment, I--
"Get behind me," he ordered, firmly. He strode forward and looked towards one of the windows. What was out there? He was… he was getting bigger. It wasn't my imagination, muscles were growing, bones were cracking, and I knew this was his power. Had he seen something?! Was there going to be a fight now of all times? I glanced towards the crowd, and they seemed confused too. It was like the moment when the teacher is looking away from everyone and you knew something was going on but you can't figure out what. Only this time is wasn't some teacher who couldn't do shit, it was fucking Lung and it was getting hot in here and-
I threw myself desperately to the ground as Lung sent a burst of fire clear through the damn wall. The wall was fucking gone, my power wasn't even telling me how to fix it, just telling me how completely doomed it was and that there was no point and that the structural integrity of the whole warehouse had been severely compromised just from that one blast. And Lung kept on growing bigger and scarier and now people were screaming, and the flames were spreading across the stage. But I couldn't see anything, it was like he was fighting a shadow.
Was it just a demonstration? Was it an invisible enemy? Had he just burned them to a crisp in one shot?
It was so hot, and my power was screaming at the destruction.
Lung kept on growing and issued roars of challenges as his posture began to bend before his growing height, growing faster than I ever imagined, surrounding himself with fire, turning this way and that, ready to strike at anything. Then, all at once, he rushed off towards the broken wall. Oni Lee followed, ready to back him up against… well nothing I could see. The gang were no longer a generic sea of 'Asian' but a confused mess of people. Some tried to get over to help, some were confusedly looking around, the smartest had taken a step back.
Maybe I should have followed Lung. Be a 'good' lieutenant/son. Sure, it was under his thumb, but it wasn't like being a Tinker didn't make me valuable.
But also fuck that. I'd seen enough foster fathers to know this was bad. Guy was already readying what looked like it'd be an actual wave of fire, his heat so much that even after moving off the stage towards the was-once-a-wall, I could still feel it. There was no more safety here than anywhere else with someone over you. I was running.
Lung had taken the shield I'd wanted to sell, but I had one ace left. I reached into my coat (wonderfully repaired, best personal use of power) and pulled out the tiny keychain. One press and it became a syringe. Or more a Syringe! The thing was comically large, from some stupid video-game. It was so dumb that I had to keep the ridiculous looking holder to get the shrinking effect. I could improve things sometimes, but anything my power considered fundamental to the build, like looking stupid as hell I had no hope of changing. So I was stuck with Leet's stupid design.
I grit my teeth and injected it. For a moment I shuddered, before I shook it off and jumped off the stage. The first part, the League members were going to be the hardest. Once I got through them I could move through the areas between gangs. "Move" I shouted into the crowd. "I need to help!"
Some of the idiots actually moved, thank god. Act like you know what you are doing, and you can get away with a lot before they notice. For the first stupid bastard that didn't get out of the way, well that was what the formula was for. Shoulder checks hurt, and mine was already complaining, but I'm betting he didn't expect some scrawny 15-year old to tackle through him like the biggest football player a non-cape could be. I was gonna be hating myself in 15 minutes when the serum wore off, but that was later. Right now I was getting the fuck out of here. Tearing between the Japanese and Chinese, to head to the gap between the Vietnamese and Koreans and finally freedom.
As I continued forward, some high-pitched member of the ABB tried to run towards me. "Hey wait-" but I was gone.
Fear was a strange thing. It didn't always make sense. It was like Triggers. Despite everything Aunty Lustrum(was she still Aunty, I hadn't seen her in years, had she just been tolerating me? No, focus, focus) said, most Capes didn't like to talk about their Trigger Events, even indirectly. The PRT was still downplaying the 'trigger' thing, though they could hardly hide it anymore or hope nobody paid it any mind.
So I did not know how Lung had triggered. But everyone said the powers had something to do with the way you fell apart. So I thought about it. He took damage, he took suffering, and spat out power and strength: growing and growing. Danger, I thought, but also helplessness. There was no choice but to suffer, to not be strong or good enough to avoid the pain that was awaiting.
And then, what was Leviathan? Nobody liked thinking about the Endbringers, because it was such a hopeless thing to imagine doing anything to them. Only one of them was scary in an interesting way, but all of them were terrifying in the purely simplistic way that a storm is terrifying. I'd have to try myself, see if they had emotions or fears or even thoughts that I could use, if I researched them. Scion, maybe? He was a sore topic, but they had fled from Scion before his mental breakdown and death.
But what I knew was that Kyushu had broken before Lung did.
Or did it? Or did he? He hadn't actually saved the city. He hadn't killed Leviathan. He'd achieved nothing more than an impressive performance.
He'd been helpless and worthless again, despite his power.
Everyone feared the Endbringers, but I thought, once I was done warning the Tinker boy, that Lung would react interestingly. The boy was looking around, fidgeting with his shirt, and then as I watched it he moved through a set of actions, thoughtlessly, that settled the shirt and… how was he fixing a fraying strand with just his fingers? Nevermind, it was probably some Tinker nonsense.
I tried to focus on making the siren wail just right.
He froze at first, when he heard the Endbringer Sirens. I did not have the ability to actually imagine what the Endbringers were like, I'd have to draw that from him, and so I concentrated, squinting and hoping I didn't stand out too much. He stopped, and then turned towards the direction of the Docks. The sirens meant that the Endbringer was here, and I whispered in his mind, indirectly, that surely it was Leviathan. Surely it was… the threat.
He tensed, and I grinned to myself, the joy of his fear as rich as chocolate. I focused, eyes straining a little bit to watch him and make sure he wasn't going to--
Oh.
The wall was collapsing, and that meant that a wave was incoming. if he wanted to save his people, he'd need to--
It was about that moment that the flames began to spread. It was at that moment that I realized I'd made a terrible mistake. At the moment when I stopped regretting it at all, because it felt so good to have a crime boss… jumping at shadows on the wall that you'd created.
By then, the person I was trying to save had pulled out… wait, was that a bit of Leet tech? I called out, as he sprinted for the door, "Hey, wait--" but got no further as he left, as flames began to fill the room, as all hints of any sort of calm and control broke down. Screams filled the air, fear as rich and varied as a bouquet. I saw Oni Lee backing up, confused, looking around for the danger and obviously not seeing it.
I noted his size, and was pretty sure he was a teenager. Maybe he'd… maybe I'd find a way to find him again. I knew how to spot that kind of fear. If he was going to school, it'd be because there was no other choice. He'd be nervous, he'd… I knew I'd be able to spot it, anyone observant couldn't help but notice things like that.
But, right then, I wasn't really thinking about him.
I was thinking about the fire.
It was a confused chaos, everyone pushing and shoving, people trampling each other as they went towards the only working exit, the smoke soon making it so that I was coughing and pushing like everyone else. The most I could do, once I dropped the power on Lung, was make a few people shy away from me, as if I'd been about to shove them. Even that was confusing, a few moments here and there as I fought and kicked my way out of there.
In the distance, I could hear real sirens, blaring out the fact that I'd caused a major warehouse fire. People might be dead. No, no, I shouldn't lie to myself. They probably were. As I let the grip of my power go I started to realize what I'd done. I had…
Fuck.
At least the Tinker had gotten out, I thought, when we finally burst through the door like a cork from a bottle. I turned around and saw that the fire was spreading, if not as fast as I had feared. He had stopped, and left. I knew Lung wouldn't stick around as the fire engines came.
A hero, a decent person, would stay to provide information and do what she could to help others.
But I was a white trans girl with obvious ties to the Alliance, if I was found here it might get out.
I slipped away, as did most of the League members, to be fair. Nobody was staying to fight the fire unless it was their job to do so. I stumbled through the night, wondering what the price was for saving one boy. How many had suffered because of it?
I went home.
I went home and laid in bed and trembled as if I was being shaken, and finally sleep knocked me out.
I remembered the feeling, the feeling of the world falling down around me, of a desperate battle, of Alexandria there standing speaking words that meant nothing as I struggled and fought, and then--
Sank.
Down. Down.
They couldn't be killed. You'd have to be an idiot even to try. If you can't win, then why fight?
Down down.
Nobody had seen it. Nobody cared about it. They'd died, he'd been trapped, she'd--
He'd done the impossible, fought Leviathan one on one and stood up to the beast.
It had meant nothing, he had meant nothing.
Down down.
I hit the bottom. I couldn't move, exhausted, broken.
When I saw someone approach, for a moment I thought Mother.
And then I saw the figure reaching down. Strong, brave, honest-- Negation.
Alexandria dragged me up, coughing, gasping, spluttering, roaring, up into the clean air of a shattered world.
'Two gang members dead in Warehouse Fire' the news blared. I watched it carefully, but the newscasters simply stated that Lung had caused the fire. There was no doubt speculation online about why the attack had come. What had happened. I knew Lung would have to suspect Parahuman powers. To think otherwise would be to doubt himself far too much. It also made no sense as some flashback or nightmare.
But he wouldn't be talking, and he had no way of tracking me down. I was safe. I was free. I was okay.
On the bus, crowded and penned in by other kids, laughing and joking and… everything else, I discreetly took out the cell-phone I'd been hiding from Dad for… a while. I scrolled through yet more of the news, and--
What did I expect?
Nothing much new, some rampant speculation about the upcoming Endbringer fight. Nobody knew where, but Behemoth was scheduled to hit within the next week or two. The world was ending and anyone who paid attention was just asking whether it was Endbringers, the return of nukes post-Scion, or a collapsing climate. There was no other world left, Earth Aleph was a ruin where the hundreds of millions still alive were supposed to live in absolute destitution and savagery. Nothing could be done, the current Endbringer protocols, besides being unknown to the public, were supposedly perfected by Thinkers. This was the best we could get. There was no alternative. The best of all possible worlds.
And me thinking otherwise with a power that probably couldn't do anything to Endbringers was pretty useless. I'd just have to… deal with what I could deal with.
Still, I thought of Lung. The Endbringers were many people's worst nightmares. Even the secondhand fear of it, the images of Leviathan, were enough to cause restless sleep for a lifetime. It was cruel, what I'd done, even before people had died of it.
But I didn't regret it, not exactly. I… I hadn't thought about what it would do. I felt if I had evaluated all the dangers and judged that the risk of death was worth the opportunity to save the one person who had no choice but to be there. Everyone else was making a choice, weren't they?
It wasn't a thought that could sustain much, could hold much. It was a thin gruel thought, and so of course I kept on listening to everyone around me talking. Right behind me, two boys were whispering, Franklin and Richard, part of the Community Aid Initiative, which was to say that most of the time they just went around helping people and one time out of twenty they instead were junior brawlers.
"We think he has a sister, in a bad situation. The manager said that we just help her and that'll be a hook to Grue," Richard declared, with a tiny little wave. He was whispering it so quietly that I had to lean in a little bit, but I was safe. There were terrible rumors about me, and even most of the Alliance kids believed a few of them. But (almost) nobody doubted I was devoted to the Alliance. How could they?
But hearing that, I knew what this was all about. Grue was this Independent, barely a villain. He'd been muscle for a number of the petty local gangs without a Parahuman, glaring at people, showing the flag, acting as a bouncer. Small stuff. He had powers that countered Stalker's, which was enough to make me like him. He'd also beaten up a few Nazis when they tried to move in, and so The Alliance was trying to recruit him to be one of their capes. They could forgive a lot worse than some petty crime and intimidation if someone opposed the Nazis.
They thought they knew Grue's actual identity, and he apparently had a sister in some sort of position that left her vulnerable to pressure. They'd say all sorts of things, but I could tell that there were at least a few nerves in the question, "Here?" that Franklin asked.
He didn't want it to be here.
"No, BlueLeaf Middle, it's, we're doing the right thing, I've heard…" and then Richard trailed off. "Nevermind, we'll talk about it later."
He sounded nervous about more than just being overheard. A part of me wanted to figure out who I could talk to without it getting back to The Alliance. I was starting to have some ideas about what I could do. I wasn't sure, but… if Kintsugi really was going to Winslow, I could see about convincing him of something. I'd need to figure out the exact situation, but I had some ideas.
There were a lot of independent capes around here, people who didn't quite fit in anywhere or didn't want to. Everyone talked about Uber and Leet, but there were quite a few parahumans who lived in the margins and faced pressure to jump one way or another. Some of them were just vigilante thrillseekers or petty crooks, but I knew it wasn't all of them.
And if I wanted to figure out anything about the Alliance, about whether they really were as bad as they seemed, I couldn't just talk to Alliance capes and wind up in the system. Not that they had some marching-order style of things, where every cape had to do only what the bosses said. But everyone involved had reasons to be grateful or know that there were things that couldn't be talked about.
There were also constant rumors of scandals, the faintest traces of what, for all one knew, could be larger problems.
All of this had me thinking about how I could be someone separate from The Alliance without running into the arms of the PRT. I didn't trust the Wards, I couldn't fully trust the Alliance, it was silly to imagine being with Faultline's mercenaries, none of the gangs appealed, and… doing it all alone was a very easy way to die. I was just as squishy as anyone else, which meant unless I was just attacking the low-lifes and staying out of everyone's ways, I'd die sooner or later alone. But if I didn't care about making things better, then why not just accept that The Alliance sucked but help them anyways? Or glad-hand babies or whatever the Wards did.
Right now though, I couldn't even imagine how to be someone separate from Taylor Hebert. Punks jeered as The Alliance huddled up to enter the school. There'd been a shooting, a year ago, where an E88 sniper had killed a kid who'd… I couldn't even remember. The torment had been starting then and I'd been numb and terrified and shuddering at how easily it could be me. That was the point, I think.
So now everyone clustered up when they entered the building, for that and because it was a classic ambush spot for less lethal moments, for when some League punk wanted to knock someone over, beat them up a little, and then skip school. I was at the edges of the formation, and I'd gotten the worst of it once or twice. I'd used to be nearer to the center, but I usually couldn't trade for that anymore.
Winslow sucked.
This time, though, the gauntlet was just a bunch of jeering Nazis, muttering slurs that nobody bothered to punish, even the uncomfortable looking teachers. I got called faggot and far worse than that, jeers and insults I knew were at least partially fed by Emma's lies. She'd never directly spread anything about my gender, but my looks? Absolutely.
I knew I was a beanpole with nothing feminine about my body besides the hair I lovingly cared for, and that I would probably never, ever actually pass. Emma knew it too, and once she'd stopped being my friend she wielded these truths tactically. She knew that being seen to say certain things would be a mistake. Her family was as deep in The Alliance as mine had been and still sort of was. But that just meant she got to be cleverer. Imply ugliness, imply all sorts of things without quite… saying them. There were things people could think but not say. Or that I feared they said where I wasn't, and thought the rest of the time.
For instance, once we'd run the gauntlet and apparently decided that now wasn't the day to start a big brawl, there Emma was, smiling at me.
A few people still thought we were friends. Most of the kids had probably learned otherwise, but even so they didn't think it was as bad as it was… I hoped.
Maybe they knew everything and all my talk about Emma having to step carefully was just optimism.
It'd figure.
"Taylor, I wanted to talk," Emma said, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. Emma was beautiful. With the benefit of hindsight, there were a lot of things I'd thought and felt that now were really, really embarrassing after everything I had gone through at her hands. She was an amateur model, though she was usually too busy for more than that. So she was wearing a nice skirt, a dark blouse, and looking at me as if I was a student who'd given a wrong answer so absurd that…
What was it? Could she somehow know I'd Triggered? No.
"No thank you," I said, even though I knew there was no way it was that simple. I was scanning around for--ah, there she was.
Sophia Hess was watching the halls with a tense expression. I'd never seen anyone who spent more of their life angry and about to pounce. Whose body, whose self, seemed aimed at a running battle. She probably wanted to beat up the Nazis, but hadn't been ordered to. She and Emma were friends, but she also seemed devoted to doing what Emma said. I… could understand the feeling. So either Emma or someone from the Alliance had made it clear that there would be no fights today. At least, not this early.
Sophia was glaring at me, nervous about... me?
Well, if I was a Parahuman, there were decent odds I could actually hurt Emma. I didn't know what Emma feared, not at all. Even this close, I had not the least idea. I didn't understand her anymore. But she knew me well enough to destroy me. Emma leaned in. "You should be careful, the ABB is angry about something. I don't know what, whatever it is isn't that interesting. But I wouldn't want you to… run across them."
"So you're going to try to hit me with them, good to know," I whispered bluntly. I was leaning in a bit too much, and there were whispers.
Emma had me coming and going, she always did. If I lashed out in response to her cruelty, I was violent and troubled and plenty of people said behind my back that it proved I was basically a guy. If I just took it, if I just accepted misery, I was passive and she'd make dark comments about how I wasn't living up to female empowerment, was I? And then someone, I thought it might be Madison, would frame me for outbursts if I went long enough without causing anything.
So even kids who were "on my side" thought I was a troubled troublemaker who got into fights or was too reckless around the enemy who took it out on me.
Emma said, "Really, me?"
"You've done it before," I said, my voice so quiet nobody else could hear. "Not asking you to admit it, but… I'm tired of pretending."
"Pretending?" Emma raised an eyebrow.
"That you aren't my worst enemy," I said, and I let myself sigh.
Emma shook her head, face twisting into an expression I couldn't understand, "You live in a city with Nazis, and--"
"Yes," I said, and then I backed up, because I saw Sophia advancing towards me, and I knew how this went. She wouldn't do anything now, but if I messed around she would make me regret it. I was afraid, that was one thing that didn't go away.
But it didn't hurt as much. It felt oddly warm, the idea of being afraid. Because it felt familiar in some… I don't even know. I understood fear, and so often I couldn't understand the depths of my hurt, the amount that they had taken from me. I knew it was a vast wound, but it… I'd just pretend it was okay.
I had other things to deal with. "Yes, I do. And they still…" but I stopped as Sophia came up right next to her and stood there, looking at me with hostility. I heard giggles in the distance, and I decided, no. If Sophia was going to be glaring at me, standing there shorter and yet far more solid than I could ever be, I'd just leave.
Emma turned, and I saw the start of a harsh word before she relaxed and… whispered something in Sophia's ears.
What?
You know what, it wasn't my problem I decided.
My problem was finding Kintsugi.
I'd spent each of my classes in turn looking, trying to find someone who might, who could at least in theory, be Kintsugi. I supposed that was one thing I could thank Emma for. The same set of skills that I'd developed from the bullying had made me better at watching the class more than the teacher. It was in the sixth period that I hit the jackpot.
He wasn't someone I knew at all. Just another kid, one of the Asian kids. Yes, I know that wasn't a great criteria to start, but it did eliminate 80% of the population. I wasn't great at telling anything else. I knew that the league often targeted the orphaned population (o.a.r.s) since they didn't have a lot of other options. So maybe he was one of them? But I also knew that that population wasn't as big as people thought. Only 30% of the total, just over-represented in the media. And far more likely to be victims than the 'killers' the right-wing media portrayed them as.
Still… I had no idea. Trying for something else. He didn't have obvious League gang tags, which, to be fair, a lot of Asian kids recognized that the gangs were fundamentally parasites on their communities. He was kinda shortish? That was… really wasn't great. Couldn't tell much of anything about the rest of him, he was wearing a hoodie… heh, maybe he was actually trans. I rolled my eyes, reminding myself that not everyone wearing a hoodie like it was armor was trans.
Enough to give him my full focus, try and figure out what I could. He would occasionally glance around, fearful of people, people discovering who he was, really. He was jumpy, and I knew that he had to be tired, and tired people were easier to read, really. Easier to guess at, because who was at their best tired? My heart nearly stopped, that was… jumpy was good, a massive point in favor of cape… Or, a small part of my brain pointed out, trans and I should stop misgendering her.
No, no, the glaces were more directed at ABB kids than anyone else, which was a point towards Kintsugi. Besides that, what else could I figure out? I… wasn't sure. Everything else I could notice was probably more abstract, guesses about personality. What wasn't abstract was that the body didn't look used to being that jumpy. Not that it wasn't jumpy ever but not that jumpy. No, I didn't spy on everyone all the time, but it was just obvious. If you'd nearly been burned by Lung, then yeah, that's what you're like. I knew it for sure.
I spent several periods just thinking about him. It was a necessary part of figuring out how to use my powers, if I wasn't just guessing. That other fear, what could it be? Being stuck maybe, maybe? Never getting what he wanted? That seemed like it could fit, especially with a Tinker, but… my guess was frustratingly opaque. I was focusing on fears, because fears helped you understand a lot… but I was still working on understanding people's hopes and dreams.
I was more used to being afraid than having hope. I followed him for one period, and then between periods checked to make sure I knew where he was. I managed to keep him in view, and decided I'd just follow him right out of school. He was a lot more cautious this time, worried about anyone seeing him, not just ABB. He looked more and more nervous. Though it was Winslow, so a part of me was afraid of false-positives. But then he pulled something out of his locker. I couldn't make out what, and had to duck behind one of the other lockers like I was grabbing my own stuff as he nearly saw me.
I knew he hadn't seen me because he wasn't freaking out, but I also knew that I was not exactly a stealthy sort. I was not going to be sneaking around like some sort of High Elf, and I was too tall to be any sort of Hobbit. I kept back, and watched as he headed for one of the classrooms. In movies, the horror villains could seem to almost teleport around, despite being big and obvious, but this wasn't the movies.
I recognized it, it was Ms Fionn, an Alliance social-studies teacher, and one of the better ones, she didn't exactly do anything, but at least she didn't act like I was going to be violent when I got framed for random nonsense that I was sure Madison was behind. He walked right up to the wall in the classroom, staring at the cracked, peeling paint. There weren't any gang signs yet as he put down two cans he'd been carrying.
If this was all just because he was nervous about tagging a wall for the first time, I was going to scream. I felt the tension in my body, the way my knees were joggling as I thought about what to do. The teacher was halfway decent, despite everything, and I'd have to stop him if that was the case. Perhaps a little bit of fear? Just a taste of being caught, but… no. It felt like that wouldn't work.
He opened the paint-cans slowly, and… huh. He was taking out a… roller thing, and with dedication and near perfect care he began repainting the wall. If I had looked at him right then, I wouldn't have been able to figure out anything about his fears, because for the first time he looked calm. For the first time he looked as if he couldn't be afraid. He was enjoying himself, painting the wall so that it looked brand new.
It didn't mean he was a parahuman, but if I'd barked up the wrong tree just to meet a kindly stranger, then there were worse things than that. It was selfish to feel insulted and worried as if it was a betrayal. Wait, no-
No, it was the Tinker. It had to be. He didn't need to lay down a canvas, it wasn't dripping at all, it was as if someone had found the platonic ideal of how to paint perfectly and then did it. He stopped at one of the taped posters of the world, simply pulling out a knife and cutting the tape down without damaging the poster at all, before swapping to caulking the cracks the poster hid and then painting it over perfectly. That just wasn't normal, and I thought I'd know if there was some wall-painting prodigy going around offering his services for free. No, Jacob had something that told him how to do this perfectly. I had no idea what that had to do with being a Tinker, but I suppose I could always ask him. What I knew was that he was a good person.
He wanted to fix things. He wanted the community to be better, and that… that was something I could use. No, saying 'use' made it feel impersonal. But I was already scheming about how I could…
Well. how this could go. Jacob, I realized, was a good person. I'd looked up Kintsugi online, hoping to find something. Turned out it was Japanese, and so no wonder I hadn't known it at first. Kintsugi was this old Japanese art, repairing something with gold. Improving things, making them prettier, making them better than even before they were damaged. He'd chosen that name for a reason.
And now Jacob was repairing the classroom.
There was no question, this was him.
"Gotcha." I whispered under my breath. It was time to make my introduction.
Clockworkchaos: A/N: Poor old Scion, just overworked himself and went crazy one day. Good thing for everyone here he was able to be confined to Earth Aleph.
The Laurent Author's Note: Luckily only guilty people who deserved death went to that ABB warehouse party/gathering, or else the whole 'two deaths' thing would be a very awkward start to her hero career.
The first time I saw Taylor Hebert, or at least the first time I recognized her as a distinct person, I was still under the delusions of being a boy. At the time she wasn't important. Wasn't really the relevant detail, per say.
The relevant detail was the fight going on. I hadn't expected the level of fights in Winslow when I first arrived. It was a lot nicer than some (most) of the elementary schools I'd been to in BB. Most places though didn't have gang fights. Yeah, part of that was elementary, but I think it was as much control. This school was Asian, this school was Alliance, even this school was 88 (once). I'd learned to keep my head down and accept some blows just happened. But with a central power, you had an order. So most actual fights were individuals fighting. At worst were the refugee schools, where the gangs or… really the soon-to-be-gangers fought. "Junior League" kids were a relief there, since they actually stopped fights.
Winslow was different. No gang had a dominant position, so fights were gang fights. The full things. It was so weird because the school was nicer than some but… yeah. Luckily my school hopping experience had given me an instinct on when a fight was going to break out, and got out of there, and one was going down. You could kinda get a feel for it. Some fights were spontaneous, sudden ambushes that you heard and made sure to pass or turn around for lest you got caught. Those were, honestly, kinda less dangerous. If someone was jumped in the halls it was targeted, specific. Someone was going to have a terrible day and as long as it wasn't you, you coped. But the kind of general brawl that was brewing that day? Those are the ones that could get you beat up just for being in the wrong place.
The scene? A typical Winslow hallway. Peeling paint, probably a sign or two, smell of… in fairness to Winslow, not garbage, they got rid of that quickly, but pot and tobacco was never really cleaned out. Around the area were other people, but they didn't much enter my mind, just part of the mass of bodies that was the between class rush. Now enter the combatants.
Side one was the Empire jackasses, older - all juniors, half of 'em with shaved heads and decked out in tattoos: eagles and american flags and all the things that weren't Nazi enough to be grounds for punishment. Smell of tobacco and body spray. Side two was the Alliance girls. Freshies like me, no tattoos but their own symbols, pride flags, broken chain designs, all the Alliance gang markings, plus it was a mix of white, black and even someone who looked Japanese. Even without symbols it was a cluster of people that'd wouldn't be together in any other gang except the Alliance. The Empire had blocked off the hallway, leering and seeming to aim especially at one of the girls.
I remembered thinking it was weird, the girl they were after was the tallest, but that was it. There were girls to her side who were other races, and if they wanted 'sexy' targets, there was one girl who was like, supermodel pretty, white, red-hair rather than blonde-blue eyed, but close enough. I knew how boys worked, because I was certain I was one then, and they should have been catcalling one of the other ones. But their target was the tall one, and that meant something. Whoever was being targeted, surrounded and blocked off. It was almost like a wolf pack, the way the Empire was trying to get the others to run, to leave the one they could go on.
The girls looked terrified. Well, that's what I thought at the time, though the supermodel girl seemed a little distant. They weren't used to what they were facing, I could tell that. First time, I'll bet. I felt a little bad for 'em, but I wasn't going to stick my neck out. The boys were egging each other on. Getting a little closer and a little more touchy. Laughing as the girls were trying to keep going. Working themselves up to violence.
One of them, a weedy asshole with a Gavel t-shirt, was the first to cross the line. To really get in the girls' faces. "You still got a dick faggot? Or you cut it off?" He asked, leaning in the group so that some of the girls fell back and he was in the tall girl's face. Laughter of amusement from the others, the promise of fun that was more dangerous than any other sound.
"Why Jerry? You craving it? It's okay, we're cool with it." Another voice rang out, this one belonging to a heavily muscled guy with a single left earring and sports gear. The Empire fractured for a moment as they took stock of the situation, weedy falling back to his peers to a mix of laughter and jeers from the new group. This group was Alliance-aligned Juniors and Seniors, mostly boys, but there was a girl or two in there too. The Freshie girls had worn their Alliance stuff as almost an afterthought. Like it was just there. These members wore it like war paint. A challenge to the world. As the girls looked on with relief, the second group took their own battle positions, surrounding the girls.
I had hoped that that would be the end. The Empire had lost the easy kill and would give up. Maybe they would have, if more of their own members hadn't shown up. One guy… well he rallied the others. Didn't know the guy's name, but he was big, like, big tall, the girl was tall, but this guy was easily over six foot, and with muscles. "Hey, so that's the Hebert fag. I heard she likes to peek in lockers. Thought you guys were protecting women?"
Another shift, but the Alliance wasn't backing down. I could see the hatred and fear in their eyes. They knew this guy, whoever he was, but the numbers were now even and so nobody was sure who was going to come out on top. But there were too many people to back down, not unless one side or another had an excuse. So they started trading insults, and sometimes one or two of them moved forward, daringly, to the shouts and encouragement of their peers. This was going to turn bad, and fast, and I needed out.
But I couldn't get out, more were coming. The class start bell had already rung, but more were coming, slipping out of class because word was getting around. People ran and when they ran they went to get the people they knew were going to be down for a brawl. This was getting big. I should have left earlier rather than hovering idiotically, but the exits were blocked. I hadn't expected that many people that fast. I remember thinking it was unfair that the girls who started this were getting out. Some of the Alliance members were pushing them out through a corridor against the attempts of the Empire.
Resentment filled me as the Alliance and Empire squared off. In the abstract it was better if the Alliance won, but I also remember thinking that when they provoked the Empire and lost it just meant that the rest of us got caught in it. The halls were getting louder and louder, and eventually something started the fight.
It wasn't a punch at first. It rarely was, except for some truly crazy bastards. Muscle-cueball, him I had my eye on. But it usually isn't a punch, it gets you too close, gets away from your buddies, so instead it started with thrown things, maybe a bit of shoving in a crowd. Something a little bit anonymous. really if you look at it, most fights consist of people who are scared of fights trying to psyche themselves up. So you start with those things, the little and then more, and more, until someone, finally, charges, and then hell breaks loose.
Bodies moving forward, others getting pushed back. I'd been on the Alliance side of the hallway, which meant they didn't go for me directly. But then, they weren't really stopping for me either. People pushed past me and the crush threatened to slam me into one of the walls, little bump after little shoulder bump adding up to something much bigger. All around me were the sounds of fighting and yelling and shouts of encouragement and even the smell.
I needed out, and I needed people to let me out. So I looked around, scanning the battle lines until I saw my target. Some Alliance girls, not one of the girls I think, but one who had come in. She was stumbling back and clutching her face. I grabbed her arm. "Come on!" I said to her. "Injury!" I shouted, "Let us through!" I kept shouting, half dragging, half leading her away. "Let us THROUGH!" I shouted, like I was trying to help her.
That's the trick: look commanding, look like you have a good reason to leave, like you are someone who should get through, and people will let you through. It's an illusion, not one that was easy for me. I wasn't white, or tall, or good at looking like the kinda guy people should follow. But I'd worked out how to look like I was helping. And so me and my safety ticket got out of there, everyone thinking I was just helping her, protecting her. Doing something that merited me being made room for. I remember thinking, as I hurried off, that I definitely wasn't telling the foster parents about this.
November 9, 2009
I glanced up at Hebert.
I could use a lot of words to describe her: white, curly-dark hair, large brown eyes made larger by her glasses, only more striking. I could say 'tall.'
She was tall. That was one thing. The only thing maybe. But even then, it wasn't backed up by anything else about her. All of which was just 'girl'. Pretty girl even. Willowy, I think the word usually is?
There is a moment of movement, and I quickly glance back down, like I'm reading the assignment. I should. My current fosters are… well I've been with them a few years now, seems like it's going to be a long-term thing now. Least till college, and they believe in me, talk about college. I should care about… I do, even, but… well all I can think about is a girl.
Only well, small detail there.
Taylor isn't a girl.
Supposedly.
According to rumor.
She's transgender. Given the fights going on, I'd made sure to figure out her deal. Penis down there. Only like, one of those that's in school (and there are more than a few), not turning tricks in one of the gang's places. Out here, existing. And I can't find the flaws. It's driving me nuts. I know what transgendered people look like on all those stupid shows and descriptions, what I would look like if I ever got to try, I think? Too much make-up, too much everything. The overdone attempt at femininity, all that effort they put in only showing how male they are. But Taylor's just…. Existing. Looking like a girl. Just there. For everyone to see.
And it drives me nuts.
Looking at it. At her, and knowing it's possible. That it's possible to just pass so perfectly that if nobody told you otherwise you'd never know.
It's not. Not possible. Not really. I needed to stop telling myself anything else. It's not like I'm… no, it's not worth even trying. Not when I'd have to compete with Hebert.
She'd known it forever. Everyone says hormones work better when you start early, and I was already starting to get pretty old, at fifteen. And besides she-
She mattered.
I didn't know everything, but I kept my ear to the ground. Who to avoid. Who to be careful around. Taylor's parents. One of them, or more, was Alliance, high up. I didn't know which one, and someone said they're dead, but if they are then their shadow still protects Taylor. When the Empire tried to start something with her, the Alliance kids pounced like hungry wolves.
I knew exactly what Taylor was. Taylor was a Mafia Princess, like in the shows my foster mom loves to watch, a beautiful, perfect girl who had access to resources I couldn't ever dream of. Who knows, maybe one of the Alliance Parahumans sculpted her.
They had to have… else, why couldn't I find any flaws?
"Excuse me," she said softly, stepping past me. We'd just run into each other in the halls. Nothing more than that. She didn't see me, not really. And why should she, girls like her would never…
I can never have that but…
But also…
I've always been careful not to join groups. Ties like that just make it harder to run.
But if there was even a half a chance I could have what she had…
The Alliance might be worth it.
September, 7th 2010
They didn't move her this time. It was another Taylor Brawl(™). Smaller, this time, most of them didn't get as big as the early one. But it was a brawl.
I should move, just ignore them. I avoided other brawls, but I'd just…
Fuck I'd been off my game. It wasn't the first time. I'd been freezing in school. Not moving, just…
It was stupid. It was so stupid. I just kept… seeing Empire goons. And freezing.
Stupid. I hadn't frozen on 8/8. I'd done shit then, but now, after they weren't after me, I was just fucking-
It was, ironically, my power that brought me back to the real world at first, not the brawl. It was the one advantage of its constant, constant complaining. It wasn't willing to let me stew in pointless shit that shouldn't matter. It doesn't care about the brawl, not at first. It wanted me to focus on the important things, like the kid three seats down whose backpack strap was broken. Or the table behind down from me that had its leg-cap missing. It isn't until a grabbed shirt starts with fabric damage that I focus back on the brawl. On her.
Okay, yes. I was slightly obsessed with Taylor Hebert, but to be fair, I wasn't the only one. Everyone heard the rumors.
Not just the basic ones, like that she was raw dawging apparently every female Alliance member and non-alligned, and that she was also being fucked by every man, especially the black ones. I'd say Nazis are gonna Nazi, what can you do… but some of the League kids loved that rumor as well.
But the other rumors:
Taylor got an erection every time she saw a fight.
Taylor kept her family in money by sleeping around.
Taylor did the hard drugs.
Taylor had a collection of Empire dicks nailed to a wall. Like, as presents.
Taylor's dead mom had had a dick as well, and was her real dad, insert mom of your choice.
Taylor loved guns and carried one everywhere for use as a sex toy.
Taylor had beaten one kid to death in a rage.
The point was, for like half the school Taylor was the coolest person. They'd never talk to her or help her or do anything to make her feel like she had literally anyone, but they'd whisper about her and in that kinda horrified awe you did of the really scary people. Still, I liked to think I actually had a better reason now. Taylor was my weathervane. If she could be accepted even a little bit… well… It was different. People like her always operated by different rules, but there was a chance I'd be…
I'd…
I'd had a plan. My foster parents wouldn't have accepted being trans.
Or, maybe wouldn't have.
Or, wouldn't have been supportive.
Probably.
They'd been proud of me. Supportive even (as a guy). Way better than a lot of ones. But they were religious. Listened to warnings about society changing and getting worse..
I'd kinda… I'd had a plan, sort of. Get to college despite the part of me that said that Oars didn't end up there. Make sure it was a good one. Get hormones then and…
Well maybe we'd meet for the holidays?
Or maybe they'd been supportive. Maybe it would have all worked out. Maybe when the trans was someone they knew, not a distant thing…
I'd never know now. Not that it mattered. It didn't it just… messed up plans.
Running to the Alliance had been a consideration. But… well as I said, Taylor had been my weathervane.
I'd heard the rumors early on last year: Taylor's mom was dead. Drunk driving accident if you believed the Empire. FBI assassination if you believed the rumors from the Alliance. I hadn't known before who her important parent was, but I'd know afterwards when I'd finally started caring. That was the one that had given her power, and in the aftermath of her death there must have been some sort of holy glow of the martyr. But that shine had long since worn off, and now she was just an ordinary white trans girl.
This time, Taylor wasn't evacuated.
Instead, the fight had just happened around her. She was being forced to punch and kick and claw like a normal grunt to try to escape from the fight, like just any grunt. She had reach, but that wasn't much help when you were that tightly packed in a brawl and nobody was trying to help you out. Which nobody was, anymore. A crushing blow hit her on the side of the head, and she flopped on the ground. Nobody stopped fighting.
Eventually a teacher came. I couldn't remember even months later what he(?) looked like. "Stop brawling. Stop it right now." Taylor was no longer away from the melee, she was in it, and was going to be one of the ones caught.
"Hi Jacob." A sweet voice came from behind me. I whirled. Red hair, skin that looked like it never once saw the touch of decay, lipstick that was put on so perfectly that even my power couldn't find a complaint, a perfectly color coordinate green outfit (that changed, she changed the color to anything that went with her hair, except black, never red and black). It was Emma Barnes. "Watching Taylor?"
Emma was. Well she was a lot of things. Hot. Like, scary, hot. And scary. More than anyone else, Emma had arranged Taylor's fall. Not that a lot of the Alliance seemed to know it, but it was obvious.
It wasn't surprising. Lieutenants stabbing the boss in the back and taking power was what organizations did. From the moment Taylor's mother had died Emma had begun to make her own play, she'd undermined and isolated Taylor while also gathering power-players like Sophia and a host of other girls to her side. Emma was smart. She never was too overt, but if you watched, well… you could see who was pulling the strings. Who made sure Hebert fights happened more and more often.
The point was, Emma was here. Emma, who wanted to make sure that Taylor never rose again. And she'd just noticed me noticing her. I was dead. If I wanted to have any hope of surviving. I had to choose my words carefully. Managed to convince her that I wasn't watching Taylor. "Um yeah?"
Okay, yes I was stupid. But have I mentioned that Emma was hot? Like really hot? And scary. Which was also hot? And my brain was really having trouble forming good thoughts? Like even my power was shutting up in Emma's presence. I can not be held responsible if she had a Master power over lesbians.
She smiled, and the world was both amazing and perfect and also I was going to die. That smile was evil and I was going to get crushed under her boot and it was amazing. "I was just checking up on you." There was a pause, and then, a frown. I had disappointed her. This was the worst because she was perfect and nothing should disappoint that innocent pure face and also she was probably going to have Sophia stuff me in a locker or Madison chew me up or Sara dissect my corpse. "Jacob… are you okay? I just like to check up on everyone post summer. You know how dangerous August 8th can be."
Yeah, I knew. Officially it was the anniversary of one Mary Aubert had been murdered by an Asian gang member. Unofficially… well unofficially the Empire was weird about 8/8, and it was their day. I'd always known how dangerous it could be, even if I was in a 'nice' neighborhood. One that would 'warm up to me' once they saw what a 'nice young boy' I was. I'd even thought maybe they could be right. I could just do well and get to ignore being a o.a.r. Though I'd never really believed it.
Then this year part of the march, not… not part of like the main march. But some splinter group. Teens? Young adults. They kinda blended in my mind. Empire proper. And my foster parents, like complete, fucking stupid goddamn idiots, saw them and didn't run to the house.
They'd been in their car, heading back from groceries. I'd been looking out a window as I'd been alone, (why had they even gone out that morning) and saw when their car stopped due to the march. They got out of the car, and were… talking.
I don't know why.
Because they thought it would work? Because they couldn't manage the run? Because they thought surely they couldn't be hurt, they were white? Because they thought most of the Empire were just 'confused' and a good Christian talking to would solve it?
I didn't know. Just knew that-
Emma was talking to me. I should look at her. I nodded.
I knew that they were beaten, dead. And no one in the neighborhood stopped them. Even, most of them I don't remember, but Duncan, he was a kid a few houses down, he was there. I remember that. He was there. He'd been with my parents to a block party, and he was there. I knew no one was going to save me. The police certainly won't. I could already hear them deciding some psycho adoptee murdered his parents.
I gave a 'uh huh' to Emma. She stopped her disappointment to give a smile and everything about it was perfect, even the slight imperfect wear on her lipstick, which was perfect and clearly intended. "And have you been up to anything?"
I had been building my second fortress. Someplace safe. My first one was the house. After they beat my foster parents (When did they die? Could I have run out to drag them back in after the beating and saved them?) They marched through the area, taking their time before heading into my house. Why the delay I don't know. Was it savoring my fear? Marching the neighborhood to crow? I don't know.
I knew I needed to fix the house. Make it safer, stronger. More defensive. I only half remembered it, adrenaline, and probably Tinker Fugue. All I know is the effects. I'd turned out the lights, hiding myself under a chair, a crook on the balcony as I peeked out to watch them break in. First thing I remember was a scream from outside. From the blood on the door-knob later, I think it had cut his hand. Don't even remember how I rigged that. But they kept coming, slammed the door open, those left furious.
Emma. Emma was here, trying to talk to me. I needed to talk to her. Because she was important. Because she was beautiful. Because she was dangerous. I should-
The first one to step through charged into kitchen knives. Kinda thing that would be funny in some comedy. Wasn't when you could see the blood, the pain and rage, and rage and rage of others. They spread out. I think… I think it was the explosion from the kitchen that really got them scared. Saw one running out burned. The house was continuing to catch fire when I finally left.
But it changed them. Shouts of fear, talk of death traps. And then one. One big guy. He tried to rally them, saying the jap had to be upstairs. I don't remember most of the shouts, but that one, with the absurd 'you idiots I'm not japanese'.
He moved up and… it was one of the last bits I'd made. Nothing special. Not the rigging that let a doorknob somehow be justified in cutting someone, or the oven explosion. No it was just a case of a bunch of junk I'd had lying around that I'd piled up to fall on someone if they hit a tripwire, absolute last minute shit. It came crunching down. A slam and-
He barfed. I remember that, the smell, that and blood. I think there was blood in the barf, though there was enough blood elsewhere I wasn't sure. I hadn't stuck around long afterwards to check. But… he wasn't moving. Looked… looked wrong, the way he was limp as the other dragged him up. I think he was dead?
Maybe?
I don't know. I didn't know who he was, or how to check. He wasn't… someone I knew. And people died all the time on 8/8. I hadn't checked. I didn't… I didn't want to think about it. As I fled. I knew my life was over. I triggered and destroyed a house and hurt white people and everyone knew the Protectorate didn't give second chances. "You do the crime, you do the time, for everyone." They'd had that lecture from Miss Militia the one time she came to school, and she'd basically said that. When lives were on the line, there wasn't another shot. You were good or bad, no alternative. And me? I'd done the worst thing an OAR can do: something to justify all that hate. I couldn't go anywhere, only on my own. It was-
Wait- Emma…
I was supposed to be talking to Emma.
But… fuck, I realized, she'd already left. Probably rolling her eyes at the space case who barely responded to her threats. I really hoped I wasn't her next side project. Taylor was always her main, but she liked to make other people side projects-
Would it be so bad? A really, really stupid voice whispered in the bad of my head. Emma's was a generous bully, once she'd decided enough was enough, she'd let you… well I wasn't exactly sure what. Beg forgiveness? Admit you were trash without her? I didn't know. But I did know that Madison and Sara and a few others had been side projects, and now they were part of her crew. Having a bunch of girls bully me until I joined up-
Fuck, I hated that stupid, stupid horny part of my brain. Fucking real proper trans girls weren't this stupid horny, I was sure of it.
Present day, Present time
There was nothing so relaxing as fixing things. It was the one time that, post trigger, I just felt good. Things going the way I wanted. Sure, it was a risk but I had to deal with this classroom every damn day, and this was going to be such a relief. I needed a destress some kids got high, I fixed thinks. This was much less likely to be linked to "Kintsugi" than me going around fixing chairs or computers or other things. A nice, believable thing for someone to do.
I was in heaven. At least until someone came up behind me. "Kintsugi."
I nearly jumped into the wall, splatting a little paint and, oh that was wrong and I had to fix it, taking a few minor strokes to do so before turning around. "Who?" I offered, saying the first, dumbest thing that came to mind.
Behind me… wasn't who I expected. I'd expected to see a League member. Maybe Joshua himself. Instead… Taylor Hebert.
Relief and confusion hovered over me in equal measure as I looked at her, or rather the two hers. Because when I looked at her, I could tell there were two Taylors. The first was the one she wanted me to see, and the second was the real one. They were similar. Both were tall, curly dark-haired, entirely feminine in a way that should be impossible, looming over me, and smiling just a little bit too wide. Taylor, the body, was the same. But the rest of her(s) was different.
The first Taylor, the one I might have seen a year ago, was wearing a dark ensemble. A dark-blue skirt and blouse ensemble that emphasized both her svelte figure and her height. It gave her an aristocratic, looming presence that spoke of both disinterest and calculation. A set of 'no-make up' make-up expertly painted that helped maintain the businesslike, practical air without compromising her put-together look. It was all topped off with a well-made jacket over the ensemble.
The second Taylor was wearing a dark ensemble because it was easier to hide stains and damage, at least for most people. For me, the micro-bits of stains left over even after washing them out from drinks and food and a hundred other little aggressions were there, even blood, on the left sleeve of the blouse. How my power knew that when it should have been hidden by the jacket I have no idea, but it had an opinion. The clothing had been… not brand new, but well maintained, until a yearish ago, I had a good guess when it stopped. That was important, because it spoke not of the wear of years that wharf rats had, but of newly found hard times. This Taylor's ensemble also drew the eye to the shoes, practical running sneakers, even if they too were black.
She shook her head. "I get why you are afraid- wait." Her smile disappeared as she frowned slightly in concentration, eyes darting around as if trying to figure something out. "Wait, no, that isn't the only reason, I bet. That wouldn't make sense. You are afraid of talking to me, not just being discovered, why would you…" she trailed off, as her frown deepened. She looked at me with hard, almost disgusted eyes that reminded me a little of the look Malee had given when the boys weren't looking. It was a look that made me feel like scum, and this time I had no idea why. I just did.
"Jacob," she sighed, "No, nevermind, it isn't important. Listen, I know you are Kintsugi. You managed to paint that wall perfectly without bothering to lay down an inch of covering. That isn't natural. And there's only one recent 'Asian' trigger, about your height, age, and build." She was looking me dead in the eye, that strange obviously-fake smile back on her face. "I know you're a good guy." Oof. In some ways it was good I wasn't giving off any vibes that'd get me beaten to death by a Nazi, but a part of me… a part of this really stung that the certified Trans-girl obviously saw me as a guy, because really I basically was and why should I even bother and--
"Take a breath, please. Wait a minute, why did you… huh. Fear about…" Taylor spoke carefully, leaning in closer. "Sorry for forgetting to ask this, but what are your pronouns?"
Oh… oh that was… how was she this insightful? It was terrifying how much she saw and how quickly. Now the fear was even worse. It was stupid, but now I had to choose. I couldn't just hope I was faking being a boy well enough while dreaming of proving I was a girl. I had to commit, either to declaring I was trans or telling someone- no not someone, another transgirl to their face I wasn't. Proving to myself that I was just a joke. One was dangerous, the other sucked and… fuck. "She/Her… My name's Isa." It took a minute to say, but she'd been watching it the whole time. I couldn't lie to someone like her.
There was a moment, just a single moment, where I saw Taylor's face actually light up into a genuine smile. "Well, Isa, it's nice to meet you. I want to talk to you. Really, I want to warn you. I'm not going to reveal that you're Kintsugi, or trans, or anything else. But I was in the far back when I infiltrated the meeting, and I still managed to work out who you are. The ABB will be looking for you. It isn't safe to go to Winslow."
I looked down. Dammnit, she was right. Even if this really was just a 'friendly warning' I was on a timer. It was… in some ways, it was insane that I was going. Trying to have my own place, and taking the time to go was just-
I didn't even know why I'd come back at first. Habit? Frankly it was insane they'd never checked with my parents. But I stayed for… well two reasons. First, one free meal a day from school lunch. But that wasn't the big one, the big one was-
Someone had been slipping gift cards in my locker.
It had started around mid-September. I didn't know who. They weren't labeled, and were usually small amounts but they'd been the difference between starving and getting by a couple of times. Someone knew I was in trouble and part of that made me terrified, but also… well they'd kept their mouth shut and it was too helpful not to pass up. So I kept going. Part of the reason I'd needed to sell the tinkertech to Leet in the first place was so I wasn't dependent on an unknown patron. Now not only was I giving that up but, damn it, I'd painted this room because it'd been driving me insane and it was repair work I could do without obviously repairing anything, but I'd already blown my cover. "So what, you think I should go to the Alliance then?"
"No!" She said, sharply. Then a moment later, quieter. Leaning in. Whispering, as if telling a dark secret. "No. The Alliance… isn't as perfect as it likes to think it is." I nodded. Made sense, another gang, another place telling people it would protect them. I'd always suspected it, but it was nice to have confirmation. "I'm…" she searched for a moment "I'm setting up something… a group on its own. Not bound to rotten structures. Something better for everyone, if I can manage it."
Oh.
Oh!
Taylor… I knew she'd lost her position in the Alliance. I'd always wondered how she felt. Lost. Sad. I'd always imagined she'd just given up and sank into her misery.
Now I knew.
Angry.
Taylor was the sort who took things personally, who held grudges and then climbed back up on top of the world if she fell out. I'd always wondered why Emma never stopped with Taylor. Let her just give up and submit. But now I got it, Taylor would never submit. Never play second fiddle. To anyone.
But she wasn't the stupid type. She hadn't made obvious moves in the organization, not when she didn't have power, but clearly she burned for more. She wanted to set up her own group, and with a Tinker dancing on her strings she could wind up powerful. But how would that help me? "I… I mean I'm flattered, but a Tinker on her own is kinda doomed. Do you have anyone else?"
"I have me," she said, with the conviction of someone who actually thought that counted. I tried to school my face, but she must have seen something about what I thought of that. "You don't understand. I'm not helpless." And then something shifted. It started with the hairs on the back of my neck. There was this slight static through my nerves. Something felt wrong. The classroom walls started peeling, just a little at first. My power screamed that it was and wasn't peeling, that it was peeling more and more until there was worse and worse and the whole wall was going to collapse and I needed to fix it and my power was trying to tell me how but I couldn't and I was trapped and I was trapped and I was trapped and I was
And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.
I'd fallen to my knees, and she was transformed into some third self, even more real than the real her. There was a slight, happy smile on her face as she reached a hand out, offering it to me, towering over me like some statuesque goddess of beauty, the hunt, and death itself. "I am the one who distracted Lung. I am the one who helped you get away."
My breath froze. I didn't take her hand, but I knew now that… that. I'd figured she had something to do with it once I'd felt her power, but the direct confirmation, without shame or worry. That gave me the heebies.
I'd followed the news on the fire. Couldn't not. Taylor had mastered Lung in order to get him to murder his own people. I'd led people to their maybe- I hoped-I hoped not(?)–death, but that had been self-defense, after they invaded my home and killed my foster, and then tried to murder me. I hadn't been cold, or bold, enough to go to a meeting of my enemies in disguise and kill some of them in order to get a Tinker… and then escape entirely unnoticed.
Taylor had decided she needed a Tinker, worked out a plan to get one, and then destroyed anyone that would have gotten into her way. She'd taken on Lung, not in a direct fight, but taken him on all the same, and won.
"I'm not Lung. I'm not going to make you join me. This would be a partnership, a meeting of equals." She lied, her smile smooth and empty; eyes imperious and distant; standing over me. "But I'd like to have your help. We can make this city better. Are you in?"
I paused. On the one hand, this was getting involved, something I'd never wanted. On the other hand, she already knew my identity and could threaten me with it at any time. Could probably drive me insane with her incredibly potent power, whatever it was. And, on top of that, she was right. The League was after me. Independence was over, it might as well be a small group that- oh. "Hormones," I said.
"What?"
"Hormones. If my identity is lost, I want to be Isa, not Jacob. I want hormones."
"Of course." She said like it was something she was so happy to share, and I was sure her real self was scheming about how cheaply I was bought. "I would have helped with that anyways. That said, there is one other thing I want to address if we are to be partners."
The tone of her voice shifted. She'd already been terrifying, but now there was not a hint of light in her voice. Goddess of Beauty, the Hunt, and Death? This was just the last one and nothing else. "It's one little, tiny detail. Because Isa, you seem like a good gir… no, wait, that sounds weird. You seem like a good person- woman, a good woman Isa. You want to fix things, to help people out, you don't want to join exploitative gangs, you want to be who you truly are. Not what others see. But there's one detail that bothers me. When I was being bullied, you did nothing to help."
I stood silent, as I saw the fury in her eyes, cold and implacable. There was nothing I could say that could possibly save me if she decided I needed to suffer. "And I get it, Emma threatened you, didn't she? But… but you aren't helpless. You don't have to take threats like that. We won't give into threats like that anymore. If this partnership is going to work, you are going to need to act, not just try to fix things afterwards. You got that?"
I nodded. I got it. Betray her, fuck her over, show less than total loyalty and there would be consequences. It was, in a way, nice to have that laid out. It was nice when we both understood perfectly what the situation was.
Taylor smiled cheerily. "Great, I'm so glad we solved that. So let's talk about bases, do you have one? Or-"
She continued offering her hand as she did, and I thought about my new 'partner'. She was as I figured, a fallen mafia princess. But she was more. A ruthless ambitious person who was willing to trick, murder, threaten and scheme her way back to the top of the world. She wasn't a good person, but then neither was I. I was a pathetic coward who thought she was a girl. And… Being the first lieutenant of a new crime boss was a position that might have some safety, some value.
Also hormones.
Hormones were good.
I grabbed her hand, and she dragged me up into the tainted air of the broken underworld.
The Laurent A/N: This Taylor is no better than the canon Taylor at accurately understanding the vibes she gives off.
Clockworkchaos A/N: Busy today, so posting this earlier than usual. Also poor Isa, dealing with so many scary, scary girls
It turned out, I was right about Kintsugi. She, and wow that was a good guess, believed in making a better world just like I did and agreed with my goals. She was a good person despite her circumstances, and I'd managed to convince her to work with me to do heroism and community service. But I needed more than that. I needed to see her hideout and figure out exactly what her power was. (I probably needed to think about the fact that she was also scared of me, but… that was normal? You feared the world and the world feared and hated you… she just didn't know that I was different.)
Luckily, it wasn't hard to ask to see where she was tinkering. I didn't want to assume she was unhoused. Most Asian refugees had homes, and the media's the one that pushed the whole "homeless criminals" thing. But the way she looked at me, I thought maybe they were the same thing. Either way, if we were working together,we need a lair. I had the start of an idea, but I couldn't be clear on it. I needed to know things that weren't safe to talk about here. We walked down the streets, weaving our way through the city.
Brockton Bay was a heck of a city. It was a city that had entire noir series written about it, because if there's any city where 'forgetting it' might be the best answer, wouldn't it be Brockton Bay? Between the Nazis and everything else, it just was a cruel place, and the streets, especially as you go further away from Alliance territory, were rough and needed help. If any city screamed, if any city was one long dying scream of agony it was Brockton Bay. Even in Alliance territory they mostly just fixed potholes and encouraged ride-sharing, doing what they could to staunch the bleeding.
But the other thing about Brockton Bay was that it was low-slung, it sprawled out and rested against the shoreline like a tired man in a recliner. It was strangely warm, and so even in November there were people out and about as we made our way deeper into the territory that the Alliance couldn't help and that few people wanted, the kinds of places where unpowered gangs were the order of the day. There was not anything less cruel about a gang without superhuman powers. But I understood why Isa would go to areas like this, because if she needed to defend herself from them she could. But they hired capes, every so often. Would Grue help out in some scheme to kidnap a Tinker? I hoped not, because if he would it meant that he was not available to recruit, and him and Bitch were the two I knew the Alliance was after. There were others, and maybe some of them could be hired against Isa, but…
She was a Tinker. She and Leet were the only two independent Tinkers in all of Brockton Bay. They could command about any price they wanted for their aid and so someone would have to be very arrogant, like Lung was, to think they could just order her around. I hadn't even dreamed of trying to demand she be somehow junior to me, she was my equal and partner in heroism! She had to be, or I was alone.
As we walked along the streets, trying not to seem like we were paying too much attention to everyone else--while we were of course looking for anyone in ABB gang colors (I tried to remember all the different gang colors that made them up)--I thought about what we needed to do. First, I needed to leave a message for my Dad.
Mom had died on a cellphone while driving, and so for a while Dad had forbidden either of us from having cellphones. But the city was too dangerous for that, so I had an old fliphone with enough minutes that if I did use it to try to have a social life I wouldn't last long. It was useful only for emergency calls, and so that's what I did right now, turning it on and calling. It went to the apartment's landline, and so I just said, "Hey Dad, going somewhere with a friend. Should be back later tonight. I'll… figure out dinner myself. I love you, talk to you later." They say that the famed Protectorate Tinker, Armsmaster, was working on a lie detector. I wondered if any of what I said counted as a lie. No, I wondered if all of it did. Friend, love, all of it. I was not going to be able to answer that and and and--
I stopped myself, taking a deep breath, and I focused on what mattered: making sure the Alliance couldn't get to Kintsugi.
"There we go. I figured… I could grab some fast food to go?" A restaurant would take too long, and if we were seen together someone might start asking questions if they recognized me. If I was an independent now, that'd just make the informal truth formal: everyone was my enemy, nobody outside of whatever I built could be trusted. However, I knew enough to know that service workers at a fast food restaurant had better things to do than care about the people who bought their food, like being underpaid and doing just as much work as they were made to. There were exceptions, but it was the least unsafe choice. I still brooded about it as I watched Isa's reaction.
Isa's eyes lit up, and I knew that she'd been a little bit nervous about all of this. My offer to get food would no doubt help, because I… suspected that Isa didn't have a lot of money and if she really was homeless, leaving school would mean no more food security. I didn't have much either, but money for fast food was not beyond me. At least so far nobody had noticed us. There weren't even any uniformed E88 members patrolling in their cars, nobody was paying us or this area any mind. I licked my lips. "I'll pay," I added.
"Yeah, that. That'd be great," Isa said, voice going high for a moment, as if she was trying to mix up her voice without any voice training. It didn't really work like that, but I could probably find a way to get her some of that as well, depending on whether she had a laptop or not. Probably not, but depending on her power maybe we could get her one for cheap that she could repair. I wasn't sure. I needed to help her, because I was all she had. The world sucked, and people like us had to stick together. I didn't know if she'd betray me, but I ahd to assume we were in it for the long haul. Long enough that maybe when things calmed down I could tell Isa she could have much better hair with just a slight change of shampoo, though I'd never call it boysoap to her face, too dysphoric to think of it that way.
But for all the ways I didn't pass, I had good hair. Had to have good something, as much as I tried. And she'd probably want to know about that. Sure, she hadn't begun transitioning, but she'd trusted me with that secret. So, I was going to help her even if she hadn't agreed to work with me. I could imagine what she'd look like, cleaned up, with a year or two for hormones to do their magic. She'd look like Jocelyn Hana as "Hime" Jessica in Freakouts, the early 2000s instant-classic horror movie.
"So, hmm, what do you like to eat when you're getting fast food?"
"Fried chicken," Isa said, after a moment's hesitation, voice low.
"Oh, I'd have to go slightly up town to grab it, a block or two, but ever had Jones' Chicken?" I asked. "Mom and I used to go there all the time."
Isa's eyes were wide, though I wasn't sure why, and she nodded eagerly. "Sure, that sounds great."
"I'll go in and grab it, that way nobody sees you," I said. Jones' Chicken was owned by a local, and while plenty of Alliance members swore by it it wasn't an Alliance front business. Mostly. They did report anyone who came into their establishment with the wrong sort of tattoo, but that was just self-defense. The Alliance dealt with those sorts of people, part of community defense and all of that good stuff. "What do you like? Dark meat, light meat? Breasts, thighs, wings?"
"Dark meat, I guess?" Isa said. She said it like a question, and I nodded. I'd figure something out. Maybe one of those value baskets. I wasn't made of money, but I should splurge a little since it was a new partnership and… well, if we did start doing heroing I could probably call all of this business meals in my head.
"Right, so let's go." I grinned at that, and we marched up the streets towards our destination: the best fried chicken you can get fast food style in Brockton Bay.
Jones' Chicken was not famous for its aesthetic, which was white and red, kind of diner-like, very faux-Americana, the kind of thing that comes out of a catalog. No, it was famous for its chicken. Its chicken was about the best I'd ever had, and I knew at least a little bit of that was going there with my family sometimes, or picking it up. Mom liked every kind of food you could pick up and eat, because she was always running somewhere to do something. I… I had too many good memories not to feel odd stepping in and going towards the counter.
Wendell, one of the Alliance seniors from Winslow, was there. He worked here part-time, saving up money because he wanted to go away for college. The Alliance had funds for this sort of thing… but they wouldn't be enough, depending on where he was headed. "Oh," the tall boy said, blinking at me, "Getting something for dinner?"
…okay, so there was small talk.
"Yes," I said, and then added, "I promise I won't microwave it if it gets cold." Mr. Jones hated anyone who heated up his food afterwards that sort of way rather than some other, better method, and it was a long enough walk that if I was going home I might have to do that. "I'd like a family value meal, primarily dark meat… green beans, slaw, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet corn, biscuits…" I was pointing up towards the red and white board where all the prices were listed. It was not a cheap meal, relatively speaking. But I think Isa would like it. I couldn't help but grin, thinking that.
"Right, right, that'll be…"
The transactions were as they were. Perhaps there was no ethical consumption under capitalism, but this would be very tasty and it was a fair enough price all things considered. Wendell, though, at the end hesitated a moment and said, "Doing alright? Your best friend, Emma, she was asking around about you today, and we didn't see you?" He tensed a bit because he'd heard all sorts of bad rumors about me, and plenty of Alliance kids half-believed some of them. He had to know I wasn't a traitor, but.
But it was easy to believe things about your 'fellow' members of the Alliance, because it wasn't as if there weren't flaws and failings that dogged the Alliance. If there hadn't been, I wouldn't be here, plotting to recruit people out from under them.
"Oh, I was just keeping my head down," I lied, because he was a good kid but what if this was all some Emma plot to ambush me? She'd done something like that before, though it'd never gone 'too far' by some bullshit standard. "Someone said something about the ABB being on the warpath."
"Oh, yeah, I think they were?" Wendell said. "Good on you. Order will be up soon."
I walked out, not quite whistling but in a very good mood as I went back to Isa, holding a fucking feast in a bag.
"And, here we go."
"...are you sure? That's a lot of food," Isa said. Then she hesitated and said, "No, actually, yes, definitely."
I realized what she'd done and almost burst out laughing. She'd almost accidentally declined food because some part of her was 'supposed' to and then realized that she didn't actually want to decline. It was just a moment's politeness, but I grinned and said, "We have to share it, but this is just a start."
"I like the sound of that," Isa said, any sort of false humility or politeness slipped off like so much chaff.
She sounded better without it.
We made our way back through the city. It was still early enough that there wasn't really much risk of anything, and the direction we were going seemed to be towards the derelict apartments that had been caught in a cycle of condemnation and revival for… longer than I'd been alive. I remember reading about them, they'd been built during the 80s, condemned during the 90s but saved by community activism, and then as the world economy entered the toilet but before the death flush of 2005, they'd been condemned again. And this time it was the end of it. When the big crash came, who had the strength to fight for that when there were other apartments?
Other places.
I didn't remember the name specifically, but I remembered the set of buildings. I remembered because there'd been some documentary someone had been putting together since… since before Mom died, about the apartments.
Just another story of many.
Of course, the E88 had their "answers" about why it all went to heck. I looked at the crumbling building and knew there had to be other squatters around besides Isa. But she probably could guard herself well, and… oh. I had figured out an answer to a question of if Isa was homeless or not. Isa seemed remarkably nervous, crossing through this run-down area with buildings that should be demolished but wouldn't anytime soon.
"Right," I said. "So, do you?"
"I live here," Isa confessed. She blinked, as if she was confused by the thought. But if she was homeless, would she…? No, no point in speculating right now.
We were, I knew, quite a sight. We went up those moldering stairs as if we were being stalked and hunted by our certain doom. Indie horror films loved the fact that so much was moldering, whether in Brockton Bay or elsewhere, because they made great sets. You could believe any sort of monstrous evil lurked in a place like this, and there'd actually been a decent film or two set in buildings like this in Brockton Bay. Limited release, and I remembered a filmmaker who'd almost died doing it, but horror was horror.
We looked left and right, as we walked up, past some of the worst imaginable wallpaper. If wallpaper could be sold it would have been even more peeled off, but as it was, it had darkened so that the whole thing looked like… okay, there we go. I knew the comparison I wanted to make.
In one interview, George Starvode commented on his inspiration for the walls of the titular house in the cult classic "The Kindly House." They were inspired by one of his son's video games: the textures hadn't loaded properly, and so looked like a colored blur. This place was like that, only it came from how dirty it was and the man-made horrors of capitalism, rather than anything supernatural, let alone Starvode's metaphor about families.
…what was I thinking? Oh, right. We went up one floor, to the second floor, and then we went right. I got what was going on, the right way was not the one you'd see and so if you were just charging in you'd go to the first floor or the top floor, and then if you were charging around, you'd keep up the momentum up the stairs and keep on going left.
It wouldn't help if there was someone searching methodically for Isa, but I could tell from the way she was looking around that she was exactly paranoid enough to search for even the smallest possible advantages in a crisis situation. It made me like her even more as she went up to what seemed like a random door, intact but having no other virtue, and took out her key.
She turned the knob in strange ways while moving the key one way and then the other, and I glanced away once I realized that for all that she trusted me, a part of her was afraid of losing the information about how to get in… so, I'd just knock if I needed in. At least for now. When she opened it she had to push. The door glided open, yes, but it was clearly at least a little bit heavy. I wondered whether she'd weighed the balance between taking an extra moment to get open for her, and the weight that would stop others from easily battering it down.
She must have, but I remembered what my Mom had said once, in one of those… moments where I had to ask myself after the fact how involved she was. "If someone bars the door well enough, then you start breaking through the windows and the walls." Spoken from experience? Dad always said that Mom wasn't involved in the rougher side of things, but was that just one of those lies that you tell children?
I was sure Isa had thought through all of it, I didn't know what I was worried about. Or maybe I did. She was a good person who wanted to do good and had a power that seemed like it'd let her do damage directly or well make something that did damage directly, but those were the same thing with tinkers. I had a power that worked indirectly and relied on me being very good at guessing what people feared. She flipped on a light and I stepped in.
It was larger than I expected. Once, this apartment had been meant to be a place of the future, I realized. Somewhere where an entire family, and not a small one, was meant to be able to try to do their best to make it work.
It was clear that this was Isa's first home, or that's what it seemed like. A real attempt to build something genuine, a shelter from the storm. The living room was that and a bedroom, the kitchenette not a separate room but divided by a messy looking counter. The decor was seemingly anything that could be found, with a couch that was light and thus probably not that soft, but with huge throw pillows. The chairs at the 'dining table' on the other hand were rough and crude, and she walked over and looked around.
A really, really nice futon was sitting on a bedframe that absolutely had not been made for it. The pillows and blankets made the whole thing look like the most comfortable warren imaginable. The only thing it lacked were some stuffed animals to really bring it together.
Everything lacked something to bring it together, but everything there also looked so good. It was a carnival, it was a funhouse, colors blending and blurring into something odd. And then when I started to pay attention, the scene got only odder. There were nice cabinets that had bags hanging off the side from nails. Indeed, everything had little pockets here and there, and all of them held… oh. I walked over to one and looked in. Tools.
And then I realized: tools to repair them and anything nearby.
"So, here it is," Isa said, while I moved around the house. "Me casa… su… something?"
"Right, right," I said, and then… oh. There are the plushies. They're hidden under the bed. There were entire containers filled with them, and one of them was open, and they were all seemingly in different states of repair once I poked around. Every time I looked a little closer I found more and more to see. It was not a hoarders' nightmare but more as if more and more stuff had been slowly accumulating. It was fascinating, really, and I found myself staring eagerly. "So, we should get to the food while it's still warm."
I wanted to explore, but I had the food that she wanted and so I settled down at the closest thing to a kitchen table. The chair didn't wobble, as a part of me had feared. No doubt she had used the… hammer and nails and hand-saw that were hanging from a bag off the corner of the table… had used those things to fix it up.
"Yeah," Isa said, and we both sat down as I began to divide things out.
"Do you have any plates?"
"Oh, right! Plates and… what else?"
"Bowls for some of this, too," I said, watching as she hurried over to get what she needed. While she was doing that I said, "So after we eat, there's plenty to talk about, including your power. I got some of it, sure, but I don't think I fully understand it. I know, boring official stuff, but." I gestured broadly as I settled into the moment and began dividing out the food. First out was the napkins, Jones knew chicken wasn't easy on the hands, and packed it to match. Maybe I should have been environmentally worried but like… it was plastics and oils and coal that was gonna kill us, not tree products. Next out came-
Well next out came the smell. The wafting aroma of fried chicken, the heady mix of Meat and Spices and oil and carbs that was literally mouth watering. But the first actually edible thing was the biscuits. The trip had cooled the box a little, they aren't hot enough to steam hot to steam, but still warm and flaky and just as filled with oil as everything else. Mr. Jones insisted that his biscuits weren't as good as what you could find 'back home' in the south, which he described as a mythic land of great cooking and rural racism that seemed to mix into nostalgia and 'glad to be gone' at once. I wondered if I would ever talk about BB like that if I left? Not that I was. I was stuck here, and I planned to be stuck here to whatever end.
Next out were the potato skins, not fries, that were crisped, and the baked beans for the side. Then, finally it came out. The star of the show. The mountain of chicken that had left the box near bursting. Still how, and crispy and absolutely unhealthy in the best way that you could see it glisten with spices that could clean your nose without eating it. It was probably shortening a year off my life every time I ate there, but what a year it was. I was a cape now, I'd die long before it was a problem.
I divided the food quickly. Once we started eating I didn't intend to be one of those people who ate while chatting up a storm. I had time, and so I just smiled. "Welp, here's to a new partnership."
It was less time later than it should have been. Isa ate ravenously and I wasn't going about it as daintily as I would have preferred because it was just so good. I sat there, wiping my face and licking my lips, as I considered what to talk about. "So what does your power do, exactly?"
"It lets me… fix what's broken. I can tell when something is broken, and how, and how to fix it. And that includes Tinkertech, even Tinkertech that's used up. And if it's something that can be built, I can make more of it."
I stared at her for a long moment. "Including things Leet made?" Everyone knew that for some reason or other Leet was obsessed with reinventing the wheel, doing the same bit of Tinker stuff five different ways to fit different video-game aesthetics. If she could repeat what he did, then that alone would…
"Yes. Which is why he tried to have me axed," Isa said. "That has to be it. I was trying to work through him, set up a sale, because he's the broker, right? You're supposed to go to the people who matter and let them have their cut or they'll have it out of your flesh."
I frowned at that, "So, he betrayed you?"
"Pretty sure, or he's too scared of Lung." Isa's terror was obvious in the way she wasn't trying to show it. The less one tried to show fear like that, the more obvious it was that it was rampant and creeping up to take over every moment. Isa was someone who lived with fear… which wasn't that unusual for Parahumans. Honestly, it was just normal and natural. I'd find someone who didn't live their entire life filled with fear and anxiety kinda weird? No wonder Lung had reacted the way he had.
"No, it's not that. Or… it's not just that. If he was just afraid of Lung, you wouldn't talk about being 'axed' would you?" I thought about it, nibbling at a biscuit in my spare moments, nervously playing with the little bit of food that was left. "No, he betrayed you, and so… we should make him pay. He's also the only Tinker out there that's not with the Protectorate in the city. He gets shipments coming in from Tinkers elsewhere and sells them off for more, but here? He's a King. A terrible, clout-chasing King."
He'd buy some Tinkertech for a thousand and resell it for two, that sort of thing, because he was the one who could trade with people outside the city or do some of the more generic work in maintaining it, or all sorts of little tricks that made him the neutral arbiter, the one who talked to Faultline, which might as well be the same thing as talking to the world. Faultline was known to the world, or at least the world that cared, as an efficient mercenary in charge of an experienced crew. But she did not "shit where she ate" or any of that, which meant that in Brockton Bay she was a nightclub owner, a pillar of the Parahuman community.
If Leet picked sides, or even folded like a cheap suit to the likes of Lung, he would no longer be that. He wouldn't be trusted even if he'd done it under duress, and if he had he'd surely have told Faultline's crew by now. Lung was dangerous and terrifying, but there was a balance to these things. If he could get away with it, he would. But having failed to get away with it… or did anyone know? For all they knew, Kintsugi was going to be showing up any day now?
How might they try to explain the warehouse fire?
I wasn't sure, but I had an idea. I frowned and nodded, "Okay, I have a proposal. We should rob Leet blind. Find his lab where he has all the intermediary stuff, including the Tinkertech from outside the city, and take all of it. Every last thing he has, let him start from absolutely nothing while you can build up the kind of Tinker arsenal capable of making yourself the go-between." I smiled at the thought of that. "One with a team. And if you're not accepted as an intermediary, or anything else, you at least have a team to protect you. So that's what we have to do, break Uber and Leet and storm their fortress."
Isa looked nervous, "A Tinker's workshop is supposed to be locked up tight and dangerous to everyone else. Mine… isn't really quite like that, but it's not a safe place for people even though I don't have much."
"We'll have to see how much is 'not much' but we're going to be gathering allies. Grue and… erm, sorry to say her name is Bitch, they've both been holding out against Alliance entreaties to join up. We offer them a job and a cut, and then that's four Parahumans, if we can convince them. And then maybe one or two more?" I thought that perhaps one of the independent villains could be convinced, or one of the vigilantes. There were a few of each that I could think of off the top of my head. The difficulty was figuring out how to recruit them. But even before I'd thought of the idea with the heist, I'd been looking them up.
With a power like mine but no way to know people's fears but to guess right, I had to do a lot of research to figure out how I'd use it. It encouraged me to think, which was something that I knew was vital to all Parahumans. But I could be shot and killed by any yahoo with a gun. There were rules of sorts, guidelines and more, but none of them stopped the occasional cape from getting gunned down. The Empire Eighty-Eight could pretend to follow the rules all they liked, they'd still break them the moment it became convenient. They'd done it before. The unwritten rules were not worth as much as capes wished they were in a place like Brockton Bay.
"What about you? What's your power? I didn't exactly get to see whatever you did. You made him act like he did, but… what was it?" Isa's voice was quiet and a little bit careful, as if she was afraid I'd take offense at explaining myself in too much detail. I wasn't going to hide anything from an ally.
"I can send people to Hades, giving them visions… and a little bit more, of their worst fears and nightmares, and while there I can add more details as it goes on," I said.
"Wait, a little bit more? Can it hurt people?"
"It feels like it can," I said, frowning. I hadn't really thought about that aspect. "Not as much as it 'should.'" If I could just kill Lung by having a Phantom Endbringer drown him, I might be forced to do so. I'd certainly have to do so for the likes of Kaiser, I'd stand no choice otherwise with such a wimpy power.
"Can you only target one person at a time?"
"I'm not sure. It feels like I could perhaps target more, but it's a very focused ability," I said. Isa was asking good questions, looking at me eagerly, clearly trying to see the limits and strengths of my abilities. "Adding more people would mean trying to find a Hades that fit them all. And it strains me more. But I wonder if I could train myself to improve it." Nobody used their Parahuman powers to their greatest extent as soon as they got them, it took months or years to find every trick one could do or every way one could leverage a power. Sometimes more. "Right now, though, we have to assume I can mostly target one person. But the longer it goes on the stronger it feels like it could get. But I don't know how strong."
"Ah, lovely," Isa said a little faintly.
"Fear is an underestimated tool in warfare," I said, "And in insurgency too." I was playing it up, drawing on that fear, and it felt good even though I was overstating things.
Isabella looked just a little bit nervous at that, and I realized I would have to perhaps cool the phrasing for just a little bit. I was part of an insurgency, half the city was captured by Nazis and while they did not own the mayor, they owned half the city council and more. This was without even getting into the larger situation in America, the ongoing malaise and collapse.
So, I'd have to focus on the hero language. "Heroes need to be able to do the unexpected. So… what kind of Tinkertech do you have? If you don't want me to go into your workshop, I can wait here to see what you bring out."
Isa snorted. "You've bought me food and you're going to give me hormones. You get to see the, the…"
"Batcave," I suggested.
"The what? Are there bats in most Tinker workshops?" Isa asked.
"Well, there's bats in most caves."
"And most Tinkers operate in caves?" Isabella was frowning now.
"You know what, nevermind," I said, feeling like an idiot.
"No, no, I'm sure it…" Isa protested, eyes wide, as if I was going to, I dunno, bully her for not knowing about semi-obscure Earth Aleph media. (It had also been Earth Bet media, but it'd lost popularity in the 80s and 90s and was basically dead. Of course, Earth Aleph was basically dead so after the post-Empty Summer revival when people were able to buy up Aleph properties for pennies on the dollar--sometimes from actual literal starving refugees, because of fucking course--and so there'd been a few years where the entertainment industry got a boost. But even with all of that, there'd only been a single Batman movie, a Superman movie, and… I think a few on other superheroes, before people had moved on. I hadn't liked them, not like weird arthouse horror movies or horror novels or horror video games or… okay, actually just anything related to horror, but at least Batman understood how fear worked! Superstitious and cowardly indeed.)
"Don't worry, I'm just being weird. It's nerd stuff," I said. "Let's go."
The workbench in the crowded room looked fake. I'd been around handy people or people who liked to think they were handy all my life. No bench was that smooth and flawless, and for that matter that neatly organized, with every tool in a proper place and each tool the most perfect version of it. There were Dads that would give years of their life to have this kind of setup, and there was just so much in the way of stuff. There was what looked like those fancy coffee drippers, but the liquid coming out was colorful rather than, well, coffee. There was what looked like a gun except it had far too many bits of plastic and so on… wait, was that one of Marquis' Tinkertech blasters? He gave his men the best of the best because they were elites, and he could afford to bypass Leet and just go straight to the Toybox.
They were the ones that helped back up the 'not crimes' when it came time to turn them into something more. And she had one of their guns, and if she had one she could make others, given time.
Off to one side, drawing my attention even more, were phones. Dozens and dozens of phones and two laptops, all in different states of repair.
"I, well, I was thinking that someone would buy phones," Isa said. "If I fixed them back up."
"Burner phones," I said quietly, trying to keep the awe from my voice. We could take old 2000s phones and have about as many possible burner phones as we could ever need, we could…"
The more I thought, the more I was staggered by her power. Mine wasn't that impressive, even if I had some clever ideas for what I could do with it to make up for how incredibly weak it was. But her power? Isa could change everything, especially if her fixes didn't need upkeep the way a lot of Tinkertech did. And… maybe they wouldn't, if she made sure to fix things the normal way. It wasn't as if the paint she'd been fixing up would start to peel without her. This could change everything.
I'd thought this was just a little bit a desperate gamble, but no. I think we could legitimately do something amazing. We could kick so much ass. She hadn't even shown me everything she had, but I couldn't help it. I started to laugh, half-doubling over as it kept up, "We…" I said through the laughter, "We're going to really do this, and Leet won't know what hit him."
She watched me with concern as I tried to fight off the body-shaking laughter that came out just a little bit more manic than I expected, because I was already imagining right now just how we could take on everyone and win.
Brockton Bay would not know what hit it!
TL AN: Taylor's plan is Perfect. Perfect!
Clockwork AN: the beta entertainment industry (the owners) benefited from the influx of high quality shows
The beta entertainment industry (creators) crashed from the influx of cheap show from alpha made during the 80/90s, as well as the focus on remakes that could now be made much more cheaply… there was also a kerfluffle about paying Earth Aleph refugees low salaries since plenty of them were not part of any (Earth Bet) guild/union for actors as a way to make the product even cheaper.
The next few days were an interesting exercise in trying not to draw any attention from my Dad, Emma, or anyone else. I'd reached the point of not caring about school or any of what I now decided was my civilian life. I'd never been at that point before; even in the depths of my grades falling to pieces from the harassment, a part of me had dreamed of getting good grades and going to college and continuing my Mom's legacy in all those stupid, mundane ways. Surely, since I was nothing to Emma, she'd just let me go in peace to live a quiet life somewhere when I finally gave up and fled the state--only not the country because where else was there to go--in terror and resignation.
(A part of me had nightmares that I'd know Emma the rest of my life, that she'd always be there, watching and trying to find a way to make things worse not for any real reason, but just because it was apparently her job.)
But now, I had something bigger to dream of. I was going to save the city with my new… well, I'd say 'best friend' but that wasn't saying anything. She was my friend and I only had one, so I guess she was the best? I brought her hormones and fast food, and I was pretty sure that she valued that more than a thousand kind words.
I had plenty of hormones, because there'd been grumbling about them getting harder to get in the last year. At least a bit of that might have been Alliance excuses, but it was true that the federal government had spent the better part of the last decade cracking down on all manner of 'degeneracy.' They'd not been able to make gay marriage illegal in most states, even if they were working on it, but… this sort of thing? Well, thinking of the children was always the excuse for every terrible thing a government did in the name of the powerful. So I'd been stockpiling it as if the world was going to end and I'd just have the Fem-N-M's and spiro and everything else that I'd gotten. I'd started taking it at fourteen, after being on blockers since… well, I'd never had the puberty I 'would' have had.
I was glad of that every day because I struggled to pass anyways, a tall, awkward behemoth. I couldn't imagine what I'd look like without all the help I could get.
Anyways, the point was I had enough hormones to get her set up for years, and I could even try to do the doctor thing and increase doses once she did alright with it. Though I had no idea if she'd follow my directions or just take the maximum dose. I'd been impatient too, wanting to get it now, now now.
So I got that. She seemed just a little bit leery of me, but I was sure that this would pass once we had some more time working together. It was just a matter of making it clear I wasn't like those abusive assholes that constituted most people who would try to use her amazing powers. I wasn't perfect, but I was better than Lung, Marquis, or Leet any day of the week. And while the Alliance wasn't all bad, it had its flaws. I thought I could do better, at least in some ways. I thought I could cover where they didn't reach, and then from the outside figure out what had gone wrong that had led the Alliance astray? There were things Mom never said, but simply held in her frowns when I raved about the Alliance in purely positive terms.
She'd seen the underbelly of the beast, and she'd had fears just like I did. But maybe there was reason to work within a system if it wasn't broken. But was that the case? I had no idea.
That more than anything set me to twitching, the thought that I didn't know what I didn't know. Sure, that was obvious, but the next few days I kept on circling around on it. It was as if I had three lives. The first was at home, where I didn't talk to my Dad and we didn't understand each other, and it felt like a blur, a blank I couldn't even think of.
Then school, which I couldn't help but think about. Every minute was suffering, every moment was a distraction, an irritation. The specifics receded away, but I felt the moments and I knew that if I picked the right moment I could probably miss school for one day. But I'd need a good excuse. Well, it was November, perhaps a cold? But Dad would probably actually check. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I knew that even though the Alliance let me take the fall for a bunch of rumors and exalted the likes of Sophia, they'd still be suddenly oh-so-concerned if I just stopped showing up for school. But I could make excuses to my Dad about going out with friends in the evenings.
Dad believed them, or at least he didn't say a damn thing to me. It was better to believe that I had friends then that he'd been all but gone and I'd been all but gone. I didn't talk about friends, or anything else. We talked as little as we could. Everything had been choked to death by the feeling of hopelessness and his own sorrow. It clung to him, and behind it lurked fear. So much fear.
I almost wanted to dive into it, but I also didn't trust that, because when I figured things out and then used them, it seemed to haunt me. Literally. The night after I'd exposed Isa to my powers for just a little bit, just a tiny taste, I'd had a dream about rooting through the garbage for food. I couldn't remember the details, but I remembered the taste of stale chips and the feeling of a scrape on my arm from a rusty corner of the garbage bin, the fear of tetanus and worse, the certainty that it wasn't worth it but it also wasn't not worth it. And all of this, all of this mixed with a secondary screaming that I should forget about the chips and work on repairing the rust, it was so much more pressing. I'd known at once that this was as normal and understandable a thing as could be done.
I'd woken up sure that there would be no escape but the thing that had actually disturbed me was that it was not entirely disturbing. I wondered if it was a memory, or if I was just imagining what might have happened based on what I knew. But either way there was something energizing about dreaming of the worst. It'd already begun to fade, I'd already begun to forget. I couldn't explain it, and so I decided that I'd just push it down and ignore it.
Ignoring problems was a problem in the abstract, but I'd just ignore that.
What I couldn't ignore was my research on Grue.
So first, video games were fun when they were scary, though Zork wasn't much of anything. The fact that his cape name was based on a video game could mean all sorts of things. Electric Avenue had made the idea of pop-culture-y Cape Names a little bit of a fad, so it could be that. Grues ate people in the darkness, and that was certainly what his power seemed to be able to do. It was not just regular darkness, either, because it seemed to be able to block some radio signals and noise and more. All of this meant that he could lock down an area and cause mass confusion and panic very easily.
He seemed to rely on that a lot, but why shouldn't he? If I had as useful a power as he did, I would too. It was a power that let him handle huge groups of untrained enemies and cause chaos even for experienced foes. It didn't hurt that he seemed to be trained in some sort of combat himself, and so excepting against Parahumans he was probably stronger than any single enemy he would face.
And face enemies he did. His job was best against the masses of gangs, and so he took part in minor robberies, guarded convoys of illicit goods, and acted as a bouncer at clubs some nights. He did anything and everything, and his darkness was enough to break up fights. It took a truly skilled fighter to keep on going in such circumstances. I didn't know anything about fighting, because my father was scared of his temper and my mother had no need for it. It hadn't been that I associated it with masculinity, because half of the butt-kickers of the Alliance were women, but I had associated it with… well.
I'd thought I'd always be protected, and that if I bothered to learn it still wouldn't help if I was surrounded by Nazis. If you didn't have some sort of cape power, five on one odds were always a bad idea unless you had a huge advantage: a gun to a fist-fight, martial arts training against concussed toddlers, something.
It was amazing how much you could know about fighting without having any experience at it.
Grue's power evened the odds and then some. It could turn a twenty to one fight into a cakewalk. He had an impressively powerful and flexible set of abilities, and so of course the Alliance wanted him. They wanted to recruit him because he wasn't a racist, and if they suspected they knew his little sister and could use the ties for leverage, then there was a good chance he wasn't white. He hadn't done any truly horrific crimes. At most there were a few robberies of small stores, and people could forgive a lot if you spent your time beating up Nazis.
So they wanted him. I wasn't sure if it was his best choice, but I knew that the way they were talking about his sister… It meant that they were thinking of using her. It might be benign, it was not as if there wasn't a little manipulation present in what I'd done so far. But Grue had resisted all attempts to strongarm him so far. He valued his independence, in being able to take jobs and benefit from them, more than he valued being part of something larger.
This was a guess. Or maybe he was afraid that anything too large he couldn't control. There were explanations, and I had only a bit of evidence to work on. But I knew enough to know that there was something I could promise to him that nobody else could really do, and that was that I wasn't going to ask him to join my yet-unnamed group. Maybe I hoped he'd decide he wanted to join…
Yeah, I did hope for it. A lot. I needed it, to be honest. But even if all he did was show up for the raid against Leet and then go do his own thing, that'd be more than enough to at least get whoever was willing to stick around started. It didn't take a lot of Capes to at least be able to stand up and matter, a team of three or four in the right place could tear apart enemies, with the right powers. We'd see who we wound up with. I'd been thinking about Bitch. I'd also been thinking of Circus, though there was no chance they were going to join up for good. But Circus was down for independent heists, or at least seemed like they were.
And that's what I had planned. It would include elements of an assault if need be, but the real goal was to ruin Leet and take all of his stuff. I didn't have a plan yet, because it didn't matter yet. I'd need to know who I'd have to work alongside with, and so there was no point in worrying and hurrying around panicking about the specifics yet.
…I did it anyway, of course.
But the first step was finding him, since at the moment he hadn't even agreed to talk to me. He certainly hadn't agreed to band together and work with me for even a single mission. I hadn't even met him, at the point I was worrying about this.
In order to meet him, though, I'd need a makeover.
"Hold still, I think this'll work for it," Isa said. "This is what you were asking for, right? Gas mask, black pants, black top, add the silver so it's some… stormcrow thing," Isa said, gesturing broadly. We were in the spare junk room, the one I hadn't seen before and had everything in piles and boxes, all sorts of things that couldn't be fixed up yet or hadn't even begun to be worked on but were being stored just in case. There was even a small box labeled 'Tinkertech' that I assumed were things so bad off that even she couldn't get it all fixed up. Despite how all that sounded, it wasn't dusty, and there was room to actually show off all the clothes she had.
She had a lot of clothes, and yet she was still in a hoodie and jeans, still trying to hide herself from the world. Another time I might have tried to be a tutor because I was pretty good at costumes, though it seemed like she knew plenty about clothes… sort of.
I looked down at the outfit she had prepared. It began with black pants, artfully ripped in places to reveal, no doubt, the mesh that she had sitting next to the pants. There was silver in the belt, and a chain as well, for that matter, though the odds of it being real silver was low. Similarly, the top had silver accents, metal here and there to create a picture of something strange and deadly, but also really very goth. As was the purple and black painted gas mask, which seemed more painter's mask than army surplus, and the goggles that would presumably hide my eyes. There was a pair of earrings that looked like they came from Hot Topic, a choker of all things, and what looked like enough makeup to keep a theater troupe looking good for the stage.
"Stormcrow, is that what you were going for?" I asked.
"Er… I was thinking Mall Goth vibes, right?"
"Only if the Mall Goth was about to join the Black Bloc," I said, looking at her.
"The what?"
"Black bloc?" I frowned, realizing that some of us didn't grow up with the names of famous anarchists and communists as familiar as Eeyore, Frodo, and Elizabeth Bennet. So yeah, I could explain my joke or I could just let it lay where it was. "Anarchist reference."
"Like, bombs?" Isa asked, and then her eyes went wide as she realized she was perhaps being rude. "Not that there's anything wrong with bombs…"
I gave a laugh, halfway to a cackle, but this time I didn't lose control of my laughter. "Oh, there's not, always, but it's not quite like that. We'll talk about it sometime, but… you know what, okay. I'll wear that." I was lying, because actually I loved the hell out of it and was now going to try to make a dozen costumes with her for different occasions. "I was thinking I'd have multiple costumes and I'd change between them when I needed to." This costume was something that might just barely pass as something some idiot could wear to the club, and I was a tall girl, so it wasn't as if I'd immediately be clocked as a fifteen year old Parahuman.
I needed to both have a disguise but also be able to seem like a regular non-cape, because if they thought I was a cape they'd be worried I was trying to pick a fight.
Grue wasn't the bouncer at a palace of crime like the Palanquin, where Faultline's Crew did deals all the time and where it was expected that sometimes there would be Parahumans going around in costume.
But there were other clubs, other places, and Grue was often called upon for just such a task. It was a Thursday night, but despite that it was going to be busy. But I was doing homework with a friend, a study session, or so I'd told Dad. I didn't know if there was any chance of him believing me, but it'd be nice if he did. So I was just going to hope he wasn't suspicious. If need be I could say her name, it wasn't as if that would give him any hints to work with.
"Oh, what other sorts of disguises?"
"Scary ones," I said. "But different, each of them different. It fits with my Cape Name. This specter drives mortals to madness with her airy apparitions/ as she appears in weird shapes and strange forms,/ now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness--/all this in unnerving attacks in the gloom of night,'" I quoted with a grin, "Melinoë, a bringer of nightmares and madness itself."
Isa said, "What's it from? Sounds like something in some kinda game?"
"Greek myth," I said, "Not sure if it's shown up anywhere else, but it fits, doesn't it? And it'll make people think I have a more potent power than I do."
Isa nodded and said, "So, uh, should I leave you to get changed? I'll be standing outside to give a thumb's up."
"I won't be putting on the gas mask and goggles until I get a little bit closer to the club," I said. I'd looked up the club he most likely was at, and it was this rundown place, the Paradise Club, which had an ancient history that had been scrapped long ago to be replaced and recreated a half-dozen times. The history didn't matter, or rather I'd learned it in case it mattered and I was pretty sure I'd wasted my time.
"Also makeup, if you know anything about that…"
"Not really," Isa said, after a moment where it seemed like she'd try to do it anyways. "I'll, uh. Leave you to it."
She was red-faced, and that was something I'd have to think about later. I didn't have time to think about what it could mean, or what it actually did mean. I wasn't that clueless, but I didn't have time for her tears and worries right now. I didn't have any time to waste at all.
What people don't get is that makeup is many skills in one, and just because you're good at doing makeup for one goal doesn't mean that you were any good at doing them for others. I could and did put together some 'no makeup' makeup half-asleep, and I could put together the kind of makeup you might wear to go to a nice, but not super-rich, restaurant. I'd even learned how to do the kind of formal makeup you might use for some lame school event, though I hadn't gone to any at Winslow so far because I wasn't suicidal.
…well, I wasn't all that suicidal. People sometimes thought things about what the world would be like if they were just dead, because of course a part of you wanted to know if it was you that was wrong with the world. That was honestly just normal. Not that you didn't think you were innocent of any wrongdoing, but that you wanted to be sure beyond certainty and felt as if anything would be worth the price, even there not being anything to pay the price and know better…
But I wasn't going to any parties, that was the actual point before I distracted myself. So I didn't think I did a great job with the thick eyeshadow, the dark lipstick, which made my lips look almost bruised, and everything else. But I at least had a steady hand and didn't poke my eye out with a mascara wand, so I decided that was good enough. Plus, next time I did this I'd do even better. I even put in the earrings just because they were the kind I wouldn't have been caught dead with. I hadn't worn earrings at school, because they were handy gripping places, but I had plenty for when I was off school, just so that I could feel good about myself.
I looked strange, especially once I'd put my hair up into something a little more elaborate. I didn't think I looked good, but I did think that even the slightly clumsy makeup and the 'trying too hard' of the entire outfit would help me stand out. Taylor From Winslow did not try too hard, sometimes it felt like 'she' didn't try at all, just sank down into the nothing she really was deep down.
I almost thought of it as a different person, and I was reminded of that again as I looked at myself in the mirror. The glasses stood out in comparison to the rest of the outfit, but of course I'd be wearing the goggles and gas mask over it. I'd have to make sure it didn't impact my ability to see, because I really would need all the vision I could get in a nightclub.
I grabbed the gas mask and everything and stepped out. Isa looked me up and down and said, "Yeah, I don't buy that that's Taylor Hebert, so I think it works. It… it also looks really good, Taylor." She was fidgeting a little bit, no doubt seeing some ruffled bit of my clothing that could be improved, among whatever else she was thinking about me and what I was doing. "Do you… want to bring the laser gun?"
"No, if I took the pistol, someone would figure out that I was a cape, and it's far more likely they think I'm trying to attack than anything else. It's how fear works," I said. "And once they're scared, it's hard to come back from it. Fear's a poison, and real poisons, even when you recover they leave damage behind."
Isa was nodding, though if anything she seemed… more nervous of me? I really was going to have to do something about it.
…but I was sure the problem'd keep.
I put the mask on, and I felt the distance between me and the world. It no doubt looked silly, some early-2000s trend combined with all of the mall bravado. Perfectly unique, just like the other dozen goths at school.
I'd make it work. Melinoe would not be seen as anything but either strange or pretentious before I made it mean something.
I could do that.
More than could, I had to do that.
It was only just barely starting to get dark by the time I reached my destination. I'd taken a UnCab, and made sure not to say much of anything. UnCabs, which were basically those ride-sharing services but this local, unionized version that cost way more than the alternative but had something of a monopoly, was part of the Alliance. That didn't mean they didn't pick up people who weren't Alliance members, but I knew that sometimes they passed on gossip and so on about the kinds of people who ordered a cab.
I also knew a lot of things that would not even remotely matter about the club. It had started as the Cotton Rose, a Black and Tan back in the 1920s and 1930s with elements of speakeasy. When that had fallen out of favor it had become the Rose Lounge in the 1950s, offering classy entertainment and 'cleaning up' its reputation as a seedy spot full of sex, drugs, and racial mixing. But of course that didn't last, and in the 1970s it became a Discotheque, and in the 1980s it briefly took on a Parahuman theme before being run out of business by the gangs of the time, among other things. Then it was purchased in the 1990s during the strange Western Revival that I'd only vaguely heard about, though by the early 2000s this was just window dressing.
The Ranch was a place where drugs were sold, where sex workers that hadn't been snatched up by the ABB, convinced to operate a certain way by the Alliance, or… shifted by the E88 often gathered. There were many places, but I knew that this was one of them. And there were still plenty of people who went here even though it was run down, because apparently the drinks were cheap and the standards for entry low.
The front facade included a pair of saloon doors, even if there were the real sliding doors behind them, to be closed when it closed down. The front also included a facade of windows with flowers in them, but the windows peaked into arranged scenes of debauchery, as if this was an Old West brothel.
That's where most of the actual work was, I'd looked at pictures of the inside and it was just a club with some 'old west' stuff on the walls, a riding bull off to a corner, and a drink menu that included the phrase 'Pardner Pineapple Punch.' In front of the saloon doors was a tall, dark-skinned man in a cowboy hat. He was the outside bouncer, I was pretty sure, and he was glancing down at his phone every so often as he let people through one by one. There wasn't a huge line, really, but there was a small cluster, five or six friends going through as I stepped closer.
He was looking at the phone, and then at his ring. Worried about his wife? Afraid of something, no, stupid Taylor, he'd be afraid for her. That's what it looked like. Had something happened to her? Or him, it could be him, now that I thought about it. There was no way that just a close look at someone could tell you that. I watched him for the minute it took to get to the front of the barely existing line.
When I reached him, he didn't comment. If he thought I was just fifteen he should have stopped me or tried to force me to get a stamp to make sure I didn't drink and everyone knew or… something. But he didn't seem to care. "Cover charge is $10," he said.
I paid, glancing back at him once more. He hadn't even thought it odd that I had a mask on.
The inside of the club was… something.
The music playing was some kind of club beat, I honestly forgot it almost as soon as I heard it because I was looking around at the half-empty club. People met vampires in places like this and were never seen again. In stories, that is. The dance floor was anemic now, but slowly starting to get more lively. If I was looking to be a cop there were plenty of drug busts I could have done at that moment, because every booth seemed to have either a… couple or someone making absolutely sure that the table wasn't visible at a certain angle.
And then, standing off towards a corner, was my target.
Grue was dressed in motorcycle leathers, a tall and powerfully-built figure that had inches on me, and also a lot of weight in muscle mass. He was really, really imposing, and as checked out as the bouncer outside. He had his own worries, and I had to imagine that they were his sister. This crowd didn't have any live wires, anyone who would be more than a marginal threat at best.
So he was going to focus on the worries that really kept him up at night. He was someone who'd done plenty of violence in his day, and would do plenty of more violence before his day was done, which could be a while. He looked older, but I suspected he wasn't nearly as old as one might guess just looking at a tall, bulky figure like that.
I took a deep breath and began stalking towards him, in the best way I knew. You didn't approach someone too close, instead I tried to focus on going the long way around, slowly circling towards him. With Parahumans, you couldn't just look at them and know whether or not they were dangerous. Often enough people used that as an excuse to shoot anyone that got in their way. But I was certainly more dangerous than I looked, so if I walked up to him… maybe he'd panic.
Still, eventually he noticed I was getting closer, and he looked me over.
The gas mask hadn't actually drawn that much attention, there were several people who also wore things that covered their faces. But he was looking at me, and even through the skull-shaped helmet he had on. He was staring right through me, and all of a sudden (unsurprisingly) I had to fight back the nerves that told me that this was going to end badly. They whispered it, they cried it out, as if I hadn't had those thoughts about every single thing I'd ever done.
I was intimidated, to say the least. I was personifying my own doubts, even.
"What is it?" he asked, once he was clear I really was approaching.
"H-hello, I'm Melinoe, I'd like to talk to you," I began.
"Melinoe," the voice growled, sounding more thoughtful than anything else. "Cape?"
Of course that was the only reason, or one of the only two possible reasons, that someone would approach him while he was working. The other, of course, was flirtation.
"Yes," I said, trying not to fidget. "I don't want to talk to you here, but I'm willing to… you have a good reputation, I'd trust you if you named a place for us to meet… after this." I was stumbling, I knew, but I also knew that as dangerous as this was, I needed to give Grue the power. He was afraid that I was dangerous, he no doubt worried that I had some sort of power that could harm him.
"Power?"
"Complicated," I admitted. "I'm pretty new, but… I have something on offer that…"
"Not interested," he said, and I could tell that he'd decided I wasn't safe, and so he wouldn't hear me out.
I fidgeted and said, "I can give people nightmares."
Grue stopped there, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"Nightmares?"
"...not going to do it to you to prove it," I said. "But would that be something someone would lie about?"
I realized as soon as I said it that someone would do that. It was the kind of power that a poser goth would say she had.
He didn't say it, but he looked at me with that posture that said he was considering what to do if I didn't back up.
"Look, I have a burner phone number I can give you, I think," I said. "Just, it's actually important but I can't really spill it here where someone can overhear. It'd not be good for either of us." I didn't want to hint any more than that, because the more I brought up his sister even indirectly in public, the more he'd fear me and the less he'd trust me. But I needed to get him on board or this was going to be a lot harder than it had to be.
He was a powerful Parahuman, and even more than that an experienced one. I'd just have to…
His cell-phone started ringing at the same time that a few others throughout the club tensed. There were a few seconds of movement before someone realized what it had to mean and cried out, ""Police incoming!" Then others began to move, some of them towards the bathrooms, some towards the back, and others looking like they were going to try to stampede out the front entrance. That single cry threw the whole party into disarray. I barely had time to react as Grue stepped forward. His contract no doubt said he had to fight every gang in Brockton Bay, and that included the police, even if some would argue they were tied closely enough to the E88 as to not really be separate at all.
I moved to step closer to him.
"I can help," I said, quietly, as we both moved to be out of the way in case the police came in guns blazing and firing at the first thing they saw. They really could do that, and we both knew that.
"I can handle this," he growled out, as he found a table to half-duck behind.
It was a half a minute of panicking and prep before the door burst open. The bouncer must have slowed them down one moment. A dozen policemen burst in, armed with rifles. "Freeze!" one of them yelled. "Get down on the ground! Now! Do it or we start defending ourselves!"
Grue raised a hand and the darkness began to envelop the dozen cops. His power was cool to watch, and absolutely the right thing to do against someone like that. A few of the cops started firing wildly as I ducked behind a table myself. I couldn't see them, so I couldn't use my powers on them. Nor could I afford to hurry forward when they were firing at random and running to try and fail to escape the darkness, which began to spread to cover them.
I looked around and had an idea. I sprinted towards a little closet, hoping that the cops were too busy, and wheeled out- yeah. Ew.
In this tiny little closet was a smelly bucket of water that had clearly been thoroughly used for cleaning and then not dumped out. I grabbed it, hefting it, and hurried along, trying to keep low and not spill too much. Even so, I was ruining my clothes, I knew, as I tossed the water out onto the tile floor where the darkness was spreading.
By that point one of the police had moved forward… and then slipped on the water and fell on his face with a groan, gun going off once more.
I hadn't thought about how loud it would be, but it was very, very loud. It was the kind of sound that was easy to mistake, but… I'd heard it before. I'd heard it plenty of times, but never like this.
Now when a gun was going off, I could be hit by it. I could die, and it wouldn't even take much to kill me. But I'd made one slip and now that he was looking I pressed the fears into his head. I didn't have time to think about what would be best, but he seemed like the kind of guy who was afraid of something silly, like spiders. (Insects were sorta gross, but spiders weren't insects. I remember I'd been told that once as part of some weird… I can't remember. It was about an Earth Bet Superhero and why I should check him out even though he was (I'd said) an insect and thus gross!)
So he started screaming and clawing at his body as spiders crawled from his eyes and flesh. Or was it about drugs? I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, except swaying slightly as I got under cover.
All this time, people were backing out and escaping, because Grue was doing a good job dragging this out.
"Zulu! Zulu! We have two Zulus," a man screamed holding his radio as he stumbled out of the darkness. "Or a Zulu and a, fuck, I can't remember the code…"
He went down, and for almost a minute, that's what happened. I hid, the cops were picked off one by one, screaming, my powers helping and Grue tackling one that got too close and beating him up while I watched in shock. Then, something changed.
There was a moment of confusion and then there was a sound. It wasn't a siren, instead it was like a scream, and from the darkness walked a most unnerving figure.
A figure I knew. He had on a gray set of robes, a gas mask like I did but old, vintage WW2 style, and a hood on. Fog strolled up and said, "I believe the word for the Frauline would be a 'Desdemona?'" He spoke the words with this thick German accent and a great deal of contempt. A few of the cops were hissing at him, hating to be relieved.
Meanwhile, I was trying to figure it out. Did they think I was just some girl hanging out with… oh.
Fog turned to face both of us, and I thought I knew what else was in Grue's darkness. Somewhere in there was Night, unseen and ready to strike unexpectedly. Perhaps move from an angle nobody was looking from, seeing as two-thirds of the club had already fled, if not more.
Night and Fog, the killer couple of the E88, the psychotic monsters, product of the twisted experiments of the Gesellschaft. Soldiers of the Fourth Reich. Over a hundred dead between them. Those are just the ones confirmed.
There's rarely a great place for a fight, but the middle of a run-down Night Club on a Friday Night seemed particularly dire. I was pretty sure everyone involved would be far happier if we went our separate ways. There was no poetry in it, and no horror. Despite the locale being vaguely western themed, It didn't even feel like one of those Old Western showdowns that Dad liked so much.
That wasn't going to happen. This was going to get messy and confused, or we were going to die.
Night and Fog were from Germany, where the uncrowned Fourth Reich fought its shadow wars for control of Germany and reached its tendrils into the east and west alike, a dark shadow on the crumbling European political situation in which any sort of moderation had begun to break down a decade ago. Half-broken by the Endbringers, and then by their own internal divisions and by reaction of all kinds… groups like Gesellschaft would and did do great atrocities. I couldn't know it for sure, but Night and Fog, as products of that system, were almost certainly tortured and abused because all of the 'tools' and 'weapons' they sent were similarly scarred. Similarly broken.
Night had the power to transform into a horrific monster, but only while nobody saw her. Thus I couldn't describe in too much detail what she must have looked like, except that a few people that survived her had at least a few horrified sentences that had given me the unfun kind of nightmares when I'd read them years and years ago.
Her husband, Fog, could turn parts of his body, or the whole thing, into a harmful, lung and skin destroying fog. Living matter eroded, and if you inhaled the fog you probably were never going to be quite the same again even if you lived. It was like how pneumonia could affect the strength of the lungs long-term, or how if someone spent decades smoking they wouldn't recover just because they stopped.
Except, of course, it took only a single breath.
By becoming Fog, he could conceal her, and then within it those who could resist his powers could be targeted. They were a deadly duo, whose vicious reputation leant themselves well to being in the same faction as Kaiser's vicious, heartless lieutenant Purity. They were both reasonably young, or at least that was people's guess because… well, honestly mostly speculation. Not important right now.
Everyone did say they were married, but it could be a trick. They certainly worked together well as a team.
For instance, while losers like me were trying to remember every single tiny detail about them, they were busy moving. At the edge of the fight there was one of the clubgoers, a dark skinned man. He was trying to edge around and escape, but then when he saw he was caught he said, "Please, cool it--" and held up his hands. He was entirely unarmed. The fog came out all at once, blocking… ah. It blocked our line of sight, thick and unnerving, for only a moment as the man screamed.
When that moment had passed, Night was standing there and the man was in pieces. Actual, literal pieces. It was…
For a moment I was in the world of nightmares. It didn't look real. It looked too real. Nothing like the movies. Body parts had been strewn around like a wild animal had torn him limb from limb. But it was so fast, and the cuts so comparatively clean, that if it wasn't for the blood from this distance, when I could only glance at it, it'd look… fake?
Someone was dead. At the edge of the darkness, a single cop had been smart enough to go back, and I saw him now let out an amused laugh, grinning and glad for the backup. A Neo-Nazi had murdered an unarmed man, and he was fucking laughing. But of course he was. This is why they'd called out "Zulu" after all.
Someone was dead, and Night and Fog were just going to keep on killing. I wasn't sure what we could really do. The cops had their backup, and I didn't have an easy way to take out all of those enemies at once, and neither did Grue. The cops, probably, and with two targets maybe I could at least mess with them. But they were well-trained killers.
They'd fought through all sorts of effects before, and were as likely to kill me in a fury as they pushed past their fear.
No. I could not beat the two of them together. They were genuine horror antagonists, like from the novel True Heroes. Maybe the powers had been based on theirs, or maybe there were always horrifying powerful Parahumans that…
I could not beat the cops. I--
I could die and… wait. Wait.
I knew what I had to do.
(I knew that there were dividing lines between cops and the E88, between fascists who'd love a chance at a Fourth Reich and a bunch of superpowered fascists who'd also love that but who were--to some strains of reactionaries--everything that was wrong with America. A majority of Parahumans were female, and more than their fair share were non-white… queer parahumans were also overrepresentation for obvious reasons. It was the belief of plenty of bastards that being a parahuman might as well confer you honorary minority status, which is to say honorary 'should be rounded up and shot' status.)
So yes, I had an idea of what I could do. I had an idea of how I could save this situation.
…but it involved getting Grue to do something that he might not want to do. Grue's power was truly terrifying because there did not have to be a lot of build up. He did not have to slowly fill a room, he could plunge a very large area into darkness very fast. Of course, he couldn't do that here, because the people in charge of this club were trying to get out as well, and it'd cause panic and chaos. So he'd carefully controlled the area he was blacking out, and he moved his darkness along to make sure that they stay contained.
Even when someone got out, they mostly didn't last long, and if everyone cleared out the way he could at least stick everyone in the darkness. But Night would be able to charge about then, and all it'd take was luck and then he'd be gutted.
So he had to be more careful about how he acted.
I had only a brief window, but luckily I was next to him. "Grue," I hissed. "Drop the darkness, please. I have a plan. You can bring it up if it fails." After all, the cops would take a moment to adjust.
Grue hesitated, and suddenly, there they were, a double-handful of police officers staring at Fog, Night, and a dead body. There was the secret about the cops of Brockton Bay: most of them were happy to work with the E88, but some of them didn't think that Parahumans were humans at all. They hated arrogant heroes and plenty thought the E88 was too cape-dominated. Of course they did…
And so some of them feared and distrusted the E88, not because of any of the reasons they should have, but because they were capes.
So, one of the cops who seemed like he might trust them the least saw that the dead body near Night had on the clothing of a cop. Night had murdered a cop, just because he was in the way! No doubt she'd gone crazy, as Parahumans did, and slaughtered one of her own allies.
The brave cop acted heroically, raising a gun and firing a warning shot straight into Night's head in self-defense, with a panicked shout, "Freeze! You're under arrest!"
Night went down, though the moment nobody could see her, that wound was going to heal instantly the moment she left view. It was one of the ways she was hard to put down, because you had to put her down and keep her down. I was pretty sure that even now, we couldn't actually beat them.
My trick was very good at turning people who didn't trust each other around, though. My head throbbed faintly with the effort of turning it towards Fog as well at the same time. But I didn't need to do much there either, because of course the fact was that a cop had shot her in a way that could actually be fatal if she was a random person. Hell. It could have been fatal if she was alone and there was someone to watch her die.
Fog had already begun to turn into creeping fog that rolled over the cops, who began screaming and shouting for backup in their walkie-talkies. A few of them shot at Fog, but he was already dispersing, and I knew that as soon as everyone was focused on him, Night would go and make my vision a reality.
In a handful of moments, Grue and I were all but forgotten. The headache faded as soon as I let go of the powers, I hadn't really gotten a Thinker headache yet. But I did feel shaky and exhausted, as if I'd been right in the middle of the carnage. I licked my lips, the thought seeming almost to echo. And by this point, it was carnage. There were people on the ground screaming, and the police were retreating as the E88 pursued them.
I was pretty sure that was the cop who'd shot Night laying there, unmoving. Dead.
Later maybe I'd think all sorts of things to tell myself that this was a good outcome, but right then I was shaking like I was going to fall apart, and if any of them noticed me they might start thinking. "We have to go," I hissed out to Grue.
"You did this?" he asked back, quiet and oddly calm.
"...Yes. I really need to talk to you, but now's not the time," I said.
"There's a way out back, if there's cops there they'd have gone in to try to stop the E88." Grue was already moving, and faster than I was used to. I ran sometimes to keep fit, but I wasn't as fast as him and I sure as hell wasn't as strong as him. I stumbled my way past the neglected riding machine and through dingy back rooms that I didn't pay enough attention to to actually describe afterwards. Memory in moments like that was a blur, and we burst out into a cramped back alley and then kept on going and… oh wow, I really did need to run more, because I was breathless.
That wasn't the only thing that left me breathless. Grue was… big, and obviously muscular. I was having to trust him, because if he wanted he could probably just hurt me so, so much, like one of those serial killers. He was powerful and dangerous, in a purely physical sense, and in a power sense as well: a much stronger power than mine.
It was terrifying. It was a little intoxicating. I stuck to him like a burr, and picked up the pace when he was gaining on me. I didn't want him to ditch me as he began to pull ahead.
Instead, he eventually stopped and turned. He looked me up and down and asked, "What is it?"
I was panting too hard to speak, hands on my knees. I held up a hand to try to keep him from saying too much. I tried to remember it. The details were already fading. There had been gore, and blood, and there had been the sharp look of shock on Night's face, and all of the clubbers that I had paid almost no mind to. Blood smelled so normal, almost boring. I was pretty sure in a week all that would remain was the flashes of nightmares, as all the details faded away as unimportant.
My first night out clubbing, my first cape battle, and I'd have nothing but vague memories to share. Those, and nightmares. The Alliance encouraged capes to talk about their work, just as it told parahumans that it was okay in the right circumstances to share your trigger event, to try to make the world understand… if you wanted.
I don't think I'd share mine with anyone, it hurt too much to think of. It wasn't even that long ago. It wasn't even over.
It'd only just begun.
Now I remembered. The limbs, clad in blue, and imagined all the things I could have done with them. It wasn't actually a very steady vision. If he'd asked anyone else, if he'd gone forward, if he'd done anything smarter then…
But I'd caused it to happen. More bodies left behind by my power, even though it wasn't that impressive.
This time I didn't really regret it. Anyone who wound up on the BBPD had probably either been put there by the E88 or been kicked out of other police departments, which wasn't always easy to do. Brockton Bay is where you stashed the worst of the worst, where the monsters fled to somewhere that just wanted warm bodies to prosecute a war on the people. Police Departments that would let you get away with murder ditched people so horrible that only the BBPD would still take them because they'd be a warm body.
None of them were innocent, and quite a few of them were legally guilty of something and had just skated by on trusting juries. They deserved it. It wasn't murder. It was fine. It was fine. It was fine. It was good even. I should be happy. Or no, not happy. Someone had died. Content? No, no, that wasn't it. I should be… I don't know.
It shouldn't feel so strange.
But still.
I felt sick anyway. I also felt oddly thrilled in a way that didn't make sense. I felt more alive than I had since… since the warehouse. "What was that?" he asked.
"I have the ability to show people nightmares. Visions. Fears, ones I guess they have. That cop… hated parahumans the same as all the other minorities," I gasped out. "So I showed him that the delimbed body had a blue uniform on. And so he…"
"Did what cops do," Grue finished with a gruff nod. "And then…"
"Pushed a fear of the cops turning on them into Fog."
"Ah." Grue looked at me and said, "What did you want?"
"I know what the Alliance is trying to do, trying to pressure you into joining up," I said, slowly.
"Oh?" Grue asked, but he crossed his arms, glancing around.
I stepped a little closer, "They know about your sister… which is to say your identity too," I said slowly, trying to sound confident. "I don't know who she is, except that she goes to Middle School, and that they were talking about her. I don't know what her situation is, but…"
Grue growled and turned as if he was going to hit the brick wall. "They know?"
"Yes. What… does she need?"
"What? And you'll provide it?" Grue guessed. He crossed his strong, powerful arms, his voice rumbling as I shivered for a very different reason. "Is that it?"
"I was thinking about a trade," I said. "It's… okay, to start with. I have a partner who has the power to repair things, Tinkertech and otherwise. She's used it to squat before, and so if she or you need anywhere to hole up where they can't immediately get to her… or whatever trouble you're facing can't, then I can help with that."
Grue stared at me, and I hoped I hadn't guessed wrong. It seemed the most likely problem, a trouble that had one or both of them chained down and unable to flee. Because if it was a rival Parahuman, he'd have either dealt with it, talked to Faultline, or already agreed to join the Alliance. It had to be a problem that he couldn't face without danger, and kidnapping his sister (voluntarily or not) to rescue her from a bad situation would run the risk of having nowhere to put her, wouldn't it?
If he was in the same situation, there might not be anywhere. Though he seemed older than that… maybe? I couldn't be sure at all. He was tall, but that could mean nothing at all.
"Help? You'd just put her in your power."
"We're two capes," I pointed out. "We don't have a lot of power, and… I don't know what the exact problem is. I'm just guessing here." I considered it. "But what I want is… for you to be willing in exchange for this help to hear out a proposal for a job. As in, something we'd do together, with you getting an equal share. If you hear the proposal when we make it and decide that it's bad, and that it can't be fixed by adding suggestions, then I'll accept it. But if we're going to do this, we'll need more than just two people."
"Who else are you thinking about getting… and for what?" But I could hear it. Grue was interested.
"Bitch, and perhaps… Circus? They're supposed to be pretty good at this," I said. That would be five people. "Uber and Leet tried to sell out the Tinker I'm working with now, Kintsugi, to Lung because she could have challenged Leet's monopoly, because she can fix up anything, even Tinkertech." I could imagine it, someone sending along broken Tinkertech to her at a firesale price, and her refurbishing it to something usable. "So, if we find their lab and raid it, we could…"
"We'll have a Tinker of our own, and it's Uber and Leet," I pointed out. "Just… think about it, as we put together a plan, alright? If you do that, then we'll help your sister however we can."
"It'd take time to build up somewhere for her to hide," Grue said.
"If you want more leverage, she could always stay with Kintsugi, and that way someone would know about where our base is… something you could use if we try to betray you, or do anything you don't like," I offered, easily. I could already hear sirens in the distance, and so we didn't have long if we wanted to avoid a full-scale manhunt.
"Would Kintsugi accept that?" Grue asked.
"Oh," I said easily, "I'm sure she'd be happy to have guests."
AN: Clockworkchaos: Pulling back a bit on the right wing divisions. Yeah, while the cops and E88 work together, they have a slightly different flavor of white supremist vis a vis parahumans, and even there the E88 is divided. From Hookwolf's 'parahumans are the paragons of the Nordic race, hail Odyn!" To Kaisers more 'for fucks sake can you people work together?"
Kaiser X Lustrum. "Can't you people work together properly?"
Laurent: At the end of the day, Taylor's totally fine. She told you she is and everything!
I never wanted a roommate, but orders were orders. Yes, even orders where your boss explains why this is a good idea and asks permission. I was now peering uncertainly at our guest-hostage and trying to consider what I was supposed to do. My understanding was that it was leaning towards guest right now, and that Taylor wanted to keep it that way. Which was just fine with me, I didn't want to get into grudge matches with more Parahumans. But I had no doubt that someone as calculating as Taylor had to know that the girl could also make a very good hostage if things truly got tense. She just wasn't saying it because she wanted to be polite about it.
Aisha was wearing a T-shirt; several creases in it, but not as much dust, probably been stored away in a bag. She had on fishnet leggings, with a tear here or there, so not new. I might have to repair them, they were honestly bothering me just to look at them. Her sneakers were worn down, used for a lot of walking, and her makeup was also worn, except the lipstick which was likely reapplied right before entering. Other than that… seeing things that are damaged is easy, but sometimes… there were also imperfections to notice. It was easy to notice things someone intended to try to do, but didn't manage to get right, like if you built something in the wrong order. I can sometimes get those things, and so I knew that her whole goal was to make her look… older? No, that's not it. Tougher? Closer, but not quite, nothing about this was tough. No, less vulnerable. Perhaps even less damaged.
Yeah,that made sense. Even knew a couple kids who went that way among the oars. I didn't, which was part of what made me 'adoptable'. I remember… ugh can't even remember who it was. Some family, maybe it was my parents, I mean foster parents. Like obviously it was foster parents, but I mean my last set. But maybe it was an earlier meeting? Just remember the person at the center talking with them, and them assuring me that I wasn't one of those violent Japanese youths. I was Filipino, and they were nice and polite.
"Hey, you're staring at my legs?" Aisha spat. Yeah, I recognized it. And I got it. After all, she was about to live with a guy. (Yeah, I know I'm actually a girl… but let's be real here, I'm not Taylor. I've been out and on hormones for under a week, it didn't really count.) Really I was kinda the 'foster parent' in a way. Which made the next person to come in the orphanage head.
Grue followed her in: jeans with a scratch from a cut, too jagged to be intentional. Shoes worn from impacts, running or kicks, shirt stretched from someone grabbing him. Signs of fights, fights he was still here after, still big and imposing enough to crush me like a bug. He just laughed. He was in a good mood, possibly the jacket I'd given him. Only thing that wasn't damaged, and was tough enough to handle a few knives. My attempt to buy some good-will while Taylor spent hours going up against his unbending certainty to convince him this was Aisha's best bet. "Chill out, Aisha. Kintsugi just notices broken things, my old jacket bugged the shit outta her. You let those leggings rip, ain't her fault." Right, 'Kintsugi' I should correct him but I still didn't really have a good cape name.
"Shut up, it's fashion," Aisha whined, almost stomping her feet. I didn't tell her that my power didn't consider intentional modifications damage, graffiti was… wait, but if you broke a wall on purpose my power still yelled about it? So was damaging something in the name of fashion according to my power? Ugh, it gave me a headache thinking about it. Thankfully no one noticed as Aisha fumed and Grue chided her in a way that was probably sibling-esque? At least for non-foster siblings? Mostly I avoided conflict, be it with other fosters or (one time) a natural sibling. I was under no illusions about my place in the hierarchy there.
"Right, fashion. Okay." Grue shifted, going from an easygoing almost slouch to standing up straight. "Aisha, I need you to listen to me. This isn't a good neighborhood."
"I've lived in bad--"
"Not ones this close to the E88. They gave me a tour earlier, and this place is definsible, but the rest ain't. Listen to Kintsugi and don't go out till I'm back, you got that?"
Aisha rolled her eyes. "Yes, dad."
"I mean it, no going out unless you gotta run. I'll be back a bit late, gonna teach Taylor how to throw a punch." He added.
Aisha rolled her eyes. "Sure, go 'work out' with her." Showing an impressive command of sarcasm, she managed to inject the air-quotes into the sentence without ever actually moving her hands.
"I'm making sure I pull my weight." Taylor said quickly, and, were I a less loyal lieutenant I might have wondered about that and the way she was looking at Grue like he was a prime cut side of beef. After all, she hadn't exactly hidden being bisexual, and like… okay he was probably hot if you were into guys? Big, strong, muscled, all that? Though for me he was more a big, scary guy who could probably beat both of us combined. But it wasn't my job to question what she wanted to do. Taylor was in charge.
"Don't worry, I will make sure we stay safe." I replied.
Late Afternoon, November 13th
It was less than two days before we had our first blow up. Heck, it was the very next day. Not even twenty-four hours.
"Did you fucking touch my shirt, you weirdo!" She was above me, shouting while I was laying in bed, still half-asleep, waving it around like some sort of war banner. (We had different sleep schedules. It was driving me insane.)
I rolled my eyes. Okay, yes, I fucking touched her nasty, ratty shirt, but just to repair it. "Stop leaving your messed-up clothes where I'm sleeping." Her stupid damaged shirt had not just been damaged, but it'd been half-pooled in the middle of the room right where I'd been stepping on my way to bed. I'd actually wound up taking time out of my schedule to fix it up just so that I wouldn't dream of the stupid thing. It had happened once before with my own mess when I'd ignored it. Thanks, power.
"You sleep in the living room!" She shouted back, a few steps away from me now, but still right there about to be up in her face. Like this was my fault. Not like I'd planned for there to be a guest, and I wasn't breaking my bed so I could move it again.
"Don't leave your clothes in the living room. It's out here, it's getting repaired, you should be thanking me." Speaking of ratty clothes, she was wearing another ratty shirt, were the damn clothes she was wearing that first day her very best?
"Fuck you I-" Aisha started, moving forward just like a foster-
"GET BACK." I shouted, readying myself for the fist to hit--
Aisha shrank back, fear in her eyes as she held up her hands. Fuck, no, I had, raised my hands. Ready to attack. Ready to hurt her. She was a kid. A scared girl, who I had scared. Fuck.
She was a real girl, and I… fuck I'd just acted so mannish. Threatening to dominate her, implicit violence and--
We were both silent for a bit, and then Aisha retreated, leaving me with my own thoughts and to feel like shit.
"I wasn't scared." Aisha said, lying to me, standing at the very doorway of the living room. The thing you did around people you were afraid of: made sure there was enough distance between you and them that if they got up off the couch you could probably make it to the bathroom.
The lock in the bathroom was good, and even more importantly it'd buy time for murderous fury to turn into merely "getting a tanning" fury. I"d done that exact trick before.
"Oh." I nodded, as if I believed her nonsense. It had been an hour or two, an hour of both of us just… sulking.
"I ain't afraid, I've been in tough neighborhoods. I've taken real blows from my mom's boyfriends." She said, like that was evidence she wouldn't be scared. "You ain't scary."
"Kay." I replied. At least we both understood where we were. She was a young girl forced to be here against her will and I was a younger and less scary version of her mom's boyfriends.
"Look, Kin."
"Kin?" I asked, confused.
"Your name's too long." She said, oh right! I'd been introduced as Kintsugi which I should correct but… fuck I didn't have a alternate name. I should probably just use my real one here but… ugh.
"Lemmie go outside."
"Taylor said no."
She stared at me with an expression of contempt only a fellow teen could give. "... seriously. You listen to that dork?"
"She's more dangerous than she appears." I replied.
"Oh god, you actually think that. I can't believe I was afraid of you." She said, without any realization she's just revealed her lie. "She's a dork. And she's spent the entire time she's here making doe eyes at my brother." Aisha added, showing just how good Taylor was at looking harmless when she wanted to be on her best behavior. "Look, let's go out, they don't have to know. You gotta be going insane cooped up here."
I sighed. "No. We are staying here."
"Wow." Aisha said, "so, candy's right inside the van, right?"
I sighed. I knew that had been coming the moment she saw the white, unmarked van I'd selected. "Yeah, sadly it is liquorice. Look, just play lookout for me while I fix this up enough we can drive it away."
"You can drive?" She asked.
"I'm literally fixing the steering and possibly the engine on this." I replied.
"So that's a no."
I shrugged. I wasn't going to be driving it fast, and one thing my D-, Mr– my last foster father has liked doing was talking through stuff he was doing to explain it, including driving. Even let me behind the wheel (keys out and unpowered, of course). Worst case we dinged it up a bit and I repaired it again. "So, use the 'lookout', and give me a holler if you see anyone coming, especially if they are white… but anyone, really. There's other gangs." Empire was the one I was worried most about, but they weren't the only gang that fought over this little chunk of disputed territory. My power was helpfully informing me that not eight feet away there was an iron stain that was likely from dried blood.
The 'lookout' in question was a remote control car, not tinkertech but fixed up to run as well as it could. It'd been a kid's toy car, until I'd repaired it, added a camera, and wi-fi'd it all to a small television set. It wasn't the best, but she could just watch the television and see if she saw anything. The real 'badly paid mall cop' experience. It worked, that's what mattered. Aisha took the controller and was soon moving the car around way more than she should have. But I focused on the beat-up van and tried to figure out why someone had left it here. (Hopefully it wasn't booby-trapped, but that'd be dumb.)
Look, yes, we were supposed to stay inside. But I'd had my eye on that van for a while. I couldn't not have, given that it was visible from my apartment window. It was a good van, nearby, and had been abandoned for over a month. Frankly if I didn't scavenge it someone was gonna strip it, the only thing that has probably stopped anyone so far was that this was a disputed gang area. It wasn't territory anyone wanted, and even walking around here had sucked, my power screaming about all the broken windows and potholes and lights broken, some of them probably just for the copper wiring. There were even a bunch of bullet-holes here and there. I was half-sure that any good suburbanite would spontaneously suffer a heart attack just looking at it. I might know this place but knowing it meant knowing that disputed places were some of the most dangerous. Not a place to go alone, but there was a lookout available and she had been whining that she could do things and it was annoying and I could work and…
As long as we finished early, I could pretend I'd had it all along, Taylor didn't know everything I had. And it would be useful for the heist. I could give it a souped up engine. Maybe some Wi-fi stuff so I could play home base from it and… you know, whatever. Useful. So we were out here.
It wouldn't be a Tinkertech vehicle, but it'd do the job.
First step was opening the car. Small, stupid detail but doors? Meant to be opened, at least if you had the right key, and my power almost… well fed me the right key?, I looked it up online once, they called it tumblers and pins and stuff, but I knew which ones it was. I should do a lockpick but for whatever reason it was actually easier for me to simply bring a key, any key, and just use some tools to shape it right. Cars were meant to have keys. Yeah, shaping a key with just some basics like… files and saw and stuff shouldn't be this easy, but Tinkering was cheating. It only took me a moment to open the car, and I didn't even wind up losing myself in it, the way I could sometimes in other stuff.
It wasn't a pleasant thing to open. I could smell the rot from a poorly used car… and one that had been used for drugs, from here. My power, meanwhile, was screaming about issues from the seats to the damaged sides to the scratched paint to the busted windows. But, none of that should prevent it from working, which meant it was onto step two.
I popped open the hood and examined the engine, and a moment later, among my power complaining about everything, there was one clear part that stood out. It was the… shit, it's dumb. I know shit about engines. I have no idea what the part was even called. But I knew it was misaligned and was… not working. Like there were entire other parts that were wrong, but this was the big one, the reason it wasn't working. Nothing else really mattered, my power's opinions aside, I was gonna replace the engine with something better anyways, because I actually had something in mind, the kind of thing that you put in a street racer… except it had been broken when I'd dragged it up. It wouldn't be for much longer, now that I had somewhere to put it.
I dived in, getting to work. Letting the pleasant hum of fixing something wash over me. It was nice, my power didn't scream about all the other problems, as long as I was working on one. I could just sort of drift while I thought about it. Taylor had her plans, getting Bitch and someone else. She'd actually mentioned Circus as someone who'd definitely be in for a heist. I had no idea how she'd manage either of those, but she got Grue. She even got a hostage and did it so smoothly that Grue was grateful we had her. That was really impressive, and honestly a little terrifying.
Maybe this would work out, it would be nice to see that asshole and his friend get theirs. If we did replace him, we'd need to find his other contacts. He was the dealer, but I knew he worked with other tinkers, not in the Bay, but in the northeast at least. I was sure the vehicles he sold to all the gangs weren't his. The 'mega humvee' model was too consistent to be his work, also it didn't stop working after the first of them, because he'd sold two or three that were basically the same as far as I knew. Ditto the jetpacks, 'damascus steel' product, untraceable phone tech or well… half the shit I saw sold.
Granted, just as good a chance this all crashed, but I still had a back-up place, it wasn't going to be easy to slip out and keep it in shape with Aisha here… wonder if Taylor did the deal to make sure I had to stay here as well. It would be paranoid, but smart. I didn't know if she trusted me, I wouldn't trust me, so-
"Hey, hey Kin!"
I blinked, coming back to reality as Aisha shook me. "Oh, right, sorry, what?"
"You got it fixed? There are a couple skinheads coming." She added.
"Oh." I said, looking at the engine. I was… well far as my power was concerned it was far from fixed. So much left to do. As far as I was concerned, it was fixed enough, I made it able to run… probably 20 minutes ago, and had got lost tinkering and wasting time we couldn't waste. Obviously we'd just be putting in a better engine once I got it back closer to the base. "Yeah… let's get out of here, and mind the smell."
"K, but only if you promise me candy."
"So Kin."
"Yes, Aisha?" I asked, as we stepped out of the vehicle.
"I think I got you figured out." Her voice filled with mirth.
I sighed. "What?"
"You… you hate trash cans. Just hate 'em. See them on the side of the road and gotta run through every one. That's your trigger. Trash cans killed your parents in Crime Alley."
…
…
…
I shook my head. I was kinda funny if you thought about it. Trash did kill my parents- my foster parents. White Trash. I waved her off. "Laugh it up." I said. Trying to sound normal. I was normal about this. It was fine. I hadn't cared. It didn't matter.
I took a deep breath, in and out, and I was definitely over it and definitely not offended by the joke. It was funny. It was a good joke. Okay, okay…
Besides, my driving had been- been perfectly fine. I'd gotten us to the garage, and we hadn't been followed. Look, I could fix the dents, and I could also fix the popped tire, and some of those trash cans had been too close to the street, almost not on the sidewalk at all. Really how in the world was the city not touching the abandoned apartments at all except to add trash cans? Like no hero patrols, but the garbage man went out? It was stupid. I was going to fix everything anyway.
Aisha, for once, seemed to shut up for a moment, one moment, as if she was seeing something--I'd have to hide any reactions better or someone would use them. Then she said, "Okay!" nearly shouting and laughing, clearly playing up the hilarity for a bit before quieting down and staring back at me. "Also, just saying, I controlled the RC without crashing it once. Next time, I should drive."
"Absolutely not."
AN: Clockworkchaos Aisha knows batman because, as mentioned before a lot of earth Alpha properties were brought cheap, so a good deal of 90's toons were show as brain-rotting tv.
The Laurent AN: It's good that the girlies perfectly understand each other.
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Poison 1A--Above The Heights, Beyond The Wailing Beneath And… (Amelia Lavere)New
1A--Above The Heights, Beyond The Wailing Beneath And… (Amelia Lavere)
When Amy was ten, it seemed as if she had everything. Her father gave her the best of everything, she was his precious princess, and he was the smartest, best dad in the world. The world, maybe, had bad things happen, but it didn't happen to people like them, and dad was respectable. She was a good person, healing people in need.
And she lived in a bubble. Sure, Arcadia was public, and so was the school she went to before that for middle school, but they were both still very good schools. It wasn't private-private like what she'd had before. It had been at Arcadia that she met her. Then she discovered. Then she knew.
She'd never been a good person. But she didn't really see it until Arcadia.
By now, she woke up heartsick and chased by dreams that belonged in the darkest corners of the internet. She liked sleeping, most of the time. Now it seemed as if Amy was sleeping the night away, the dark mirror, the pathetic shadow, of a bright and shining light. She stayed up some nights working, whether she was trying to hunt and kill Amy's father or whether she was staying up healing the world. Justice or Mercy. Either way she was making it better.
When she was ten, Amy thought she had the best Dad in the world. The thought that someone was trying to kill him would have been enough that she'd be sure who the evil one was, and who the hero was. She would have known which side was right and which side was wrong. She would not be stuck in the middle with a heart tearing in two. She would not wake up with fragments of (bad) poetry and fantasies that started at the grotesque and then went downhill from there. She would not be herself. Bad and tainted by the very presence of the one she loved most. Had loved most. Still loved.
-
She woke up slowly, but reached for her phone immediately, some exhausted part of her grabbing by instinct her 'home' phone, the one she used, on top of the laptop, for the searches that would have rang alarm bells even if Arcadia had regular phone signals.
Boring, boring, boring, oh new video from the Nilbog Flesh Horror Fansite, she'd at least give it a look tonight, boring boring boring, no she wasn't in the mood to see a dead body this morning, very boring, dull, she'd seen that before, dull, horrifyingly interesting--
She scrolled through all of it while her eyes just barely slitted open. Her imagination threw up impossible constructions of flesh and bone, of the things that a person could be made into, of minds twisted and warped and--
It all made her sick, but it was the kind of sick where shame curdled into desire. It was just another way she was Bad. She was sure Victoria, lovely, intense, dedicated Victoria, with her golden hair and… and…
Her brain trailed off into fantasies, and then returned to the point.
She bet Victoria never just got herself lost in these sorts of things. There was a reason that she had her own computer, and that her little sister didn't come in here.
She rubbed her hair and reached over to a brush to give herself a once-over. Dad would be up and about, he did tend to operate on a rather industrious schedule. Evil never slept, Amy thought with a nasty smirk. Except her.
Amy made faces in the mirror and then hopped into the shower. A cold shower, as usual, and then more faces in the mirror, more moments of feeling just a little bit off. She had gotten used to it, the strange feeling like she was about to tear herself apart. She didn't like looking in the mirror and looking serious, because when she did she realized she actually was serious.
She realized she was that bad.
Faces were easier.
She was very good at faces, by this point, hers and others.
She got dressed in a dark skirt and a dark band T-shirt that she thought was probably fresh? It was laying on the ground, but it smelled fresh so she'd probably just been in a mood and tossed it into her closet rather than hanging it up. She sniffed it again. Okay, it was fine. It was fine.
She wasn't, but it was fine.
Outside, the cook was filling the air with beautiful smells. She could barely taste anything, some days, but her father had found someone who made food she liked. It wasn't any good for her, and she had a few extra pounds that she really didn't need… but that was fine. If that was all that was wrong with her she'd die a happy woman.
(It was woman now. At eleven or twelve or thirteen it wasn't really her fault. Particularly. Amy believed that even children should be responsible for their crimes. You were either good and bad, and that meant she'd been bad the whole time. However, she was seventeen now. Any pretend-innocence was long gone.)
She stepped out. The cook was an older white woman, who nodded respectfully at her from across the counter between the kitchen and the living room. It was a penthouse suite, which meant it was no mansion. There was no divide between them, except for the ones that existed. "Is Dad up?" Amy asked. (Though that is not what she was called, not by anyone not in her own head… except her.)
"Yeah, he said he wanted to talk with you." The answer did not come from the cook, but instead Zola, who was sitting down, looking eagerly at her.
Her sister looked like she did when she was eight, but not really. Dark hair, features plastered across it, but she had her hair up in a long ponytail instead of a frizzy mess, and she hadn't been tainted. She hadn't yet… no, Amy knew she shouldn't go around and around like this. Her father loved her. Her father loved Zola. He said, sometimes, that he loved them "A to Z."
(And Marquis, right in the middle. It had taken her a little while to realize that he didn't think of himself as Louis Lavere.)
"Are you going to be working with him? Maybe I can come?" The question dripped with need. Can I come? Can I participate in what dad and big sister are? Can I get any attention?
Victoria may have been the sun illuminating her shittyness, but Zola was the moon. Only noticed through the light of the other, but making sure there was no break from illumination. "I'll ask." Amy offered. A cheap deflection. Zola was too young to be trusted with daily business, and, importantly, she hadn't triggered. Amelia was her father's child, the golden healer that was the apple of his eye. And Zola the mere spare. But perhaps that was best, the only thing here untainted.
"Okay Amelia." Zola replied, the happy mask of expectation. Like it was going to change. Like anyone would change as Amy ate her breakfast, slightly more awake. Then she got up and went into what Marquis insisted on calling the 'den.' It wasn't the living room, that was another room. This was a place for him to sit and work, but it wasn't his office either.
There were so many weird, superfluous rooms in the penthouse. They could have had a half-dozen mansions, and in fact there were summer homes and winter homes in very convenient places all across the United States… and there were probably safe havens and hideouts that extended beyond even that. It was remarkable all the places that scum like her and her father would be able to hide if faced with even the least consequences of their vile and unforgivable misdeeds.
Of course, consequences would also hurt the innocent, like Zola.
She had many reasons for her silence, and only some of them were cowardice. Only most of them were cowardice.
"Amelia, good morning," he said. He was dark-haired, dressed in business casual with cologne even here and now. He looked as awkward in it as she did in a fancy dress. "There's updates on clients, if you'd like to discuss that quickly. The state senator… will continue to have cancer until he shifts his stance on the bill."
A state senator from down south, she couldn't remember where, had cancer and wanted to be cured and was willing to pay the hundred thousand dollar price tag… and more importantly the favors. But the favor was dropping support for a bill that'd impact queer people, so he and her Dad were in a standoff. Marquis probably had no investment whatsoever in the issue, but from the moment she'd come out he'd done little gestures like that, meant to be signs that he'd fight for her.
She believed it. He'd fight. For her.
Not for a better world, never for a world where this happened to no one, but just in case she ever wanted to go to that state for any reason and had to put up with any homophobic nonsense. Of course, he wasn't exactly signing the Alliance playbooks. She wasn't either, of course. They'd no doubt say something about class interest or some nonsense, but he was worth quite a few millions of dollars and even though it was laundered blood money, tainted by the sins of the person earning it, it spent as well as anything else did.
"Anyone new today?" she asked.
"One, tonight. It should be quick. A businessman. A hundred thousand in stock options and a few insider tips. Obviously, your portion of the monetary aspect will be put into your trust fund."
Girls her age weren't supposed to have trust funds and stock portfolios diversified by the rich men and women whose lives she saved from supposedly incurable diseases, who were easily willing to pay that. They could spend nearly that much or even more and get the best doctors in the world and still probably die of any number of things… or they could trade in favors and money with the rich and powerful.
"And the mayor… who knows there. He has relatives that could use the help. And you met his son, didn't you?"
Yes, and she'd revealed the secret that he was a Parahuman, and all things considered probably the grown up Ward member, to her father. He'd smiled and patted her hair and no doubt plotted all sorts of things… within a limit. He didn't go after people not involved in the game, as it were, if they stayed well out of it. But he could simply put pressure on the mayor, or those around him, and know that it would also affect Triumph.
In just a few months, he'd become a member of the Protectorate. Everyone in the city knew the Protectorate weren't worth much, but they were a player in the game. He called them just another gang.
"Yes, I did," she said. She knew all about the gangs of Brockton Bay, as defined by her father. The E88, the Brockton Bay Police Department, the Azn Bad Boys (whatever nonsense they actually called themselves), The Alliance, the Protectorate and the PRT, Fautline's Crew, Leet's little network. But the Protectorate and the Wards, as impotent as they were, were the good guys, the heroes. As was someone who wasn't even included on the list because there was no longer an organization. "I'll… be ready to do it."
"It's for your future, too," Marquis said quietly. "Also, it's cold out, please take a jacket."
"I'll take my hoodie."
Marquis cringed, saying, "Are you sure…?"
"Why hide it? Also…"
"You need a re-up for commissions, then?" her Dad asked, and for a moment everything was dropped as he rubbed his face. "Sure, of course, that makes sense, sweetie."
He had so much power and control that it was easy for him to be 'sweet' and 'kind' to her because she never really bucked him. So she wore an honest but kinda stupid hoodie. So she asked for extra money for messed up online art commissions, or new video games, or all the other nonsense she did to fill the void in her life.
They talked a little longer, but she was no longer quite there anymore. They'd all gotten what they needed, if not what they wanted.
-
There were four healers in Brockton Bay.
There was one healer in Brockton, her and only her.
Savior only existed in your skin's melanin content ensured that sunlight was the enemy.
Frankenstein was her opposite. If you didn't want to impale all people with more than twenty-five bucks in their pockets, she was pointless, and barely counted as a healer anyways. Sure she could keep you alive and up, but she couldn't really heal.
Which left only one, Brockton bay's only true selfless healer. Rescue, half of what little was left of the Brockton Bay Brigade, which had barely had time to reform into New Wave before being torn to pieces.
Ah, that's only three? Well, yes. For the fourth was even less a healer than the other two. Not public, available only to those with the right connections or money.
Her name was Amelia Lavere, and her father was Marquis. She had a cape name, but the Protectorate wouldn't have it recorded anywhere, the way they did real healers, whether villains or heroes.
-
Amelia Lavere arrived at Arcadia via chauffeur. Everyone knew this, or rather anyone who knew her knew it, which Amy tried to keep to as few people as possible. It wasn't always possible, but she was more anonymous than most children with trust funds nearing the eleven figures. Most of the people who noticed her were the kinds of people who shared her interests.
Or at least, her semi-acceptable interests. Video games were easy. The interaction muted to, at most, a set of choices you could pause and look up. Other people needed access to the latest games that only someone with more money than sense could get, and Amy needed people to talk about it withike everything else about being a Lavere, it was an exchange. She could handle exchanges. She could buy the latest game console for a casual acquaintance's birthday in exchange for talking to her three or four times a year about nothing at all. Everything she'd spent in the past year was less than she'd earned in two weeks of healing, and that with her father obviously taking the lion's share… even if she was of course heir to everything he had. (Especially his criminal empire.)
At least for Earth Bet videogames. The "Lost" earth alpha ones, well she had a earth alpha ps3 at home herself, but dropping that kind of money would draw to much attention. So she delved into another degenerate forum. Uber-Leet, not the stuff about their actual capers, she had some taste (minus the ones with Leet making bio-creations…) but the Uber's streams. The only place on the internet most people got to see actual, proper, earth-alpha video-game tech before its destruction.
Morning passed by as it always did. One class after another. They were not hard. She'd had personal tutors for any subject she struggled in, Laveres did not fail. Even Zola had that. She kept up, enough at least to keep from losing time to them. Time that could instead be spent gaming, sleeping, wasting the hours on all of her bullshit. Some classes were jokes, in biology her head was barely in the class, instead in… other areas. She wished she could have her home phone, to see if there were any updates on the art or the fics she'd commissioned. It was boring. At least Math had Zack to talk with, one of the people who was friends with Amelia Lavere, the one who wore a hoodie declaring "I'd rather be gaming." He thought it was funny, and probably even liked her as a person, which showed just how shit his taste was.
All very normal.
At least, until history. That was where she was. Amy took careful glances, never enough to let her know, but to keep watch. She wasn't going to be like those pests who bothered Victoria.
She was tired today, with dark bags under her eyes that contrasted with an appearance that in some different world might seem like classic Cheerleader. Victoria had beautiful blonde hair that they cared for with more than the 4-in-1 that Aemlia used despite even her father's objections, she kept herself together and fought acne breakouts, and so her skin was smooth and perfect. She was long-limbed, athletic, and solidly built. Amelia dreamed of her, and sometimes it was like this, and sometimes she imagined what kind of garden the girl would make, what kind of horrifying and yet enticing things they could do together. She didn't know for sure that Victoria couldn't be attracted to girls, she'd hardly had an excuse to touch her. But she could be sure that Victoria was not attracted to monsters.
No, Victoria was the best human being that had ever lived or ever would live: the bags under her eyes were earned by more than staying up late gaming or reading sick, perverted nonsense.
Her tiredness was someone who actually did work. Who faced the world with a fake smile and worked herself to the bone for a city that gave her nothing in return. Victoria spent the nights out patrolling, or working in hospitals.
Amelia wished she worked as many hours in hospitals as Victoria did, sometimes stumbling into school on no sleep at all and yet still looking perfect. Amelia's for-profit bullshit was so pointless, she'd be happier if she could just do like Victoria did and devote her every hour to serving the world.
And then, despite all of that, despite the darkness that tried to touch her perfect soul, despite the death of her parents, one at the hands of Marquis, one the responsibility of Marquis, she talked and smiled and laughed with people and was able to actually pretend to be okay.
Not surprising, Victoria was always working late. But whereas with Amy tired was just… tired, Victoria had the tiredness of someone who actually did work. She faced the world with a smile as she worked herself to the bone for a city that gave her nothing in return. Who spent nights out patrolling, and other nights out there working in hospitals the way Amelia was sure was much more fulfilling than this sort of for-profit bullshit she did. She still managed to talk and smile and interact with people despite all of that.
A lot of the message boards and friends Amy frequented talked about 'populars' vs the 'nerds' with hatred, talked about how nerds and nice people could never get ahead, whether in dating or in life. Once, Amy might have bought that. Even being gay, she'd still felt that divide, the resentment that sometimes threatened to devour what little was left of her that was not pure evil. But then she'd met Victoria, and it turned out that real perfect people were likable. Actually nice. They were popular for a reason. Victoria would probably like pictures of cute kittens. Ones that weren't half-fused with centipedes, or half the shit people she knew online were into.
(Not quite the shit she was into, that example, but not that far from it. And she was extra-bad because she had the theoretical capacity to make her fantasies a reality…
All these good thoughts, Amelia, a part of her told herself, all this admiration for her and in your darkest dreams what is it you do to the heroic Victoria Dallon?)
Watching her, basking in her glow from three seats away, was despite all those dark thoughts enough to make Amelia feel just a little bit… just a tiny bit, brighter. She felt that way until she got too close, and then the shadow that was herself only deepened in the bright light, blocked by her glorious light. If only-
Amelia paused, looking down at her notes as she realized she lapsed into poetry again.
History was both too long a class, and too short a class.
-
Next was study hall, and Amelia had locked herself away in one of the 'single study' rooms the library had. It wasn't just a desk and chair combo, there was sound-dampening, headphones, a side computer… It was a nice little place to study.
Not that Amy was using them to study, really she wasn't sure if anyone used them for their intended purposes. She certainly didn't. Instead she was here with a set of magazines and newspapers. Typical teenage girls stuff, but she was far from it. Most teenage girls don't cut those magazines up. Cutting out the letters so that a letter could be formed with no tracing elements. Even here, as she analytically cut things up to perform a task, her mind wandered briefly to memories of cutting flesh, dark nightmares that were not entirely nightmares of tearing, warping, shaping flesh. She shuddered, and only half of it with horror and disgust.
She was fucked up, she knew it. But at least this… this was something pure, something she doesn't want tainted. She won't let it, trying various meditations that she once pursued. To keep this space clear. Focus on what's important, the letter. What should be a joy is a battle of will, her own, to keep her thoughts right, to finish it without tainting it for more than a moment with her… everything. She looks at it, some part of it feels so flawed. Victoria deserves better than the ugly, misshapen collection of letters. She should have elegant calligraphy.
But she can't risk any tracing who sent the letter. And so, with it finished, she leaves, keeping the now cut magazines in her backpack, to be disposed of safely later. Before making the riskiest part of the journey. The hallways do not require hall-passes, that is for schools with students who are risks, and Arcadia students are not risks. Still it was mostly empty, most other students in class, and so she was free to skulk towards the locker bay. She risked a few glances around before she went up to the locker.
It felt wrong, there were no stickers on it, or holy aura, or anything else to mark it. Just a grey, metal locker, like any other. Except it wasn't, of course. It was Locker Number 234, her locker.
She knew the combination. She'd opened it once, imagined putting in a love letter, and then closed it again and memorized the locker number and then the changed locker number the following year as if it were engraved on her heart.
With one last glance she slipped the letter in, closed the locker, and scampered off.
-
To ReScUE,
YOu ARe a lIGHT in THIS dArk CiTy.
I WAnt TO help.
MARQUIS man MAkINg dEAl AT 900pm TONIGHT.
cornER Of STrickLAND And 7TH
-
The Business office of Mark Yves Real Estate was a normal office. Aside from the name, her dad has the sense to keep them from looking like a normal meeting room. No over done chairs from some obscure french style. No trappings of royalty. Even the art was the modern, art-deco style currently favored in office buildings. The name, was, of course, a fucking travesty and one day they were going to get arrested because he couldn't resist a stupid pun, but she was pretty sure this was endemic of dads.
She gave a small nod to the secretary, a short, Italian woman who Amelia knew had a shotgun that she knew how to use under the desk (granted, this was Brockton bay, even that wasn't really out of line), and went to the small storage closet on the right. A quick entry, close the door, a twist of the second to the left hook just so and--
This room was definitely her father's all over, all of his personal taste coming to the surface. There wasn't as much gold as some might think, Marquis wasn't that interested in gilding. But there were paintings in Renaissance styles, a few of them actual Renaissance pieces, but most of them modern recreations, commissions styled as if it was centuries past. The picture of herself and her father dominated the room, each of them dressed and portrayed as if they were royalty. The artist had used a blend of looking at all of the famous monarch's portraits of the 1400s through 1600s, and also stealing quite a lot from Da-Vinci.
The only picture similarly huge was her mother, done like it was made by Michalengelo. Why did that meant that Mom looked like a guy? Beats her! She had photos of Mom that didn't look like that. But dad thought it was funny, that's parents.
At the end of the room was her father, seated behind the security screens, the custom wooden frames around them to make it look as if they were portraits. "There's my girl, Amelia. Air hug!" He held out his hands, seated in his elaborate, royal-looking swivel chair.
Amelia returned the gesture. "Air hug." It had been their compromise. Amelia didn't like touches, and her father liked hugs, hence the air hug.
"Good news, I got both our costumes back from the cleaner. Including your staff." He said, reaching to a rack on the right to show it to her. The disapproval in his voice was evident, but as far as she was concerned, he had no room to talk. A man who wore multiple rings around his neck and dozens of rings on his fingers had no right to criticize anyone else's looks.
Like… yes, it was based on 'one of those video games.' She'd agreed to be called 'Cure' as her cape name instead of 'White Mage.' He'd won that argument by pointing out the obvious fact that in a fucked up town like this, they'd assume it meant White Mage.
Amelia had another thing she didn't want to do, but had to do. She had to ask him something. "Also, Zola wanted to know some time if she could come by work and… help out?" It hurt how much her innocent sister wanted to join in, never suspecting that her older sister and father were the scum of the earth.
Her father sighed, "Amelia, you know I'd love to, but she's eight. I can't involve her… you know what? I think I'm currently free this weekend. If everything goes well, maybe we can go out Sunday? I can get us premium club seats for the Hockey game." Of course he could, Hockey healing was one of the ones she did often enough, on top of all the other sports franchises that, quite under the table, would like their star player to perhaps heal faster than he should from season-ending injuries. They had to keep it subtle, but she had long since learned ways to simply improve the speed of healing just enough that "two to four weeks of recovery and perhaps a week or two more to get back in shape" became "exactly two weeks and they're right back up to peak performance."
The worst part of all of this is that he wasn't lying. Despite how busy he was, he would try, and there was a good chance he'd manage it. Sometimes he got called away, but he was there just often enough that…
It'd be so much easier for Zola (and her) if he didn't try. If every "maybe this weekend" had something come up. Then Zola could detach herself, and so could Amy. Instead, he tried. He honestly did. He just… also ran a criminal enterprise that corrupted everything, made the world worse, and left all those around him worse for his existence. It was just that in some alternate world where instead of Victoria being one of the last two of the Brockton Bay Brigade not either dead or in long-term hospice care, she and her father were both dead, things would have been better…
And Amelia Lavere, someone with a healing power, someone who could be doing something useful like volunteering at the hospital like Victoria did, was instead more than willing to help him.
More than that, this Amelia Lavere, this 'Cure' loved him.
What a tainted love it was, compared to Amelia's feelings for Her.
-
What he saw was this. He, the client, he, the person paying a pittance for healing, saw eight people enter along with Marquis. They ranged from a teenage girl to a thickset man somewhere in his fifties, all of them dressed in the same loud, over the top costume. Obviously each was perfectly fitted to them, and there were slight differences to account for the fact that each person was different.
But all eight of them would touch him, and 'Cure' him. He would not go running telling tales of a teenage Parahuman when it could be any of them.
The other seven were loyal actors indeed, and even they didn't know who the one of them with powers were. They reached out, and another client was Cured.
AN Clockworkchaos: For anyone confused about " Michalengelo. Why did that meant that Mom looked like a guy". For anyone wondering, this is a joke about Michalengelo's art, not some weird transphobia.
The Laurent AN: Amy: somehow a mess in every possible universe.
