Riley Alone (COMPLETE)
- Thread starter R3N41SS4NC3
- Start date
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
Yeah pretty much. USAmericans love to blame every problem and potential problem on communism, even tho weve never had anything like it implemented here
- Location
- That place over there.
I mean most of Canada is further away from Quebec than Brockton Bay is. Even if he was still around and looking for her she's pretty well hidden.
I love this bit. Ochre isn't a colour word usually used for beer despite how well it fits but it's exactly how someone who has no experience with all the weird cultural norms about adjective choices would describe it because it's a colour that fits.
Chapter 25: Why do I do this?
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
"The month after that was nice. And then today happened. I… fucked up. Again. I did what I thought I was right, but it was the thing I've always wanted to do and the thing I know is wrong, and I… I'll go along with whatever you want after you hear it. If you want to shoot me, go ahead. But I need to say it."
"...and that's why I can't stand the smell of cherry pie."
Boss and I can only stare slack-jawed at Rising Star, the Ward we're patrolling with. We're in an outdoor shopping area, with an open-air mall to our left and a line of smaller shops to our right. He shrugs at us, playing off his story as whatever, like it wasn't one of the weirdest and most horrifying things we'd ever heard. It might be in my top ten; I'll have to wait and see how it settles in my brain and whether the secondhand trauma lingers.
"So what about you guys? Have you ever been to the U.S.?" he asks.
I shake my head – a lie – and Boss does the same.
"One time my family visited Niagara Falls, but that's the closest I ever went," she says.
"Oh nice," Rising Star says. "That's awesome. I'd love to go there someday. Did you go down the falls in a barrel? I heard that's like, the thing to do."
Boss laughs. "Sure, if you want to die."
"I don't know, I feel like I could do it." He puffs out his chest as he says that, full of the boyish swagger that's prone to middle schoolers. I'm pretty sure he's a middle schooler; his costume doesn't obscure much with just a reflective, golden visor covering his eyes and forehead. It matches the golden starbursts on his blue-black bodysuit.
"Again: Sure. If you want to die," Boss repeats.
"It would be pretty dangerous to do that without brute powers of some sort," I chip in. "Or a specialized barrel," I add after a moment of thought. I wonder if I could make one; it's not really in my wheelhouse, but I've probably seen enough of Mannequin's work to make one that wouldn't break, and then it would just be an exercise in keeping the insides soft and firm enough to not break the body against.
"No, no, see, I would just– Oh?"
Rising Star is interrupted by a kid – a little boy, maybe seven years old – wrapping his arms around the Ward's waist. The kid sniffles. Rising Star looks to Boss and I with wide, worried eyes. I look at him with the same. The last little boy I interacted much with triggered, so I don't know if I'm the best to help. Boss sighs and kneels next to the kid. She puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey lil guy," she says. He turns his head from Rising Star's belly to look at her with red eyes. "What's up? What's going on? What's your name?"
The boy lets go of Rising Star with one hand to wipe at his eyes. He holds tight to Rising Star with his other hand. He says, "Barry."
"Barry, huh? That's a good name. You here all alone, Barry?" Boss asks.
That's right; kids are supposed to be supervised by adults. I look around, and though there are people looking at the four of us, not one's gaze holds the intensity I'd expect from a parent or guardian watching their crying kid. Barry lets out another sniffle and says something about his mom and the crowd.
"Boss, why don't you and Bearclaw keep Barry company while I go looking for Barry's mom?" Rising Star suggests.
"NO!" Barry screams and holds tight to him, reburying his face in the Ward's tummy. Boss and I glare at the hero and to his credit, he looks properly chagrined. Still, he should know better than to try to abandon a kid clinging to him.
Boss says, "It's okay Barry. Rising Star's not going to go anywhere. We're going to stay right here with you while my friend Bearclaw goes to find your mom, alright?"
She gives me a questioning look, silently asking for my help. I'm happy to give it. "That's right. I've got a super strong nose, so let me get a whiff of you and I'll be able to find your mommy, okay?"
I lean in to smell him, and he presses further against Rising Star. I frown, not liking being scary to kids even after months in Laval, and make my smell sampling quick. Once I've got his scent, I lean back, close my eyes, and search the air for sympathetic smells that could be the mom. After a moment, I catch the scent.
"I found her," I say. "I'll be right back."
I leave the trio. Rising Star is patting Barry on the shoulder and Boss is continuing to reassure him with words. This is good. Helping a kid like this is good. Making him feel safe and comfortable and reuniting him with his family is– it's good if it's a good family; it might not be otherwise. I hope this mom is good. If she's not… I don't know what would be good in that case.
People make way for me as I follow my nose into the mall. Just past the entrance, talking to a man in a fake police uniform, is a panicked woman. She smells of desperation. That's the mom.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I say as I approach. She looks at me, wary. "Are you Barry's mom?"
Her eyes light up with relief. "You found my baby?"
"Follow me," I tell her with a smile. "He's with my friends, this way."
I lead her back outside to the three, and as soon as she sees Barry, she takes off ahead of me. He sees her and lets go of Rising Star to meet his mom's hug. The two thank the three of us, and I don't think I see any red flags about them. Barry's genuinely happy to see his mom, and she doesn't seem to be holding any sort of threat or punishment over him. So I'm happy to see them reunited and leave.
This is good. It feels like good. But… I can't help but feel I could be doing more. Most days, I wander the streets looking for singular people to help. Even though it's heartlifting to see a reunited family or for someone to thank me for stopping a stabbing, it all feels so small and petty. And when I do something bigger, like bring in some gangsters or villains, or get rid of drugs and gang money, it feels like more, but only barely. I feel like I could do this for the rest of my artificially endless life, and see nothing ever change.
These have been a good few months – very grounding and educational – but it feels like hero kindergarten. I can do bigger and better things.
Maybe it's time for a change.
Boss lets out a groan when the family duo are gone. "Finally. I hate kids."
Rising Star and I turn to her with surprise. I ask, "Really? But you were so good with him?"
"Well duh, I've got like, twenty siblings. I know how to keep a kid quiet, even without using my power," Boss says. She glances at the Ward. "Not that I would use my power on a kid. As funny as that would be, I'm above that."
"Good to know. I definitely believe you," Rising Star says sardonically.
"Still," I say, "it was good, what you did."
She preens. "Yeah, I am pretty great. But I mean come on, you would have done the same thing."
I blink. "You think so?"
"A goodie-two-shoes like you?" She scoffs. "Yeah."
"He was scared of me though," I comment sadly.
"Well yeah, you look like– Oof." Rising Star rubs his side where Boss elbowed him. "…'Like a great hero, I don't know why he was scared,' is what I was going to say."
"Sure." Boss's amusement is nil.
"Thanks," I say. "Both of you."
"We should get back to our patrol. There's a lot more to check out on this route," Rising Star says.
Like Boss said so long ago, patrolling really doesn't do much from what I can tell. We don't help many people or stymie many baddies, but it's a good chance for Boss and I to hang out with other heroes and pick their brains without risking going to their base. We get back to it, moving past the crowds and to the north.
"You've seriously got twenty siblings?" Rising Star asks.
Boss considers it for a moment. "Actually, it might have been closer to thirty. I stopped keeping track after a while."
"Dang. Are you–"
Whatever he's going to say is cut off by a distant explosion and muted screaming. Rising Star freezes, his head turned toward the noise. I'm taken less off guard. An explosion and screaming means a disaster, and the second blasting sound – the same pitch as the first – almost defines it as a parahuman's actions.
"We need to get these people out of here," I say. "That's too close for this place to be safe. Star, tell your people about this." He continues to just stare at the distance. "Rising Star!"
He flinches and nods, then starts to speak into his visor's inbuilt radio, reporting the explosions. Once he hears back, he tells me, "They want me to stay here and work on evacuating the mall. They think it's the Teeth."
The Teeth. That means Butcher, one of the most interesting parahumans around and one that I never had a chance to work with. I've never even been in the same city as Butcher before. Butcher is an unstoppable force in a way, but unlike Siberian. They've killed countless people – less than me, I'm sure – and are unkillable in any way that matters, their combined consciousness simply passing on to the killer. It's up to sixteen, last I heard.
Could I stop that? I could, I'm sure. If I got a look at their coronas I could probably figure out a way to modify the power in a variety of ways. I could stop the powers from passing, or silence the voices and cause only the powers to pass along, or– Focus. I'm not going to do any of that because I'm not Bonesaw. I don't play with powers or people's brains. I help people. I keep them safe, stop those who would hurt others, and help allow people to determine the course of their own lives, and right now there are people in danger of losing their lives and autonomy.
"Boss, we're helping with evacuation. When this area's empty, I'll head to the fight. You keep everyone safe."
"You don't want my help?" She sounds put out.
"Do you want to fight Butcher?"
She winces. "Point taken."
I nod. "Stay safe."
"Yeah. You too."
We spread out and call for the crowd to move back and head to the east, away from the fight. Rising Star is doing the same from his vantage point in the air; a glowing, golden orb rests in the air above his head and another rests below his feet, working in tandem to keep him aloft. People listen to us. Sort of.
With each explosion – the conflagrating teleport of one of the previous Butcher incarnations, I think – the crowd grows louder and more panicked. They retreat as per instruction, but it is far from orderly. I watch as a woman goes down, her head sinking below the tide of bodies. With a shout, I point her out to Rising Star. He nods and flies over the crowd to her. He settles next to a wall and his orbs move: one into the wall to keep him tethered there, and the other over the crowd, where the downed woman is.
I don't see what happens next. The next teleport is closer than ever, and new screams join the crowd's: joyous and angry instead of terrified. I turn to watch as a horde of a man is pulverized by a boxer in black with metal fists: Spree and Boxcar, moving down the street toward us. Boxcar throws a punch and a clone's face is pulped as the telekinetic punch blows through it. Boxcar throws another punch, pulverizing another clone, but it doesn't matter: a drop in the bucket.
More and new clones clamber over each other in a desperate horde much like the fleeing shoppers. The difference is that this horde doesn't trample by nature, but by design, and Boxcar is pushed back toward the stalled shopping stampede, beaten with whatever the clones have in hand even as he pulps them: a brute against an endless crowd.
The Teeth are here, and so is the Midnight Crew, despite it being only six in the evening. Slick is here too: the leader of the Crew. A sentient oil spill crashes into Spree's trample and gives Boxcar the space to throw a punch at – presumably – the real Spree. I don't see if it lands, and I'm not sure if it matters, as Butcher interjects themself between Boxcar and Spree with a burst of fire: eating any followup but igniting Slick's oil spill self.
Black smoke and the agonized screams of Spree clones backlight Butcher. This is bad. Despite the thirty feet or so that separate myself and the conglomerate of powers, I can feel the world shaking under and around me; the ground, walls, windows, cars, and even the button and zipper on my shorts all start to shake and fall apart at a granular level. Butcher is shaking the world around them into sand: this incarnation's main power.
Boxcar throws another punch, hasty, and Butcher lunges forward to catch it with a hand that's quickly becoming a mass of scrap-metal. Bits of chain and metal fly away from the force of the punch, but it doesn't stop Butcher from grabbing Boxcar's hand and grinding it into mush, pulling a brutish scream of pain out of the member of the Midnight Crew.
I need to stop this. I need to get Boss out of here and stop these people from hurting or killing anyone. I turn, and Boss is already way ahead of me; I see the back of her jacket in the distance, far enough away that she must have taken off as soon as Boxcar and Spree rounded the corner.
The street is mostly cleared of regular people, and what few stragglers remain are limping, crawling, or otherwise disabled. Rising Star is using his orbs to pull them out of the fray and off the street, but he can only move one or two at a time, and it's not fast enough. I watch as one of Butcher's teleports sends a crawling man tumbling. He comes to a stop, burned and bleeding into the granular asphalt. A moment later, Rising Star starts to move him.
I jump into the fray, swinging at Butcher with poisoned claws. Nonlethal, of course. Becoming the Butcher would not be a step toward making a self I can live with, and as sure as I am that I could silence the voices or end the inheritance, it would be easier to do without voices in my head. And also something I shouldn't do anyway because mutilating and killing people is bad.
The lethality of my attack doesn't matter, as I end up swiping at thin air. Butcher is gone, teleported away before I could make contact. They have a danger sense; I'd forgotten. They're down the street. They glare at me and I seize up for a moment in pain before I disable the sensation. A blast of pain: the original Butcher's power.
Butcher screams wordlessly and runs at me. The asphalt beneath their feet turns to gravel, though it doesn't slow them: a sort of immunity to their power? To always find solid ground amidst the unsteadiness they inflict? Or maybe they make it out of the granules with a localized matter control? Neat. Almost as neat as the rage they try and fail to induce in me: I wonder how exactly that power alters brain chemistry.
They swing at me and I duck the hit, lashing out with a claw that tears chunks of metal from their shoulder but doesn't slow their next swing. I duck again, dancing an unsteady retreat as the ground beneath me becomes more and more unsteady: from asphalt to gravel, and from gravel to sand, and from sand to dust. From dust comes a glob of oil, splashing over Butcher's front and face and knocking them on their bootie.
"SHUT UP!" Butcher screams and slaps their own face, hard, as they regain their feet. The first full words I've heard from them.
It's pitiful. They're a person: the last in a series of fifteen people who made a single mistake and are being destroyed from the inside by it. I want to help them. They need help, perhaps more than anyone else here. Do the voices still count as people? Could I tease apart and isolate them? Would that isolate the powers too?
I steel myself and push down the curiosity, and it's like drowning a pool float. Butcher is putting others in danger right now, and so as interesting as they are, and as much as they need help, that has to wait until they're not hurting people. I want to approach and put them down, but the dust of the road is already tickling my ankles, and I'll only sink further if I get closer. I back out. A moment later, so does Butcher, disappearing. Down the road, there's a burst of fire. The civilians are gone, thankfully, but chaos has taken their place.
More parahumans are on the street. I catch sight of one of Deuce's paired selves getting attacked by a person with an impractically large club; Deuce passes through the hit and clubs the woman in the side, to little effect. Slick is a knee-height wave of pearlescent darkness amongst a group of Teeth; I can't tell if he was hurt at all by the fire earlier.
Before I can move toward the fight, something hits me in the side, like a brick thrown by Alexandria, and sends me stumbling through the granular ground. I roll onto my back. Boxcar.
"Damn theif," he calls. He swings again. I raise my arms in a block, and the tele-punch hits hard enough to press me deeper into the dry bog.
"Boxcar, wait," I call out. "We should focus on Butcher. They're ripping this place apart."
"I don't give a shit." He hits me again. "You stole from me, and you want me to let you go?" He spits.
Stupid: we're not friends, we're not allies, I shouldn't have ignored him. Another punch lands on my guard and it holds steady. I try to rise to my feet, but with the ground as it is and the hits keeping me from finding my balance, I can barely pull myself up to a kneel. Boxcar doesn't seem inclined to let me get further, his hits slamming into me again and again.
It's a slow rhythm that he beats into me with just his right arm. He hammers away at me again and again, and I take a chance. I roll with one, flinging myself back as the hit lands and rolling to my feet. The punch he was already throwing next hits where I was and not where I am, knocking up a small cloud of dust and gravel. I scoop up an pawfull more and throw it at him, then turn and run as he shields his eyes.
Boxcar isn't the type to hurt indiscriminately – that's more Droog's schtick, and I thankfully haven't seen him or his stick – so it's fine to leave him for now. I'll engage when he's out of the mire and I have the ability to actually close the distance. For now, I'll focus on bringing down Butcher. They have an immunity to pain and a mild regenerative power, but my concoctions should still be able to disable them safely. The biggest obstacle is their ablative metal form. Something about it is familiar, but I let the feeling go to focus on more important things.
But as I chase the danger, I realize the chaos has only gotten worse while I was being beaten into the dust. Almost two dozen Teeth gangsters are here; their indistinguished mode of dress makes it hard to tell how many are parahumans and how many aren't, but I count four powers visibly at play. A glowing screech that leaves space warped and wobbly around her, a hulking wolf-beast pouncing at a Deuce, a woman dripping molotov blood, and the cherry on top, Butcher. Droog has joined the rest of his Crew and is surrounded by bodies that flicker in and out of existence and between life and death, a gun in one hand an a bat in the other, squaring off against Butcher themself.
I can't tell who's winning, or if anyone is at all. It seems more like everyone is losing, fighting just to fight and to hurt. It makes sense – we're all parahumans and we live for violence – but it makes me mad! People are hurt and dead because of this fight, and for what? Just because people wanted to fight?! They should use their words. It needs to end.
I look for a good angle to approach to take down the screeching Tooth – that space warping affect would be annoying to get caught up in – when she, Deuce, and Butcher all stumble in sync. Droog bats Butcher's knee into the wrong direction. A moment later, a chill starts to settle in the air despite the five different fires that burn across the street.
I'm the only one that stops. I might be the only one who knows what just happened, but I'm definitely the only one who pauses in the search for violence. I scan the street for the new trigger, focusing on where the ones who stumbled are, when I notice frost growing across a window of a building on fire. The new trigger is in there.
As the fight moves down the street, a battered Butcher still too much to push back against, I hesitate. I could probably bring Butcher down, or at least disable some of the combatants and stop this fight. But someone just triggered. They must be terrified. They need help, otherwise they might do something that spoils any choice they could have with their future. Like I did.
Another brick hits me in the head and sends me stumbling. I glance back at Boxcar just in time to catch another hit to the side of the head. I feel bits of skin and meat getting forced off. This jerkwad just won't drop it. You steal seven stashes of drugs from a guy's gang and suddenly he hates you.
I bring an arm up to stop him from punching me again. Even if my skull is hard enough to keep his punches out, his hits linger, and I do not want brain damage right now. I need to get to that fresh trigger – they need help – and I don't have time for this– this– this butthole.
I charge him, and he has just enough time to let out a surprised cuss before I'm tackling him to the ground. With my feet under me, his power isn't trouble. I sink my claws in – one paw into his bicep, the other into his pectoral – and disable him. After a moment, I grit my teeth, pick him up by the hip and arm, and chuck him through a storefront window to keep him slightly more safe. He resists impacts; he'll be fine.
With him out of the way and everyone else already busy, I'm free to head for the increasingly frosty building. The fire is already dying down, and freeze has formed on the walls. There's no way there's enough moisture in the air for either of those things to happen strictly due to low temperatures, not without a windstorm forming, so the passenger must be generating moisture to freeze. That's really cool! And also probably really bad because it means this building might soon become a 'berg.
The growing freeze of the building is garnering attention now, but I break through that first frosty window before I see whether it's hostile curiosity or not. I'll worry about them after I make sure the new trigger doesn't suffocate from ice-encapsulation or accidentally kill someone. Or purposefully kill someone.
The first thing I notice inside the enfrosted building is the sound. It's I've stepped into another world; the destructive noises happening just outside are muted and distant, and in here there is the sound of wind. The broken window is already closing over behind me, and the light that makes it through is dimmed yet prismatic.
The second thing I notice is that the new trigger isn't in this room: a reception area with comfortable furniture arranged in a corner. There is one person, curled into a ball behind a couch, but they're dead and already frosting over. They must be further inside.
The third thing I notice is that it's cold. It feels like minus twenty, which is a hundred or so degrees too hot to spontaneously generate ice crystals in these conditions. The cold won't kill me on it's own, which means I have time.
I step further into the building, toward the dim door, and ice crunches under foot. Crystals are already forming on my coat, and I absently brush myself off. I'm a brown bear, not a polar bear – I don't hunt humans, not anymore. Stepping into the next room reveals this to be a dentist's office, or maybe an orthodontist's, with two rows of three dental engines, spaced out for operating, with hanging lamps and trays of tools.
Everything is covered in at least a half-inch of ice.
I hear something, something other than the crackle of the ice underfoot, the wind throughout, or the ominous echoes of a fight. It's a quiet whistling, like wind whipping past a window late at night, coming from one of the rooms toward the back.
"Hello?" I call out. "My name is Bearclaw. I'm a hero."
"Hello?"
"A hero!?"
"We're saved!"
A clamor of voices greets me, more than I expected, coming from one of the rooms in the back. I move toward the voices and find a group of people bunched together, huddling for warmth. Adults encircle children as they try to retain heat in this winter wonderland, about seven in all.
"Let's get you all out of here," I say.
They rise and follow me out of the back room and into the reception area. There is still the whistling of wind coming from the other back room, and I know that there is where I'll find the new trigger. I'll get these people out, and then help them; the new trigger isn't in immediate danger of hypothermia or frostbite, not from their own power.
The window I broke through to get in is already frozen over again, thicker. The fractures of the previous break are visible in the regrowth, but it doesn't look weaker for it. I tell everyone to stand back, and then work on opening a hole. Punch, claw, kick: I stop after a Sisyphean minute. It won't break cleanly, and it grows faster than I can chip away at it.
"Well? Aren't you going to do something?" a man asks.
My claws and toxins won't work, and I don't have anything else on me that will. I could probably tinker up something with an intense metabolism and body temperature that would melt through this, but I don't have enough in or on me to do something like that; I'd have to use one of these people for parts which is not going to happen. There's another option.
"I'll be right back," I say. "Stay here, and try to stay warm."
"You're leaving us?!" the same man screeches.
I look at him. He's middle aged, maybe a decade older than Aron's dad. Short, with curly brown hair, dressed professionally. He might be one of the doctor-dentist-orthodontists here, or he might not be. He doesn't have a jacket, and he's scared. It's plain on his face; he's scared and trying to be angry to not think about how scared he is.
"I'll be right back," I repeat reassuringly. "I can't get through, but I know someone who should be able to. So stay put and stay warm."
I go back into the operating room with the six chairs before I see if they'll obey, and from there I go into the other back room, the one that howls. As I approach, wind whips at me, chilling me and sending flurries of frost into the air.
The door to the room is demolished and missing. The wind whips up flurries around me, cold enough to make breathing painful. The room is an office, with a desk, three chairs, four bodies covered in thick frost, and a young girl curled into a ball in the corner. She can't be older than eleven, with her hair in braids kept together with blue butterfly clips.
She looks at me with terrified, reddened eyes.
"Hey there." I smile at the new parahuman. "I know you're scared, but it's okay now. You're safe."
She doesn't respond. Through the ice, I can see that one of the bodies encrusted to the wall is wearing Teeth apparel. A matching Tooth is in the corner by the door. The ice is pink around another of the corpses on the floor.
It's too easy to imagine what happened and how wind and frost ended it.
"My name is Bearclaw. I'm a hero, and you're safe now. What's your name?"
She continues to stare at me. She's in shock. Unsurprising after a trigger event, but nevertheless bad. I need her to control her powers and get rid of the ice or at least stop making more of it, and as long as she's unresponsive, that's not going to happen.
"No one's going to try and hurt you anymore. The bad men are gone. Why don't we go outside? I'm sure the other heroes will be here soon, if they're not already here. I'm sure they'd like to meet you. Do you have a favorite?"
The wind slowly dies down as I talk, which is a good sign. I try to ignore how my nose is tingling-numb and how it's starting to hurt to breathe. Still, the girl doesn't answer, so I keep up the talk and answer my own question.
"My favorite hero is Wolfgang. He helped me figure out how to be a hero when I first came to town, and he's really nice. Plus, we're both named after animals, so that's fun. I've also met Rising Star, Extrapolate, and Minimum in the Wards. They have really cool powers, especially Extrapolate. Do you know what she does?"
After a moment, the girl shakes her head. The wind is barely a breeze at this point, though ice continues to grow on the walls, thickening and encapsulating. Still, it's progress.
"When she holds something, she can learn all about its history: who made it, when and where, what it was last used for, and so on. She says it feels like she goes inside the object and has to explore it whenever she uses her power. It's really cool to see her pick up, say, a penny off the ground and hear her recite facts about it. I think she's really cool, and her power makes me pay attention to the small things in the world more than I ever did before."
As I talk, the girl relaxes as she focuses on my words. She sniffles and wipes at her face. Her tears didn't freeze to her skin, but the ice grows under her body: that's a tight delineation for protection from her power, nearly skin-tight.
"All of the Wards I've met are nice"– all of the ones in this city, at least; I can't help but remember that creepy one from Cleveland that joined the Nine because he had a crush on me –"and I'm sure they'd like to meet you. They're probably right outside, or will be soon. So how about we get you out of here?" I purposefully don't mention the dead bodies.
I hold out my paw, and she takes it. I pull her to her feet and lead her out of the room. She shivers and presses her eyes shut. Back in the operating room, the tables and chairs have turned into stalagmites and the hanging lamps into icicles large enough to crush a car. The wind has died, but the crystals continue to grow.
"What's your name?" I ask the girl, now that we're out of the room where she triggered.
"E… Emily," she whispers.
I'm not entirely sure what to say, so I say what I'd like to hear in her place. My time with Ketlan helps. "You're being very brave, Emily. You're doing a great job. Would you mind stopping the ice from growing? Or maybe melting or moving it? Can you do that for me, Emily?"
"Um. I'll try." She squeezes my paw tighter and focuses, her eyebrows drawing nearer together. A moment later, a wind picks up and then dies down just as quickly. It happens again. Her shoulders fall. She's shaking and sniffling again. "I can't."
"It's okay," I tell her. There's something to this. Her power has to come with some sort of 'off' setting, at the very least so she doesn't get crushed by her own power's crystalline growth. We just need a bit of time to figure out how it works: time we're not afforded.
"You caught the villain!" the same man from earlier says from the doorway between reception and the operating room. "Now make her let us out of this death trap."
The wind starts to pick up as Emily latches onto my leg.
"Calm down," I tell the man. "We're working on it."
"Well work faster. I'm freezing my balls off in here." He lets out a full bodied shudder, more aggressive than the shivers he's been afflicted with this whole time. "Would you cut that shit out?"
Emily starts to shake, and the wind increases. It comes from her, omnidirectional, and blows under my coat to bite at my torso. More people's voices come out of the reception area, rising with the man's. Someone appears behind him.
"Please, mister, just go back to the reception area and try to stay warm while we fix this," I say.
"F-ffffuck that," he says. "It's not m-my fault we're cold. It's hers. And if- if you won't make her l-l-let us go, I will. P-pussy."
He takes a step toward us and Emily's wind whips out, from ten to seventy in an instant, blowing him back and bowling him over. It chills me to the bone, but I'm kept in place by Emily's grip on me – It seems she can't fly.
Everyone starts to scream. It's pandemonium, and the chaos is bringing everyone so much quicker towards freezing to death. That rude, scared man has maybe a minute before he loses fingers, and five before he's dead – The others won't be far behind.
I kneel in front of Emily to block out the sight of the man she just threw. "Emily, I need you to calm down. Can you do that? Focus on the wind, and make it stop, okay?"
She stares past me, her eyes as blank as when I found her. She's gone. She's out of it, and I don't know if or how I can bring her back. Darn it. Damn it.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. I place a hand on her shoulder, and the wind dies as she slumps into unconsciousness. I gently lower her to the floor and let out a frustrated growl. "Ass."
"Is it over?" someone, a woman, asks.
I pluck out a hair – shaking the frost from my head first – and hold it out. I watch as ice crystals slowly grow from it. I close my eyes and hold back another cuss. Then I let it out anyway.
Emily's power works even while she's unconscious. It might not even have an inactive state, and she instead has a way to manipulate or escape her own ice. It's a terrible possibility, but a possibility nonetheless – It might very well be that everywhere she goes, ice forms around her. Power incontinence, it's called.
"No," I call back sadly.
"She's gonna kill us," someone says, not angrily but dejectedly. "We're gonna fucking die."
A kid starts to cry, and a moment later another adds their wail to the chorus.
"I can't die here, not like this."
"This can't seriously be the end, can it?"
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no."
"Shh, shh, it's okay. We're all going to be okay."
"It's not okay, Cheryl."
They start to argue and bicker as tensions rise and desperation and despair take hold. I don't know what to do. The ice continues to grow. If I wake Emily, it's almost a certainty that the wind will return and people will die faster, but if I don't, they'll die just the same. When someone says the words "kill her," my decision is made.
I let out a breath and pores open across my coat's back. An invisible, scentless gas leaks out. Five seconds later, I hear someone hit the ground, then another. Five seconds after that, and everyone other than myself is down. The mob has been silenced, and the only sounds in the room are the ever-growing crackle of ice and everyone's shivering breath.
I hate this. This whole situation feels like something Jack would have set up, and just like every game he played, if you care you lose. I can kill Emily, who has done nothing more than have a bad day, and keep everyone else warm until rescue finds us, or…
I scream and let out my rage until I should be lightheaded – is there enough oxygen in here? Is that another way to worry about dying in here? – and then get myself under control. I hate hate hate this. If I don't do this, then either Emily or everyone except Emily dies here, and no one here deserves that, probably. But if I do, I…
"FIDDLESTICKS," I scream again. I have to do it. I have to. Fuck Jack. Fuck this. I didn't want to tinker on people without permission, but who gives a flying phooey what I want?!
I apologize to Emily again, even though she can't hope to hear me, and then I cut her. A claw coated in a bone-eating enzyme splits her skull, opening a seam along her parietal bone; I trace the joint to keep my tinkering less conspicuous. I remove the bone and just stare at the grey matter for too long of a moment. The familiar sight of the creases and the hemispheres ease a tension I didn't know I was carrying, and one I immediately want to miss. I don't want to be doing this, but it's so easy, fun, and familiar. I'm returning to a hobby that once brought me so much joy, and others so much pain.
I should feel nauseous, to be doing what I'm doing. Pushing into a brain to look for the corona pollentia and gemma should make me sick. I should hate what I'm doing, but I don't. Exploring the neurons and mapping the connections made by the power feels like returning home. It's comfortable, like taking off an itchy shirt after a day out in disguise. Distantly, it almost feels worse that it doesn't feel bad to pry into someone's brain so invasively. I wish I hated this. But it is nice that I don't have to work around bile or tears.
Unable to find the gemma from this angle, I cleave another piece of skull away. Oh! Oh neat, this gemma is linked directly into the brain stem, bridging from there to the medulla. That makes sense, and pretty much confirms the incontinence. I haven't seen one in this position since I was putting together Jimmy Crackcorn. That was a fun one, though terribly messy. I didn't care.
I hum to myself as I remember how interesting his particular exploding and reforming was. Turning other people into more Jimmies was unexpected, but so educational and exciting. I was sad in the moment that they couldn't replicate as well, but still, fun. It's a shame there's no other parahumans here, else I could…
I shake off the thought. This isn't play. I'm not making art right now, I'm helping and working. No mashups, no experimenting, no changes for fun's sake. Just adjusting a power expression to give the parahuman more control. It's like wiring a power into a control mechanism, but the control mechanism is their own brain and I don't hold any sort of remote.
I need materials. There's not enough here to work with without risking permanent brain damage by taking some matter off the top, and even then it's not guaranteed to work. I need another brain stem.
My eyes drift to the rude man a few feet away. Still alive, if barely. No. No, I don't need him, there's others, the five dead I saw. The four in the back office are frozen over, inaccessible, but the one in the front wasn't. It is now, a short trip reveals. I can't use any of the dead men for materials.
My eyes drift to the rude man's prone form again. In a way, this is his fault. He startled Emily after I'd calmed her down, and then came at her when she was already scared. If he weren't here, or if he weren't such an ass, there's a good chance everyone would be out of here already. And his brain is still warm, fresh, and ripe for the picking. He's still alive, but only barely. He'll die soon no matter what I do, and isn't it better to harvest when fresh.
But he's still a person, with people he cares and about and who care about him, probably. He's not evil or anything, he just did something stupid in a moment of desperation and fear. Does that mean he should die? Does it make it okay to kill him and use him for parts if I'm doing so to save others? Could I live with myself if I did that?
…I've done worse.
It's easy. Worse, it's fun: the most fun I've had in so long. It's the work of maybe three minutes to open the rude man's skull, harvest the necessary pieces of his brainstem, and then weave them through Emily's gemma and around her brainstem. I prune, twist, and reconnect the right neurons, and then I'm sadly finished.
The barely audible crackle of new ice crystals forming and pushing against each other stops. I smile at a job well done. She should be able to control her powers a lot easier now. I let out a breath, and with it goes everything inside of me. Everything I built myself into is gone. If it was ever there. It's a shell that reseals Emily's skull, a husk that wakes her and gets her to melt the ice around us, and a shadow that blows past the PRT and heroes waiting outside.
"...and that's why I can't stand the smell of cherry pie."
Boss and I can only stare slack-jawed at Rising Star, the Ward we're patrolling with. We're in an outdoor shopping area, with an open-air mall to our left and a line of smaller shops to our right. He shrugs at us, playing off his story as whatever, like it wasn't one of the weirdest and most horrifying things we'd ever heard. It might be in my top ten; I'll have to wait and see how it settles in my brain and whether the secondhand trauma lingers.
"So what about you guys? Have you ever been to the U.S.?" he asks.
I shake my head – a lie – and Boss does the same.
"One time my family visited Niagara Falls, but that's the closest I ever went," she says.
"Oh nice," Rising Star says. "That's awesome. I'd love to go there someday. Did you go down the falls in a barrel? I heard that's like, the thing to do."
Boss laughs. "Sure, if you want to die."
"I don't know, I feel like I could do it." He puffs out his chest as he says that, full of the boyish swagger that's prone to middle schoolers. I'm pretty sure he's a middle schooler; his costume doesn't obscure much with just a reflective, golden visor covering his eyes and forehead. It matches the golden starbursts on his blue-black bodysuit.
"Again: Sure. If you want to die," Boss repeats.
"It would be pretty dangerous to do that without brute powers of some sort," I chip in. "Or a specialized barrel," I add after a moment of thought. I wonder if I could make one; it's not really in my wheelhouse, but I've probably seen enough of Mannequin's work to make one that wouldn't break, and then it would just be an exercise in keeping the insides soft and firm enough to not break the body against.
"No, no, see, I would just– Oh?"
Rising Star is interrupted by a kid – a little boy, maybe seven years old – wrapping his arms around the Ward's waist. The kid sniffles. Rising Star looks to Boss and I with wide, worried eyes. I look at him with the same. The last little boy I interacted much with triggered, so I don't know if I'm the best to help. Boss sighs and kneels next to the kid. She puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey lil guy," she says. He turns his head from Rising Star's belly to look at her with red eyes. "What's up? What's going on? What's your name?"
The boy lets go of Rising Star with one hand to wipe at his eyes. He holds tight to Rising Star with his other hand. He says, "Barry."
"Barry, huh? That's a good name. You here all alone, Barry?" Boss asks.
That's right; kids are supposed to be supervised by adults. I look around, and though there are people looking at the four of us, not one's gaze holds the intensity I'd expect from a parent or guardian watching their crying kid. Barry lets out another sniffle and says something about his mom and the crowd.
"Boss, why don't you and Bearclaw keep Barry company while I go looking for Barry's mom?" Rising Star suggests.
"NO!" Barry screams and holds tight to him, reburying his face in the Ward's tummy. Boss and I glare at the hero and to his credit, he looks properly chagrined. Still, he should know better than to try to abandon a kid clinging to him.
Boss says, "It's okay Barry. Rising Star's not going to go anywhere. We're going to stay right here with you while my friend Bearclaw goes to find your mom, alright?"
She gives me a questioning look, silently asking for my help. I'm happy to give it. "That's right. I've got a super strong nose, so let me get a whiff of you and I'll be able to find your mommy, okay?"
I lean in to smell him, and he presses further against Rising Star. I frown, not liking being scary to kids even after months in Laval, and make my smell sampling quick. Once I've got his scent, I lean back, close my eyes, and search the air for sympathetic smells that could be the mom. After a moment, I catch the scent.
"I found her," I say. "I'll be right back."
I leave the trio. Rising Star is patting Barry on the shoulder and Boss is continuing to reassure him with words. This is good. Helping a kid like this is good. Making him feel safe and comfortable and reuniting him with his family is– it's good if it's a good family; it might not be otherwise. I hope this mom is good. If she's not… I don't know what would be good in that case.
People make way for me as I follow my nose into the mall. Just past the entrance, talking to a man in a fake police uniform, is a panicked woman. She smells of desperation. That's the mom.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I say as I approach. She looks at me, wary. "Are you Barry's mom?"
Her eyes light up with relief. "You found my baby?"
"Follow me," I tell her with a smile. "He's with my friends, this way."
I lead her back outside to the three, and as soon as she sees Barry, she takes off ahead of me. He sees her and lets go of Rising Star to meet his mom's hug. The two thank the three of us, and I don't think I see any red flags about them. Barry's genuinely happy to see his mom, and she doesn't seem to be holding any sort of threat or punishment over him. So I'm happy to see them reunited and leave.
This is good. It feels like good. But… I can't help but feel I could be doing more. Most days, I wander the streets looking for singular people to help. Even though it's heartlifting to see a reunited family or for someone to thank me for stopping a stabbing, it all feels so small and petty. And when I do something bigger, like bring in some gangsters or villains, or get rid of drugs and gang money, it feels like more, but only barely. I feel like I could do this for the rest of my artificially endless life, and see nothing ever change.
These have been a good few months – very grounding and educational – but it feels like hero kindergarten. I can do bigger and better things.
Maybe it's time for a change.
Boss lets out a groan when the family duo are gone. "Finally. I hate kids."
Rising Star and I turn to her with surprise. I ask, "Really? But you were so good with him?"
"Well duh, I've got like, twenty siblings. I know how to keep a kid quiet, even without using my power," Boss says. She glances at the Ward. "Not that I would use my power on a kid. As funny as that would be, I'm above that."
"Good to know. I definitely believe you," Rising Star says sardonically.
"Still," I say, "it was good, what you did."
She preens. "Yeah, I am pretty great. But I mean come on, you would have done the same thing."
I blink. "You think so?"
"A goodie-two-shoes like you?" She scoffs. "Yeah."
"He was scared of me though," I comment sadly.
"Well yeah, you look like– Oof." Rising Star rubs his side where Boss elbowed him. "…'Like a great hero, I don't know why he was scared,' is what I was going to say."
"Sure." Boss's amusement is nil.
"Thanks," I say. "Both of you."
"We should get back to our patrol. There's a lot more to check out on this route," Rising Star says.
Like Boss said so long ago, patrolling really doesn't do much from what I can tell. We don't help many people or stymie many baddies, but it's a good chance for Boss and I to hang out with other heroes and pick their brains without risking going to their base. We get back to it, moving past the crowds and to the north.
"You've seriously got twenty siblings?" Rising Star asks.
Boss considers it for a moment. "Actually, it might have been closer to thirty. I stopped keeping track after a while."
"Dang. Are you–"
Whatever he's going to say is cut off by a distant explosion and muted screaming. Rising Star freezes, his head turned toward the noise. I'm taken less off guard. An explosion and screaming means a disaster, and the second blasting sound – the same pitch as the first – almost defines it as a parahuman's actions.
"We need to get these people out of here," I say. "That's too close for this place to be safe. Star, tell your people about this." He continues to just stare at the distance. "Rising Star!"
He flinches and nods, then starts to speak into his visor's inbuilt radio, reporting the explosions. Once he hears back, he tells me, "They want me to stay here and work on evacuating the mall. They think it's the Teeth."
The Teeth. That means Butcher, one of the most interesting parahumans around and one that I never had a chance to work with. I've never even been in the same city as Butcher before. Butcher is an unstoppable force in a way, but unlike Siberian. They've killed countless people – less than me, I'm sure – and are unkillable in any way that matters, their combined consciousness simply passing on to the killer. It's up to sixteen, last I heard.
Could I stop that? I could, I'm sure. If I got a look at their coronas I could probably figure out a way to modify the power in a variety of ways. I could stop the powers from passing, or silence the voices and cause only the powers to pass along, or– Focus. I'm not going to do any of that because I'm not Bonesaw. I don't play with powers or people's brains. I help people. I keep them safe, stop those who would hurt others, and help allow people to determine the course of their own lives, and right now there are people in danger of losing their lives and autonomy.
"Boss, we're helping with evacuation. When this area's empty, I'll head to the fight. You keep everyone safe."
"You don't want my help?" She sounds put out.
"Do you want to fight Butcher?"
She winces. "Point taken."
I nod. "Stay safe."
"Yeah. You too."
We spread out and call for the crowd to move back and head to the east, away from the fight. Rising Star is doing the same from his vantage point in the air; a glowing, golden orb rests in the air above his head and another rests below his feet, working in tandem to keep him aloft. People listen to us. Sort of.
With each explosion – the conflagrating teleport of one of the previous Butcher incarnations, I think – the crowd grows louder and more panicked. They retreat as per instruction, but it is far from orderly. I watch as a woman goes down, her head sinking below the tide of bodies. With a shout, I point her out to Rising Star. He nods and flies over the crowd to her. He settles next to a wall and his orbs move: one into the wall to keep him tethered there, and the other over the crowd, where the downed woman is.
I don't see what happens next. The next teleport is closer than ever, and new screams join the crowd's: joyous and angry instead of terrified. I turn to watch as a horde of a man is pulverized by a boxer in black with metal fists: Spree and Boxcar, moving down the street toward us. Boxcar throws a punch and a clone's face is pulped as the telekinetic punch blows through it. Boxcar throws another punch, pulverizing another clone, but it doesn't matter: a drop in the bucket.
More and new clones clamber over each other in a desperate horde much like the fleeing shoppers. The difference is that this horde doesn't trample by nature, but by design, and Boxcar is pushed back toward the stalled shopping stampede, beaten with whatever the clones have in hand even as he pulps them: a brute against an endless crowd.
The Teeth are here, and so is the Midnight Crew, despite it being only six in the evening. Slick is here too: the leader of the Crew. A sentient oil spill crashes into Spree's trample and gives Boxcar the space to throw a punch at – presumably – the real Spree. I don't see if it lands, and I'm not sure if it matters, as Butcher interjects themself between Boxcar and Spree with a burst of fire: eating any followup but igniting Slick's oil spill self.
Black smoke and the agonized screams of Spree clones backlight Butcher. This is bad. Despite the thirty feet or so that separate myself and the conglomerate of powers, I can feel the world shaking under and around me; the ground, walls, windows, cars, and even the button and zipper on my shorts all start to shake and fall apart at a granular level. Butcher is shaking the world around them into sand: this incarnation's main power.
Boxcar throws another punch, hasty, and Butcher lunges forward to catch it with a hand that's quickly becoming a mass of scrap-metal. Bits of chain and metal fly away from the force of the punch, but it doesn't stop Butcher from grabbing Boxcar's hand and grinding it into mush, pulling a brutish scream of pain out of the member of the Midnight Crew.
I need to stop this. I need to get Boss out of here and stop these people from hurting or killing anyone. I turn, and Boss is already way ahead of me; I see the back of her jacket in the distance, far enough away that she must have taken off as soon as Boxcar and Spree rounded the corner.
The street is mostly cleared of regular people, and what few stragglers remain are limping, crawling, or otherwise disabled. Rising Star is using his orbs to pull them out of the fray and off the street, but he can only move one or two at a time, and it's not fast enough. I watch as one of Butcher's teleports sends a crawling man tumbling. He comes to a stop, burned and bleeding into the granular asphalt. A moment later, Rising Star starts to move him.
I jump into the fray, swinging at Butcher with poisoned claws. Nonlethal, of course. Becoming the Butcher would not be a step toward making a self I can live with, and as sure as I am that I could silence the voices or end the inheritance, it would be easier to do without voices in my head. And also something I shouldn't do anyway because mutilating and killing people is bad.
The lethality of my attack doesn't matter, as I end up swiping at thin air. Butcher is gone, teleported away before I could make contact. They have a danger sense; I'd forgotten. They're down the street. They glare at me and I seize up for a moment in pain before I disable the sensation. A blast of pain: the original Butcher's power.
Butcher screams wordlessly and runs at me. The asphalt beneath their feet turns to gravel, though it doesn't slow them: a sort of immunity to their power? To always find solid ground amidst the unsteadiness they inflict? Or maybe they make it out of the granules with a localized matter control? Neat. Almost as neat as the rage they try and fail to induce in me: I wonder how exactly that power alters brain chemistry.
They swing at me and I duck the hit, lashing out with a claw that tears chunks of metal from their shoulder but doesn't slow their next swing. I duck again, dancing an unsteady retreat as the ground beneath me becomes more and more unsteady: from asphalt to gravel, and from gravel to sand, and from sand to dust. From dust comes a glob of oil, splashing over Butcher's front and face and knocking them on their bootie.
"SHUT UP!" Butcher screams and slaps their own face, hard, as they regain their feet. The first full words I've heard from them.
It's pitiful. They're a person: the last in a series of fifteen people who made a single mistake and are being destroyed from the inside by it. I want to help them. They need help, perhaps more than anyone else here. Do the voices still count as people? Could I tease apart and isolate them? Would that isolate the powers too?
I steel myself and push down the curiosity, and it's like drowning a pool float. Butcher is putting others in danger right now, and so as interesting as they are, and as much as they need help, that has to wait until they're not hurting people. I want to approach and put them down, but the dust of the road is already tickling my ankles, and I'll only sink further if I get closer. I back out. A moment later, so does Butcher, disappearing. Down the road, there's a burst of fire. The civilians are gone, thankfully, but chaos has taken their place.
More parahumans are on the street. I catch sight of one of Deuce's paired selves getting attacked by a person with an impractically large club; Deuce passes through the hit and clubs the woman in the side, to little effect. Slick is a knee-height wave of pearlescent darkness amongst a group of Teeth; I can't tell if he was hurt at all by the fire earlier.
Before I can move toward the fight, something hits me in the side, like a brick thrown by Alexandria, and sends me stumbling through the granular ground. I roll onto my back. Boxcar.
"Damn theif," he calls. He swings again. I raise my arms in a block, and the tele-punch hits hard enough to press me deeper into the dry bog.
"Boxcar, wait," I call out. "We should focus on Butcher. They're ripping this place apart."
"I don't give a shit." He hits me again. "You stole from me, and you want me to let you go?" He spits.
Stupid: we're not friends, we're not allies, I shouldn't have ignored him. Another punch lands on my guard and it holds steady. I try to rise to my feet, but with the ground as it is and the hits keeping me from finding my balance, I can barely pull myself up to a kneel. Boxcar doesn't seem inclined to let me get further, his hits slamming into me again and again.
It's a slow rhythm that he beats into me with just his right arm. He hammers away at me again and again, and I take a chance. I roll with one, flinging myself back as the hit lands and rolling to my feet. The punch he was already throwing next hits where I was and not where I am, knocking up a small cloud of dust and gravel. I scoop up an pawfull more and throw it at him, then turn and run as he shields his eyes.
Boxcar isn't the type to hurt indiscriminately – that's more Droog's schtick, and I thankfully haven't seen him or his stick – so it's fine to leave him for now. I'll engage when he's out of the mire and I have the ability to actually close the distance. For now, I'll focus on bringing down Butcher. They have an immunity to pain and a mild regenerative power, but my concoctions should still be able to disable them safely. The biggest obstacle is their ablative metal form. Something about it is familiar, but I let the feeling go to focus on more important things.
But as I chase the danger, I realize the chaos has only gotten worse while I was being beaten into the dust. Almost two dozen Teeth gangsters are here; their indistinguished mode of dress makes it hard to tell how many are parahumans and how many aren't, but I count four powers visibly at play. A glowing screech that leaves space warped and wobbly around her, a hulking wolf-beast pouncing at a Deuce, a woman dripping molotov blood, and the cherry on top, Butcher. Droog has joined the rest of his Crew and is surrounded by bodies that flicker in and out of existence and between life and death, a gun in one hand an a bat in the other, squaring off against Butcher themself.
I can't tell who's winning, or if anyone is at all. It seems more like everyone is losing, fighting just to fight and to hurt. It makes sense – we're all parahumans and we live for violence – but it makes me mad! People are hurt and dead because of this fight, and for what? Just because people wanted to fight?! They should use their words. It needs to end.
I look for a good angle to approach to take down the screeching Tooth – that space warping affect would be annoying to get caught up in – when she, Deuce, and Butcher all stumble in sync. Droog bats Butcher's knee into the wrong direction. A moment later, a chill starts to settle in the air despite the five different fires that burn across the street.
I'm the only one that stops. I might be the only one who knows what just happened, but I'm definitely the only one who pauses in the search for violence. I scan the street for the new trigger, focusing on where the ones who stumbled are, when I notice frost growing across a window of a building on fire. The new trigger is in there.
As the fight moves down the street, a battered Butcher still too much to push back against, I hesitate. I could probably bring Butcher down, or at least disable some of the combatants and stop this fight. But someone just triggered. They must be terrified. They need help, otherwise they might do something that spoils any choice they could have with their future. Like I did.
Another brick hits me in the head and sends me stumbling. I glance back at Boxcar just in time to catch another hit to the side of the head. I feel bits of skin and meat getting forced off. This jerkwad just won't drop it. You steal seven stashes of drugs from a guy's gang and suddenly he hates you.
I bring an arm up to stop him from punching me again. Even if my skull is hard enough to keep his punches out, his hits linger, and I do not want brain damage right now. I need to get to that fresh trigger – they need help – and I don't have time for this– this– this butthole.
I charge him, and he has just enough time to let out a surprised cuss before I'm tackling him to the ground. With my feet under me, his power isn't trouble. I sink my claws in – one paw into his bicep, the other into his pectoral – and disable him. After a moment, I grit my teeth, pick him up by the hip and arm, and chuck him through a storefront window to keep him slightly more safe. He resists impacts; he'll be fine.
With him out of the way and everyone else already busy, I'm free to head for the increasingly frosty building. The fire is already dying down, and freeze has formed on the walls. There's no way there's enough moisture in the air for either of those things to happen strictly due to low temperatures, not without a windstorm forming, so the passenger must be generating moisture to freeze. That's really cool! And also probably really bad because it means this building might soon become a 'berg.
The growing freeze of the building is garnering attention now, but I break through that first frosty window before I see whether it's hostile curiosity or not. I'll worry about them after I make sure the new trigger doesn't suffocate from ice-encapsulation or accidentally kill someone. Or purposefully kill someone.
The first thing I notice inside the enfrosted building is the sound. It's I've stepped into another world; the destructive noises happening just outside are muted and distant, and in here there is the sound of wind. The broken window is already closing over behind me, and the light that makes it through is dimmed yet prismatic.
The second thing I notice is that the new trigger isn't in this room: a reception area with comfortable furniture arranged in a corner. There is one person, curled into a ball behind a couch, but they're dead and already frosting over. They must be further inside.
The third thing I notice is that it's cold. It feels like minus twenty, which is a hundred or so degrees too hot to spontaneously generate ice crystals in these conditions. The cold won't kill me on it's own, which means I have time.
I step further into the building, toward the dim door, and ice crunches under foot. Crystals are already forming on my coat, and I absently brush myself off. I'm a brown bear, not a polar bear – I don't hunt humans, not anymore. Stepping into the next room reveals this to be a dentist's office, or maybe an orthodontist's, with two rows of three dental engines, spaced out for operating, with hanging lamps and trays of tools.
Everything is covered in at least a half-inch of ice.
I hear something, something other than the crackle of the ice underfoot, the wind throughout, or the ominous echoes of a fight. It's a quiet whistling, like wind whipping past a window late at night, coming from one of the rooms toward the back.
"Hello?" I call out. "My name is Bearclaw. I'm a hero."
"Hello?"
"A hero!?"
"We're saved!"
A clamor of voices greets me, more than I expected, coming from one of the rooms in the back. I move toward the voices and find a group of people bunched together, huddling for warmth. Adults encircle children as they try to retain heat in this winter wonderland, about seven in all.
"Let's get you all out of here," I say.
They rise and follow me out of the back room and into the reception area. There is still the whistling of wind coming from the other back room, and I know that there is where I'll find the new trigger. I'll get these people out, and then help them; the new trigger isn't in immediate danger of hypothermia or frostbite, not from their own power.
The window I broke through to get in is already frozen over again, thicker. The fractures of the previous break are visible in the regrowth, but it doesn't look weaker for it. I tell everyone to stand back, and then work on opening a hole. Punch, claw, kick: I stop after a Sisyphean minute. It won't break cleanly, and it grows faster than I can chip away at it.
"Well? Aren't you going to do something?" a man asks.
My claws and toxins won't work, and I don't have anything else on me that will. I could probably tinker up something with an intense metabolism and body temperature that would melt through this, but I don't have enough in or on me to do something like that; I'd have to use one of these people for parts which is not going to happen. There's another option.
"I'll be right back," I say. "Stay here, and try to stay warm."
"You're leaving us?!" the same man screeches.
I look at him. He's middle aged, maybe a decade older than Aron's dad. Short, with curly brown hair, dressed professionally. He might be one of the doctor-dentist-orthodontists here, or he might not be. He doesn't have a jacket, and he's scared. It's plain on his face; he's scared and trying to be angry to not think about how scared he is.
"I'll be right back," I repeat reassuringly. "I can't get through, but I know someone who should be able to. So stay put and stay warm."
I go back into the operating room with the six chairs before I see if they'll obey, and from there I go into the other back room, the one that howls. As I approach, wind whips at me, chilling me and sending flurries of frost into the air.
The door to the room is demolished and missing. The wind whips up flurries around me, cold enough to make breathing painful. The room is an office, with a desk, three chairs, four bodies covered in thick frost, and a young girl curled into a ball in the corner. She can't be older than eleven, with her hair in braids kept together with blue butterfly clips.
She looks at me with terrified, reddened eyes.
"Hey there." I smile at the new parahuman. "I know you're scared, but it's okay now. You're safe."
She doesn't respond. Through the ice, I can see that one of the bodies encrusted to the wall is wearing Teeth apparel. A matching Tooth is in the corner by the door. The ice is pink around another of the corpses on the floor.
It's too easy to imagine what happened and how wind and frost ended it.
"My name is Bearclaw. I'm a hero, and you're safe now. What's your name?"
She continues to stare at me. She's in shock. Unsurprising after a trigger event, but nevertheless bad. I need her to control her powers and get rid of the ice or at least stop making more of it, and as long as she's unresponsive, that's not going to happen.
"No one's going to try and hurt you anymore. The bad men are gone. Why don't we go outside? I'm sure the other heroes will be here soon, if they're not already here. I'm sure they'd like to meet you. Do you have a favorite?"
The wind slowly dies down as I talk, which is a good sign. I try to ignore how my nose is tingling-numb and how it's starting to hurt to breathe. Still, the girl doesn't answer, so I keep up the talk and answer my own question.
"My favorite hero is Wolfgang. He helped me figure out how to be a hero when I first came to town, and he's really nice. Plus, we're both named after animals, so that's fun. I've also met Rising Star, Extrapolate, and Minimum in the Wards. They have really cool powers, especially Extrapolate. Do you know what she does?"
After a moment, the girl shakes her head. The wind is barely a breeze at this point, though ice continues to grow on the walls, thickening and encapsulating. Still, it's progress.
"When she holds something, she can learn all about its history: who made it, when and where, what it was last used for, and so on. She says it feels like she goes inside the object and has to explore it whenever she uses her power. It's really cool to see her pick up, say, a penny off the ground and hear her recite facts about it. I think she's really cool, and her power makes me pay attention to the small things in the world more than I ever did before."
As I talk, the girl relaxes as she focuses on my words. She sniffles and wipes at her face. Her tears didn't freeze to her skin, but the ice grows under her body: that's a tight delineation for protection from her power, nearly skin-tight.
"All of the Wards I've met are nice"– all of the ones in this city, at least; I can't help but remember that creepy one from Cleveland that joined the Nine because he had a crush on me –"and I'm sure they'd like to meet you. They're probably right outside, or will be soon. So how about we get you out of here?" I purposefully don't mention the dead bodies.
I hold out my paw, and she takes it. I pull her to her feet and lead her out of the room. She shivers and presses her eyes shut. Back in the operating room, the tables and chairs have turned into stalagmites and the hanging lamps into icicles large enough to crush a car. The wind has died, but the crystals continue to grow.
"What's your name?" I ask the girl, now that we're out of the room where she triggered.
"E… Emily," she whispers.
I'm not entirely sure what to say, so I say what I'd like to hear in her place. My time with Ketlan helps. "You're being very brave, Emily. You're doing a great job. Would you mind stopping the ice from growing? Or maybe melting or moving it? Can you do that for me, Emily?"
"Um. I'll try." She squeezes my paw tighter and focuses, her eyebrows drawing nearer together. A moment later, a wind picks up and then dies down just as quickly. It happens again. Her shoulders fall. She's shaking and sniffling again. "I can't."
"It's okay," I tell her. There's something to this. Her power has to come with some sort of 'off' setting, at the very least so she doesn't get crushed by her own power's crystalline growth. We just need a bit of time to figure out how it works: time we're not afforded.
"You caught the villain!" the same man from earlier says from the doorway between reception and the operating room. "Now make her let us out of this death trap."
The wind starts to pick up as Emily latches onto my leg.
"Calm down," I tell the man. "We're working on it."
"Well work faster. I'm freezing my balls off in here." He lets out a full bodied shudder, more aggressive than the shivers he's been afflicted with this whole time. "Would you cut that shit out?"
Emily starts to shake, and the wind increases. It comes from her, omnidirectional, and blows under my coat to bite at my torso. More people's voices come out of the reception area, rising with the man's. Someone appears behind him.
"Please, mister, just go back to the reception area and try to stay warm while we fix this," I say.
"F-ffffuck that," he says. "It's not m-my fault we're cold. It's hers. And if- if you won't make her l-l-let us go, I will. P-pussy."
He takes a step toward us and Emily's wind whips out, from ten to seventy in an instant, blowing him back and bowling him over. It chills me to the bone, but I'm kept in place by Emily's grip on me – It seems she can't fly.
Everyone starts to scream. It's pandemonium, and the chaos is bringing everyone so much quicker towards freezing to death. That rude, scared man has maybe a minute before he loses fingers, and five before he's dead – The others won't be far behind.
I kneel in front of Emily to block out the sight of the man she just threw. "Emily, I need you to calm down. Can you do that? Focus on the wind, and make it stop, okay?"
She stares past me, her eyes as blank as when I found her. She's gone. She's out of it, and I don't know if or how I can bring her back. Darn it. Damn it.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. I place a hand on her shoulder, and the wind dies as she slumps into unconsciousness. I gently lower her to the floor and let out a frustrated growl. "Ass."
"Is it over?" someone, a woman, asks.
I pluck out a hair – shaking the frost from my head first – and hold it out. I watch as ice crystals slowly grow from it. I close my eyes and hold back another cuss. Then I let it out anyway.
Emily's power works even while she's unconscious. It might not even have an inactive state, and she instead has a way to manipulate or escape her own ice. It's a terrible possibility, but a possibility nonetheless – It might very well be that everywhere she goes, ice forms around her. Power incontinence, it's called.
"No," I call back sadly.
"She's gonna kill us," someone says, not angrily but dejectedly. "We're gonna fucking die."
A kid starts to cry, and a moment later another adds their wail to the chorus.
"I can't die here, not like this."
"This can't seriously be the end, can it?"
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no."
"Shh, shh, it's okay. We're all going to be okay."
"It's not okay, Cheryl."
They start to argue and bicker as tensions rise and desperation and despair take hold. I don't know what to do. The ice continues to grow. If I wake Emily, it's almost a certainty that the wind will return and people will die faster, but if I don't, they'll die just the same. When someone says the words "kill her," my decision is made.
I let out a breath and pores open across my coat's back. An invisible, scentless gas leaks out. Five seconds later, I hear someone hit the ground, then another. Five seconds after that, and everyone other than myself is down. The mob has been silenced, and the only sounds in the room are the ever-growing crackle of ice and everyone's shivering breath.
I hate this. This whole situation feels like something Jack would have set up, and just like every game he played, if you care you lose. I can kill Emily, who has done nothing more than have a bad day, and keep everyone else warm until rescue finds us, or…
I scream and let out my rage until I should be lightheaded – is there enough oxygen in here? Is that another way to worry about dying in here? – and then get myself under control. I hate hate hate this. If I don't do this, then either Emily or everyone except Emily dies here, and no one here deserves that, probably. But if I do, I…
"FIDDLESTICKS," I scream again. I have to do it. I have to. Fuck Jack. Fuck this. I didn't want to tinker on people without permission, but who gives a flying phooey what I want?!
I apologize to Emily again, even though she can't hope to hear me, and then I cut her. A claw coated in a bone-eating enzyme splits her skull, opening a seam along her parietal bone; I trace the joint to keep my tinkering less conspicuous. I remove the bone and just stare at the grey matter for too long of a moment. The familiar sight of the creases and the hemispheres ease a tension I didn't know I was carrying, and one I immediately want to miss. I don't want to be doing this, but it's so easy, fun, and familiar. I'm returning to a hobby that once brought me so much joy, and others so much pain.
I should feel nauseous, to be doing what I'm doing. Pushing into a brain to look for the corona pollentia and gemma should make me sick. I should hate what I'm doing, but I don't. Exploring the neurons and mapping the connections made by the power feels like returning home. It's comfortable, like taking off an itchy shirt after a day out in disguise. Distantly, it almost feels worse that it doesn't feel bad to pry into someone's brain so invasively. I wish I hated this. But it is nice that I don't have to work around bile or tears.
Unable to find the gemma from this angle, I cleave another piece of skull away. Oh! Oh neat, this gemma is linked directly into the brain stem, bridging from there to the medulla. That makes sense, and pretty much confirms the incontinence. I haven't seen one in this position since I was putting together Jimmy Crackcorn. That was a fun one, though terribly messy. I didn't care.
I hum to myself as I remember how interesting his particular exploding and reforming was. Turning other people into more Jimmies was unexpected, but so educational and exciting. I was sad in the moment that they couldn't replicate as well, but still, fun. It's a shame there's no other parahumans here, else I could…
I shake off the thought. This isn't play. I'm not making art right now, I'm helping and working. No mashups, no experimenting, no changes for fun's sake. Just adjusting a power expression to give the parahuman more control. It's like wiring a power into a control mechanism, but the control mechanism is their own brain and I don't hold any sort of remote.
I need materials. There's not enough here to work with without risking permanent brain damage by taking some matter off the top, and even then it's not guaranteed to work. I need another brain stem.
My eyes drift to the rude man a few feet away. Still alive, if barely. No. No, I don't need him, there's others, the five dead I saw. The four in the back office are frozen over, inaccessible, but the one in the front wasn't. It is now, a short trip reveals. I can't use any of the dead men for materials.
My eyes drift to the rude man's prone form again. In a way, this is his fault. He startled Emily after I'd calmed her down, and then came at her when she was already scared. If he weren't here, or if he weren't such an ass, there's a good chance everyone would be out of here already. And his brain is still warm, fresh, and ripe for the picking. He's still alive, but only barely. He'll die soon no matter what I do, and isn't it better to harvest when fresh.
But he's still a person, with people he cares and about and who care about him, probably. He's not evil or anything, he just did something stupid in a moment of desperation and fear. Does that mean he should die? Does it make it okay to kill him and use him for parts if I'm doing so to save others? Could I live with myself if I did that?
…I've done worse.
It's easy. Worse, it's fun: the most fun I've had in so long. It's the work of maybe three minutes to open the rude man's skull, harvest the necessary pieces of his brainstem, and then weave them through Emily's gemma and around her brainstem. I prune, twist, and reconnect the right neurons, and then I'm sadly finished.
The barely audible crackle of new ice crystals forming and pushing against each other stops. I smile at a job well done. She should be able to control her powers a lot easier now. I let out a breath, and with it goes everything inside of me. Everything I built myself into is gone. If it was ever there. It's a shell that reseals Emily's skull, a husk that wakes her and gets her to melt the ice around us, and a shadow that blows past the PRT and heroes waiting outside.
the penultimate chapter. One more week until we see how it all pans out. I suggest going back through and reading the epigraphs, now that most things have been revealed.
Oh dear. Did she take care of the dead body before leaving?
Honestly, fuck that guy. I can't stand people like that. Maybe he didn't deserve to die, but I don't mind that he did.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
If by 'take care of' you mean 'destroy evidence', then no. It wasn't thinking about that in the least. Riley was much more concerned with the trolley problem it'd just faced and the internal damage dealt to her freshly minted sense of morality and ethics.
entirely the midnight crew from homestuck/problem sleuth, yes.D: Rileeeey it's gonna be okay. Ah dang, just as Riley was figuring themself out.
...Also it took me until Droog to realize these were straight up the Midnight Crew
did he deserve to die? no. Is riley still gonna angst about it bc it killed someone and harvested brain matter from him so it could tinker on an nonconsenting, unconscious child? Oh definitely.
- Location
- Minnesota
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I did read through all the epigraphs. It's not clear… whether this the result of a confession or if Boss directly confronts BC? I suppose the prt will figure out who it is from what happened though. How they would handle it is… like, would they publicize that BC was bonesaw? Might try to contact Boss directly as a warning i suppose.
Either way, she might be uniquely situated to empathize/accept BC? Coming from a semi similar background and all. Hmm.
So far as the chapter itself, it's pretty… harrowing? The sudden shift in station from banter, to helping the kid, to combat, to the moral dilemma happened so quickly. It really emphasized how muted BC's emotions/outlook is? Everything after the banter in the first few paragraphs felt very level and flat, each new event treated with the same deliberateness and self policing/correction until things break down and it has to cross the line.
Even after that it's very matter of fact. I suppose a product of having to recall it so soon? It's very rough to read, and feels different to how everything else has been related prior to this.
Looking forward to the last chapter!!
Either way, she might be uniquely situated to empathize/accept BC? Coming from a semi similar background and all. Hmm.
So far as the chapter itself, it's pretty… harrowing? The sudden shift in station from banter, to helping the kid, to combat, to the moral dilemma happened so quickly. It really emphasized how muted BC's emotions/outlook is? Everything after the banter in the first few paragraphs felt very level and flat, each new event treated with the same deliberateness and self policing/correction until things break down and it has to cross the line.
Even after that it's very matter of fact. I suppose a product of having to recall it so soon? It's very rough to read, and feels different to how everything else has been related prior to this.
Looking forward to the last chapter!!
Chapter 26: Goodbye.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
"Then I came here."
I could leave. I could just pick a direction to walk and keep going. Just earlier today – geez, that really was just today – I was considering making a change; this could be it. I could ditch my identity as Bearclaw and build a new identity somewhere else, with new powers and everything. I could put to use all the lessons Laval has taught me and try to do some less granular good for the world. Maybe I could even figure out the passengers – There has to be a good use for that, right?
I find myself looking at the door to Chastity's and my apartment. I could leave this life, but I can't leave her. She's my best friend. She's family, really. I can't do that to her. I can't abandon her like that, not without at least a goodbye. Not without an explanation.
Chastity opens the door between my third and fourth knocks, and my hand hangs awkwardly in the air between us for a heartbeat. She's out of costume, though I can tell by the smell of dried sweat that she didn't shower before redressing. The expression on her face is indescribable, and then it falls away into relief.
"Oh thank god, you're okay," she breathes. "Are you okay? It's been hours. You've had me worried sick, you asshole. Get in here. Did anyone see you come in? Ugh, you smell; you need a shower. I've been watching the news waiting to hear about you – the news, B. You wouldn't answer your phone so I had to watch the fucking news. They weren't even talking about you! There was like, one mention that you helped with some search and rescue after the fight, but that was it! They didn't say whether you were okay or not, or if you were still around, or if you'd… tch. And then nothing! For like three hours! Where were you? Did you track the Teeth to their base or something? I swear to god if you went off like that, on your own, without even telling me, I'm going to be pissed." She sighs. "No, I'm just glad you're okay. You are okay, right? You're not hurt? You're tough, but you were fighting Butcher– Oh shit, you didn't… you know? Did you? You're alone in there? Still sane in the membrane? Not a complete deal breaker if you do have some roommates, as long as you're still, well, you. Oh my god, would you just say something already? Please? Anything? I'll start cussing, don't think I won't. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity shit ass fuck dick cunt bitch. …B? B, what's up? Talk to me. Please, B, just say something, let me know you're in there."
Over the course of her – relieved, angry, worried, desperate – tirade, Chastity pulled me inside, closed and locked the door, removed my coat, sat me on the couch – the local news station on the television is muted, and the apartment is quiet for once – and pulled my hands into her lap. It's comfortable. She looks at me with such fear, not of me but for me, that I can't stand to see.
"We're friends, right?" I ask.
"Of course," she responds, sounding as surprised as she does relieved. "We're besties."
That should make me feel better. It doesn't.
"I messed up." It leaves my mouth as a whisper, but Chastity hears it nonetheless.
"What happened? Crap, did you kill someone? Do we need to bug out? I can have our bags packed in five minutes. Does anyone know? Should we hide the body? Bodies?"
I shrink under her words. I shake my head. "It's worse."
"...Worse than killing someone. Shit! You didn't off the Butcher, did you?!"
"No. I didn't kill Butcher." Even to my own ears, I sound testy. Chastity doesn't deserve that. I try to reign myself in. "I'm sorry. Would you just… just listen for a minute?"
She leans back. She nods. "Yeah. I'm all ears."
I open my mouth to tell her about mutilating Emily and killing the rude man, but nothing comes out. It wouldn't make any sense to just say that I cut their heads open and operated on their brains. It would raise more questions than it would answer. It wouldn't give Chastity an actual understanding of what I did. What I am. I have to come clean and tell her the whole truth. The idea makes me queasy, dizzy, and lighter than ever, all at once.
I force down my guard and try again. "I've been lying to you. About everything. My name isn't Bearclaw. It's Riley. I'm not a case fifty-three, a monster cape. I'm… I came up with this whole fake identity to hide. It was a cover. Is a cover."
Chastity sighs. "Is that all? I kind of guessed as much."
I blink. "What?"
"Yeah. I did some research into monster capes, chatted with a few online, talked with some more friends of monster capes, and, well, I kind of figured it out. It's rarer, but sometimes capes mutate when they trigger and don't lose their memories."
"No. That's not it. I didn't– I'm not– I've been a cape for years. And I wasn't a good one. I was bad."
She purses her lips. "So you've got a shady past? I get that. Honestly, it's kind of cool you were able to put it behind you. I barely even tried, not that I even got the chance to be that bad. A few of my older siblings tried to get away, but Nicholas and Guillaume always dragged them back. Well, except Jean-Paul and Cherie, but fuck them especially. Jean-Paul got Candy killed, and Cherie joined the fucking Slaughterhouse Nine just to get away, the crazy jerk. But as stupid as that was, I can't even say I completely blame her. Daddy made us do some messed up stuff, and–"
"Bonesaw."
She blinks. "What?"
"You don't get it. You don't understand. You're trying to empathize with me, but you shouldn't. You 'did some messed up stuff'? I'm Bonesaw." There. I said it.
Her hands pull away from mine by an inch. "Bonesaw's dead."
I shake my head. "I didn't mean to fake it when I… That's just what the news said."
I've lost. I admitted it, and now I've lost. Everything I've built, all the work I've done on myself, all of my wants for my future: gone. What can I do now? Nothing. There's nothing to be done. There's nowhere to go now. I could have left, I could have lied, I could have killed or let those people die, but I didn't, and now the truth is out, and it's over.
My friend, my bestie, she hates me. No, it's worse than that. She fears me. She's scared of me, and she's right to be. I'm terrible: all the things I've done, the people I've hurt and warped, the joy I took in it all? I had a great time cutting into Emily and rearranging her insides to fit my desire. Chastity finally realized I'm a bigger monster than her daddy ever could be.
I'm a monster. That's all I've ever been and it's all I'll ever be. Any goodness that ever lived in me has long since been scooped out by Jack. No, that's wrong, that makes it sound like he took it when that's not what happened. I gave it to him to dash on the floor. I pulled any goodness out of myself and broke it myself, to make room for the monster I always would have been. And now there's nothing left but this… this sickness. I'm not a person. I'm a cancer. Even when I set out to do good, I couldn't help myself. I didn't think to not hurt people. I experimented on them with my toxins. I wanted to do so much more. I had fun hurting people.
Dimly, underneath all of the heaviness in my mind, I can tell this isn't right. I'm under the effects of a power – Chastity's power: distilled defeat. There's a switch in my mind that I could flip to end it, but I disabled it for a reason. It wouldn't change anything. Not feeling this wouldn't improve the situation. I still came out to her, and she's still rightfully scared of me. Ending her power wouldn't prevent the end of our friendship.
I feel the weight of my wrongs pressing down on me, and I allow it to crush me. I deserve at least this much. This alone is getting off easy. I embrace the loss, as only a damned can do.
Time passes.
"Okay. Talk."
I raise my head at the command and blink away the reductive ennui. A sweaty Chastity stands over me in costume with her hair up and a nasty looking double barrel shotgun in her hands. I'm on the floor. I try to sit up, but I can only move my head. I look down to see an honestly absurd amount of chain, rope, and cord binding me in place: from my chest to my ankles, almost six inches thick in places. I blink. I didn't notice any of this happening. Maybe I've been underestimating her power.
"How long was I out?" I ask.
"Shut up. I'm the one asking the questions here," Chastity says.
She's trying to be tough, but I can hear a tremor in her voice that reminds me that even though the loss I'd felt was artificial, it wasn't incorrect. My friend isn't in front of me. My executioner is. That thought shouldn't make me feel lighter, but it does.
"Okay," I say. "What do you want to know?"
"I said I'm asking questions. Not you." She gestures at me with the gun. Her finger isn't on the trigger. She licks her lips panickingly. "You just talk. You don't ask, you don't try to lie to me, you definitely don't try to get out or mess with me, or I'll blow your brains out; you understand me?"
I nod. It's more like rubbing my cheek against the floor than an actual nod, but it gets the job done.
She swallows. "You're really Bonesaw."
It's not a question. It's an accusation. Still, I answer, "Yes."
"Fuck," she whispers. "Was Bearclaw ever real?"
"Kind of?"
She gestures at me with her gun. "No half answers. What does that mean: 'kind of?'"
"There wasn't some other cape somewhere named Bearclaw. It was always me. I didn't replace someone or anything."
"So this whole time…?"
"Yeah. It's been me."
Chastity looks like she could cry. She bites her lip and glares instead. "Why? What was the point? What were trying to do?"
"That's… that's a big question." I take a moment to think. "I was trying to be better."
"What?" She lowers the gun for a moment at that, but quickly points it back at me. "No seriously, what? I told you no half answers. What the hell does that mean?"
I open my mouth to tell her about what I want and what I was trying to do in this city, but that wouldn't make sense without telling her about my time at the cabin, and starting there would feel like ignoring Aron and the Carpenters, and that wouldn't make sense without telling her how I came to be there. I sigh.
"It's a long story," is what I settle on.
"…You're not going anywhere."
I giggle. "Yeah, I guess not." My humor leaves as I cast my mind back to over a year ago. "It all started when the Nine started to fall apart. The first time I actually feared for… for Jack's life – It's hard to think about that even now. But, the first time was a normal day, just like any other. Sometimes, I think about how this must be how people talk about when we came around; it was a normal day, until suddenly it wasn't, and I was scared."
I tell my story, and Chastity listens with a gun to my head.
Hours later, I finish. I feel hollowed out. Telling it all felt like reliving it all. It hurt, and I didn't even get into everything. Chastity was kind enough to only occasionally pressure me to elaborate, and she only asked the once if I'd ever tinkered on her. She stares at me with a pensive expression as she digests everything, and I wait for the two taps that will release me from it all.
"Fucking hell," she says. She leans back in her seat – she got tired of standing in the first fifteen minutes of my recount – and cusses. "Fucking fuck hell. Are you serious?"
I nod. "Completely."
"So, living with me for four months, going on multiple dates, saving my fucking life at least twice: no time during that did you think you should tell me about all this, but helping a kid control her powers is what made you feel bad enough to admit to me that you're fucking Bonesaw?"
There's a moment of tension before Chastity laughs in my face. I can only watch dumbly as she laughs. She shows no signs of stopping. The gun falls to the floor, and a moment later so does she. I know for a fact I didn't release any giggle-gas; I'm pretty sure I don't even have any in me.
Finally, almost five minutes later, long after her laughter has turned from loud and manic to silent and painful, she stop. Her hands press against her side and she stares up at the ceiling as she heaves for breath. She turns her head to look at me.
"You are such an absolute weirdo, you know that?"
…What? "What?"
"Only you, B. No one but you could have a crisis about being a good person," she says with a smile, still breathing heavily. Then she grimaces. "I can't believe I just called Bonesaw a good person. This is definitely going to take some getting used to."
"I killed someone today. I ripped open his skull and used him for parts. I'm not good," I protest.
"Eh, he was a jerk," she says with a shrug. "And you saved everyone else, so who cares?"
"That's– I've done worse, before; weren't you listening? I've killed– thousands, probably– no, definitely at least thousands. And killing isn't even the worst I've done. I told you about my 'art.'"
"Yeahhh," she drawls with a grimace, "but that was like two years ago or something."
As she sits up and sets her gun down on the table, a horrifying realization settles over me. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"
"Pft. Don't sound so disappointed."
"Then what are you going to do?"
She ponders. "Probably get a glass of water, then order dinner. You feeling Japanese or pizza?"
"Huh?"
"I guess there's that new Ethiopian place we could try, but… Nah. I'm actually really in the mood for pizza. Let's do pizza. Zeppoli's good? You want your usual?"
"What? Chastity, what are you talking about?"
"Dinner. It's late and I'm hungry," she says like she's not in a room with a monster. "How do you feel about a movie while we eat? Oh, how about Twilight? We need to get you ready for Breaking Dawn Part Three next month."
She turns on the television, hooks up her laptop, and searches online for a torrent. I watch her without comprehending. She's not going to kill me. She's not running away or calling the Protectorate about me. She's just sitting there, like it's no big deal. Chastity starts the download, then calls in our usual order at our favorite pizza place.
It's like nothing's changed.
"Pizza should be here in– Oh, shoot, sorry I should probably let you out of all that," she says. She squats down and fiddles with the sporadically placed locks. "I guess I went a little overboard with these, but it's cool, right?"
"Sure. Yeah," I say hesitantly. "Are we cool?"
Chains fall slack, and then so do ropes and cords as she works without answering. I let her think, scared that if I press I'll shatter this not-awful whatever-it-is we have between us right now.
"B… Or should I call you Riley now?"
"Uh." I've never really been Riley, not that I can remember. Telling her to call me that feels… weird. Like ignoring all that separates who I used to be and who I became, forced or by choice. But then, Riley never got a chance to really live. Maybe it's fine to be Riley? "You can call me either."
"Well, B, what you told me was messed up. You gotta admit, you're pretty fucked up. But like…" She gestures vaguely. "I mean I definitely haven't done the sort of shit you've done, but I'm not perfect either. But Bearclaw is probably the best person I've ever met, and I have to believe that that's the real you and you're not pulling a really long con instead, otherwise I have worse taste than Daddy's girls, and they literally had that forced on them. You used to be Bonesaw, and that's… I'm not going to lie, that's definitely not something I ever expected and also incredibly terrifying and I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight, but like, who cares! You're still Bearclaw. You're still cute, and silly, and think way too much about the weirdest things. So yeah. As long as you stay you, we're cool. And if you decide to stop being Bearclaw, well, let me know so I can get the fuck out of there first."
The final binding falls away and I can move again. I can breathe – not that the bindings were preventing that, physically. Things are… okay? I hesitantly sit up and join my best friend on the couch to watch a movie about impossibly inaccurate vampiric parahumans in Washington state. A couch cushion divides us, and neither of us make to bridge that gap right now, but Chastity knows about me and she's still here. It feels impossible, but things are okay.
"Also you should totally never tell anyone else this," she says flippantly. "The Bonesaw thing stays between us."
I force an awkward laugh. "About that…"
"What?"
"I don't know if that's really possible. I didn't exactly clean up after I fixed Emily's brain. The PRT might put it together. They haven't kicked in our door yet, but…"
"Yeah, they're slow about stuff. I guess we shouldn't stay here then, huh? That's fine, this town sucks anyway. We can start over somewhere else, no problem. I've always wanted to see California."
Chastity is trying to shrug it off, but she's not wrong. We could just go. Start over somewhere else. I've done that a bunch, but never with another person. It'll probably be harder than doing it alone, especially if Chastity isn't used to moving around or hiding, but it'd be nice to have her with me.
"Okay," I say. "We can go to California. But not Los Angeles." She gives me a curious look and I elaborate, "Alexandria."
She grimaces and nods. "Good point. No L.A. There's still other cities. We'll go to San Fran, maybe, get a feel for it, and get back to the hero biz."
I almost agree, but her last words make something twinge in my stomach. "Actually, I don't know if I want to do that."
"Which part?"
"The hero part."
Her eyes go wide. "No way – Are we gonna be villains?"
I'm unamused, unsure if she's joking. "Not what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I want to do more than just keep being a vigilante. I know fighting gangs and stuff is good, kind of, but it feels like kiddie stuff and I know I can do more. There has to be something only I can do, some way I can do good that no one else can. I mean, I've hurt people in unique ways; there has to be a way to turn that around and do something good. Right?"
"So… you wanna be like Panacea or something?" Chastity asks.
For a second, I'm almost surprised she knows the name, but then again Panacea has been gaining more fame in the last year. I hope she's okay. Thinking about her makes me feel nostalgic in a way. Can you be nostalgic for a time that never existed? I can't decide whether to smile or frown as I think about my sisterly fantasies with her.
"You know, I wanted her to be my sister, a long while ago. We've got similar powers, and I thought we'd be able to work well together," I muse.
"Wait, similar powers? She's a healer, innit?"
"Biokinetic, actually. As long as it's made of living, organic matter, she can do pretty much anything with it," I clarify. From Chastity's expression, I can tell she doesn't fully grasp what that means, but that's fine. "I figured we could work together; I could do big and cool tinkery stuff, and she could smooth out the wrinkles and make everything work perfectly."
"Is that something you still want to do? Meet Panacea? Collab with her?"
"I don't know. Maybe. But she'd never go for it. All she does is heal, and I… I don't want to be the type of person who's willing to break her into doing more, even if I think she should." I plode. "I don't know how she even does it, honestly. I'm getting antsy to flex my power more and I've been using it for stuff.
"That's one thing I know, at least. Doing what I did to Emily was the most satisfied I've felt in… a long time. If nothing else, I know I don't want to keep only working on myself. It was so much fun doing what I used to do, making interesting projects and pioneering parahuman research. I was so close to figuring out the passengers, I just know it, but I'd need a good way to get people for that and I just don't know how I'd do that."
Chastity frowns thoughtfully before proposing, "Kidnapping?"
"What? No!" I snap. "I said 'good.' Kidnapping is bad, Chastity."
"I'm sorry, okay," she snaps back, throwing her hands up. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around having been dating Bonesaw for two months! This is a lot and I don't have the brainspace to figure everything out right now. And honestly I am handling this situation spec-tac-ularly for what it is."
I feel the urge to point out again that we still aren't dating, but I let it slide. She's going through enough right now and is being weirdly good about this thing on the whole. "You're right. Sorry."
She frowns a wiggly, uncertain frown that consumes half-formed thoughts before they make it to spoken word. She didn't expect agreement, I guess. I give her time to find her rhetorical feet. She sighs.
"So… What?" she asks with a scowl. "What do you want to do?"
It's a big question. It's not just about whether I start over or not, but who I want to be if I do. I know a lot of what I don't want, but what that leaves isn't obvious to me. I think about how to answer her for a while. I think about all I've done as far back as I can remember. I think about everything I learned about good and bad and myself. I think about all that I still don't know. I think about the things I think I might want, and the things I know I don't. I think about all the big things that I could fix: bottle Butcher, neuter Nilbog, contain Crawler, expose the passengers. I think about my best friend, Chastity, and how nice it is to have a bestie who actually cares about actual me.
There's really only one way I can answer the question.
"Honestly, I'm not really sure," I admit. "Can we figure it out together?"
A bark of laughter escapes her, tired and manic. Chastity smiles at me, and even though it's obviously forced, I'm certain it's genuine too. "How could I say no?"
I could leave. I could just pick a direction to walk and keep going. Just earlier today – geez, that really was just today – I was considering making a change; this could be it. I could ditch my identity as Bearclaw and build a new identity somewhere else, with new powers and everything. I could put to use all the lessons Laval has taught me and try to do some less granular good for the world. Maybe I could even figure out the passengers – There has to be a good use for that, right?
I find myself looking at the door to Chastity's and my apartment. I could leave this life, but I can't leave her. She's my best friend. She's family, really. I can't do that to her. I can't abandon her like that, not without at least a goodbye. Not without an explanation.
Chastity opens the door between my third and fourth knocks, and my hand hangs awkwardly in the air between us for a heartbeat. She's out of costume, though I can tell by the smell of dried sweat that she didn't shower before redressing. The expression on her face is indescribable, and then it falls away into relief.
"Oh thank god, you're okay," she breathes. "Are you okay? It's been hours. You've had me worried sick, you asshole. Get in here. Did anyone see you come in? Ugh, you smell; you need a shower. I've been watching the news waiting to hear about you – the news, B. You wouldn't answer your phone so I had to watch the fucking news. They weren't even talking about you! There was like, one mention that you helped with some search and rescue after the fight, but that was it! They didn't say whether you were okay or not, or if you were still around, or if you'd… tch. And then nothing! For like three hours! Where were you? Did you track the Teeth to their base or something? I swear to god if you went off like that, on your own, without even telling me, I'm going to be pissed." She sighs. "No, I'm just glad you're okay. You are okay, right? You're not hurt? You're tough, but you were fighting Butcher– Oh shit, you didn't… you know? Did you? You're alone in there? Still sane in the membrane? Not a complete deal breaker if you do have some roommates, as long as you're still, well, you. Oh my god, would you just say something already? Please? Anything? I'll start cussing, don't think I won't. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity shit ass fuck dick cunt bitch. …B? B, what's up? Talk to me. Please, B, just say something, let me know you're in there."
Over the course of her – relieved, angry, worried, desperate – tirade, Chastity pulled me inside, closed and locked the door, removed my coat, sat me on the couch – the local news station on the television is muted, and the apartment is quiet for once – and pulled my hands into her lap. It's comfortable. She looks at me with such fear, not of me but for me, that I can't stand to see.
"We're friends, right?" I ask.
"Of course," she responds, sounding as surprised as she does relieved. "We're besties."
That should make me feel better. It doesn't.
"I messed up." It leaves my mouth as a whisper, but Chastity hears it nonetheless.
"What happened? Crap, did you kill someone? Do we need to bug out? I can have our bags packed in five minutes. Does anyone know? Should we hide the body? Bodies?"
I shrink under her words. I shake my head. "It's worse."
"...Worse than killing someone. Shit! You didn't off the Butcher, did you?!"
"No. I didn't kill Butcher." Even to my own ears, I sound testy. Chastity doesn't deserve that. I try to reign myself in. "I'm sorry. Would you just… just listen for a minute?"
She leans back. She nods. "Yeah. I'm all ears."
I open my mouth to tell her about mutilating Emily and killing the rude man, but nothing comes out. It wouldn't make any sense to just say that I cut their heads open and operated on their brains. It would raise more questions than it would answer. It wouldn't give Chastity an actual understanding of what I did. What I am. I have to come clean and tell her the whole truth. The idea makes me queasy, dizzy, and lighter than ever, all at once.
I force down my guard and try again. "I've been lying to you. About everything. My name isn't Bearclaw. It's Riley. I'm not a case fifty-three, a monster cape. I'm… I came up with this whole fake identity to hide. It was a cover. Is a cover."
Chastity sighs. "Is that all? I kind of guessed as much."
I blink. "What?"
"Yeah. I did some research into monster capes, chatted with a few online, talked with some more friends of monster capes, and, well, I kind of figured it out. It's rarer, but sometimes capes mutate when they trigger and don't lose their memories."
"No. That's not it. I didn't– I'm not– I've been a cape for years. And I wasn't a good one. I was bad."
She purses her lips. "So you've got a shady past? I get that. Honestly, it's kind of cool you were able to put it behind you. I barely even tried, not that I even got the chance to be that bad. A few of my older siblings tried to get away, but Nicholas and Guillaume always dragged them back. Well, except Jean-Paul and Cherie, but fuck them especially. Jean-Paul got Candy killed, and Cherie joined the fucking Slaughterhouse Nine just to get away, the crazy jerk. But as stupid as that was, I can't even say I completely blame her. Daddy made us do some messed up stuff, and–"
"Bonesaw."
She blinks. "What?"
"You don't get it. You don't understand. You're trying to empathize with me, but you shouldn't. You 'did some messed up stuff'? I'm Bonesaw." There. I said it.
Her hands pull away from mine by an inch. "Bonesaw's dead."
I shake my head. "I didn't mean to fake it when I… That's just what the news said."
I've lost. I admitted it, and now I've lost. Everything I've built, all the work I've done on myself, all of my wants for my future: gone. What can I do now? Nothing. There's nothing to be done. There's nowhere to go now. I could have left, I could have lied, I could have killed or let those people die, but I didn't, and now the truth is out, and it's over.
My friend, my bestie, she hates me. No, it's worse than that. She fears me. She's scared of me, and she's right to be. I'm terrible: all the things I've done, the people I've hurt and warped, the joy I took in it all? I had a great time cutting into Emily and rearranging her insides to fit my desire. Chastity finally realized I'm a bigger monster than her daddy ever could be.
I'm a monster. That's all I've ever been and it's all I'll ever be. Any goodness that ever lived in me has long since been scooped out by Jack. No, that's wrong, that makes it sound like he took it when that's not what happened. I gave it to him to dash on the floor. I pulled any goodness out of myself and broke it myself, to make room for the monster I always would have been. And now there's nothing left but this… this sickness. I'm not a person. I'm a cancer. Even when I set out to do good, I couldn't help myself. I didn't think to not hurt people. I experimented on them with my toxins. I wanted to do so much more. I had fun hurting people.
Dimly, underneath all of the heaviness in my mind, I can tell this isn't right. I'm under the effects of a power – Chastity's power: distilled defeat. There's a switch in my mind that I could flip to end it, but I disabled it for a reason. It wouldn't change anything. Not feeling this wouldn't improve the situation. I still came out to her, and she's still rightfully scared of me. Ending her power wouldn't prevent the end of our friendship.
I feel the weight of my wrongs pressing down on me, and I allow it to crush me. I deserve at least this much. This alone is getting off easy. I embrace the loss, as only a damned can do.
Time passes.
"Okay. Talk."
I raise my head at the command and blink away the reductive ennui. A sweaty Chastity stands over me in costume with her hair up and a nasty looking double barrel shotgun in her hands. I'm on the floor. I try to sit up, but I can only move my head. I look down to see an honestly absurd amount of chain, rope, and cord binding me in place: from my chest to my ankles, almost six inches thick in places. I blink. I didn't notice any of this happening. Maybe I've been underestimating her power.
"How long was I out?" I ask.
"Shut up. I'm the one asking the questions here," Chastity says.
She's trying to be tough, but I can hear a tremor in her voice that reminds me that even though the loss I'd felt was artificial, it wasn't incorrect. My friend isn't in front of me. My executioner is. That thought shouldn't make me feel lighter, but it does.
"Okay," I say. "What do you want to know?"
"I said I'm asking questions. Not you." She gestures at me with the gun. Her finger isn't on the trigger. She licks her lips panickingly. "You just talk. You don't ask, you don't try to lie to me, you definitely don't try to get out or mess with me, or I'll blow your brains out; you understand me?"
I nod. It's more like rubbing my cheek against the floor than an actual nod, but it gets the job done.
She swallows. "You're really Bonesaw."
It's not a question. It's an accusation. Still, I answer, "Yes."
"Fuck," she whispers. "Was Bearclaw ever real?"
"Kind of?"
She gestures at me with her gun. "No half answers. What does that mean: 'kind of?'"
"There wasn't some other cape somewhere named Bearclaw. It was always me. I didn't replace someone or anything."
"So this whole time…?"
"Yeah. It's been me."
Chastity looks like she could cry. She bites her lip and glares instead. "Why? What was the point? What were trying to do?"
"That's… that's a big question." I take a moment to think. "I was trying to be better."
"What?" She lowers the gun for a moment at that, but quickly points it back at me. "No seriously, what? I told you no half answers. What the hell does that mean?"
I open my mouth to tell her about what I want and what I was trying to do in this city, but that wouldn't make sense without telling her about my time at the cabin, and starting there would feel like ignoring Aron and the Carpenters, and that wouldn't make sense without telling her how I came to be there. I sigh.
"It's a long story," is what I settle on.
"…You're not going anywhere."
I giggle. "Yeah, I guess not." My humor leaves as I cast my mind back to over a year ago. "It all started when the Nine started to fall apart. The first time I actually feared for… for Jack's life – It's hard to think about that even now. But, the first time was a normal day, just like any other. Sometimes, I think about how this must be how people talk about when we came around; it was a normal day, until suddenly it wasn't, and I was scared."
I tell my story, and Chastity listens with a gun to my head.
…?
Hours later, I finish. I feel hollowed out. Telling it all felt like reliving it all. It hurt, and I didn't even get into everything. Chastity was kind enough to only occasionally pressure me to elaborate, and she only asked the once if I'd ever tinkered on her. She stares at me with a pensive expression as she digests everything, and I wait for the two taps that will release me from it all.
"Fucking hell," she says. She leans back in her seat – she got tired of standing in the first fifteen minutes of my recount – and cusses. "Fucking fuck hell. Are you serious?"
I nod. "Completely."
"So, living with me for four months, going on multiple dates, saving my fucking life at least twice: no time during that did you think you should tell me about all this, but helping a kid control her powers is what made you feel bad enough to admit to me that you're fucking Bonesaw?"
There's a moment of tension before Chastity laughs in my face. I can only watch dumbly as she laughs. She shows no signs of stopping. The gun falls to the floor, and a moment later so does she. I know for a fact I didn't release any giggle-gas; I'm pretty sure I don't even have any in me.
Finally, almost five minutes later, long after her laughter has turned from loud and manic to silent and painful, she stop. Her hands press against her side and she stares up at the ceiling as she heaves for breath. She turns her head to look at me.
"You are such an absolute weirdo, you know that?"
…What? "What?"
"Only you, B. No one but you could have a crisis about being a good person," she says with a smile, still breathing heavily. Then she grimaces. "I can't believe I just called Bonesaw a good person. This is definitely going to take some getting used to."
"I killed someone today. I ripped open his skull and used him for parts. I'm not good," I protest.
"Eh, he was a jerk," she says with a shrug. "And you saved everyone else, so who cares?"
"That's– I've done worse, before; weren't you listening? I've killed– thousands, probably– no, definitely at least thousands. And killing isn't even the worst I've done. I told you about my 'art.'"
"Yeahhh," she drawls with a grimace, "but that was like two years ago or something."
As she sits up and sets her gun down on the table, a horrifying realization settles over me. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"
"Pft. Don't sound so disappointed."
"Then what are you going to do?"
She ponders. "Probably get a glass of water, then order dinner. You feeling Japanese or pizza?"
"Huh?"
"I guess there's that new Ethiopian place we could try, but… Nah. I'm actually really in the mood for pizza. Let's do pizza. Zeppoli's good? You want your usual?"
"What? Chastity, what are you talking about?"
"Dinner. It's late and I'm hungry," she says like she's not in a room with a monster. "How do you feel about a movie while we eat? Oh, how about Twilight? We need to get you ready for Breaking Dawn Part Three next month."
She turns on the television, hooks up her laptop, and searches online for a torrent. I watch her without comprehending. She's not going to kill me. She's not running away or calling the Protectorate about me. She's just sitting there, like it's no big deal. Chastity starts the download, then calls in our usual order at our favorite pizza place.
It's like nothing's changed.
"Pizza should be here in– Oh, shoot, sorry I should probably let you out of all that," she says. She squats down and fiddles with the sporadically placed locks. "I guess I went a little overboard with these, but it's cool, right?"
"Sure. Yeah," I say hesitantly. "Are we cool?"
Chains fall slack, and then so do ropes and cords as she works without answering. I let her think, scared that if I press I'll shatter this not-awful whatever-it-is we have between us right now.
"B… Or should I call you Riley now?"
"Uh." I've never really been Riley, not that I can remember. Telling her to call me that feels… weird. Like ignoring all that separates who I used to be and who I became, forced or by choice. But then, Riley never got a chance to really live. Maybe it's fine to be Riley? "You can call me either."
"Well, B, what you told me was messed up. You gotta admit, you're pretty fucked up. But like…" She gestures vaguely. "I mean I definitely haven't done the sort of shit you've done, but I'm not perfect either. But Bearclaw is probably the best person I've ever met, and I have to believe that that's the real you and you're not pulling a really long con instead, otherwise I have worse taste than Daddy's girls, and they literally had that forced on them. You used to be Bonesaw, and that's… I'm not going to lie, that's definitely not something I ever expected and also incredibly terrifying and I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight, but like, who cares! You're still Bearclaw. You're still cute, and silly, and think way too much about the weirdest things. So yeah. As long as you stay you, we're cool. And if you decide to stop being Bearclaw, well, let me know so I can get the fuck out of there first."
The final binding falls away and I can move again. I can breathe – not that the bindings were preventing that, physically. Things are… okay? I hesitantly sit up and join my best friend on the couch to watch a movie about impossibly inaccurate vampiric parahumans in Washington state. A couch cushion divides us, and neither of us make to bridge that gap right now, but Chastity knows about me and she's still here. It feels impossible, but things are okay.
"Also you should totally never tell anyone else this," she says flippantly. "The Bonesaw thing stays between us."
I force an awkward laugh. "About that…"
"What?"
"I don't know if that's really possible. I didn't exactly clean up after I fixed Emily's brain. The PRT might put it together. They haven't kicked in our door yet, but…"
"Yeah, they're slow about stuff. I guess we shouldn't stay here then, huh? That's fine, this town sucks anyway. We can start over somewhere else, no problem. I've always wanted to see California."
Chastity is trying to shrug it off, but she's not wrong. We could just go. Start over somewhere else. I've done that a bunch, but never with another person. It'll probably be harder than doing it alone, especially if Chastity isn't used to moving around or hiding, but it'd be nice to have her with me.
"Okay," I say. "We can go to California. But not Los Angeles." She gives me a curious look and I elaborate, "Alexandria."
She grimaces and nods. "Good point. No L.A. There's still other cities. We'll go to San Fran, maybe, get a feel for it, and get back to the hero biz."
I almost agree, but her last words make something twinge in my stomach. "Actually, I don't know if I want to do that."
"Which part?"
"The hero part."
Her eyes go wide. "No way – Are we gonna be villains?"
I'm unamused, unsure if she's joking. "Not what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I want to do more than just keep being a vigilante. I know fighting gangs and stuff is good, kind of, but it feels like kiddie stuff and I know I can do more. There has to be something only I can do, some way I can do good that no one else can. I mean, I've hurt people in unique ways; there has to be a way to turn that around and do something good. Right?"
"So… you wanna be like Panacea or something?" Chastity asks.
For a second, I'm almost surprised she knows the name, but then again Panacea has been gaining more fame in the last year. I hope she's okay. Thinking about her makes me feel nostalgic in a way. Can you be nostalgic for a time that never existed? I can't decide whether to smile or frown as I think about my sisterly fantasies with her.
"You know, I wanted her to be my sister, a long while ago. We've got similar powers, and I thought we'd be able to work well together," I muse.
"Wait, similar powers? She's a healer, innit?"
"Biokinetic, actually. As long as it's made of living, organic matter, she can do pretty much anything with it," I clarify. From Chastity's expression, I can tell she doesn't fully grasp what that means, but that's fine. "I figured we could work together; I could do big and cool tinkery stuff, and she could smooth out the wrinkles and make everything work perfectly."
"Is that something you still want to do? Meet Panacea? Collab with her?"
"I don't know. Maybe. But she'd never go for it. All she does is heal, and I… I don't want to be the type of person who's willing to break her into doing more, even if I think she should." I plode. "I don't know how she even does it, honestly. I'm getting antsy to flex my power more and I've been using it for stuff.
"That's one thing I know, at least. Doing what I did to Emily was the most satisfied I've felt in… a long time. If nothing else, I know I don't want to keep only working on myself. It was so much fun doing what I used to do, making interesting projects and pioneering parahuman research. I was so close to figuring out the passengers, I just know it, but I'd need a good way to get people for that and I just don't know how I'd do that."
Chastity frowns thoughtfully before proposing, "Kidnapping?"
"What? No!" I snap. "I said 'good.' Kidnapping is bad, Chastity."
"I'm sorry, okay," she snaps back, throwing her hands up. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around having been dating Bonesaw for two months! This is a lot and I don't have the brainspace to figure everything out right now. And honestly I am handling this situation spec-tac-ularly for what it is."
I feel the urge to point out again that we still aren't dating, but I let it slide. She's going through enough right now and is being weirdly good about this thing on the whole. "You're right. Sorry."
She frowns a wiggly, uncertain frown that consumes half-formed thoughts before they make it to spoken word. She didn't expect agreement, I guess. I give her time to find her rhetorical feet. She sighs.
"So… What?" she asks with a scowl. "What do you want to do?"
It's a big question. It's not just about whether I start over or not, but who I want to be if I do. I know a lot of what I don't want, but what that leaves isn't obvious to me. I think about how to answer her for a while. I think about all I've done as far back as I can remember. I think about everything I learned about good and bad and myself. I think about all that I still don't know. I think about the things I think I might want, and the things I know I don't. I think about all the big things that I could fix: bottle Butcher, neuter Nilbog, contain Crawler, expose the passengers. I think about my best friend, Chastity, and how nice it is to have a bestie who actually cares about actual me.
There's really only one way I can answer the question.
"Honestly, I'm not really sure," I admit. "Can we figure it out together?"
A bark of laughter escapes her, tired and manic. Chastity smiles at me, and even though it's obviously forced, I'm certain it's genuine too. "How could I say no?"
Riley and Chastity, together.
End of Book One
End of Book One
the 'end of book one' thing isn't me announcing a sequel, it's just me saying that Riley's story doesn't end here. "Riley, Alone" is done because she's no longer alone. I'd done "end of arc one" and "end of part one" previously, and that's because while chapters of our lives do come to a close, there's never really the start of something new; whatever comes next, we carry ourselves with us, and that means nothing really ends until it all ends. Until that final ending, every day is a new beginning. Every day is a new chapter one, with just a bit more of a prologue backing it. This is probably all navelgazing philosophical nonsense, but yeah.
That end thing ties in with the 'riley and chastity, together' thing just before then btw. I'd been using the name of Riley's current family (S9, Carpenter, …?) as scene breaks this whole story, and now her family is Chastity. Whatever comes next, Chastity will be there with Riley.
Other than that… The end, I guess. It's been fun putting this story out and getting the response I have. Writing it was fun and it was rushed as hell, but I think it came out pretty well. As similar as their powers are, Riley and Amy are so entirely different as characters, it was a trip switching from Amy-brain to Riley-brain, and it was just as wild to switch back. I definitely prefer Amy-brain; as much as Amy sucks to be, it's easier and more natural for me to be her.
To all my readers who have been with this since January, thank you for reading and commenting and sticking with this. You've all been so kind and gentle, and I was mad anxious about this story. Genuinely and sincerely: thank you for reading. I love you.
And to all those who waited six months to binge read this: thanks for finally reading. Hope you enjoyed it. If you want me to love you as much as the long time readers, you have to comment and tell me how you liked the story ;P
Edit: I forgot to mention: Desperate Times call for Desperate Pleasures will be returning next week for its regularly scheduled release, semiweekly.
That end thing ties in with the 'riley and chastity, together' thing just before then btw. I'd been using the name of Riley's current family (S9, Carpenter, …?) as scene breaks this whole story, and now her family is Chastity. Whatever comes next, Chastity will be there with Riley.
Other than that… The end, I guess. It's been fun putting this story out and getting the response I have. Writing it was fun and it was rushed as hell, but I think it came out pretty well. As similar as their powers are, Riley and Amy are so entirely different as characters, it was a trip switching from Amy-brain to Riley-brain, and it was just as wild to switch back. I definitely prefer Amy-brain; as much as Amy sucks to be, it's easier and more natural for me to be her.
To all my readers who have been with this since January, thank you for reading and commenting and sticking with this. You've all been so kind and gentle, and I was mad anxious about this story. Genuinely and sincerely: thank you for reading. I love you.
And to all those who waited six months to binge read this: thanks for finally reading. Hope you enjoyed it. If you want me to love you as much as the long time readers, you have to comment and tell me how you liked the story ;P
Edit: I forgot to mention: Desperate Times call for Desperate Pleasures will be returning next week for its regularly scheduled release, semiweekly.
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This is, hands down, the best Bonesaw redemption story I have ever read. I think it might even be the best Bonesaw story on the site, but I haven't read all of them so I can't say for certain.
What I'm trying to say is that this fanfic is gold, you are a fantastic author, and I can't wait to see what story you decide to write next.
What I'm trying to say is that this fanfic is gold, you are a fantastic author, and I can't wait to see what story you decide to write next.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
That's really sweet of you to say, thank you. Riley deserves a soft ending. She killed a lot of people, but also she was just six years old trying to survive. Riley deserves softness.
Next up on the release schedule is more Desperate Times Call for Desperate Pleasures. I'll be dropping chapter 18 next week, and updating semiweekly after that.
Lol
Well, I can't quite remember if I was here from the start, but you did a darn good job of writing Bonesaw. I've never been this emotionally attached to a former mass murderer in my life. Congratulations, I guess!
Also, thanks! I love you too, warts and all.
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- Location
- Minnesota
- Pronouns
- She/Her
This was lovely! Really enjoyed reading this as it came out; a definite highlight of my weekend since I picked it up.
I don't have much to add, except that it was really nice to end with acceptance like this. Very heartwarming, it feels like Riley and Chastity can be good for one another.
I don't have much to add, except that it was really nice to end with acceptance like this. Very heartwarming, it feels like Riley and Chastity can be good for one another.
dragonx99
Actually Satan
This was a wonderful story and I have greatly enjoyed every chapter. I really have enjoyed watching Riley's slow development from where she started to the uncertain place where she is now, and i hope that whatever comes next for her and Chastity it goes well and lets Riley become the person she wants to be.
Which I guess I can just decide in my head it does if we don't get a sequel story~
I'm happy that you took the break from Desperate Pleasures to work on this, and I'm happy that it seems to have been an enjoyable experience for you. Though I won't deny that the knowledge that Desperate Pleasure is coming back does quite a bit to smooth over the bittersweetness of seeing an enjoyable ending like this.
Which I guess I can just decide in my head it does if we don't get a sequel story~
I'm happy that you took the break from Desperate Pleasures to work on this, and I'm happy that it seems to have been an enjoyable experience for you. Though I won't deny that the knowledge that Desperate Pleasure is coming back does quite a bit to smooth over the bittersweetness of seeing an enjoyable ending like this.
If it was anyone else it might be a harder sell.
But Chasity knows all about a kid being under the power of a monster who knew every button to push, every chain to yank until chance catches up and brings freedom and utter confusion because you have no reference point for normal and anyone you ask might just kill you to be safe.
.
Not so different after all.
R3N41SS4NC3
Professional Carol Understander
- Pronouns
- It/Its
there's no book two, that was just a philosophical meta framing device. I explain better in the a/n. Sorry to disappoint, but this is all of this story I have in me. While it's fun to imagine the aftermath to this story, happiness is too profoundly boring of a concept for me to write.A happy ending for Book One. Looking forward to Book Two.
i've smiled upon seeing each of your comments on this fic as it updating. I really hope Riley and Chastity can be good with and for each other. I like to imagine them creating happiness together.
it was a nice time leading Riley through this journey and swinging a metal chair at her every time she regained her footing.
You have as much authority to decide what comes next as I do; maybe Riley does get to become who it wants to be. I'd like that.
taking that break from dtdp was much needed tbh. It let me decompress from that story and get back to it with fresh eyes and excited fingers. I'm happy to start sharing that again.
When I was figuring out who to slot into the space of "Riley's friend in the final arc," it was always going to be a character like that, of a similar age. I'd considered Rune, which would have given a nice look into the happenings of BB sans s9, but decided she gets too much attention in redemption; similar problem with this fandom and nazis in general. There were another couple on the short list, but Chastity won out and I'm glad she did. Idk how in character I wrote her, but I had fun doing it, and I think she came out well.
Well, this was thoroughly... charming doesn't feel like the right word. Satisfying? Hm.
I think, to crib from a pun I made earlier in the thread: This story feels just right, in the Goldilocks sense. Not too grim and hopeless, but not too saccharine and easy. It didn't feel the need to have all the answers or solve all her problems, and having those missteps or moments of "I have no idea what to do now" are what makes this work as a character arc and study.
For me, this is the fic to point to when someone asks for a Bonesaw redemption story. The true epitome of what that story needs to be to do Riley justice as a character. I'm glad it ended on a positive note. It definitely felt up in the air at points.
Chastity was a good pick for Riley's partner, and I think the decision not to use Rune was correct. It feels very similar on paper, but something about it just doesn't work, beyond the meta aspect of weird Worm fixfic Nazi apologia tendencies. Chastity felt new and fresh as a character in a way that Rune wouldn't, and I liked their dynamic as a duo. I think that element of unpredictability to who Chastity was and how she reacted to Riley (and by extension how she reacted to the reveal), wasn't something Rune would have brought to the table. Feeling that unpredictability as a reader made Riley's internal conflict more compelling and palpable. We didn't know how the chips were gonna fall at the end.
Looking forward to Desperate Pleasures returning. Some days you really just need a 10k word trashfire chapter to really put things in perspective. Chastity literally pointed a shotgun at Riley's face, and Riley doesn't consider them dating, and their relationship is still INFINITY TIMES A THOUSAND times healthier than whatever the fuck Taylor and Amy are doing in Dtdp.
I think, to crib from a pun I made earlier in the thread: This story feels just right, in the Goldilocks sense. Not too grim and hopeless, but not too saccharine and easy. It didn't feel the need to have all the answers or solve all her problems, and having those missteps or moments of "I have no idea what to do now" are what makes this work as a character arc and study.
For me, this is the fic to point to when someone asks for a Bonesaw redemption story. The true epitome of what that story needs to be to do Riley justice as a character. I'm glad it ended on a positive note. It definitely felt up in the air at points.
Chastity was a good pick for Riley's partner, and I think the decision not to use Rune was correct. It feels very similar on paper, but something about it just doesn't work, beyond the meta aspect of weird Worm fixfic Nazi apologia tendencies. Chastity felt new and fresh as a character in a way that Rune wouldn't, and I liked their dynamic as a duo. I think that element of unpredictability to who Chastity was and how she reacted to Riley (and by extension how she reacted to the reveal), wasn't something Rune would have brought to the table. Feeling that unpredictability as a reader made Riley's internal conflict more compelling and palpable. We didn't know how the chips were gonna fall at the end.
Looking forward to Desperate Pleasures returning. Some days you really just need a 10k word trashfire chapter to really put things in perspective. Chastity literally pointed a shotgun at Riley's face, and Riley doesn't consider them dating, and their relationship is still INFINITY TIMES A THOUSAND times healthier than whatever the fuck Taylor and Amy are doing in Dtdp.