Taylor triggers, not in the locker, but in Principal Blackwell's office afterwards. Different stressors, different powers, very different story.
System Administrator (Worm) (AltPower!Taylor)
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Foreword
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
(Worm belongs to Wildbow, not me, and just as in general fanfictions are not a problem with IP rights, I hope that mine will be no exception. Should Wildbow contact me in anger, this work shall disappear in contrition.)
This is my first attempt at writing anything, so please, any advice, phrase it maximally rudely if it suits you. (Honestly I would love the help [and omake], but the rudeness thing is a joke. I like nice, helpful critics.)
In all seriousness, I have never written before, but I've got this great idea for a Worm altpower that's just gotta become words. This is to be set in an AU about halfway between canon and CmptrWiz's Mauling Snarks, (apologies for secondary IP infringement), and my aim is to make it somewhat grimdark like canon, but slow-paced and process-focused like Mauling Snarks is. If you do not like Mauling Snarks for the pacing, or you do not like canon Worm for the darkness, then you will not like this. That said, Taylor will be winning more here than in canon, kind of like in Taylor Varga, so if that's a problem, sorry. Anyhow. I can delay no longer. I present to you:
System Administrator
This is my first attempt at writing anything, so please, any advice, phrase it maximally rudely if it suits you. (Honestly I would love the help [and omake], but the rudeness thing is a joke. I like nice, helpful critics.)
In all seriousness, I have never written before, but I've got this great idea for a Worm altpower that's just gotta become words. This is to be set in an AU about halfway between canon and CmptrWiz's Mauling Snarks, (apologies for secondary IP infringement), and my aim is to make it somewhat grimdark like canon, but slow-paced and process-focused like Mauling Snarks is. If you do not like Mauling Snarks for the pacing, or you do not like canon Worm for the darkness, then you will not like this. That said, Taylor will be winning more here than in canon, kind of like in Taylor Varga, so if that's a problem, sorry. Anyhow. I can delay no longer. I present to you:
System Administrator
Console 1.1
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
I woke up late that morning. I guess I shouldn't have stayed up late on PHO last night, or I was dreading going back to the Trio, even in my sleep, or maybe that's why I stayed up so late. In retrospect, I should have slept later.
I was already late, that morning, so I skipped breakfast, missed the bus, and ran to school. The secretary at the front desk waited for me to ask twice for a late pass, then looked annoyed as she wrote it. As I walked to my locker, I slowly realized the scent of something wrong wasn't just in my head- something was wrong. Dreading what I'd find, I walked to it, opened it, saw the oozing, stinking, crawling–
It was at that point that Sophia picked me up, rammed me in, breaking my flailing arm, mashing my scream against the wet metal, and closed the door on my spine.
The next thing I remember is the ceiling of the hospital and the vacant, annoyed eyes of a girl in robes. "What's wrong?" My voice sounded like gravel. I turned my head - stiff neck - and saw a glass of water on the table next to me, my dad behind it, red-eyed, haunted. The girl in the robes – Panacea, Amy Dallon, it must be, I'd seen her picture on PHO – kept her detached expression as she told me
"You had severe infections, blood loss, cascading organ failure, insects consuming your flesh, a minor concussion, and nearsightedness. I cleaned your system, repaired your organs and limbs, and fixed the nearsightedness. I had to use your existing fat stores and muscles. You won't have enough strength left to move. You keep the concussion – I don't do brains."
She turned, walked out the door. I hadn't been asking what was wrong with me, but she was gone already.
"Dad."
"Yes, Taylor..." He seemed unsure, devastated. He was like this after Mom died, I think.
"Help? Water?"
Now he grabbed the glass, lifted it to my face, almost eagerly. Why couldn't he have helped a year ago? Even as I thought it I felt disgusting. I'd never told him. He should have suspected, I should have told him, it was my fault, mostly.
"I'm sorry. I never told you." So I told him.
I told him the whole dirty story. How I'd come back from camp, how Emma had ripped us in two, then reached into me, ripped what was left of us to splinters, and hurt me with them. What they'd done to my homework. The Flute. The horrible emails, the comments in the hall, every day, every hour. The endless abuse. The willful ignorance of the administration, the teachers. The Locker. The end.
He had to excuse himself a few times, during that. I could hear the shouting, screaming, cursing, down the hall.
"Dad. What do we do?"
I was already late, that morning, so I skipped breakfast, missed the bus, and ran to school. The secretary at the front desk waited for me to ask twice for a late pass, then looked annoyed as she wrote it. As I walked to my locker, I slowly realized the scent of something wrong wasn't just in my head- something was wrong. Dreading what I'd find, I walked to it, opened it, saw the oozing, stinking, crawling–
It was at that point that Sophia picked me up, rammed me in, breaking my flailing arm, mashing my scream against the wet metal, and closed the door on my spine.
The next thing I remember is the ceiling of the hospital and the vacant, annoyed eyes of a girl in robes. "What's wrong?" My voice sounded like gravel. I turned my head - stiff neck - and saw a glass of water on the table next to me, my dad behind it, red-eyed, haunted. The girl in the robes – Panacea, Amy Dallon, it must be, I'd seen her picture on PHO – kept her detached expression as she told me
"You had severe infections, blood loss, cascading organ failure, insects consuming your flesh, a minor concussion, and nearsightedness. I cleaned your system, repaired your organs and limbs, and fixed the nearsightedness. I had to use your existing fat stores and muscles. You won't have enough strength left to move. You keep the concussion – I don't do brains."
She turned, walked out the door. I hadn't been asking what was wrong with me, but she was gone already.
"Dad."
"Yes, Taylor..." He seemed unsure, devastated. He was like this after Mom died, I think.
"Help? Water?"
Now he grabbed the glass, lifted it to my face, almost eagerly. Why couldn't he have helped a year ago? Even as I thought it I felt disgusting. I'd never told him. He should have suspected, I should have told him, it was my fault, mostly.
"I'm sorry. I never told you." So I told him.
I told him the whole dirty story. How I'd come back from camp, how Emma had ripped us in two, then reached into me, ripped what was left of us to splinters, and hurt me with them. What they'd done to my homework. The Flute. The horrible emails, the comments in the hall, every day, every hour. The endless abuse. The willful ignorance of the administration, the teachers. The Locker. The end.
He had to excuse himself a few times, during that. I could hear the shouting, screaming, cursing, down the hall.
"Dad. What do we do?"
Console 1.2
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
It was two days before the hospital let me go, two days immobile in that white bed staring at that white ceiling eating that white food trying to move my limbs even a little bit and I was SO ready to leave. I wanted out, and in two days I finally got it. I still couldn't move more than wiggling my toes and fingers weakly, so we got a wheelchair as a parting gift to take into the car home with us. I say gift. Really, it was added to the bill along with the four days in the hospital bed, two unconscious and on life support, the dialysis, blood tests, the surgeries, the parahuman healing, the food, probably the kind looks the nurses gave cost upwards of $300 each. I would need physical therapy, too.
Europe was a trash fire, slowly burning down. If Gesellschaft didn't get you, and the Blasphemies weren't waiting around the corner for you, there was more than enough other crime to be an issue. But Brockton Bay wasn't much better, for safety, and at least when you wound up in a hospital in Europe you didn't sprain your back anew under the debt piled on in your stay. We were in debt, so much debt. I asked Dad how much I'd cost him and he got a pained look on his face for a moment, before he hugged me and told me not to worry about that, he's just thankful I'm ok.
I'm not ok.
I'm at home, with a weekend ahead of me before I have to go back to Winslow. Back, in my wheelchair, without being able to so much as move. Back into that Hell, where the Bitches are.
I'm not ok.
Panacea said she'd had to use my muscles to heal me, but I hadn't realized at the time how much that meant. She hadn't used my heart, or my diaphragm, or my neck muscles or jaw muscles or tongue. She had, however, used all but a strand of every muscle on every limb, and every scrap of fat. The chart said my appetite would be temporarily higher to deal with that, so it was a good thing that eating was still on the list of actions I was capable of, along with talking and carefully turning my head.
I was so bored.
I'd been in the locker for a whole day before a vandal found me, or so I'd been told. I wasn't conscious for all that. Dad had been worried sick. The hospital had me for the next four, unconscious until Panacea could get to me. When I got home it was Friday night. So it was a weekend, or precisely fifty-eight hours, before I was forced to go to the worst place in the world. And until then, I was bored.
I got Dad to tape my arms to the desk and put the keyboard of our crappy old desktop under my fingers, so at least I could do the homework that the teachers hadn't remembered to exempt me from. And browse the internet. The internet saved me, that weekend.
Mrs. Knott was my favorite teacher, since computers was my favorite class. Maybe the other way around. She let me take a seat that could see the door, with my back to the wall, and when I invariably finished the assignment early, she didn't just let me goof off the rest of the period; she gave me new ideas to try, harder assignments to experiment with. She also brooked no nonsense from Madison, who shared the class. Once, after Madison left soap on my seat, she threatened detention if she didn't clean it off. None of the other teachers ever helped like that. Or at all.
So with my fingertips on the keyboard, I knew which teacher I wanted proud of me, of what I could do. I spent that weekend teaching myself to code. I learned how to navigate the filesystem, how to write useful little snippets, how to steal from StackOverflow and look good doing it. I learned that I really ought to be commenting more, but I didn't learn to believe the user who told me that.
It distracted me from living in my head. It wasn't a nice place, in my head. I was planning how to deal with the school, with the Bitches, with the Barnes' money, with the Principal's power. I wanted revenge, or justice, or safety, or somebody on my side.
I got what I wanted, technically, on Monday.
I was up early in the morning – I slept on Dad's schedule, now – and he put me in the car, along with a copy of my journal and the printed emails and every scrap of evidence I had saved up for a year. And the wheelchair. We drove there. He got me out of the car, into the wheelchair. I could move my hands to the wheels myself, now, although I still had no ability to push them. I was keeping up my physical therapy, trying harder than I'd ever tried at anything before to rebuild my muscles. When they're back I'll take up running, learn to fight if I can afford it. I'll never be helpless again. Never.
Dad had to push me for now, though. We went in the doors, set off the metal detector with the wheelchair. More indignity. We went to the office. Dad asked the secretary why the Principal had required me to come in so soon after the hospital.
"Sorry, what's your name?" She looked down at me, some kind of sick amusement in her eyes. I glared back at her.
"Danny Hebert, I'm Taylor Hebert's father. You know her, I'm certain, from the many times she's filed bullying complaints and transfer applications. The principal demanded she come to school today. Is there a meeting she needs to be in?"
She looked further down, at the open planner showing an appointment with his name and mine in it, and made a show of looking. "Ah, yes, you have an appointment now. I will lead her to the room."
She set off towards a hallway left of her desk, only to stop as Dad pushed me in that direction. "I'm sure Taylor can make her own way to the meeting."
I wanted to snarl at her. Dad smiled. If I hadn't known him so well, I'd think he smiled pleasantly.
"She can't, actually, and in any case if my daughter is having a meeting with the Principal I am sure her father is not excluded. Or we can go, if you like."
The secretary scowled and led us to the door.
It was a large conference room. There was an oval table in the center, and on one side of it was the Principal, Mr. Gladly and my other teachers, Sophia Fucking Hess and her mother, Emma and Alan, Madison and both her parents, and even the secretary sat down and opened a notebook. There were no more chairs on that side.
On what was clearly my side of the table, there were two chairs, one of which was filled by Mrs. Knott. I looked at her and shakily forced a smile. Dad wheeled me to the table and sat in the remaining chair. He spoke.
"So you've finally decided to do something about those three bullies? It's a pity you couldn't have done that before they attempted to murder my daughter."
There was no give in his voice. It had all the yielding gentleness of an iceberg halfway through a steel hull.
Mrs. Blackwell was the captain of the Titanic, then.
"I don't know what you mean by that. These young ladies are here because your daughter insists on accusing them in her vendetta of lies, and I am preempting that by inviting them and their parents to come to their defense. No, we are here because of the vandalism your daughter perpetrated against Winslow school property last Monday."
What.
Europe was a trash fire, slowly burning down. If Gesellschaft didn't get you, and the Blasphemies weren't waiting around the corner for you, there was more than enough other crime to be an issue. But Brockton Bay wasn't much better, for safety, and at least when you wound up in a hospital in Europe you didn't sprain your back anew under the debt piled on in your stay. We were in debt, so much debt. I asked Dad how much I'd cost him and he got a pained look on his face for a moment, before he hugged me and told me not to worry about that, he's just thankful I'm ok.
I'm not ok.
I'm at home, with a weekend ahead of me before I have to go back to Winslow. Back, in my wheelchair, without being able to so much as move. Back into that Hell, where the Bitches are.
I'm not ok.
Panacea said she'd had to use my muscles to heal me, but I hadn't realized at the time how much that meant. She hadn't used my heart, or my diaphragm, or my neck muscles or jaw muscles or tongue. She had, however, used all but a strand of every muscle on every limb, and every scrap of fat. The chart said my appetite would be temporarily higher to deal with that, so it was a good thing that eating was still on the list of actions I was capable of, along with talking and carefully turning my head.
I was so bored.
I'd been in the locker for a whole day before a vandal found me, or so I'd been told. I wasn't conscious for all that. Dad had been worried sick. The hospital had me for the next four, unconscious until Panacea could get to me. When I got home it was Friday night. So it was a weekend, or precisely fifty-eight hours, before I was forced to go to the worst place in the world. And until then, I was bored.
I got Dad to tape my arms to the desk and put the keyboard of our crappy old desktop under my fingers, so at least I could do the homework that the teachers hadn't remembered to exempt me from. And browse the internet. The internet saved me, that weekend.
Mrs. Knott was my favorite teacher, since computers was my favorite class. Maybe the other way around. She let me take a seat that could see the door, with my back to the wall, and when I invariably finished the assignment early, she didn't just let me goof off the rest of the period; she gave me new ideas to try, harder assignments to experiment with. She also brooked no nonsense from Madison, who shared the class. Once, after Madison left soap on my seat, she threatened detention if she didn't clean it off. None of the other teachers ever helped like that. Or at all.
So with my fingertips on the keyboard, I knew which teacher I wanted proud of me, of what I could do. I spent that weekend teaching myself to code. I learned how to navigate the filesystem, how to write useful little snippets, how to steal from StackOverflow and look good doing it. I learned that I really ought to be commenting more, but I didn't learn to believe the user who told me that.
It distracted me from living in my head. It wasn't a nice place, in my head. I was planning how to deal with the school, with the Bitches, with the Barnes' money, with the Principal's power. I wanted revenge, or justice, or safety, or somebody on my side.
I got what I wanted, technically, on Monday.
I was up early in the morning – I slept on Dad's schedule, now – and he put me in the car, along with a copy of my journal and the printed emails and every scrap of evidence I had saved up for a year. And the wheelchair. We drove there. He got me out of the car, into the wheelchair. I could move my hands to the wheels myself, now, although I still had no ability to push them. I was keeping up my physical therapy, trying harder than I'd ever tried at anything before to rebuild my muscles. When they're back I'll take up running, learn to fight if I can afford it. I'll never be helpless again. Never.
Dad had to push me for now, though. We went in the doors, set off the metal detector with the wheelchair. More indignity. We went to the office. Dad asked the secretary why the Principal had required me to come in so soon after the hospital.
"Sorry, what's your name?" She looked down at me, some kind of sick amusement in her eyes. I glared back at her.
"Danny Hebert, I'm Taylor Hebert's father. You know her, I'm certain, from the many times she's filed bullying complaints and transfer applications. The principal demanded she come to school today. Is there a meeting she needs to be in?"
She looked further down, at the open planner showing an appointment with his name and mine in it, and made a show of looking. "Ah, yes, you have an appointment now. I will lead her to the room."
She set off towards a hallway left of her desk, only to stop as Dad pushed me in that direction. "I'm sure Taylor can make her own way to the meeting."
I wanted to snarl at her. Dad smiled. If I hadn't known him so well, I'd think he smiled pleasantly.
"She can't, actually, and in any case if my daughter is having a meeting with the Principal I am sure her father is not excluded. Or we can go, if you like."
The secretary scowled and led us to the door.
It was a large conference room. There was an oval table in the center, and on one side of it was the Principal, Mr. Gladly and my other teachers, Sophia Fucking Hess and her mother, Emma and Alan, Madison and both her parents, and even the secretary sat down and opened a notebook. There were no more chairs on that side.
On what was clearly my side of the table, there were two chairs, one of which was filled by Mrs. Knott. I looked at her and shakily forced a smile. Dad wheeled me to the table and sat in the remaining chair. He spoke.
"So you've finally decided to do something about those three bullies? It's a pity you couldn't have done that before they attempted to murder my daughter."
There was no give in his voice. It had all the yielding gentleness of an iceberg halfway through a steel hull.
Mrs. Blackwell was the captain of the Titanic, then.
"I don't know what you mean by that. These young ladies are here because your daughter insists on accusing them in her vendetta of lies, and I am preempting that by inviting them and their parents to come to their defense. No, we are here because of the vandalism your daughter perpetrated against Winslow school property last Monday."
What.
Console 1.3
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
She.
What.
I
She thinks I
no
She knows
Has to know
Sophia smirking sophia
Emma smiling showing teeth
hates me
Madison... looking down? Madison shame?
WHY blackwell
you KNOW
you know what happened
You KNOW who locked me into that locker!
Oops, I shouted that last bit aloud, they're all looking at me. Too angry to care. I snarled at Blackwell,
"You know they put that shit in my locker, you know they locked me into it, you know they tried to kill me, why don't you CARE, what is WRONG WITH YOU"
The last bit was a wheeze, I was out of air in my lungs. Dad put his arm around my shoulders, but the end of it was a fist.
"Ms. Hebert, keep your language civil. We do not use words like that in this school."
my
language
"As for what I know? I know that you have been making unsubstantiated accusations about these three model students since you came to this school, and never once have you proven any of it. You had no evidence and you still have no evidence, and nothing points to them. You, on the other hand? You have several times pulled self-sacrificing stunts like this, to try to accuse them. Yes. You put that into your locker."
"You think I locked myself in there?"
"Ms. Hebert, you are suspended for a week for your behavior. I hope I do not have to take further disciplinary action to address your vendetta."
What is WRONG with her? What is WRONG with this school? Why? They all hate me, why? Nobody believes me, I don't underst–
huh
what
I'm in the parking lot?
Drooling on my shirt, next to the car. How?
Dad looks down at me, concerned. I look back at him, and suddenly I understand our family, I understand what's wrong, it's simple.
Since when was it simple?
We are in the parking lot, I look at the school, I want to ask what happened, but then I see it
well
I don't really see it exactly
But I look at the school and I can tell it is a SYSTEM and specifically a SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED and I can see the SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED.CENTER.LOCATION(). It's behind the doors, 127 meters away. Principal's office.
It should really be confusing but instead it's sensible, it shouldn't be but it is, like another sight or taste that just feeds right into my brain like the other senses, and I am not confused.
Surprised, though, sure.
It takes me a moment, but I ask Dad "What happened? I was so mad..."
He understands. We drive home.
--Danny--
"–address your vendetta."
This piece of human garbage. This, using Dad's words, REMF. This absolute psychopathic dumpster fire walking around in human skin. Is. Accusing my daughter. Of putting herself. In the hospital.
I swear if there were not witnesses I would have killed her then, with my own hands.
And Emma is on the other side of the table, smirking. A week ago I would have considered her as my own daughter. Then she put Taylor in the hospital, and I got to see her Notebook, and now I know that that status ended two years ago.
It still hurt.
And she was smirking.
And Alan, my FRIEND, was protecting her.
I guess I would never believe what Emma did of Taylor, I would protect her no matter what.
But still.
it hurts.
And Sophia, Sophia isn't even paying attention.
How dare
I will protect my daughter.
"So, just to be clear, this is you suspending my daughter for being trapped by unknown assailants inside her locker with dangerous biological waste for eleven hours last week? Can you put that in writing for me?"
I thought I kept it together pretty well. I don't want to make Taylor lash out. Looking over, though, she's sort of crumpled inwards. fuck you, blackwell. Taylor wouldn't have missed the sharp tone in my voice, though.
Blackwell clearly thought I kept it together better than I had, since she somehow managed a civil tone in response: "Absolutely, Mr. Hebert, although I must stress, she was responsible for this incident."
She has no idea how close she is to death.
Breathe, Danny.
"And I am sure you will turn over all evidence to the police, for their inevitable attempted murder investigation?"
"Mr. Hebert, as I explained to my friend the Captain, this was a sad example of a troubled student lashing out and hurting themselves in the process."
"...Fine. Then get me the suspension, the reason for it, and your account of the entire situation in writing by the end of the day, and I am sure we can keep this out of the press."
I was lying through my teeth, of course. I will plaster this on every telephone pole and mail it to every subscriber of every newspaper in the region, I will destroy them. But why would Blackwell wonder why I'd want to keep this out of the press, she's too stupid – "Very well, Mr. Hebert" – just as expected. It didn't matter if she sent it, anyway. I opened the door and wheeled Taylor out. I didn't shake her hand as I left. I had what I wanted.
Another week of freedom. Honestly, a blessing. I don't want to go back to hell.
When Dad told me what he'd said in there, I paid attention. There's a gap between us, ugly like a ravine, and it's splitting up our SYSTEM.NODAL– I mean family. It's splitting us up, and I can feel it plain as anything when he's near. So I listened to what happened, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.
And then he showed me his tape recorder.
He recorded the whole meeting. He had RECORDED it. We had Proof! He must have seen the excitement in my eyes.
"Hold on a moment, little owl. We can't just give this to the police or anything. It's illegal to record like this, without telling them ahead of time. But we can drop a copy in a newspaper's In tray, anonymously, and see what happens. It's not very damning on its own, though." He chuckled sadly.
I didn't care. It was proof! And Dad was on my side, he had my back, and I was protected. Dad was protecting me.
I nearly told him, right there, why I "fainted". I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I just felt he couldn't know what had happened to me until I knew for sure?
Instead, I asked him to play a game with me. We played chess, with him moving the pieces. I managed to make my own moves three times, though, along the edge of the board so the table could support my arm.
Later that day, I got bored of trouncing Dad, and he got bored of being beaten and made lunch instead. It was nice, having him around, be really here. I got my hands up on the desk and got on the computer, accessing PHO.
And my extra sense lit up.
Wow.
I understand PHO. Completely, totally. I could feel the local servers that hosted it, kilometers away in Boston. I could feel the international servers in Canada. I could feel every computer connected to it, every account, I knew it all. I sat stunned, staring. Oh, wow.
It was huge. My brain couldn't really handle it, I couldn't move, couldn't feel my own thoughts properly, the only bright thing in my mind was the vast, sprawling system. As if in a dream, I input my passcode, and logged on.
What.
I
She thinks I
no
She knows
Has to know
Sophia smirking sophia
Emma smiling showing teeth
hates me
Madison... looking down? Madison shame?
WHY blackwell
you KNOW
you know what happened
You KNOW who locked me into that locker!
Oops, I shouted that last bit aloud, they're all looking at me. Too angry to care. I snarled at Blackwell,
"You know they put that shit in my locker, you know they locked me into it, you know they tried to kill me, why don't you CARE, what is WRONG WITH YOU"
The last bit was a wheeze, I was out of air in my lungs. Dad put his arm around my shoulders, but the end of it was a fist.
"Ms. Hebert, keep your language civil. We do not use words like that in this school."
my
language
"As for what I know? I know that you have been making unsubstantiated accusations about these three model students since you came to this school, and never once have you proven any of it. You had no evidence and you still have no evidence, and nothing points to them. You, on the other hand? You have several times pulled self-sacrificing stunts like this, to try to accuse them. Yes. You put that into your locker."
"You think I locked myself in there?"
"Ms. Hebert, you are suspended for a week for your behavior. I hope I do not have to take further disciplinary action to address your vendetta."
What is WRONG with her? What is WRONG with this school? Why? They all hate me, why? Nobody believes me, I don't underst–
huh
what
I'm in the parking lot?
Drooling on my shirt, next to the car. How?
Dad looks down at me, concerned. I look back at him, and suddenly I understand our family, I understand what's wrong, it's simple.
Since when was it simple?
We are in the parking lot, I look at the school, I want to ask what happened, but then I see it
well
I don't really see it exactly
But I look at the school and I can tell it is a SYSTEM and specifically a SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED and I can see the SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED.CENTER.LOCATION(). It's behind the doors, 127 meters away. Principal's office.
It should really be confusing but instead it's sensible, it shouldn't be but it is, like another sight or taste that just feeds right into my brain like the other senses, and I am not confused.
Surprised, though, sure.
It takes me a moment, but I ask Dad "What happened? I was so mad..."
He understands. We drive home.
--Danny--
"–address your vendetta."
This piece of human garbage. This, using Dad's words, REMF. This absolute psychopathic dumpster fire walking around in human skin. Is. Accusing my daughter. Of putting herself. In the hospital.
I swear if there were not witnesses I would have killed her then, with my own hands.
And Emma is on the other side of the table, smirking. A week ago I would have considered her as my own daughter. Then she put Taylor in the hospital, and I got to see her Notebook, and now I know that that status ended two years ago.
It still hurt.
And she was smirking.
And Alan, my FRIEND, was protecting her.
I guess I would never believe what Emma did of Taylor, I would protect her no matter what.
But still.
it hurts.
And Sophia, Sophia isn't even paying attention.
How dare
I will protect my daughter.
"So, just to be clear, this is you suspending my daughter for being trapped by unknown assailants inside her locker with dangerous biological waste for eleven hours last week? Can you put that in writing for me?"
I thought I kept it together pretty well. I don't want to make Taylor lash out. Looking over, though, she's sort of crumpled inwards. fuck you, blackwell. Taylor wouldn't have missed the sharp tone in my voice, though.
Blackwell clearly thought I kept it together better than I had, since she somehow managed a civil tone in response: "Absolutely, Mr. Hebert, although I must stress, she was responsible for this incident."
She has no idea how close she is to death.
Breathe, Danny.
"And I am sure you will turn over all evidence to the police, for their inevitable attempted murder investigation?"
"Mr. Hebert, as I explained to my friend the Captain, this was a sad example of a troubled student lashing out and hurting themselves in the process."
"...Fine. Then get me the suspension, the reason for it, and your account of the entire situation in writing by the end of the day, and I am sure we can keep this out of the press."
I was lying through my teeth, of course. I will plaster this on every telephone pole and mail it to every subscriber of every newspaper in the region, I will destroy them. But why would Blackwell wonder why I'd want to keep this out of the press, she's too stupid – "Very well, Mr. Hebert" – just as expected. It didn't matter if she sent it, anyway. I opened the door and wheeled Taylor out. I didn't shake her hand as I left. I had what I wanted.
Another week of freedom. Honestly, a blessing. I don't want to go back to hell.
When Dad told me what he'd said in there, I paid attention. There's a gap between us, ugly like a ravine, and it's splitting up our SYSTEM.NODAL– I mean family. It's splitting us up, and I can feel it plain as anything when he's near. So I listened to what happened, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.
And then he showed me his tape recorder.
He recorded the whole meeting. He had RECORDED it. We had Proof! He must have seen the excitement in my eyes.
"Hold on a moment, little owl. We can't just give this to the police or anything. It's illegal to record like this, without telling them ahead of time. But we can drop a copy in a newspaper's In tray, anonymously, and see what happens. It's not very damning on its own, though." He chuckled sadly.
I didn't care. It was proof! And Dad was on my side, he had my back, and I was protected. Dad was protecting me.
I nearly told him, right there, why I "fainted". I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I just felt he couldn't know what had happened to me until I knew for sure?
Instead, I asked him to play a game with me. We played chess, with him moving the pieces. I managed to make my own moves three times, though, along the edge of the board so the table could support my arm.
Later that day, I got bored of trouncing Dad, and he got bored of being beaten and made lunch instead. It was nice, having him around, be really here. I got my hands up on the desk and got on the computer, accessing PHO.
And my extra sense lit up.
Wow.
I understand PHO. Completely, totally. I could feel the local servers that hosted it, kilometers away in Boston. I could feel the international servers in Canada. I could feel every computer connected to it, every account, I knew it all. I sat stunned, staring. Oh, wow.
It was huge. My brain couldn't really handle it, I couldn't move, couldn't feel my own thoughts properly, the only bright thing in my mind was the vast, sprawling system. As if in a dream, I input my passcode, and logged on.
She.
What.
I
She thinks I
no
She knows
Has to know
Sophia smirking sophia
Emma smiling showing teeth
hates me
Madison... looking down? Madison shame?
WHY blackwell
you KNOW
you know what happened
You KNOW who locked me into that locker!
Oops, I shouted that last bit aloud, they're all looking at me. Too angry to care. I snarled at Blackwell,
"You know they put that shit in my locker, you know they locked me into it, you know they tried to kill me, why don't you CARE, what is WRONG WITH YOU"
The last bit was a wheeze, I was out of air in my lungs. Dad put his arm around my shoulders, but the end of it was a fist.
"Ms. Hebert, keep your language civil. We do not use words like that in this school."
my
language
"As for what I know? I know that you have been making unsubstantiated accusations about these three model students since you came to this school, and never once have you proven any of it. You had no evidence and you still have no evidence, and nothing points to them. You, on the other hand? You have several times pulled self-sacrificing stunts like this, to try to accuse them. Yes. You put that into your locker."
"You think I locked myself in there?"
"Ms. Hebert, you are suspended for a week for your behavior. I hope I do not have to take further disciplinary action to address your vendetta."
What is WRONG with her? What is WRONG with this school? Why? They all hate me, why? Nobody believes me, I don't underst–
huh
what
I'm in the car?
Drooling on my shirt, in the car. How?
Dad looks over at me, concerned. I look back at him, and suddenly I understand our family, I understand what's wrong, it's simple.
Since when was it simple?
We are in the parking lot, I look at the school, I want to ask what happened, but then I see it
well
I don't really see it exactly
But I look at the school and I can tell it is a SYSTEM and specifically a SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED and I can see the SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED.CENTER.LOCATION(). It's behind the doors, 127 meters away. Principal's office.
It should really be confusing but instead it's sensible, it shouldn't be but it is, like another sight or taste that just feeds right into my brain like the other senses, and I am not confused.
Surprised, though, sure.
It takes me a moment, but I ask Dad "What happened?"
He tells me. We drive home.
Another week of freedom. Honestly, a blessing. I don't want to go back to hell. Dad says I nodded off in Blackwell's office, maybe fainted given how mad I was. I'd believe him but I know better. The end of the meeting was chaos, Dad yelling at Blackwell, Blackwell yelling for security, Mrs. Knott trying to calm Blackwell down, Mr. Gladly trying to be friends with Dad, Sophia slumping down and not paying attention to any of it like the Sophia she is, Alan refusing to believe Dad, Dad wheeling me out of there. A whirlwind.
When Dad told me about it, I paid attention. There's a gap between us, ugly like a ravine, and it's splitting up our SYSTEM.NODAL– I mean family. It's splitting us up, and I can feel it plain as anything when he's near. So I listened to what happened, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.
And then he showed me his tape recorder.
He recorded the whole meeting. He had RECORDED it. We had Proof! He must have seen the excitement in my eyes.
"Hold on a moment, little owl. We can't just give this to the police or anything. It's illegal to record like this, without telling them ahead of time. But we can drop a copy in a newspaper's In tray, anonymously, and see what happens. It's not very damning on its own, though." He chuckled sadly.
I didn't care. It was proof! And Dad was on my side, he had my back, and I was protected. Dad was protecting me.
I nearly told him, right there, why I "fainted". I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I just felt he couldn't know what had happened to me until I knew for sure?
Instead, I asked him to play a game with me. We played chess, with him moving the pieces. I managed to make my own moves three times, though, along the edge of the board so the table could support my arm.
Later that day, I got bored of trouncing Dad, and he got bored of being beaten and made lunch instead. It was nice, having him around, be really here. I got my hands up on the desk and got on the computer, accessing PHO.
And my extra sense lit up.
Wow.
I understand PHO. Completely, totally. I could feel the local servers that hosted it, kilometers away in Boston. I could feel the international servers in Canada. I could feel every computer connected to it, every account, I knew it all. I sat stunned, staring. Oh, wow.
It was huge. My brain couldn't really handle it, I couldn't move, couldn't feel my own thoughts properly, the only bright thing in my mind was the vast, sprawling system. As if in a dream, I input my passcode, and logged on.
What.
I
She thinks I
no
She knows
Has to know
Sophia smirking sophia
Emma smiling showing teeth
hates me
Madison... looking down? Madison shame?
WHY blackwell
you KNOW
you know what happened
You KNOW who locked me into that locker!
Oops, I shouted that last bit aloud, they're all looking at me. Too angry to care. I snarled at Blackwell,
"You know they put that shit in my locker, you know they locked me into it, you know they tried to kill me, why don't you CARE, what is WRONG WITH YOU"
The last bit was a wheeze, I was out of air in my lungs. Dad put his arm around my shoulders, but the end of it was a fist.
"Ms. Hebert, keep your language civil. We do not use words like that in this school."
my
language
"As for what I know? I know that you have been making unsubstantiated accusations about these three model students since you came to this school, and never once have you proven any of it. You had no evidence and you still have no evidence, and nothing points to them. You, on the other hand? You have several times pulled self-sacrificing stunts like this, to try to accuse them. Yes. You put that into your locker."
"You think I locked myself in there?"
"Ms. Hebert, you are suspended for a week for your behavior. I hope I do not have to take further disciplinary action to address your vendetta."
What is WRONG with her? What is WRONG with this school? Why? They all hate me, why? Nobody believes me, I don't underst–
huh
what
I'm in the car?
Drooling on my shirt, in the car. How?
Dad looks over at me, concerned. I look back at him, and suddenly I understand our family, I understand what's wrong, it's simple.
Since when was it simple?
We are in the parking lot, I look at the school, I want to ask what happened, but then I see it
well
I don't really see it exactly
But I look at the school and I can tell it is a SYSTEM and specifically a SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED and I can see the SYSTEM.CENTRALIZED.CENTER.LOCATION(). It's behind the doors, 127 meters away. Principal's office.
It should really be confusing but instead it's sensible, it shouldn't be but it is, like another sight or taste that just feeds right into my brain like the other senses, and I am not confused.
Surprised, though, sure.
It takes me a moment, but I ask Dad "What happened?"
He tells me. We drive home.
Another week of freedom. Honestly, a blessing. I don't want to go back to hell. Dad says I nodded off in Blackwell's office, maybe fainted given how mad I was. I'd believe him but I know better. The end of the meeting was chaos, Dad yelling at Blackwell, Blackwell yelling for security, Mrs. Knott trying to calm Blackwell down, Mr. Gladly trying to be friends with Dad, Sophia slumping down and not paying attention to any of it like the Sophia she is, Alan refusing to believe Dad, Dad wheeling me out of there. A whirlwind.
When Dad told me about it, I paid attention. There's a gap between us, ugly like a ravine, and it's splitting up our SYSTEM.NODAL– I mean family. It's splitting us up, and I can feel it plain as anything when he's near. So I listened to what happened, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.
And then he showed me his tape recorder.
He recorded the whole meeting. He had RECORDED it. We had Proof! He must have seen the excitement in my eyes.
"Hold on a moment, little owl. We can't just give this to the police or anything. It's illegal to record like this, without telling them ahead of time. But we can drop a copy in a newspaper's In tray, anonymously, and see what happens. It's not very damning on its own, though." He chuckled sadly.
I didn't care. It was proof! And Dad was on my side, he had my back, and I was protected. Dad was protecting me.
I nearly told him, right there, why I "fainted". I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I just felt he couldn't know what had happened to me until I knew for sure?
Instead, I asked him to play a game with me. We played chess, with him moving the pieces. I managed to make my own moves three times, though, along the edge of the board so the table could support my arm.
Later that day, I got bored of trouncing Dad, and he got bored of being beaten and made lunch instead. It was nice, having him around, be really here. I got my hands up on the desk and got on the computer, accessing PHO.
And my extra sense lit up.
Wow.
I understand PHO. Completely, totally. I could feel the local servers that hosted it, kilometers away in Boston. I could feel the international servers in Canada. I could feel every computer connected to it, every account, I knew it all. I sat stunned, staring. Oh, wow.
It was huge. My brain couldn't really handle it, I couldn't move, couldn't feel my own thoughts properly, the only bright thing in my mind was the vast, sprawling system. As if in a dream, I input my passcode, and logged on.
Last edited:
Console 1.4: PHO Injection
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
■
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■
♦ Topic: Panacea's Pithy Portals
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Supervillains ► Uber_&_Leet
Uber (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) >
Posted On Jan 18th 2011:
Hey loyal fans,
This weekend we did a little coop criminality, traversing the city with our portal guns and long fall boots! You can catch the vod [here], if you weren't lucky enough to watch in person! Special thanks to Panacea, whose voice makes an excellent GLaDOS, and whose sass we barely even needed to encourage. No special thanks to Glory Girl, who flat out refused to Wheatley and instead tried to chase us down. We weren't even stealing anything! You are a horrible person, and we weren't even testing for that.
(Showing page 23 of 23)►Char >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
You two bounced off my house! The roof needs to be fixed now. Not that I'm complaining, I love Portal!
►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Banned) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
Void, do not make sexual suggestions towards underage capes, and don't make unsubstantiated allegations of A-Class threats. Enjoy a one day ban. - Tin_Mother
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
A reminder to everyone not to go outdoors in the presence of villainous activity, no matter which villain it is.
Also, Void, please don't make unsubstantiated allegations like that, the mods will just ban you again. And what is your problem with Glory Girl, she's underage!
►Vista (Wards ENE) (Verified Cape) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
Unfair to be playing with space like that, that's supposed to be my deal! Tinkers suck. At least you didn't put @Panacea in danger with your shenanigans.
►Panacea (Verified Cape) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
I'm upset that you put Glory Girl in danger with your stunts, Uber&Leet, but honestly, I want to make it clear I was never in any danger. They just called my phone and texted me my voice lines, that was the most fun I've had in a while. I still think you both should be in jail after the GTA video, though. That was just wrong.
►Uber (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
Hey, glad you enjoyed! And yeah, we really regret the GTA stunt. It was brilliant, and funny, but we went too far. We are sorry for that.
►Lasersmile >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
So, what would happen if you put a portal on the ceiling and another on the floor, and dropped something through the bottom one?
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
DUDE do not suggest WMDs to someone of Leet's temperament, we don't know what he'd do with one.
Also, for my own peace of mind, does anyone know if those portals can be anchored to moving surfaces? Part of me is terrified of what happens if the two ends collide.
►Dragon (Verified Cape) (Guild) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
Please refrain from speculating in public on the disastrous consequences of portal misuse. However, given said disastrous consequences, I have contacted Leet to ask about the possibility of replicating his technology for use against Endbringers.
►Tin_Mother (Moderator) >
Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
I am locking this thread, as it seems like everything useful has been discussed already. If you want to discuss this more, the Uber&Leet ► Past_Actions thread is more appropriate.
■
Well. It's always fun reading about Uber's and Leet's antics, even though video games were never really my thing. These portals sound interesting, though. I bet a puzzle game with them would catch on in a big way. With what little I'd learned from Winslow's awful physics class, though, that infinitely falling object thing sounds terrifying. And then Bagrat has to make it worse by – huh.
That's weird. Did PHO do an update? There's not usually a dropdown menu on every user. I wonder what we can do now?
I clicked the arrow next to Void's name.
...
What.
So, that's new. My account never had admin permissions before. I wonder what I can access before someone figures out their mistake? Wait, can they even fix it? There's an arrow next to Tin_Mother's name! That's a mod!
I made the sensible decision: do nothing about this. Maybe they'll take it away, maybe not, but my C++ textbook had a brief digression about hacking, and I read all about the CFAA. If I abuse this and some humorless government stooge finds out, it's a felony. I wandered around on the forums for a while, and everyone had the dropdown menu. I also found a button in the top right that I had missed. It was labeled as [ / ], but against my better judgement, I pressed it. And it opened up a root access terminal to the main PHO server. I should DEFINITELY not have this.
I closed the browser like it contained an actively downloading malicious file, and breathed heavily for a bit. This is not supposed to happen. I'm just a regular user! Why do I have admin access! WHY.
To calm myself, I went to a different site. I'd already read all his essays before, but I could always get a laugh out of Taming the Bicycle. I remember sitting in Mom's lap, listening to her voice read his slapstick, silly stories. So different from his novels, but just as good. I cried, a little, every time I read him. But now, when I opened up my bookmark, I saw an odd new button in the top right. [ / ].
What the HELL.
I browsed sites for another hour. Site after site after site, not only did I have an odd intuition for the intricacies of its server architecture, user load, connections, and programming, not only did I know the physical locations of the servers on which the websites ran, but I had ADMIN PERMISSIONS. On EVERY SITE.
As I bluescreened, sitting motionless in my wheelchair, a little tiny part of my mind snidely commented that the CFAA already made me more of a felon than most supervillains.
That's me, Taylor Hebert. I can't just get regular superpowers, no. My superpowers have to make me a walking violation of federal law.
Well. Sitting.
Last edited:
Console 1.5
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
Alright. Ok. So I have powers now. Incredible.
Sure would have been great if those powers included flight, or super strength, or any strength at all. I hate this wheelchair. I must be the only wheelchair-bound cape in the whole east coast. Ugh. Why couldn't I be like Alexandria? I remember when I used to play pretend I always wanted to be Alexandria, and Emma – emma.
It's so hard to think straight, when I keep running into her in my head.
But still, powers. And it's not like I'll be stuck in this wheelchair forever. The physical therapist said it should be another month, and I'll be moving like my old self, but it feels so hard to believe. The mirror still showed little more than a skeleton with skin, the few times Dad wheeled me within view. So anyways, I have opportunities, now. Leverage, power. Hell, I could be a hero! What a thought, weak as I am. A hero. Can't fight criminals the regular way, of course – I'm not any better at that than anyone else – but just imagine what it would do to the E88 or Lung, if their phones, their computers, their bank accounts even, all report to me. What I could do to Sophia and Emma and Madison, if their emails danced to my – no. That's wrong. That's wrong, even though I want to so much, see them suffer NO. I will not lash out.
If nothing else, I definitely can't afford to get caught.
No matter what I do, everything I do is going to be a crime – vigilantism at best. I'm nowhere near ready to be a hero yet. I have so much preparation to do. How do I even be a hero like this? Hell, it's not like I can just waltz up to a mugger and – what – know who is boss is and ban his twitter account unless he puts his hands behind his back? No. I can't be that kind of hero, I can't be out in the streets, visible. Wait, I really can't be visible, wow. I could be such a good villain if captured and forced. I could log into a bank account and move money around, deleting the records of the transactions as I go. I could hack any secure website, change any data pretty much anywhere – I can't afford to be a target, ever.
(I could do those things even without a gun to my head.)
I ignored the part of me that whispered that, and pulled out a pad of paper to figure out what kind of hero I can be.
Potential uses for power:
Ok, wait. I guess I should have expected this, but all the uses of my analysis power are on the side of good, and all the uses of my admin privileges are on the side of – well, let's call it self-interest. Maybe I should just avoid using my admin powers? Probably. So, I have an analysis power that seems to work on, well, any system. It worked on the school's administration, it worked on my family, it worked on all those websites. I can recognize which organizations someone belongs to, and see where they are based. Hell, once I connected to the websites, I could see all the connections. I can work with that.
But. Not alone.
If I'm alone, I can see all that, but I can't do anything about it. I need a team, and I need the team to need me. New Wave's great, but secrecy? Not their thing. No, if I want to help the Bay with this, there's only one place to go. Only one team that can keep me secret and protect me, all at the same time. And if I want their help, Dad will have to know.
It was as I was having that thought that I heard Dad shout "Little owl, I hope you like slightly burnt meatballs on overcooked pasta!" I smiled, but it was a bit forced. I don't know why, but it was like pulling nails, this moment before I would tell him. Not the metal kind. I'd already bared my soul to him once this week, and I know, it was relief, like dropping a heavy backpack to the floor. But this moment before, this instant before he knew all my secrets, it hurt.
And I don't like overcooked pasta, either.
So when he opened his mouth to ask how my afternoon was, I almost didn't interrupt him.
"Dad."
He was suddenly worried, I almost chickened out right then. "Yes, Taylor?"
"Dad, I think I have powers."
Credit to him, he only froze completely for ten seconds.
He whispered. "Was it the locker?"
What? He must have seen my look of confusion, since he elaborated.
"You know Mom used to run with Lustrum, right? She told me how capes are made. One awful day, the worst day of your life, the peak of every bad experience all rolled into one, and in that horrible instant, you might get powers. Mom never heard what Lustrum's was, most capes don't talk about it. Makes sense, it's the biggest trauma of anyone's life. But the rumor in the movement was it involved some piece of human garbage who didn't hear the word "no", or didn't care. They never found his body.
So, you don't have to tell me what it was, but I'm guessing it was in the locker."
It made a lot of sense, but I'd come this far. I couldn't lie now.
"No, dad. Not the locker. It was today, at the meeting. When Blackwell decided it was me."
I'd only seen that look of incandescent fury on his face a few times before. When I'd told him about the locker, when a mugger made a suggestive comment about me, that road rage incident when that awful driver decided he'd rather take it out on the driver's daughter than on Dad himself. The mugger hadn't died when Dad was done with him, and the driver hadn't either – although everyone else on the freeway had sworn up and down that Dad hadn't touched the guy, and Dad would never say anything about it, I remember that day. I watched it all. How had I forgotten that Dad's temper wasn't copper, a friendly brown made green with age, but magnesium, slow to ignite but brighter than the sun itself?
He'd always protect me. I felt warm.
But probably also I'd need to stop him from killing Blackwell.
"Dad, do you want to know what my power is?"
It was blatantly obvious that I was trying to calm him down, and I could see that he could see it. It worked anyway. He took a breath, took another. Nodded.
"I can see the structure of systems. Any system. Like, in the parking lot, when I looked at the school, I could see where the center of the administration was. Pretty sure it was Blackwell's office. And when I look at you, I can see the structure of our family, I can see the link between us and I can see what's wrong between us, and kind of how to fix it. And when I browse the internet, I can see so much."
He clearly didn't know what to do with that. I'd never heard of capes that couldn't fight with their powers somehow, and from the look on his face, neither did he.
"Wait, so, nothing you can fight with? You're not going to try and sneak out and clean up the city?" And get yourself shot went unsaid and clearly heard, from the tension in his shoulders. I wanted that to go away, so I laughed.
"Of course not, Dad! I also have another part to my power, but I can't use it to fight. I have some kind of admin access to every website I connect to. Like, if I am using the computer and I open up PHO, then not only can I see the whole branching network of servers and computers behind it and understand all of it, but I can edit it and change it. Doesn't work with anything else, though, just computers. But I'm not going costumed, creeping into the night. That would be insane, with my power. I figured it out quick, what I need to do."
He didn't look quite satisfied that the passivity of my power was the only thing keeping me from risking my life, but that's Dad. And I could tell he wanted to ask, so I preempted him
"You're joining the Wards." "I'm joining the Wards."
Huh, we said it at the same time. He was grinning at me, and after a moment I noticed I was grinning at him.
"But. Dad. This is serious, now. I'm pretty sure my power has the potential to clean out every mole in every heroic organization, and if it can do that it can do it for villains too. Not to mention that if I can hack anything, then I can hack anything. We can't ever let any villains know what I can do. They'll want me. So don't go calling the PRT after dinner, or anything. Don't do anything. I bet you the PRT has leaks in it, I bet you everyone does. We need to do this carefully. I keep having these horrible images in my head, where you're kidnapped to make me rob a banking system, or I'm kidnapped and forced to ferret out moles in the E88, or terrible other things. So I've got to be a secret. Ok, Dad?"
Now he looked green. Okay, maybe he's a little bit copper, too. Bimetallic.
He nodded, and we finished dinner. We talked it over and made a plan. Tomorrow would be a busy day.
For now? More physical therapy. I'll walk soon, I know it.
Sure would have been great if those powers included flight, or super strength, or any strength at all. I hate this wheelchair. I must be the only wheelchair-bound cape in the whole east coast. Ugh. Why couldn't I be like Alexandria? I remember when I used to play pretend I always wanted to be Alexandria, and Emma – emma.
It's so hard to think straight, when I keep running into her in my head.
But still, powers. And it's not like I'll be stuck in this wheelchair forever. The physical therapist said it should be another month, and I'll be moving like my old self, but it feels so hard to believe. The mirror still showed little more than a skeleton with skin, the few times Dad wheeled me within view. So anyways, I have opportunities, now. Leverage, power. Hell, I could be a hero! What a thought, weak as I am. A hero. Can't fight criminals the regular way, of course – I'm not any better at that than anyone else – but just imagine what it would do to the E88 or Lung, if their phones, their computers, their bank accounts even, all report to me. What I could do to Sophia and Emma and Madison, if their emails danced to my – no. That's wrong. That's wrong, even though I want to so much, see them suffer NO. I will not lash out.
If nothing else, I definitely can't afford to get caught.
No matter what I do, everything I do is going to be a crime – vigilantism at best. I'm nowhere near ready to be a hero yet. I have so much preparation to do. How do I even be a hero like this? Hell, it's not like I can just waltz up to a mugger and – what – know who is boss is and ban his twitter account unless he puts his hands behind his back? No. I can't be that kind of hero, I can't be out in the streets, visible. Wait, I really can't be visible, wow. I could be such a good villain if captured and forced. I could log into a bank account and move money around, deleting the records of the transactions as I go. I could hack any secure website, change any data pretty much anywhere – I can't afford to be a target, ever.
(I could do those things even without a gun to my head.)
I ignored the part of me that whispered that, and pulled out a pad of paper to figure out what kind of hero I can be.
Potential uses for power:
- Use my organizational analysis to find the locations of important parts of the gangs
- Use my organizational analysis to find moles in the heroes
- Use my organizational analysis to keep the peace in friendly orgs
- Hack the gangs and criminals to find their secrets
- Hack financial organizations for resources
- Hack and administrate social media sites for fun and games
Ok, wait. I guess I should have expected this, but all the uses of my analysis power are on the side of good, and all the uses of my admin privileges are on the side of – well, let's call it self-interest. Maybe I should just avoid using my admin powers? Probably. So, I have an analysis power that seems to work on, well, any system. It worked on the school's administration, it worked on my family, it worked on all those websites. I can recognize which organizations someone belongs to, and see where they are based. Hell, once I connected to the websites, I could see all the connections. I can work with that.
But. Not alone.
If I'm alone, I can see all that, but I can't do anything about it. I need a team, and I need the team to need me. New Wave's great, but secrecy? Not their thing. No, if I want to help the Bay with this, there's only one place to go. Only one team that can keep me secret and protect me, all at the same time. And if I want their help, Dad will have to know.
It was as I was having that thought that I heard Dad shout "Little owl, I hope you like slightly burnt meatballs on overcooked pasta!" I smiled, but it was a bit forced. I don't know why, but it was like pulling nails, this moment before I would tell him. Not the metal kind. I'd already bared my soul to him once this week, and I know, it was relief, like dropping a heavy backpack to the floor. But this moment before, this instant before he knew all my secrets, it hurt.
And I don't like overcooked pasta, either.
So when he opened his mouth to ask how my afternoon was, I almost didn't interrupt him.
"Dad."
He was suddenly worried, I almost chickened out right then. "Yes, Taylor?"
"Dad, I think I have powers."
Credit to him, he only froze completely for ten seconds.
He whispered. "Was it the locker?"
What? He must have seen my look of confusion, since he elaborated.
"You know Mom used to run with Lustrum, right? She told me how capes are made. One awful day, the worst day of your life, the peak of every bad experience all rolled into one, and in that horrible instant, you might get powers. Mom never heard what Lustrum's was, most capes don't talk about it. Makes sense, it's the biggest trauma of anyone's life. But the rumor in the movement was it involved some piece of human garbage who didn't hear the word "no", or didn't care. They never found his body.
So, you don't have to tell me what it was, but I'm guessing it was in the locker."
It made a lot of sense, but I'd come this far. I couldn't lie now.
"No, dad. Not the locker. It was today, at the meeting. When Blackwell decided it was me."
I'd only seen that look of incandescent fury on his face a few times before. When I'd told him about the locker, when a mugger made a suggestive comment about me, that road rage incident when that awful driver decided he'd rather take it out on the driver's daughter than on Dad himself. The mugger hadn't died when Dad was done with him, and the driver hadn't either – although everyone else on the freeway had sworn up and down that Dad hadn't touched the guy, and Dad would never say anything about it, I remember that day. I watched it all. How had I forgotten that Dad's temper wasn't copper, a friendly brown made green with age, but magnesium, slow to ignite but brighter than the sun itself?
He'd always protect me. I felt warm.
But probably also I'd need to stop him from killing Blackwell.
"Dad, do you want to know what my power is?"
It was blatantly obvious that I was trying to calm him down, and I could see that he could see it. It worked anyway. He took a breath, took another. Nodded.
"I can see the structure of systems. Any system. Like, in the parking lot, when I looked at the school, I could see where the center of the administration was. Pretty sure it was Blackwell's office. And when I look at you, I can see the structure of our family, I can see the link between us and I can see what's wrong between us, and kind of how to fix it. And when I browse the internet, I can see so much."
He clearly didn't know what to do with that. I'd never heard of capes that couldn't fight with their powers somehow, and from the look on his face, neither did he.
"Wait, so, nothing you can fight with? You're not going to try and sneak out and clean up the city?" And get yourself shot went unsaid and clearly heard, from the tension in his shoulders. I wanted that to go away, so I laughed.
"Of course not, Dad! I also have another part to my power, but I can't use it to fight. I have some kind of admin access to every website I connect to. Like, if I am using the computer and I open up PHO, then not only can I see the whole branching network of servers and computers behind it and understand all of it, but I can edit it and change it. Doesn't work with anything else, though, just computers. But I'm not going costumed, creeping into the night. That would be insane, with my power. I figured it out quick, what I need to do."
He didn't look quite satisfied that the passivity of my power was the only thing keeping me from risking my life, but that's Dad. And I could tell he wanted to ask, so I preempted him
"You're joining the Wards." "I'm joining the Wards."
Huh, we said it at the same time. He was grinning at me, and after a moment I noticed I was grinning at him.
"But. Dad. This is serious, now. I'm pretty sure my power has the potential to clean out every mole in every heroic organization, and if it can do that it can do it for villains too. Not to mention that if I can hack anything, then I can hack anything. We can't ever let any villains know what I can do. They'll want me. So don't go calling the PRT after dinner, or anything. Don't do anything. I bet you the PRT has leaks in it, I bet you everyone does. We need to do this carefully. I keep having these horrible images in my head, where you're kidnapped to make me rob a banking system, or I'm kidnapped and forced to ferret out moles in the E88, or terrible other things. So I've got to be a secret. Ok, Dad?"
Now he looked green. Okay, maybe he's a little bit copper, too. Bimetallic.
He nodded, and we finished dinner. We talked it over and made a plan. Tomorrow would be a busy day.
For now? More physical therapy. I'll walk soon, I know it.
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Console 1: Interludes
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
Interlude: Sophia
This is great, I was thinking. She was getting what she deserved. She was weak, we put her in that locker and she was so weak crying for help, and now she's weak in a little wheelchair and pointlessly asking for help. Emma's coming through as the predator she is. She fights, but Hebert's weak. -
and there was a skip in my brain, a jump in my thoughts
-ting. Wait. What was that? Everyone just moved, did I miss something? And nobody else seems bothered, but I'm sure I just skipped a step, I feel disoriented. What's different about me? I'm the only really strong one in the room, the only cape, but what does that have to do with – wait.
I remember this. There was some briefing that idiot Assault was giving, about how to react if someone triggers in front of you. But – how could anyone have triggered? Nobody was in any danger...
I looked around. And saw Taylor, slumped in her pathetic little chair, dead to the world. No. Hebert can't trigger, she can't be strong. She's a weakling, a little wimp who won't fight back. But she wasn't in danger, either? She must have triggered just from Principal Blackwell talking at her, hah! She is a weakling, such prey. In such pain from just words, what an idiot.
But this is dangerous, now. She's weak, but a dangerous sort of weak. Like a yellow belt on the sparring mat. She doesn't know what she can do, what to do with the little power she probably just got. Liable to hurt me by sheer unpredictability, now. I gotta deal with her before that happens. From ambush, instantly. Can't let her fight back, not that she ever will. Weakling.
I stood in front of Miss Piggy's desk.
"Shadow Stalker, what's this text about a new cape? Why isn't it a proper report? You know there's a form for these things, you're supposed to use it."
Always trying to force me to toe the line. Well, no point in fighting now – I want her believing my every word. Doesn't mean I gotta be groveling, though. "Sorry not sorry, I had to send a text 'cause I was in my civvies and didn't want to be obvious about it. Came right here after, though, so I can report now."
"...Very well then, let's hear it." Hah, see that? That's trust. I got past her verify.
"Right, so, classmate of mine, Taylor Hebert. Seen her around the Empire kids in the past, always hanging around them, but weak, a sycophant. She was gone a week, now she's back in with them, in a wheelchair, but they all respect her for some reason. Seems to me she's jumped in the ranks. Bettin' you, she's a new one of theirs."
"Thank you for letting me know. Good job on this intel, Shadow Stalker."
No problem, Miss Piggy. No problem at all.
Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE
That was… interesting. Something was off about the way she told me that. Too… polite? She could just be learning respect for authority. Hah. No, she wanted me to believe that, more than usual. Time to find out why. I picked up my phone and dialed.
"Stevens, I'd like to know everything you do about one Taylor Hebert, student at Winslow, tomorrow morning. Make it a lot. Oh, and I want to know even more about her by Friday. Don't be intrusive, don't let her know we're curious, and don't use existing in-school assets. I want independent knowledge. The midtown pickpocketing reports can take back burner to this, for now."
This could be big, or nothing. When I read that report on my desk tomorrow, I'll know.
Commander Thomas Calvert, Strike Squad Charlie, PRT ENE
Thomas sat in his office, deep in the safety of (his main base/PRTHQ) as he (read strike squad after action reports/read strike squad after action reports). Thomas liked symmetry, but also safety. On Friday he'd give the go/no-go on an operation to sour the E88's relationship with the ABB right on the eve of Kaiser and Lung's monthly semi-friendly summit at the Rock. Maybe this time he could even get them to call that off, if he pissed them off just right. But for now, he would stay in his holding pattern, just keeping tabs on the city and showing up dutifully (heh) to his civilian job. If you're always careful, you'll never be caught unaware.
Thomas Calvert was a careful man.
Colin Wallis, Armsmaster, Leader of Protectorate ENE
Colin hit enter, starting the program he'd uploaded to his 4-axis CNC router, and sat down at his bench, his eyes checking incoming messages on his HUD even as his hands disassembled the head of his halberd for maintenance. No second went underutilized in his lab. About to get started on the most recent hour's mountain of paperwork, he glanced at PHO and saw it. He had a private message.
That wasn't special, he often recieved private messages.
But he'd never recieved a private message to his private account before. And, on opening it, he almost cut his finger armor on the blade: he'd certainly never expected his private account to recieve a message addressed to "Armster". Which was clearly a statement that whoever this was knew his identity but didn't intend to state it directly in text.
Amazing how suddenly something so innocuous can jump to such high priority.
Two can play at the identity game. He checked the metadata of the message and user, and sent a request to Dragon to find which other accounts were associated with that IP. This rookie would learn. In the meantime, he read the message:
Throwaway129831 ► Tin_Can't:
Hello, sorry to reach you like this, Armster. At least, if this is you, which I am pretty sure it is. Some of the hidden forums on here are pretty clear that a cape isn't supposed to look for the secret identity of another, but if it helps, I don't know your civilian identity, just your PHO handle. I know it's polite to tell you mine if I know yours, but as I'm about to explain, I have good reasons not to yet.
In case it wasn't clear, I'm a cape. I'm a new cape, actually, in the Bay, and I'd like to join the Wards. But I can't, not yet. I'm a thinker with no combat capabilities and severe, albeit temporary, physical disability. My power is very good at finding information I shouldn't find, and just as I am sure you can see the potential, so can any villain who hears I exist. So I want to stay secret, at least for now, until I can be sure that by joining the Wards I won't out myself and open me and mine to attack. Yes, I know you protect the Wards' identities. I am sure, though, that an organization like the PRT is full of moles, and while I trust you (because if you're compromised then there's no chance for anyone) I can't trust the PRT as a whole.
That's also why I looked for your unofficial PHO handle: I figure the official one can be accessed by someone other than you, but your personal one is only yours, and safeguarded by whatever a tinker of your awesomeness can cook up. (I've always been a fan, I hope I'm not coming on too strong.)
I want to help you remove those moles. My power would be very good at finding them, I'm quite sure, but I need to physically meet the Director or be in the Director's office to do so. But I don't want to make it apparent that I was ever there, or that I exist at all. I'll trust the Director, for the same reason I trust you, but I'd like it if nobody else knows.
So here's the big ask: can I meet you and the Director in the most secure room you have, without anyone knowing? I want to join you, to be a hero, but I need you to trust me a little, first. Can you do that?
Thank you,
– Anonymous Future Ward
Well. That is a developement, certainly. He sat back, considering how and whether to do this. Could he trust this person? Certainly not, but the potential benefit was huge. Could he arrange for somewhere secure, and engineer this secret meeting? A challenge, but several ideas came to mind. He leaned forward, and began to type.
Gregory Veder, home of Nina Veder
Hearing the even breathing from his mother's room that implied her nightly slumber, Greg Veder, Internet Sleuth rose swiftly from his bed, powered on his trusty desktop computer, and reopened the mysteries of the world. The browser beckoned, and a window to the parahuman world appeared at his behest. PHO loaded, and he entered his demesne. He peered upon the pinned message in his inbox, and kicked the wall.
Tin_Mother (Moderator) ► XxVoid_CowboyxX: I happened upon a throwaway account originating from your IP. I've never had to tell you this one in particular before, but it's clear in the rules: nobody is allowed more than one account. You're banned for 24 hours, don't do it again.
Aww, hell. There goes the night.
Greg Veder, UNSC Spartan and Defender of the Galaxy, opened up Halo and joined a lobby.
This is great, I was thinking. She was getting what she deserved. She was weak, we put her in that locker and she was so weak crying for help, and now she's weak in a little wheelchair and pointlessly asking for help. Emma's coming through as the predator she is. She fights, but Hebert's weak. -
and there was a skip in my brain, a jump in my thoughts
-ting. Wait. What was that? Everyone just moved, did I miss something? And nobody else seems bothered, but I'm sure I just skipped a step, I feel disoriented. What's different about me? I'm the only really strong one in the room, the only cape, but what does that have to do with – wait.
I remember this. There was some briefing that idiot Assault was giving, about how to react if someone triggers in front of you. But – how could anyone have triggered? Nobody was in any danger...
I looked around. And saw Taylor, slumped in her pathetic little chair, dead to the world. No. Hebert can't trigger, she can't be strong. She's a weakling, a little wimp who won't fight back. But she wasn't in danger, either? She must have triggered just from Principal Blackwell talking at her, hah! She is a weakling, such prey. In such pain from just words, what an idiot.
But this is dangerous, now. She's weak, but a dangerous sort of weak. Like a yellow belt on the sparring mat. She doesn't know what she can do, what to do with the little power she probably just got. Liable to hurt me by sheer unpredictability, now. I gotta deal with her before that happens. From ambush, instantly. Can't let her fight back, not that she ever will. Weakling.
I stood in front of Miss Piggy's desk.
"Shadow Stalker, what's this text about a new cape? Why isn't it a proper report? You know there's a form for these things, you're supposed to use it."
Always trying to force me to toe the line. Well, no point in fighting now – I want her believing my every word. Doesn't mean I gotta be groveling, though. "Sorry not sorry, I had to send a text 'cause I was in my civvies and didn't want to be obvious about it. Came right here after, though, so I can report now."
"...Very well then, let's hear it." Hah, see that? That's trust. I got past her verify.
"Right, so, classmate of mine, Taylor Hebert. Seen her around the Empire kids in the past, always hanging around them, but weak, a sycophant. She was gone a week, now she's back in with them, in a wheelchair, but they all respect her for some reason. Seems to me she's jumped in the ranks. Bettin' you, she's a new one of theirs."
"Thank you for letting me know. Good job on this intel, Shadow Stalker."
No problem, Miss Piggy. No problem at all.
Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE
That was… interesting. Something was off about the way she told me that. Too… polite? She could just be learning respect for authority. Hah. No, she wanted me to believe that, more than usual. Time to find out why. I picked up my phone and dialed.
"Stevens, I'd like to know everything you do about one Taylor Hebert, student at Winslow, tomorrow morning. Make it a lot. Oh, and I want to know even more about her by Friday. Don't be intrusive, don't let her know we're curious, and don't use existing in-school assets. I want independent knowledge. The midtown pickpocketing reports can take back burner to this, for now."
This could be big, or nothing. When I read that report on my desk tomorrow, I'll know.
Commander Thomas Calvert, Strike Squad Charlie, PRT ENE
Thomas sat in his office, deep in the safety of (his main base/PRTHQ) as he (read strike squad after action reports/read strike squad after action reports). Thomas liked symmetry, but also safety. On Friday he'd give the go/no-go on an operation to sour the E88's relationship with the ABB right on the eve of Kaiser and Lung's monthly semi-friendly summit at the Rock. Maybe this time he could even get them to call that off, if he pissed them off just right. But for now, he would stay in his holding pattern, just keeping tabs on the city and showing up dutifully (heh) to his civilian job. If you're always careful, you'll never be caught unaware.
Thomas Calvert was a careful man.
Colin Wallis, Armsmaster, Leader of Protectorate ENE
Colin hit enter, starting the program he'd uploaded to his 4-axis CNC router, and sat down at his bench, his eyes checking incoming messages on his HUD even as his hands disassembled the head of his halberd for maintenance. No second went underutilized in his lab. About to get started on the most recent hour's mountain of paperwork, he glanced at PHO and saw it. He had a private message.
That wasn't special, he often recieved private messages.
But he'd never recieved a private message to his private account before. And, on opening it, he almost cut his finger armor on the blade: he'd certainly never expected his private account to recieve a message addressed to "Armster". Which was clearly a statement that whoever this was knew his identity but didn't intend to state it directly in text.
Amazing how suddenly something so innocuous can jump to such high priority.
Two can play at the identity game. He checked the metadata of the message and user, and sent a request to Dragon to find which other accounts were associated with that IP. This rookie would learn. In the meantime, he read the message:
Throwaway129831 ► Tin_Can't:
Hello, sorry to reach you like this, Armster. At least, if this is you, which I am pretty sure it is. Some of the hidden forums on here are pretty clear that a cape isn't supposed to look for the secret identity of another, but if it helps, I don't know your civilian identity, just your PHO handle. I know it's polite to tell you mine if I know yours, but as I'm about to explain, I have good reasons not to yet.
In case it wasn't clear, I'm a cape. I'm a new cape, actually, in the Bay, and I'd like to join the Wards. But I can't, not yet. I'm a thinker with no combat capabilities and severe, albeit temporary, physical disability. My power is very good at finding information I shouldn't find, and just as I am sure you can see the potential, so can any villain who hears I exist. So I want to stay secret, at least for now, until I can be sure that by joining the Wards I won't out myself and open me and mine to attack. Yes, I know you protect the Wards' identities. I am sure, though, that an organization like the PRT is full of moles, and while I trust you (because if you're compromised then there's no chance for anyone) I can't trust the PRT as a whole.
That's also why I looked for your unofficial PHO handle: I figure the official one can be accessed by someone other than you, but your personal one is only yours, and safeguarded by whatever a tinker of your awesomeness can cook up. (I've always been a fan, I hope I'm not coming on too strong.)
I want to help you remove those moles. My power would be very good at finding them, I'm quite sure, but I need to physically meet the Director or be in the Director's office to do so. But I don't want to make it apparent that I was ever there, or that I exist at all. I'll trust the Director, for the same reason I trust you, but I'd like it if nobody else knows.
So here's the big ask: can I meet you and the Director in the most secure room you have, without anyone knowing? I want to join you, to be a hero, but I need you to trust me a little, first. Can you do that?
Thank you,
– Anonymous Future Ward
Well. That is a developement, certainly. He sat back, considering how and whether to do this. Could he trust this person? Certainly not, but the potential benefit was huge. Could he arrange for somewhere secure, and engineer this secret meeting? A challenge, but several ideas came to mind. He leaned forward, and began to type.
Gregory Veder, home of Nina Veder
Hearing the even breathing from his mother's room that implied her nightly slumber, Greg Veder, Internet Sleuth rose swiftly from his bed, powered on his trusty desktop computer, and reopened the mysteries of the world. The browser beckoned, and a window to the parahuman world appeared at his behest. PHO loaded, and he entered his demesne. He peered upon the pinned message in his inbox, and kicked the wall.
Tin_Mother (Moderator) ► XxVoid_CowboyxX: I happened upon a throwaway account originating from your IP. I've never had to tell you this one in particular before, but it's clear in the rules: nobody is allowed more than one account. You're banned for 24 hours, don't do it again.
Aww, hell. There goes the night.
Greg Veder, UNSC Spartan and Defender of the Galaxy, opened up Halo and joined a lobby.
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Impromptu behavioral analysis of Taylor
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
It has been like 12 hours since Taylor triggered at this point, and only, like, one since her dad found out. She is in a wheelchair, everything takes effort, and she's spent the majority of those twelve hours dealing with her responsibilities, browsing the internet/finding out about her powers, doing a little planning, and eating meals. I promise you that she is not about to ignore the situation that made her trigger, but she's also a little busy trying to find a safe way to get to the only safe harbor she can see for a parahuman of her utility and lack of self-defense ability. You're right that there are ways for her to grind the trio and the school into the dust. However, she is not thinking about them because:
- A little busy right now
- Is avoiding vengeance plans because she wants to be a hero, and leave her past behind
- Has had her will to fight back systematically psychologically destroyed by the trio and administration for a year and a half, and at this point is highly distrustful that anyone would ever have her back, that anyone would believe her, and that she could ever win. Learned helplessness is a thing.
Impromptu behavioral analysis of Taylor continued
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
She does not have any faith in authority figures at all at this point, you are absolutely correct. However:
- Her dad is part of planning this too, and has had her back much more than in canon. She trusts him, because love, because she has good reason, and because (not to be underestimated) she understands their relationship by power-fiat. His advice and ideas are part of the plan which will unfold before your eyes soon.
- She doesn't trust the PRT by authority-fiat OR power-fiat, but she can't go hacking it and investigating it. The reasons why are twofold: she's a powerful hacker, but not an invisible one – she'd be worried they'd catch her, and she'd probably be right, Dragon's no pushover. Also, she needs some kind of connection in order to have admin access.
- She's not blindly trusting the PRT: she's trusting only those she'd have no choice but to trust if she ever wants the PRT to be a safe-haven for her, which she desperately does. Not only won't she unmask to anyone in the PRT, she's trying hard not to let anyone other than Armsmaster and Director Piggot even know she exists.
- Yeah, the PRT could snag her and straight up abuse her civil rights blatantly. However, she's taken several steps to avoid this. See if you can guess what they might be.
Antivirus 1.1
TemporaryMeasure
Serial non-Serious Author
- Location
- your peripheral vision
When morning put sunlight through her window, Taylor was in no way ready to face the day. She was tired down to her bones, but that was usual these days – a cause for joy, even, since it meant exercise was building her muscles back. The sunlight on her face was unusual since her room did not have an east-facing window, but as she woke up she remembered that these days she fell asleep in the living room, rather than face the stairs. Even the crick in her back was easily explained as the product of low core strength and sleeping in her wheelchair so that she could be mobile upon waking. No, what worried her was the day's prospects, not its start.
Once she was done with the newly-convoluted mess of her morning routine (amazing how difficult brushing teeth becomes when you can't stand and even leaning forward is hard) she laboriously rolled her chair into the kitchen, where Dad had prepared breakfast, and opened PHO so they could check on the message to Armsmaster.
Tin_Can't ► Throwaway129831:
I admit to annoyance at your near-violation of the Rules, but I understand why you thought it necessary. However, your request to meet with me and the Director in secrecy cannot be accommodated at this time. You are an unknown parahuman, with unknown powers and proclivities, and we cannot trust you immediately. Moreover, there are procedures for situations like this.
Well, that wasn't encouraging. She scrolled down, and they read on.
For these procedures, I ask you to submit a video of yourself describing the nature of your power, and specifically stating that you have no ability or intention to subvert the leadership or integrity of the PRT or Protectorate. The video will be sent to WEDGDG, where they will ascertain your veracity. You need not be unmasked, but it needs to be a video. Any other statements whose veracity you wish to prove to us may also be given.
Further, I will dead-drop a new-built Dragontech phone with a dedicated secure channel through a speech-to-text-to-speech interface to my armor. It will be at the bus station at 23rd and Narrows at 11:35, taped to the underside of the bench. Do not be late.
It is my hope that we will work well together in the future, but for now, caution is to both our benefits.
Well. She certainly could work with that, although Dad would have to be the one to pick up the phone. He probably wouldn't like that. In the meantime, Taylor could certainly record the video. Although, how many other such videos were submitted to WEDGDG? Probably a lot, come to think of it, and in any case if the PRT was subverted nationally there was little she could do about it at this point. Armsmaster was terse but correct and helpful, and her instincts were not screaming Trap! yet, so this plan could pan out. Just to double-check, though, she logged back into her new anonymous email account and re-confirmed that her email exposing the PRT for her kidnapping was scheduled to send on the 30th. Always important to have a backup plan.
She took a bite of her eggs.
I sat in front of my computer, angled so that my background was the plain yellowed-white wall beside the stairs. I hovered my mouse over the record button, held a piece of printer paper in front of my face, clicked once and began to speak.
"Hello, I'm a new Wards-age parahuman in Brockton Bay. My powers involve intuitive understanding of the features and connections of any system. This understanding improves with proximity to the center of such a system, and indeed provides no information if I am not in any proximity to the system. For instance, if I were in a library I could tell where the staff of the library are, as well as the central administrative space of the library, but only by standing in that space could I tell details about the identities of the staff of the library, the other systems to which they belong, the flaws and issues facing the library, et cetera. I have no ability nor intention to harm or subvert the leaders of the PRT or Protectorate, and indeed am less able to do so than the average baseline human. I just want to help them, honestly. And I want to join the Wards, but I want to help them first because I think the Wards isn't safe for me until I've helped. I promise, I'm being a hero. I – I want to help this city. My city."
click and it's safe to remove the paper. Another few clicks and the video file is sent to Tin_Can't, and that's it for the morning.
I hadn't mentioned the admin permissions part of my power. Why hadn't I mentioned it? I guess... well, that's the scary part of my powers. And if the PRT knew, they might lock me up somewhere, in a tight little box where I can't get oout and nobody helpss mee holy shit.
I'm terrified of that. That was a little panic attack, that hurt a lot, it's hard to breath like that. I'm so scared. And with good reason, honestly, they have jails, and what if they decide not to help, just like the school? They could so easily.
No, I have to keep this secret. Be the helpful, harmless thinker that cleans their house and deworms their guts. If they need me they'll protect me, but if they're scared – well, I've been scared a lot, I know how that goes.
I'll have to get Dad not to give it away. And learn to protect myself.
I settled back in my wheelchair and opened an online law textbook. The legal system might be one of the biggest dangers to me, but it is still just a system. I can handle systems.
Okay, update. The legal system is really complicated. And law textbooks are not all in agreement, and it doesn't feel like I'm connected to the center of the legal system. If I was, I could understand all this a lot better, I'm sure of it. As it is, reading about the laws feels intuitive, but I can't easily tell how they all work together. I get when a law is making trouble, though. Like, this one law about digital copyright, it's meant to protect artists' revenues from their work, but instead it doesn't interface with society like that. It's become a tool for big producing companies to make unrelated artists pay through the nose for the chance to imitate the styles of others. It's even being used to take revenues from unrelated works which accidentally have a similar cluster of notes. So this law isn't doing what its supposed to, and is a detriment to the legal system. As a result, it smells of malfunctioning yellow.
I know, I know. Malfunctioning yellow isn't a kind of yellow, and even if it was it shouldn't be a smell. But it isn't, not really, it's a whole different sense, and it comes with so much more detail. It's hard to just describe in words, but it's like this. When you smell banana bread baking downstairs, you don't think "ah yes, that is the scent of vanillin, and ethyl acetate and ethanol and a hint of the Maillard reaction, that must be banana bread!" When you see a ball flying through the air towards you, you don't track its progress and calculate the path of its parabolic trajectory and predict its location and move your hand and catch it, you just – know where it's going. In one step. And then you move your hand and look you have the ball. Well, you do, I'm not up to catching balls just yet.
Anyway, that's what my extra sense is like. The law doesn't really smell like a metaphorical color, it is a whole new sense feeding me information on exactly what's wrong and pointing me towards other laws it interfaces with and touching on the societal ramifications and playing an off-key symphony on my tongue of unintended consequences and regulatory capture. And it smells like yellow. Yellow that doesn't work.
Yeah, I know.
I studied the law until Dad came home with the cell phone. That was exciting and scary, all at once – actual contact with Armsmaster, one of my favorites. Best get the Hero Worship over with quickly, I'd be working with him soon if everything went to plan. And in the meantime, maybe I can convince Dad to go on a field trip up to Hartford with me? I'd really like to sit in the House of Reps and read some of these books. But wait, no laptop. Hmm, maybe first the library, then the House? And I guess it can't be the federal law books. Tricky.
With Dad back, lunch eaten, and the afternoon promptly arriving, it became time to do the week's homework, assigned in advance because of the suspension. The goddamn unfair suspension that I don't deserve and how DARE she–
I did my homework through the afternoon. There was surprisingly little of it. Odd how when it's spread out day by day it feels like it fills all your time, but as a clump it's only maybe four hours across all the classes. This was kind of a light week, but still. I don't get how people don't turn in their homework and pull C's. I mean, I don't always turn in my homework, and I've got some C's, but that's not exactly my fault. I do all my homework, but then those evil bi – sorry. I can't afford to think that way anymore, if I snap it could be bad. I've got actual power now, I can't let myself be some kind of vigilante. Can't afford it.
But why not?
No.
Well, not for revenge. But what if I caught them at it? Just collected evidence, made sure it saw the light? That wouldn't be revenge, just showing the world what they do to me – that's justice, right? Surely. Not like I'd be digging into their bank accounts and destroying their finances for all time and bringing the IRS down on their heads like they deserve. No. Don't think like that, they don't deserve that.
But publicity? They deserve that.
Homework done, I began to plan before dinner. After dinner, I'd be practicing coding, maybe learning a new language. But for now? I could be a hero. I could find justice for me and everyone else ever bullied at Winslow by those too popular to be punishable.
Time to plan.
Once she was done with the newly-convoluted mess of her morning routine (amazing how difficult brushing teeth becomes when you can't stand and even leaning forward is hard) she laboriously rolled her chair into the kitchen, where Dad had prepared breakfast, and opened PHO so they could check on the message to Armsmaster.
Tin_Can't ► Throwaway129831:
I admit to annoyance at your near-violation of the Rules, but I understand why you thought it necessary. However, your request to meet with me and the Director in secrecy cannot be accommodated at this time. You are an unknown parahuman, with unknown powers and proclivities, and we cannot trust you immediately. Moreover, there are procedures for situations like this.
Well, that wasn't encouraging. She scrolled down, and they read on.
For these procedures, I ask you to submit a video of yourself describing the nature of your power, and specifically stating that you have no ability or intention to subvert the leadership or integrity of the PRT or Protectorate. The video will be sent to WEDGDG, where they will ascertain your veracity. You need not be unmasked, but it needs to be a video. Any other statements whose veracity you wish to prove to us may also be given.
Further, I will dead-drop a new-built Dragontech phone with a dedicated secure channel through a speech-to-text-to-speech interface to my armor. It will be at the bus station at 23rd and Narrows at 11:35, taped to the underside of the bench. Do not be late.
It is my hope that we will work well together in the future, but for now, caution is to both our benefits.
Well. She certainly could work with that, although Dad would have to be the one to pick up the phone. He probably wouldn't like that. In the meantime, Taylor could certainly record the video. Although, how many other such videos were submitted to WEDGDG? Probably a lot, come to think of it, and in any case if the PRT was subverted nationally there was little she could do about it at this point. Armsmaster was terse but correct and helpful, and her instincts were not screaming Trap! yet, so this plan could pan out. Just to double-check, though, she logged back into her new anonymous email account and re-confirmed that her email exposing the PRT for her kidnapping was scheduled to send on the 30th. Always important to have a backup plan.
She took a bite of her eggs.
I sat in front of my computer, angled so that my background was the plain yellowed-white wall beside the stairs. I hovered my mouse over the record button, held a piece of printer paper in front of my face, clicked once and began to speak.
"Hello, I'm a new Wards-age parahuman in Brockton Bay. My powers involve intuitive understanding of the features and connections of any system. This understanding improves with proximity to the center of such a system, and indeed provides no information if I am not in any proximity to the system. For instance, if I were in a library I could tell where the staff of the library are, as well as the central administrative space of the library, but only by standing in that space could I tell details about the identities of the staff of the library, the other systems to which they belong, the flaws and issues facing the library, et cetera. I have no ability nor intention to harm or subvert the leaders of the PRT or Protectorate, and indeed am less able to do so than the average baseline human. I just want to help them, honestly. And I want to join the Wards, but I want to help them first because I think the Wards isn't safe for me until I've helped. I promise, I'm being a hero. I – I want to help this city. My city."
click and it's safe to remove the paper. Another few clicks and the video file is sent to Tin_Can't, and that's it for the morning.
I hadn't mentioned the admin permissions part of my power. Why hadn't I mentioned it? I guess... well, that's the scary part of my powers. And if the PRT knew, they might lock me up somewhere, in a tight little box where I can't get oout and nobody helpss mee holy shit.
I'm terrified of that. That was a little panic attack, that hurt a lot, it's hard to breath like that. I'm so scared. And with good reason, honestly, they have jails, and what if they decide not to help, just like the school? They could so easily.
No, I have to keep this secret. Be the helpful, harmless thinker that cleans their house and deworms their guts. If they need me they'll protect me, but if they're scared – well, I've been scared a lot, I know how that goes.
I'll have to get Dad not to give it away. And learn to protect myself.
I settled back in my wheelchair and opened an online law textbook. The legal system might be one of the biggest dangers to me, but it is still just a system. I can handle systems.
Okay, update. The legal system is really complicated. And law textbooks are not all in agreement, and it doesn't feel like I'm connected to the center of the legal system. If I was, I could understand all this a lot better, I'm sure of it. As it is, reading about the laws feels intuitive, but I can't easily tell how they all work together. I get when a law is making trouble, though. Like, this one law about digital copyright, it's meant to protect artists' revenues from their work, but instead it doesn't interface with society like that. It's become a tool for big producing companies to make unrelated artists pay through the nose for the chance to imitate the styles of others. It's even being used to take revenues from unrelated works which accidentally have a similar cluster of notes. So this law isn't doing what its supposed to, and is a detriment to the legal system. As a result, it smells of malfunctioning yellow.
I know, I know. Malfunctioning yellow isn't a kind of yellow, and even if it was it shouldn't be a smell. But it isn't, not really, it's a whole different sense, and it comes with so much more detail. It's hard to just describe in words, but it's like this. When you smell banana bread baking downstairs, you don't think "ah yes, that is the scent of vanillin, and ethyl acetate and ethanol and a hint of the Maillard reaction, that must be banana bread!" When you see a ball flying through the air towards you, you don't track its progress and calculate the path of its parabolic trajectory and predict its location and move your hand and catch it, you just – know where it's going. In one step. And then you move your hand and look you have the ball. Well, you do, I'm not up to catching balls just yet.
Anyway, that's what my extra sense is like. The law doesn't really smell like a metaphorical color, it is a whole new sense feeding me information on exactly what's wrong and pointing me towards other laws it interfaces with and touching on the societal ramifications and playing an off-key symphony on my tongue of unintended consequences and regulatory capture. And it smells like yellow. Yellow that doesn't work.
Yeah, I know.
I studied the law until Dad came home with the cell phone. That was exciting and scary, all at once – actual contact with Armsmaster, one of my favorites. Best get the Hero Worship over with quickly, I'd be working with him soon if everything went to plan. And in the meantime, maybe I can convince Dad to go on a field trip up to Hartford with me? I'd really like to sit in the House of Reps and read some of these books. But wait, no laptop. Hmm, maybe first the library, then the House? And I guess it can't be the federal law books. Tricky.
With Dad back, lunch eaten, and the afternoon promptly arriving, it became time to do the week's homework, assigned in advance because of the suspension. The goddamn unfair suspension that I don't deserve and how DARE she–
I did my homework through the afternoon. There was surprisingly little of it. Odd how when it's spread out day by day it feels like it fills all your time, but as a clump it's only maybe four hours across all the classes. This was kind of a light week, but still. I don't get how people don't turn in their homework and pull C's. I mean, I don't always turn in my homework, and I've got some C's, but that's not exactly my fault. I do all my homework, but then those evil bi – sorry. I can't afford to think that way anymore, if I snap it could be bad. I've got actual power now, I can't let myself be some kind of vigilante. Can't afford it.
But why not?
No.
Well, not for revenge. But what if I caught them at it? Just collected evidence, made sure it saw the light? That wouldn't be revenge, just showing the world what they do to me – that's justice, right? Surely. Not like I'd be digging into their bank accounts and destroying their finances for all time and bringing the IRS down on their heads like they deserve. No. Don't think like that, they don't deserve that.
But publicity? They deserve that.
Homework done, I began to plan before dinner. After dinner, I'd be practicing coding, maybe learning a new language. But for now? I could be a hero. I could find justice for me and everyone else ever bullied at Winslow by those too popular to be punishable.
Time to plan.
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