Taylor meditated.
Most people who meditated did so to improve their focus and concentration, to become more mindful of the world around them, and in a sense, that is why Taylor was meditating. However, few people would be able to achieve as much as Taylor could, and certainly not by using her… particular methods. Whereas most would seek a sense of calm, she focused on her anger, her hatred. She cultivated it, letting it well up within her chest, before condensing it into a tiny ball of pure fury for later use. She would need it, if what her senses told her was correct.
You see, Taylor had a power. She could access some strange, ubiquitous energy field that seemed to stretch across the entire planet, binding all life together. It was generated by living things, and it flowed between them, carrying their thoughts, feelings, and passions. However, none could truly sense it beyond vague inclinations: that nagging feeling that tells you when someone is behind you, or the instinctual knowledge of a coming storm, removed from any meteorological observations. None could truly sense it, hear it, aside from Taylor, as far as she could tell.
Of course, her ability to access it stretched
far beyond simply hearing it. She could draw upon it, using her hatred, anger, and pain to force the energy contained within to manifest, to fuel her body, and alter the world around her. She could move objects telekinetically, alter the properties of materials and charge them with the energy of all life, and most curiously of all, she could delve into the web of energy and listen to its echoes, the emotions of those around her, the whispered warnings of future events, and even the grand symphony of the Earth's biosphere.
And that is why she was cultivating her anger: she could tell that a critical moment was approaching, a significant encounter with the potential to alter the course of events in the city. More than that, she knew that there would be battle regardless of her presence. That last part was of particular interest to her, for she wanted to be a hero. Heroes with powers fought villains with powers, and Taylor, despite having powers, had yet to go out and actually be a hero. Part of the reason was that she sensed that the time was not right, and another part was that neither she, nor her… costume had been ready.
Of course, she called it a costume, but it was more accurate to call it armor, or a disguise, for it primarily served the functions of protecting her person, and concealing her presence and identity. It certainly hadn't been designed for aesthetics: it simply consisted of a long robe over plates of rudimentary plastic. She didn't have reliable access to things like resin for industrial-strength plastics, so she'd needed to make do with milk-based plastics, and after a significant amount of trial and error, she managed to create a material that would be suitable for armor through application of her power, hardening and reinforcing the plastic. As for the robe, it had been a relatively simple matter to sew it out of black fabric and then fireproof it. She'd attempted to figure out a way to make it blend in with the night for better stealth, but that hadn't panned out. Evidently her powers didn't exactly work that way. She also wore a simple black mask, also fireproofed, to conceal her identity, should any see past her hood.
The clock struck midnight, and she stood. It was time.
==*==
If she was anyone else, Taylor would have chosen a slightly more… practical method of locating the battleground that she would fight at that night, but if she was anyone else, she also wouldn't have been able to sense that a fight would happen, so it all balanced out. She chuckled briefly at the thought, before shoving her mirth aside. It would not aid her in her first battle, so she discarded it.
...Perhaps that was why she endured the Trio's torments, then? They were a source of endless frustration and anger. Anger which she could use to further her wish of becoming a hero.
But gratitude would not do, either. It was better to cultivate her hatred for them, for as long as they continued to inspire the emotion in her.
Regardless, unlike at school, she had no trouble in finding her location. She simply listened to the echo of events yet to come, and began to walk, following the sound to its source. Out of the relatively safer parts of town, east through the Docks and to the Boardwalk, and then north, straddling the line between tourism and subjugation, safety and danger, wealth and lack thereof. It was a curious area, when perceived through the lens of her power: camaraderie, the bonds of desperation mixing with the isolation of those well-off enough to not care about others, turning into a twisted concoction of resentment and rivalry, driven by the galvanizing power that the gang leaders possessed.
The underlying echo of the power that both united and destroyed grew stronger, and Taylor followed it, deeper into the Docks. There were no streetlights, no light at all, aside from the flame of a single lighter, illuminating faces with an asian cast to them, belonging to people clad in red and green. Within them, Taylor could feel frustration and anger, but most prominently, fear. But fear of whom?
Her question was promptly answered when the gang members backed away from the doorway of a two-story building, making way for a man of impressive stature, wearing no shirt, nothing above his waist but an ornate mask, carved in the likeness of a dragon. His presence was strong, and carried with it a despotic anger, as if something important had been taken from him, as if he was wronged, and the only thing he wished to do was to kill those who had dared challenge him. Taylor knew immediately who he was: Lung, the leader of the ABB, a pyrokinetic who became gradually stronger, more like a dragon, if rumors were to be believed, the more he fought.
She wasn't entirely sure how the members of the gang were armed, aside from Lung, who was obviously armed with his flames. It was immaterial, though: she was confident in her ability to telekinetically disarm thugs.
From there, Taylor knew that she had two choices in this situation: she could either walk away and waste all of her preparations… or she could fight. She smiled cruelly. There really was only one option that she could take. So, she began to stride forward, approaching the crowd of ABB members.
She wasn't exactly sure what had given it away. Perhaps it was the black robe, or maybe the smile she wore. It could even have been the fact that she got within ten yards of a group of gang members in the middle of the night, while obviously in full control of her faculties. Most likely, however, it was a combination of all of those factors. Regardless, the moment one of the ABB thugs spotted her, he shouted a word in a language she couldn't understand -- most likely something to the effect of "Cape!" -- and drew a pistol.
Now that wouldn't do.
Taylor summoned her rage, raising a fist as she seized the firearm telekinetically, and, with a flick of thought and a swing of her arm, she tore the gun out of the thug's hands, throwing it to the other side of the street. Then, before anyone else could react, she thrust her hands forward, focusing her rage into a wave of force.
The members of the ABB, all of them, were thrown around twenty yards backwards, tumbling across the pavement like a bunch of ragdolls. Between that and her wave of force, she doubted any of them would be getting up any time soon… of course, aside from Lung. He was struggling to his feet, his skin slowly taking on a silver sheen.
Unwilling to allow the villain to grow any stronger, Taylor walked forward, reached out and grasped Lung's neck with her powers, raising him up in the air and choking him. Once he lost consciousness, she would be able to… do what, exactly? Call the PRT? With what phone? Maybe she'd end up needing to drag his unconscious body all the way to the PRT's headquarters. It wouldn't be very dignified, a perfect outcome to force-
Her sadistic contemplation was cut short as her power screamed out in warning. Without thinking, Taylor released Lung and dodged to the side, just as a beam of flame shot past her head.
The Dragon landed on his hands and knees, individual scales just beginning to make themselves apparent. Taylor had only a moment to defend herself as he got up to a kneeling position and thrust his hand outwards, shooting a cylinder of flame at Taylor. Thankfully, a moment was all she needed to push against the stream of fire, parting it down the middle as if by a wedge.
But Lung was expecting that, it seemed. The parted flames changed direction, curling around to strike Taylor's back. Thankfully, her robe's fireproofing, despite making it rather stiff, held up, giving Taylor enough time to channel her power into her legs and leap upwards.
The power-enhanced jump took her ten feet into the air, not her best from when she had been experimenting with enhanced movements, but it was passable for how little time she'd had to make it happen. However, that was when Taylor realized something crucial:
she didn't have any way to change direction in midair. Lung realized that too, evidently, as he dashed forwards in two bounds and grabbed Taylor's unprotected foot with a fire-wreathed hand and swung her onto the pavement.
Taylor's armor plating, despite her initial impression of success, was unable to withstand the impact of being slammed onto a hard surface by a superhumanly strong dragon, and shattered, the pieces digging into her back. Of course, that pain was nothing compared to the sensation of suffering third-degree burns, even on just her ankle. Taylor didn't let the pain stop her for more than a moment, though. Indeed, she concentrated on the pain, letting it give her focus, strength. And so, when she cried out, it was not a cry of agony, but rather a scream of rage, carrying every ounce of anger and hatred she could muster in that moment. It echoed through the streets, now lit, if only dimly, by fires that had yet to be put out. But the one most affected, the target of her wrath, was Lung. He lurched backwards, and… tanked the blast, standing up straight once more, an expression of inconceivable rage on his barely-human face. When had his mask come off?
Retribution was swift and painful: the dragon shot a beam of fire at Taylor's face underneath her hood. She desperately closed her eyes and mouth, but that did little to prevent the agony of having the majority of her face exposed to literal fire.
She couldn't do anything to prevent it: she knew no wrestling or martial arts techniques that could let her escape her bind, and the most she could preserve her face was to attempt to disperse the heat energy, at best a token act in front of such overwhelming power…
And then it stopped, and Lung's grip on her leg vanished. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids… weren't exactly in the best state. She couldn't use her eyes, then, but she still could sense the world around her with her powers. A moment of concentration, and the street unfolded to her perceptions: there were three new people who had entered the fight, along with four… dogs? But they were too large to be dogs, despite their minds being remarkably similar to the other ones she'd touched on occasion. Even the smallest… no, that was a human. So there were four new people and three canines of unusual size. The most reliable conclusion Taylor could reach was "Powers" so she moved on.
From what she could tell, one of the dogs had attacked Lung, and was currently trying to fend the Dragon off. His fire seemed to have no effect, but even still, the hound wasn't doing the best job of fighting Lung, its sheer mass nothing next to Lung's raw strength.
Taylor realized something then: in all likelihood, Lung would triumph in this encounter. He grew stronger with every passing second, and he was already winning against the supersized hound. She couldn't let that happen. The villain had set her face alight, after all, and the burns hurt perhaps even more than they had before, now that they were exposed to the sting of night air. In that case, she had to stop Lung, here and now. Subjugate him, and make sure he'd never hurt her ever again.
She let that fury build, stoking its flames until it burned bright, far too bright to hold onto any more. She forced the shaking in her chest down her arms, directing it out of her hands and at Lung. When the power emerged, it was a torrent of raw lightning, an attack that Lung had no way of preparing for.
It engulfed him, throwing him straight into a building with the sheer energy of the attack. It wasn't enough, by Taylor's estimate, not
nearly enough. She poured more power into the electrical storm, forcing out every ounce of rage she had, every bit of frustration, every feeling of hatred and pain she had felt for the past month. And when that wasn't enough, she drew upon Lung's hatred as well,
his anger. The anger of the dragon caused the lightning to intensify even further, until Taylor found herself at her limit. Her body simply wasn't capable of channelling so much energy at once, certainly not in any sustainable manner and not without practice.
She collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily, electricity still sparking around her forearms. If Lung had endured that, she knew that she would most likely die, pulverized by his ever-increasing might. With her power, she "looked" at his mind: it had quieted and fallen into unconsciousness, even deeper than the rest of the ABB goons.
She allowed herself a smile, relief setting into her. She had won. She'd needed the aid of… whoever those people were, but she'd won. With her eyes still effectively burned shut, she got up and walked over to the four people who had saved her with their… superdogs.
And then they were gone, their mounts turning and bounding away. Confused, Taylor reached out and touched their minds more deeply, and found confusion in all of them as well. All of them, save one, who felt fear and horror, directed at Taylor.
If she could have opened her eyes, she would have stood there, blinking in confusion. But, because she didn't, her first priority was to remedy that fact. Besides, she felt that events had not yet concluded, and she needed to remain at the site.
Taylor sat down, cross-legged on the flame-lit street, and meditated, much like before. She opened her mind to her power, and by concentrating on the pain in her face and ankle, drew upon the energy. She allowed it to flow through her, permeating every fiber of her being, invigorating her muscles and fortifying her bones. Then, she channeled the energy specifically to her face, strengthening and replenishing the tissue, forcing it to function despite its injuries. Once she felt the process succeed, she opened her eyes and mouth.
Pain. She experienced pain even greater than before, nerves, once charred, now forced to function as normal, sending signals of agony to her brain. She didn't turn away from it. Rather, she let it invigorate her even further as she stood up, just in time to sense another presence approaching, a presence promptly announced by the roar of a motorcycle.
Armsmaster came pulling up on his blue and silver vehicle, and when he spotted Taylor, he screeched to a halt, dismounting and drawing his halberd in a smooth, practiced motion.
"You gonna fight me?" He asked.
Taylor felt a brief flash of frustration, but then remembered that she was a figure wearing a black robe, surrounded by unconscious bodies, littering a street with a couple lingering fires. Who wouldn't assume that she was a villain?
"No." She answered. "I'm a hero." She felt that she deserved the classification after taking down a proto-dragon gang leader.
"You don't exactly look like one." He observed.
The hero was right, of course. She'd chosen black fabric out of the other possible options because it would theoretically help her blend in with the night… or something like that. In retrospect, it wasn't exactly her best decision. Taylor opened her mouth to respond, but Armsmaster added on something after his statement.
"But… you're telling the truth."
That was… curious. It was as if he knew for sure, as opposed to…
No, Taylor. She thought.
Don't go looking into the mind of a renowned hero.
"You need a hospital?" The hero inquired further, lowering his weapon and walking forward.
In response, Taylor pulled up her hood, revealing her masked face, disfigured by the third-degree burns Lung had inflicted on her. Her hair was okay -- she'd pulled it back into a ponytail -- but that was little consolation. "If it hadn't been for some other group of capes that intervened, Lung would have probably done a lot more than this."
"That's why we have the Wards program." Armsmaster stated plainly, not an ounce of judgement in his voice. "Where is Lung?"
Taylor pointed to the unconscious body of the leader of the ABB. His armor and bulk had mostly faded away, leaving nothing more than a man, covered in tattoos of the beings he emulated in battle.
"You mind if I secure him?"
"Go ahead." Taylor assented, watching as the Tinker unfurled a metal cage from the depths of his motorcycle (Where had he managed to store it?) and welded it to the ground around Lung. Then, a small attachment exited his halberd, poking the dragon with a needle. Undoubtedly, a tranquilizer to make sure that Lung would stay down.
"That should hold him long enough for the PRT to get here." He said. "Now, let me make a call, and hopefully, we can get you fixed up." He turned aside, put a finger to his helmet, and spoke some words that Taylor couldn't make out, waited slightly, then spoke more. After a minute or so, he looked back to her. "You're in luck: Panacea is currently helping out at Brockton Bay General Hospital, and has agreed to heal a fellow hero." Something told Taylor that it was more rare than one may initially imagine. "For now, do you need painkillers?"
Taylor shook her head. "The pain is the only reason I can use my eyes and mouth like normal."
"Something to do with your power?"
She nodded.
"Speaking of," Armsmaster continued, "I haven't seen you around before. Are you from elsewhere, or are you new?"
"New."
"You got a name?"
"I never really thought of one." Taylor admitted. "The thought just… hadn't crossed my mind."
"Have you thought of joining the Wards?" Armsmaster proposed. "We have people whose job it is to think of things like that."
"I…" Taylor began, then stopped herself. She had considered it before, obviously, but she'd dismissed it: she didn't want to get caught up in any sort of teenage drama, and frankly, she didn't think that authoritative oversight was entirely necessary to becoming a hero. But, now that she had experienced battle firsthand, she more fully realized the perks: she would have a team at her back, with powerful allies that could prevent her from having her face burned off again. If she wanted to be a hero, she
needed that power. "I think that I am going to join the Wards, now that I've experienced actual 'hero work.'"
Armsmaster smiled good-naturedly. "That's excellent. If you want, we can go over the specifics right after we get you fixed up." With that, he mounted his bike, and with the push of a button, a sidecar folded out from his vehicle, once again with no indication of how he actually managed to fit something that large inside the motorcycle. "Jump in."
Taylor nodded, putting on the helmet that spontaneously popped up the moment she sat down, and the pair sped away.
