Twinning(s) [Worm Altpower]

[Harbin]

1.1​

Taylor promised herself she wouldn't lose sight of her morals after she got her powers. The pranks they had pulled on her were bad enough, but she definitely wouldn't use her powers to respond. She'd just go to the library in one timeline, and read. That's what she would do. She would start from 800 in the DDC. Then work her way down the list. Yeah.

It wouldn't be right to do things to her classmates for what they did to her. In the other timeline, she had soda poured into her hair. Taylor pursed her lips, then concentrated on the book. The book hadn't done anything. Unless you counted rhetoric as a crime; it could be, if you argued about it.

Had to argue real good, though. Wasn't normal arguin' that would make rhetoric a crime. Had to be impassioned. Yell at that audience until you got arrested.

Yup, that was grape soda. Shit.

Did the grape soda count as a garnish for the pencil shavings that had been dumped on her head, or was it the other way around? Taylor had just gotten the salt out. It had taken days, and she was still finding little bits, like demented dandruff that refused to depart.

But her will was strong. She wouldn't use her power to harm the bullies. Taylor stood from the toilet seat, exiting the stall, walking to the mirror. She kept reading in the other timeline. If she screamed there, she'd get thrown out.

Breathe in, breathe out. Easy does it.

She forced a smile at the mirror, shrugging to show just how unfazed she was. Not. Fazed. Whooo.

To the gym. Shower time. Then class. Smile. Read that book on rhetoric. Find out how to fight Sophia with words. Pen was mightier than the sword. No violence.

It would be okay.

--​

Yeaaah. Just a little bit of yelling at Emma was okay when it didn't really exist in two minutes down the line, right? It wasn't like she'd remember. It'd be okay!

Just a bit of stress relief. Like yelling into a pillow! She'd done a lot of that, recently. Good for the soul. A lot of tea, too. Maybe some tea ceremony classes in the alternate dimension. Shelling out fifty bucks wasn't bad when it didn't actually happen and she was learning. The repetitive process and concentration required was easy to lose oneself in. Relaxing stuff.

Wipe tea caddy. Resume position.

Wipe tea bowl. Resume position.

Wipe tea scoop. Don't hate them.

Wipe whisk. Ignore. Ignore.

Stir, stir, stir, stir, whisk, whisk, whisk.

Drink all the tea, screw everyone else, she needed that.

Fuck.

--​

Punching Madison felt surprisingly good. Watching her shocked face, the tears welling up as the cutsey little bully squealed in panic. Was it more of a squall? It was an easy argument to make. Taylor had moved on to 801, days ago. Watching her try to say another zinger only to receive another punch- that was satisfying.

Taylor really didn't want to lose her morality. She resolved to be nice about it, and asked Madison if she needed a hand up. Madison slapped her. That stung. Taylor closed the timeline, and decided she'd take another shot. Turn the other cheek. Madison's cheek.

That one hit the ground too, and Taylor offered her a hand up. Another slap. Oh well. Third time's the charm?

--​

Taylor was bored of killing Sophia. She had been for weeks. It was no longer interesting. Taser, stab, slit throat. It took surprisingly little effort after the thirtieth time. Emma was more interesting. Watching her facade crack, knowing her little secrets, but her expressions were all the same. It grated on her at first, but after a bit, it slowly became less and less. It was a matter of routine now, though.

In one, she went to one side. In the other, she stepped the other way. In one, Sophia tried to shoulder check her. In that one, Taylor calmly slid the knife into her neck, going with the shoulder check.

"You have very pretty eyes, Sophia." She said, taking out the pepper spray, and sprayed Sophia down as she went into her shadow form.

The screams formed a pattern that Taylor tried to listen for. Sophia's screams tended to be more interesting than her curse words. She twisted and gurgled, reflexively flickering back and forth between her shadow form and her normal form, and Taylor sat next to her. The first few times, it had been horrifying to see.

Sophia had very nearly killed her. Taylor reminisced, tonguing the top of her mouth, remembering the teeth missing, the way she couldn't properly move her jaw. The throbbing pain, growing worse with each breath as she lay on the ground, Sophia laughing.

Now, Sophia was reduced to this.

An education that she'd long since surpassed, in the school of literal hard knocks. Taylor patted Sophia on the head, and shut the timeline.

In the other one, Taylor moved out of the way of the shoulder check, and Sophia gave her a nasty glare. She diverged things once more, giving her a sunny smile in one, and nodding at her in the other.

She had read a lot of the books in the library. Stock investment seemed like a pretty great idea to make money, and it wasn't like her investments were going to fall through. High-risk never held less meaning than today. Every day, when she didn't do this bit where she wasted time, trying to avoid the trio and relieving stress, she was doing something productive. Her killings were more and more efficient, but she was running into a wall.

Shadow Stalker wasn't good enough for her anymore. In fact, it was probably worse for her to keep fighting Sophia.

Very few people fought like they could phase through your fist, and then punch you.

She had learned quite a bit from Sophia, and for that she was very thankful. Taylor did her best to compliment her, because while she felt very little each fight, she didn't want to lose the affectionate side of herself.

It felt a bit misplaced already, and it had only been three weeks.

Picking fights on a constant, consistent basis allowed her to counter, think up ways to dodge, attack, move. Her workout routine had shown results, even if she had "accidentally" played hooky from school once or twice when she realized that her results would not carry over to the other timeline. Just her mind.

Whoops. Sorry, Dad. He didn't mind too much.

She was the perfect daughter, able to finish dinner, do her homework, and then copy off herself.

Not many girls could do that, she suspected.

So, he let some things go. It was easier on him, and easier on her. They talked. She carefully screened the conversations, searching for things he wanted to hear, closing the timeline, then starting things once more.

Taylor figured she could do the same thing with anyone she wanted to date. It wouldn't be difficult. She wouldn't even have to fake it.

This ability didn't allow for infinite time, but it did allow for a doubled amount of time, with a serious amount of backbreaking flexibility.

Taylor had even experienced death. She hadn't committed suicide, just played hooky in one dimension and hadn't been paying attention.

Turned out, cars hurt. She wasn't sure how many bones were broken, but there were a lot, and not all of them were fully inside her anymore.

Nobody would be making a xylophone out of her rib cage, that was for sure. Her heart stopped, and she'd been very scared. Also, very curious.

Then, the timeline went dark. She assumed she'd died. No great loss. Science moved on, and her ability was useful once again. Taylor had taken the use of her ability to forgive Sophia, Emma, and Madison. She'd seen each of their reactions, and it was amusing how each of them responded. Taylor provided them personal details with each apology.

Emma getting mugged and almost raped didn't really phase her anymore, but Taylor forgave Emma for treating her like the Asian Bad Boyz had treated her in that alleyway.

Watching Emma break down and cry had been amusing for a while. Taylor looked for buttons to press, searching through her lexicon of words, trying new ones and interrogating her at the edge of a knife. Turns out, Emma didn't like knives very much. Or knives against her hair. Anywhere, really. She turned into a blubbering mess, and it was all very interesting.

Lately, she was trying benevolence out. Her time had been spent in the morning scrupulously watching a judo video, as opposed to Sophia's more aggressive striking style. Taylor assumed it had been created out of a mix of watching MMA and some improvisation developed from experience and her abilities.

In one reality, she watched the video over and over, trying to get a hang on it. In the other reality, she attempted to put it into practice against Sophia.

She was very convenient, and made for a great practice dummy. Aggressive, but not stupid. Angry, but not panicky. (Well, until she realized skinny tall Taylor Hebert was crushing her.)

"You have really great hair, you know that?"

Whoops. Sophia's skull made a crnkching sound, and she started foaming from the mouth. Taylor closed that timeline and tried again.

"You've got a really nice smile. Looks great with all your teeth in it."

Arms weren't supposed to bend that way. Damn. Let's try that again.

"You're like a storm, angry, but gorgeous."

Aha! Alright, time to repeat that.

Lunch was over, and Taylor was smiling at the end of it.

An hour was definitely too short for lunch.

 

[Harbin]

1.2​

It just wasn't fair. Here she was, trying the whole benevolence thing, she'd already accidentally (probably) killed Sophia. (Twice. The third time was going to end in a coma, so it didn't count.) And this guy tried to rob her on the way back home? With a knife.

She added it to her collection.

It wasn't a bad knife. In one timeline, she experimented again, trying the second judo move. In the other, she dusted her hands off, picking the knife up and tossing it from hand to hand. She walked away from the incapacitated thug. Still living in both timelines. Good job, me.

Shit. She forgot to compliment him before starting. At this rate, she wouldn't have much empathy. The guy was screaming on the ground, so she knelt down next to him and patted him on the head. "There, there. Your mother still loves you. Probably. And you probably drink really well?"

Two compliments. Nobody could say she hadn't tried.

He screamed something vulgar, so she rabbit punched him in the throat before closing the timeline.

In the other one, she walked home, diverging again. She whistled a melody in one, and a harmony in the other. You could always rely on a duet when it was you and your bestest friend, Taylor Hebert.

It was a shame she couldn't pat herself on the back. Seemed like the right thing to do when you were in an indie band consisting of you and yourself. The ultimate hipster. So far underground that not even the band members were sure about the other's existence. Schrödinger's hipster.

Or something. Taylor was still making her way through 817, cut her some slack. She'd get to 500-whatever it was. Eventually.

Jeez.

Sometimes, it took a moment for her to check around, and make sure that she was closing the correct timeline. It was easier when she got shot, or when she was in pain. A sort of marker, telling her that this was for sure the correct timeline.

Taylor had considered hurting herself in order to mark which one was which, but that would be bad. Why wasn't precisely clear, since that version of her wouldn't exist, but she elected not to do it. Perhaps she was a tad bit worried about getting used to that as a measure of what had occurred. Her continued awareness (of her own awareness) was important.

She opened the door, going upstairs in one, into the kitchen into in the other. Today, the recipe was breaded, baked chicken. Taylor was interested in trying it. It was much easier to gauge cooking times when you could merge the upstairs and downstairs timeline shortly before the timer, and then check, taking it out at different times to ensure the best possible chicken.

Pride was best taken in the simple things. Having hobbies was healthy. Reading, cooking, working out.

Killing her classmates in another timeline didn't count.

A lot of things she'd done didn't count.

They were uh, just part of the bucket list. Yeah.

That sounded a lot better. What time was it?

Chicken time. That's what time it was. Flop that chicken over, make sure it gets all nice and breaded, slap it on the tray, throw it in the oven. Right. Become delicious. In thyme.

Going to school was so much easier when she could cheat off of anyone in class, but she kept to the routine. Taylor was smart enough to get good grades, although people had been a bit weirded out when she'd laughed at the juice on her head. It was funny, because she was both there, and at the library, reading.

It was funny because it was happening to someone else? Or because it was happening happening to her, but in a sort of existentialist way?

Whatever. She was reading cape law internet stuff right now, not psychology. Philosophy. It was dry stuff. Unlike the chicken, which would be crisp, moist, and delicious. She checked the time on both sides. Twenty minutes.

She had plenty of time.

Taylor prank called Emma, checking to make sure it was the one upstairs. It was the little things in life that made things go, and made this material bearable.

This happened to be one of them. Calling Sophia in a quavering voice, telling her that the jig was up, and her gig was going to be exposed was hilarious. Shadow Stalker immediately tried to kill her. It wasn't even five minutes, the first time she'd done it.

Ten minutes left. Emma screamed on the phone at her. Daddy gonna tear you apart, Daddy gonna do this, that-

Was he there for you in the alleyway? Whoops, got a little angry. Didn't mean to say that one just yet. It kind of ruined the thrill of buildup. A bit of a waste, when she was trying to slowly ramp her up to the cusp of a conniption fit, then puncture it.

Pop. Taylor compressed her lips in the other timeline, making the noise as the chicken sizzled in front of her.

This was just blind rage, close, but not quite enough. It fell apart into a whisper of shock and fear. Well, gotta run, Emma. See you later, bye.

And that was the end of it, and the end of that timeline.

Five minutes left on the chicken. Was it done? Take it out, check, slice it open, still a little bit pink, not as crispy as she wanted. Close timeline. Try again in another minute.

Dad came in on try three. It was looking good, but she wanted that crispiness just a tad more. Also, she burnt her hands on try three, so there was that.

And then it was done, and she hugged her Dad, smiling. "Hey Dad, made chicken for dinner. Hope you're in the mood for that."

Hugs were acceptable, she'd learned that over the first few days. He enjoyed the physical contact, and it was also acceptable to talk about her day, and her new, fictitious friends.

René, Jean-Paul, and Simone. They were good role models, and she studied with them on the weekdays after school sometimes. As opposed to studying two books at once, and ignoring everyone around her. Social contact was nice and all, but it wasn't as interesting as the social contract heyyyy.

But no, really. It made him happier, and she could see that when he walked and spoke to her, more warmly, less guarded. So she told him what he wanted to hear. It made her smile, to see him smile.

Besides. She wasn't really lying. She was studying them, and that counted, right?

Although the role model part wasn't really true, considering their pasts. Good enough. Good effort, Taylor. You done good.

Thank you, other me. Exit stage right; timeline closed.

Moving on. Chicken was fantastic, so Taylor didn't call Sophia after dinner; a regrettable but necessary sacrifice. What was she going to do with her power? She'd been relatively selfish with it thus far, but as far as she could tell, she was doing much better than she had been.

Less sobbing into that pillow, more thoughtless manipulation of her classmates. Did they still count as enemies?

Taylor shrugged. Chicken sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.

--​

A hostage situation. Sophia had ruined her sandwich in one timeline, so she deserved it. Emma cowered over by the corner. Taylor had been looking forward to taking that first bite in both timelines, carefully cultivating and making it differently in both timelines. Bacon and mayo in one, with the other one being a chicken parm sandwich.

Now the chicken parm was chicken harmed, because it had orange soda all over it. Not even the good stuff, a cheap knockoff brand of the stuff; it was offensive in so many ways.

So Taylor broke her little pacifist benevolence thing in that timeline, while she ate her sandwich in the other. A small nook inside the library where she'd put some books to the side of her, blocking the view of the food.

They were sending heroes! Plural!

Amazing. All she had to do was this. Taylor wondered who they were sending with unadulterated glee. Armsmaster? Maybe Miss Militia? She was such a fan. Wards? Well, it sure wouldn't be Shadow Stalker.

As the containment foam surrounded her, Taylor blinked.

Oh. Velocity.

That made sense. She closed the timeline, pouting. Tease.

Didn't even get to see who else there was.

--​

She kept up the whole benevolence thing for the rest of the day. Even complimented Emma on her face. (In the other timeline, of course.)

Wow, when the light shined juuuust right, you could barely even see the knife marks on her nostrils.

Emma had run off. Probably overwhelmed with emotion. Had to powder her nose. Or it was the careful product of hours spent. Of finding and testing the right remarks on her, to get that particular response.

Mm. Mmmmaybe she still held a little bit of a grudge.

Taylor considered things as they were, and decided she should probably find other things to do. It probably wasn't healthy to be doing that. Who knew what could happen to her if she kept it up.

What were possibilities? Her other self shrugged, now working on how exactly she would get from January to December, as educated through anecdotes in the book.

Yoga? Pilates? Soup kitchen?

Or just getting better at fighting. That was entertaining. The adrenaline rush never got old. There was a certain level of intimacy, of honesty in the fists and knees and feet.

Sometimes teeth and nails, when they were desperate. Or bad at fighting.

Sophia was very clear-cut in her makeshift fighting style, fury and anger. Taylor opened the door, stepping into the house. Dad was home early, so she checked her place in the library, then closed the timeline.

She split them as she walked into the house once more, smiling and waving to Dad. One walked upstairs, to work on homework. The other went to go chat with Dad.

Any mistakes, and a quick reset would fix things. She'd just come downstairs and claim to be done with homework in one timeline. He would praise her for her studiousness, and she'd smile and say she was working on getting into the best universities.

Emma was fear, all coiled up and panicky, springing out in a biting, crying mess. She used her nails before breaking, exacerbated by the presence of a knife or references to her experience in the alleyway. Snap. And then she was on the floor, sobbing.

Yes, Dad. Her friends were doing great! They were very real people, and stuck in the past sometimes. She felt their points of view applied to the real world which she'd be entering at some point or another.

She wasn't quite sure when the coveted 'real world'' would come into play, but she was sure it would happen at some point. And she was sure that centuries dead philosophers had a lot to say about the 'real world''.

Madison was confusion and dismay. She had sat through some martial arts lessons while waiting for her nails to dry. Surprisingly. Or perhaps unsurprisingly, considering that she hadn't learned how to throw a proper fist. All it took was a fee to get the white belt, right?

Another teacher in the art of combat. That would be nice.

She nodded at Dad's statement about the state of affairs in the docks. A regrettable affair, that. Could she improve it, give dear old Dad some more smiles? Possible. Difficult, though. There were rules against thinkers doing that thing where they just kind of ruined economies for their own benefit.

Something about people starving and dying and another possible great depression. Economy wasn't her expertise. She just wanted Dad to smile some more. Him being happy was pretty high up on the hierarchy of needs?

Something like that.

Regrettably, Miss Militia wasn't a good idea. Getting shot meant she wouldn't be able to fight properly. The ability to make infinite types of guns wasn't a great proposition for a hand to hand combat fight.

Hey, that was an idea. Maybe Armsmaster?

 

[Harbin]

1.3​

Stalking was such a maligned word. Sophia was bringing it back, Taylor respected that. It was more like a tenuous long-distance relationship. Tenebrous, in the case of Shadow Stalker; the long-distance was a crossbow bolt.

Turns out that Armsmaster's halberd did a lot. It was like that swiss army knife that wouldn't fit properly in a backpack. Except there were bigger sharper pointy bits and it fired tasers. The tasers hurt. So did the pointy bits, but he didn't really use those against her.

She wouldn't have been surprised there was a wax seal on the thing, along with a toothpick and wine selection. Taylor had to try very hard to find new compliments for him that weren't about the halberd.

It felt passé, like complimenting a girl on her face or hair alone. It created a sort of expectation that there was something wrong with it. Or with something else. Taylor was all about good impressions. So she worked on the armor, trying not to compliment the beard. He probably got enough remarks about it.

"What color are your eyes? I bet they match the armor." That worked, kind of. Armsmaster was a beauty in his fights, though. She couldn't tell what it was a mix of, but it flowed from styles she recognized to ones she didn't and then she was secured in containment foam. Or twitching on the ground, and then sprayed down with containment foam.

Her record was fifteen seconds, so far. Taylor was pretty proud of that.

If it was at a range, it was significantly lower.

But that didn't count! The rules were for short-ranged combat. The ones that she'd made, without telling him.

Do you know how hard it was to get that patrol route? He had an entire algorithm thing for it. It took jumping off a roof, onto his motorcycle, to see part of the route on the screen.

"Suicide isn't the answer," ooh painkillers blah, blah, close timeline, where was he now, around the corner? Open that timeline up let's go. Ankles were for wusses anyway. Scribble that piece down in the notebook.

And then she found out it was semi-randomized, based on some kind of fuzzy logic or whatever. Which meant that it'd be different every day he went on patrol.

Taylor sighed. Why was her life so difficult? All she wanted was the ability to fight Armsmaster as her personal trainer.

You couldn't even steal his halberd. He had like a magnetic grip or something. What a pain. She counted how many times she'd fought him, looking at the little hash marks on the page. Thirty? Thirty times. There were the notes on the functions in the halberd, and the compliments she'd already used. Each one had to be new and original. She wasn't going to be an unoriginal whatever she was.

Taylor was pretty sure she wasn't a villain, since she hadn't actually done anything evil. It didn't exist, so it wasn't on the table. The nomenclature was cape, but did she qualify as that? It wasn't like she could really call herself a cape with her powers. It wasn't precognition so much as it was like- selecting alternate universes? Maybe? Capes were people like Alexandria or Mouse Protector, who had super abilities and stuff. Those were capes.

She had a really good imagination. Kind of. On the list of superpowers, that seemed more like a tool for beating the casinos; the ones that didn't exist anymore. Because of people like her!

It sucked being this amazing. Not that she really cared too much, she was doing just fine.

Oop. Armsmaster was out of range now. Close timeline, stop jumping off the roof.

Next up on the list. Groceries?

Groceries.

--​

Dinner was a simple affair. Today was steak. She was following the recipe off the internet, and because she could slice the thing open to check its rareness, it was very easy to make.

And then take a few bites, a couple times, after it was done. Mm. Didn't exist, didn't happen.

"Where did you get it, Taylor?"

"Discount at the butcher, Dad. Gave him the good ol' bambi eyes."

He was upset. That one didn't work. Close timeline. Taylor chewed the steak instead of answering. The truth of pawning some of the knives and objects she'd- collected after wandering into vaguely less scrupulous areas of town probably wouldn't sway him either. She diverged the timelines.

"Mmll. Simone gave me some. Said they had too many. Her dad is a butcher." Taylor watched his face carefully.

"Oh? I'll have to meet her, and talk with her fa-" Close timeline close timeline-

She chewed meditatively. The steak was really quite good. Having to explain it was quite a chore. They were just handing out steaks at the wayside? Ribeye here, porterhouse there? She got there before it was all flank steak?

"Taylor?"

"I uh, had some money saved up. Did odd jobs." That was received better. "Didn't want you to worry, and wanted to have a nice dinner. Sorry."

Taylor looked downward. Dad was immediately sympathetic. She didn't like using this against him. Making him twinge with just a bit more of guilt. He cared about her.

"It's okay, Taylor. I, uh, I haven't been there a lot, so I was just wondering if maybe you got it from friends or something, if they had a barbecue." Dad smiled, the bits and pieces of worry slowly fading.

Whew.

She closed the other timeline, settling on this one. Crisis avoided.

They washed the dishes together, and Taylor gave him a hug, slapping her wet hands against his shirt.

He laughed. That was good. She kept that timeline instead of the other, where she'd carefully dried her hands before hugging him.

Taylor watched a movie with him while doing her homework upstairs at the same time. She ate popcorn in both. After the end, she went upstairs and copied down the answers before closing that one down.

Quality time at its best.

--​

About the sixtieth time fighting Armsmaster, Taylor realized that she wasn't getting anywhere.

She just straight up wasn't good enough to process what was going on. Her performance had plateaued at thirty seconds. And that was only because she had memorized his little startup routine. He changed, adapted his fighting style. At one point, he used elbow strikes when he was supposed to be using his Halberd to hit her in the stomach. How many fighting styles did he know? She hadn't won once, and she was running out of good compliments. Most of them were how she wanted to compliment his fighting style but didn't know what she could compliment.

Taylor needed someone more on her level. Someone she could fight and had a routine, who wouldn't just overwhelm her with superior firepower. It was fun, though. She regretfully got off the bench and didn't run after his cycle, screaming "Wait, wait! I need your help!"

It worked best in the first two to four minutes.

After that, it was a crapshoot.

What were her other options? Wards? Clockblocker wasn't exactly an option. Kid Win and Aegis could fly.

No, no. Wait. There were other options. Villains!

Yeah. Nobody would even care if she beat them up, right?

She just had to find some.

--​

Today it was a matter of finding out more about one Brian Laborn. He had a deadbeat family, in all senses of the word but the dead part. He got kicked around by life, had gotten kicked around by his father, and his mother's new boyfriend, and to boot, (ha) he even had superpowers.

Not very interesting ones, to Taylor. Just the ability to make darkness. The third time she'd lockpicked the door, walking into his apartment, going through his things, he'd used it when she mentioned his sister.

The guy knew some martial arts, but he was a boxer. He had power, because he was a guy, and because he'd trained. For like, years. Not her venerable 6 weeks.

Finding him had been the hard part. Do you know how hard it was to chase down someone who could make darkness clouds as a superpower?

Even worse, when they had giant lizard-dogs that could jump. Really high. How did they not break something or crush something on the way up and down? Nose? Face? Anything?

Taylor shivered. She wanted to try riding one of the dogs. Hellhound wasn't precisely someone she wanted to get in range of, though. The girl was a killer. Unlike her.

She was getting better with knives. Throwing them wasn't too difficult. It was easy to get the muscle memory down when she could diverge, try, shut, diverge, try, shut, etcetera.

The ones she had on her were decently balanced enough. Emma had been really impressed. She squeaked in amazement. Cried with joy. Or something. Either way, it had sheared off hair without touching her skin.

Impressive, right? Yeah.

Anyway, on with the story. The Undersiders were horribly difficult to track down. Couldn't chase them, so it was up to detective work. Taylor Poirot was on the case.

--​

Taylor Poirot was off the case. Screaming at the Protectorate and getting tranqed by Miss Militia had been easier than this.

She had an area where they could be, which meant that there were areas that could lead off from there, and meant that they might have a hideout? Or they just convened somewhere to go bounding off on giant-ass-dogs.

Her poor decision making may have resulted in an attempt to fight Lung. Didn't go so hot. Or very hot. She chose the 'not so hot' timeline.

Wait wait wait wait.

What if she took out the mode of transportation? No, fighting big monster dogs sounded like a bad, bad plan. Or normal dogs.

"Hey!" Taylor Poirot turned around and looked at the blonde with freckles. Her hair all tied up, gave her a slightly severe look. Offset by the freckles. And the smirk. She was pretty. "I've seen you around a few times."

She was still smirking. Why was she smirking? Did she know something that the great Poirot didn't? The girl made circles with her fingers and put them over her eyes. Taylor didn't get it, so she kept her face impassive.

"Are you trying to pick me up?" Taylor asked, haltingly. She didn't really believe it. Neither did the girl.

She laughed, a clear, un-cruel sound. It took Taylor a moment to recognize it. Then she stopped. Immediately. Her eyes widened with something like horror and sympathy. "Holy shit. You actually believe that nobody would?"

Taylor frowned. She disliked this line of questioning.

"I'm just here to ask you to back off. On behalf of the Undersiders. Are you a fan of them?" Taylor's eyebrows went up.

"No? Hero trying to track u- no, parahuman? Cape?" The girl blinked. "You don't want to join the Undersiders, do you?"

"Yes. I do." Taylor lied through her teeth. She had gotten awfully good at it.

That smirk grew wider. Taylor suspected she knew, so she took out the knife. The smirk disappeared, and she was a lot happier.

Taylor did some stuff and then closed that timeline.

And then she had a name! Brian Laborn. They were going to be good friends. That was the story of how Taylor Poirot belatedly solved the case of where Grue lived. Good ending.

--​

Fighting with him was interesting. Brian almost refused to do it when she complimented him. Then Taylor had threatened to take away his sister. He broke her nose! That hadn't happened in a while. At least a few weeks, now. Brian sounded creeped out when she exclaimed that with a special glee. Armsmaster just did that whole 'containment foam is the solution to crazy teenage girls' dealie.

Taylor closed the timeline as the fist contacted with her jaw, continuing to read at the bus stop. A girl had to have her hobbies. She opened it up once more, standing up and heading back over to meet up with Brian. This bus stop had been specifically chosen for this purpose.

What made him tick?

He was definitely attractive. It was more attractive to watch him fight her, though. Sometimes she had to provoke him. Ah, crud, the bus was here. She finished the fight, trying the judo flip once more and having it turned against her. She hit the ground with a thud, in an armbar as he shouted at her, trying to figure out who she was. Man, he was cute when he was upset.

Close timeline. Reopen timeline, get on the bus in one, traipse back off to Brian's place in the other. One more try.

The book was interesting, but having the fight go on in the background was a welcome piece of distraction, somewhat like listening to music. The lock clicked, and she was in. She'd have to practice on other people's doors, so that she didn't get used to this one.

It was important to keep variety in life. It was that extra bit of spice, after all. It was a shame she couldn't keep up the timelines when she went to bed. She could have an entire relationship going, and just poof, back to boring old Taylor, with the poor guy none the wiser.

Oh well. She had her goals in order. Dad had money now, courtesy of some sessions with an accountant that had mysteriously disappeared, along with the rest of that timeline, resulting in a mysterious knack for money. Not too much, not enough to attract attention, but tiny windfalls, enough to scrape by. One random day a week, she did this.

Of course, when things got bad, there was always Mom's secret stash of cash. The one she hadn't told Dad about, because it hadn't really existed until Taylor made it, in the basement.

He had wanted to put it toward her education. Pshhh. Dad, please. You're too nice for your own good. She assured him that she'd get scholarships. That her grades were keeping up. That she wasn't playing hooky, no sirree.

But back to the fight, it was going about as well as could be expected. Would it count as a first kiss if she kissed him while fighting him in an alternate timeline that wouldn't exist? Taylor elected not to try it. She wanted that to be a careful manipulation of happenstance, created specifically for the moment, with tested phrases to break those icebergs.

Compliments that didn't stop Brian from fighting were rough. It was a bit sad, he wasn't used to compliments. Taylor had to work hard to encourage him to fight after that.

She lost, and Brian started talking. He didn't want the police involved, if she'd get the fuck out he'd forget about it, etcetera, etcetera. His sister, blah, blah blah. It was adorable, but she'd heard this particular sequence at least four times before, and his impassioned pleas were sometimes much better.

Taylor was getting close. She could feel it. Maybe tomorrow.

 

[Harbin]

1.4​

Or maybe the day after tomorrow?

It would be nice if he'd leave a message or something. Taylor felt kind of bad, hanging out in his living room, eating his food, reading the books she'd stolen from the library. Not that bad, though.

In the other timeline, she was right there at that bus stop again, although this time it was because the bus was late. What did Brian have to drink?

Soda in the fridge. Eugh. She had already eaten the slice of cheesecake that had been in there. Didn't he have any tea? Taylor could really use some right now. She went through the cupboards, searching. Her comfort level as to the whereabouts of things in the fridge was at an all-time high, but she hadn't quite gone through the kitchen just yet.

If Taylor opened this cabinet- Rice. Did he just make it in a pot? That was no good. Rice cookers were like, essential for that. Some bran, beans, protein powder, flour, other dried stuff. No tea. Next. Spices, mm. That smell of cardamom, star anise, some smoked salt? Someone was living the high life; Brian was making good purchases with his ill-gotten gains.

And getting some serious gains, if the muscles on his frame were a good judge. Which they were. Next cabinet. Plates. Next. Drawer, full of utensils. Next. Hmm.

The door opened, and Brian came in. Taylor leaned up, looking into the next cabinet. "Hey Brian, where do you keep your tea?"

Ooh, the bus was here. She got on, slipping the fare in, and finding a nice comfy seat to keep reading at.

Brian was upset. He also had some groceries. Fresh fruit and veggies were on the floor. Much nicer than they would have looked in that bowl on the table, although Taylor wasn't an expert on fruit arrangement. She stepped around the garlic bulb, moving to check the next cabinet. "Lisa told me about you. Said I should talk with you if I wanted some training to fight."

Taylor tossed the hundreds on the table. It made an impact that was a lot less impressive than she wanted it to be. Ten of the things were pretty small. She considered getting one hundred ones, next time. Brian glanced at her, picking up the set of bills. His face was going from furious to confused.

Man. This was bo-ring. She was half-tempted to tackle him, but actually learning some fundamentals before she did that would help. Wait. Shit. She'd forgotten to stay outside the apartment. Eating the food and stuff probably didn't help her case. The plate she'd used for the cheesecake was still on the kitchen counter. Mm. That had been good. Guilt-free calories.

"I'm a parahuman and stuff. Couple hours? Boxing? Hit me and I won't care." Shit, insulting him was so much faster. "Come on, I know Shadow Stalker's civ ID? You want that? There's a grudge match between you two, right?"

"Shut up." There was darkness boiling away from his skin in little wisps. Taylor whistled.

"Never stop loving that. Always looks amazing. Have you considered doing movies? Great fog machine. You'd be amazing." When she complimented him like this, it just pissed him off more. He thought she was being sarcastic. "You've got a great body for it, too. Good cheekbones. Just like your sis-"

Brian threw out a right hook. Maybe four out of five times, he'd start with that. The cadence of their fights was great. He had a particular rhythm. Favored his left side. She'd seen the scar there a few times, looked like a puncture wound.

He snapped out his fist, she leaned back, just out of the range. It was beautiful to watch it slide by her face, and Taylor licked her lips appreciatively. Mm. "Two thousand? And next time I'll bring-"

She had to reposition her feet, pivoting backward, bringing up her fists. "-my own lunch."

Well. That was the diplomatic option. She'd tried. Didn't work. Oh well.

Brian's footwork was so much cleaner than Sophia's. Look at those legs mo- shit that was close can't admire him that much. He did have great legs, though.

"If this is about the-" Okay no, she still couldn't talk during their fights. It was worth a shot. The delightful bits of watching Sophia struggle to fight while- whoop that was an apple on the ground, gotta shuffle, keep those feet low- she'd tried to say vulgar remarks that turned into incoherent screaming-

"Hkk-"

Taylor winced on the bus. That one had been straight to the stomach. Hadn't managed to get her guard low enough, or step back in time. She turned the page. It was an absolute shame she couldn't start whistling Survivor songs while in the bus. Although that song wasn't particularly successful in Brockton Bay with Stormtiger running around. Did Hookwolf and Stormtiger jog together while singing that? Wait, the whole Apollo Creed friendship thing probably nixed Rocky.

Meanwhile, deep in the thrill of the fight, Taylor struggled to hold her ground. How would she win this kind of thing? An alpha strike, where she took him down as hard as possible? That wasn't any fun.

Oop- Her lips mashed against her teeth as her head snapped back. Man, Brian, cut a girl some slack, here. She snapped out a fist, catching him on the forehead as she staggered backward. He was undaunted, and her hand hurt. She spat out blood to the side.

"Well," Taylor said, trying to say 'Thanks for the fight. See you tomorrow?' but receiving a grab to her arm as she tried to go for a punch. He dragged her forward, and twisted, hurling her over his shoulder. Hey! She slammed into the ground, head bouncing off of the floor. That's my thing!

Taylor cut the inevitable speech off by closing the timeline, then frowned. Okay. Maybe she'd screwed up the whole diplomacy thing a little bit. She'd wait outside tomorrow instead of breaking in and rearranging his kitchen.

--​

Okay. Explain to her how she was supposed to wait that entire time instead of just lockpicking and waiting inside, where it wasn't cold, and he had the nicest little fruit bowl set up today. Bananas, mangoes, apples, oranges.

Pastries! Was she expected? Mmm. Bear claws. Danishes. Holy shit was that a Canelé? Macarons? Something with fondant and puff pastry that she couldn't pronounce?

Where was the tea? Taylor had a sampling to do.

Green tea? Ugh. Was this all he had? She checked around a bit longer, looking for something, anything else. No, cocoa, you did not count as tea. Well, it was good Taylor had brought her own lunch today, complete with tea bags. She had brought extra, in case Brian wanted some.

Taylor started up the water on boil, opening her book up and checking the time. 9:30 AM. Was this a routine of his? Maybe he had school? She hadn't considered that. He looked decently older. College? Hadn't managed to break into his computer just yet.

Hmm.

She should have called Lisa before coming here. Getting called on her burner phone was amazing. Listening to her try to figure things out was so cool.

It was like she was an actual super detective. She would throw out possibilities, and then just as quickly take them down. And every time she called, it changed! It was a toll-free unique fun number! The decoder ring came with a really weird smirk!

Taylor desperately wanted to call her in two timelines at once, and see how she reacted. My god, how would she react to talking to herself? Tattletale was great fun. If she actually became friends with her, would Tattletale be able to tell about the uh, things that had not happened in another timeline?

But she would figure things out too fast, and warn Brian. Oh! The water was boiling. Time to steep the tea. Brian had some interesting mugs. The 'Worst Big Brother Ever' one was pretty telling. Mugs didn't lie.

Taylor decided to use the violet-colored monstrosity that vaguely resembled a misshapen eggplant. She poured the water, dropping that tea bag in.

--​

She was halfway through the second round of tasting when Brian came back at 10 AM.

With the caseworker. The one he may have been trying to set up a good impression for. And his sister. Taylor swallowed the Macaron, then closed the timeline. To Brian's credit, they had been excellent.

--​

This time she'd call Tattletale, and see what she could coax out from her before going over to Brian's place. Or maybe just have fun with her. Lisa was great, because she was always different.

Ri- "Yes?"

That never ceased to amaze her. What a cool part of Lisa's power. Picking up on the first ring. "Hi, I'm a Parahuman who definitely doesn't want to join the Undersiders."

Honesty was the best policy. Stressing different syllables in her voice didn't help, changing her voice made Lisa laugh, (which was nice but wasn't the point) and prosody shifting was worthy of a chuckle. "Alright. So you're a parahuman. Thinker or Tinker, if you got this number?"

It took Taylor an annoyingly long time to realize what Lisa was doing. When she stressed those words, Taylor made a small intake of breath, or given some sign that gave her away. Lisa leapt on those tells; she loved digging for more information off of her suppositions and guesses.

So cool. "I am a Thinker."

You know what was cooler? Stopping her from being all self-satisfied after having things figured out. Except she hadn't really figured out quite how to do that. Only really piss her off. Almost as good. "Always nice to meet a fellow patron of the arts."

Taylor hadn't figured out what that line meant yet. Lisa said that one whenever Taylor was especially forthright about her thinker (?) abilities. When Taylor had tried starting the conversation with it, Lisa picked up on the lie.

"No? Hm. Well, what do you want? Money? Trying to report us to the PRT?" She continued on, naming possibilities.

"Brian Laborn's schedule." But while she couldn't stop her from being all self-satisfied, she could stump her. "I need it to get into fights with him."

"What- no- wait, you're-" that never got old, ever, ever. "I- you?"

"My name is Taylor Hebert, and I need Brian Laborn's schedule because I'm trying to get really good at fighting." She waited for the pieces to fall into place. It was so much better than picking Emma apart. No offense to Emma, because Taylor wasn't this smart, and neither was Emma.

"You don't- you don't even have a reason you're- just doing this because you can? You're- what the fuck- is there something wrong with you?" The sweet sounds of bewilderment and befuddlement; Taylor loved every moment of it. "There is. You're psychotic. No. Psychopathic. Holy shit. What did you do? No, you didn't? You-?"

"I'll trade you my power's info for his whereabouts today." She wouldn't take it. Tattletale never did. Too confident in her ability, and maybe some loyalty. But just as Tattletale tried to push Taylor's buttons, Taylor could push hers.

"Wait- no, that means nothing? You're just- you don't care? You don't care about your ability. No, you care about it, but you don't care about telling me? Telling anyone?" Here it was. It was coming. Mm. "Because you'll kill me? No. You'll wipe my memory? Wait, seriously? No. Kind of? Fuck you."

And before Tattletale could start her little psychoanalyst routine, Taylor closed the timeline. She had a nice recliner to lie down in while she listened to Mr. G in class.

He didn't mind if she read a book in the other timeline. Although he did mind when she stood up and walked out on the class, intending on finishing up 817 by week's end.

Hm.

Perhaps she had to work on her impulse control a little bit, Taylor thought to herself as she realized that her response to Madison's attempt to drop some paint in her bookbag had almost been to trip the girl, causing her to fall on the paint balloon, followed by a kick to the ribs.

In this timeline, that would have been somewhat worse to do. Taylor instead caught the balloon, and did not close the timeline of her going to find the recliner. "Madison."

Her voice was saccharine. Actually, saccharin didn't cut it, she was going to need sucralose as a comparison for how much sweetness she was stuffing into each syllable.

"I think you dropped this." Her voice was a stage whisper; I'm sorry Mister G, didn't mean to interrupt your lecture on the history of the world. "Why do you need a water balloon for world history?"

"I've never- I've never seen it before!" She was adorable. All flounce and fluff. She knew her target audience, and she shamelessly pandered.

"Oh. My bad, Madison. Must have been someone else who dropped it!" In the other timeline, she pullllled the recliner back, pulling the book out of her bag. Three more books to go. She mouthed the words along with the her in class. "I'll just throw it away, okay?"

Taylor brushed her hair away from her face, smiling at Madison. She'd taken this one from Madison, actually. Her face wasn't very good at imitating it, too different of a facial structure.

But Taylor could pull off close to adorable. And definitely sincerity. Madison looked seriously weirded out. Maybe Taylor had been off on the smile a bit. Oops.

--
​

Good news! Taylor was done with 817. Also, Madison stopped attending the daily bullying sessions with the Trio! So now, it was a Duo. Terrible Duo didn't quite have the same ring to it. Dreadful Duo didn't roll off the tongue as well, either. Dumbed-Down Duo had some nice alliteration going on, but still didn't work.

Taylor thought about this as she patiently cleaned the paint off her shirt. That was apparently their tool of the week.

Maybe Lisa would know. This seemed like her kind of thing.

Dubious Duo. Yeah. That worked. She'd been working on not doing anything, keeping those impulses under control. Yep. All there, under control. None got out, and tried anything on Sophia. Not even on Monday morning, at 9 AM, when Sophia had gotten paint on her in the hallway as she passed by.

She also hadn't gone to Brian's for a while. She felt embarrassed, having made a pig of herself. Even if it hadn't really happened, and she'd enjoyed that extravagant gluttony. Mm.

Okay, maybe she felt a little bad about ruining the whole thing for the caseworker and the sister thing, and she'd found the paperwork after checking the next day. Mrs. Henderson.

A week was enough to stop feeling guilty about it, right? She'd let herself in tomorrow. Or wait outside and ask him for lessons.

--​

Tomorrow was his little villain meetup. She'd forgotten. It usually was Tuesdays. Sometimes that changed. Taylor satisfied herself rooting through his belongings. It would do. She'd wait outside for him at some point.

She contented herself picking through the books, selecting one, marveling at its cracked leather spine. Her steps moved her to the comfy armchair, sliding into it with a sigh. "Mmm."

Curling up in it, she decided that some hot cocoa was just what she needed. Taylor rose (regretfully) and moved to the kitchen, opening the rightmost cupboard, rooting around in the back. Ah, there it was. Tea would have been nice, but she was in a very specific tea mood. Brian's green tea just wasn't up to her standards right now, and neither was the black tea she had in her bag. Being covered in paint ruined the tannic taste. It went from astringent to okay she hadn't actually tried paint-tea, but she wasn't going to start.

Cocoa was delicious, fatty, and sugary enough that she would forgive its transgressions in other departments.

Man, Brian had some good taste in books. Educational and a hot bod. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court? Leatherbound?

They should just sleep together already, she was in love. Or at least lust. They were intimate already, right? This counted, kind of.

The cocoa wasn't burned, and she made sure to make enough for Brian as well. Maybe he'd appreciate a good cup of cocoa when he came back. Taylor sipped at it, reading. Mm. Reading in two timelines. Would the tea she was making at home in the other timeline ruin the taste of cocoa? One way to find out.

She struggled not to fall asleep in that timeline. It was tough. Difficult enough that she ended up drinking the rest of the cocoa. Brian sure was taking a while.

Then, the door opened.

Brian fell in. Ooh, shit. She hadn't seen wounds like that in- days. At least.

Sophia's locker combo was 23-49-17. But Taylor hadn't done this one.

Woo. Maybe she should start calling an ambulance on the other end? Hm. She had a burner phone she could use. Maybe that? "Hey, Brian. You need some help?"

He moved in, and ooh, that was definitely one of Shadow Stalker's bolts. The ones she used when Taylor had threatened to reveal her identity. Or ah, nevermind.

"Unhrr?" He made his case as he fell down. That was a decent amount of blood.

"Hey, hey. Brian. You got someone I can call? You dying is less than ideal, here. Hey. Yo. Stick with me, here. Numbers on the fridge? Street doc? I'm only on my first year in fake-correspondence medicine here." 617 had been really tough, so she'd kind of skimmed and gone back to 820? Shit.

She was already calling an ambulance in the other timeline, Dad was weirded out as she stood from the dinner table, heading upstairs as she made the call. Taylor was pretty sure they wouldn't make it in time. The bolt was holding in the blood, but if she took it out, well, shit might come with. Literally, since it was a gut wound. And blood, that was the other part. "Brian. Come on. Stick with me, here. It'd be a pain to find another boxing partner. Like, five days, at least."

Taylor thought about it for a moment longer, sighed, and closed the timeline.

 

[Harbin]

1.5​

It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault.

It was somebody else's problem!

The knowledge of an event going on that she could have prevented or saved didn't mean it was her fault, it was totally just something beyond her control.

Besides, she didn't know she could save him. Dad had been all weirded out by the call but she did it anyway so there it was all okay and it was all going to be okay—

—yeah. Okay.

Taylor bit her nails, even though they were down to the quick, trying to read, even as the words seemed to jumble around on the page and she realized she was reading the same sentence for the fifth time. "Fuck. Fuck!"

She threw the book at the floor, watching the pages splay out. "Fuck."

Her trek the next day to his house had been almost ritualistic, a habit she'd developed. Seeing the place all taped up, police officers standing there—

She'd practically run from the place, closing the timeline and reopening it to go read, except she couldn't read because it was all fucking piece of shit fuck.

What could she do? Aisha Laborn. His sister. Could she help her? Throw money at the problem until it allllll went okay?

Killing Sophia? Would that solve it? Taylor didn't realize she was shredding the pages in her fingers until the Librarian started shouting. Didn't she know this was a library? She closed the timeline. Split. Time to chat with Sophia. She missed her boxing buddy.

"Hi, Shadow Stalker." She rammed the taser into Hess' stomach as she tried to respond. "Whups. My bad."

As she collapsed to the ground, Taylor kicked her in the ribs, then raised her foot up, stomping down. Sophia made a noise, "crkglkl."

One thirty seven.

Hm. Taylor had forgotten to ask any questions. Oh well. She waited this time, watching the people in the cafeteria scream and squall. Eventually, the cops came.

They came, and it was annoying. She closed the timeline, going back to picking at her lunch. Taylor split things off again, getting up and walking over to Hess. "Hey. So, you killed a kinda-friend of mine. Well, I knew him."

Whoops, she'd tasered Sophia again. The girl was spasming weakly on the ground.

"So, uh, I'd like to ask why you killed him, I guess. When you stop doing that whole dying cockroach routine. Twitch, twitch." Taylor stepped over the cafeteria table, poking her with the taser again as Sophia tried to crawl away. "Nope. Y'know, I checked. He bled out. You shot him pretty good. Now, you and I both know you're—"

She tased Sophia again, as the girl tried to lash out.

"—Stop that." There was an awful lot of screaming in the cafeteria, and there was a bit of blood coming from the side of Sophia's mouth. "You bit your tongue? Man. That must hurt."

It made it hard to hear Sophia's response. It wasn't that hard to read her lips, though.

"Yes, yes. So, uh. You doing anything the rest of the day? Because I'd like to keep a thing going on, here." Taylor smiled. Were those tears on Sophia's face?

Oh well.

It only took another ten minutes for the cops to come by this time, and there were a few wannabe heroes. Whatever. One thirty eight.

Wannabe zeroes, now. Heh. Taylor closed the timeline, reopening it. "Holy shit, the freak is crying—"

She punched them in the face. "Sophia! I have something I'd like to discuss!"

One thirty nine.

One forty. Lunch ended.

One forty one. Two. Three.

"You know, it's really funny that you're a Ward, you shot someone, and now they're dead, and you're sitting here at school. Like nothing fucking happened." Piece by piece, she drew the story out of Sophia.

Through whimpers and shrieks, she dragged it out. How she'd seen him, taking off his helmet. How she'd shot him before he noticed her, and he'd made his escape through a cloud of darkness, soupy and thick. In some, she claimed that she hadn't meant to kill him. In others, she spat in Taylor's face, claiming that's all she wanted to do. Taylor believed her, both times.

One fifty six. School was over. Sophia stood up from her desk, sneering at her.

Emma giggled, a dirty, terrible perversion of times past as Taylor walked by. "Crying again, Taylor? Did you get rejected by the teacher this time?"

Taylor's heart was pounding in her ears, and then her knuckles were pounding, in the other timeline. She punched Emma again, and again. Absently, she stood, patting Emma on the head before heading off after Sophia.

Piece by piece, she took the story, forced Sophia to tell it. Again. When did she shoot him? Sophia tried very hard to remember. Her life depended on it. Where did she shoot him? Where were the bolts she'd squirreled away, for times when she just had to shoot someone?

Tell me again. Tell. Me. Again. Sophia didn't understand, her panicked face babbling out things. Things that Taylor didn't care about. One sixty. She followed Sophia, sitting on the steps nearby her home, the crossbow in her bag in both timelines.

Brian. She had only known him to use him as a practice dummy, but had gotten to know him over the course of her training sessions. He seemed nice, kind, when she'd observed him, and hadn't been actively pissing him off. Even when she'd had her ass handed to her, he'd always wanted to get her out, more because he didn't want to risk the cops getting involved, but also because of his sister.

Lockpick, taser, shoot Sophia in the gut. Oops. Missed. Hit her in the throat instead. Repeat.

Aisha Laborn was pretty fucked now, wasn't she? Man, actions really did have consequences. Wow.

One eighty. Taylor had no illusions of what she was doing here.

She was getting ready to kill Sophia Hess. Not just in her power, but in both timelines. Something she couldn't just take back.

So, she was getting ready to do it. Perfectly.

It only took her two nights. Sophia wasn't like Armsmaster. Breaking into her home at night time was simple. Finding out her patrol schedule was simple. Sophia loved running off. "Scouting," without her partner. She'd hid the loss of her crossbow. She had an extra, of course she did. The Wards got ev-e-ry-thing they wanted. Sophia was on thin ice, apparently. That's what she told Taylor, before she tried to spit in her face.

It only took her three tries to make the screaming that attracted Shadow Stalker. The girl was wary of an ambush. It took her an additional two tries to find the right combination of words to get Sophia to drop down.

After that, it was easy. Tase, shoot, reload, shoot. Her partner today was Gallant. It would take him at least a minute to get here. The knight in shining armor. Sophia gurgled. The crossbow bolt was really making talking difficult.

A shame. Sophia would bleed sufficiently before he arrived. Taylor had tested it several times.

She closed the other timeline, picking up Sophia's quiver, replacing it with the one from her stash. She removed the crossbow from those suddenly so weak hands.

A severing, of sorts. She invited the consequences.

And then, she opened up the timeline, in both, she walked away. One, out of the alley. In the other, further in.

One eighty one.

Time to go find Aisha Laborn.

 

[Harbin]

1.X​

Daughters were precious, but precocious things. It took a lot more time to manage a daughter than a gang. Especially one as wonderful and devilish as Amelia. She had been so quiet, when he first met her.

She understood death. She understood that she wouldn't see her mother anymore, and probably never would. It was terrible, to see her so quiet, and he could see her mother's attributes in her. Small pieces, but they were there. He had loved her mother, for that brief time. She had left, and they had parted amicably. This life wasn't for everyone, and he of all people understood that.

Yet, when she was dying, she came to him. He could not refuse that sort of request, although he had been furious and elated all at once. He had a daughter.

It had been so long, since he had thought of himself by his own name, and while he'd never pretended with the mask on, he'd allowed himself to grow comfortable with that title, to think of himself as that. It was natural. He was addressed by it, he thought of himself as 'The Marquis', not quite himself.

But now there was someone who looked up at him with widened eyes, red from crying, calling him 'Daddy'. She was unable to sleep, most nights. He read her on her way there, falling asleep in the chair next to her, waking up sometimes to find her curled up on his lap.

It was infuriating. It was wonderful.

He cut back on his operations, although they were still in effect, and his appearances were as refined and powerful as ever.

Marquis did not have the time. He was busy making pancakes in the morning, watching the bacon sizzle in the other pan. His day found itself revolving around her. His dearest Amelia.

And when he went out, it was for shorter periods, because he did not want to come home to her heartbroken expression, worried that he might not return.

She did not smile often. He made jokes, silly little things. Jokes that were told to children, terrible puns, and when she smiled— when she giggled—

His day was suddenly brighter. His steps a little lighter, his thoughts less dour. It was frustrating, at times. He was a patient man, but he feared he was not a very good father.

And then she would hug him, and she was smiling more often, now. Each time she did, he would kneel down, return the hug, pick her up, and swing her around. She would giggle.

"My dearest Amelia," came out slightly odder with her hands clasped on his cheeks. He always read her to sleep, even if she didn't need it these days. They both enjoyed it. She hung onto his every word, hearing him shift into the gruff voice of the dragons, talking about a princess who went to get herself hired by the dragons rather than to deal with the knights.

They made cherries jubilee the next day, together. Shh. It was a secret between the two of them. Pinky promised.

--​

"Damnation." He muttered the word, slowly slipping to the ground, trying to use something, anything, aside from the wall.

The sword against his throat was a nice touch. The gesture of respect. She knew his capabilities. Ah well. He was sure Brandish would have regretted it somewhere in the vicinity as much as he would have.

He smiled slightly.

"What were you so intent on protecting?" Manpower asked. "This where you stash your illegitimate gains?"

Marquis chuckled. "You could say that. The most precious treasure in all the world."

"Somehow I missed the news report where you stole that," Lady Photon replied.

"Stole? No. A devoted fan, I suppose? She gave her to me."

"Her?" Brandish asked.

Lady Photon reached for the door, pulling it open. Marquis closed his eyes after seeing Amelia's expression, full of fear and panic. Damn it all.

"Daddy," she whispered, terrified.

"Brigade, meet Amelia. Amelia, these are the people who are going to take care of you now."

They stared at him. The brilliant sword against his throat wavered. Not enough for any possible move, but it wavered.
He chuckled, taking pleasure in the momentary surprise and the sudden break in the prior, tense mood. The incredulity in their expressions, the lapse.

--​

"He's a criminal," Brandish responded. "He's done bad things, he needs to go to jail."

"No. He's just my daddy. Reads me bedtime stories, makes me dinner, and tells me jokes. I love him more than anything else in the world. You can't take him away from me. You can't!"

"We have to," Brandish told the girl. "It's the law."

"No!" the girl shouted. "I hate you! I hate you! I'll never forgive you!"

Brandish reached out, as if she could calm the girl by touching her.

--​

Marquis made a noise that sounded something like a cough and a gasp. He pushed himself upward, dazed. He'd seen something but— "Amelia!"

She was hugging him. The wound on his shoulder didn't bleed, a byproduct of his ability, or the cauterization of Brandish's blade. The Brigade was groaning, rising from their supine positions.

It took only a moment to encase himself and his daughter in bone, slicing through to the floor below. Pain of this level was nowhere near what occurred when his bone protrusions snapped. He could deal with this. He would deal with this. There was a chance. That was good enough.

Marquis was very, very good at turning disadvantages into advantages.

--​

"Healing. No, biokinesis. Kind of? Ah, self-limited. Explains a lot." Lisa talked a lot. She filled up the silence, as Marquis inclined his head. "Yeah, I'm in. Access to a healer, means lots more in the way of options. I'm no Accord, but I have a damn good idea what you have planned."

His daughter was a… rogue? Of sorts. Her ability was useful enough that when she desired to help, there were tacit agreements not to capture her. He had stopped most of his criminal activity. It was too difficult, with the Brigade having been on his tail, desperate. They had wanted to announce their major victory over him with their New Wave project.

That had not gone so well for them. Especially after violating the rules.

--​

Grue was dead. Killed by Shadow Stalker. A shame. He had been a good subordinate, and an intelligent young man besides. Amelia was taking it rather hard. This was the first person to have died in recent years that she'd been remotely close to. Even if it had been a business relationship, they were friends.

Marquis shook his head, looking over at Lisa.

"Yeah, boss. I know. I don't think the kill was particularly deliberate, but it wasn't exactly not meant to kill or maim. The PRT is all for covering it up. They'll probably ship her off somewhere by the end of the week, some kind of excuse or something." Lisa leaned back in her seat, applying fingers to her temples and rubbing. She had been using her talents extensively for this. Working out whether or not they should make a counterstrike of sorts, or refuse to heal, the consequences, the potential.

Marquis hugged his daughter. She smiled at him, but there was sadness there. "What are our options, then?"

The television droned on in the background, and Tattletale perked up, then groaned. "Turn it off— no wait, shit—

"Shadow Stalker? No, no way. Shadow Stalker is dead. Eighty percent sure. They're saying she's been shipped off. This sudden, without any video or anything—" Tattletale groaned, then turned off the television, clutching at her head.

"Get some rest." Marquis said, not unkindly. "A job well done."

Lisa stumbled off. The meeting was adjourned.

"Well. What do you think, Amelia?" He asked his second in command.

 

[Harbin]

1.6 ​

Taylor woke up.

I killed Shadow Stalker. The thought ran through her head like a mantra, affirming what had happened, what she'd done. Taylor was a little sad, because she'd never be able to see Sophia's face on the floor again. She made such a great expression, shifting from anger, to panic, to utter terror.

No bitch deserved it more.

Taylor was in her wonderfully comfortable bed, more comfortable now that she realized that the events of yesterday weren't a dream, that she'd managed to prep, create a plan, and destroy Shadow Stalker.

The crossbow was in the basement alcove, squirreled away. She'd move it elsewhere later. Twelve tranq bolts, four broadheads.

There was a spring in her step, and Taylor whistled as she diverged timelines. In one, she went to go steal the neighbor's newspaper. In the other, she got dressed before heading out for her jog.

Whew, today was going to be cold!

Mayor announces new partnership, next, Merchants spreading drugs could your chi—next, ah, there we go. Shadow Stalker transferred. They were covering it up. Oh well. Couldn't exactly expect them to say 'Shadow Stalker killed with illegal crossbow from her own illegal ammunition, more news at 11.'

In the other timeline, she jogged down the street. Whatever!

No more Sophia. Wonder how Emma was going to react to that? Her bestie textie bosom buddy, now with more bolts through the sternum.

Taylor hadn't gotten to see the aftermath of the splits. She usually closed them, and hadn't especially tried to stay for a couple of days.

How would little Miss I've got trauma so I'm going to fuck my best friend's life over Emma feel about her little savior dying?

School was going to be fun.

Taylor finished her jog, crumpling up the newspaper before closing the timeline. She went and took a shower before opening the timeline again. In one, she started entertaining herself with making breakfast for herself and Dad.

In the other, she went to go see Aisha.

--​

Really, she'd been there five times, now. Aisha was being watched. A couple of the times, the Protectorate had come in when Taylor tried to talk to her. It wasn't a great reunion, either. She let the timelines play out for about an hour before trying again.

She wanted to find out what they knew, and what Aisha knew.

Breakfast was a simple affair, they had made cornbread and slow-cooked chili yesterday. The remaining cornbread was getting heated up, smeared with butter and honey, and mm that smell. Pure love, that's what that was. Eggs, sausage, cornbread, cook some bell peppers, and wow that was breakfast.

Aisha knew about her brother. Kind of. Sullen and recalcitrant, she refused to give many good answers. Taylor was frustrated, but she left it be. It would be in pretty bad taste if she did things to his sister a week or so after his death to get answers. She sampled the cornbread thoughtfully in the other timeline, which she dubbed as breakfast timeline. Dad came downstairs, sensing the moment she set up the coffee. Mm. Look at that baby drip. Drip for me, you clean Colombian beans. Yeah, just like that. She poured out a cup, handing it to Dad, who mumbled appreciatively before sitting down at the table.

Really, what was she supposed to do? Aisha didn't move like a fighter, either. Her movements weren't Brian's easy confidence, which segued into his lithe agility. They were cocky where Brian was confident, and slutty to Brian's natural good looks. It was such a waste. Emma would have tsked about that little tidbit, seeing the fashion disaster that girl was. How old was she? Like, thirteen?

And she had bigger tits. Life wasn't fair. Taylor frowned, looking down at herself for a moment before sliding the breakfast onto a plate, then serving it up to Dad.

They were almost done with the food by the time 'Aisha timeline' found her target.

Ugh. She was ditching out on her classes again today, and was generally making herself a gigantic waste of space.

Now she was just— bitchy? Moping and bitchy.

Armsmaster hosed Taylor down in containment foam as she introduced herself to Aisha. Taylor closed the timeline, washing the dishes. She hadn't even said she was a friend or anything. They must have like, a facial recognition thing or something. Just getting near Aisha, the dead guy's brother, then Sophia being Shadow Stalker and all. Wasn't too hard of a connection to make to Winslow.

Ah, well. She rinsed off the pans before heading out to Winslow. She opened up the timelines, speaking in one, heading off silently in the other. "See you Dad, go slay those dragons, be the best you can be, so on and so forth!"

He laughed. She closed the silent one and reopened things.

Emma wasn't at school.

She closed the book inside the library, leaving her other self to attend classes while she went off to go talk with Emma. Not attending school was bad.

Honestly, she just wanted to pick her brain about the whole deal. Taylor didn't really have a real concrete goal in mind. Her last goal had kind of, well. Died.

Alan Barnes didn't want to let her in, after he had gone up to check with Emma. Hm. She disabled him, and went up the stairs. It wasn't like he hadn't deserved it for not keeping a better eye on Emma's behavior. She hadn't even killed him. His ruddy face pissed her off, for its similarities to Emma, but she hadn't even killed him. Taylor was oddly proud of that.

She pounded on the door, a smirk on her face. "Hey, Emma. Let's chat"

There was a whimper. Then there were pounding feet on the steps, and the PRT shot her with shock rounds or whatever. Not just tasers, shock slug-things from shotguns. It hurt. That timeline got closed fast. Of course they were watching Emma.

Taylor started thinking about what she could do, as one of her walked out of class, Knott not taking real notice. Probably assumed she was going to the bathroom or something. She never really did anything anyway.

What could she do in her free time? She didn't feel like calling Lisa, for the same reasons she didn't particularly feel like self-flagellation today.

It took her the remainder of that period, and part of the next to get where she wanted to go.

She went to the graveyard, and stared at the gravestone. Eeeverybody died at some point or another. So it goes, and so on. Mom would have been proud of that one.

That book wasn't that popular after the whole 'Slaughterhouse 9' thing, but it had been an in-joke between them for about a week. Open a non-fizzy soda. So it goes.

Lose a game of chess. So it goes.

Class. Over. So it fucking goes. You fucking died and left Dad a fucking wreck and so it fucking goes fuck. Shit. She brushed off the gravestone, cleaning the area around it, even though it'd be dirty again. Everything felt stupid and useless but she was doing it anyway because that was life and then people died.

"I miss you, Mom." She closed the timeline, reopening it as she grabbed her stuff, leaving the classroom. Taylor went to go call Lisa in one. Who woulda thunk. She was in the mood for it.

 

[Harbin]

1.7​

Taylor called Lisa in one timeline, walking home in the other. For the third time. It wasn't easy working with Lisa, trying to get answers and find that one little stitch in the works, because Lisa always knew. Half the time it was just a wash; the other half, it was just trying to verbally debate Lisa. That was a good idea. Getting down into the mud with a pig who was more intelligent than you and knew how to smirk and have it be heard over the phone.

Real fun. She wanted Lisa here, right now. Taylor considered heading over to their little loft-hiding-place thing, but she was pretty sure she couldn't take on Bitch and Jean-Paul-Alec whatever his name. Lisa couldn't seem to decide. She babbled a lot when— well. At least one of those was his name, Taylor was sure. Lisa wouldn't have lied to her.

What could she do?

She split the timeline again, calling Lisa once more. It was sometimes a matter of trial and error, so she'd just find the right way to address things. Lisa always knew at least something, and gathered information off of that. If she pissed off Lisa too fast, or tried to dig too deep, too quickly, she'd get more hellfire and brimstone. 'You're just a guilty bitch who can't even talk to their father with real compassion because you're too scared,' or 'All those people you've killed really fucked with your moral compass. It doesn't matter if they existed or not, because you're—' Taylor hadn't actually heard the end of that one, she'd been too busy doing something else, like suddenly needing to go use the bathroom, but she felt better. Much better!

Yeah! Yeah.

Ri-"Yeah?"

"Hey, Lisa. I killed Shadow Stalker. She killed Brian, so I killed her." Taylor struggled to keep that smile on her face, because she was talking about something that made her happy! "What else should I take care of?"

There wasn't a response. Hey, she made Lisa speechless! That was a first. That was a good thing, right? "I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number."

She hung up. She couldn't do that, it wasn't right, it left everything on hold, a fucking tease, Taylor needed something she wanted to hear something, anything— her fingers hit those buttons, and she redialed. She listened to it ring, until it told her that this person's voice mailbox hadn't been set up yet, please try again later.

Taylor threw the phone at the wall, watching it crack, watching those components fall to the ground. It was funny. Because it wasn't really happening, and she'd close the timeline right now.

--​

Taylor sat on the bench. In one timeline, she got up, throwing a rock at Armsmaster as he came out on his cycle. She began fighting him, lasting about five seconds before he subdued her in containment foam.

She closed the timeline, reopened it, got up, threw a rock, started again. Two seconds; Armsmaster just tased her, and she felt her body twitch, the muscles moving beyond her control, flexing, pulling, jittering. Taylor closed it again, getting up and walking home.

Scattered thoughts and impish whimsy drove the use of Taylor's abilities; the flickers of time spent doing whatever she wanted were an odd sort of catharsis. Every intrusive thought was indulged; why not?

She kissed that guy who worked in the grocery store that she found kind of cute. Brian was dead, after all. The guy leaned back with an expression of distrust and disgust, so Taylor punched him in the solar plexus and watched him on the ground.

Timeline closed, "Thank you, sir."

Walk out, energy bar, drink in hand.

She opened another timeline, used the can to break a car window open, deciding there was no better time than the present to learn how to hotwire a car. Taylor had to do something, figure out what she was doing and how she was going to do it because nobody else was going to help her and screw them she didn't need their help.

And she couldn't get this car hotwired, and people were yelling for her to get out of the car. She slammed her head into the horn, keeping it pressed there.

Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

Taylor continued to walk home.

It was easier if she just kept splitting off, doing things like kicking something nearby, like the tire, fence, or wall; she bled off the valve that kept getting stuck in her head, a bunch of things that just kept building up.

Taylor walked up the steps. In the other timeline, she slammed her foot against that fucking step until it broke, her foot went through it— the splinters dug into her leg. She drew her foot back again, stomping it down, breaking more of the step, again, again, again. Dad was at work, he couldn't come back and see this— she closed the timeline anyway, not wanting to see his face, aghast, worried, sad. "I'm sorry, Dad," she muttered as she walked up those steps, opening that door.

In another timeline, she threw rocks at windows, because the sound of tinkling, crashing glass was better than her stupid-ass— fuck.

Fuck.

Taylor stared into the mirror. It stared back. She punched it. It broke.

She stopped throwing stones in the other timeline, falling down, heavily.

Shit.

Taylor closed the timeline outside, staring at the fracture that vaguely resembled her face. Jagged, a little blood, and stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She buried her head in her hands, falling back against the bathroom door.

--​

"Taylor? Is there something wrong? You alright?"

No. She didn't know what was wrong and Taylor wanted something but didn't want something so bad she wanted to fucking die— oh wait it's the other way around. "Yeah—"

She closed the timeline. She reopened the timeline.

"No, I'm fine, just— had an accident! Broke the mirror. My fault." Taylor smiled, arranging her face properly. "I'll be out in a minute, I'm really sorry about the mirror."

"Oh. alright. I was just worried about you. Don't worry. It's just a mirror, Taylor. It's replaceable."

Okay. Good. That worked. Things were okay, see? Things were going well.

--​

School was going well. She was doing well in class. Taylor finished the assignment, and handed it in. Sophia didn't stop her, Madison didn't touch her, Emma didn't taunt her.

Emma still wasn't there, so that made it difficult. Madison was sitting very far away from her in class. A good idea, it'd take Taylor a few more seconds to reach her.

Sophia was dead. She wasn't coming back. Served her right.

Taylor listened eagerly to Mr. Quinlan, as he talked about X and Y some more. Yes, you needed to simplify the equation. That's all you had to do.

Just work through the numbers, simplify things, and move on.

In the other timeline, she walked into the PRT, and asked to speak with Armsmaster.

All she had to do was keep things simple. As long as things were far enough apart, she wouldn't make that mistake again. She wouldn't have to worry about that kind of shit, or think things through as hard.

Taylor finished her homework before class ended, handing that in.

"Hi. I'm a recently triggered cape, and I'd like to try speaking with Armsmaster, if he's in? I think I'm a thinker." Lying didn't work. They had some sort of in-built lie detector going on. Telling the truth was a lot easier when you were trying to fool people. Just say enough of the truth, clearly enough, and they believed you.

She'd certainly gotten enough practice.

Taylor ate lunch. She also walked down the corridor, following the woman.

She sat in the conference room. She sat in her chair, watching the computer screen, as Knott not naught, talked.

Armsmaster opened the door. Taylor tapped away at the computer, and she tapped at the desk in front of her.

"Hello, Armsmaster," she said, in both timelines. The person next to her glanced at her, oddly. She smiled, in both timelines.

He sat. Armsmaster. Armsmaster was the one who sat.

"Hello." He said, his lips moving, communicating, with words.

"I'm a cape. I'm a thinker, and I'd like to help with the investigation." She said, to him.

Taylor clicked on PHO links, having finished her assignment, a pitifully easy task to just— look up some shit and copy paste it, google search the answer and be done with it.

She tapped her fingers, waiting for his response. Taylor was telling the truth. She wanted to help. She wanted to know just how far they'd gotten.

Taylor walked out of the classroom, not bothering to close the other timeline, still trying to get details from Armsmaster. It was like talking to a stone who knew how to be an asshole at the same time. She resolved to go home and throw away any Armsmaster memorabilia she might still have left.

Oh well. She lunged over the table and punched him in the jaw, then watched the expression on his face as the containment foam got fired in.

Taylor really didn't feel like being patient. She closed the timeline, sending one to the library, and walking to the bathroom in the other. Splashing water into her face, walking back to class.

She was okay.

She'd be okay.

 

[Harbin]

1.8​

Flick. Shut. Flick. Shut. Flick. Shut.

It was like a switchblade, except with realities. Feeling it unfold, then shut, feeling it unfold, then shut. The process itself was a soothing one. It opened up things, then it shut things. It was a weapon, in that sense of the comparison. Her personal predilections aside, she had used it as such. It was a nervous habit, and she tried to keep track of which was which.

Fuck them. Fuck Lisa, fuck Sophia, fuck Armsmaster, they were all jackoff assholes. Ungrateful for all the times she'd done nice things, and some of the times that she hadn't. School was too much trouble. She had gone there, once. It had been a lot more problems than it was worth, and she could use those timelines for more useful things. Like sit here.

In this room.

In one timeline, she did nothing. She sat there. That was an easy way of knowing which timeline was which. Dad didn't know she was skipping school. She'd get ahold of herself. It'd be all good. Everything would be okay.

In the other, she went out. Taylor wasn't sure where she was going, just meandering in that lost way, treading old ground, following old footsteps. She walked, where she used to jog, looked at things around her. She hated them, when they looked at her, then looked away. Watching them act, watching them do things, it grated. It itched at her, feeling more like compulsion than feeling, wanting to throw something at them, interrupt that daily rhythm of life; if only just to prove she could.

She could even make popcorn, while she did it. Better yet, Taylor could close the timeline where she was at home, and do twice as much.

Did she want to get caught?

...Kind of. It felt odd, both the lack of recognition, and the lack of validation. She couldn't quite catch the feeling that she wanted, felt it slipping away whenever she tried; the achievements of what she did were never really there. Just another timeline, discarded. Ephemeral, that was the word, a flimsy thing that flitted through. Temporary and annoying.

Scaling the risk seemed like the most appropriate way to do things. Move things up, she'd get caught, or get away with it, and it would be that much more satisfying. Taylor kicked a wall, feeling the pain throb through her foot. She sat down on a bench, feeling it pulse.

What was she doing? Where was she going? Someone walked by her paused, asked her if she had the time.

Taylor punched them in the stomach and limped off. Fuck them. They fell over, groaning. Good. She found herself meandering again, past houses she didn't recognize, and houses she did.

One, that only changed in one way; the difference being the two girls who weren't friends anymore.

Was that worthy of being considered a difference anymore? It wasn't like Sophia was around. Taylor checked around for the PRT van before heading up there. Not there, right now. Why not? Why weren't they here. Were the parents in? No,their cars weren't here. Was Emma not home? If she was, was she staying inside her room, just like Taylor was at this very moment? The thought brought a smile to her lips, and she made her slow, uneven way to the door.

Locked.

Well, that hadn't been a problem for months now. Clk-tk went the tumblers, knocking into place. It was pretty much rote memorization by this point, and it was over in seconds, the pick and tension sliding back into her pocket.

Taylor pushed the handle up as she opened the door, preventing it from squeaking as she slid inside. She held the handle on the other side, keeping it from making noise until it was nice and shut.

Shoes off, in the foyer. Had to be proper and nice. Sliding around on the hardwood floors were a fond memory. Competitions were had, and Taylor had fallen on her butt on more than a few occasions. The room was filled with laughter, then. It was very quiet, now. She wanted to make some noise, to break something, to fill that silence, if only for a moment.

Instead, she limped up the stairs. Slowly, taking her time. Taylor was just sitting in her room, after all. It wasn't like she was doing anything.

Taylor knocked on Emma's door. No answer. She knocked again, three quick raps.

"Daddy? I thought you were still at work." Emma's sleepy voice. Sickeningly adorable. "Daddy?"

The door opened, and Taylor's hand was through, grasping Emma's throat.

"Daddy, Daddy," Taylor mocked, imitating her with the caricature. "What about me, Emma? I thought we were friends. Aren't you supposed to know when I'm coming over?"

Emma tried to close the door. Taylor shoved her good foot in the way, bulling it open with her shoulder. "Hrglk—"

"Yes, thank you." Taylor said, tightening her grip and pushing Emma down. "You know, I know everything. It's always nice to see you like this. Does it remind you of me and all those times I was telling you stuff? Like how I couldn't fall asleep without reading myself there? Or how you told me you were afraid of the dark until you were ten?"

"—nrglhr—" Emma said, her nails digging into Taylor's arm. Taylor slapped her. Emma tried to let out a gasp, but the hand against her throat made it a gurgle.

"Stop that. You don't get to complain. Do you want to die? Did you hear how Sophia died? I have all the lurid details on that one. Page one scoop. She didn't get transferred." Taylor said conversationally, watching the tears well up in Emma's eyes. Taylor touched Emma's sternum, then the hand on her throat. "That's where I shot her. With her own crossbow. Help, help, Shadow Stalker. How many people has she killed? It's sixteen, by the way. Lots more injured for life. Technically, I just put a serial killer out of their misery. They should thank me for that."

Taylor loosened up on Emma's throat, and she gasped for breath, dragging it in. There wasn't enough air in her lungs yet to call for help.

"Scream, and I'll just gag you. I want to talk, Emma. How does it feel, being an accessory to a serial killer? Does it make you feel strong? Do you feel strong right now?" Taylor took out one of the knives. This one was a nice little flick knife, press the button, flick the wrist, and it was open. Worn, but reasonably cared for, it had undergone polish under her eye. "How about a knife? Eye? Nose? Mouth? Ears? What works for you? Does that make me strong?"

"Why are you doing—"

"I fucking can." She wasn't sitting still in her room anymore, pacing around, wanting to release all this stress, this anger that was boiling around, little bubbles of rage wanting to express themselves. "You're the worst kind of person. Sophia was a fucking enabler for your stupid-ass-shit, but you just never let it go. Hm. I didn't think I was still hung up on this."

Emma croaked out something, trying to do something with her arms. Oh, she was flailing. Taylor slapped her arms down, straddling her.

"Stop that." Taylor struck her again, hard. Emma let out a small, choked cry, and whimpered. "You know, Sophia has a little brother. Had. Sorry. Before she ate it and all. She had a family. But so did a lot of the people she killed. I don't care about them, I never knew almost all of them. I knew one of them. He was a pretty decent guy, and she shot him in the gut."

Taylor made an imitation of the noise Sophia's crossbow made. She was pretty good at it. An inspired performance. Repetition tended to make things stick in one's head pretty well.

"Unh?" Emma said, dazed, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

"Ok. I understand. A lot of things to deal with. I get it." Taylor said, and patted her on the head. "You were palling it about with a serial killer. That's what she is. Look it up. Killed three or more people, for a compulsion. One? Eh, accident. Two? Probably best to retire. Three? A suspension is probably good. And you defended her in court? For having saved you? Look at you, there's nothing left of Emma, and all this— shit— this amalgam of some fucked up philosophy. Are you like, pulling a Thrasymachus on me?"

"Please, please, don't kill me—" Emma said, her voice small, the knife in Taylor's hand awfully close to her cheek.

"Oh, I just want to talk. It's okay. Don't worry. You're crying, here, I've got some tissues or something here." Taylor reached into her pocket, pulling out a packet. "You know, I used these a lot when you guys poured soda on me. When you did it with salt, that made it really hard to get out. It kind of gets into your scalp and hair, especially with the liquid. You're never really sure when you've gotten all of it out, and it's like you can't ever really be sure. Wash, wash, wash, whew. Still there."

Taylor dabbed at Emma's eyes, wiping away the tears while Emma twisted under her.

Taylor walked out of her room, heading over to Emma's house. "So I just wanted to ask you some questions. I've seen the conversations on Sophia's phones. Did you know her teammates hated her? Well, I guess hate is a strong word. They strongly disliked her approach, although she was an okay teammate when she wasn't trying to trip me up in the hallway. Credit to her, she did a pretty good job of both of those, for a while."

"Did you just come here to talk at me? What do you want?" Emma's indignation broke through the fear, and Taylor smiled at her. It just wasn't enough.

"I just wanted to talk about this whole thing, you know? In one timeline, I'll do this. In the other, I'll be best friends with you again. It'll be fun. I'll forgive you, you'll entertain me, the whole nine yards. You can keep me grounded. I'm having some trouble with that, recently. Whoops, you don't know about my power, huh." Taylor said, then pressed her finger to Emma's lips. "So, turns out, I can make timelines and such. So, while I'm doing this, I can just make this not be the timeline I choose! Just like this."

Clk-tk went the tumblers, knocking into place. She took off her shoes in the foyer, sliding into the kitchen. She split things off again. In one, she sat on the sofa, kicking her feet. In the other, she walked upstairs.

She knocked on Emma's door. No answer. Taylor knocked again, three quick raps.

"Daddy? I thought you were still at work." Emma's sleepy voice. Again. Sickeningly adorable. "Daddy?"

Emma opened the door, her face blanching. She tried to close it, but Taylor's foot was already in the way. Taylor did her best to affect a quavering tone, her face positively covered with worry and fear. "It's me, Emma. We should talk."

 

[Harbin]

1.9​

It took surprisingly few iterations. One, two, three, were all arguably failures. Taylor went and drank some orange juice from the fridge. Well, two had gotten close, so she hadn't exactly tried with three.

Oh well.

Fourth time was the charm. Taylor had expected more. Emma was looking for something to latch onto, someone who affirmed her little view. Things were broken inside her, a result of that alleyway. That was easy enough to portray. Taylor was certainly strong in that sense, now. She explained her ability to Emma. Combat precognition. All she needed was the last piece, to prove it. She closed the timeline.

"Put some fingers behind your back. Ready?" Taylor was patient, splitting it once more. In one, she slammed Emma back into the bed, one hand at her throat, the other grabbing behind her back, dragging her fingers out.

"Three." Taylor said, smiling in both places. Above Emma, next to her. She closed the other, then repeated the process. "Four. Two. None."

Emma was amazed, and terrified, in the other. Taylor revelled in the two extremes, grinning at her in both.

"Should I show you how I can take you in a fight, Emma? Should I be doing that, as well? Or maybe—" Taylor reached into Emma's bag, closing the other timeline after slapping Emma a few times. Cathartic. "Here. Catch."

Emma didn't catch. The coin fell to the ground next to the bed, and she bent to pick it up.

"Flip it." Taylor said. Emma complied.

"Heads.

"Tails."

In one, Emma laughed, the illusion broken, and Taylor made good on that, calmly walking forward.

In the other, Emma tried again, her expression awed. Taylor only got two punches in before she closed, then branched them again. It went on about five times. Emma had a very cruel laugh when she wanted to. That peal of hurt, ringing out again, and again.

"Believe me now?" Taylor said. Emma did, and expressed as much with a very serious nod. She couldn't nod very well on the other side, split lip, eye starting to swell up.

"...Why?" Emma asked. "Why tell me this? After what I've done. After everything."

"I've come to terms with it," Taylor said, taking out the knife as she stared down at Emma, whimpering on the floor.

A slow, awkward smile crept onto Emma's face. Taylor liked that one, the Emma who was popular but not bitchy, the Emma who she made cookies with in third grade, wanting them to be crispy but not realizing what happened when you left them in for that long. Maybe there were pieces of her old friend left inside after all.

Taylor kicked Emma in the stomach. "Come on. Is that all you can do?"

Emma coughed and twisted on the floor, hugged her friend— apologized in both, sobbing in one, tears trickling down her face in the other.

Taylor accepted her apology, patting her on the back, patting her on the head. Emma was a good friend.

--​

It was as if nothing had ever changed. It was a brand new source of amusement. The ability to stab her in the back, watch that brittle thing called trust snap. "Hey, Emma."

Hug her, cut her hair off, in the same moment. To watch that break and the tears grow in her eyes, hair shoved into her mouth. Emma gagged, choked, and Taylor forced her to finish what she started.

Most days, she chose ear.

Emma was fun to chat with, to talk with about inconsequential things. Things that Taylor wouldn't have thought about. Mr. Barnes smiled when she came over, gasped in horror when she came over, cried, etcetera, etcetera.

The range of emotions and the breach of the implicit trusts were another thing broken, that she delighted in making abundantly clear. It was a poetic justice, to show him exactly what his daughter had been doing to her, to act upon that, to tell him it was his fault, after he thought they had made up.

She could see that expression. Teenagers, always worried about something. One day they're friends, the next day they aren't. Just being dramatic. Wiping that away, forcing that stark realization into place—

It was pure indulgence.

Taylor was happy.

--​

Her grades went up. Why wouldn't they, when she could just cheat off whoever she wanted, splitting things off, listening to the vague cries of fear as she punched someone walking up with their test, reading it over, then copying it.

Simple.

She went into ABB territory with Emma, an imitation of Shadow Stalker's routine. Sometimes she impressed Emma, sometimes she pushed her forward and walked away. Those days were 'just not good ones, bad things happen if we go out.'

A shame. They'd just have to go tomorrow.

Sometimes Emma was scared, or cried. Taylor comforted her, struck her, screamed at her. She was the perfect friend. They went shopping together. Sometimes, she pushed Emma down, just to watch the food go everywhere.

She could do anything with Emma. They truly were, best friends.

--​

Taylor went into the PRT for power testing.

She went through the tests for thinkers, finding out what they wanted, looking at cards that she couldn't see the other side of, and pretending to know the answers.

Taylor failed power testing, and shut the timeline.

She'd try again tomorrow. The process was repeated, twice more, before she went in to take it in both timelines. She punched the proctor and looked at the other side of the cards, broke out of the room, got sprayed with containment foam.

Thinker 5. Not bad. Taylor hadn't gone all out, for obvious reasons. Limited combat precognition, enhanced awareness, so on, so forth.

She went to meet the wards, in one timeline. In the other, she politely declined, and went to go see Emma. Gallant flinched, but Taylor just kept smiling and shaking their hands. Right, he could see emotions. Maybe she had some issues with pent-up anger.

Maybe not the wards.

She closed that timeline, and went to go tell her best friend Emma about her new designation, and work out some frustration about not being able to join the wards.