End of Arc One: The Human Masquerade
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
[A/N: Sorry for the wait!
I ended up rewriting a few things in Chapter Five: it now takes place in the PRT Headquarters instead of the Protectorate Base. Just thought I'd let you know, so you wouldn't be confused about Gallant suddenly being in the PRT building.
Ah, but I should probably mention: this chapter will be a teensy bit darker than the others, mainly because it isn't from Taylor's point of view. The next chapter will be a Taylor one again, so don't worry too much.]
=====
Gallant watched the girl as she left with the tour group, his face a muddied mix of confusion, apprehension, and something bordering on illness.
That was nothing he'd ever seen before, and nothing he ever wanted to see again.
To his eyes, emotions were more than just expressions, posture, or tone of voice. Colors swirled around everyone he saw, each hue mapping to another feeling; every person was a slowly whirling kaleidoscope, a glimpse at who they were behind the mask. Gentle and soothing, in their own way.
At least, that's how it was supposed to be.
A seething mass of dark, sickly colors seemed to thrash and writhe within her, as though a thin layer of skin was the only thing preventing their escape. Royal purple greed, poisonous green hate, burning red paranoia, and icy blue fear; a violent, roiling sea of all the worst aspects of humanity, churning as if stirred up by some larger monstrosity lurking just beneath the surface, seeming for all the world as if she had somehow trapped nearly two dozen people inside herself and spent weeks methodically stripping away their individuality, adding them to the mass of nearly palpable malevolence that shrouded her like a mantle of still-living bodies.
And not an inch of it showed on her face. He found himself wondering if she even knew, and worrying what it might mean if she did.
"Gallant?" Vista was trying to get his attention again, and he wasn't sure for how long.
He looked down at her, and finally let his terror slip through.
"Find Aegis," he said, "We need to talk to Ms. Piggot. I think I know what happened to those Merchants."
A man was handcuffed to a steel chair in one of the PRT's many interrogation rooms, spitting vile invectives that sprayed hate as much as they did saliva on the table in front of him. An ugly, football-shaped black scar stood out against the white skin of his chest, somehow seeming to drink in whatever light fell through the burnt, ragged hole exposing it through his shirt.
He was barely eighteen, and it had taken the entire PRT squad to bring him in. Not that he'd been all that strong; on the contrary, if anything he seemed weak and malnourished. Perfectly normal for a Merchant, who held drugs to be one of the three major food groups.
Rather, it was his sheer determination that had given them such trouble. He'd taken multiple shocks from tasers, been beaten bloody by batons, and he simply would not stop. He clearly felt pain, and some of the police officers on scene swore they heard bones breaking, but nothing kept him down. Recognizing an obvious parahuman situation, the police department had called in the PRT, who ended up foaming him and his two friends before bringing them in.
For the fourth, they'd needed a body bag. His head was barely recognizable as such, being little more than a spherical mass of char.
Gallant stood on the other side of a one-way mirror, watching the Merchant with his power. So far, all three of them had one thing in common.
"He's been Mastered," Gallant said, "Just like the others."
Deep in the center of their auras, a tiny seed of sickly green hate writhed, extending tendrils that spread out through the rest of it. Almost like an infection.
Gallant suppressed a shudder. Sometimes, being an empath sucked.
Armsmaster stood where Fugly Bob's should have been, but wasn't. There was no wreckage, no signs of a struggle, not even a space where a building was supposed to be. It was as if someone had cut out that section of the city with a scalpel, then stitched the sides together to close the hole. It wasn't a neat job, either; the alleyway that normally would have bordered both sides of the building looked crooked and uneven where they were haphazardly joined together, the concrete slightly twisted and pinched towards the center where he suspected the effect originated.
To his experienced eye, it was clear what had happened: there was another space manipulator in the city, and a powerful one at that. But unlike Vista, this one didn't seem to have a Manton limit. There had been people in there, and the whole restaurant and its parking lot had been affected regardless.
A twitch of his face, a blink, and the comms unit in his helmet crackled to life. "This is Armsmaster. The site at street Hemingway, building four-niner-oh, appears to have been the target of a parahuman attack. Initial overview suggests a powerful, space-related Shaker effect. Requesting Vista with escort at my location. Given the sudden nature of this attack, be prepared for a possible hostile encounter."
The comm line went into standby, and Armsmaster resigned himself to waiting for the time being. Vista's power was already intimidating as it was; if there was someone out there with a non-limited version of it, he didn't think there was anything he - or anyone else - could do to stop them.
The thought rankled him. He opened a small hatch on the side of his armor, pulling out a portable set of tools, and used the spare time to adjust the attachments on his halberd.
Only twelve minutes passed before a PRT van pulled up, a squad of four officers plus one Vista exiting the back doors when it stopped. Vista stepped lightly to the ground, then suddenly staggered and clutched at her head before snapping her gaze to the warped alleyway.
"What the fuck!?"
"Language," Armsmaster reproached her. Not that he hadn't had a similar reaction when he first saw what happened.
Still, that confirmed the space effect. There was only one thing left to do, and if it failed he could go back to his lab and work on a potential solution with Dragon.
"Vista, can you tell what happened here?"
He honestly doubted she could do much here, but it was better to be sure. Vista's power required conscious attention to maintain, whereas this one might be maintaining itself; If she could do anything, it would likely just snap back to its current state as soon as she let go.
Vista looked at the alleyway, as if the thought of it made her mildly sick.
"I'm... not sure? It's like someone crushed the place down to a single point, but it's all still there."
Armsmaster stopped, changing his assessment of the situation. If the building was still intact...
"Are you saying there are still people in there?"
Vista focused harder on the alleyway, seeming to strain against something, before nodding.
"Yeah, there's definitely still people in there. I can't tell how many, though."
And like that, the situation had become a whole lot more urgent. Armsmaster ordered the PRT agents to stand guard away from the alley, before directing his attention back.
"Vista, see if you can open a way in. We need to get them out of there."
She nodded quickly, setting her feet apart in a bracing stance before holding her arms out, as if to grasp the edges of something only she could see. She didn't need to move her hands to use her power, but it helped her focus.
To her, it felt like there were a lot of people in there. She'd need every ounce of focus she could muster up.
Her face tightened in concentration. Minutes passed; sweat started to form on her brow. Armsmaster was just about to tell her to stop before he saw it.
A tiny, black line appeared in the air above the alley, four feet above the ground, barely visible in the setting sunlight. It pulsed rythmically, gently, growing like a hairline fracture with each steady beat. Black smoke seeped out of the crack in reality, drifting slowly to the ground below.
Before suddenly snapping shut, vanishing back into nothing. Vista collapsed to the ground in a heap, and Armsmaster only just then noticed he'd forgotten about her.
"Vista! Are you okay? What happened?" He stepped over to her, checking for any visible damage before reaching down to help her up.
"I..." She groaned, bringing a hand to her head as she leaned on him for support, "I don't really know. There was nothing there, but it was like an entire crowd of people were in the way."
That many...
Armsmaster radioed the situation in, before helping Vista back into the van.
Gallant stood in front of the door to Kid Win's lab, trying to decide whether or not he should just walk in.
It had been several hours since anyone last saw the young Tinker.
Interrupting a Tinker while they were working was dangerous, even to their friends. Distract them while they were handling a critical piece, and something was liable to explode. Tinkers in the PRT were required to follow certain safety precautions to minimize such risks, but they could never be completely ruled out.
Every once in a while a new agent would transfer in from another division, and they all had their own stories to tell.
But if Kid Win was doing anything in there, Gallant couldn't hear it. He wasn't responding to Gallant's increasingly concerned questions and knocking, either.
Setting aside his fears for the sake of his friend and teammate, Dean pressed the control panel next to the door and walked in.
There was a darkness inside that the light barely seemed to penetrate, stopping only a few feet from the door. Shuffling noises came from the far side of the room, followed by a sudden clang as an object whipped passed Dean's head, striking the door's interior control panel. Gallant had just enough time to see a wrench clatter to the ground, before the door slammed shut and the room was plunged into blackness.
"Don't let the light in. It scares them."
=====
[A/N: Don't worry, Kid Win is still human.
At least, I think I'm using that word correctly.]
I ended up rewriting a few things in Chapter Five: it now takes place in the PRT Headquarters instead of the Protectorate Base. Just thought I'd let you know, so you wouldn't be confused about Gallant suddenly being in the PRT building.
Ah, but I should probably mention: this chapter will be a teensy bit darker than the others, mainly because it isn't from Taylor's point of view. The next chapter will be a Taylor one again, so don't worry too much.]
=====
Gallant watched the girl as she left with the tour group, his face a muddied mix of confusion, apprehension, and something bordering on illness.
That was nothing he'd ever seen before, and nothing he ever wanted to see again.
To his eyes, emotions were more than just expressions, posture, or tone of voice. Colors swirled around everyone he saw, each hue mapping to another feeling; every person was a slowly whirling kaleidoscope, a glimpse at who they were behind the mask. Gentle and soothing, in their own way.
At least, that's how it was supposed to be.
A seething mass of dark, sickly colors seemed to thrash and writhe within her, as though a thin layer of skin was the only thing preventing their escape. Royal purple greed, poisonous green hate, burning red paranoia, and icy blue fear; a violent, roiling sea of all the worst aspects of humanity, churning as if stirred up by some larger monstrosity lurking just beneath the surface, seeming for all the world as if she had somehow trapped nearly two dozen people inside herself and spent weeks methodically stripping away their individuality, adding them to the mass of nearly palpable malevolence that shrouded her like a mantle of still-living bodies.
And not an inch of it showed on her face. He found himself wondering if she even knew, and worrying what it might mean if she did.
"Gallant?" Vista was trying to get his attention again, and he wasn't sure for how long.
He looked down at her, and finally let his terror slip through.
"Find Aegis," he said, "We need to talk to Ms. Piggot. I think I know what happened to those Merchants."
[<( :_rangehumanself.impactemotion-arearange/active)>]
{-Earlier, ten hours ago-}
A man was handcuffed to a steel chair in one of the PRT's many interrogation rooms, spitting vile invectives that sprayed hate as much as they did saliva on the table in front of him. An ugly, football-shaped black scar stood out against the white skin of his chest, somehow seeming to drink in whatever light fell through the burnt, ragged hole exposing it through his shirt.
He was barely eighteen, and it had taken the entire PRT squad to bring him in. Not that he'd been all that strong; on the contrary, if anything he seemed weak and malnourished. Perfectly normal for a Merchant, who held drugs to be one of the three major food groups.
Rather, it was his sheer determination that had given them such trouble. He'd taken multiple shocks from tasers, been beaten bloody by batons, and he simply would not stop. He clearly felt pain, and some of the police officers on scene swore they heard bones breaking, but nothing kept him down. Recognizing an obvious parahuman situation, the police department had called in the PRT, who ended up foaming him and his two friends before bringing them in.
For the fourth, they'd needed a body bag. His head was barely recognizable as such, being little more than a spherical mass of char.
Gallant stood on the other side of a one-way mirror, watching the Merchant with his power. So far, all three of them had one thing in common.
"He's been Mastered," Gallant said, "Just like the others."
Deep in the center of their auras, a tiny seed of sickly green hate writhed, extending tendrils that spread out through the rest of it. Almost like an infection.
Gallant suppressed a shudder. Sometimes, being an empath sucked.
[<( :_rangehumanself.impactemotion-arearange/active)>]
{-Meanwhile, back in the present-}
Armsmaster stood where Fugly Bob's should have been, but wasn't. There was no wreckage, no signs of a struggle, not even a space where a building was supposed to be. It was as if someone had cut out that section of the city with a scalpel, then stitched the sides together to close the hole. It wasn't a neat job, either; the alleyway that normally would have bordered both sides of the building looked crooked and uneven where they were haphazardly joined together, the concrete slightly twisted and pinched towards the center where he suspected the effect originated.
To his experienced eye, it was clear what had happened: there was another space manipulator in the city, and a powerful one at that. But unlike Vista, this one didn't seem to have a Manton limit. There had been people in there, and the whole restaurant and its parking lot had been affected regardless.
A twitch of his face, a blink, and the comms unit in his helmet crackled to life. "This is Armsmaster. The site at street Hemingway, building four-niner-oh, appears to have been the target of a parahuman attack. Initial overview suggests a powerful, space-related Shaker effect. Requesting Vista with escort at my location. Given the sudden nature of this attack, be prepared for a possible hostile encounter."
The comm line went into standby, and Armsmaster resigned himself to waiting for the time being. Vista's power was already intimidating as it was; if there was someone out there with a non-limited version of it, he didn't think there was anything he - or anyone else - could do to stop them.
The thought rankled him. He opened a small hatch on the side of his armor, pulling out a portable set of tools, and used the spare time to adjust the attachments on his halberd.
Only twelve minutes passed before a PRT van pulled up, a squad of four officers plus one Vista exiting the back doors when it stopped. Vista stepped lightly to the ground, then suddenly staggered and clutched at her head before snapping her gaze to the warped alleyway.
"What the fuck!?"
"Language," Armsmaster reproached her. Not that he hadn't had a similar reaction when he first saw what happened.
Still, that confirmed the space effect. There was only one thing left to do, and if it failed he could go back to his lab and work on a potential solution with Dragon.
"Vista, can you tell what happened here?"
He honestly doubted she could do much here, but it was better to be sure. Vista's power required conscious attention to maintain, whereas this one might be maintaining itself; If she could do anything, it would likely just snap back to its current state as soon as she let go.
Vista looked at the alleyway, as if the thought of it made her mildly sick.
"I'm... not sure? It's like someone crushed the place down to a single point, but it's all still there."
Armsmaster stopped, changing his assessment of the situation. If the building was still intact...
"Are you saying there are still people in there?"
Vista focused harder on the alleyway, seeming to strain against something, before nodding.
"Yeah, there's definitely still people in there. I can't tell how many, though."
And like that, the situation had become a whole lot more urgent. Armsmaster ordered the PRT agents to stand guard away from the alley, before directing his attention back.
"Vista, see if you can open a way in. We need to get them out of there."
She nodded quickly, setting her feet apart in a bracing stance before holding her arms out, as if to grasp the edges of something only she could see. She didn't need to move her hands to use her power, but it helped her focus.
To her, it felt like there were a lot of people in there. She'd need every ounce of focus she could muster up.
Her face tightened in concentration. Minutes passed; sweat started to form on her brow. Armsmaster was just about to tell her to stop before he saw it.
A tiny, black line appeared in the air above the alley, four feet above the ground, barely visible in the setting sunlight. It pulsed rythmically, gently, growing like a hairline fracture with each steady beat. Black smoke seeped out of the crack in reality, drifting slowly to the ground below.
Before suddenly snapping shut, vanishing back into nothing. Vista collapsed to the ground in a heap, and Armsmaster only just then noticed he'd forgotten about her.
"Vista! Are you okay? What happened?" He stepped over to her, checking for any visible damage before reaching down to help her up.
"I..." She groaned, bringing a hand to her head as she leaned on him for support, "I don't really know. There was nothing there, but it was like an entire crowd of people were in the way."
That many...
Armsmaster radioed the situation in, before helping Vista back into the van.
[Concern]
[Query]
[Compression]
[Familiar]
[Source]
[Unknown]
[Query]
[Compression]
[Familiar]
[Source]
[Unknown]
{-Later, the next day-}
Gallant stood in front of the door to Kid Win's lab, trying to decide whether or not he should just walk in.
It had been several hours since anyone last saw the young Tinker.
Interrupting a Tinker while they were working was dangerous, even to their friends. Distract them while they were handling a critical piece, and something was liable to explode. Tinkers in the PRT were required to follow certain safety precautions to minimize such risks, but they could never be completely ruled out.
Every once in a while a new agent would transfer in from another division, and they all had their own stories to tell.
But if Kid Win was doing anything in there, Gallant couldn't hear it. He wasn't responding to Gallant's increasingly concerned questions and knocking, either.
Setting aside his fears for the sake of his friend and teammate, Dean pressed the control panel next to the door and walked in.
There was a darkness inside that the light barely seemed to penetrate, stopping only a few feet from the door. Shuffling noises came from the far side of the room, followed by a sudden clang as an object whipped passed Dean's head, striking the door's interior control panel. Gallant had just enough time to see a wrench clatter to the ground, before the door slammed shut and the room was plunged into blackness.
"Don't let the light in. It scares them."
[<( :_rangehumanself.impactemotion-arearange/active)>]
End of Arc One
The Human Masquerade
The Human Masquerade
=====
[A/N: Don't worry, Kid Win is still human.
At least, I think I'm using that word correctly.]
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