Aftermath (Worm AU)

[Ack]

Taylor Hebert died in the locker.

But the story does not end there ...

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.


Index
Part 1 (below)
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9: All Together Now
Part 9a: Alternate Ending

Omake: Panacea [ Dr. Mercurious ]
Omake: Panacea and Bonesaw [ Dr. Mercurious ]

 

[Ack]

Aftermath

Part 1

Danny looked up at the knock on his office door. He frowned; Rosalie didn't usually bring around the coffee cart for another quarter hour. "What is it?" he called.

"Mr Hebert, there's a policeman here to see you," replied his secretary. "He says it's urgent."

A sick feeling began to grow in his gut, but he tried to tamp it down.It could be any number of reasons.

"Send him in."

The door opened, and a burly uniformed officer entered. He held his cap in both hands, and seemed rather uncomfortable.

Danny rose and went around his desk.

"Danny Hebert," he introduced himself, holding out his hand, trying desperately to keep this normal, make this something inconsequential.

The policeman shook his hand. "Sergeant Livermore, BBPD," he responded. "Mr Hebert, I think you'd better sit down."

Danny found his knees going to water, and he collapsed in the chair he usually kept for visitors.

"What ... is it ... Taylor?" he choked out.

The sergeant nodded. "I'm very sorry, sir. She was admitted to the Central Hospital while I was on the way over here. The attending physician declared her dead on arrival."

Danny felt his heart racing, his vision greying out at the corners. He gasped for breath. Distantly, he heard the officer asking if he was all right. Then everything went black.

><><​

He came to a few minutes later by the office clock; he had been placed in the recovery position. Kneeling over him was Fredericks, the designated first aid officer. Sergeant Livermore was standing back, watching the proceedings.

"Mr Hebert, can you hear me?" asked Fredericks.

Danny nodded. "What happened?" His voice was thin and thready, even to him.

"The sergeant says you passed out. Bad news?"

"The worst," croaked Danny. He looked up at the sergeant. "How did it happen?"

Livermore shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't discuss the situation with anyone else in the room. We're treating it as a criminal case."

Danny began to get up; Fredericks pushed him back down. "Mr Hebert, you have to rest -"

"Screw that." Danny looked Fredericks in the eye. "Let me up or you're fired."

Fredericks got up, looking hurt. Danny clambered to his feet, accepting a hand from Livermore as he did so. He found himself a little wobbly on his feet, but kept his balance.

"Can I see her?" he asked.

Livermore nodded. "I'm authorised to ask you if you're able to come in to the hospital now, to make the identification."

Danny nodded. "I can do that."

><><​

The moment Danny was in the police cruiser, with the belt fastened and the car in motion, he turned to Livermore. "Okay, we're alone. What the hell happened to my little girl?"

Livermore pursed his lips. "It looks like a school-type prank taken way too far, sir. She was shut into her own locker, along with what looks like toxic waste of some sort."

"Aprank?"demanded Danny, his voice rising. "What the hell sort of prank is that?"

"The type that leads to criminal charges, sir."

"So how did she die from being shut in her locker?"

"Now that, sir, I am not sure about. The doctor will be able to tell you more."

"Okay, so what happens to the people who did it?"

"We are pursuing our inquiries. Everyone who was, or might have been, in that hallway at that time will be interviewed. When we find out the culprit or culprits, we will be prosecuting with the full weight of the law."

"So you don't know who did it."

"Not yet, sir. But so very few of our cases start with us knowing all the details. It's why we have investigative procedures, sir."

"So what will they be charged with? Murder?"

"Potentially, sir. Frankly, it may end up being argued down to negligent homicide in court, with a good enough lawyer. But time will tell."

Danny found that his fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms. He forced them to relax.

"But Taylor is dead. My daughter is dead."

"I'm afraid so, sir. I am very sorry."

Danny leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window. "Christ."

><><​

The still white form lay on the sterile metal table. Danny thought his knees were going to buckle again, but he took a deep breath and stiffened his spine. "Show me."

The doctor folded back the sheet, revealing Taylor's face, still and blank in repose. A small cut on her forehead had been cleaned; her eyes were closed. Her hair was arranged neatly around her head.

"That ... that's my daughter," he managed. "That's Taylor. What ... what happened to her? Why did she die? The sergeant said she was shut in a locker. Did she suffocate?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, sir," he responded. Carefully, he placed the sheet back over Taylor's face. "If you would care to sit down, Mr Hebert ...?"

Danny sat once more. The table was still there, in his peripheral vision, with Taylor's sheet-covered form on it, but he focused his attention on the doctor. "Tell me."

The doctor took a deep breath. "I believe, from the visible symptoms, she suffered a massive onset of toxic shock syndrome. There are wounds all over her hands and arms, as well as her knees, from repeated impacts with a hard surface."

"The inside of her locker," Danny guessed.

"That is our supposition, yes. She was sharing the locker with some extremely vile material containing old, rotted blood, as well as potentially pathogen-bearing insects. This material got into the wounds, and the toxins were quickly transported around the body. The estimate is that she was in the locker for the best part of three hours. This was long enough for a reaction to set in."

Danny put his face in his hands."Christ."

He could only imagine what her last hours, her last minutes had been like; shut in a stinking hellhole, feeling the toxins spreading through her body, knowing she was dying ...

Abruptly, he bent over and threw up. Everything that he had eaten in the last twelve hours came up; by the time he was straining at bile, there was a bucket under his chin, and an orderly was already mopping up the mess.

"Are you feeling better, sir?"

Danny glared at the doctor, but accepted the damp cloth to wipe his chin.

"My daughter is dead due to a vicious, misguided, psychopathic school prank. What part of 'better' applies to that, exactly?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I've seen cases come through here ... this is one of the worst. And that's saying something."

For Brockton Bay, yes.Danny knew what he meant.

He stood up, suffering the orderly to run the mop over his shoes. "Can I have a drink of water?"

The drink was not long in coming. He sipped it, then washed his mouth out and spat the residue into the sink.

"Now," he growled, "I'm going to the school.

"I'm going to get someanswers."

><><​

Sophia Hess watched the police and emergency workers; some of the former were interviewing the faculty, while others were talking to random students. The emergency workers were cleaning up the crap that had spilled from Taylor's locker.

Beside her, Emma whispered, "They say she wasdead!"

Sophia shrugged slightly. "Shows how much of a wimp she was." Inside, her guts were churning; she'd never killed someone in such a way before. It hadn't been deliberate, but it still sent a thrill down her spine. She didn't know whether to be terrified or elated.

Madison, on the other side of Emma, said nothing; she just watched the scene with frightened eyes.

The phone on Sophia's hip vibrated; she jumped, and then relaxed. Pulling the phone out of its holder, she accepted the call. "Sophia."

"Miss Hess."The voice was that of Deputy Director Renick."Please make your way to a secure location and return this call."

"Sure thing, Mom." She shut the call off, turned to Emma and Madison, and inclined her head toward the stairwell. "Gotta go tinkle," she lied. "Let me know if anything happens."

Making her way up two flights of stairs to get to the bathrooms was, as always, a pain. But it almost guaranteed that no-one else would be up here. They were all watching the freakshow downstairs.

She checked every cubicle to make sure they were empty before locking herself into the last one. Then she dialled the number back.

"Renick."

"It's me."

"Ah, good. We heard about the death at your school. Did you see what happened?"

"Ah, no, sir. I was in class. Why?"

"Why? You're aWard. You're supposed tohelpthe police in matters like this."

"Sir, I'm not very good at investigative matters. And if Shadow Stalker suddenly shows up to help out, then people might start wondering."

" ... you have a point. Well, keep your eyes and ears open, and if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, report it to the police at once."

"Of course, sir."

"Very good. We'll give you a more thorough debriefing when you report in, this evening. It looks bad, having someone die in a school that a Ward is attending."

"Understood, sir."

"Well, I'll let you get back to it. Remember; anything unusual."

"Got it, sir."

He hung up; Sophia shut her phone down, then leaned back against the toilet tank with a silent sigh.

Dodged a bullet there.

She found herself suddenly needing to use the facilities; she did so, then washed her hands before going back downstairs to rejoin the others.

Emma glanced at her; Sophia shrugged.

They went back to watching the police and emergency services.


End of Part 1

 

[Ack]

Aftermath

Part 2


The Hebert house was still and silent, save for the restless movements upstairs in the main bedroom.

Downstairs, there was evidence that all was not well. One of the kitchen chairs lay broken against the wall, beneath the mark of its impact on the wall, at head height. Small ornaments in the living room were shattered, including the TV, which had the remote still protruding from a ragged hole in the screen. Back in the kitchen, broken glass lay on the ground beneath a large splash-mark, perhaps tomato paste, on the wall.

Danny Hebert tried to sleep. He managed to do anything but. His motions as he tossed and turned were erratic, driven by his inner torment.

In the one moment, he saw Taylor as she had been, happy, smiling, laughing. Then in the next, he saw her still, lifeless body on the morgue table, eyes closed, the small cut on her forehead. And in the third, his imagination took over, seeing her as she would have been in the locker, screaming, hitting the door, crying out for him. And he never came for her.

I failed her. When she most needed me, I failed her.

He remembered the confrontation ...

<><>​

"What do you mean,you don't know?"

Principal Blackwell recoiled as Danny Hebert's fist crashed down on the desk, rattling pens and causing a stapler to fall off the edge. "Now, Mr Hebert ..."

Danny took hold of the edge of her desk. For a moment, she looked as though she thought he was going to flip it over on top of her. For a moment, he really wanted to try. "Have you even triedfinding out? Fuckingseriously?"

Blackwell tried to lean back away from him without appearing to do so. "The police are investigating -"

This time, he did shove the desk back at her; it scraped over the carpet. "You've got to be fuckingkiddingme! You aren't eventryingto find out, are you? Covering up just as hard as you can, aren't you?" He shoved the desk again; despite his skinny frame, he managed to move it a few more inches. "Well understand this. I have a friend in the media. If things don't change, then everything comes out.Allof it."

"Mr Hebert." Despite her best efforts at control, Principal Blackwell's voice was shaking with ... what? Fear? Anger? "If you do not leave immediately, I will call the police."

"Yeah," he growled. "Youdothat." He stalked around the desk; Blackwell stood up hastily. When they were just a yard apart, he leaned in menacingly. "One week."

"W-what?"

"One. Week."He lowered his voice. "If this shit is not sorted inone fucking week,my friend in the media getseverything.And I will be sure to contactevery single parentwith a child in Winslow. See how your precious school holds upthen."

<><>​

He turned and left, the door slamming behind him. Blackwell slumped into her chair opened a desk drawer, pulled out a packet of antacid pills, and dry-swallowed half a dozen.

I'm not covering anything up. But how can I make him understand this? Fuck.

<><>​

Outside, in the corridor, Danny was heading for the open air, for freedom. A teenage boy intercepted him.

"Uh ... sir?"

Danny glared at him. "What the fuck doyouwant?"

The boy gulped. "I - uh - you'reherfather, aren't you? T-Taylor's?"

Danny glowered. The kid was gawky, nerdy. He didn't need this shit. But then, this kid was the first person who had approachedhimin the school.

"Do you know something?"

"I, uh, I might." The boy swallowed, and glanced around. "T-Taylor, I think she was being bullied -"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Whatfuckingled you to that conclusion, Einstein?" he demanded. "The fact that she was locked in her locker, or the fact that she fuckingdiedin there?"

"Uh, Greg, sir. Greg Veder."

Danny shook his head in puzzlement. "What?"

"N-not Einstein, sir. My name's Greg Veder. I had World Affairs class with her."

Danny took a deep breath. The kid was actually starting to make sense. "And you were her friend?"

Greg Veder shrugged slightly. "I wanted to be. But she didn't really like me, I guess."

Danny ignored that. "So what makes you think she was being bullied?"

"A, uh, couple of girls in her class, they used to do things like put glue or juice on her chair or desk," stammered Greg. "Took her homework away and pretended it was theirs. Stuff like that."

Danny leaned closer, menacingly."Names,"he gritted.

Greg looked like he was on the verge of wetting himself. "Uh, uh, uh, you should ask Mr Gladly," he tried to temporise. "He teaches that class."

Danny made a mental note. "I will. But I'm askingyou. Here. Now."

Greg closed his eyes and tried not to whimper. "J-Julia. And M-Madison."

"Surnames?"

"Madison's surname is Clements, I think. Not sure about Julia's. Morrow? Something like that?"

Danny took a deep breath. At last, something he could vent his rage at. "Anything else?"

Greg shook his head. "No, no, really. It's all I know."

"Good," growled Danny. "Thanks. And I might just be telling the police to ask you some questions, so don't go forgetting what you've just told me."

"I - I won't," Greg stammered, and made his escape. Danny watched him hasten off down the hallway.

Madison Clements and Julia somebody. Mr Gladly's class. Right.

He turned and walked away.

<><>​

Neither Greg nor Danny saw the unfriendly eyes that observed their meeting.

Once they were both out of sight, Sophia Hess emerged from the classroom and looked thoughtfully after Greg.

I wonder what he told him.

I might have to ask him some serious questions.

<><>​

In his bed, Danny was just slipping into a restless doze when a whisper awoke him. He sat bolt upright, eyes open wide.

The whisper came again.

"... dad?"

"Taylor!" he called out. "Taylor!"

" ... dad?"

"Taylor! Where are you?" He lunged out of the bedroom, checked hers, checked the bathroom, checked downstairs, tripping over furniture in the dark.

He didn't find her.

And then he stilled his breathing, staring into the darkness.

"Taylor?"

" ... dad? I don't know where I am ..."

He found an intact kitchen chair, set it upright. Sat in it.

"Taylor? Are you real? Talk to me."

" ... I don't know, dad. I don't know where I am."

The whispered voice faded away.

Danny called out to her, begged, pleaded. To no avail.

Eventually, he went back to bed. But there was one thought fixed in his mind.

Taylor's alive. Somehow. Somewhere.

And I'll find her.


End of Part 2

 

[Ack]

Aftermath

Part 3

Tuesday

Senior Sergeant Don Garbutt blamed Hollywood; specifically, he blamed the movies and TV shows that portrayed police as being bumbling and incompetent, where untrained civilians were able to uncover salient facts about an ongoing investigation and save the day.

It's as if the investigative techniques we've developed over the last hundred years are just optional extras. Any major case comes up, you get wackos coming out of the woodwork, convinced that they have the solution well in hand.

Those were the irritating ones. And then you just got the sad ones.

Such as the one he was faced with, this chilly Tuesday morning.

"So if I understand what you're saying, Mr Hebert," he offered patiently, "you believe that you know who's responsible for your daughter being in that locker. Is that right?"

"Yes!" Danny Hebert probably wasn't an excitable man under ordinary circumstances. But the day after the death of one's only daughter could not be counted as 'ordinary'. "I've got a name! Two names!"

"And these names are ...?"

"Madison Clements," recited Danny crisply. "And Julia ... somebody. I don't know her last name. He couldn't tell me."

"Who couldn't tell you, sir?"

"His name's Greg somebody ... Veder, I think. I don't know how it's spelled. But he's - he was - in the same World Affairs class with her, and with the other two girls. Mr Gladly teaches that class, I think he said."

"We can definitely check all that out, sir," Sergeant Garbutt assured him, writing the names down. "So, this Veder boy, what did he say the connection was between your daughter and these other girls?"

Danny's voice was flat. "He said they were bullying her. Putting stuff on her seat, stealing her work, being mean to her."

The police officer looked perceptively at him. "And she never told you about this?"

Danny shook his head helplessly. "I never knew. We used to talk all the time. These days ...". He trailed off, defeated.

"Does her mother know about the bullying?"

Danny Hebert jerked as if he had been slapped. His voice rose. "What, you don't know?"

Sergeant Garbutt knew that he'd just committed a faux pas, but he wasn't sure quite what. "Know about what, sir?"

"My wife's dead. She's been dead for nearly three years. It was a car accident. You're investigating my daughter's murder, and you don't know this?"

"Sir, I'm not part of that investigation. All I know is that it happened.". Christ, he thought. Losing both his wife and his kid inside of three years. Poor bastard.

Danny took a deep breath, and composed himself. "Okay. Sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that. But what are you going to do about it?"

"About the allegations of bullying? We'll look into the matter, of course."

"But he said -"

"Mr Hebert." Senior Sergeant Garbutt might be a desk-bound cop, but he'd done his time on the streets, and he still knew how to put the snap of command in his voice. "This Veder boy could be mistaken. He could be lying, to get them in trouble, or to take the heat off of someone else, or even off of himself."

Danny was silent, thinking about his words. Garbutt forged on. "Police work isn't like in the movies, or on TV, sir. We rarely get a single case-breaking clue handed to us just in time for the wrap-up and credits. It usually involves days, weeks or even months of painstaking work, running down leads, interviewing people, identifying suspects, getting warrants and building cases."

He took a deep breath. "Now, what you've just passed on to us is very likely quite significant, but exactly what it signifies has yet to be determined. Do you understand, sir?"

Slowly, Danny nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I appreciate it.". He pushed the chair back, went to stand.

"Ah, just a word, Mr Hebert."

Danny halted his movement. "What?"

Garbutt's voice was almost gentle. "One of the things that can derail an investigation like this is having untrained amateurs going around asking their own questions. That sort of thing can muddy the waters, and make it almost impossible to catch the real perpetrators. Do you understand what I'm trying to say, sir?"

Danny Hebert was silent for a long moment. "You're telling me in the politest possible terms to butt out and let you do your job."

"Well, to not put too fine a point on it, Mr Hebert – yes."

Danny's shoulders slumped slightly. "Message received and understood. I'll be getting out of your way, then."

Standing, he made his way from the interview room. Garbutt watched him go, then checked over the notes he had taken. Well, it's definitely a potential lead.

Pulling out his phone, he called up a number and hit speed-dial.

><><​

Monday Night

Greg Veder sat at the computer in his bedroom, typing industriously, chatting to his online buddies in his persona of XxVoid_CowboyxX.

He frowned. From the talk on the board, it looked like his favourite free-to-play online game wasn't going to be on for much longer. This was a problem; he needed something to play, to get good at, to learn the cheat codes for, to chat to his online buddies about.

Browsing the PHO boards, commiserating with the other players, he caught a mention of something called Space Opera.

What's that? he wondered.

A quick online search garnered him a description of the game's premise and how it was played. Intrigued, he clicked through the links till he found a site that he could download his end of the game from.

With a sense of satisfaction, he clicked the link, then started checking back. Hints and tips. Need hints and tips.. Some small part of his mind registered the tiny rustle of noise behind him, but he didn't pay attention.

At least, not until the hand went over his mouth from behind.

><><​

Tuesday

Detective Dana McAllister leaned back in her chair as she answered her mobile.

"Oh, hey, Donny. What's cooking?"

"You're working the Hebert homicide, right? The girl in the locker?"

"Yeah, that's me. Joy. We're interviewing the rugrats as fast as we can process them through, but nothing's popped yet. Why?"

"Because I might just have something for you. A couple of names and an allegation of bullying."

Detective McAllister sat upright in her chair. "You have my attention."

><><​

Monday Night

"Be very quiet," hissed a voice in his ear. "Do not raise your voice. Do not call out. Do you understand me?"

Very cautiously, Greg nodded.

"Good. I'm going to take my hand away now."

The iron-hard grip relaxed, and the hand came away from his mouth.

"Can I – can I turn around?" he whispered.

"Slowly," the voice growled.

Very cautiously, he turned … and his jaw dropped.

"Oh my god," he blurted. "it's you!"

The menacing form of Shadow Stalker, seeming to spread darkness even in the brightly-lit room, leaned in; he drew back.

Her voice was a venomous hiss. "Shut. The. Hell. Up."

He shut up.

She seemed to relax slightly. "Better. Now, what do you mean by 'it's you'?"

He tried to keep his voice to a whisper, but it wasn't easy. "It's you! Shadow Stalker! I mean, you were badass before you joined the Wards, but now … " His voice trailed off; he fumbled on his desk for his phone. "Can I get a picture, to prove I met you, that you were in my – urk!"

He suddenly felt himself being rammed back against his computer desk, her hand tight on his throat. The strength went out of him; he did not even have the courage to struggle.

"I'm not here for photo opportunities." The venomous hiss was back. "I'm here investigating a murder. I understand you know something about it."

"M-murder?" he gulped, his Adam's apple constricted by her tight grip. "Oh, uh, you mean Taylor?"

"Yes." Her grip loosened slightly. "What do you know about it?"

"Oh, uh, nothing really. Just that … those girls … they were bullying Taylor, and I thought they might have had something to -"

He choked momentarily as she squeezed his throat again.

"Which girls?" As if in afterthought, she relaxed her grip so that he could answer.

He had to cough a couple of times before he could speak properly. "Uh, uh, Madison Clements and her friend, Julia. I've seen them in Mr Gladly's classroom, playing mean tricks on her, and -"

The contempt in her voice was plain. "And you never stepped in? Never intervened?"

He hung his head in shame, as much as he was able with her hand on his throat. "No, I, uh -" Didn't want to become a target myself. But he couldn't say it; it sounded cowardly.

"Never mind." She seemed to think matters over.

Her grip relaxed; she took her hand off of his throat. He inhaled, wondered if his throat would have bruises. Yeah, dude, that's where Shadow Stalker interrogated me. No shit, man, she was all up in my grille.

She spoke again, low and deadly, and his attention focused abruptly. "Madison and Julia, and anyone else who might have had dealings with Taylor at the school, are not the issue here."

"But -"

She quieted him with a gesture toward his throat; he shut up. "I am asking for your help here, Veder. You want to help the Protectorate, don't you? You want to help find Taylor's killer?"

Dumbly, he nodded. Excitement built in his chest.

"Here's the deal. Danny Hebert's dealings with the Dockworkers' Association aren't squeaky clean; they never have been. He's pissed off some very well-connected criminal types. Taylor was killed like that to send a message; if he keeps going the way he is, he's next. And that they can get to him anywhere, just like they got to Taylor."

His eyes were wide open now, as he tried to absorb what she was telling him. Criminal conspiracies in Brockton Bay's underworld, shady dealings coming to light, Taylor an innocent victim – this was like the best movie ever!

Except, of course, that Taylor was dead.

"How … how can I help?" he whispered.

"Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut about what I've just told you. You're gonna keep a lookout on matters in the school for me. Anything out of the ordinary, you let me know."

"Uh, how'm I going to -"

"You don't contact me. I contact you. And just remember. Anyone who might've been ragging on the girl a bit – they're just a smokescreen. You know who really killed her."

"So do you want me to tell -"

She shook her head impatiently. "Tell no-one. If this gets out, it could wreck the whole case. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Good. Keep your eyes and ears open; I'll be watching."

And with that, she turned to smoke and threw herself at the closed window. The curtains barely stirred at her passage.

Moments later, his mother looked into the room.

"Was that you I heard talking just now, dear?" she asked.

"Uh, I just got off the phone," he lied.

She nodded. "All right. Don't stay up too much later. It is a school night, after all."

"Okay, Mom."

She stepped into the room, bent down to give him a hug and a kiss on top of his head, then left once more.

Greg turned to his computer and opened a private chat with his online buddies.

Dudes, he typed. You are never gonna believe what just happened to me ...

><><​

Tuesday

"Well, well, well," mused Dana McAllister. "Thanks, Donny." She put her phone down and typed the name Clements, M into her computer. It accessed the infodump that had been handed over to the Brockton Bay PD by the harassed Princpal Blackwell, and pulled up the yearbook picture for 2010.

Dana considered the sweetly smiling picture. Looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

It didn't make a difference; she didn't care what they looked like. If they were guilty, she'd arrest them.

There were several girls called Julia in that year; McAllister looked around until she found the class lists, cross-referenced them against the teacher's name – Gladly, right – and ended up with the class list for that particular World Affairs class.

It contained, not very much to her surprise, Greg Veder, Taylor Hebert, Madison Clements, and a Julia Morrow.

Well, they're both in the class, just like he told Danny Hebert. But that doesn't prove anything.

She swivelled her chair to address the stocky man who sat at his own desk, a few yards away.

"Joe, how you going with those interviews?"

Detective Sergeant Joseph Farrel grimaced. "Be getting through them faster if people didn't stop interrupting me for status reports."

"Sorry." She didn't mean it, and they both knew it, but at least she had the grace to pretend. "Need to know if you've spoken to a Clements, first name Madison."

He leafed through the copious manila folders on his desk. "Yeah. Got her right here."

"How about Julia Morrow? Or Greg Veder?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Nowhere near the M's yet."

She shrugged. "Win some, lose some. Bump 'em to the top of your list, will you? Also, a teacher, Gladly. We need to see if he witnessed bullying behaviour in his World Affairs class, directed at the Hebert girl, and who was doing it."

"No problem, boss." He held up the folder. "Want it?"

"Yeah, thanks." She accepted it, and leafed through it. "Huh. Pretty bland. 'Didn't know her that well. Tried to be friends, but she wasn't that sociable.'"

"According to the other interviews, she's one of the very few who even bothered to try," commented Farrel. "Most everyone else so far's just said, 'Taylor who?' or some variant thereof."

"Thereof," snickered McAllister. "Trying to better yourself, Farrel?"

"Hey, just because I read books with more words than pictures -" he retorted with a grin.

"Interesting thing to note," she stated, cutting him off, "is that the dad says the Veder kid approached him and told him that the Clements girl was bullying her. And now she says in police interview that she was trying to be her friend? It doesn't add up."

"Maybe she was, and the Veder kid mistook it for bullying? Me and Frank beat each other around a bit sometimes."

McAllister shook her head. "You're a guy. Guys show affection differently. And what Donny told me, it wasn't friendly ragging. No, I want to hear what the Morrow girl's got to say, and if the Veder kid is happy to repeat what he told Hebert."

Joe nodded. "On it."

"Good." McAllister turned back to her own computer and started calling up other photos with Madison Clements tagged on them; she was looking for outdoor candid shots, such as might be taken at sports events.

If she was really trying to be friends with the Hebert girl, then maybe they're in one of these photos together.

She didn't find a single match. But she did find something else, the significance of which would escape her for a little while yet.

Police work, by its nature, was long and tedious. She kept at it.

><><​

Monday Night

Shadow Stalker drifted on the breeze, away from the Veder house. And the moron goes online and starts blabbing it to all his buddies. Am I a genius or what?

She smiled coldly, under her mask. All I've got to do now is wait for the story to spread, and the police won't know what to believe. And if they're looking at her father for other stuff, they're less likely to believe anything he says.

The fact that her ploy, if successful, would likely ruin a good man's career did not even enter her thinking.

She paused on a rooftop, glancing around for the next vantage point to leap from.

…. sophiaaaa ...

She spun around, loosing a crossbow bolt at a fleeting shadow. The bolt passed right through and disappeared in the night.

"What the fuck … no. I did not hear that."

But telling herself that was one thing. Believing it was entirely another.

And the cold sweat down her back did little to convince her.


End of Part 3

Part 4

 

[alethiophile]

Shadow Stalker: "Tell no one."
Greg: "HEY GUYS YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED TO ME"

Oh, Greg. You never fail to be predictably pathetic.

 

[cosoco]

Part 4 links to a different story.

 

[Ack]

Part 4 links to a different story.

Click to shrink...

Whoops sorry.

Explanation 1: I was tired.
Explanation 2: It was all part of my master plan to make you read ALL MY STORIES!

Mwahahaha.

That is all.

 

[Ack]

Aftermath

Part 4


Dana McAllister cleared her throat. "The time is three forty-five PM. The date is Tuesday the fourth of January. This is Detective McAllister, speaking to Julia Morrow on the subject of the death of Taylor Hebert."

She stopped the recorder, and replayed her words. They came through loud and clear. She restarted the recorder, and looked at the girl sitting across the table from her. "Now, Julia – may I call you Julia?"

The kid shrugged. "Free country," she allowed.

Attitude. Right.

"Thank you, Julia. Now, I'd just like you to understand that you aren't in any trouble. I'm just interviewing you as a potential witness for anything that may have led up to Ms Hebert's unfortunate demise."

"Don't you mean murder?" blurted out Julia.

Dana frowned slightly. "I'm sorry. What do you mean?"

Julia waved her hands. "People are talking about Taylor's death like it's a murder, right? Isn't that how you're looking at this?"

The detective shook her head slightly. "We don't have enough information to go on yet. If the person or persons who put her in the locker intended for her to die, then that would count as murder, yes. But if the intent was simply to imprison her for a little while, then it becomes negligent homicide."

"But they go to jail both ways, right?"

Dana nodded. "Negligent homicide still carries a prison term, yes. But as I said, we don't have enough information either way. And in any case, I'm just trying to get any information that you yourself knew about Taylor's social situation."

"Oh." Julia seemed oddly disappointed. Dana knew the signs; here was someone whose view of the police had been shaped by Hollywood.

She smiled, to put the girl at ease. "So; how well did you know Taylor?"

><><​

Julia was on guard, despite the friendly smile. Madison said they didn't know anything, but it's a bit weird that I've jumped the line.

Her attempt to get more information had failed – not really surprisingly, all things considered – but she knew what Madison had said, and so she knew what she had to say.

"Oh, not that well," she told the detective. "She was a little bit of a loner. But Madison and me, we kind of tried to talk to her, be on her side, you know?"

McAllister noted something on her pad, and Julia had to restrain herself from trying to crane her neck to see what was being written.

"This would be Madison Clements, yes?" asked the detective, with barely a pause.

Wow, she must have a good memory. "Uh, yeah, yeah, that's her."

The detective put down her pen. "What classes did you have with her?"

"Oh, uh, World Affairs, a few others."

McAllister tilted her head slightly. "Did she have problems with anyone in the class? Or did anyone have any problems with her, do you know? Did anyone speak to you about her?"

Julia felt ice creeping down her spine. "Uh – no, no, not really," she stammered, before inspiration bloomed before her eyes. "Except -"

The detective picked up on it immediately. "Except what, Julia?"

Pretending reluctance, she paused. "I'm really not sure … I don't want to get him in trouble … "

Steel entered McAllister's voice. "Julia, I need to know who you're talking about, and why."

"It's … it's, um, Greg Veder," Julia 'confessed'. "He's a bit creepy, you know? Always wanting to partner with Taylor. Always trying to get close to her, to talk to her."

"Greg Veder," murmured the detective, scribbling on the pad. She looked up at Julia. "Just that?"

Julia shook her head. "No, he … I think he was stalking her. Emails and stuff. She used to talk about creepy emails she was getting. And I saw him watching her as we were packing up to leave class one day. This little creepy smile on his face. Like he knew something I didn't."

Now she was making stuff up off the top of her head, but McAllister seemed to be eating it up.

"That's very interesting, Julia," the detective noted, writing some more. "Do you know if he followed her out of school, or if this was strictly an in-school thing?"

Julia decided her lies had gone on far enough. "I have no idea," she stated. "I never rode the bus with either Taylor or Greg."

McAllister nodded. "That's understandable. So, about your other classes ..."

><><​

Don Garbutt looked across the table at Greg Veder. McAllister had filled him in on the information she had gotten from the Morrow kid. Apparently it bore out what the Clements girl had told her, and also cast doubt on what Veder had told Danny Hebert.

Kid doesn't look like a pervert. But you never can tell.

"So, Greg," he began. "Why don't you tell me what you know about Taylor Hebert."

Greg swallowed. "Um, she's always been kind of lonely." He ducked his head slightly. "She's nice to me. Doesn't make fun of me." Visibly, he corrected himself. "Uh, didn't make fun."

"So you liked her then?" Garbutt's voice was studiously neutral.

Greg nodded jerkily. "Yeah, kinda. It made me mad when -"

Don Garbutt waited for him to finish, but he didn't.

"Greg? Made you mad when what?"

><><​

Greg gulped. Shadow Stalker had told him that the people who caused trouble for Taylor weren't the real problem here. And he'd nearly told the police sergeant about them. That could make the police look in all the wrong places. Could I be arrested for telling police stuff that makes them fail to get the real perpetrator?

"Greg?" asked the cop again.

"I, uh, never mind," Greg tried to evade.

Sergeant Garbutt's voice was hard. "'Never mind' what, Greg?"

Greg hung his head. "Madison and Julie," he mumbled. "They played tricks on her." His head came up again. "But they aren't the real problem."

"Why aren't they the real problem?"

The words came out before he could stop them. "Because they had nothing to do with Taylor's death."

If he'd thought he had Senior Sergeant Garbutt's full attention before, he had been sadly mistaken. But he certainly had it now. The police sergeant's voice was hard and sharp, and impossible to ignore. "And you believe you know who had something to do with her death?"

Greg floundered. "I – uh - "

Shadow Stalker told me not to tell anyone. Oh shit.

Garbutt was leaning forward. "Greg, if you have something to say, then it's best that you say it now. You aren't in trouble, but withholding information from a police officer is a crime."

I don't want to get arrested.

Maybe it's okay to tell the police about this.

Greg raised his eyes to the sergeant's. "I, uh, heard that it wasn't any of the students at Winslow at all," he reported dully. "That her father's into some shady stuff, and this was a warning to him to stay out of their business."

Garbutt blinked.

><><​

"You're shitting me," exclaimed Dana McAllister. "Fucking organised crime? How does that fit into this?"

Garbutt shrugged. "I have zero fucking idea," he replied. "But I asked him, and the best he could tell me was that a cape told him in absolute secrecy. A hero, too. But he wouldn't tell me who."

McAllister frowned. "Think he's making the whole thing up?"

Garbutt shook his head. "Doesn't make sense. He believes it. Kid's got enough tells that a blind man would know when he's lying. If it's a line of bull, then someone fed him a line of bull, and that someone's a cape, or someone he thought was a cape."

"This is getting to be more than a simple homicide," muttered McAllister. "Did you at least get a read on Clements and Morrow from him?"

He nodded. "He didn't want to say much, apart from 'they didn't do it', but he did say he used to get mad about them playing tricks on her, quote unquote."

McAllister leaned back in her chair. "Okay, so now we have what? A teenage girl forced into her locker with a mess of crap, dies from toxic shock syndrome. This Veder kid tells her father that the Clements girl and her friend were bullying her. They say they were her best friends. And now Veder's telling us that they had nothing to do with her death, and that her dad is involved with organised crime."

Garbutt rubbed his jaw. "Hm. I got a pal in Vice; I'll look to see if this Dock Workers' Association has anything on it."

McAllister nodded. "Probably nothing, but we have to check it out. Also, drop a line to the PRT, ask them if they're doing any investigating on that front. Think you'd be able to get a name out of the Veder kid if you pushed him?"

A shake of the head. "He clammed up pretty fast when I tried. He just insists that the bullying had nothing to do with it."

"Still, my gut says it does. Follow the cape angle. I'll keep on with the interviews."

Garbutt threw her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

She wrinkled her nose. "Get outta here."

He got.

><><​

Taylor Hebert … drifted.

She didn't know where she was at any one moment. She felt … stretched. Wispy. As if she were about to disintegrate at any moment.

But she was almost fully conscious now; for the last twenty-four hours, she had gradually been emerging from a fog of unawareness. Sometimes she had been more lucid than normal; sometimes, less so.

Once, she had seen her father. Spoken to him. He had answered. But she had been slipping away even then, and had not been able to answer his impassioned pleas.

Another time, she had seen Sophia, or at least she had believed it to be Sophia. She had moved the same way. But the wind had swept her away again.

She was beginning to be able to exert more control on what she was, now. Gradually, she was starting to make out where she was, here and there. Brockton Bay landmarks made themselves known to her. She could focus her attention here and there; sometimes, it was easy, but sometimes it was very difficult indeed.

With consciousness came memory. She feared that she would never recall the last day or more in any great detail, but it was what had come before that she recalled vividly.

The school.

The locker.

The stinking mess.

The shove.

The locker closing.

The thrashing to be free.

The feeling of lassitude.

The sensation of her mind leaving her body.

I died, she told herself. I died in that locker.

Taylor and Danny had never been particularly religious, and she had trouble parsing the concept of life after death.

Am I a ghost?

But she didn't seem to be composed of anything, non-corporeal or not. Her consciousness seemed to drift from place to place, but there were limits and boundaries.

And then it clicked; the metaphorical lightbulb came on.

I didn't realise that my eyesight is terrible, she told herself. I'm used to having bad eyesight. But my hearing isn't much better, and my hearing's always been pretty good.

I'm seeing and hearing through the eyes and ears of …

Suddenly, she realised exactly why, wherever her mind went, she had seen bugs flying and crawling around her viewpount.

Bugs.

><><​

Taylor Hebert's body was dead. But her mind, in the moments before death, had shifted into the Swarm. As it moved around the city, each individual bug mind supporting a minute fraction of the consciousness of Taylor Hebert, she gradually began to exert control over it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to move with purpose. With intent.

Okay, what do I do now?


End of Part 4

Part 5

 

[Curious]

Now THIS is interesting.

 

[doomlord9]

Very much so. I've always wondered if her power would do that on body death and it's nice to see it being written.

 

[kinglugia]

A useful Shadow Stalker is a dead Shadow Stalker. That is all.

 

[alethiophile]

...Huh.

So she's actually pulled the same thing Weaver of the Society pretended to?

 

[Ack]

Aftermath

Part Five


Tuesday Afternoon

Karen Bright had been a receptionist at the Brockton Bay PRT building for three years now, and she'd thought that she had seen it all. Visiting heroes, apprehended villains, new capes, people who thought they were new capes. Even crazies who wanted to rail against the 'evil' that parahuman powers brought into the world.

That last one made her snort; she'd seen parahumans band together to fight Endbringers and natural disasters alike. She had a good job, here, as a direct result of the parahuman presence in Brockton Bay. Evil, indeed.

But she had to admit, the guy who had just approached her desk brought the weirdness to a whole new level.

"Okay, sir," she responded, in her most soothing 'keep the crazy guy happy' voice, while she nudged the floor-button to alert the guards to the fact that something was up, "can you please take it from the top? You want to talk to a parahuman expert, because you want to know if it's possible for someone to die, get powers, and become a ghost?"

The guy was tall, skinny, and wore glasses. He also hadn't changed clothes, combed his hair, or shaved in the last day or two.

"Not a ghost," he insisted. "I don't believe in ghosts. But my daughter died, and last night I heard her voice. Talking to me. And I want to know if it's possible for powers to do that."

"Well," she hedged, "it's quite possible for powers to make someone hear voices at a distance -"

"After they're dead?" he interrupted.

"Sometimes people with powers can use them to fake their deaths really well … " she began.

"No!" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the counter. "She's dead! I saw her body! She died in pain, in terror, in filth, and I -"

Karen saw a PRT guard approach the guy from behind; the others were standing off, one with a foam dispenser deployed, ready for possible action. "Sir," the one guard snapped. "Please step away from the counter and turn around."

Taking a deep breath, the guy did as he was told, stepping back and turning around.

Karen dropped the shutter and took a step back herself from the counter. As was normal with all PRT employees, she had undergone the lengthy induction process, which included being sprayed with containment foam. It was harmless, but mildly unpleasant; she had no intention of having that happen to her again.

"Sir," the guard told the skinny man, "you need to calm down. Now."

The skinny guy took in all four guards, in various poses of readiness, and sighed.

"Please," he told the guard. "You need to take me to someone who can tell me about powers."

His voice was calm, measured, matter-of-fact, but there was an undertone to it that bypassed Karen's cognitive centres and went straight to her hindbrain. The guard needs to take him to someone who can tell him about powers.

The PRT guard nodded. "Yes, sir," he agreed. "I can do that." He turned to the other three guards. "Just taking this guy upstairs to see the science boys. Cover for me."

They headed for the elevators; Karen pulled up a window and typed in the code that would give the guard access to the right floor. The guy had to see someone who could tell him about powers, after all.

The elevator doors closed behind the guard, and the guy he was escorting. Karen raised the shutter once more and went back to her regular duties.

<><>​

I need to see Dad.

She couldn't find him.

He wasn't at home, although she did find a mess. Bug eyesight was woeful, but she was getting better at understanding where every member of the Swarm was, and building topographical pictures out of that. A broken chair, the busted TV, and a jar of tomato sauce that had apparently been hurled at the wall. The flies loved that, and she let them swarm all over it. But she forbade them from laying eggs; this was her house, after all.

It was too late for him to be at work, but the car wasn't in the driveway.

Could he be at a friend's place?

Slowly, painfully, she pulled up a memory of Dad's friends. Kurt and Lacey. Alexander. Others … Gerry, the Irishman.

But she didn't know where they lived.

It was ironic; with her growing control over the Swarm, she could shift her consciousness to almost anywhere in the city in moments. All she had to do was congregate enough bugs in that area to give her lucidity. But she didn't know where to send them.

I have to do something. Leave him a message. Let him know that I'm really alive.

But bugs could not manipulate anything as unwieldy as a pen or a pencil. She had a computer, upstairs, but even if she managed to get it turned on and a word file opened, she would then have to type out the message, and then somehow get him to read it.

And then she realised that the solution was staring her in the face. So to speak.

The tomato paste had dried somewhat, but beetles managed to worry small chunks loose and carry them to a piece of paper on the table. She couldn't read what was on it, but the red tomato paste would show up clearly. The bugs deposited the crumbs of paste on the paper, then deliberately stepped on them, squashing them down. Making a line. Making a curve. More lines. More curves.

It was quite exhausting, focusing her attention so closely for so long, but she kept at it.

I have to let him know. Make him understand.

<><>​

"You have to understand, sir, that the science of parahuman studies has not advanced a great deal since the days of Vikare," the man in the lab coat told him. His badge read CORBEN. "Given the huge variety of powers -"

"But you've got the power classification system, don't you?" Danny interrupted.

"We do, sir," Corben agreed. "But that doesn't tell us why people get powers, only how, and even then, it only tends toward a vague set of guidelines."

"How about powers themselves? How they work?" asked Danny, frustrated.

Corben shrugged. "We have a large body of knowledge, but the vast majority of it is based on theory and speculation. Quite literally, no two powersets are identical, unless the people triggered at the same time and place, and have some sort of close association. As for the case you posited; yes, it's been known for people to apparently die when they get powers. Some capes are able to form what look like ghosts. Some are able to speak at a distance, without being seen. Some can even create duplicates of their own bodies. All of that together, is it possible?" He took a deep breath. "Yes, sir, it's possible. Is it plausible, or even likely?" He shrugged. "I have no idea."

Danny's shoulders slumped. "So, after all that ... your best answer is that you don't know."

Corben nodded. "Without being able to get a first-hand look at the situation … well, yes." He paused, grimacing. "Uh, if I can say something without sounding too insensitive, sir … ?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. Something about possibly imagining the whole thing?"

A hesitation, then Corben nodded. "Uh, basically, sir. The human mind can play all sorts of tricks on us, especially if we're grieving."

Danny gritted his teeth. "I. Know." He did not enlighten the man, but the travails he had gone through after losing Anne-Rose … he'd nearly lost Taylor then, through sheer neglect. They had drifted so far apart. But he'd thought that they were mending things, coming back together.

And now ... this.

He took off his glasses and swiped at his eyes. "Okay, I'm done here. Can you show me how to get back to the lobby?"

"At once, sir," the PRT guard told him. He led the way back toward the elevator. "I hope you learned what you needed to, sir." He paused. "Excuse me a moment, please, sir."

"Sure," Danny replied, stopping. He could hear the man mumbling inside his helmet, but the fully enclosed helmet didn't let him hear what was being said.

The PRT building was certainly busy, he noted. People moving here and there, phones ringing, conversations going on all around. He was actually a little surprised that the guard had been so obliging as to bring him up to this floor and let him talk to Corben.

The guard turned to look at him, or at least turned that reflective grey face-plate in his direction. "Uh, sir, who was your authorisation from again, sir? I'm afraid I've forgotten."

Danny frowned. "Authorisation? I just asked you to let me talk to someone who knows about powers."

The guard nodded. "Ah, of course. Thank you, sir." He went back to mumbling. And then, to Danny's consternation, he pulled the sidearm from his holster and pointed it directly at Danny. "Sir, please kneel on the ground with your hands behind your head. Do not speak, or I will shoot. I have been reliably informed that you do not hold any authorisation or clearance."

Danny opened his mouth to protest; the guard waved the pistol. "Do not speak, sir."

Wisely, Danny shut his mouth, and knelt on the carpeted floor. At the same time, sirens erupted, blaring so loudly that even if he had wanted to speak, no-one could possibly have heard him. As ordered, he clasped his hands behind his neck.

What the hell is going on?

<><>​

Tuesday Evening

Piggot viewed the image of the man on the screen. There was, for obvious reasons, no sound.

"This is our Master?" she asked doubtfully. He hadn't even been wearing a costume, just rumpled clothing.

"This is him," acknowledged Major Travis. "When Captain Kelly noticed Fielding was out of position, he radioed the man to inquire of his location. Kelly was on the tenth floor, escorting this man back to the elevators." He flipped open a wallet he held in his hand. "ID has him as Daniel Hebert. We don't have a file on him."

"And he had no authorisation to be on that floor?" Piggot pressed.

"None whatsoever," Travis verified. "We've debriefed Fielding; he says that the man was causing a scene with our receptionist, and Fielding approached him. The man then asked to be allowed to speak to someone about how powers work, and Fielding thought that was a perfectly reasonable request. So he took the man upstairs. The guy asked Corben a whole string of questions about his dead daughter -"

The Director slapped her forehead. "Dead daughter? Dammit, of course. That Hebert guy, he's the father of the girl who died at Winslow yesterday."

Travis blinked. "Yeah. Now I remember. Damn, poor guy. Anyway, he just wanted to know about powers, if his daughter could really have triggered as a cape after she died. Because apparently he's been hearing her voice."

Piggot sighed. "Poor bastard might've been better off seeing a priest." She dragged her mind back to the current situation. "But how does this explain his ability to talk his way in to see Corben? That floor is restricted. The work Corben does is classified."

Travis shrugged. "Master power. Anecdotal evidence indicates it's got a strong vocal component. Earshot only."

Piggot shivered. "Christ. Another Nice Guy."

Travis shook his head. "Not so much. We're not sure about the strength of the compulsion; Fielding did hold him at gunpoint, once ordered to do so. And he never told anyone to do anything strictly against their well-being. He just asked them to tell him stuff he wanted to know. The guy's obviously distraught."

A frown. "Think he might have triggered over this? His daughter's death?"

"It would make a lot of sense." Travis scratched his chin. "Though there's one impression that I am getting, which might complicate things quite a bit."

"What, apart from prosecuting the guy whose daughter was killed in a school prank?" asked Piggot sarcastically. "What might that be, pray tell?"

Travis looked back at the screen, at the skinny man sitting listlessly in the cell. "I don't think he knows he's a Master."

Piggot stared at the screen as well. "Well, fuck."

<><>​

Tuesday Night

Space Opera was the shit.

Greg was enjoying the hell out of it. The tips and tricks and cheat codes that he'd downloaded simply made it all the more fun. As he worked his way through the levels, he found himself getting into it in a way that he'd never been able to in that last game.

And then the hand went around his mouth from behind. Again.

He froze, hoping that he wasn't about to wet himself.

"Greg," hissed the familiar voice, right next to his ear. "Do not make a noise. Nod if you understand me."

He nodded spasmodically.

"I need you to meet me outside," whispered Shadow Stalker. "We need to discuss matters. Ten minutes. Do you understand?"

He nodded again. The hand disappeared from around his mouth. He waited a long moment, then looked around.

There was no-one in the room, of course. The curtains were moving very slightly, as though a breeze had touched them.

Holy shit. I'm going to meet Shadow Stalker. She thinks I'm cool enough to discuss matters with. Holy shit.

All of a sudden, Space Opera seemed to be a lot less important.

Getting up from his chair, he stretched, elaborately casually, even though there was no-one else in the room to see him. He strolled downstairs, pretending nonchalance, while his heart hammered at a thousand miles a minute.

His parents were watching TV, while his younger sister burbled in her playpen. They didn't seem to notice him. Stealth check, successful. All he had to do was ease into the kitchen, then out the back door -

"Greg." It was his father's voice.

He jumped violently at that. Had his parents been actually looking at him, they might have decided something was suspicious.

"Wh-what?" he stammered.

"You're goin' to the kitchen, get me a beer, huh?"

"I – uh – yeah – sure, Dad." he agreed. Hurrying into the kitchen, he opened the fridge and found a cold beer. Going back into the living room, he handed it to his father. "Here you go, Dad."

"Thanks, son."

"No worries, Dad." Greg strolled nonchalantly back into the kitchen; he unlocked the back door and eased it open. Stepping outside, he carefully pulled it shut again.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker waited impatiently in the darkness, watching the back door of the Veder household. All I need to do is find out from Greg what he's said online and to the cops. If he's spread enough confusion, and hasn't mentioned me on the boards, then I can take care of him. He's a loose end. And played right, as a dead loose end, he'll serve my purposes.

She didn't even think twice about her willingness to murder an innocent boy to protect her own hide. The equation was simple; if others had to die for her to live, then so be it. If he wasn't strong or smart enough to see her coming or protect himself against her, then it was his own stupid fault.

After all, she'd already killed before. Even if it was by accident.

The door opened, and he slipped out. She straightened slightly from her position in the shadow of the hedge, and beckoned. He walked straight toward her, trustingly, stupidly.

A lamb to the slaughter.


End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[Sporadic Scribe]

Part Five

Click to shrink...

They're going to need a crane to dig Sophia out of the hole she's digging for herself.

 

[Chojomeka]

They're going to need a crane to dig Sophia out of the hole she's digging for herself.

Click to shrink...

No they're going to need Behemoth to get her out of the Earth's core with the way she's going.

Travis looked back at the screen, at the skinny man sitting listlessly in the cell. "I don't think he knows he's a Master."

Piggot stared at the screen as well. "Well, fuck."

Click to shrink...

Well fuck indeed.....and is this a bud from the QA?

 

[Navrin]

I wonder who's going to notice when bug populations in the city are abnormally high first. Since she's probably going to be guiding said bugs to breed for more biocomputer availability, I would think she'd want to get them to a proper cognitive level in many places as quickly as possible.

Good luck, Greg. I hope you manage to not die. Probably entirely by accident if it does happen with Sophia stewing in ever-mounting frustration. Anyway, Sophia's up to... five murders? now. (Not sure if any of them would technically be manslaughter or not). This last one seems to have done a number on her, possibly because she couldn't cover it up very well.

Thanks for the chapter, of course.


Also, poor Danny. Unless he can turn off his Master power, he might have to communicate primarily through writing or sign language.

 

[Sheaman3773]

You did a good job presenting both that Danny was a Master and didn't realize it. Both were readily apparent before the narrative pointed them out.

Shadow Stalker waited impatiently in the darkness, watching the back door of the Veder household. All I need to do is find out from Greg what he's said online and to the cops. If he's spread enough confusion, and hasn't mentioned me on the boards, then I can take care of him. He's a loose end. And played right, as a dead loose end, he'll serve my purposes.

She didn't even think twice about her willingness to murder an innocent boy to protect her own hide. The equation was simple; if others had to die for her to live, then so be it. If he wasn't strong or smart enough to see her coming or protect himself against her, then it was his own stupid fault.

After all, she'd already killed before. Even if it was by accident.

The door opened, and he slipped out. She straightened slightly from her position in the shadow of the hedge, and beckoned. He walked straight toward her, trustingly, stupidly.

A lamb to the slaughter.

Click to shrink...

This...seems excessive for Sophia. Yeah, if she kills a criminal on accident, it's not exactly a tragedy for her, but deliberately setting up a classmate to die just to help obfuscate things and then cover her tracks seems much further than she'd go.

But I suppose in this one she already came to terms with accidentally killing one loser--what's deliberately killing another?

 

[preier]

They're going to need a crane to dig Sophia out of the hole she's digging for herself.

Click to shrink...

why would they want to dig her out?

so taylor is litteraly a hivemind, her father is in a PRT cell, her main abuser is going to kill greg.

just a few connections between those facts and I could sooo easily see her going egyptian plague on bb...

 

[Ack]

You did a good job presenting both that Danny was a Master and didn't realize it. Both were readily apparent before the narrative pointed them out.

Click to shrink...

Thanks. I was gonna have Danny talk, then walk out, then asked myself, "what would really complicate matters now?" And recalled a plot aspect I had considered adding. Most awkward possible time to use it? Right about now.

This...seems excessive for Sophia. Yeah, if she kills a criminal on accident, it's not exactly a tragedy for her, but deliberately setting up a classmate to die just to help obfuscate things and then cover her tracks seems much further than she'd go.

But I suppose in this one she already came to terms with accidentally killing one loser--what's deliberately killing another?

Click to shrink...

In canon, she deliberately set out to kill Skitter because she knew her secret ID after Leviathan.
What she's falling prey to is known as 'sucker factor'. One step after another, leading her down the path toward ruin.
Step 1: Hey, let's shove Taylor in her locker with all that shit. It's all fun and games.
Step 2 ... till she dies in there. Whoops.
Step 3: Greg is talking to Taylor's father about something. The rotten little snitch.
Step 4: Tell Greg to spread misinformation
Step 5: (offscreen) Madison tells me about how the police are asking awkward questions. If and when they get back to Greg and lean on him, he might crack.
Step 6: Greg is a loose end. If I can just deal with this, I should be free and clear.
Step 7 ....



And just by the way? "On purpose" "By accident". Not the other way around.

Brought to you by your friendly neighbourhood fanfiction writer.

 

[cyberswordsmen]

And just by the way? "On purpose" "By accident". Not the other way around.

Brought to you by your friendly neighbourhood fanfiction writer.

Click to shrink...

Finally someone points that out. I was beginning to think I was crazy.

 

[Ack]

Finally someone points that out. I was beginning to think I was crazy.

Click to shrink...

Doesn't mean you're not

People seem to be using 'on' in parallel to 'on purpose'. (Note: the usage of 'on accident' is about 1-3% of 'by accident', and has only arisen in the last 30 years, so yeah, not a correct usage).

This is incorrect. "By accident" is a verbal contraction of "by way of an accident". "on accident" makes no sense when expanded in that way.
An accident is a thing that happens; once it happens, it's done. A purpose is a thing that you have; it's ongoing. It fuels things that you do, but a purpose is not a thing that you do.

"That accident helps me fulfil my purpose." Swap the words around, and the sentence makes no sense at all. That's how they're different, and that's why it's 'by' accident and 'on' purpose.

 

[Daunmi]

That's how they're different, and that's why it's 'by' accident and 'on' purpose

Click to shrink...

The worst part?

The very worst part?

When I first noticed people doing this, I did a brief search on Google to see why. Apparently it's increasing in popularity. And since the English language is fluid, it'll probably end up becoming the default.

 

[Sheaman3773]

Doesn't mean you're not

People seem to be using 'on' in parallel to 'on purpose'. (Note: the usage of 'on accident' is about 1-3% of 'by accident', and has only arisen in the last 30 years, so yeah, not a correct usage).

This is incorrect. "By accident" is a verbal contraction of "by way of an accident". "on accident" makes no sense when expanded in that way.
An accident is a thing that happens; once it happens, it's done. A purpose is a thing that you have; it's ongoing. It fuels things that you do, but a purpose is not a thing that you do.

"That accident helps me fulfil my purpose." Swap the words around, and the sentence makes no sense at all. That's how they're different, and that's why it's 'by' accident and 'on' purpose.

Click to shrink...

Considering the age-based distribution that a brief search brought up, I could say that it's merely a lingual shift, particularly since it's been going on longer than I've been alive...but people have been using "literally" incorrectly since before living memory, and I still get on people for misusing it

Though your last sentence appears to be entirely facetious, given multiple definitions and usages of words, especially considering the clusterfrak that is the English language.

Overall, though, I want to thank you for the information. I'll try to incorporate it into my speech.

 

[Navrin]

Sophia: "To murder! The cause of... and solution to... all of life's problems."

 

[Ack]

Sophia: "To murder! The cause of... and solution to... all of life's problems."

Click to shrink...

Ah, Sophia. The role model for stabby little sociopathic vigilantes everywhere.

 

[esotericist]

Ah, Sophia. The role model for stabby little sociopathic vigilantes everywhere.

Click to shrink...

Poor little psychos! Stab! Stab! Stab!


... no, i can't really justify that. shut up, don't look at me.

 

[Ack]

Aftermath

Part Six


Tuesday Night

"I'm here," Greg whispered, joining Sophia in the shadows. "What do you want to know?"

For an answer, she grabbed him by the wrist, twisting it back, forcing him to his knees with a pained grunt. "I need to know what you've been saying," she hissed. "To the cops, and online. Because someone's been spilling the beans, and the case might fall apart."

"Wasn't me," he blurted.

Sophia brought her masked face very close to his wide eyes. "Tell me everything you've told people about what's going on," she gritted. "Who have you told, what have you told them, and what names have you mentioned?"

He gulped. "The cops, they asked me, I didn't mean to, I told them what you told me about Mr Hebert and his ties to organised crime."

She tightened her grip a little; he whimpered from the pain. "Names," she snapped. "Did you mention names?"

"Whose names?" he asked desperately. "Taylor's? Her father? Sure."

"Mine, you idiot," she hissed. "Did you mention my name in connection to this?"

Despite the pain, he blinked in confusion. "Uh, why are you worried about your name?"

She twisted a little harder. "Because I'm not supposed to be working this case," she told him, essentially honestly. "If my bosses find out, I could get in trouble." Definitely true, though he didn't know how true. "But I can't let this go by. So I have to try to find out who did it." A total lie, though she was pretty sure he wouldn't pick it up. Time to go back on the attack. "So, have you mentioned my name at all?"

He shook his head. "Not to the cops. I just told them what you told me. I'm sorry, they got it out of me."

Just as I expected them to. Excellent. "And online?"

He blinked, frowning. "I, uh, don't remember."

She gritted her teeth. "Focus. Do you at least remember which forums you've been on since last night?"

Urgently, he nodded. "Y-yeah."

"Then go back upstairs," she ordered him. "I'll be with you in a moment."

She released him; he scuttled back toward the door. With a sigh; she moved around until she had a view of his bedroom window. This is getting far too complicated.

But it was her only chance of sorting out this mess, once and for all.

Fucking Hebert. It's all her fault.

<><>​

Poor Taylor. It's all my fault.

Danny Hebert sat slumped in the cell, staring at the floor. He wasn't even sure why they'd locked him in there; there'd been the siren, and the soldier pointing the gun at his head, and then other PRT soldiers had come, and the first thing they had done was put a bag over his head. He hadn't been able to see or hear anything; at first, he'd been worried about being able to breathe, but somehow that seemed to work out.

He'd been more or less forced to walk blindly where his captors directed him, which in the end had turned out to be this cell. They had left the bag on his head; at first, he had thought he had to keep it on, but in the end he had taken it off, and found himself alone. He had been too dispirited even to call out, to ask what he'd done.

They had left him his watch, at least; that was a small mercy. Of course, it made him acutely aware of the passage of time. Around about now, I'd be sitting down to dinner with Taylor -

He broke the thought off, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. He would never sit down to dinner with Taylor, ever again. Because she was dead.

But she came back to me. Somehow. And I tried to find out how that might be, and now I'm in here. And she's out there somewhere. What if she gets lost, wherever she is, because she can't find me?

A lump arose in his throat, and he had to jam his fingers into his mouth, and bite quite hard on them, to prevent the tears from coming.

It's all my fault, Taylor. I failed you.

The speaker in the corner of the cell crackled to life, startling him quite badly. "Mr Hebert, can you hear me? Please nod if you can."

Wildly, he looked around for the camera, but he couldn't locate it. Finally, he settled for looking straight ahead and nodding. "I can hear you," he confirmed out loud.

"Good. Now, do you know why you're in here?"

He shrugged elaborately. "No. I just asked some questions, is all. About my daughter. Is it a crime to ask questions now?"

There was a pause, before the voice returned. "Please speak more slowly, Mr Hebert. Your voice is being digitally translated into text before we can answer you."

Danny frowned. What the hell is going on here? "I said," he enunciated carefully, "I just asked some questions. About my daughter. How is that a crime?"

"Ah. Yes, well. It wasn't a crime to ask those questions," the voice answered. "However, it was a breach of regulations for you to be in that section of the building, asking that man those questions. That was a secure area, and you had no business being there."

"I just wanted to talk to someone," Danny protested. "It was your guy who took me there. He didn't say anything about it being a secure area."

"We know that too," the voice replied. "He took you there because you asked him to."

"But that's what I said," he responded, puzzled. "I asked to see someone who knew about powers, so he took me there. I didn't know he was taking me to a secure area." Slowly, his brain began to catch up with the situation. Why are they translating my voice into text?

There was a sigh over the voice link. "Mr Hebert, you're misunderstanding me. He took you there, despite it being a secure area, because you asked him to."

There was a pause, a slight scuffling sound, then another voice broke in. "Mr Hebert, you're a parahuman. You have powers. You used your power, knowingly or not, to coerce the guard into breaking regulations quite thoroughly. That's why you're in that cell. We need to figure out what to do with you."

Danny blinked. " … oh." All of a sudden, the strange events of the afternoon – the guard becoming so cooperative, then later pointing a gun at his head, the incarceration, even the admission that they were digitising his speech – it all fell into place, like a giant jigsaw puzzle. "Oh. Why didn't you tell me in the first place?"

"Because some people," the second voice informed him tartly, "prefer to dance around the subject for fear of alarming other people. Now, you seem to be a fairly straightforward man. Did you know you had powers?"

"No!" Danny protested. "I had no idea!"

"Hm," the voice replied. "Did you know you were breaking the law, going up to that floor?"

"I told you, no, I didn't," Danny replied. "If I'd known … well, I might not have gone."

"If you'd known that it was illegal, but that you were guaranteed to get information about your daughter?" the voice asked gently.

Danny breathed deeply. "She's my daughter," he answered, in a wretched voice.

"I don't have children of my own, but I think I understand." The voice was still relatively gentle. "But you understand that you did break the law."

"Yes, but I didn't mean to!"

"Yes, I get that, sir. However. Even if we do take that into account – and I'm not saying we won't – there is the other matter. The fact that you're a parahuman who can make people do things, just by telling them to. A Master."

Danny felt a chill going down his spine. "What are you going to do? Can you lock someone up just for having powers?"

<><>​

Oh, if only that were the case, Director Piggot thought, as she read the text streaming across the monitor. Not you, but some of the parahumans out there …

"No, sir," she told him. "But we will be investigating your home to make sure that you haven't used this power in other illicit ways. Once we're certain of that, then we can release you with a caution."

On the screen, he raised his head, searching again for the camera. He actually came quite close this time, looking only a little off to the side. Carefully, she did not watch his lips, just in case there was a visual component to his Master ability.

INVESTIGATE MY HOME? DON'T YOU NEED A WARRANT FOR THAT?

"Mr Hebert, you've already committed a crime," she reminded him. "This gives us probable cause. Personally, I don't believe that you've done anything of the sort, but in a case like this, we have to cross our T's and dot our I's, just to make sure we've covered all the bases."

He clenched his fists. PLEASE DON'T TAKE ANYTHING OF TAYLOR'S. PLEASE.

The glowing letters on the screen seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the spoken words behind them.

"Relax, Mr Hebert," she assured him. "They will only look for things that indicate that you've used your powers in illegal ways. In fact, I'm expecting their call-back any moment now."

<><>​

The front door lock clicked open, and the two men stepped inside. Rogers, leading the way with the pocket flashlight, pocketed the keys that had been taken from Danny Hebert and found the light switch. The front hall lit up, illuminating the stairs and throwing light through the archway into the living room.

"We'll clear the ground floor first," he told his fellow PRT investigator, a burly man by the name of Kelly. "Then we'll do the basement. Upstairs last." As he spoke, he clicked off the flashlight, slid it into his pocket, and pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket.

Kelly nodded. As Rogers headed down the passageway alongside the stairs, he went into the living room, turning on the light there as he went. When he saw what was there, he whistled involuntarily.

"What is it?" Rogers called out.

"Busted TV. Someone threw a remote into it." Kelly pulled out his phone and took a picture. "My guess is, he was a bit distraught."

"Well, wouldn't you be?" Rogers leaned in through the door leading to the kitchen. "He busted a chair, and threw a bottle of tomato paste at the wall." He pulled his head back; muted clicks indicated that he, too, was taking pictures.

Kelly tilted his head. "I wouldn't call this signs of a struggle, would you?"

"Nope," Rogers agreed. "Just one man, venting. Really, really venting."

"Well," commented Kelly after a sweep of the living room, "I can't see anything valuable; no packaging, no handfuls of jewellery, nothing big and expensive and new."

"TV?" asked Rogers, coming on through.

"Nah," Kelly told him. "Three years old. I've got a better one." He brushed a fly off his cheek. "Lot of bugs around here."

"Are you surprised?" Rogers commented. "Big splash of tomato paste on the wall, in there. Bugs all over it."

"Point," conceded Kelly. "So, you want to split up, or do the basement together?"

"Ooh, is diddums scared of the dark?" teased Rogers.

Kelly slugged him on the arm. "Asshole."

Rogers chuckled, and led the way to the basement stairs. Bare bulbs illuminated the space below; it was reasonably spartan. Washer, dryer, workbench. They went over it quickly; the only interesting thing was what Kelly surmised to be a blocked-off coal chute. Rogers pulled a multi-tool from his pocket, and they had the cover off in less than a minute. The only thing it held was spiders and spiderwebs.

"Well, that was a whole lot of nothing," Kelly commented, as they climbed the stairs again.

Rogers flicked the switch to turn out the lights. "Still gotta look," he pointed out. "That way, we can say we have." He waved a swarm of insects away from his face. "Is it me, or are there more bugs around here than before?"

Kelly had to admit, he had a point. "Maybe they're here for the smorgasbord," he grunted, pointing at the splash of tomato paste.

"Yeah, probably," Rogers agreed, and led the way through the front hall to the foot of the stairs.

There was a light switch at the top of the stairs and he flicked that on, too. "Bathroom," he directed Kelly. "I'll take her bedroom. We both take his, because if he's hiding anything, that's where it'll be."

<><>​

It was very hard to tell what time it was, apart from the fact that it had been getting darker. Bug eyes had a hard time making out exactly which was the hour hand and which the minute hand, and where they were in relation to the numbers.

In addition, writing via tiny spots of tomato paste on a sheet of paper was extremely time-consuming, and required a lot of concentration; it was not something that bugs normally did, particularly with any accuracy, so she had to work at it. So it was no surprise that Taylor had lost track of time.

When the light came on, she was momentarily startled; at first, she thought that her father had come home. But neither of the men who began moving through the house was him, or at least, she didn't think so. When they spoke, she couldn't really pick out what they were saying, but it didn't sound like his voice. Neither of them was as tall as him, as far as she could gauge with bug senses. She did land a fly on the face of the taller one, giving a rough measurement of his height; he wasn't as tall as her father.

What are they here for?

It was something she pondered over, while moving more of the everpresent Swarm into the house. When they emerged from the basement, she had a bunch of bugs ready to try to listen to what they were saying.

… they're here for the … She couldn't make out that word.

… eah, probably.

Bathroom. … take her bedroom. We both … his, because if he's ...ding anything, that's … it'll be.

That was when she began to get angry.

Who are these men? Why are they searching Dad's house? My house.

<><>​

Tossing the bathroom didn't take long; nothing in the laundry hamper, nothing in the cabinet. The tub installation didn't reveal any loose panels or tiles. Kelly left the bathroom and went to where Rogers was still going through the kid's bedroom. He waved away several insects as he leaned in through the door.

"Find anything yet?"

"Nothing obviously stolen," Rogers told him, looking up from where he was sitting on the bed, "but check this out."

Kelly entered the room and looked down at the sheaf of papers in Rogers' hand. "What's that?"

"Kind of a diary, I guess," Rogers replied absently. "But not really. She was being bullied, and she was writing it down."

"Holy shit," Kelly told him. "The police love that sort of thing. That's pure gold. How the hell haven't they come here and snapped it up already?"

Rogers shrugged. "Manpower, I guess, or lack thereof. Plus, school the size of Winslow, there'd be about a thousand suspects. Interviewing those first?"

"What do we do with it? We're not here to investigate that crime."

Rogers considered for a moment. "We take it with us, and drop it off at the station. But we get pictures of every page first. Just in case."

"I'll do that," Kelly told him. "You go ahead and check his room."

He took the sheaf from Rogers, and took out his phone once more. Carefully, taking his time, he began to photograph each page in turn.

About six pages in, he found himself having to brush bugs off the paper before taking the photo; ten pages in, they were landing on the page faster than he could shoo them away. He looked around, more and more bugs were swarming into the room, through the open window and through the door, every second. They were starting to land on him, too. He wasn't particularly scared of insects, but this was starting to concern him.

"Rogers?" he called out. "Is it just me, or is there a metric ton of bugs in this house?"

"It's not just you," Rogers told him; he appeared in the doorway, and he had bugs all over him. "I think we need to go, now."

"I think you're right."

Kelly turned to pick up the papers, and paused; they were literally covered with bugs, swarming and crawling on the bedspread. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he spotted wasps, hornets and black widows in the mass of bugs.

"Okay … " he muttered. "The papers stay."

"What was that?" asked Rogers.

"I think I might know what's going on here," Kelly told him.

"Well, what?"

"Let's get out of here first," Kelly advised. "We're not welcome."

<><>​

"See?" Greg insisted. "That's my chat log for both these sites. I didn't mention you by name even once."

Sophia nodded. "So you didn't."

"So yeah," he went on, as if continuing a conversation, "I was thinking of having some sort of memorial at school for Taylor. What do you think of these photos of her?"

He opened a folder on his computer, and clicked on the files within; they opened to show several pictures of Taylor, most of them culled from the backgrounds of other pictures. "She was always nice to me," he mused. "Never made fun, not like anyone else."

Sophia blinked as a brilliant idea formed out of nowhere, just like that. She had come prepared to dispose of him as a loose end, but he'd just handed her the key to deflecting attention from her.

"That's a wonderful idea," she purred, her masked face right next to his ear. He gulped as she slid an arm around in front of him, across his chest. "You're a really sensitive guy, you know that?"

With her free hand, she pulled a sturdy plastic bag from a pouch on her belt, and shook it open.

<><>​

Greg was sweating bullets; Shadow Stalker was literally cuddling up to him. Well, at least, hugging him. Hugging with one arm was still hugging, right?

I can't wait to tell the guys about this.

Oh, wait, I forgot to tell her about the private chat log.

"Wait -" he began, just as the plastic bag went over his head.

For a moment, he was stunned; he literally could not figure out what was going on. He was looking through thick plastic, and he couldn't breathe. Instinctively, he tried to lift his arms to pull the bag off his head, but she was pinning his arms to his chest with her own arm, preventing him from moving.

He tried to take a deep breath, to call his parents, to call for help, to protest at all. But there was no deep breath to be had. No air.

He struggled again, uselessly, but she was too strong.

Why is she doing this? Why is she killing me?

Blackness came before he had the answer to his question.

<><>​

Taylor watched them retreat, leaving the papers on the bed. She hadn't realised what they were at first, but then she had puzzled it out, via the eyesight of several bugs at once. Once she had it figured out, she was shocked; were they going to take the papers? That was not going to happen, if she could help it.

Swarming them was relatively easy; she didn't want to hurt them, in case they were actually innocent, so she didn't do anything permanent to them. She watched them go, shutting the front door behind them, but she didn't relax her vigilance until they were driving down the road.

Once they were gone, of course, she realised that she should have shown them her handiwork. Made them see it. Made them realise that she was alive.

I'll just have to wait until Dad gets back.

<><>​

The phone rang once; Emily picked it up. "Director Piggot speaking."

"Director, this is Rogers; you sent Kelly and me to Daniel Hebert's house?"

"I remember, yes," she replied. "Did you find anything of note?"

"Nothing that implicates him in any crimes," Rogers told her. "But something really weird happened there, and Kelly thinks he knows what's going on."

Piggot leaned back in her chair. "So tell me," she invited him.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker paused, on her way out of the room. She had posed Greg artistically, the plastic bag still over his head, in an arrangement which seemed to indicate that he was attempting autoerotic asphyxia. One hand was at the opening of the bag, the other in the appropriate position for such a pose. Prominently displayed on his computer screen were the pictures of Taylor, along with images which she had downloaded, depicting skinny brunettes wearing not much at all.

He was, of course, quite dead. She had waited for several minutes after he had stopped moving, just in case. When he was found, inside his locked bedroom, in such a compromising position, the chances were that his parents would do their best to cover it up.

She looked over her handiwork one more time, then turned ghostly and passed through the window, which she had also thoughtfully closed and locked.

Hopefully, that's one less loose end to worry about.

One shadow among many, she flitted across the rooftops on the way back home.


End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[doomlord9]

Methinks this will not end well for Sophia.

I know I have a image that fits this somewhere....AHAH!

 

[Navrin]

Poor Greg, murdered by somebody he trusted because of her PR and then at least attempted character-assassination (though fairly mild, all things considered) to make it worse. And, of course, things are still going poorly for the Heberts. Hopefully that will be cleared up relatively soon.

It seems likely that Danny would be willing to join the Protectorate, even without any "leverage" being employed on him. Though if they did, the odds of things going well for all involved would probably plummet.


Thanks for the chapter, Ack, and here's hoping things improve soon.

 

[ArnaudB]

Tuesday Night

Click to shrink...

This. Is. Pure. Gold.

I find that story to be one of your most interesting one, Ack. It's perhaps a bit loaded, with Danny triggering, Taylor swarm-less and the whole Greg's subplot. My only constructive criticism at the moment is that it does feel as if everything is crashing around Sophia. I felt it was a bit much when I arrived at the mention of Greg's private messages. With Taylor's diary to send the investigation toward Greg, it felt the private log bit was redundant.

The manner which Sophia set up Greg's death is something I couldn't help but be amused at, mostly because I could imagine an agravated Overlord Skitter in canon strangling Greg if her bugs found him 'enjoying' inappropriate images of her + revealing he knew her identity.

Also, props for Taylor not letting people take the diary away, when so many authors would have let Taylor realize whom they were and let them, or straight attack them if believing in a cover up. I do feel slightly sad that the secret of Taylor's current state will be blow up so quickly, it gave a kind of ghostly air to the story.